#and that's. pretty much what happens but their actual conflict keeps getting dredged up way past its expiration date | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kriscme · 6 years ago

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Untitled This is the first section of a new The Chance You Didn’t Take by Ronja fanfic (which is also a Hunger Games fanfic) I’m working on at the moment. When it’s finished the whole thing will go on AO3.

Summary - Katniss has had enough and gives Peeta an ultimatum. Picks up from where Peeta tells her she can no longer to visit his home at night as comfort from nightmares.

Chapter 1.

“Katniss I . . . hope you know that no matter what happens you will always be a very important person in my life.” A very important person. No matter what happens.

And that’s how Peeta broke the news that I wasn’t welcome in his house at night anymore. An invitation rescinded. A comfort denied. For Lace. A more important person than me, obviously. And the added cruelty of taking me out walking first, our arms linked like any courting couple. To be treated at the ice-cream parlour with a triple scoop of ice-cream, and to sit together, just the two of us, in the middle of a grassy field in the warm sunshine. It wasn’t a date, of course. But I could almost imagine it as one. And then . . . I ball my fists into my eyes to prevent a fresh flood of tears. Feeling sorry for myself won’t help. I have to face reality. I’m no longer Peeta’s priority. Another girl is. Peeta has made his choice - when it came down to protecting Lace or me, he chose Lace. I can’t keep telling myself the situation will change, and that Peeta will one day want me again. With every day that passes he seems further and further out of reach. I don’t know what to do. I thought the romance with Lace was temporary and he’ll soon come back to me. That seems more remote than ever. Hopeless, even. I go to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water. What looks back at me from the bathroom mirror is splotchy and swollen with crying. My hair is dishevelled, the braid half undone, the end thin and scraggly. When was the last time I had a haircut? I can’t even remember. Maybe it’s no wonder that Peeta has turned to another. The girl Peeta loved, the girl he called beautiful, is almost unrecognisable. Too thin, dull hair, covered in burn scars. Plain. Ugly, even. Perhaps he views me as a charity case and that’s why he came back to 12. Fatten the girl up with cheese buns. Let her to sleep in the guest room as comfort from nightmares. Build her up. Tell her how important she is. Until someone more important comes along, that is. I wish I had someone to talk to. A shoulder to cry on, at least. I so miss Prim. There’s only Haymitch and he’s of no use. The only other person I’m close to is Peeta. I haven’t bothered trying to form new friendships. Perhaps that’s half my problem. I’ve come to rely too much on someone who has proven to be unreliable and there’s nowhere else to turn. I can’t blame Peeta for that. Only me. The lights are on in Peeta’s sitting room. I can see them from my bedroom window. Peeta uses the back half of the house if he’s alone at night. He most likely has a visitor then. Lace, probably. I have some things to say to him but it’s clearly not the right time. He can come to me, anyway.

It’s late in the afternoon when I get a visit from him. I don’t know if he tried earlier; I spent most of the day in the woods trying to unravel all the conflicting emotions I have about him. There’s my love for the boy that was. My love for the boy that is. And my ever-growing anger and frustration with him. Sometimes I think I actually dislike him. On top of all that is guilt. Overwhelming guilt for what he suffered at Snow’s hands because of me. For the first time I question how that helps Peeta though. I let him get away with things he shouldn’t. I stop myself from saying anything that might upset the false façade he’s made for himself. Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. Typical of Peeta, he comes bearing gifts. He does this whenever he thinks I might be mad at him, or about to be mad at him. Yesterday it was ice-cream. Today it seems to be a bag of cookies and a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It’s a large flat square that’s almost certainly a canvas. It’s probably the painting of a primrose I asked for.

The smile he gives me is hesitant, apprehensive. I guess the way I ran out on him, threatening not to come over for dinner anymore, may have given him the impression that he might not be welcome. He follows me into the kitchen and I go through the motion of putting the kettle on for tea. Not that I plan of this being a long conversation. Peeta puts the parcel down and places the bag of cookies on the kitchen bench just behind me. He stands so close, we’re almost touching. “Are these to compensate me for not being able to stay over anymore?” I ask. “They’re to show you how much I care for you,” he says, as he leans down to kiss my cheek. “I don’t think you realise how much. I was worried sick when you didn’t come home the other night, not knowing where you were or if you were lying injured somewhere. If anything were to happen to you . . . He trails off and gives his head a shake. “I don’t even like to think about it.” “I’m sure Lace will be a great comfort if that should happen.” I train my eyes on the sleeve of his jacket. There’s not enough space between us to look at the floor. I know I sound bitter and jealous and as much as I dread being exposed and vulnerable, at the same time I want him to notice – to actually see me for once and why I’m hurting. He cups my jaw and turns my face back to his. His thumb gently strokes my cheek. “I know this must seem like I’m neglecting you and Haymitch in favour of Lace, but it’s really not like that. It’s just that I have to consider Lace now. There are aspects of my life where she has to come first. I want to be a good friend to you, but I also need to be a good boyfriend to Lace. We had a very public romance, and I have to think about how you coming over at night would look to others, even if it is perfectly innocent. This doesn’t make you any less important to me.”

Yes, it does, I remind myself. But his voice is soothing and placating, his caresses lover-like. I want to drift in it, believe that somewhere down deep, he’s still in love with me.

“I’ll still be here for you,” he goes on. “You can call me anytime of the day or night if you have a nightmare and want to talk. Anytime at all.”

I say nothing to this. That won’t happen. I do have some pride. A tendril of hair is tucked tenderly behind my ear. I gaze into his eyes, mesmerised by his voice, and his touch. He’d only have to bend his head, or for me to raise myself on tip toe for our lips to meet. Why doesn’t he just kiss me? “Please understand,” he says. “You’re not just a friend. We may be platonic now, but I know I must have been overwhelmingly in love with you.” “You were,” I say softly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be loved like that again.” His hand comes to rest on my cheek again. “I hope that you will, and it will the kind of love where you both feel the same way about each other. As for me, I care so much about you but I have to put Lace first.” He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he is. How can he touch me like this while at the same time express his preference for Lace and so casually give me over to another? It’s as if the hijacked version of himself is still inside, intent on destroying me anyway he can. And I can’t even heap all the blame on Peeta for this, because I let him do it. But at least it gives me the jolt I need.

I push his hand aside and slide my back along the bench until I’m free of him. “Why did you come back to 12?” Peeta is so surprised, it takes a few seconds for him to respond. “What? Um, because . . . Why are you asking? What does it have to do with anything?” “A lot, actually,” I say. “It has everything to do with what you want from me. Because frankly I’m confused. One minute I’m merely a friend and told not to come over at night and the next minute you’re kissing me on the cheek and standing so close, I can’t move an inch without bumping into you. If I were Lace, I’d be more concerned with all this touching you do than a platonic friend using the guest room occasionally.” He stares at me, bewildered. I don’t think he’s even been aware that he does it. “So why did you come back?” I persist. “It can’t be because you’re in love with me. You’re always making sure to tell me that you’re not. It can’t be because I’m a friend because you don’t have any memories of my being one. In fact, you’ve even said you don’t trust me. And it can’t be because you want help getting your memories back, because you want nothing to do with them. So why come to 12? Of all the places you could have gone to, why bombed out 12 with only a depressed recluse and a drunk for company?” “Because you were here . . . and Haymitch. And my house,” he flounders. “I can’t explain it. I was just drawn here. And it’s not like I have no memories at all. They’re just a tangled mess I can’t make sense of. All I know is that I feel there’s a deep connection between us and I need to be here. It may not be in-love anymore, but I care a great deal for you.” There it is again. He cares for me. A lesser form of love. Generic, non-exclusive. It should wound, but at the moment I’m numb to it. More than anything I’m tired. Tired of pretending, tired of holding onto a hope that simply exists to take one blow after another.

“You want to know what it meant to me when you returned to 12? Well, I can’t tell you. Because I’d have to mention our past, and you’re determined not to know about it. I don’t know what happened between the mission to kill Snow and when you came back here that made you give up the fight. All I know is that that boy had courage. It didn’t matter what horrific memories were dredged up as long as it meant finding himself again. But you don’t want “real” anymore. You just want a pretty picture to live in. Like one of your paintings.” I point to the parcel he brought with him where it leans, still unwrapped, against the wall. “That’s not fair!” he exclaims. “You have no idea what it is to be me. I didn’t choose to have my memories erased and distorted. I was tortured, Katniss! The little I do remember is bad enough. I don’t see you handling it that well, by the way. Not if you have to run over to my house to sleep in the guest room to escape your nightmares. Or stay in bed until well past noon because you’re too depressed to get up. And then there’s Haymitch, who can’t go a day without a drink. Several, in fact. Why would I want that?”

Stung, I’m about to retort that I’d rather have nightmares than forget my family, as he’s done, but then recall that his memory loss is more selective than that. He’s blocked out memories of the torture, understandably enough. But he also has no memories of me, other than those which Snow thoughtfully let him keep, such as his jealousy of Gale. Before I can formulate a response Peeta is at my side, immediately contrite. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I had no right. And it’s not as if I don’t have my own problems to deal with. It’s just that if I have a chance to avoid what you and Haymitch go through, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take it.” I make one last appeal. “But . . . but you’re also turning your back on the good memories too. They’re all part of who you are. Even the bad ones.” Peeta shrugs. “Do you think I don’t know that? All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be part of who I am now. Some really awful things have been done to me and I have a choice not to make it part of my future. So why not? If it’s meant to be, the good memories will come back. And if they don’t, well, I can make new ones. Better ones.” His answer shouldn’t surprise me. We’ve had this conversation before. And when I offered to help him, he told me he didn’t trust me enough. My stomach sinks. That’s it then. It is hopeless. If he can’t, won’t, remember then I don’t see a way forward for us. He’ll become increasingly attached to Lace, and I’ll be increasingly sidelined. To him, I’ll likely always be a friend, someone he cares for a great deal. But that’s not what I want. He’s not the only one who’s gone through hell and wants to be happy. This isn’t abandoning him, I tell myself. This is setting him free to live his life as he chooses, while I do the same for me. I take a few more steps away from him, determined to get some physical distance. I don’t want any weakness on my part getting in the way of what I’m resolved to do. “Well, if that’s the way you feel, then we have nothing more to say to each other,” I say, in the most resolute voice I can muster.

