I Hold Your Heart Page 2

  The talk turned to other things, like college. It’s been weird not having Esi in my tutor group any more, now we’re doing different courses. We still see each other in the refectory though, along with the rest of the crowd from school, and on the bus.

  ‘I’ve got so much homework already,’ Esi groaned. ‘And Mum wants it all done before church tomorrow too.’

  ‘Well, that’s what you get when you sign up to four A levels.’

  ‘I’m seriously thinking I should’ve stuck at three, but then everyone else applying to medical school will have four.’ Esi’s a future doctor: she’s had it planned out since nursery, and so far, she’s right on track. ‘I spoke to Mum about it and she said I should cut back on something else.’

  ‘Like what? Not here? Or your martial arts?’ I didn’t mean to sound a teensy bit hopeful about the last option. It’s just that if Esi was going to be quitting anything, I’d rather it was her three-times-a-week training sessions than working in the cafe with me. We’ve had such a laugh all summer.

  ‘I don’t know. I want to do everything,’ she said.

  I kind of knew what she meant. Starting college feels like such a massive step, like suddenly the world’s got that much wider and there’s all these options you can choose from. A time to fly. Do something amazing. Or different, at least. For a moment, looking at Esi, it felt like life was full of possibilities.

  That was earlier though. Right now, sitting in the car, things feel pretty much the same as always. Dad drives us along the winding, narrow roads leading from the clifftops inland. A few times, when the road curves around, gaps open up to reveal flashes of the sea, a shining smudge on the horizon, but mainly it’s the same boring hedges rushing past my window.

  Dad parks the car up at the restaurant and we get seated at our usual table. We come here whenever there’s a win to celebrate, which means the waitress already knows what Michael’s going to order before he says anything: a plain chicken breast, steamed veg and a mountain of rice. Luckily for me, I don’t have to be match fit at all times, so I go for the double-decker burger with bacon, cheese and barbecue sauce, while Dad has a steak and Mum a salad.

  Mum’s salad looks a bit pathetic when it comes out, compared to our portions. I lean over and dump a handful of chips on her plate. ‘Go on,’ I say, with a grin, before she can say, ‘Ooh, I really shouldn’t.’

  ‘Well, maybe one or two,’ Mum says. Dad’s tucking right into his steak, but he gives her a quick smile.

  ‘You treat yourself,’ he says and she beams at him and the whole thing’s so mushy yet cute that I hold back on the sarky comment about getting a room. If Esi was here, she’d push back her twists with that look she gets when she’s about to start on feminism. She reckons food is political, especially when it’s women feeling guilty over chips, but I don’t know if it’s exactly like that with Mum. It’s more … an approval thing, maybe. Whatever, I leave it and catch Michael’s eye instead, making him smile.

  Michael’s only a year younger than me, which I’m not sure was 100 per cent planned, or maybe it was: Dad’s always joked he wanted a football team, but something went wrong after Michael was born and Mum couldn’t have any more kids.

  Dad continues the post-match analysis he started in the car. ‘That Arley midfielder couldn’t get near you, but you need to watch your turns …’

  I eat my dinner as Dad and Michael talk tactics and what’s coming up next, me and Mum chipping in every so often. Then, when Dad goes to the toilet, Michael says to me, ‘You want this?’ It’s the rest of his chicken; Dad told them to bring out two breasts because he reckoned Michael needs the protein. I’m pretty full, but I nod and say, ‘I’ll shove it under my bun,’ and swipe it off his plate. Mum doesn’t say anything. If we had a dog – and believe me, I begged my parents for years – then I could’ve saved it for him, or her. I could have a dog like Moonshine, all joyous tail and grinning mouth, who loves you just because.

  ‘How was work?’ Mum asks.

  ‘Oh yeah, good,’ I say vaguely, half my mind still on the golden Lab. And her owner.

  ‘Do you have much homework?’ Mum says.

  ‘A bit. We’re still doing all the introductory stuff. I’ve got an essay on the origins of psychology.’

  Michael leans forward. ‘Is it about Freud?’

