The Boy Who Broke Mirrors (Chapter Ten)

The Boy Who Broke Mirrors

(Chapter Ten)

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I wake to rap music. It takes a while for my mind to properly surface as thoughts, feelings and memories swarm my head, and it takes me even longer to realise where I am. I’m still at Preston’s squat. I don’t remember leaving it anyway. I open my eyes but I can’t see anything except white because I’m wrapped up in a bundle of blankets, as if I’m floating on aftershave scented clouds. Once I manage to sit up I’m momentarily blinded by the sunlight streaming through the room’s windows, and I can’t help but desire the candlelight to return. I recognise the rap song as a Plan B one just as I recognise Preston’s figure above me. He hands me a glass of something clear. Water, I figure.

“What time is it?” I ask, still a little confused. “How long have I been asleep?”

There’s a slight smirk on his face as he sits onto the floor next to me. “Well, you slept the whole night through, and it’s now approximately.” He pauses as he glances down to his phone. “Quarter to one in the afternoon.”

I widen my eyes. Is he serious? I’m all for a Sunday lie in, but bloody hell, I’ve been asleep so long that I’ve basically died and resurrected myself. I take a sip of the water Preston handed me as I sit up, and the water clears my mind as it clears my throat. With the clarity come the questions. Has Dad tried contacting me? Where’s Matty gone? Has he gone home? Does Mum know I ran out on Dad? Will I go home to find Gwen in the house? I begin with the only question Preston can answer.

“Has Matty left?”

He leans back and places his palms onto the floor behind him for support. He nods. “I drove him home when you were asleep last night.”

“You can drive?” I ask before he can continue.

That makes no sense to me. The first time I went to what I originally thought was Preston’s house, he was walking home from college. Since then I’ve assumed he can’t drive, or at least that he doesn’t have a car to drive in the first place. In fact, how on earth could he afford to keep a car? Per usual, Preston catches on to my confusion.

“I share a car with Robbie. He has it the majority of the time, but I’m insured on it. I help towards its MOT’s among other costs, so he lets me use it occasionally. He’s in West Wales with his parents so I’ve got it for the weekend.”

I nod slowly. I guess that makes sense. But then let’s face it: it’s Preston, and nobody knows when the hell Preston is being completely honest. I don’t even think he knows himself. I take another gulp of water as I scramble around the mattress for my phone to find that Dad has text me. I have four missed calls off him too, and as I stare at his name on the screen in front of me all I can think about is how I don’t want to go back home. Not yet. As I’m texting him back, a text from Mum comes through. I haven’t seen her in days.

“We’re in Miskin Street, right?” I ask Preston as he stands up. He nods. “D’you know how far Roath is from here? My mum’s staying with a friend there, so I was thinking I might go and see her.”

“It’s a good half an hour walk,” he replies thoughtfully. He doesn’t say anything else as he takes my empty glass and heads towards the kitchen area. I almost don’t think he’s ever going to say anything else until he turns back to me and shrugs. “I’ll drive you, if you want. It’s not even ten minutes by car.”

“You sure?” I ask, a little surprised at his offer. “If you don’t mind, then yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

Preston shrugs with indifference and puts my glass onto one of the units, and it’s only now I question how he got the water. Is the plumbing working despite this place technically being unoccupied? There’s a sink installed into one of the units, so it’s certainly a possibility. I try not to question it any further because questioning is all I ever seem to do around Preston, and I’m beginning to wonder if I should just start accepting things for what they are.

By three o’ clock we’re on our way to Roath. I’ve borrowed a jumper from Preston to pair with my jeans, and with him being incapable of wearing clothing his size, it’s absolutely enormous on me. I used to think he used practiced precision to achieve the I just rolled out of bed but it’s blatantly obvious I spent at least three hours on my appearance look, but it turns out I was wrong. Five minutes before we left he literally threw on whatever the hell he found first, left his hair to fall messily onto his forehead, and it all just seemed to miraculously work in his favour. It sort of pissed me off. Of all people, it would be that easy for him to look decent, wouldn’t it? People would probably be sick at the sight of me if I put that little effort into my appearance.

The winter sun beams through the car windows as we drive through Cathays, and Preston’s paisley patterned shirt is so baggy that it’s hanging off his left shoulder. I’ve never noticed before but he has a script tattoo beneath his collar bone, and as I tilt my head to read it I realise it’s written in Welsh. Gwasgara'r ofnau cyn daw'r wawr. I stare at it for a few minutes while trying to figure out what it says.

