Free Drawing with Light by Julia Green Page B

imagining I can hear Mattie whining. She’ll be missing Bob. Or freezing to death in the big cardboard box we gave her under the tarpaulin next to the bikes. I half expect to find in the morning that she’s chewed through the lead and run off, trying to find her way back to Bob, like in The Incredible Journey . I don’t hear the fox.
    I think about Seb, wasting his time at home all day, not doing anything. It’s not good for him. He should be doing A levels or training or something, not just lazing about. But I can’t say that to him. He’d go mad. I sound just like his parents.
    I start thinking about our first kiss. I replay the scene. That tingly, amazing feeling of his mouth soft against mine. The feel of his body, so close I can feel his heartbeat.
    I’ll see him tomorrow.

10
    I’m waiting at the bus stop wondering what’s happened to Seb and whether he got the bus back in town or something, when the silver Renault pulls up.
    â€˜Hop in quick. I’m not supposed to park at a bus stop.’
    The Year Eight girls waiting in the queue collapse into their usual fit of giggles. One of the boys does a stupid wolf whistle.
    â€˜They’re so dumb, aren’t they?’ Seb says. ‘What’s the matter with people that age?’
    â€˜Hello to you too,’ I say.
    â€˜Sorry. Hello, Em.’ He pulls away from the stop and does a three-point turn in about five goes. He grins. ‘There. Not bad, eh?’
    â€˜Brilliant. Couldn’t do better myself,’ I say. ‘I thought your mum was working?’
    â€˜She got back early. So I could borrow the car. She’s nice like that.’
    â€˜What does she do? Her job, I mean.’
    Seb glances at me. ‘Care worker. What is it with you? You’re obsessed with jobs. Work.’
    I don’t say anything. Are we about to have our first row? I don’t say what I’m thinking, which is that I’m not obsessed about work. I was just curious about his mum. And actually he’s the one with the problem, if it comes to that. About not working. Hypersensitive or something.
    â€˜How was school?’
    â€˜Fine. How was your day?’
    â€˜Lovely.’
    â€˜What did you do?’
    â€˜Went for a run. Read.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜A book about the Spanish Civil War. And I just finished Cormac McCarthy’s The Road .’
    I’m impressed, of course. He reads much more widely than I do. I don’t tell him, though.
    â€˜So,’ Seb says, ‘where shall we walk the dog?’
    â€˜Down by the river? Or we could walk from the caravan, across the fields? I’ll have to change first. Get my wellies.’
    We’ve got to the lane. Seb turns off down the tunnel of trees.
    â€˜Stop just before the gate,’ I say. ‘Park in the lay-by.’
    We walk across the field together. The lights are on in the caravan, and there’s no sign of Mattie or her cardboard box.
    I open the door. This isn’t how I planned things. Cassy’s already home, or perhaps she’s never been to work: she’s curled up asleep on the sofa under a blanket, and Mattie is stretched out on the swirly orange carpet next to her. She wags her tail nervously, as if she might be in trouble, stretches, yawns and sits up.
    Cassy opens one eye, sees Seb behind me, opens both eyes and sits up, startled. ‘Oh!’
    â€˜This is Seb. We’re going to take Mattie for a walk,’ I gabble. ‘I thought you’d still be at work.’
    Cassy’s flustered for a moment, then gathers herself together. ‘I didn’t go, in the end,’ she explains. ‘I felt I couldn’t leave the dog alone all day. I had a bit of a headache.’
    â€˜Shall I make some tea?’
    â€˜Lovely,’ Cassy says. ‘Hello, Seb.’
    â€˜Seb’s dad is one of the builders at the house,’ I say. ‘He helps there too, sometimes.’
    â€˜Ah. I