imagining I can hear Mattie whining. Sheâll 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 sheâs chewed through the lead and run off, trying to find her way back to Bob, like in The Incredible Journey . I donât hear the fox.
I think about Seb, wasting his time at home all day, not doing anything. Itâs not good for him. He should be doing A levels or training or something, not just lazing about. But I canât say that to him. Heâd 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.
Iâll see him tomorrow.
10
Iâm waiting at the bus stop wondering whatâs happened to Seb and whether he got the bus back in town or something, when the silver Renault pulls up.
âHop in quick. Iâm not supposed to park at a bus stop.â
The Year Eight girls waiting in the queue collapse into their usual fit of giggles. One of the boys does a stupid wolf whistle.
âTheyâre so dumb, arenât they?â Seb says. âWhatâs the matter with people that age?â
âHello to you too,â I say.
âSorry. Hello, Em.â He pulls away from the stop and does a three-point turn in about five goes. He grins. âThere. Not bad, eh?â
âBrilliant. Couldnât do better myself,â I say. âI thought your mum was working?â
âShe got back early. So I could borrow the car. Sheâs nice like that.â
âWhat does she do? Her job, I mean.â
Seb glances at me. âCare worker. What is it with you? Youâre obsessed with jobs. Work.â
I donât say anything. Are we about to have our first row? I donât say what Iâm thinking, which is that Iâm not obsessed about work. I was just curious about his mum. And actually heâs the one with the problem, if it comes to that. About not working. Hypersensitive or something.
âHow was school?â
âFine. How was your day?â
âLovely.â
âWhat did you do?â
âWent for a run. Read.â
âWhat?â
âA book about the Spanish Civil War. And I just finished Cormac McCarthyâs The Road .â
Iâm impressed, of course. He reads much more widely than I do. I donât tell him, though.
âSo,â Seb says, âwhere shall we walk the dog?â
âDown by the river? Or we could walk from the caravan, across the fields? Iâll have to change first. Get my wellies.â
Weâve got to the lane. Seb turns off down the tunnel of trees.
âStop just before the gate,â I say. âPark in the lay-by.â
We walk across the field together. The lights are on in the caravan, and thereâs no sign of Mattie or her cardboard box.
I open the door. This isnât how I planned things. Cassyâs already home, or perhaps sheâs never been to work: sheâs 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. âOh!â
âThis is Seb. Weâre going to take Mattie for a walk,â I gabble. âI thought youâd still be at work.â
Cassyâs flustered for a moment, then gathers herself together. âI didnât go, in the end,â she explains. âI felt I couldnât leave the dog alone all day. I had a bit of a headache.â
âShall I make some tea?â
âLovely,â Cassy says. âHello, Seb.â
âSebâs dad is one of the builders at the house,â I say. âHe helps there too, sometimes.â
âAh. I