“Banish my fears before the dawn.” Preston’s voice catches me off guard. “That’s what it roughly translates to. It’s from a song.” He glances at me before turning back to the road, and wavers slightly. “My mum’s favourite.”

“How do you pronounce it?”

Preston glances at me again before speaking the lyric as it should sound, and in that moment I would give anything to be able to speak the language myself. While I went to an English speaking school, both Preston and Robbie went to a Welsh one. I sometimes forget that because the only time I hear Preston speaking Welsh is when he refers to mathematical terms during our lessons. I wonder if his mum’s first language is Welsh. This is the first time he’s ever acknowledged her existence, and this may be my only chance to ask about her. Just as I’m about to do that, the house Mum’s staying in comes into view.

“Oh, that’s it!” I announce suddenly.

I point at the small house in the corner ahead of us, and Preston nods before pulling up onto the pavement outside it. As the car comes to a halt I remember why it is I haven’t seen Mum in so long, and a wave of uneasiness crashes through my stomach. That look. The expectant look she gives me every single time I see her, the look that’s waiting for me to break down. To show any sign of emotion.

“Effie? Are you going in, or?”

“Yeah, I just…” I clear my throat. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be, so do you want to come in with me? I don’t want to make you wait out here for ages or anything, so yeah, y’know, if you want.”

I am absolutely shit at lying, aren’t I? The reality is that I want him to come with me because if he’s there then I know it’ll be easier to avoid Mum’s gaze, and I know he’ll help keep me distracted. It’s painstakingly obvious that what I just said isn’t true--in fact, I may as well have the word bullshit tattooed onto my forehead--but Preston nods as if I’m the most cunning liar ever to set foot on earth. He can clearly see right through me but he doesn’t question me, and I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated anything so much.

#

I haven’t seen Mum smile so broadly in months. The second she spots me entering the kitchen with Preston by my side, she jumps up from her chair and introduces herself to him before even looking at me. Once she’s done with him, she wraps her arms around me and squeezes tighter than I think she ever has before. She’s still smiling when we sit beside the kitchen table. Her friend whose house this is, Cerys, offers us some tea and begins making it before we actually give her an answer.

Mum starts Preston's interrogation the second she gets the chance, and for the first time ever it makes me smile rather than want to bang my head against a lamppost until I lose consciousness. It’s like she’s herself again, like the situation with Dad never happened.

“You’re a different lad to the one Effie met in town a few weeks ago, right?”

Now most mothers would probably say that with uneasiness, with an underlying worry of their daughter being the kind of girl who has a name for herself. Not Mum though. She's just over the moon that her theory of me being a lesbian is getting crushed with every male I encounter. 

“Uh yeah, it’s not like that though, we’re just friends,” I say before Preston gets a chance to answer.

“Oh, okay,” Mum replies slowly. “Of course you are. Sorry.”

She’s as bad of a liar as me, and so the grin still slapped onto her face clearly states that she doesn’t believe me. Quite frankly, so long as it keeps that expectant look away from her eyes then I couldn’t care less if she believes me or not. Mum winks one of her blue eyes at me as Cerys squeezes between my chair and the dishwasher to hand me a mug of tea.

“I love your shirt, by the way,” she says to Preston as she hands him his mug.

“Cheers.” Preston leans back in his chair and flashes a lopsided smile. “I sort of match your curtains, don’t I?”

He nods at the paisley curtains hanging from the square window behind him as Mum and Cerys start laughing, and I can’t help giggling a little myself.

“Well you definitely pull it off best,” Cerys replies with a wink, and despite her being at least forty years old, I think she may be flirting with him. I barf in my mouth a little.

She flashes Preston another smile as she leaves the room and heads upstairs. Just as she does so Livvy enters, catching me by surprise in the process. I didn’t see her car here. I haven’t seen her in at least two weeks now that she’s back in uni. She’s tying her wavy hair into a ponytail as she steps into the room. We’ve almost always shared the same ash blonde hairstyle, but she’s always looked so much better with her hair like that than I do. She’s about to say something when her eyes land on Preston, and in an instant she freezes, her hair mid-ponytail.

