Free A Hundred Pieces of Me by Lucy Dillon Page A

remnants of their own dream home was a bicycle repair kit. Not the wedding photos, not their albums, not the thoughtful presents she’d chosen for him over the years. Not her.
    Gina flipped the phone over and tried not to think about Auntie Gloria and her beautiful, unused trifle bowl.

Chapter Four
     
     
     
    ITEM : the complete works of William Shakespeare – complete with essay notes, margin notes and notes passed between Naomi and me in English class
     
     
     
    November 1996, Hartley High School
     
    The sixth-form common room is emptying after break as Gina hovers by the pay-phone, and checks her watch again.
    11.26 a.m.
    She bounces on her toes. He’d said call at half eleven. Should she call early? Would that look too keen?
    Yes, it would. Gina is desperate to hear Kit’s voice but at the same time paralysed with shyness. This is the best moment, just before it’s happened, and she’s hoarding it like chocolate cake, too nice to eat.
    She looks around for Naomi’s copper hair in the crowd around the door, where books are dumped between lessons. She’d said she’d wait till Naomi got back, but Naomi’s always late.
    11.27 a.m.
    Gina’s ostensibly ringing to find out if Kit has got the tickets for a gig at one of the student unions; it’s an underground band they both thought only they’d heard of, booked before the band in question had had a surprise chart hit. It’s going to make her late for the one class no one’s ever late for, but now that’s not remotely important, not compared with hearing Kit’s voice.
    Butterflies swarm around her stomach and, unable to stand it any longer, she lifts the receiver.
    A hand claps on her shoulder. ‘Who’re you calling?’
    Gina jumps, but it’s only Naomi, smelling suspiciously strongly of mints and perfume. ‘Who’d you think?’
    ‘Oooh. What did he say?’
    ‘I haven’t called him yet.’
    ‘What? Why not?’
    ‘Because I was waiting for you. And . . .’ Gina looks round: no one’s listening. ‘Because I’m nervous?’
    ‘Psch.’ Naomi looks scornful but excited. ‘Get on with it!’
    Gina glances at the big clock on the wall. 11.30 a.m. It’s time. She piles her coins ready. She has so much change it’s nearly falling off the ledge. The humiliation of running out mid-conversation is unthinkable. She hesitates. ‘Do you think it looks better to wait until . . .?’
    ‘No.’ Naomi holds out her hand for the phone. ‘Do you want me to ring?’
    ‘No! I’m doing it! Is anyone looking at me?’
    ‘Course not. I don’t know why you can’t just call Lover-boy from home. Where you could, you know, enjoy talking to him.’
    ‘Are you kidding? You know what Mum’s like. She’d go mental.’
    Naomi looks amused. ‘What’s she going to do when you get to university? Glue your knickers on and tie you to a big stretchy rope?’
    ‘Probably. Look, it’s still OK for us to stay with Shaun if Kit’s managed to get the tickets, right? He’s definitely going to let us stay in his room?’ Gina’s eyes widen. ‘And you’re definitely up for it?’
    ‘Yeah. A weekend with my pain-in-the-arse brother so my best mate can get off with some blond surfer dude who looks like Kurt Cobain’s public-school cousin, totally top of my list.’ She looks wry. ‘The things I do for you.’
    ‘It’s not like that, Nay.’ Gina’s normally good with words, but she can’t explain this. She used to think that it-was-like-a-thunderbolt stuff was ridiculous – until she met Kit, and something clicked inside them both. They’d spent the whole weekend after the student union event just talking. Through the night, all next morning, till the second the train left. Tripping over words, shared thoughts, matching coincidences as if they might run out of time. ‘ Kit ’s not like that . . . We’ve got so much in common, he writes me actual letters. He makes me feel like there’s something special about me . . .’
    ‘Because there is ,