“What do you mean we have nothing more to say?” he asks warily. “Exactly what I said. If you have no interest in getting your memories back, then there’s nothing left to say. If you have the right to choose what’s best for you, then I have the right to choose what’s best for me. And continuing as we are with one of us deliberately ignorant about our past together isn’t it. ”

I turn my gaze to the parcel. The parcel that contains a painting of a primrose that I had asked Peeta for in memory of my sister. As much as I want to, I can’t accept it. I feel miserable about it because I know how much work and care was put into it. And love too. Just not the kind of love I want from him. In a way, the painting defines what our relationship has become. It’s a shared memory of a beloved figure, just as the primrose bushes are. But that’s where it ends. And it isn’t enough. I note how light it is as I pick it up from the floor. And that it’s bordered by a frame, and its solid on one side and hollow on the other. I imagine what’s underneath the wrapping paper. Peeta had shown me the outline he drew. It would now be painted in soft shades of yellow like the primroses that grow at the side of my house. The same primroses that Peeta planted for me on his first day back from the Capitol. “I can’t accept this,” I say, as I hand it to him. “It isn’t right. I wanted a painting from Peeta Mellark. When he comes back to me, I’ll accept it then.” Peeta’s eyes travel from the painting in his hand and back to my face in confusion. “What? What are you talking about? You can’t mean that. Is this because I won’t let you sleep in the guest room? You’re being unreasonable, Katniss. I know you feel let down, especially since it was me who invited you over in the first place. But what else can I do? What do you think happens when friends become romantically involved with another? That everything stays the same? What if you had a boyfriend? Do you think he’d want me coming over in the middle of the night?”

“If I had a boyfriend, he’d either have to accept the situation or find someone else. That’s how I feel about us. But this isn’t about that. This is me at breaking point. I’m sick and tired of being a piece in your game.” “Game? What game? You’re not making any sense,” he says, growing agitated. Peeta runs a hand through his hair, mussing his curls so that they stand around his head and give him a slightly mad appearance. “Look, if it means so much to you, use the guest room. Use it as often as you like. Move in. I’ll work out something with Lace.”

“I don’t care about the guest room!” I yell in frustration. “What I care about is that you’ve betrayed everything we’ve been to each other. And you don’t even know it because you’re too much of a coward to find out.”

He flushes with anger. “Fuck, Katniss!” he shouts. I jump back in surprise. Peeta never swears. And then the parcel is hurled across the room, upsetting Buttercup’s food bowl and spattering cat food over the tiles. “What the fuck do you want from me?” “I told you what I want from you! It’s you that needs to find out what you want from me!” But Peeta has turned his back and is almost out of the room. “Let me know when you work it out!” I scream after him. And then I hear the front door slam shut. I’m too shocked to do anything more than blindly stare at the canvas where it’s come to rest near the back door. After a little while, I come out of my stupor to walk over and pick it up. I don’t think it’s ruined, but it needs some repair work. I can feel that the frame is broken on one side. I remove the wrapping paper. It’s got cat food on it. I resist looking at the actual painting though. I haven’t accepted it until I look at it, I tell myself. I trudge upstairs to Prim’s room where I place it on top of her dresser, the right side facing the wall. And then I sit down on her bed. Oh, Prim. How did that go so wrong? I don’t think he even heard me. All he could talk about was the guest room as if that’s all there is to it. Do you remember when you told me that the old Peeta, the one who loves me, is still inside? Trying to get back to me? I don’t think he is. I don’t think he even wants to. I’m trying not to give up on him, but it’s so hard. All I can do now is see if my tactic works. If it fails, I’ve lost him. But I think I might have lost him anyway.

Chapter 2. The strangest thing is, that despite this horrible situation, or maybe because of it, for the first time in months I feel energised and ready to take on almost anything. Just as Peeta hasn’t been himself, I haven’t been myself either. The old Katniss would have been doing something, and if not actively pursuing Peeta, would at least have found purpose in other things. Instead, I’ve existed in this state of inertia. And in doing so, I not only didn’t find Peeta, I’ve lost sight of myself too.

The first thing I want is to find some kind of employment. There’s two reasons for this. The first is a practical one that’s been coming for a while now. And that’s because my game isn’t in demand as it used to be. Meat is both cheaper and readily available now that foodstuffs and other goods are transported between districts. More people are able to afford them too. Somehow squirrel isn’t as appealing if you can have beef or horse on the menu. The other reason is that hunting is a very solitary occupation, especially now that I don’t have a hunting partner. My circle has been too small for too long. One good thing about 12 being a high growth area, is that workers are in demand. That means employers aren’t as fussy about qualifications or experience, which is good, because I have neither. So, I’m fairly confident I can find a job, as long as I’m not too picky.

I head for the town, as that’s the most likely place to find one. The town centre has expanded from a ragtag collection of shops to a bustling shopping strip. Civic buildings have been rebuilt, as well as a hospital and a community hall. It grows to look more like the Capitol every day. I walk straight past the hospital. Sick people, no thanks. The same with the Justice Building. There’s too many bad memories associated with them. It was at a Justice Building that I had to collect the medal of valour for my father’s death, and its where tributes were held before they were transported to the Capitol. I would happily never set foot in one again. Next door is the Council Office, where Haymitch works. That actually has potential. My knowledge of the woods might be useful. But when I apply, they tell me they’re not hiring at the moment. But they take down my details anyway and say they’ll let me know if a position becomes available. Across the intersection there’s a block of five new shops that have just opened. One of them appears to be a tailor as I see sewing machines, bolts of fabric in sombre colours, and a few men’s suits on display. Another shop is lined with racks of clothing with a small counter at the rear. I’ve seen shops like these in the Capitol. They sell ready-to-wear fashion. I have a feeling that Lace won’t like it. A tailor and a clothing shop where you don’t have to wait for the clothes to be made will surely be competition, especially the latter. What’s more, it’s probably the first of many. Further down the road, I see the new school that started up a few months ago. It’s just two or three classrooms but I’m sure it won’t stay that way for long. Not with the population booming as it is. I move closer, enjoying the sight of children at play in the school grounds. A man, maybe in his mid-twenties with brown hair that flops over his forehead, regards me with interest - too much interest for my liking. I change direction and turn the corner and encounter even more shops, as well as a few restaurants. But there’s a shop that takes more than my passing interest and that’s because it has a sign in the window. It says “Inquire within. Staff wanted.” I put my face to the window to determine what kind of business it is. I see glass enclosed counters with shelves and maybe more shelves behind them. Evidently, it’s some kind of food shop. What, I don’t know. A bell jingles as I open the door. And then I go stand near the counter to wait. It appears to be empty but I know someone’s here because I can hear voices and what seems to be furniture being moved around from the rear of the shop. I consider calling out, or perhaps re-entering to make the bell jingle again, when a man appears, wiping his hands on a towel. “Hi. Sorry to keep you waiting. We were half way putting one of the ovens in place. What can I do for you, Miss Everdeen?” he says. He has a bright, cheerful manner about him.

“Um, you know who I am?” It’s a silly question, as I’m recognised nearly everywhere I go, but I still find it disconcerting. “Who doesn’t?” he asks, as he tosses the towel aside. “But we have met before. I doubt that you’d remember it though.”

I take a careful look at him. Early twenties maybe. Blond hair but a different shade from Peeta’s. Golden rather than ashy. And green eyes. Pleasing but unremarkable features. Above medium height and with a similar build as Peeta’s. I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t. Where did we meet?” He smiles and the features I thought so unremarkable light up and make him quite attractive. “It was only for a few moments. Your fiancé might remember me though. I gave him my best frosting techniques.” Fiancé? That could only be Peeta. And the frosting . . .? Of course! At the feast in the Capitol, when Peeta asked to meet the bakers to ask about the cakes. I take another look around the shop and then everything falls into place. This must be a bakery. And those glass counters are to display cakes and the shelves behind them are for bread. My first thought goes to Peeta. He has vague plans of opening a bakery. He might not like this. But he should have known that one would open eventually. The wonder is that it’s taken so long. “I remember now. It was at the feast. On our Victory Tour,” I say, momentarily caught in the memory of Peeta and me as a newly engaged couple. “But Peeta isn’t my fiancé anymore. We didn’t stay together after the war. He’s with another girl now. You might have met her. She owns the dressmaking shop on the main road.” I say it as cheerfully as I can, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

He doesn’t seem to notice though. “I haven’t met many people yet,” he tells me. “I only arrived in 12 the day before yesterday. My brother and his wife arrived a couple of months ago to get everything here organised while I stayed in the Capitol to settle up. But I’ve neglected my manners. I know who you are, but I haven’t introduced myself. Cassius Carter. Most people call me Cass.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. He has large hands and a firm grip. My own looks swallowed up in it.

“Hi. Pleased to meet you, Cass.” “Pleased to meet you, Katniss,” he replies with a warm smile. We lapse into silence while Cass looks at me expectantly. Oh yes, why am I here? “Um, I came about the sign in the window. You’re looking for staff?”

“We are. To serve customers. You’re interested, I take it?” “Yes, but I don’t have any experience,” I say regretfully.

Cass pretends to consider it. “Hmm that is a problem. It will take at least ten minutes to learn the ropes and I don’t think we’ll have the time. But then a pretty girl behind the counter can’t be bad for business, so it might all even out.” His face clears. “I’ve made up my mind. The job’s yours if you want it.” “Oh, good,” I say, thinking more about being described as pretty than the job offer. It’s been so long since anyone complimented me on my appearance. I smile at Cass, grateful that there’s at least one person who thinks so. “I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll catch on quickly. When do you want me to start?”

“We’ll be operational by the end of the week, I think. Could you start on Monday? It’s four days a week, Monday to Thursday.” “That sounds perfect.” Part-time work will give me time to pursue other things. We spend the next few minutes discussing times and wages and then shake on it. “You wouldn’t know of a sign writer who needs a job? We haven’t got anyone to do the shop sign yet,” he asks as I’m about to leave. I shake my head. “No, sorry. But someone’s sure to apply.” I have no intention of passing the news onto Peeta. He can look for his own work. Besides, I’ve made it my policy not to approach him unless I absolutely have to.

That man with the floppy brown hair is still there when I turn to go back the way I came. Despite my scowl he still has the temerity to approach me. “Hey, Mockingjay,” he calls out. “Mind if I have a word?” “Yes, I do mind,” I snap. “And I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.” I turn away from him but he’s on my heels. “I want to talk to you about a teaching position.” “I’m not a teacher.” “Not yet. But you’re looking for a job, so why not teaching?