  ‘Uhh …’ I haven’t actually started it yet, but I’m pretty sure the teacher wants us to go a bit further back than that. I love that Michael’s interested though. It’s like he tries his best to de-football when he can, which is not right now because Dad’s coming back to the table. He picks up where he left off, in between bites of steak. When he’s finished, he raises his glass of beer. ‘To Michael, for a fan-bloody-tastic opening match. I’m proud of you, lad.’

  We all chink glasses and I watch my not-so-little brother as he smiles, sending a quick thanks to whatever power might be lurking up there, that the bad run he had in the summer seems to be finally over.

  Dad has another pint, so Mum drives us home. She takes the twisty track up to our house in first gear, even though Dad tells her she can go a bit quicker. The car lurches over a couple of potholes as we climb. Our house stands almost alone, apart from Esi’s, perched at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. It’s so close to the cliff edge that we don’t have much of a garden and the only reason we could afford it was because there’s a fair chance our whole house is going to end up at the bottom of the cliffs one day. But I love living up here. Well, most of the time anyway. Sometimes I wish we lived in a city, or at least closer to pretty much everything, but then where else can you lie in bed and smell sea-salt air, or lean out of your window and watch the waves? Once I swear I saw a whale. No one believes me because the closest they’ve ever been spotted to us is in Lyme Bay, but when I was younger, I used to spend ages staring out of that window with a pair of old binoculars, making songs up in my head. That was before I got my first guitar. And I know it was a whale I saw, despite what Dad says. So yep, just occasionally there’s magic in our house, despite the fact it has no central heating and rotten window frames.

  When we get in, Michael says, ‘Grabbing another shower,’ and jumps up the stairs three at a time while Mum and Dad settle down in the living room, Dad’s arm slung over the back of the settee behind her. Dad got that settee last year so he and Michael can watch their matches on the TV that takes up one wall, and we’re not allowed feet on it, even in socks. If I brought a drink anywhere near the shiny leather, Dad would probably have a heart attack. It was pretty funny watching him pace around as the delivery guys tried to squeeze it through our tiny hallway though.

  I go up to my room, past the rows of pictures lining the stairs. Lots of Michael holding various trophies, family holidays and Mum and Dad’s wedding. My room is my little oasis. On one wall I have the Kacey Musgraves poster where she’s holding the peach fan. It cost loads to ship from the US but it was totally worth it, even if Esi disagrees. I’ve given up trying to get her to see the genius of Kacey, or any country music. The only exception I think she’s ever made is Iris DeMent’s ‘Wasteland of the Free’, but that’s just because she likes anything political. Anyway, my heart belongs to The Greenwoods, who are possibly the most perfect country duo in the UK. And ‘Greenwood’ is their actual surname – how awesome is that? Like some things are just meant to be.

  Next to my desk is my guitar and amp. I’ve also got an electric piano covered in sheet music, my works in progress. It was a squeeze to fit the piano into my room but there was nowhere else for it once The Settee arrived and anyway, I prefer having it up here, even if it means my stereo and recording equipment are now in a jumble under my desk. The piano was a gift from my nana when I was twelve and it’s what got me into music properly – learning to play and write songs myself as well as just listening and singing all around the house. I’ve only had a couple of years of lessons, but I’d already taught myself to read music before that and there’s loads of stuff on the internet too. I know Na
na would be proud of me. She died not long after she got me the piano and I still miss her sometimes. We didn’t see her much – I don’t think she got on well with Dad, who incidentally wasn’t impressed about the piano, especially when we had to lug it up the stairs – but she got me. What I mainly remember about her was that she gave the warmest hugs, but her eyes were always a little sad, because Grandad died before I was even born.

  After I get into my PJs, I sit at the piano and plug my headphones in. I’ve been working on a song for a while now, a duet. I try out some new harmonies, thinking about possible lyrics as I play. The story of a girl on the edge of the world, gazing out to sea. A boy by her side who takes her hand. Together they lift off and head towards the horizon, their toes skimming the waves, while overhead the sky bursts into colour.

