You make my life worthwhile with the slightest smile
Or destroy me with a barely perceptible whisper
Gently take me remember I'll be dreamin' of my baby
At the dreamer's ball
- 'Dreamer's Ball' by Queen
The room Sara had been assigned reminded her of her old bedroom – the classic corkboard decorated with the fragments of a teenage girl's bad behaviour, from photos of girls at a Halloween party to having their first drink; the flowery bunting and fairy lights hanging from the ceiling; the initials of the first boy they'd kissed scratched into the wooden floor with a penknife next to an obviously lovingly etched 'forever'.
If only she had known it wasn't forever. The first was always a time to fall maddeningly into what they thought was love, holding hands in public so friends could claim they thought they were 'a cute couple' and occasionally kissing clumsily where no one could see. But things like this didn't last, not really. Sara of all people had come to that conclusion, and hopelessly had continued to seek that time when you just knew while having loveless sex with other men.
Her mother had referred to it as the Softness. Everything was softer, like however many hits you took, you had a pillow to fall into, yet it made you harder, made you yourself but ten times more potent, and proud to be exactly that. No man had ever, as far as she knew, made her feel the Softness. She wanted to know it, of course she did. She wanted to be able to think of somebody and not be able to help smiling. With that in mind, she sank into her mattress and switched off the childish desk lamp on her bedside table decorated with plastic necklaces.
Two minutes later, there was a gentle knock at the door.
"I can't even get sleep here?" she chuckled quietly, switching the light on and sitting up. Her light hair tumbled to her shoulders as she shook her head to wake herself up again, rubbing her eyes free of dust.
"What?"
That wasn't L's voice. Startled, her eyes widened. In the doorway stood a stocky blonde boy in a baggy black Rolling Stones t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama shorts. For some reason she couldn't identify, his sharp blue eyes were narrowed with an irrational spite. That pouting bottom lip she could picture on any dissatisfied child.
"Wrong room?" Sara suggested.
"What, d'you think I'm stupid?" he snapped.
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. "No. Of course I don't."
"Oh, yeah? 'Cause I go here?" he sneered.
"No," she responded dryly, "because I don't know you."
The boy tried not to let her reply rattle him. Using her hands, Sara pushed herself on top of her duvet and crossed her legs so she could face him properly, and gestured for him to sit next to her. Immediately, he shook his head in defiance. After a moment's thought, he caved in, shutting the door behind him so they wouldn't be disturbed.
"My name's Sara," she said.
"I know," he grumbled. "You're all anyone's been talking about today. 'Have you met Sara?', or, 'Isn't Sara nice?', or, 'I can't believe she's dating L'. Well, good for you, you've got paparazzi. You've been here, like, five minutes and already you're Miss Popular-And-Well-Liked-And-In-With-The-Big-Guy-And-Everything."
"Ah."
"Don't say that like you know what I'm talking about!" he hissed. "You've probably never known what it's like to have someone not like you. Who do you think you are, waltzing in here and acting like everyone's your friend when you don't know anybody, you don't know anything, and you don't know me, okay? Got it?"
She nodded. "I'd like to know you. I generally like to know the name of guys in my bedroom, first off."
Frustrated and embarrassed, the boy's cheeks flushed scarlet. "Mello."
"Mello," she repeated. "All right, then."
Silence. It was only silence in the room say for Mello haphazardly scratching his arm or puffing out his cheeks. Sara counted one minute before she laughed quietly.
"What's so funny?" he demanded. "I don't get it."
"Truth is," she smiled, "I don't get it either. I don't get why you think I'm so special, I'm really not. All of you, you're ten times smarter than me, and I've got life experience on the lot of you. This eight-year-old today was giving me a lecture on the excitement of mitochondria, and I just stared at her blankly, not a clue what she's talking about. Pretty sure that's A level stuff. You guys are fucking amazing, pardon my French. I couldn't work with L in a million years."
"You-?"
"I don't work with him. And I never said I dated him. For such a bright bunch, you jump to a lot of conclusions." She threw back her head with a short, incredulous laugh. "Bloody mental, it really is. I'm not special, I'm not clever, and I'm not as important as you lot. There's no fuss to be made."
"But… but L makes a fuss of you."
"Is that why you don't like me?" she asked sadly. "Because one man on the entire planet, out of three point five billion, happens to take an interest in my existence? He's just a man."
"He's not! He's… he's…" Mello trailed off, a flicker of melancholy passing over his features before he regained his voice. "He's everything I've ever wanted to be."
"Most boys want to be a pirate or a fireman before a detective," Sara remarked lightheartedly.
"No offence, but what does he see in you, if you're not special?" he interrupted brusquely, frowning a little.
"Oh God, good question," she murmured. "I don't know, um… breasts?"
Mello sniggered. Evidently, nobody had ever spoken about L that way before.
"Estrogen? Progesterone? You name it, he probably chose me for that," she said, laughing with him. "Listen, Mello, I'm not what you think I am."
"You're just saying that-"
"I sell my body for sex, Mello." She decided to correct herself when she saw his slack-jawed amazement and eyes like tennis balls. "Well, I did. Then I met L."
"You're… you're a prostitute?" he gasped.