“How would you know I’m looking for a job?” “I saw you reading the help wanted sign in the bakery window before you entered. It isn’t open yet so you weren’t going in to buy bread.” “So now you’re spying on me as well as harassing me.” I stop walking and turn to face him. “Look I don’t know who you are – “

“Max Matson,” he says, holding out his hand. “Teacher at the school you were admiring a short time ago. We’re looking for more teachers, and you could be just what we need.” I ignore the hand. I’m just about to tell him to get out of my way when I pull myself up. Didn’t I come into town to look for opportunities? What if I don’t like working in a shop and I’m more suited to teaching instead? I can least consider it. Max drops his hand, but my hesitation seems to have compensated him for the slight since he doesn’t change expression. He hurries to explain before I can object further. “It will only be teaching what you already know. Survival skills, the natural environment, that sort of thing. And it won’t be in the classroom either, but out in the woods. A lot of our kids come from the industrialised districts and hardly know a tree from a chimney stack. You could really make a difference.” I don’t respond straight away, my gaze directed at the school in the distance. He has the sense to be quiet while I mull it over. It’s only a very small school and surely excursions into the woods won’t be every day. It could fit nicely with the bakery job, and if I find myself suited more to one than the other, then maybe I could switch to full time later on if the opportunity arises and then give the other up. The thought of passing on my knowledge, as my father did for me, appeals to me too. “I can only do Fridays.” “That’s alright,” he says in a rush. “It’s only part-time at the moment. And it’s only while the weather is warm.” “OK, I’ll give it a try. A try, mind you. If I don’t like it, I’m not coming back.”

“Great! We’ll see you on Friday then . . .um . . .Katniss? Is that what I call you?”

“Yes. Just Katniss. And Katniss only. And it will be the following Friday.” There’s some things I want to attend to first. I turn my back on him and go on my way. I don’t know what this Max person does. He’s probably looking for someone else to annoy. But at least he’s presented me with another option. And options are exactly what I need right now.

Well, that’s been a successful outing. Two jobs in less than an hour. And maybe something will come from the town council too. My spirits rise higher than they have in days. Whatever happens, I know I can survive this.

I wander back towards the Village. Maybe there’s still time to do some hunting. I’m determined to stay busy. Anything than allowing myself to wallow. That won’t achieve a thing other than to bring on another bout of depression. It’s just as I pass through the gates that I see him. Peeta is at the side of my house, tending the primroses. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say when I reach him. Peeta puts the trowel aside and gets to his feet. “I know, but I want to. We’re neighbours, right? Neighbours can help out with the gardening.” “Yeah, but I can do it myself. You don’t do any gardening for Haymitch.” I look over at Haymitch’s yard as I say this. It’s a desert. What hasn’t died through neglect has been eaten by his geese. “There really isn’t a garden to garden,” Peeta points out. “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t clean up after you when you’re drunk, so it all evens out.” He gives my arm a friendly nudge with his elbow accompanied by his most disarming smile. I don’t return it. I refuse to let him in even a little way, although he keeps on trying. “Well, thanks for doing it, even though you don’t need to.” It seems the polite thing to say to someone who’s doing your gardening for you. And, to be honest, the bushes probably wouldn’t last long if it was left to my gardening skills. I turn to go into the house, but something perverse inside me calls me back. “I got a job today. It’s just serving behind the counter but it will give me something to do besides hunting. It’s at a new bakery that’s about to open. One of the bakers we met at a Capitol feast owns it. You probably don’t remember it, though. But if you’re interested in frosting, he’s apparently the expert.” Peeta’s smile dims and I instantly regret my words. This can’t be good news to him. I don’t know if he seriously wanted to open a bakery but now the option is off the table. 12 isn’t big enough to support two bakeries. “Right. Maybe I’ll call in when it opens.” He turns his face away and resumes his digging. “Congratulations on getting the job.” “Thanks. Um, I guess I’ll see you around.” Buttercup is waiting for me when I get inside. I slosh some food into his bowl and then throw myself on the couch in the sitting room and switch on the television. I don’t feel like hunting now. My good mood has gone. It seems to disappear whenever I have contact with Peeta now. A wall has gone up between us, all on my side. Peeta is an odd combination of uncertainty and eagerness to please. That’s how it’s been since the day we argued. Neither of us mentioned it when we next met, but the easy way we once interacted has gone. As far as I know he hasn’t done anything to try to get his memories back and I’m determined to keep my distance until he does. The only good thing that seems to have come out of it is that I seldom see Lace in the Village anymore, although I know they still see each other. I’ve watched Peeta leave the Village on their date nights. It had been Peeta’s turn to host the Victors dinner that night but I had no intention of going. I went to see Haymitch to let him know about the new arrangement. To say he was annoyed is an understatement. I hadn’t known the dinners meant so much to him. And it’s not like he and Peeta can’t continue to eat together since he always seemed to prefer Peeta’s company anyway. He told me that Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him and I’m punishing him for something that’s out of his control. He made me feel really bad. So bad, in fact, that I did something I rarely do. I consulted with Dr Aurelius. But to my surprise, Dr Aurelius approved. He told me not to let Haymitch make me a partner to his own guilt. I thought he might have taken Peeta’s side and urged me to maintain the friendship, seeing that he’s his patient and all. But he said I was his patient too, and he had to advise what was best for me, irrespective of what was best for Peeta. He even said this might be good for him and force him to confront certain issues instead of avoiding them. I also told him I was in love with Peeta hoping that he might give me some advice about how to get him back, or at least give me some insight into his thinking. But he didn’t. Instead, he set me a task, and that was to work on myself independently of Peeta. I was to think hard of what I want my life to be and what I’ll have to do to achieve it.

Of course, that involves Peeta being in love with me again, but that’s up to Peeta now. I had to remember a long way back to a time when I was happy and what I was doing then. I thought of my father, and Prim, and hunting in the woods with Gale. I recalled the pride I had in my hunting and bargaining skills and how I provided for my family. In the end, I condensed it down to two things. Meaningful work and good relationships. I decided to tackle the easiest one first. Work. Perhaps the relationships will follow from that. They had before.

Before I start at the bakery, I attend to something I’ve never given much attention to and that’s my appearance. I wonder if my lack of interest in it might have given Peeta the impression that I don’t care about being attractive to him. I’d taken it for granted that Peeta thought I was beautiful, no matter how I looked. Perhaps that’s changed. Lace seems to spend a lot of time on her appearance, always dressing neatly and with her hair carefully styled. I don’t want it to become a major part of my life or anything, but I could put in a little more effort. One of the new shops, just next to the tailor, is a beauty salon. I surreptitiously peeked in as I walked past, noting the gaudy décor in purple and gold, with basins for washing hair, and chairs for cutting and styling at the front of the shop, and curtained alcoves towards the back, presumably for waxing and other tortures. There’s a million of these places in the Capitol but this must be the first ever in 12. I thought I’d had enough of being primped and prodded to last a lifetime when I was a tribute, but now I think I can do with a little “maintenance”, as they’d say in the Capitol.

The following morning I’m at the door just as businesses are opening and there’s not many people about. There’s only one person inside, a Capitolite evidently, going by her pale mint green skin and blue tipped blond hair. She’s hunched over the counter, reading a newspaper. She lifts her head as the door clicks behind me. “Katniss!” “Octavia!” We scream each other’s names simultaneously. Octavia runs from behind the counter to envelop me in a hug. “Flavius! Come here! Quickly! It’s Katniss!”

Soon we’re in a three-way hug; Flavius’s bouncing corkscrew curls as vividly orange as ever.

After the initial excitement is over, we fill each other in on what’s happened since we last met. That was at Snow’s execution. My prep team had been specially brought back to the Capitol from District 13 to make me as presentable as possible for the TV cameras. After my incarceration and then confinement to 12, my former prep team were without employment. But because the Capitol had sustained significant damage during the war from rebel bombs and discharged pods, many citizens were homeless and no longer enjoyed the affluence they once had. Consequently, decorating themselves was no longer the priority it had been and the beauty industry suffered. Venia chose to stay with her family in the Capitol, but Octavia and Flavius decided to risk all to set up their own salon in another district. And which district was the dreariest and most in need of their talents? Why, District 12, of course. The problem was that they hadn’t many customers so far. I think I can guess why. Few people want to be dyed green and have their hair styled in orange corkscrew curls. I decide to tell them to tone it down a little when the opportunity arises. They are their own advertisements and will likely have more success if they adjust to 12’s more conservative tastes. Unfortunately, after I’ve heard their story, I’m obliged to tell my own. It’s really hard since they were heavily invested in the star-crossed lovers. I recall Octavia’s tears when she, with the rest of my prep team, came to wake me to start on the preparations for the interviews, and came across Peeta and me sleeping together. She almost cries again when I describe the current situation with Peeta. “Oh Katniss, how could such a dreadful thing happen? And after all you’ve been through together. Well, you’ve come to the right place. A makeover sets everything right. I’ve always said so. Haven’t I, Flavius?” I’m directed over to one of the chairs where my braid is unravelled for assessment. Octavia takes one of my hands to examine the nails. There’s several seconds of uncomfortable silence. Eventually Flavius speaks. “When was the last time you had your hair cut?” he asks, quite unnecessarily. We both know from the uneven lengths that it hasn’t been cut since before the explosion that killed Prim and scarred Peeta and me. I shrug in answer. He then picks up a strand. It lies limply across his palm like a dead thing. “What shampoo do you use?” “No shampoo. Just soap.” Flavius turns pale and I think he might faint. But then he rallies to find some deep inner strength for his shoulders square and his voice turns to steel. “Lock the door, Octavia. There’ll be no more customers today. We have an emergency situation.” While Flavius applies a deep conditioning treatment to my hair, Octavia starts on my nails. I’m a chronic nail biter and they’re down to the quick. Rather than try to make do with the nails I’ve got, Octavia adheres false nails to them. “Not too long,” I warn. Octavia seems disappointed but she does as I say and keeps them to a modest length and then finishes with what she calls a ‘French polish.” After the conditioning treatment is rinsed off, Flavius sets to work on cutting my hair. We decide to leave it long enough to braid since that’s how I prefer to wear it. But otherwise, the length is evened out, and it’s given some shape around my face for those occasions for when I wear it loose. When my hair is dried, it’s gleaming like a curtain of black silk. “You’re a miracle worker,” I say. Flavius blushes at the compliment. “We’re not finished yet,” he says. “Come this way.” I’m led to one of the private alcoves. Venia was the waxer-in-chief so I wonder what’s going to happen next. It seems Octavia has taken on that role, and I grit my teeth as body hair is ripped out by the roots. Except for my underarms I draw the line at having my torso waxed though. Never again. And then I’m scoured and rubbed down with a series of lotions. “Your skin has got much better, but there’s still room for improvement,” says Octavia. “We could start a course of treatments that will even out the skin tone and buff away the worst of the scarring. It’s not as good as a full body polish, but it’s the next best thing.”

