Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

line for a song, don’t you think? I might write that down.’

Amy watched as Simon grabbed a pen and started scribbling on a beer mat, ignoring a scowl from the barman. ‘You were all of our rocks,’ added Simon, when he was done. ‘Tim, Chantel. And me.’ He hesitated, and Amy saw a cloud of hurt drift across his features. ‘I think it was you I missed the most,’ he said. ‘When they went missing.’

‘I’ve been here,’ said Amy.

‘You were at first,’ he said. ‘When you thought I might be able to help you find them. But when you found out I didn’t know anything, you stopped calling too.’

‘I was upset,’ said Amy, feeling the need to defend herself.

‘Course you were,’ said Simon. ‘I was too. You guys were my best mates. When those other two went, I thought maybe we’d get closer. But it was like you went missing too.’

Amy hesitated. She had never thought of her and Simon as particularly close, but they had a lot of shared history, shared experiences. Even a shared flat for a long time. She supposed they had been friends too. And she’d left him. Just like Tim and Chantel had left her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Water under the bridge,’ said Simon, his voice falsely light. He held his beer up to Amy and they chinked glasses again, the sound of glass on glass making Amy flinch.

‘Anyway,’ babbled Simon, clearly wanting to lighten the maudlin tone. ‘I hadn’t seen him for a little while before he was off for good. He’d fallen in with some others, a bad crowd.’

‘What others?’ asked Amy, her ears pricking.

‘House music fans. Up to no good. Wouldn’t know decent music if it hit them in the earhole. He even went to a few “gigs” with them. Not that you can call that stuff a gig.’

‘Right before . . . it happened? I don’t remember that.’

‘It was probably while you were away in Florence.’

Amy nodded. ‘Do you have names?’

‘No chance. Only met them once myself. Seemed nasty.’ He stood up. ‘Another drink? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’

‘No thanks,’ said Amy, ‘I need to get home.’ She hesitated. ‘But another time,’ she added. ‘I’ve missed you.’ As soon as she said the words, Amy realised she meant them.

Simon smiled at her, his face brightening. ‘For sure,’ he said. ‘Course you have.’

She heard it before she saw him. Boing boing boing. Irregular, arrhythmic. Sure enough, Charles was bouncing his ball outside her house. ‘I’m being careful of your pots,’ he pre-empted. ‘Look, the ball is under control. That’s fifty-six bounces now.’ The ball rebelled and bounced away from his hand at an acute angle just as he said that. Charles gave chase. He bent down to coax it out from under a parked car. ‘You put me off,’ he scolded her.

Amy nodded and walked past him to go into her house.

‘It’s OK,’ said Charles. ‘I don’t mind. I’ve finished now anyway.’ Amy turned and realised he’d followed her up her garden path, his ball fitted neatly under his arm.

‘Isn’t it a bit late for you to be out?’ she asked.

‘I’m eight and a half now,’ said Charles. Amy looked at him blankly. ‘That’s almost nine,’ he explained. ‘You’re late, too,’ he added. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Nowhere interesting,’ said Amy. She wanted to open her door and go inside, but she’d much rather the boy and his ball were at a safe distance first.

‘Was it a date?’ asked Charles.

‘That is certainly none of your business,’ said Amy, surprised. ‘Now, if you don’t mind . . . ’

‘Would you like a pineapple juice?’

Amy found she was rather thirsty after that gin and tonic and would like a pineapple juice, but she wasn’t going to admit it now. Not when she needed to go inside and plan her next steps. ‘No thank you,’ she said. ‘Won’t your parents be worried about you?’

‘My dad knows where I am,’ said Charles, confidently. ‘And Mum is dead.’

He said it so matter-of-factly that Amy didn’t know what to say.

‘Is Nina home?’ she asked, finally.

‘She’s at Rachel’s house,’ said Charles. ‘They are besties now.’ He grimaced.

‘Maybe I will have that juice,’ she said, remembering Richard’s invitation to pop in. ‘Just quickly.’

Charles let out a whoop of joy. ‘You’re the first friend I’ve had to visit here,’ Charles told her, taking her hand in his own clammy one and leading her to his front door, where he released her hand again to struggle with the key for a moment. ‘Do you like diggers?’

‘Not particularly,’ replied Amy. She followed him. He turned around to shush her as they walked past the living room. She glanced inside. Richard sitting on the sofa with Daniel curled up on top of him, with a little stream of dribble running from his mouth on to his father’s T-shirt. Richard waved and put his finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. Amy crept past. They both looked so comfortable, so relaxed. So happy.

‘Excavators?’ asked Charles, when they reached the kitchen.

‘What?’

‘Do you like excavators? I’ve got a really good one. Fully to scale, just like the one they use on real-life building sites. Dad gave it to me for my eighth birthday, because I’ve been so good.’

‘Not really,’ replied Amy. Charles took the juice from the fridge. He filled a glass to the very brim with the bright yellow liquid, and some swilled out on to the floor as he walked over to where she’d perched awkwardly at the small breakfast bar. He lifted her glass to his mouth and siphoned some up before passing it to her.

‘Cranes?’

Amy thought a moment. ‘I suppose they are all right,’ she said. ‘For lifting stuff up high.’

‘Great choice,’ said Charles, enthusiastically. ‘Cranes are awesome. They are my third favourite heavy vehicle, after diggers and excavators. Do you want to see my collection?’

‘Maybe later,’ said Amy, sipping her juice. It was wonderfully cold and made her think that she should get her fridge seen to. Nothing ever