I Hold Your Heart Read online

  For Nikki

  Praise for Karen Gregory’s

  ‘This moving romance, with its well-drawn working-class heroine, its examination of power, politics and protest, and its clarion call to make courageous choices, represents all that’s best in British YA’

  Guardian

  ‘Wonderful family dynamic, believable voice. About love, identity, and the power of standing up for what you believe in and not letting others put you down. Highly recommend!’

  Katherine Webber, author of

  Only Love Can Break Your Heart

  ‘An authentic, hopeful-but-not-saccharine account of contemporary life’

  Irish Times

  ‘An elegantly written, page-turning story of two girls falling in love, interwoven with themes of wealth, injustice, protest and what it means to be free. But most of all it’s about love’

  Jenny McLachlan, author of Truly, Wildly, Deeply

  Praise for Karen Gregory’s

  ‘A heartbreaking, hopeful and highly unusual debut’

  Metro

  ‘Countless is written with empathy and deep compassion and we could all do with more of that’

  The Bookbag

  ‘Moving and thought-provoking’

  Irish Times

  ‘Insightful, authentic and profoundly moving … This is an important, impactful, mightily impressive debut about love, reaching out and taking one step at a time’

  Lovereading4kids

  ‘Gregory writes with a realism worthy of Ken Loach’

  Inis Reading Guide

  ‘I inhaled this book. I was emotionally involved from the very start and couldn’t bear to put it down … Though Countless is heartbreaking it is also full of heart and it celebrates the power of finding your people and yourself and the resilience to keep going’

  Rhino Reads

  Books by Karen Gregory

  Countless

  Skylarks

  I Hold Your Heart

  Contents

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Part Two

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Gemma

  ‘We’re going to miss it.’

  Dad’s hopping next to me on the touchline, face contorted in agonised suspense.

  Mum’s not doing much better, but she attempts a weak, ‘It’ll be fine.’

  ‘He’s not focusing, he’s—’

  Mum gives him a worried ‘shhh’ face; ‘words’ have been had with him before about shouting out during matches. I can sense rather than see Dad grappling with the stream of advice he wants to yell at Michael, swallowing it back down. I know how he feels. My brother looks suddenly small, positioned a few paces back and to the side of the ball, facing off the goalie a few feet away. The goalie is about six foot, even though he can’t be older than fifteen. He’s staring right at Michael, his gigantic gloved hands resting on his thighs, knees bent.

  Don’t let him psych you out, I think. It’s not long since the summer league cup, and we all want that particular weekend wiped out. Like Dad said again on the drive here, this season’s make or break for Michael’s chances at the Academy. He needs to score a goal – preferably in the opposing team’s net this time.

  I take a long breath in and let it out gently, trying to send positive vibes over on the breeze. It’s seriously warm for September and I can feel the sun on the backs of my shoulders, smell cut grass and suncream and sweat, courtesy of Dad, who’s been leaping about as ever through the whole match. Michael got some good touches in, a few shots on goal, but the match has gone on, vital minutes to impress tick-tocking themselves away. And now we’re nearly at time and he’s got a free kick just outside the penalty area. This is his chance.

  The whistle goes. Michael flicks a look up at the goalie, assessing. Then he puffs out his cheeks, makes a sharp shrugging movement and starts his run-up. I sense Mum and Dad tense beside me as the solid thwack of Michael’s foot connecting with the ball echoes around the pitch. I feel my fists clench too, willing it on.

  The ball rises, and the lads forming a wall leap high in the air. Sunny Patel is running down the left wing. I hear Dad sucking air in through his teeth in a sharp hiss.

  Go in, go in, go in.

  It’s going too high, too fast.

  Come on …

  And now at the last second, the ball’s curling round, dropping like a bird of prey. The keeper dives, but even I can see he’s way too late. A split second later the ball smashes into the back of the net.

  I let out a massive whoop, Dad’s roar practically deafening me.

  ‘Get in! Superb,’ Dad’s shouting. He turns and envelops Mum in a massive bear hug, swinging her off her feet, all of us laughing.

  A moment later, the whistle blows for time. We’ve won, one-nil.

  I stop cheering and watch my brother, who’s still zipping around the pitch on a victory lap. Short he may be, but he’s super fast: even Sunny can’t catch him until he stops and then all his team-mates pile on top of him. I spot Jim, the coach, pumping his fist in victory. Another parent claps Dad on the back.

  I’ve still got a massive grin on my face as Michael looks over and gives us a thumbs-up, then the team start jogging off the pitch.