It's taken nearly five hours but my hair is shining and my skin is glowing. Flavius creates a make-up for me that I can do myself that accentuates my almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones. I’m so happy with the result that I book a series of appointments for more skin treatments and spend a small fortune on hair and skin products. Flavius waves away my attempt to pay for their hours but I insist and add a generous tip. They can’t afford to work for free when they’re short of customers. As we say goodbye, I promise to recommend them to all my friends. When I get some, that is. As I pass by the clothing shop, a summery dress in the colours of a sunset takes my eye. Half an hour later, I leave the shop with the dress and two new shirts. I see Lace through her shop window as I walk by. I give her a cheery wave, making sure that the bag with the shop’s name emblazoned on it is in plain sight. She returns the wave, but her smile is stiff. Ladies and gentlemen, let the Games begin! Chapter 3. For my first day at work I wear a Cinna made shirt in rose pink and navy trousers. I had spent the best part of a day going through all my clothes. Cinna had designed a wardrobe for every occasion, but I had avoided wearing it. I don’t know why. Maybe it was to keep it in perfect condition as a sort of memorial to him. But I think Cinna would prefer me to wear it. I like to think of it as the Mockingjay costume he designed for me. In a way, I’m going in to battle once again.

It turns out to be a waste of time though, as I’m handed a uniform soon after I arrive. It’s white with a mandarin collar and an embroidered logo in brown on the breast pocket. Cass hands it to me almost apologetically. “My sister-in-law’s idea. It’s easier not to argue, if you know what I mean,” he says in an undertone. He’s wearing the same uniform. Since I was here last week, the interior has been outfitted in tasteful neutral tones. All the colour is in the display cases. I haven’t seen such a decadent display of cakes and pastries outside the Capitol. Big cakes, small cakes, cakes with buttercream and shaved chocolate, meringues and cheesecakes, petit fours and fruit tarts. The shelves behind them are filled with every kind of bread you can think of, from fruit and nut to basic white. “Wow, you have been busy. I had no idea they’d be such a huge variety to choose from.” I say in awe. “It’s not quite as big as we did in the Capitol,” Cass says. “Before the war, anyway.” He takes from the case a yeasty bun topped with flaked almonds and filled with custard and hands it to me. “Try this.” I take a bite and groan. “This is so good,” I tell him. Cass smiles, pleased. “Bee sting. It’s our specialty.” “Do you make cheese buns?” I ask. “Do we make cheese buns?” Cass repeats as if he can’t believe I’m asking. In another case, at the opposite side of the room, he points to a variety of savory buns. Cheese, cheese and bacon, cheese and onion, herb and garlic. I’m in heaven. “But do you think you have the market in 12 for all this?” I ask. Twelve might have grown a lot, but it’s still small by Capitol standards. “We’re confident we do. After all, there’s no competition. When we heard that 12 had services like ice-cream parlours and restaurants but no bakery, we could hardly believe it. Julius – that’s my brother – went to scout it out and didn’t come back. And then Cornelia joined him to help set up while I stayed in the Capitol to sell our bakery there.” “Well, it’s very impressive -,” I begin. We’re interrupted by a woman aged about thirty with the reddest hair I’ve every seen. She slaps a tray of bread on the counter and starts loading the loaves onto a shelf.

“Hi, you must be Katniss. I’m Cornelia,” she says, without stopping. “I hope you’re ready for a busy day. Did you see the queue as you came in?” I had. It was hard to miss. The line extended past the corner. I had also noted the shop sign. Carter’s Bakery and Patisserie. It’s not Peeta’s work, lacking the flair he usually brings to it, but it’s serviceable enough. Cornelia returns to the rear of the shop and Cass shows us how the cash register works. There’s three of us shop assistants and we work different hours, some of them overlapping, but we’re all here today for the opening. There’s Flora, a native of 12, with the typical Seam look of dark hair and grey eyes. And Sateen, a new arrival from 8. She has a similar colouring to Lace, but her brown hair lacks the same reddish glints, and her eyes are blue rather than blue-grey. The day is a blur of frantic activity with bread and cakes disappearing off the shelves and Cass, Cornelia and Julius doing their best to replenish them. None of us assistants have any experience serving in a shop but we bungle our way through, getting in each other’s way as we box cakes, bag loaves of bread and vie for the cash register. By day’s end, we’re exhausted but nearly everything in the shop has been sold. “It won’t be like this every day,” says Julius, who’s emerged from the back of the shop for the first time. “We’re a novelty at the moment. It will settle down soon. Then we’ll have a better idea of how much we’ll sell and what’s most popular.” Julius is an older version of his brother, but slightly shorter and with darker blond hair and a more serious air about him. Cass nods. “It was like this when we opened our bakery in the Capitol. It was the middle of the cupcake craze and Cornelia had the brilliant idea of the all-frosting cupcake. I mean, let’s face it, the frosting is the best part. They were flying out the door.” He turns his head in my direction. “That’s how I got to be one of the bakers at the feast,” he tells me. “It was all on the strength of my frosting.” “Cass is actually a pastry chef by trade,” explains Cornelia. “It’s Julius and me who are the bakers.” “What’s a pastry chef?” I ask.

“A chef who specialises in pastries and desserts. Breads too, sometimes. Cass does all the fancy stuff,” she replies. “I do my best,” says Cass. “The baking’s no difficulty but I have little talent for cake decorating beyond the basics, and we’ll like to develop that side of the business at some stage. We don’t hold much hope for finding someone out here that could do it though.” I can think of someone who’ll be perfect, but I keep my mouth shut. The idea is to have a life separate from Peeta. Sharing a work place with him is hardly conducive. Cornelia boxes up some of the left-over cakes and breads for us to take home. “One of the perks of the job,” she says.

Flora, Sateen, and I swap puzzled glances. Surely this could be sold tomorrow as yesterday’s bread? “Aren’t you going to sell this?” ventures Flora. “How? It will be stale tomorrow. No one wants to buy stale bread,” says Cornelia, clearly surprised by the question.

I recall when Peeta told me that the only time he got to eat the apple and goat’s cheese tart his parent’s bakery produced was when it was very stale. How very different it was for people in the Capitol then, if they’d refuse to buy bread that wasn’t fresh. In the districts you’d think yourself lucky to get it, no matter how stale it was. How times have changed.

Indeed, I say to myself as I make my way through the town, clutching the white bakery box to my chest. How many squirrels would Gale and I have needed to trade for this lot? Let’s see, usually a small loaf of plain bread equalled two squirrels. There’s a loaf of sour dough, two cheese buns, an apple pastry, a beefsteak pie and a bee sting in this box. At least ten or eleven, I calculate. Possibly more. I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost pass by the ice-cream parlour without seeing it. I wish I had, for Peeta and Lace are there, seated at one of the outdoor tables. Peeta has his back to me, but Lace sees me. She says something to Peeta and he turns around. His arm goes up, gesturing me to come over and I have no choice but to comply unless I want to appear rude. At least she’s not licking ice-cream off his face this time.

I take the seat at the far end of the table, as far as I can possibly get from Shep, Lace’s big slobbering dog which seems to accompany her nearly everywhere she goes. Lace slips her hand into the crook of Peeta’s arm, and his free hand covers hers briefly with an affectionate pat. Having established her claim, she now turns her attention to me. “How was your first day at the bakery? Peeta’s told me that you got a job there. Serving behind the counter, isn’t it?” I don’t know if I imagine it, but Lace sounds almost snide about what I do. Perhaps there’s a snobbery about owning a business versus being employed in one. But Lace’s round eyes look back innocently at me. Nonetheless, my guard goes up. “It was fine,” I say stiffly. “The baker – the younger one, I mean, is pretty dishy. All the girls say he has great buns,” says Lace, with a giggle. “Um, yes he has,” I say, thinking of the bee sting. I get the feeling that I’m missing something though. The bakery has only been open one day. That’s not long enough to get a reputation for great buns. I steal a glance at Peeta, hoping for clarification but he just looks uncomfortable. “What did you think of the beauty salon?” asks Lace. “I saw you go in last week. I’ve been tempted to try it, but I’m not sure. The proprietors look really weird. I don’t want to come out with green skin or wearing purple lipstick but you came out looking normal enough. Wanted to impress the new boss, huh?” Before I can answer, Peeta interrupts. “What’s in the box?” “Oh, we were given some things to take home.” I open the box and push it towards him so he can see the contents better. “Impressive,” he says, after a few moments. He doesn’t look impressed though. He looks rather glum, in fact. “Cheese buns too. I’m sure you’re happy about that.” “I bet they aren’t as good as yours, Peety,” gushes Lace. Peety? “That looks interesting though,” she adds, pointing to the bee sting. “Try it,” I tell her. “I’ve already had one today. It’s the specialty of the house. It’s called a bee sting.”

Lace picks it up delicately with her finger tips and takes a large bite. Custard spurts out the sides and then down the front of her blue polka dot dress. I guess being out in the sunshine has made the custard runnier. Both Peeta and Lace reach for the paper napkins on the table and Lace dabs at the offending spot. She throws the napkin down. “It’s no good. I should rinse it. I don’t want it to stain. This is a new dress.” Lace glares at me as if I meant it to happen. She tells Shep to stay and then heads towards the restroom at the rear of the ice-cream parlour. Peeta and I watch her retreating figure. I’ve never noticed before how broad in the beam Lace is. Perhaps she’s been eating too much ice-cream.

There’s an awkward silence. It’s almost like we’ve lost the ability to converse with each other. I suppose my telling him that we have nothing to say to each other hasn’t helped.

“It probably won’t stain,” I get out, for want of something better to say. “It’s not like coffee or berry juice.” “No, but I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry.” “Yeah.”

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Katniss, I’ve been wanting to ask you something and now seems as good a time as any. I’ve been thinking a lot of what you said about trying to get my memories back. You’re right. I won’t find myself by ignoring my past. And memories have started to resurface anyway so . . .” Peeta pauses here, and I hardly dare breathe in anticipation. Is he about to say that he remembers he loves me? “Not that I expect that it will change how I feel about things,” he continues. “But I hope getting some memories back, at least, helps put it into context. I’ve been relying on instinct and I’m worried that if I put these feelings in the wrong place that one day, when I do remember, I might have done something I can’t take back. Something I might regret.” “Oh,” is all I say as I process what he’s just said. There’s some good news in that. At least he’s not certain about it. “Has something happened?” I ask, hopefully. “Something that’s made you question things?” “No, it’s just an idea that’s occurred to me. Lace thinks I should let my memories reveal themselves naturally – that if they’re meant to come back, they will. But Dr Aurelius thinks that some controlled method of accelerating the process could be beneficial. He wants to send me footage of the Games and our publicity tours – not all at once, just what he thinks I can handle. I’d like you to be there when I watch them. To ask questions of, if I have any.” “Right.” That’s what he wants to ask me then. To watch the Games with him. To relive it. The full force of what I’ve asked Peeta to do hits me. It will be bad enough for me, knowing what to expect. For him, it will be like the first time. “Anything I can do to help,” I say. I put out my hand without thinking and Peeta covers it with his own. I have to stop myself from flipping mine upwards to hold his hand like I want to. “Thanks, Katniss. You’re such a good friend. Better than I deserve really.” I shake my head no. “When?” “Is Saturday afternoon OK? Around three? Dr Aurelius said he could have the first of the tapes to me by the end of the week.” “Yes, that’s fine – “

“What’s up?” Lace has returned. Almost the entire front of her bodice is wet. It had only been a little splotch. Peeta and I hastily pull our hands back. “I’d better go. Three on Saturday, then,” I say. I collect my box from the table sans bee sting and push my chair back. “Bye Peeta. Bye Lace.” As I walk away, I see Lace questioning Peeta. His back is to me so I can’t see his reaction. I don’t have a good feeling about it. If anything can hinder Peeta’s memory recovery, it’s Lace. Chapter 4

On the way home, I drop into Haymitch’s to invite him to dinner. It’s the first meal we’ve shared since I bowed out of the Victor’s dinners. I don’t know if he and Peeta kept them up without me and I haven’t asked. But I do like to think I’ve been missed if they have. I heat up the beefsteak pie and cook vegetables to go with it. The loaf of sour dough I slice and put in the centre of the table. I let Haymitch have the apple pastry and we each have a cheese bun to finish. “It’s not better than Peeta’s,” I say, after I take my first bite. There’s hardly anything to distinguish them in fact, except that Peeta uses a slightly sharper cheese. “Is he very upset about the bakery? The Carters only came here because they heard 12 didn’t have one.” Haymitch finishes his bun in three bites and then wipes his greasy fingers on the tablecloth. Really, you’d think years of being around Effie would have taught him some manners.

