Page 20 of Sad Girl Hours

Chapter Twenty

Nell

When I reach for my phone the following morning, I see I still don’t have any replies from Saffron, even though I know she usually wakes up at six every day.

Disappointment sparks in the cracks of my brain and I sit up in bed as something occurs to me. Something that makes me want to groan out loud because it’s bloody typical I’d realise this so soon after my meeting with Becks.

I’ve spent more time with Saffron this year than ever before. And I still want more.

I, Nell Paige Holloway, want more of her (Saffron James Lawrence).

Not the physical more I’ve felt only a scant handful of times, not the thing that Lord Byron became infamous for, but more all the same. I want more time with her. I want to know more of what she’s thinking and feeling all the time. I want to know more of the things that she doesn’t say out loud.

I don’t know what this means exactly but it’s occurring to me for perhaps the first time ever that I don’t have to know exactly what it means to still acknowledge that it means something . Huh.

I open my notes app and start typing.

Do the leaves fall so that spring will feel the pressure on the ground

and fight harder to push its green through?

Or do the leaves fall because they grow tired of clinging on to something

and spring is their reward for trusting in the unknown

for taking a leap without knowing what possibilities lurk under the ground.

Does Persephone know this

is this why she made the deal to come back from the underworld every spring

to place them all back on their branch with a kiss

spreading green, spreading hope for it all

that maybe this time they won’t grow so weary

or that life can be enjoyed without knowing what’s to come

that sometimes it’s enough to drift in the breeze

and not know anything at all.

Satisfied, I save the note, and start to get ready for my day, periodically checking my phone for messages that never come.

“Did you see Saffron last week?” I ask Casper a couple of days later when we’re walking back from watching some of Jenna’s dress rehearsal together.

“We live together,” he says. “So yes, occasionally.”

“And is she … OK?”

I know I’m not entitled to her time but we’ve got a bucket list to complete and we had plans – tentative ones, sure, but she’s avoided all my messages about making them un tentative.

“She seems so,” Casper answers. “You know Saffron – she’s pretty unflappable.”

Do we know Saffron? I ask internally. “Sure,” I say out loud. “I guess.”

He glances sideways at me. “We’re all pretty busy at the minute. Everything’s ramping up towards our f irst lot of exams. We’re still going to the thing at the castle this weekend, though, right?”

“Definitely,” I say with more certainty than I feel. I’m really excited, but I’m also getting worried that Saffron will bail. If she’s avoiding me for some reason, then maybe she’ll want to keep doing that. And if she really is just busy, then who’s to say something won’t ‘come up’ this weekend?

“I can’t wait for you all to see my costume.” Casper looks mischievous, which is both never and always a good sign. Then his expression shifts – running a hand through his ridiculous blond hair. “Jenna’s shown me hers,” he says. “She looks … well, unhinged. But also beautiful.”

“She usually does,” I say as a cheeky test, and to my great delight he sighs. Moonily.

“Yes. Yes, she does.”

It’s my turn to glance sideways at him now and, predictably, he looks like the human equivalent of a marshmallow. “She was so great today, wasn’t she?” he says. “She’s so talented. If she’s not a star of stage and screen one day, then I’ll eat my hat.”

“She was wonderful, yes. She was born to be on stage. But also, you’re not wearing a hat,” I point out.

Casper pats the top of his head. “Ah. No. Well, I shall go and purchase a hat that I will proceed to consume should my prediction not come true. Which it won’t.”

“But at least then you’ll have a fancy new hat.”

He nods. “Quite right, Eleanora. Quite right.”

The rest of the week passes by with still no word from Saffron.

We miss the hunter’s moon – I look out of my window at it, but it’s not quite the same as heading up to the park with Saffron to listen to her tell me all about it.

It was beautiful, huge and amber, but I know it would have looked more beautiful with her.

We were going to go and pick pumpkins too.

Halloween is tomorrow, Monday, and this is the latest I’ve ever left my pumpkin carving.

In fact, normally I do them way too early because I get excited and then they go mouldy, so we have to put them out in the back garden to decompose or be eaten by local wildlife and go and get new ones.

Saffron can’t ignore me today, though. Jenna and I get ready in our (excellent, if we do say so ourselves) costumes, and head over to the lads’ house.

We’re all going to the Halloween event at the castle.

It’s basically a giant sleepover with everyone dressed up, except instead of sleeping on a friend’s lumpy sofa we’ll be in the castle dungeons.

I’m very excited. I’m hoping that I’ll come across a ghost who was wrongfully convicted that I can befriend and get justice for.

Plus, we decided to combine our Gothic Horror Night with the dungeon outing. So, all of our costumes are either a character from a gothic story in literature or an author of one, and we’re all bringing our respective books along so we can read out the spookiest sections to each other.

I’m dressed as Edgar Allan Poe, complete with an old black velvet suit I got in a charity shop a few years back, cravat, fake moustache and a (regrettably) stuffed raven stuck to my shoulder. Honestly? I’ve never looked better. It’s a vibe.

