Skinny Love

Chapter One

The empty fields sat dewy and cold that morning I was walking home. Down the sloped road, I walked bare foot; placing one in front of the other to make the walk a little more interesting. I still had my dress on from last night’s dance, unable to find anything out of my best friend's cupboard that would fit me. My heels were in my hand, bright red and scuffed, held up by my index and middle fingers. In the other was my phone.

The stretch of fields between Harriet’s house and mine was a dead-zone, completely cut off from all signal power. I didn’t mind though, seeing as it was the quietest place I’d been all week.

Harriet, even though I loved her dearly, was a bit of an airhead when it came to getting me home. She had arranged to go over to her boyfriend’s house at seven in the morning (no idea what for), yet she forgot to tell me this, so I slept through her leaving.

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.” She told me when I called her, shocked and barely awake. “Just ask mum to take you home.”

“Your mum’s not home.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, right between my eyes. I was leaning against her kitchen counter, staring at the note on the fridge that explained her mother’s trip into the city. “I’m not waiting for her to get home, Harry.”

“Well then walk home,” she scoffed “God knows you need it.”

“Ahh, fuck you.”

And I started walking home. The road was wet from the early morning arrival, the sun hidden behind the clouds that always hung around Ireland. The school dance last night left me with a headache and sore feet and I could not handle walking back to my house in those dreadful heels, even though they were the prettiest shoes I owned. 

No one was around to watch me do my ‘sort-of-walk-of-shame’. The cluster of fields around me were owned by some farmer who lived far off the property, somewhere in the hills. So it was just me and the lack of wildlife, peaceful and almost tranquil, and seriously, God knew I needed peace.

My family back home was very big and very busy. My mother owned her own business in the towns market, my father worked at the butchers, and my two younger brothers spent their days building forts in our back yard. My older sisters were working usually, and if they weren’t working they were down at the pub. I was usually at a friend’s house, or in town spending my pocket money on my extensive wardrobe. So we were never really together all that much, but you can imagine that when we were it was like walking into an American sit-com.

The wind picked up, attacking my hair. I flattened it down, and even though it was still in its bed-head state I still didn’t want to look even more like a dork. Holding my fist to my mouth to yawn, I scrunched my eyes shut and stopped, taking my time. Something in the distance, like the skidding of wheels on bitumen, was beginning to get closer and I casually stepped out of the way to finish my monster yawn.

Whizzing past, the bike whipped up the air around me, causing my dress to flutter and my hair to rise. I opened my eyes groggily, watching the boy standing up to pedal, throwing himself down the hill at top speed. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and I frowned at that, but I mean, if he really wanted to die I suppose he had the right. I scoffed at my darkness and continued my walk.

But then his tires skidded to a stop, maybe about 10 metres away from me. He put his feet down to steady himself and he turned around and stared at me. Desperate to avoid an awkward conversation, I made myself keep my head down until I passed him. He continued to sit there, most likely with a confused look on his face. He’d been sporting it ever since he stopped.

“Hey!” He called. “In the dress!”

I turned around to him slowly, staring at him with slightly horrified eyes, his mockery of me being the only one on a long stretch of road completely obvious. He took one look up and down and grinned.

“Are you related to Jodie?” Jodie was my sister. Her and I looked sort of alike I suppose, for people often got us confused. We both had thick brown hair, cut just above the shoulder for easy management; the same lanky frame and the same big feet.

“Umm. Yep?” I shrugged at him and he nodded, like he was a genius for figuring it out.

“Sister?”

“Yep.” I nodded awkwardly, shuffling my shoes from my left to my right hand.

“Awesome.”

“Yep.” Any friend of my sisters were probably an alcoholic. Not that I’m saying that they’re bad people, but if you ever saw my sisters come home from the pub you’d understand. He was back to pedaling himself down the hill, yet slowing once he got beside me. He followed me at snail’s pace, tapping his fingers on the metal basket that graced the front of the bike.

“You’re not very talkative.” He smiled at me. When I looked up to catch his gaze I frowned, trying to drink all of him in at once. Light brown hair, stubble, thick jaw-line with the brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. I raised my brow at him, watching him stop and start pedaling to keep beside me. I shrugged.

“I don’t talk to strangers.” He had to be at least in his twenties. “Or friends of my sisters.” I gave a small smile. He smiled back and I looked up and caught his eye again.

“They’re customers of mine.” He grinned, suddenly. “They come in my pub all the time.”

“Well that makes sense.” I mumbled, feeling pathetic for jumping to such a quick conclusion. His bike continued to skip beside me, and I finally gave notice to it. “You run a pub but you ride a bike?”

“My brother has the car.” He scoffed; shaking his head like it was a big deal. “Speaking of which, do you need a ride? You don’t want to go through town looking like a dirty hooker.” I glared and he grinned, showing me he didn’t mean it.

“A ride? On your bike?” I must have given him a disgusted look because he snorted loudly at me.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover. This bike is a beast.” He tapped the handlebars like he was proud of it.

“On a slippery, wet road where there’s no mobile signal? If we crash we don’t have helmets and I am not standing on your pegs.” I muttered. “No thanks.” Placing one foot in front of the other again, I tried to lighten my mood. “I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Jonah.” He stuck out his hand, offering it to me. I shook it wryly, not wanting to seem rude. “You’ll sit on my handlebars slash basket and we’ll speed through town like lightning.” (He threw his hand forward like some sort of superhero) “I know where you live because I’ve taken your sister’s home way too many times.”

This was, although incredibly creepy for someone I had literally just met, probably true. Taking a look at his handlebars and down at my dress, I looked pathetically at him. He caught my look and nodded, causing me to roll my eyes.

“I don’t even know your name.” He added cheekily, and I sighed harshly. I awkwardly started towards his bike, using the flats of my feet on his tires to hoist myself up onto the handlebars. I slipped back into the basket and he grinned into my ear.

“It’s Rosie.”