“Something about it upsets him,” he says. “But I don’t think it’s opening his own bakery. He’s had plenty of time, if that’s what he wanted. I doubt he knows what he wants. He dabbles in ideas, testing one, and then another, to see how they fit.” I nod. Peeta doesn’t really commit to anything. Except maybe Lace. But then, when I think on it, she didn’t really become “girlfriend” until I called her one. What an idiot thing to do, if it was me who put the idea in his head. It occurs to me, that even though Peeta resists being told who he is, he’s still vulnerable to suggestion. I guess that’s the danger of not knowing who you truly are. You’d constantly be looking for any kind of clue; anything being better than nothing. “Has Peeta said anything about the tapes Dr Aurelius sent him?” I ask. I’m curious to know what Haymitch thinks. I prepare myself for criticism as it was the ultimatum I gave Peeta that was the impetus behind it.

“He has,” he replies, “and it pains me to say it, but you might’ve been right. Cosseting him like we have hasn’t helped him. He needed a reason to fight to get his memories back, and you seem to have given him one.” “On the way to the Capitol to kill Snow, Peeta was so determined,” I say, recalling our first tentative attempts to reconnect with each other after the hijacking. “We – the squad, Peeta and I - played the real, not real game. He’d test his memories on us, and we’d say if it was real or not.” My voice cracks. “He trusted me then, to tell him the truth. Now he doesn’t. He actually told me that. Not entirely, anyway.”

Haymitch gives me a side-ways glance. “He trusts you. You don’t seek out people you don’t trust to be friends with. He just gets confused between what the hijacking made him believe and what he actually feels. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t want you to watch the tapes with him. He hasn’t asked me.” “What? I just assumed that you would. I mean, you were there. You could corroborate. Give a different view point . . .” “I could. But it seems he wants only you.” Haymitch belches and stands to leave. “My advice. Be completely honest with him. Don’t even try to be diplomatic or soften the truth, no matter how bad it looks. He’ll know.” Halfway out the door, Haymitch turns back. “If you get more of those apple pastries . . .

Ugh! Haymitch and his stomach. I don’t hear the rest of it. My thoughts are too full of Peeta and how he wants only me to watch the tapes with him. Not Haymitch, who I thought Peeta seemed to prefer these days, but me! It has to be a good sign. My refusal to have anything to do with him must have been the motivation he needed. It’s sort of like when we were in the Star Squad and I called him a mutt and said the real Peeta was gone. Haymitch was angry with me when he heard, but it did seem to mark a turnaround in Peeta’s attitude. That’s when he decided to trust me with getting his memories back, and I wanted to help him in return. It’s the start of something big. I know it! I imagine us watching the tapes sitting together on a couch as we did when we watched the Games in the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Perhaps we’ll hold hands, or even cuddle as we did then. It was horrifying to watch it the first time, of course, and it will probably be just as horrifying a second time, and I dread all the bad memories it will evoke, but oh, how wonderful it will be when Peeta sees how close we were, and how we protected each other. Surely he’ll remember that he loves me when he does. It’s just as well there’s lots to distract me before Saturday. I’d be climbing the walls with impatience if there weren’t. As it is, I have to remind myself to concentrate on matters at hand because I find it so hard to think of little else. Over the next few days it’s still very busy at the bakery. But, as Julius predicted, the number of customers begins to decline. There’s even a little time to become better acquainted with my co-workers. I learn that Flora Dogwood is seventeen and a survivor of Snow’s bombing of 12. Her family has recently returned to their home district from District 13 and, with the exception of Flora, are employed in the medicine factory. Sateen Bobbin also came to 12 with her family. She’s twenty-two, never wants to work with textiles again, and is a relative of the Bobbin family who owned and managed the largest factory in 8. The tailor who’s opened a shop on Main Street is her brother. On the Friday, I turn up at the school about fifteen minutes before first bell. I was tempted to give the whole thing a miss. Working at the bakery has been more tiring than I thought since I’m on my feet all day. What I really want is time on my own and to go hunting. Instead I’ll be herding a bunch of kids through the woods and trying very hard not to lose any. But I said I would, so here I am. I wear my preferred attire of khaki trousers, hunting jacket and boots. I hesitated over whether to bring my bow or not, wondering if it’s appropriate to take weapons into a school. But then on the other hand, losing a child to a predator wouldn’t be a good look either. I enter the school house without knocking, tentatively putting my head around the door first to see if anyone’s about. It’s a large room, filled with a motley assortment of desks, a blackboard on the rear wall and in front of that, the teacher’s desk. Five adults are peering over some papers strewn across it. Their heads rise abruptly when they hear me enter. Floppy- haired man (I’ve forgotten his name) comes towards me, smiling broadly. “Katniss! You came!” I scowl at him. There’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way. “I said I would, didn’t I?” The smile dims a little. “Ah, yes, you did. If you come this way, I’ll introduce you.” He puts his hand at my back to usher me forward. “If you don’t mind,” I say, glancing pointedly over my shoulder at it. “Personal space and all.” That’s what I don’t like about him. He’s so pushy and over-familiar. He drops his hand from my back then raises both as if in surrender. I scowl at him again and make my way over to the others. Floppy-haired man appears at my side to make the introductions. There’s Mr and Mrs Matson, a middle-aged couple with greying hair and a mild, patient demeanour. Moira, their daughter, auburn haired and very pretty. Son, Milo, good looking in an understated way with brown hair and brown eyes. Hands are shaken all round. “I’m not quite sure what’s expected of me,” I say to Mr Matson. He seems to be the one in charge. “We’re leaving it up to you. It’s really about connecting these children with nature. Giving them an awareness and appreciation of it. And also, it’s dangers. Most of our children grew up around factories or mining. Here they have a huge forest on their doorstep. It’s a whole new world for them.” “It will only be in small groups,” Mrs Matson assures me. “And only for an hour or two. As the school is still quite small, by days end, all the students will have had a turn.” Suddenly I’m excited to be part of it. This is something I can do and do well. All I have to do is impart the same knowledge to these children that my father gave me. And there’s also a lot I learned on my own. I had begun to fear that it might be some formal arrangement, giving lectures or something in front of the whole school, albeit in the woods. “Max will accompany you on your first day. Just to get you acquainted with the children and make sure they don’t give you any trouble,” adds Mr Matson. So Floppy-haired man’s name is Max. I force a smile. In my side-vision I see a big smirk on Max’s face. I finger the string of my bow. I’m so glad I brought it with me.

Fortunately for Max I don’t end up using it. Not on him, anyway. One of the older children, a sort of junior version of Max, thinks it’s funny to scare his classmates with tales of ferocious man-eating beasts and squirrels that drop out of trees to munch on the heads of passers-by. After reassuring the kids that it’s completely untrue, I give a brief demonstration of what any animal that dared to attack could expect. It shuts that kid right up. And Max too.

By the end of the school day, every child has had a turn in the woods. As Mr Matson had said, for many of them it’s a whole new world. I remember some of the districts Peeta and I had visited on the Victory Tour where there was scarcely a blade of grass to be seen. Even in 12, exposure to nature was limited if you didn’t venture into the woods. The kids are so excited that I’m excited too. I don’t know if they learn much, but I think we all have a good time. Next time, I’ll have to put more substance into it. Perhaps safety in the woods would be a good place to start and then go on to identifying the different plants and animals. I sleep well that night, exhausted by the unaccustomed activity of the past five days. Just as well, otherwise the anticipation of spending the afternoon with Peeta watching old footage of us together would have kept me up all night. I wonder what we’ll start with. I have no idea if it will be chronological, starting with the reaping, or all mixed up. But whatever it is, I need to be prepared and to answer any questions Peeta might have as honestly as I can, no matter how awkward it might be.

The next day, I spend an inordinate amount of time choosing what to wear. I want to appear casually elegant, and maybe just a little bit sexy. What I don’t want is to look as if I’ve tried too hard. That’s more difficult than I first thought. Anything more than my usual baggy khaki trousers and T-shirt tells the world that I’ve put in more than my usual effort. I didn’t have this problem after I won the Games, but then I don’t have my mother around to remind me to dress according to my status any more. I guess, when left to my own devices, I’m just a natural slob. Eventually I decide on figure hugging black trousers that make my rear end look great, if I do say so myself. A simple clinging top in forest green completes the ensemble. I debate whether to go braless to allow my nipples to show through but then decide that it might be a bit too obvious and go with the bra. My hair I wear down except for the side sections which I braid loosely to tie at the back of my head. And then I carefully apply makeup, just as Flavius had shown me. At exactly three o’clock I’m at Peeta’s door. My insides are churning with nervous energy and I wonder if I should have gone to the bathroom before I left. I had gone, I remind myself. It’s just the excitement and I don’t really need to go. Oh, please, please let only good things come from this. It could be my only chance. I hesitate for a few seconds, then reach for the brass knocker. One, two, three raps and then I wait. I hear voices, more than one, some scuffling and then feet approaching the door. The door opens. It’s not Peeta. It’s Lace. She wears a low-cut pink dress, her breasts almost spilling out. The first thing that comes into my head is that I should have left off the bra.

Chapter 5.

Shep bounds out to greet me. I push him away, perhaps more forcefully than I need to. He leaves behind what seems to be half his coat on my black trousers.

