The Pages of Time Read online

  ‘What, you haven’t even opened it yet?’

  ‘There’s no point,’ Sam said, looking off into the distance.

  ‘Don’t be like that. Your results can’t be that bad…can they?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m talking about―’

  ‘Just open it and we can get out of here.’

  Sam hesitated, then wrinkled his nose and tore his envelope open.

  ‘Well?’ Lewis asked, tapping his foot.

  Sam handed him the slip.

  Lewis glanced over it and passed it back. ‘See, you got a B in Maths. That’s all right, isn’t it? Stop stressing, it’s good enough for Fraser Golding. The plan is still on track.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No, Lewis, it’s not. My grades won’t make any difference.’

  ‘What’re you on about?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ Sam said. ‘We’re moving to America next week.’

  4

  The sitting room of Chrissie’s house was a place that held many memories. Until last week it had hardly changed over the years, but now a grey rectangle marked the spot above the fireplace where a mirror had always hung. The sofas and much of the larger furniture remained, being too expensive to transport to the States, but it was the missing details that robbed the room of its personality; the absent books on the shelves, the photographs removed from the mantelpiece.

  Her mum was going through Sam’s suitcase and cross-examining him over whether he’d packed his toothbrush and sufficient quantities of underwear, while her brother grumbled and complained. Chrissie shook her head. Was it really any wonder he acted like such a baby when their mother fussed over him like that?

  ‘Hello, pet,’ Chrissie’s grandmother said from the sofa. ‘How’re you keeping?’

  ‘Fine thanks.’ Chrissie bent to kiss her cheek, then her grandfather’s.

  ‘And who’s your companion?’

  ‘Grandma, Grandpa, this is Lance. My boyfriend.’

  Lance stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. ‘Pleased to meet you both.’

  ‘He has long hair,’ Chrissie’s grandfather said. ‘You’re not a hippy, are you?’

  Lance looked uneasy. Outside a car horn tooted, rescuing him from having to answer. Chrissie followed Sam and their parents to the front garden and watched on as they hefted their suitcases into the boot of the taxi. Although she had no desire to join them, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were deserting her.

  ‘Ring as soon as you get in,’ she said. All of a sudden her throat tightened and her eyes started to itch. ‘I mean it, it doesn’t matter what time.’

  ‘Will do,’ her dad said. He pulled her close, his mouth next to her ear. ‘And keep an eye on Grandpa, okay? You know what he’s like.’

  Mum muscled him out of the way and took Chrissie’s hands in her own. Her mascara had run, leaving dirty smudges beneath her eyes. ‘I can’t stand leaving you alone like this,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘I’m sure. Really, Mum, I’m a big girl now.’

  ‘You’ll always be my baby, Chrissie. And there’ll be a room for you in the new house any time you want to come and stay.’

  ‘I know.’ Chrissie turned to her brother. ‘Take care of yourself, runt.’

  ‘Yeah, you too,’ he said, and grimaced when she hugged him.

  Lance came to Chrissie’s side and put his arm around her waist. They watched from the gate at the end of the path as the taxi pulled away, Chrissie’s mum frantically waving out of the rear window.

  ‘You all right, babe?’ Lance asked.

  Chrissie nodded, but her throat felt tighter than ever. ‘Absolutely, it’s just…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know it sounds stupid, but I can’t shake the feeling I’ll never see them again.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘that does sound stupid. Come on, let’s go back inside.’

  5

  Sam sat bolt upright, the sheets of an unfamiliar bed wrapped around his limbs. For a second he couldn’t work out where he was and then his memory spluttered into life like an old car on a winter’s morning. His parents had slept most of way on the flight, but Sam had stayed up watching films as they journeyed through a night that seemed like it would never end. It was still dark when the plane had landed, and exhaustion had finally overtaken him in the back of the car they’d rented at the airport. He had no recollection of reaching the house or making his way to this strange bed.