  I stop and scribble a couple of notes down, but I already know I won’t forget this song. I’m dying to try the whole thing out loud without headphones, or on my guitar, but Michael always goes to bed early after matches and he’s got training tomorrow. I can’t resist going over it one more time, fingers flying on the keys, and don’t hear the knocking at my door until it opens and Mum’s standing there. I take my headphones off.

  ‘Dad says can you finish up? We can hear the pedal banging downstairs,’ Mum says.

  I nod and close the piano lid.

  Mum gives me a peck on the cheek. ‘Night, then.’

  In bed, the window open, I listen to the swish of the sea on rocks far below. It lulls me to sleep like always, but just before I drift off properly, it’s like the noise of the waves shifts, so that my new song is the last thing I’m thinking about as I fall asleep.

  Chapter Three

  Gemma

  ‘Have you even checked your phone?’ Cal shouts the next day the second he gets on the bus. Next to me, Esi looks up from her book. It’s something by someone Russian. Or possibly in Russian, knowing her. I’ve been doing that thing where you’re looking but not really seeing everything flying past and composing lyrics in my head. We were the first ones on the bus, given we live the furthest away. Esi’s family moved here from Ghana when she was a baby, and she’s been my next-door neighbour since I can remember. We’ve been walking down the track to the bus stop together for years now.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Esi says mildly. Cal bounces along the bus, throws himself down behind us and then pops his nose through the space between our seats.

  ‘Gemma of course,’ Cal says. He’s waving his phone madly in my direction. ‘How are you not excited by this?’

  ‘By what?’ I grab his waving hand and take his phone. A second later I shriek; I can’t stop myself. ‘When did you see this?’

  ‘Last night. I messaged you.’ Cal shakes his head. ‘So? You doing it?’

  I stare at the screen, feeling all the blood in my body firing up my face, making my heart pound as I reread:

  From Nashville with Love: The search for the UK’s best country songwriters

  Country music is booming in the UK. More people than ever are falling in love with the sounds of Nashville. Now we’re hunting for the nation’s most talented country songwriters. Could you be the UK’s next country sensation?

  My eyes track back down to the prizes. £10,000-worth of promotion, time in a recording studio, the chance to sing in front of all the major record labels and, best of all, a year’s mentoring from The Greenwoods.

  ‘Doing what?’ Esi says.

  I hand the phone wordlessly to her. She reads, then nods. ‘Cool. You should enter. It’s that band you like, isn’t it?’

  ‘The band I like?’ I echo faintly. I hear Cal let out a little laugh; he knows what The Greenwoods mean to me.

  ‘What song are you going to do?’ he says. Then, ‘You are entering, right?’

  ‘Uhhh …’

  It’s weird. I’m usually so confident in, well, pretty much everything.

  ‘You have to. This is huge.’

  ‘I know,’ I say. ‘But what if—’

  ‘Oh no. Nopey-nope. No way. Your stuff’s too good to go to waste. What was that one you uploaded on to YouTube the other day?’ He sings a few bars, loudly.

  ‘Oi!’ comes from the front of the bus. It’s Grumpy Sharon driving today. ‘Keep it down,’ she hollers over her shoulder. I hand Cal his phone and we pull faces at each other behind our hands in case she spots us in the rear-view mirror. Grumpy Sharon has been known to kick people off the bus before. I’m thinking hard, running through possible songs in my head, but all I can muster on repeat are the words, I want this. This is mine. Cal is uncharacteristically quiet, sensing I need some space to process. Esi’s gone back to her book. A while later, we pass our old school and Cal puts three fingers up to his forehead in a salute. The bus stops at some lights and he says, ‘Oh look, a magpie. Singular. On the school roof.’ He shakes his head in mock sadness as he looks at the students arriving. ‘And just think, that was us trudging in just a few short weeks ago.’

  ‘Do you mind? Some of us are trying to block out the memory of GCSEs,’ I say. I got decent results in the end, but the hours of revision and the gut-clenching feeling walking into that exam hall have made me wonder more than once why I’m subjecting myself to more of the same at A level.

