Forget Me Never

and found myself thinking about Reece’s invitation to stay. It definitely showed he was happy to be friends again – generally Reece didn’t do things he didn’t want to, and he wasn’t nice to people he didn’t like either.
    I heard a knock on the door.
    ‘I am making you Oat So Simple,’ came Reece’s voice. ‘Your presence is required in the kitchen in five minutes.’
    ‘Ten!’ I shouted. Quickly I rubbed myself down and pulled on the denim shorts I’d been wearing most of the summer and a lightweight top. After a bit of make-up and a quick hair brush I made my way downstairs. Reece was watching two bowls spin around in the microwave.
    ‘Perfect timing,’ he said without looking up. ‘The Oat So Simple is nearly fully formed and Mum and the poddling have just hit the shops. Wanna go down the cricket pitch later? I’m playing in a T20.’
    ‘Sure,’ I said, taking a seat and pouring myself some apple juice. ‘It’s been too long since I saw you in action.’
    The microwave pinged. Reece took out the bowls, brought them to the table and immediately started swathing his in golden syrup. I opened the local paper. It felt cosy and normal. Aiden and his car could have been a million miles away.
    When Reece and I arrived at Berkeley, there was already a decent crowd milling around, mostly enthusiastic parents and petulant-looking siblings, though there were a couple of girls I guessed might be girlfriends. I found a decent spot by the pavilion and sat down, dumping my bag on the seat next to me. I spotted a couple of Reece’s friends, but they were too busy limbering up to pay any attention to me.
    Reece’s team lost the toss and were made to bowl. Reece turned and made a face at me – he was more of a batsman. I waved and gave him a big grin.
    About ten overs into the game I heard ringing inside my bag. For a moment it puzzled me – it wasn’t a sound I recognized. Then I remembered that Reece had given me his phone to look after before the match began. I took it out. The screen said, ‘Mum Calling’.
    ‘Hi, Effie,’ I said. ‘It’s Sophie. Reece is playing in a match right now.’
    ‘Oh. Of course, I forgot.’ She sounded flustered. A feeling of unease rose inside me. ‘Sophie, listen, could you get Reece to come home as soon as possible, please? I wouldn’t normally ask, not when he’s playing, but I need him. We’ve been burgled!’
    Having pictured the house turned upside down, when we got to Reece’s I was surprised. If it hadn’t been for Effie’s call and the police car outside, you wouldn’t know that the house had been burgled.
    ‘Pretty crap burglars!’ Reece exclaimed, walking into the sitting room. ‘Flat-screen telly – still there! New computer – still there!’
    ‘Reece!’ Effie hurried through from the kitchen, a tearful-looking Neve behind her. A police officer followed. ‘I’m so glad you’re here; I can’t cope with this by myself. I came back from Waitrose and found the conservatory window smashed! Sergeant Hill here thinks I might have disturbed whoever it was – they didn’t have the chance to take much – but all the same. Burgled! In the middle of the day!’
    I looked around. ‘Do we know what they took?’
    ‘Your mother’s still working that out,’ Sergeant Hill said. ‘Most of the intruder’s efforts seem to have been concentrated upstairs.’
    ‘She’s not my mother,’ I said quickly. ‘I’m Reece’s friend.’
    ‘Have they messed with my stuff?’ Reece asked, narrowing his eyes.
    Effie reached out and gently pulled Neve away from him. ‘I’m afraid so. You’re not going to be too happy . . .’
    Reece ran upstairs, dumping his cricket bag en route. I followed him. As I stepped on to the landing I heard an angry howl.
    Reece’s room was a mess. The drawers had been emptied and were lying on their sides, his iPod had been snatched from it’s dock and his bedclothes were pulled across the floor. He didn’t seem bothered by this. He was kneeling by the overturned bookshelf, cradling some old books that I realized were his dad’s annuals. Some of the pages were ripped and a couple of covers had come off. Reece looked utterly crushed.
    ‘Oh, Reece!’ I went over and hugged him. Reece didn’t need to say how much the books meant to him – tracking the annuals down had been something Reece and his dad had done together, travelling to second-hand bookshops and searching eBay. Reece had once said that these annuals