Eight Boys and a Walker girl

27 | Jamie

I took this chapter down, then put it up again. It has been completely rewritten, so please read.

Also, this chapter is BLOODY IMPORTANT.

Happy reading :)

27 Jamie

The feeling I get at dinner that evening is that everyone is trying really hard to act cheerful- making jokes and laughing just a bit too loudly, asking to 'pass the salt' to break awkward silences- and it all ends up seeming like a wall that's been painted over, but the brick still shows through from beneath.

I know the reason that everything is so tense underneath the laughing. It's the fact that Jamie's chair is sitting there, next to Elena's, horribly empty. Mum actually put a plate there when she was laying the table, but I put it back away when she wasn't looking- it would be too painful a reminder of what should be here, but isn't.

What isn't helping ease the atmosphere is that I keep glancing over in Elena's direction, trying to figure out what's wrong with her.

She came back from wherever she went out about five minutes before dinner, coat splattered with mud, hair wild from the wind, cheeks pink from the countryside cold, thumped down into her chair at the table, and has been picking at her food since, not meeting anyone's eye. For weeks, I've been feeling resentful towards her- of her hate for me, of how she's making out that what happened to Jamie is my fault- but now, I just feel worried. Really, really worried. The way Elena's behaving, withdrawing from everyone and everything- it isn't normal.

This time last visit to the cottage, we were both dancing madly to 'Let's Dance', clutching out remote controls, laughing giddily as we sang 'Swish swish' and 'Another one bites the dust' at the tops of our voices.

The difference between then and now is so huge, it's causing a physical pain in my chest just remembering.

"Pass the salt, love!" Mum breaks me out of my thoughts, a smile stretched across her face. I raise an eyebrow as I pass her the shaker- she's asked for the salt so many times this meal, I'm sure her bolognese must taste disgusting.

"Hey, I have a joke!" Tyger offers in a bright voice, and we all turn to him expectantly, because anything to break the reminiscing silence is something to be thankful for. Anything to take our minds off of Jamie.

"What do you call a group of unorganised cats?"

I shrug, as do most of us, but Harry immediately face-palms himself, groaning.

"No, please don't ask him the answer!" he pleads, "You'll regret it forever!"

"Oooh, go on!" I'm suddenly interested- if there's anything I love in the world, it's hearing a really corny joke, just so I can trash it afterwards.

"A cat-astrophe!"

Mum laughs, like the good person she is. The Laceys also laugh, though I suspect it's more politeness than actual mirth. I just stare at Tyger, then turn to his twin, a look of disbelief on my face.

"Is your double always like this?"

"Unfortunately," is Caleb's miserable answer, and his twin reaches out to smack him upside the head.

"Hey! I'm great at jokes, I should be a comedian someday! You wanna hear another one?"

"Please no!" Harry whines, but Tyger goes ahead anyway.

"Why can't you play poker in the jungle?" he's grinning round at us all in anticipation, cheeks pink- but I know this one.

"Too many cheetahs," I say, quick as a flash, and the McCartney brothers all turn to me, their expressions identical to the one I gave Tyger barely a minute ago. I shrug defensively. "Hey, Danny's the man for terrible jokes. I've grown up hearing these."