"Was," she reminded him.
He swallowed something in his throat. "Oh."
This boy had spent his life fighting to be better because he didn't think he was worthy of affection as he was, and here she was, a prostitute, proving just the opposite. If she could be appreciated by someone Mello valued as much as L, he could be cared for just as much. She reached for his hands and clasped them in hers.
"The only way you can ever feel inferior to someone is if you let them make you feel like that, Mello," she insisted.
Unexpectedly, all of a sudden, Mello's arms were around her shoulders and she patted him on the back, accepting the embrace. It must have been at least a minute before they released each other, Mello realizing how awkward things had just become. He quickly got to his feet and headed for the door.
"This didn't happen," he muttered and hurried out.
On his way out, he heard L's voice saying his name questioningly, and bolted. The man in question arrived at Sara's door and she wordlessly beckoned him inside. He closed the door behind him and gestured to the way that Mello had just come.
"I'll tell you later," she chuckled quietly. "Come on in."
He pulled a desk chair slightly closer to her, but did not sit on the bed itself, his knees up to his chest as usual. "I just wanted to say, you did well today."
"Thank you."
"Uh… yes. That's what I wanted to say."
"Okay."
"That's what I thought."
"Yeah."
Sara wondered what expression would be on her face, and how Jenny would identify it. She was sure that it wasn't her 'take-me-now' face. It was warm, not hot; calm, not flustered; satisfied, not frustrated. Somehow, a sense she could only describe as safety settled over her, and she stood up from the bed to pull up a bean bag and sit next to him, like an equal. For however long they sat there in comfortable silence, just taking comfort in the fact someone else was there. Nothing needed to be said, and despite whatever shit he'd been hoarding her fridge, whatever insults she'd tossed at him, and whatever kind of struggle they were heading for, she knew that some form of friendship had been molded from the dysfunction of it all. It wasn't adoration, and it wasn't lust, but it was bond of a sort, and they could trust it.
After what must have been about ten minutes sitting in that physically tangible silence and the whir of their individual thoughts, both parties stood and nodded to one other. Sara climbed back into bed and sighed with exhaustion, eyes drifting to a close. L wandered to the door, hands in his pockets, and flicked the switch to turn the light off.
"Night," she murmured.
"Goodnight."
"You're very awkward saying 'goodnight'."
"I'm not," he protested in the dark.
"You are," she smiled.
"Go to sleep," he muttered.
"Goodnight."
Sara snuggled further into her pillow. As she heard the door close, her hands moved instinctively to her abdomen. It felt no different from the rest of her stomach, and she wondered if it was possible that such a momentous change was really taking place there. She had not yet curved with maternity, being only three weeks pregnant, so it was so odd to believe the blastocyst would become a fetus, and then a baby, and then a child, and an adult, and… well. It was like trying to picture what your own life would be when all you'd ever seen was how others' would go, and you barely had even footing on how you were.
In the blur of a dream of a future she couldn't place, she woke the next morning. There was no knowing for certain that her meeting with Mello had actually occurred, nor her oddly sentimental moment with L, but a whispering hollowness in her ears told her that it didn't matter either way.
She looked across the breakfast table she shared with four others to L, and nodded politely. He even nodded back. No more weird shit in my fridge, her eyes seemed to say.
No more nagging, his eyes seemed to say in reply.
"So," Maggie interrupted her thoughts, "Sara, what are you thinking of doing today?"
"Oh," she laughed, "I didn't have any plans."
"You could take her into Winchester," Maggie directed at L. "There's this lovely little market, and it won't be too cold if you take a jumper."
"I don't think-"
"That's okay; I'd like to go," Sara insisted. "If you can put up with me…"
"I'm sure I can endure your company for one more day before you return to L," L murmured, taking stock of the fact that some of the children would probably be listening.
XXX
On cobbled streets, small tents had been set up for marketers to sell their wares, from natural stone jewelry to blocks of strong cheese, each stallholder calling out for attention and patronage. Sara dragged her friend through the labyrinthine roads, stopping for the bakery stall he was so eager to clap eyes on, and the second-hand book stall.
She briefly looked down at her phone, and saw an unanswered text from Jenny asking if she was having fun in Winchester. As she typed a response, she looked up to see a couple pushing a little girl of approximately one year old around in a pink buggy. It had always been almost sickening watching such undiluted joy in public, two people for whom one life had become more important than their own. This time, things didn't seem so disgusting. The girl was so small, and so keen to clasp in her tiny fists the unconditional love they offered her.
L looked on with a sense of fondness, nodding and sighing. He knew exactly what she was thinking, staring after the small child. He'd read her file. Despite being aware she wouldn't approve, he had asked Watari to complete a background check on her. What had emerged had been surprising, to say the least, and yet… it fit her hardiness, her solidity of character. It gave her perfect reason to retain that gentleness and sweetness that others had so often remarked upon.
His eyes drifted to another woman, mousy-haired and worn, and still probably only about twenty-eight or so. Her jaw dropped when she saw something familiar. Her brow crinkled. Her jaw clenched. Her mouth pursed. Suddenly, her arms were swinging and she was striding across the square determinedly.
She raised her hand and slapped Sara hard across the face.