“Hi Katniss!” Lace chirps, following it with that stupid pearly laugh of hers. “Come in. We’ve been waiting for you. It’s all set up in the sitting room.” She looks me up and down, taking in the extra care I’ve taken. “All dressed up for the occasion, I see.” Peeta appears just behind her. He tries to make eye contact. I think there’s an unspoken apology there, but I refuse to look at him. I am so angry! This is my life too we’re about to dissect and then discuss. What is she doing here? How dare he invite her! And even if she just turned up, how could he let her stay? “I have somewhere to go after this,” I tell Lace. It’s a lie, of course. I had no plans other than to hopefully spend lots of one-on-one time with Peeta. Obviously, that’s not going to happen.

“Well, you look very nice,” says Peeta. “Thanks,” I reply, but without enthusiasm. I’m too mad at him to take any pleasure in the compliment.

Shep jumps back up, leaving another layer of dog hair on my clothes. “Can something be done about this dog?” I ask irritably. “Maybe some training?” “Shep, come here,” calls Peeta. He takes Shep by the collar and leads him away into the rear of the house. Bloody nuisance of a dog. I follow Lace into the sitting room. “Can I get you a tea or hot chocolate? Or maybe a cold drink?” offers Lace. “No thank you,” I say stiffly. So now she’s also playing the role of host in Peeta’s home. I want to scream with disappointment and frustration but I can’t afford to let my emotions show so I do the next best thing. I set my face into a stony mask and steel myself to get through the coming ordeal as well as I can. Peeta’s sitting room is set up like mine. In front of the television there’s a two-seater couch and single lounge chairs on either side. I note there’s a plate of frosted cookies on the coffee table, each bearing a floral motif. Among them I recognise the flower with three petals as katniss flowers. Haven’t lost your talent for playing the two of us at the same time, have you Peeta? “Would you like a cookie, Katniss?” asks Lace, as she holds the plate out to me. “No thanks. I had my fill of baked goods during the week.” Just then Peeta walks in and I can tell by his frown that he heard me.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” I say. The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and I can get out of here. “Of course,” says Peeta. He doesn’t look happy. I guess he’s anxious about what’s on the tape. He turns on the television and inserts the tape into the player. Immediately the Panem Capitol seal appears on the screen. We’re about to see official televised footage then. It might be my imagination, but Lace seems to race towards the two-seater couch to get there first. Peeta sits down beside her and I take my place on one of the single chairs. In my peripheral vision I see him turn to me with a worried expression but I keep my eyes forward and pretend not to notice. I’ve kicked off my shoes to hug my knees to my chest and I drop my head to partially obscure my face. I wish I could shut all of this out. Lace, him, me. Everything.

Peeta presses the start button on the remote. The Capitol Seal is replaced by images of Peeta and me at one of the big Capitol events. Dr Aurelius seems to have chosen to start with the least harrowing and emotionally fraught, although this is also bad. We were performing for our lives, afraid that one wrong move would doom not only our families, but entire districts.

Lace leans her head against Peeta’s shoulder and his arm goes around her. I’m glad I’m sitting where I can’t see them from the front. I don’t want to know if they’re also holding hands. Like Peeta and I did on the Capitol stage. To keep the tears at bay, I take refuge in anger. Where do they think they are? At the movies? It’s just as well I don’t have my bow with me or I’d send an arrow through both their skulls. I hate them so much! And I’m done with Peeta. For good this time. I haven’t changed my mind about helping him regain his memories, but I don’t owe him more than that. The tape continues to play although I pay little attention to it. It’s a montage of Capitol parties. Many changes of clothes for Peeta and me. Garishly costumed Capitolites showing off their Mockingjay accessories. Glimpses of Haymitch and Effie and assorted Capitol celebrities. But most of all there’s kissing. Lots of kissing, hand holding, slow dancing and romantic gazes. I take grim satisfaction that Lace is watching it. But what else could she expect? She’s seen it all before. This was mandatory viewing. Was she taken in by it? Did she believe the hype? How does she reconcile all this with her relationship with Peeta and his friendship with me? What has Peeta told her? After what seems an age, the tape ends. The screen goes blank and Peeta clicks on the remote to turn off the television. No one speaks.

I wait for Peeta’s questions, wondering how this will work. Peeta’s greatest confusion centres around me. Lace’s presence could have an inhibiting effect.

He starts haltingly, feeling his way. “I remember some of it. The dress you wore to the district party in 7, for example.” This is no surprise. We talked of this when we played the real, not real game on the way to the Capitol. “And dancing with you. I think it was at a feast?” “That’s right. It was the night we became engaged. The feast was after. We were disgusted with the waste of food when there was so much starvation in the districts. You met Cass – one of the bakers I work for. He gave you his frosting to take home.”

Peeta nods. “They gave out drinks to make you puke so could you could go on eating.” “Yes,” I say, growing excited. He’s remembering! I get out of my chair and walk around to face him. “And then you questioned whether we were doing the right thing by trying to subdue the unrest in the districts.” He frowns at this, considering it. “It’s why we kissed so much – to make people believe our romance was real. And that we weren’t out to defy the Capitol.” I don’t respond. Dread freezes my tongue. I know what’s coming next. “We were acting. Both of us,” he says. He looks down at his feet as if he’s recalling a sad fact, and then back up at me, searching my face, waiting for confirmation.

And what can I say? For while Peeta was as madly in love with me as ever, all that public romance stuff was indeed an act. For him, as well as me. I want to tell him that we were growing closer then, that I would come to feel the same way about him that he did about me. But some instinct tells me that this isn’t the right time. That maybe Dr Aurelius intends there to be a progression, that I shouldn’t rush things. That I should let Peeta’s questions be my guide. Besides, Lace is here, hanging onto every word. So I bite my tongue and merely nod. He seems to consider it a moment and then responds with a nod of his own. “Yeah, thought so.” I take a deep breath. I have to leave before I do something stupid like cry. “Well, if there’s no more questions, I should be going. There’s people expecting me.” I make my way to the door. “Same time next week?” I scarcely wait for the answer. I’m halfway to my house when I hear my name called. I want to ignore it, but when it’s repeated, louder this time and more urgently, I have little choice but to stop. I turn around but remain where I am until Peeta reaches me, slightly breathless. “Katniss, I want to explain about Lace. I didn’t mean for her to be there, but when she turned up, I didn’t like to ask her to leave. She wants to be supportive. She means well, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to stay away in future.” I want to shout at him. To demand why let her stay in the first place. It’s our story! It has nothing to do with her! But if I have to tell him all the ways in which Lace being there is so wrong, then what’s the point? He shouldn’t even have to ask. He should know. And what’s this about making me uncomfortable? Me? What about him having to talk about this great love he claims he had for me in front of his girlfriend? Probably it’s not a problem for him because he doesn’t have it anymore. I shrug. “It’s your party. Invite who you like. It’s not like the whole of Panem hasn’t seen it already.” I look away from him, towards my house. I don’t want him to see how close I am to tears. “I’d better go. I’m running late and I have to change my clothes. There’s dog hair all over me.” “Bye, Katniss,” he calls after me, “and thanks.” There’s a mixture of resignation and bewilderment in his voice, as if he’s wondering what he’s done wrong this time. Well, fuck him, I think as I tear off my black trousers and toss them into a corner of my bedroom. I don’t care that he was hijacked. If he had even an ounce of consideration for me then Lace would have been asked to leave immediately. I suppose this is his idea of being a good boyfriend. Let the girlfriend stay because she wants to be supportive. Wants to sabotage, more like. My second choice of dark green trousers still lies across the bed, so I put them on before grabbing some money from the dresser. I can’t go to the woods like I want to in case I’m caught in the lie. That leaves the town. At least the walk helps burn off the anger. In fact, by the time I reach the town square, I’m hovering on despair again. I have to remind myself that it’s early days, and that we’ve barely begun the process to restore Peeta’s memories. But there’s this feeling that time’s not on my side, and that the longer it takes, the closer he’ll become with Lace. Maybe he’ll even prefer her, despite his memories coming back, and it’s something I should prepare myself for. It might even be the reason why Dr Aurelius advised me to work on myself. He knows what’s in Peeta’s mind better than anybody. There’s not many people about late on a Saturday afternoon. Shops are closed, cafes are winding down and restaurants are yet to open. That leaves 12’s two pubs. Pre-war, it was mostly peacekeepers who frequented these kinds of places. The only girls from 12 who went into them were looking for business. Maybe times have changed though. Twelve is definitely more cosmopolitan than it used to be. And it’s not like I’m dressed like, well like Lace was dressed this afternoon, with her boobs hanging out everywhere. I choose what appears from the outside to be the most respectable. I make a beeline for the bar, perch myself on a stool and pick up the drinks menu in front of me. I’ve never had a cocktail before and the list is mystifying. I end up ordering a martini because I like the way it sounds. It tastes foul. But at least by the rate I’m sipping this thing, it should while away an hour or two. After about ten minutes, I get sick of the stool and move to a table. More customers start to filter in. A man, tow-headed and with a Capitol accent, takes the chair opposite and tries to engage me in conversation. I give him a withering look before he leaves to join a group of men at another table. They are obviously friends of his, because they glance my way and then turn back to him, laughing. Arseholes. I’m already on edge when a hand descends on my shoulder. I jerk back in anger and hot words spring to my lips. But when I see who the hand belongs to, I pull them back. “Hi Katniss. Are you here on your own? Do you mind if we join you?” Sateen asks. She’s with a man I don’t recognise. “Of course not,” I say, as I make more room for them. I’m glad to have the company. Not only will it deter unwelcome attention, it also validates my lie. These can be the people I was meeting with all along. “This is Arthur. He’s the brother I told you about. The tailor,” says Sateen. Arthur and I shake hands. He’s of medium height with brown hair that’s started to recede and mild blue eyes. “I often walk past your shop,” I say to him. “Are you getting a lot of business?” Arthur’s face lights up. This is evidently a pet topic for him. “It was slow at first but it’s picking up. It’s not what I want to do long term though. As soon as I build up enough capital, I’d like to open my own factory. Ready-to-wear is where the real money is.” “It was the family business in 8,” explains Sateen. “Well, it was until our factory was bombed. Most of our workers were killed, and Arthur and I barely escaped ourselves. And then when we went back later to find the safe, someone had got there first. So now we start again. Like nearly everyone, I guess.” I think of Lace, who has a similar story. Except that she had been a factory worker, rather than a factory owner. “We’re just lucky to have been taught a trade. Dad insisted that we know all aspects of the business and it turned out Arthur has quite the talent for tailoring. He even got offers to work in the Capitol,” says Sateen proudly. “Only two,” says Arthur modestly, but he looks pleased nonetheless. “What made you choose 12? “ I ask. “Why not stay in 8?” Sateen shrugs. “We wanted a fresh start. There’s not many good memories in 8, what with the bombings and all. We also lost family members. Dad and a cousin of ours were killed in a separate bombing a few days later. And Mum died about ten years ago so there’s only Arthur and me. So when we heard about the medicine factory opening in 12 it seemed ideal. If there’s one factory, they’ll be more so why shouldn’t one of them be a clothing factory? Plus there’s not much competition here and lots of new people who need clothes.”