“Oh, Olivia, this is Effie’s friend, Preston,” Mum says as Livvy regains herself, and it’s impossible not to notice the emphasis on ‘friend’.

She gestures to Preston, who smiles at my sister. Unlike Livvy’s reaction to him, there’s no kind of hesitance in his manner. Does Livvy know him? She can’t do. How on earth would she have met Preston before? They’re the same age but she went to a different school to him, so that can’t be it. Maybe Livvy just knows of him because everyone seems to. She’s nodding at me before my thoughts can run on any longer.

“Eff, come outside a sec, I’ve got something of yours,” she says, gesturing for me to leave the room with her.

“Um, okay…” I reply slowly, completely aware that she has absolutely nothing to give me.

Mum’s eyebrows are raised at Livvy, probably because she didn’t acknowledge Preston when Mum introduced him, but my sister doesn’t seem to notice. I follow her out of the room and into the long hallway. Its walls are painted a dull green colour, and so it’s darker here compared to the bright blue kitchen.

“That’s Zack Maddox, right? You’re not seeing him, are you?” Livvy snaps at me once we’re out of earshot. “Please tell me you’re not.”

My sister is the one person who somehow achieves the physical impossibility of shouting while whispering, and it’s always been a skill I’ve been envious of.

“It is, yeah, and no, we’re just friends…”

I’m about to ask Livvy why she’s throwing a hissy fit when I realise exactly what’s going on. She called him Zack. She must have met him at a party, and when a girl leaves a party this angry at Zack Maddox then there’s generally only one explanation. I stare at my sister, wide-eyed.

“Liv, please tell me you haven’t done the dirty with him because if you have then I swear to God I might actually laugh myself to death.”

“It’s not funny, Effie, just--”

“Girls!” Mum shouts from the kitchen. “Stop yapping in the hallway, it’s rude!”

Livvy flashes me another strained look before heading into the living room. She doesn’t even glance into the kitchen as she passes. Preston must have told Mum how he’s my Maths tutor because as I return to the kitchen, she’s making a joke about the time I thought Pythagoras was a synonym for fireplace.

#

The second we step out of Cerys’ house I turn to Preston and ask the one question that’s been weighing down my mind for the past hour.

“Have you slept with my sister?”

Neither of us steps off the porch as Preston starts laughing.

“Possibly.” He shrugs, holding back more laughter. “Where did that assumption come from?”

“She sort of told me you had. Well, she didn’t deny it when I asked her anyway.”

Preston’s silent for a few seconds, and it looks like he’s trying to retrieve something from his memory. He twirls his car keys around his index finger. A grin explodes onto his face, and he doesn’t need to say anything for me to know the answer of my question. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Holy… Livvy’s smart. She’s doing a bloody Chemistry degree at university, how could she have ever fallen for…” I gesture towards Preston, and it’s obvious I’m referring to when his undiagnosed personality disorder makes him Zack. “No offence, but when you’re like that you’re about as endearing as a pint of milk ten years past its expiry date. I mean, I get why the less… ‘gifted’ girls might fall for it, but geez, not Olivia.”

Preston’s laughing even more by now, his amber eyes glinting so brightly that it’s as if there are tiny flames hidden within his irises. His laughter subsides slightly as he steps a little closer to me on the porch, and his breath smells of mint and tea. It runs down my neck, and its warmth soothes my cool skin. His gaze locks with mine and as much as I want to turn away, as much as I know I should turn away, I’m like a moth to the fire in his eyes. I’ve never noticed how profound Preston’s cheekbones are, and I have to consciously stop myself from reaching up and tracing them with my fingertips as the space between us lessens even more. We’re so close that I can taste his breath on my lips. I blink, and my eyes remain closed. I lean in even closer. I don’t have to be looking to know that his lips are centimetres away from mine. I part my lips, hold my breath, and--

Preston abruptly turns away. My eyes ping open, and he starts strolling towards his little black car. I’m left stammering slightly, thirsty for something I’m not quite sure of, as Preston lightly chuckles into the winter air.

“Different people fall for different things, and in case you’ve yet to notice.” He presses a button on his keys to unlock the car, and turns to face me. “I’m quite proficient at adapting myself to what people want me to be.”

He bows as if I’ve just witnessed the most admirable performance I’ll ever have the pleasure of seeing, and for a second, I think I might have.