  Sam’s new room, if this was it, was satisfyingly large, even bigger than Chrissie’s attic room back home. A beam of dusty sunlight poked through the curtains, spotlighting a pile of cardboard boxes. He climbed out of bed wearing only his boxer shorts and found his clothes in a heap on the floor. After pulling on trousers and T-shirt, he padded barefoot to a floor-length window, drew back the curtains and stepped onto a balcony that overlooked a wide, tree-lined suburban road. It was so warm that it was impossible to tell whether it was morning or afternoon, or how long he’d been asleep. He took a deep breath. The air smelled different here, rich and somehow earthy.

  Sam went back inside, put his socks and shoes on and set off in search of his parents. He had no idea where he was going, but could hear voices downstairs and followed them to a large, modern kitchen on the ground floor. His mum was standing with her head in a metallic fridge. She closed the door, looked up and smiled. ‘Ah, you’re awake. Did you sleep well?’

  Sam yawned. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost seven in the evening. The Bernsteins have come over to welcome us to the neighbourhood.’

  ‘The who?’

  ‘You know, Doug and his family. They’ve got a daughter roughly your age.’ She handed him a chilled bottle of wine. ‘Be a love and take this out. There’s pizza on the deck, if you’re hungry.’

  Their garden back home was little more than a square of grass overlooked on all sides by other houses. This was something else altogether, stretching so far in every direction that Sam wasn’t sure where it ended. He’d emerged onto wooden decking covered by a canopy that extended from the side of the house. There was a table in the middle surrounded by wicker chairs. His dad was sitting at the end, shovelling pizza into his mouth. On one side were Doug and his wife, and on the other, with their backs to Sam, their two daughters. Doug stood up, grabbed Sam’s hand and shook it so hard it felt like he was trying to dislocate his shoulder.

  ‘So, Sam, decided to join your parents across the pond, eh?’

  ‘I’m not sure I had much choice,’ Sam said. He eased his hand from Doug’s grip and took a seat at the table.

  ‘Well, I just know you’re going to love it here,’ Doug said. ‘Let me introduce you. This is my wife, Colette…’ She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and smiled, revealing perfect, dazzlingly white teeth. ‘…and our daughters, Eva and Nicole.’

  ‘Hi,’ Eva said.

  She was pretty, with long, dark hair, freckles and a wide smile. Sam was acutely aware that he was wearing the same clothes he’d travelled in.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve met before, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘We have?’

  ‘At one of those corporate parties,’ she said, waving a hand in the air. ‘It was a while back, you probably wouldn’t remember.’

  A recollection slotted into place. It was a party Sam’s mum had hosted for colleagues five or six years before. He and Chrissie had been palmed off on a kiddies’ table while the adults got drunk next door. There had been several other children, one a serious-looking girl who wore glasses and had braces on her teeth. She’d spent the whole time tapping away on a laptop. When Sam had asked what she was playing, she’d laughed and told him she was writing code and that video games were for babies. He hadn’t bothered trying to speak to her again that day.

  ‘You look different,’ Sam said. ‘Are you still into computers?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Eva pul
led a slice of pizza from one of the boxes and dropped it onto her plate. ‘Although my interests have diversified in recent years.’

  ‘I’m Nicole,’ the younger daughter said. She was about eight years old, had the same dark hair and freckles as her sister and was gazing up at Sam with her chin propped in her hand. ‘Do you have television in England?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Nic. Of course they do,’ Eva said.

  Nicole ignored her sister’s comment and continued watching him with her brow creased. ‘And cars? Because in the movies everyone rides horses and wears hats like this.’ She placed her hands by the sides of her head to signify a top hat.

  ‘Yeah, we have cars and televisions,’ Sam said, helping himself to a slice of pizza. ‘Things have moved on a lot since electricity was installed.’

  ‘I must apologise for my sister,’ Eva said. ‘She has some kind of birth defect, the doctors say. It’s a miracle she does so well with only the single brain cell.’

  ‘Mommy!’ Nicole said.

  Colette poured herself a tall glass of wine. ‘Eva, lay off your sister, will you?’

  Eva rolled her eyes and took a large bite of pizza, strings of cheese spilling down her chin. She scooped them into her mouth. ‘So, Doug tells me you’re starting Montclair High?’