I nod. It seems that’s why most people come to 12. For opportunity. Personally, if I were coming here from 8, it would be for the woods. Eight was the most depressing of all the districts. Nothing but factories and tenements. I come to the last of my martini and I push the glass from me. Immediately Arthur springs up and offers to buy me another. I decline, but Sateen wants a drink and Arthur makes his way over to the bar. Once he’s out of hearing, Sateen leans forward and talks in a loud whisper. “I had to nag him to come out tonight. He’s so shy around new people. Especially women. And it’s such a shame, because you couldn’t find a nicer guy. He’s ambitious too. A real catch.” She regards me thoughtfully. “He seems to like you.” “Oh, does he? It’s probably because he feels he knows me already. From the TV. A lot of people are like that,” I say hastily. I certainly don’t want Sateen doing any matchmaking between Arthur and me. “Yeah, probably. I didn’t think of that,” she replies, sounding a little disappointed. Arthur returns with the drinks and we chat some more. Soon after I make my excuses. I’ve been gone for long enough and I want to get home before dark. As I pass through the Village gates, I encounter Lace on her way home. We greet each other politely. No one would guess that we don’t trust each other an inch. Once our paths have crossed, the corners of my mouth lift in a smile. A genuine one this time. As far as the fight for Peeta goes, it’s been a disastrous day for me, and a triumphant one for her. But I do have one thing to celebrate. At least she’s not spending the night. Chapter 6.

The following Saturday, I’m outside Peeta’s door again but with considerably lower expectations than I had the week before. But at least it won’t be as bad as last week, now that we’ve got the acting thing out of the way. It’s Peeta who opens the door this time. His eyes widen with admiration when he sees what I’m wearing. I knew he’d like it. “You’re as radiant as a sunset,” he says. “Thank you. When I saw this dress in the shop window that’s what it reminded me of.” I see Lace hovering in the background. “It’s from the shop just a few doors down from you, Lace.” Lace smiles tightly. “Yeah, I remember seeing it.” There’s no sign of Shep. Either Lace has left him at home, or he’s been put in a back room. I wish Lace had been too. I’ve been kicking myself all week that I didn’t take up Peeta’s offer to tell her to stay away for the tape viewings but instead allowed angry pride to rule me. So here she is, in a green floral dress that accentuates her breasts and small waist, her mahogany hair curling artfully over her shoulders. Lace always takes care of her appearance but she’s gone to extra trouble today. I smooth back my hair, left loose and flowing down my back in silky waves and stare coolly back. Challenge met. Peeta has no idea what’s going on, his blue eyes innocent of the tension between Lace and me. “Going out after this?” Lace asks, all friendly interest. “Yes, I am. I’m meeting friends.” And it’s true this time. Sateen, Arthur, Flora and I are going to a restaurant together. Sateen is quite the social organiser.

We move into the sitting room. Peeta asks if I’d like a drink before we get started and I accept this time because it’s Peeta who asks. I also take a chocolate chip cookie to go with my glass of water. The bakery doesn’t do cookies and I have missed Peeta’s. This time I don’t even think about occupying the two-seater couch but take a seat on one of the lounge chairs to the side. Lace, and then Peeta take the couch. The television flickers to life and the next instalment of the star-crossed lover’s saga begins.

After last week, I thought Dr Aurelius might continue with the least harrowing of the archival footage, but no, he seems to have decided to plunge Peeta into the deep end this time. It’s the District 11 leg of the Victory Tour. I recognise the marble stairs of the District 11 Justice building. We would have to face the families of Thresh and Rue, and then witness the death of a frail old man, shot through the head by a peacekeeper. My eyes search out Peeta. It’s hard to make out his reaction to what’s on the screen from where I’m sitting. The light in the room is dim and my view of him is partially obscured by Lace, who’s chosen to sit on the side of the couch closest to me. It should be me sitting next to him! Not her! How can I read him, if I’m all the way over here? The sound of applause sends my attention back to the television screen. It’s the audience reacting to Peeta and me as we walk onto the makeshift stage. The camera pans across the crowd and then to the families of the dead tributes who stand waiting on a special platform just below us. The mayor makes his speech, and then Peeta and I make the scripted speech that Effie wrote. Peeta makes his own, personal speech to Rue’s and Thresh’s families when, to the astonishment of all, he pledges to give them a month of our winnings every year for the rest of our lives. Peeta and I exchange glances and I rise on tiptoe to kiss him. The camera records all our movements but what it doesn’t catch is how I felt about him in that moment. How I found it impossible to imagine that I could do any better than him. A pang of loss slices through me. I miss that boy so much. For a few seconds I forget about District 11 and what’s to happen next and instead focus on the Peeta and Katniss on the TV screen. We were so young. Far too young to have the weight of the world on our shoulders. But Peeta’s love for me shines through, like a brightly burning flame. And there’s me, confused, unsure, but slowly falling. If only I had known sooner, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are now.

The mayor presents us each with a large plaque and I put down my bouquet of flowers to hold it. It signals the end of the ceremony, but I tell them to wait. I have something to say to the families. I speak from the heart, and it seems to resonate because there’s a hushed silence from the crowd when I finish. This is where I expect the tape to end. For surely what is to follow wouldn’t have made the official broadcast. But Dr Aurelius seems to have got hold of the unedited tape because the cameras keep on rolling. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue’s four-note mockingjay tune. And then, as if pre-arranged, every person kisses the three middle fingers of their left hand and holds them out to me. I recall the sudden sense of dread and panic. It was a gesture of defiance to the Capitol and somehow, I had provoked it. I was supposed to defuse tensions in the districts, not inflame them. The mayor then says a few words and Peeta and I head toward the doors. That’s when I go back for my flowers and see peacekeepers drag the old man to the top of the steps. To be shot.

I lose sight of Peeta and me. Peacekeepers have surrounded us, blocking us from sight. We were ushered into the building at that point. In the square there’s pandemonium. People screaming, terrified, as two more men are pulled from the crowd to be shot in the head too. The crowd pulls back, seemingly realising that their greater numbers are no match for the peacekeeper’s guns. But their expressions remain defiant. A thin wail pierces the silence. I think it must come from a woman who has thrown herself over the body of one of the dead men, but it continues when the television screen goes black. It’s coming from Lace. Peeta tries to calm her down. Through the sobs we hear a garbled story of witnessing a skirmish in the main square of District 8. Lace saw it from the window of the apartment where her family lived. People had hidden their faces behind makeshift masks and were throwing bricks at the peacekeepers who shot into the crowd, killing many.

While Lace cries against Peeta’s neck, I hang back, silent, my emotions swinging between anger, despair and straight-out jealousy. There’s also contempt for Lace, unfair though it is. It would have been an awful thing to witness, but it wasn’t her that was being shot at. She’s alive, isn’t she? And her family is too. She has everything to be grateful for as she blubbers away. She gets to enjoy the sacrifices that others have made while losing little. She even gets Peeta. And as for him, I might as well not be here. It’s all about Lace. If I’m been relegated to second place on Peeta’s list of priorities, then it’s so far down from first it might as well be last. I don’t wait for Lace to quieten down so Peeta can ask his questions. I just leave. The walk into town is a quick one. I want to get as much distance between me and the Village as possible. I begin to think that perhaps my future no longer lies with Peeta, and that I have to look outward more than I have ever done before if I’m to survive this. Because I think I might have lost him. Forever this time. These tapes do nothing but push Peeta closer to Lace. I’ve made a big tactical error, and now I have to live with it. And I can’t opt out. I made a promise, and it was my idea to begin with.

Strangely, the thought doesn’t throw me into despair as I thought it might. Letting go of hope has a deadening affect. I feel almost nothing. That can be my strategy. I’ll be as detached from it all as much as I can. If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when that’s inevitably what I get. By the time I reach the town square, I’m feeling better. But I’m also aware how fragile this new attitude is, and that it won’t take much to tip me right back to where I started. I look around for something to distract me. I’ve arrived too early to meet the others so I head for the pub I went to last week. Over an old fashioned this time (I didn’t think I could go wrong with something that’s stood the test of time) I secrete myself in a corner to enjoy my drink. Which I don’t. For two reasons. It tastes foul and Max Matson is here.

He’s at the bar, drinking a beer. He appears to be alone but by the way he’s scanning the room, it’s clear that he doesn’t intend to be that way for long. I shrink into the shadows as much as I can but it’s no good. He’s seen me and he’s heading this way.

“Katniss! On your own?” “No, just trying to be.” Max ignores me and takes the seat opposite. “Cheers”, he says, clinking his glass against mine. “So how are you finding working at the school?” I hesitate. I really want to tell him to take a hike. But I do share a workplace with him, and to give him his due, he was responsible for getting me the job. Just tolerate him, I tell myself. That’s all you have to do. “It’s good. I like the kids and they seem to enjoy the lessons.” “Well, who wouldn’t be impressed by having the Mockingjay as your teacher? Especially when she brings her bow along and shoots arrows into innocent trees. There was one terrifying moment when I thought you were going to shoot me.” I try, but I can’t keep the scowl off my face. “And why would I possibly want to shoot at you?” “Don’t know. But I seem to bother you, for some reason.” “I think if you tried really, really hard, you’d figure out why.” “Hmm. Because you’re attracted and you don’t want to be?” I can’t be bothered dignifying that with an answer, so I take another sip of my drink instead. “Why do you drink something you hate?” “Who says I hate it?” “You screw up your face every time you take a drink.” Irritated, I bang my glass back down on the table. “Did you specifically come over here to annoy me?” “Is that what I’m doing?” he asks. He seems genuinely surprised. “I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to get to know you. It’s pretty daunting you know. Meeting the Mockingjay.” I put up my hand. “You can stop right there. I’m not the Mockingjay anymore. I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it. If you really want to get to know me, then it’s as plain Katniss Everdeen, not some preconceived idea of what you think you know about me from what you saw on TV.” “So they aren’t one and the same?” “Nope. Not even close.” “Well, that’s a shame. I only asked you to join the school because of what I saw on TV. So it wasn’t you who volunteered for her sister? Or took that twelve-year-old under her wing and sang to her as she died? Or nursed that liability called Peeta Mellark? Or took care of the odd couple from 3 in the Quell? Or knew how to live off the land? Or threatened to eat poisonous berries rather than – “ “Of course that was me,” I interrupt impatiently. “I mean the rest of it. You know, the costume and the speeches and stuff. Or that I was some kind of revolutionary. That part wasn’t me.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “For the record, I thought both were awesome but the Katniss Everdeen part most of all.” “Oh,” I say, taken aback. The last person who thought I was anything close to awesome was Prim. Peeta hasn’t thought that way about me since he was hijacked. And then to hear it from this irritating man I barely know, who in this moment, has just given me something I didn’t even know I hungered for until now.