Jenna, after insisting I did a drum roll before she entered the room in classic theatre-kid style, reveals herself to be wearing a long white nightdress that, when she spins round, reveals red, orange and yellow fabric sewn into the bottom (Vivvie’s handiwork, I’m sure), paired with a crown of flames.

“And you are…” I asked.

“Bertha, Mr Rochester’s wife. Duh,” she answers, still spinning. “An absolutely wronged queen. I wish she’d managed to finish the job and kill that crusty-ass bitch.”

“Iconic.”

“Well, Mr Poe? Should we venture out into this dark and stormy night and fetch our acquaintances?”

I take her by the arm. “Let’s, my dear.”

Ten minutes later and I’m on the floor in uncontrollable contortions of laughter.

Casper, standing above me, asks, “What?!” as if I’m the ridiculous one. As if he’s not standing there dressed as a 1930s housekeeper, complete with drab period dress, dark grey wig and drawn-on wrinkles.

I still can’t speak through my giggles.

“The real Mrs Danvers wouldn’t stand for any of this nonsense, Nell,” he says so seriously that it sets me off again.

“Casper, I adore you,” I say when I manage to get hold of myself, but I’m still on the floor when Viviana and Saffron walk into the room.

“Oh,” I say, scrambling up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Saffron says back, smiling at me like nothing’s wrong. Maybe nothing is. But then her gaze is only on me for a flit, not letting me bask in her warmth like I normally would. “What do you think?” She addresses the room, holding her dress out to one side.

“You must be…” I say, taking in the Regency-style dress and chamberstick in her hand, “Catherine Morland? Northanger Abbey ?”

She turns the book she’s holding round so I can see that I’m right. “Uh-huh,” she says. “Well done.”

She’s still being – I don’t know … succinct. And I don’t know what to do to fix it.

“Ahem,” Vivvie says. “What about me?”

She is wearing a floaty grey dress with a handkerchief hem, she’s painted every visible inch of her body in thick grey paint, and she’s carrying an ornate gold frame that she’s holding so her torso is in view through it.

“AHA!” Casper finger-guns. “ The Picture of Dorian Gray ! Excellent. I’m a big Oscar Wilde fan – no double entendre intended, however accurate it might be.”

Vivvie smiles approvingly (for a change). “Quite right.”

I have to chime in. “You know that Dorian Gray wasn’t actually grey himself, right? That was just his name.”

“Escúchame,” Vivvie says, “I’m a very busy woman. I don’t have time to read books from the eighteen hundreds. I just went with a literal interpretation. And Casper got it straight away, so it obviously worked.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” I reply, “it’s an excellent costume. Good luck washing the paint off you, though. I painted myself grey for a party last year – I was one of Medusa’s victims,” I explain. “My sister was Medusa, and my brother waved their snake around her hair.”

“What an interesting family you are,” Vivvie says with both scorn and love.

“Anyway, my point is that it took me three days and four showers to get all the grey out of my crevices. So, good luck.”

“Gracias. I’ll be sure to keep the group chat posted on the colour of my crevices.”

We all laugh.

“Well,” I say, looking around at my friends and feeling warm and cosy.

I love that I don’t have to mask my weird interests around them.

They love me for my schemes and slightly excessive commitment to the bit.

“You all look amazing – I’m so glad you’re willing to be drafted into my ridiculous ideas. ”

“Any time,” Casper says. “We love all your schemes,” and I have to force myself not to laugh again when I see him looking so earnest while dressed as the infamous evil housekeeper from Rebecca .

“Should we head off?” Jenna asks. “We’ve got a dungeon to sleep in and several dozen people to confuse with our costumes.”

We agree that it’s time to leave and make our way to town. I fall into step next to Saffron, Casper and Vivvie heading up the front with their long strides, Jenna trying to match them close behind.

“Hi,” I say again. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Saffron says, like there’s anyone else I could possibly be addressing. “I’m good. You?”

“Good too. I missed you this week, though.”

I see Saffron’s throat bob with a swallow before she replies. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been preparing for exams. You know what it’s like.”

“Sure, sure.”

I nod, though internally I want to scream.

I hate having this weird, stilted conversation.

I want her to tell me the truth. I’m sure it must be stressful with exams. I know the STEM subjects have way more exams to contend with than us silly English students (though at least theirs don’t have ten-bajillion-mark essay questions).

But that doesn’t explain why she’s not looking me in the eye for longer than a hummingbird’s heartbeat or why she ignored all my messages.

I feel pathetic thinking about it. Again, she doesn’t owe me anything. I just thought we’d grown close these past few months. Closer than awkward silences and walking along with a space between us so our hands don’t brush as they swing.

But the silence continues until we reach the bottom of the hill, no words trailing behind us like the glow of the street lamps extending backwards along the pavement.