Jack just sits in stunned silence. “Yeah, you know what?” he finally says. “Respect. You’re right.” He looks at me, chewing his lip a bit. “You know, Nate, maybe it’s time.”
I raise an eyebrow. Time for what? What’s he talking about now?
“Time to quit the whole Insta influencer idea. Time to quit the whole get one over on Dylan and Tariq thing,” he continues. “’Cause it is, isn’t it? It’s all just … bollocks. And, like, maybe it’s just out of my system, but I don’t even feel like I need to any more. Don’t feel I’ve got anything to prove, maybe ’cause…” I swear he blushes slightly. “Well, it doesn’t matter what the reason might be.” He sniffs and carefully folds a napkin into a tight square. “You know, I didn’t say, and I know you don’t really look on Insta so I doubt you’ve seen, but they’re off to Ibiza tomorrow. Flying out to live the high life on the party island, celebrating promising themselves to each other, and” – he releases a breath – “I don’t even care.” He looks back up at me. “I just don’t, Nate.”
I press my lips together and nod. He’s right. I don’t care either. At some point, I’m not sure when, I stopped caring about using the account to get Tariq back, and just started having fun. It’s like a weight has lifted, the curse has gone, and it’s OK, because I feel like I’ve gained something way better. And maybe that’s why I suggest it. Maybe it’s because getting it all out, and then drawing a line under it, would normally be way too much of a brave thing for me to do, except now, I feel like I can go there. I don’t want to carry on, start the new school year with bad feelings towards Tariq and Dylan, and all the stress of everything being left unsaid. I’ve left so much unsaid all these years. And what I’ve found over this summer is that talking helps. Talking can make it better.
“We should talk to them,” I say.
Jack frowns at me. “Call them, you mean?”
I shake my head. “Face-to-face. Gotta be.”
“Brave.”
“They’re gonna be at, what, Heathrow tomorrow? Leaving for Ibiza?”
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Do it,” Leila says. “Go and make your peace with them. It’s time.”
I turn to Jack. “She’s right. It’s time. And, you know, I feel ready.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
JACK
A brief interlude just to say that the Piccadilly Line, all the way from central London to Heathrow, during morning rush hour, with all those people, and all that luggage, for all that way, is absolute hell, and I hope Dylan and Tariq really appreciate how much hell we have been through to come and see them and wish them well on their journey. I mean, that’s if we get there. Nate, Elliot and I have been stuck at Hammersmith for what feels like years. It’s a brand-new decade. In Rhianna’s London. And this is the mess we’re in.
“Nate?” I say, as we get off when we finally roll into Heathrow. “Whatever happens, whatever Tariq says, or doesn’t say, it’s OK, and…” I swallow. I adore him so much, I just wish I could tell him without it sounding weird because we’re mates and it doesn’t feel right. “It’ll be OK,” I say.
I squeeze his shoulder, because even if I can’t quite say it, I need him to know I’m here for him.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
NATE
We’re in time. I watch Tariq turn away from the check-in desk, passport and boarding pass in hand, and then stop dead as he sees me. He’s dressed in chino shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt – preppy and cute. He just stares. I give him a nod and a small wave. Like I used to when I’d see him walk into the school library.
Dylan (shorts, vest top and flip-flops like he’s already at the pool, because he’s one of those types), clocks Tariq, then me, then Jack, his face a picture of fury as he storms over and whisks Jack away from the check-in queue, leaving Tariq to walk over to me.
“Hey,” I say.
“Nate, what are you doing here?”
“Came to see you off?” I attempt a laugh, but I can’t manage it. I wanted to make this light, fun and easy, but I feel different to how I thought I would.
Tariq looks at me, pityingly. “Nate, I—”
“Can we talk though? Just quickly?”
“I guess,” Tariq says. He glances over to where Dylan looks like he’s having a very intense conversation with Jack, and then back round the check-in hall. “Should we get a coffee?”
I nod. “Great.”
I sit at a small table in Costa as Tariq comes over with two cappuccinos, which have inappropriately been adorned with chocolate powder in the shape of hearts.
“So?” Tariq says, stirring three sugars into his.
I swallow. “Still like the sugar, huh?” I say.
“Nate,” he says. “I really don’t have long, we’ve gotta get through security, and—”
I nod. “I know. I’m sorry. I just wanted to say…” And I stop because now I’m here, sitting in front of him, everything’s a tangle and I can’t think where to start. He wasn’t right for me? I wasn’t right for him? Did I try to make him fit when he didn’t? Is that my fault? Was he in the wrong? I don’t know and everything sounds wrong now, so I