  Sam nodded. ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘The same as anywhere, I guess. Fine if you’re popular, not so fine if you’re not.’

  ‘And which are you?’

  Her eyes widened slightly, then she smiled. ‘I prefer not to put myself in categories. I just try to be myself, and if you like it, then great. And if you don’t…well that’s fine too.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘All the boys like Eva,’ Nicole said. She closed her eyes, puckered her lips and made a series of smooching noises. ‘Eva and Trent, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’

  Eva shot Nicole a death stare, picked a slice of onion from her pizza and flicked it at her sister. It hit Nicole square in the forehead, where it remained stuck for a second or two before flopping to the tabletop. Sam suppressed a giggle with the back of his hand.

  ‘Mommy!’ Nicole said again.

  ‘Stop it you two, or you can wait in the car.’

  ‘But she started it―’

  ‘I’m serious,’ Colette said. She drained her glass, refilled it to the brim and placed the empty bottle back on the table.

  Nicole scowled and grumbled under her breath.

  ‘Sam, could you get some more wine from the fridge?’ his mum asked. ‘There’s another bottle on the top shelf.’

  He stood up. ‘Does anyone want anything else while I’m there?’

  ‘I’ll have a Coke, please,’ Eva said.

  ‘The bottom shelf,’ his mum offered, noticing Sam’s look of confusion.

  He went inside and, once out of sight, flattened his hair and sniffed his armpits: not as bad as week-old PE kit, but hardly alpine fresh. With any luck Eva was sitting far enough away not to have noticed. After collecting another bottle of wine, Sam pulled a can of Coke from a multipack on the bottom shelf of the fridge. He turned to go and then stopped, searched several cupboards until he found a glass and filled it with ice from a dispenser set in the fridge. Carrying the glass, can and bottle, he headed back out.

  ‘Here you go,’ he said, passing Eva the glass and can.

  She stood up, her phone in her hand. ‘Thanks, but something’s come up. I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you at school?’

  Before Sam could digest what she’d said, let alone reply, Eva had left, walking quickly into the house. He closed his mouth, put the drinks on the table and looked to the others.

  ‘I think I’d like a chocolate shake,’ Nicole said. ‘Do you have milkshakes in England?’

  6

  Eva balanced a contact lens on her fingertip. Flinching, she pulled her eyelid back, popped it in and blinked as the basin and medicine cabinet floated into view. Colette had offered to pay for laser eye surgery on several occasions, not that it would be her money, of course. Eva always declined, listing the associated risks. She knew that complications were statistically rare, but the thought of someone slicing the surface of your eye and zapping you with a laser didn’t sit right. Colette had sighed with disappointment and said, ‘Perfection comes at a cost.’

  Eva brushed her hair, smoothed foundation over her cheeks and then applied lipstick, mascara and pencilled in above her eyes until the mask was complete and that familiar stranger stared back from the mirror. Briefly, she entertained the fantasy of scrubbing it all off, backcombing her hair and going to school wearing sweat pants and her glasses. It would be worth the social ostracism just to see the expressions on her friends’ faces.

  But no, appearances must be maintained. Perfection, after all, came at a cost.

  Eva’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Trent’s car pulling into the drive. Last week she’d had to leave the Rayners’ house in a hurry after receiving his text. Trent had been at Jammin’ Joe’s on the other side of town, where he often hung out, shooting pool and buying drinks with the fake ID she’d made for him. When Eva had called back, Trent was already slurring his words and shouting down the phone. The bartender had taken his car keys, so Eva had to walk home to collect Colette’s car. When she’d arrived some thirty minutes later, Trent was sitting on the sidewalk, his collar torn and his lip bloody. He’d yelled at her for taking so long and Eva had told him he could walk home if he was going to be like that, at which point Trent had apologised. He didn’t mean to take it out on her, he’d explained, and it was only because he was mad as hell at the bartender for tearing his shirt when they’d thrown him out, which kind of made sense. But then he’d wanted to go back inside and had that crazy look in his eye that made Eva certain the night would end badly, and somehow – she wasn’t quite sure she knew how – she had managed to coax him into the car, then driven him home and helped him into bed, easing off his shoes and tucking a blanket around his shoulders. She’d left him there, with his mouth lolling open and his socked feet poking out the end of the bed, and the next day he had forgotten all about it.