  I’ve got a free period first thing, so technically I don’t have to be at college until ten, but Mum goes the other way into work and Dad always drives Michael to training. My seventeenth birthday cannot come fast enough. While Esi heads off to Chemistry, I go with Cal into the refectory, get out my laptop and attempt to start my Psychology essay, but I keep getting my phone out to read about the competition again. There are three rounds: auditions, then regional finals, with the winners from the twelve regions going on to a national final. The website says the national final will be televised. Whoa.

  Before long, everyone else is pulling out chairs and soon I’m in the middle of a noisy argument about Queer Eye. Cal reckons the chemistry between the Fab Five is all faked for the cameras. ‘None of them can stand each other. Fact. There’ll be public spats before long,’ he says.

  ‘Spats?’ I say, shaking my head.

  ‘Yes, spats. I’m telling you.’ Cal sits back and sips from a gigantic cup of tea, his lips pursed primly. ‘And have you noticed how they give them all the exact same set of shirts? It’s like a uniform or something. I’m gonna grow this –’ he motions at his barely-there stubble – ‘into a full-on giant Gandalf beard, like that guy from season one.’

  ‘Nice.’ I wrinkle up my nose.

  Next to me, Phoebe and her girlfriend, Beth, have their heads together over Beth’s phone. Beth’s one of the few newcomers to our group; she went to school the other side of town, but she’s been going out with Phoebe since the middle of Year 11. I think they met online. They’ve been super loved-up since Beth wangled coming to college here and they get to spend every day with each other.

  I’m still thinking about the songwriting competition. Cal looks over and says, ‘So, you’ve decided which song you’re doing, haven’t you?’ and grins. The annoying thing is, he’s almost right. The duet I’ve been working on, ‘Sea Dreams’, would be perfect.

  Phoebe looks up. ‘What’s this?’ After Cal fills her in, her soft eyes get wide. ‘Are you going to enter?’ she says.

  I take a second and the words come to me again: This is mine. And I know, like Cal knew, that I made up my mind a nanosecond after reading the word ‘mentoring’ in the list of prizes.

  ‘Sure!’ I say, all breezy grin. It’s like muscle memory; you just have to act confident, that’s most of the battle. After a while, it stops being an act, and then it’s just you. I think.

  ‘I wish I had the guts. Or the voice,’ Phoebe says.

  She does have the voice, in this breathy, quiet way. We’ve done school musicals together before, Phoebe usually playing second to my lead, but it’s never got in the way of our friendship.

  ‘You do, on both counts,’ I say.

  Phoebe smiles, but I ca
n already tell she’s talking herself out of it, which is kind of a shame because the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced a duet would be my best shot. I’m about to say this when a crash from the corner distracts me. There’s an indoor football table set up there, next to the only settees in the refectory. Since term started a couple of weeks ago, it has been swiftly established as the place the second years hang out – usually a gang of that sort of guy. The ones who might be in college but at heart they’re still at the flicking-girls’-bra-straps-and-giving-them-marks-out-of-ten stage of emotional development. They’re normally accompanied by a couple of girls who are ‘allowed’ to sit and watch their games. I’m sure when I walked by last week I caught them all smirking over a phone with porn on it, if the noises were anything to go by. Bleurgh.

  One of the guys is whacking the side of the football table, and when that doesn’t work, lifting it up to tilt it; it seems the ball has got stuck somewhere. I’m about to turn away, back to my own group of friends, when I stop short.

  Right in the centre, a girl with cascades of blonde hair so close to him she’s practically got her boobs pressed against his arm, is the guy from yesterday.

  Aaron.

  Chapter Four

  Gemma

  There’s about five seconds of stunned surprise, which feels like a lot longer, and then I’m sure his eyes meet mine. Before I can decide what to do, Cal’s snapping his fingers in front of my face and saying, ‘Wakey-wakey, it’s almost ten.’

  I stand up, flustered, fumbling with my laptop and shoving it in my bag, before looking over again, but there’s no sign of Aaron. Cal links his arm through mine and we walk up to meet Esi in Psychology. We’re launched straight into research methods, our tutor telling us we’re going to be designing our own mini-projects over the next few weeks. So it’s not until we’re back at what’s becoming our usual table, when we can grab it, at lunchtime, that I get the chance to mention my Aaron sighting to Esi.