  At that moment I get the sudden sense I’m being watched. I shift my gaze and see a tall boy, maybe a couple of years older than me, a golden Labrador at his calf. Technically, he’s not supposed to be here, but there’s a public footpath running across the next field and sometimes dog walkers stray over. He’s only about three metres away, and as my eyes meet his, I get this weird sense I know him. Or that he knows me. An odd feeling flutters in my stomach, halfway between nervousness and interest. I wonder how long he’s been there. He’s about the best-looking boy I’ve ever seen – I suspect he knows it too. This is confirmed by the smile he flashes me: all overconfident, slightly teasing. I’m suddenly uncomfortably aw
are that I’m probably bright red with the heat and the cheering, and my fringe is sticking to my forehead.

  The boy holds my gaze for a beat longer than generally considered socially acceptable, then his smile widens. Something about it makes me smile back too. The next moment, Dad’s saying, ‘Come on then, Gemma,’ and the boy twitches the dog’s lead and begins to walk on.

  I hesitate for a second, feeling oddly disappointed, then follow my parents out to the car, listening to them going over the goal for what I know will be the first of many times. Just as we get to the edge of the field, I can’t help turning my head to check if he’s still there.

  He totally is.

  I’m about to turn away, embarrassed, when he lifts one hand, as if in greeting and I swear I can feel his smile even from this distance.

  I grin and give a small wave back, then jog over to the car.

  Later, after lunch, Mum drops me off at the Beach Cafe for my afternoon shift. I’ve been working here all summer, but now college has started, I’m down to weekends only. Esi’s already here, and so is Dora, who owns the place. When she sees me, she gives a big smile before wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Right then, I’ll leave you girls to it. I’ll be back later to lock up.’ She bustles out.

  I slide behind the counter next to Esi and stash my bag. The place is only half full, now we’re into September, mainly retired people and a couple with a young baby. Cucumber sticks litter the floor under their table. The whole cafe is filled with light, slanting through the huge windows and bouncing off the floorboards, which Dora has painted white. There are seascapes on the walls, a model ship in a huge bottle up on a high shelf and tea lights wavering in jars on each table, surrounded by artfully scattered shells.

  I go to the little CD player at the back of the counter. ‘Whose turn is it?’ I say to Esi. Not that there’s much of a choice. Dora doesn’t ‘hold with’ useful stuff like docking stations, and we’re not allowed to use our phones, which might be for the best, given Esi’s taste in music, so we’re stuck with the same ancient ten CDs.

  ‘Yours. But please can it not be – oh, Gemma,’ Esi says, as I pick up a copy of Country Greats and shove it in the CD player, holding my thumb on the Skip button until I get to a Dolly Parton track. A moment later, the familiar opening melody of ‘Jolene’ starts.

  ‘You love it really,’ I say.

  Esi raises her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘It’s a classic,’ I add. I sing along for a few bars, but a couple of the old ladies look over, and I remember I’m not supposed to be belting songs out. Not even Dolly.

  ‘Can we at least skip this one?’ Esi says, pushing the sleeves of her shirt up to reveal a couple of bracelets. She looks at me. ‘I’ll never, and I mean never, understand why you love all this stuff.’

  I lean over to flick to the next song, and grin; if there’s one thing bound to annoy Esi more than Dolly, it’s Shania Twain. She may have a point there – even I hate half of the songs on this CD, but it’s worth it for the look on her face.

  Esi grimaces, but she lets it drop. ‘How did the match go?’ she asks as she leans into the chiller to swipe a spoonful from a tub of sherbet lemon ice cream.

  ‘We won!’ I say happily.

  Esi breaks into a warm smile, then gives the ice cream a lick and pulls a face. ‘Who voted for this?’

  Dora has a suggestion book for ice-cream flavours, and whichever one has the most votes each week gets made, which has led to some interesting taste combinations over the summer. The worst one had to be scampi. I rock-paper-scissored Esi for who got to try that one – and lost.

  ‘Who knows? Those kids down from Bristol I think. Michael scored a goal from a pretty damn awesome free kick.’

  ‘Cool,’ Esi says neutrally. She’s also not the biggest football fan.

  ‘Yep, he’s just got to keep it up now,’ I say, echoing Dad. I go over to the coffee machine. The milk container needs filling up. ‘Also,’ I say, leaning into the fridge under the counter to grab a bottle, ‘I saw a guy at the match.’

  ‘A guy?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I find the milk and start to straighten back up, still talking. ‘Didn’t get to speak to him, but he was really ho— uh …’

  It’s like that moment in films when there’s the sound of a record screeching to a halt. Because now I’m standing, I can see who’s just come into the cafe, and for a second I can only stare, clutching the milk to me.

  ‘He was what?’ says Esi as the guy from this morning begins to walk towards us.

  I elbow her with the milk.

  Did he hear me? Hard to tell. He doesn’t seem half as surprised to see me as I am to see him though. I watch him walk between the close-packed tables. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt that’s tight enough to see his pecs. Which I am totally not staring at.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, all casual like he’s never seen me before.

  I lengthen my spine, push down the clenching in my stomach that’s definitely escalating into something approaching full butterflies.