  Eva picked up her bag and ran down the stairs, the sound of Colette’s snores audible through the door to the spare room. Doug was up and dressed – probably had been for hours – and was talking to Trent on the porch, his cufflinks sparkling in the morning sunlight.

  ‘So, Trent,’ Doug was saying, ‘you looking forward to the new season? Word on the grapevine is you’re going to be number one quarterback.’

  ‘Shouldn’t really talk about it, but…’ Trent ran his fingers through his hair, his muscles flexing beneath his polo shirt. ‘Yessir, it sure looks that way. Been working in the gym all summer, working to improve the athletic side of my game. Think we got a real good shot at the playoffs this year.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, son.’ Doug drained his tiny espresso cup and returned it to the saucer in his hand. ‘Ah, here she is! Good morning, sweet pea.’

  Eva stretched to kiss her father on the cheek as she passed.

  ‘You ready?’ Trent asked.

  ‘Uhuh,’ Eva said. ‘Let’s go; I don’t want to be late on our first day back.’

  She climbed into the passenger seat of Trent’s car. The floor was littered with fast food wrappers.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, climbing in too.

  Eva wound down the window to let some air in. ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘My brother borrowed the car Saturday night.’

  ‘Really, I don’t mind.’

  He slammed the stick into reverse, gears crunching, and swung out onto the road. ‘We could always use your car instead.’

  ‘Colette’s car, you mean, and, er, no we can’t. She’s getting her hair done today.’

  ‘Fine. Whatever.’ Trent reached down, cranked the stereo and then gunned it to the end of the road.

  7

  By the time the first day of the new school year arrived Sam was almost grateful, since it offered s
ome relief from the slow death of boredom he’d been dying. It also meant he might see Eva again, which was a definite bonus.

  He’d needed to get used to his own company during his first week in Montclair. His mum started her new job the day after they arrived. She was already gone when he woke up in the morning and arrived home late each evening. Sam and his dad had visited a superstore on the edge of town, where they’d wandered around, not really knowing what they needed until they stumbled upon a DIY aisle and his dad had filled the trolley with a range of power tools they’d probably never use. The next day, Sam had helped him put up shelves, but his dad’s whistling and relentless optimism about their ‘clean slate’ soon grated, so Sam retreated to his room. He’d tried unpacking, rearranged the furniture several times over and even stuck up some old posters from home, but they looked lost and out of place, lonely islands of colour on the huge, blank walls.

  Sam’s mum offered to work from home on his first day at school so she could drive him in, and stupidly he agreed. As they pulled up outside the sprawling, redbrick building on the other side of town, he sank low into the passenger seat and watched as other students congregated in small groups. Most owned cars, got lifts with friends, or cycled or walked. As far as Sam could see, he was the only person driven by a parent.

  ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’ his mum asked.

  ‘Are you off your rocker?’

  ‘You’ll be fine, sweetie.’ She leaned across and planted a wet kiss on his cheek.

  Before she could embarrass him any further, Sam grabbed his backpack and jumped out of the car. In front of him a path cut through a worn, yellowing lawn, leading to concrete steps that climbed to a large set of doors. He found the school office just inside and, after a brief induction, was given his individual schedule.

  His first lesson of the day was US History, one of the compulsory humanities courses and a subject Sam knew next to nothing about. He left the office with instructions to find Room 24 and walked dazed through a maze of crowded corridors until a bell sounded. On cue the place emptied and he suddenly found himself standing alone. After several minutes of lonely wandering, he came across a janitor fixing a water fountain. The man wiped his hands on his overalls and pointed up a flight of stairs, and Sam eventually wound up facing a wooden door with the number 24 inscribed on a metal plate.