  He’s just a boy, Gemma. Like millions of other boys. Amazing cheekbones do not make him the Messiah.

  And suddenly I’m not nervous at all. I’m me, Gemma, and I know exactly how to handle myself. I raise one eyebrow. ‘You’re going with “Hey”?’ I leave a beat as he colours the tiniest amount, then say, ‘Where’s the dog?’

  He blinks twice. ‘Outside. I didn’t think you’d recognise me.’

  There are two ways to play that, and I wonder which one he’s expecting.

  ‘That must be the longest walk in history. Are you in training for something?’ I say. We’re miles away from the football pitch.

  He laughs. ‘Nah, I drove.’

  ‘Well, what can I get you?’

  ‘Some water? For the dog? This is empty.’ He holds out the bowl we usually have outside and I realise he’s had it in his hands all along.

  I pass an open-mouthed Esi the milk and reach over the counter to take the bowl. I fill it with water and hand it back. Both times, I avoid touching his fingers.

  ‘Thanks.’ He takes the bowl, gives me another killer smile – seriously, those cheekbones – and suddenly it’s over, he’s walking away. I wait until the door is closed, then turn to Esi, who’s staring at me with a bizarre combo of half-smile and one raised eyebrow.

  ‘He was hot,’ she says. ‘Bit too muscle-man if you ask me, but still …’

  I look at her. I look at the door.

  Then I say, ‘Bugger it,’ and grab a glass of water.

  Outside, the boy’s looking at the sea, shielding his eyes against the sun.

  ‘Here,’ I say and thrust the water towards him.

  He takes it, like he’s not surprised at all, and gulps the lot down. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Well, don’t want you getting heatstroke. You don’t realise how hot it is with the wind.’

  He nods, but kind of leaves it hanging.

  ‘So … cute dog,’ I say.

  ‘She’s called Moonshine.’ He reaches down to pat her and she gives a doggy grin, her tail wagging like crazy.

  I laugh in disbelief. ‘Like the bootleggers?’

  ‘Just like that.’ He gives me that smile again, the one that says Little Boy Lost with a hint of something much more adult underneath.

  I keep my face straight. ‘You’re not supposed to walk dogs on the football pitch, you know,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah?’ He’s still patting Moonshine.

  ‘Yeah.’ Now for some reason I’m starting to get irritated; with him, with myself for whatever the hell the ridiculously intense reactions he’s setting off in me are all about.

  ‘Will I be in trouble?’ he says, one side of his mouth going up. And now I can’t get a read on him at all. He holds my eyes for a second, then says, ‘I’m Aaron, by the way.’

  ‘Gemma.’

  He puts out his hand suddenly, and I feel mine come up automatically to take it. His hands are large, his grip strong but not like a bone crush
er or anything. He’s still holding my gaze, and it feels odd. My stomach does another butterfly thing, one that actually feels more like a flock of seagulls, if I’m honest. I can feel the sun on my face, the sound of the waves breaking along the shore as the moment elongates.

  Then he drops my hand and thrusts the empty glass at me. Again I take it, like my body’s still on autopilot. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Gem.’ He unties Moonshine’s lead.

  ‘That’s Gemma to you,’ I say, but my voice doesn’t come out quite as full of snark as I was aiming for. I overcompensate. ‘Nice to meet –’ I pause for a fraction of a second, then look down at the dog – ‘you. I’m sorry about your ridiculous name.’ I reach to give her a pat and she lolls her tongue out at me, tail going like a motor.

  He laughs, but doesn’t say anything. I watch him as he walks away, heading for the beach, the dog trotting obediently by his side.

  I wait for a few moments, until he’s almost out of sight, but he doesn’t turn around. It’s not until I go back in to where Esi is waiting with a questioning look that I realise I’m super disappointed.

  Chapter Two

  Gemma

  I should’ve given him my number. My shift has ended and we’re on our way to a celebration dinner with Michael, but I can’t help running through the conversation with Aaron one more time in my mind, even though I’ve already gone over it with Esi in between making coffee and wiping tables and mopping floors.

  ‘Well, maybe he’ll come in again,’ Esi said, a bit optimistically if you ask me.

  ‘But do you think I should have asked him out?’ I said. Again.

  ‘Gemma. Unless you’ve got a time machine, I think you’re asking the wrong question,’ Esi said, in a tone that indicated I’d used up all my dissecting a brief interaction with a hot stranger points for the day.

  All of a sudden, I realised how dumb I was being. I mean seriously, who cares? He was probably a tourist anyway, due to disappear next week. I decided to shove him out of my mind. I even let Esi change the music to a Now … ! CD, which she claimed was ‘fractionally more bearable than your rubbish’. Anyway, I can’t help it. I’ve always had a thing for country music. I like the instruments, and that special twang to match in the singers’ voices. Most of all, I love the way country songs are all story and emotion. Something real.