I try to hide how it’s affected me, but I can feel myself blushing. “Well, just wait ten minutes,” I say in an attempt to downplay it. Max laughs. He holds up his empty glass. “Do you mind if I get another drink while I’m waiting? What about you? Care to ditch that drink for something you might actually like?”

“Yeah. Thanks. Maybe something non-alcoholic this time,” I say.

He returns with another beer and an orange juice for me. We spend the next half hour chatting comfortably – talking about the school and how he and his family came to 12. He’s still annoying and he evidently loves to tease. But when it’s time to leave, I realise I might have made progress on the second part of my goal. I think I’ve made a friend. It’s not far to the restaurant. A few doors down from the bakery actually. Flora, Sateen and Arthur are already there when I arrive. It soon becomes clear why Sateen organised this outing. She’s trying to set up Flora with Arthur. Unfortunately for Sateen, her attempts to cultivate conversation between the two falls flat every time. Arthur is too old and serious for Flora, who shows more interest in flirting with the waiter.

Eventually Sateen gives up and the company relaxes into easy conversation. Sateen tells Flora she wouldn’t mind colouring her “boring” brown hair. I actually think it’s an attractive shade of ash brown that reminds me of the bark of a black oak and I tell her so. But apparently nearly everyone from 8 has this hair colour and she wants something different. This seems a good time to recommend Flavius and Octavia which then leads to questions about my time as a tribute and all the styling and prepping we had to undertake. You’d think Arthur would be bored by the conversation, but he listens intently and asks a question now and then. It turns out that he did some work for Cinna and he and I reminisce, having at last found common ground. That is, until I catch Sateen watching us speculatively. I don’t want to give her any ideas. It’s nearly dark by the time I get home. Summer is drawing to a close and the days are getting shorter. A chill has settled on the night air and I look forward to being indoors to get warm. I was so intent on getting away from the Village that I forgot to drop into my house first to pick up a cardigan or a jacket before I left. I’m almost on top of him before I see him. His body is partially obscured by the deep shadows cast by the porch roof. I wonder how long he’s been waiting. Certainly not more than when Lace left for home, I figure. He wouldn’t be sitting on my front porch if she was still here. Peeta turns his head as I approach but stays seated. “Hi,” he says.

I sit down beside him. I guess I could invite him in but I don’t want to appear too friendly. Not until he’s earned it, anyway. Besides, if I’m not welcome in his house at night unannounced, then I don’t see why I should welcome him into mine.

“How long have you been here?” I ask. He shrugs. “Don’t know. Not that long.” He pauses for a moment, and then speaks in a rush. “I want to apologise for this afternoon. I had no idea the tapes would trigger Lace. I thought she would have seen them already, and she’d know what to expect. And when I saw you gone – “ “How is Lace?” I interrupt. I don’t want to have to explain why I left suddenly.

“She’s fine now. The shootings in 8 . . .one of those killed was her fiancé. She . . . she had been carrying his baby but miscarried a few days later.” “Wow.” I feel bad for judging Lace so harshly before. Maybe that’s why her mind went to my rumoured miscarriage when the subject of children came up when we first met. She knew how it felt. “Did you know all this?” Peeta shakes his head. “No, it was the first I’d heard of it.”

I don’t know how to respond. It seems a big thing not to tell someone you’ve supposedly grown close to. But perhaps it’s a coping mechanism. We all have them. Lace doesn’t seem the type to dwell on unhappy times. And it’s not like they’d be a big exchange of stories about previous relationships between them. Peeta can’t remember his. Except false memories planted by the Capitol, that is. “Anyway, I should have realised that this is upsetting for you too. I’m sorry that I was too pre-occupied with Lace to be of any use. I know you’re doing this for me and the least I can do is make it as easy for you as possible. Lace really had no business being there. This doesn’t involve her and I should never have allowed her to stay. I want you to know that I’ve told her not to come next time, for everyone’s sake.” Peeta’s evidently attributed my walking out to having being overcome from emotion. Which I was, but not for the reason he thinks. I guess I ought to feel relief that he hasn’t guessed why, but I’m also saddened by it. Misread, yet again. “What did Lace say?” I ask. “She came around to it,” he says after a pause. Lace wasn’t happy then. “Do you think there’ll be more of those tapes? Ones that weren’t shown on TV?” Peeta asks. I hear apprehension in his voice. I’d asked myself the same question. Who knows what recordings the Capitol made. “Maybe. We always assumed that we were under some kind of surveillance. Audio, at least. There may be film. I don’t know.” “I mean of when I was captured.” I turn sharply to look at him. He’s in profile, looking down at his clasped hands. Naturally his thoughts would go to the torture and I’m reminded again of what a huge undertaking this is for him. “I doubt it. Snow wouldn’t have filmed anything incriminating. He was careful to cover his tracks so I don’t think it’s something you should worry about. In any case, Dr Aurelius won’t send anything you can’t handle. We need to trust him.” Peeta nods, and we lapse into silence. I start to shiver in the chilly air and I wrap my arms around myself to rub some warmth into them. This seems to rouse Peeta. “You’re cold,” he says. He takes off his jacket, and before I can stop him, he’s laid it around my shoulders.

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the material around me and wishing it were his arms. My mind goes back to the first time we visited the roof garden in the training centre. He had given me his jacket then too. Why is it, in only looking back, that I can see all the little romantic gestures that Peeta did for me? Probably because even if I did, I’d have thought there was an ulterior motive behind them. I suppose it’s Lace who gets them now. “So, do you have any questions about the tape?” I ask. “Did it jog any memories?” He considers it for a moment. “I actually remembered a fair bit of it. I don’t think the Capitol altered this one. But I also felt a lot of anger as I watched it, and it’s the same kind the Capitol exploited. Anger towards you. Did anything happen, beyond the shooting?” My stomach sinks. After what I had to confess last week, I was hoping for something more positive this time. From faking it to Gale. Could this get any worse? I take a breath. Be honest, I think. Be honest. “Yes, there was something. After we went inside. Well, actually on the day we started the tour. But you found out that day.” I pause here, waiting to see if this information sparks any memories. But Peeta says nothing, so I continue. “Snow came to see me, just before the tour began. The trick with the berries – some people in the districts viewed it as an act of defiance rather than an act of love. It caused a lot of unrest and Snow was concerned that it could lead to open rebellion. I was to convince everyone that our love was real. He threatened to harm our families if I didn’t co-operate. I told Haymitch about it as soon as I could, but we didn’t tell you. I guess he didn’t want to worry you with it. But after what happened in the square, there was no choice. You were pretty mad that we hadn’t told you.” “You and Haymitch had this system, that I wasn’t part of. I remember that,” says Peeta. “It wasn’t a good feeling, being left out in the cold.” “No,” I agree, thinking of how things have changed. Now it’s me who’s often the third wheel. The difference between a working partnership and peacetime friendship, I guess. Because we’re alike, Haymitch and I can often communicate with non-verbal cues. Yet Peeta and Haymitch get along better. “There’s something else.” Be honest. “Snow also threatened Gale. He knew he wasn’t my cousin and that we went into the woods together. Somehow, he had learned about a kiss between Gale and me. I think he wanted me to know that he was always watching.” Peeta says nothing at first. It’s dark now and I can’t see his expression in the dim light. I hold my breath as I wait for his response. “He was your boyfriend.” He says it flatly, as if confirming an established fact. “No,” I say emphatically. “Gale was never my boyfriend.” I twist around to face him, to encourage him to look at me. I need to get him to understand. I may never have a second chance. Be honest. “But, before going into the Games, there was the beginning of something. I think I might have had a bit of a crush on him. Just something at the back of my mind, that I never expected to go anywhere. You see, I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want to marry or have children. I was too afraid of losing people. “The morning of day the we were reaped, Gale talked of us running off together; to escape 12 and live in the woods. At the time, I thought nothing of it. But later I wondered if he was hinting that there could be more between us. When I came back from the Games, I thought we’d just go on being friends, like before. But then Gale kissed me just as we were returning from a hunt. That’s the kiss Snow found out about.” “Did you like him kissing you?” The question startles me. For a moment I’m transported to District 13 and a hijacked Peeta similarly questioning me, but there’s none of the hostility. Just curiosity. I think I’d prefer the hostility. At least that way I’d know he cares.

Be honest. “I don’t know. I think I was confused by it more than anything. The next time I saw him, I had a speech ready about not wanting a boyfriend, but Gale acted like nothing had happened so I never got to make it. But it changed things between us. I kissed him a few more times after that. Once as an apology after he was whipped and another time when he was sad that I hadn’t given him an answer. And after you were hijacked. I thought you’d always hate me and it didn’t matter anymore. Gale wasn’t happy with it. He said it was like kissing someone who’s drunk. And that’s the extent of it.” There, above and beyond. When there’s no response, I keep talking to fill the silence. I’m disconcerted by it. It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t looked at me once. “It would never have worked between us. Even if things hadn’t ended as they did. We were too much alike. It would have been like Haymitch and me getting together.” Peeta laughs. “That’s hard to imagine.“ He glances my way for the first time, smiling slightly. “Thanks for telling me, Katniss. It’s certainly not how the Capitol painted it.” “No, I suppose not.” I want so much to tell him that I couldn’t be with Gale because I was falling in love with him. But I can’t. Not yet. It’s only a little more than a month ago that he told me he wasn’t in love with me and told me not to come over at night when I had a nightmare. For all I know, his feelings for me haven’t changed. Not for the first time I wonder how we could have come to this. Once we would have died for each other. Suddenly I get to my feet. “I just thought of something. Wait here.” I hand Peeta back his jacket. “Don’t move.” I dash inside, and race down the hall. In the study, I ransack drawers and cupboards. I know it’s here somewhere. At last I find it, on top of a tall shelf. I drag up a chair to lift it down. The box isn’t heavy, having only a few small items in it. Once I have what I want, I re-join Peeta. “Here,” I say, as I place the necklace in his hand. “This was your token in the Quell. You gave it to me.” Peeta examines the gold disc with the Mockingjay emblem. He shakes his head. “I don’t remember it, I’m sorry.” I reach over to run my thumb along the catch and the disc springs open to reveal a locket with a photograph of my mother and Prim on one side, and of Gale on the other. “Why would I have this as my token?” he asks, puzzled. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Not now, but it might later,” I say. “Keep it, maybe it will help.” “Well, OK, if you’re sure.” He slips the locket into a pocket of his jacket. “I’d better go now. I’ve kept you out long enough. You should get inside before you freeze.” “See you next week, Katniss,” he says, as he walks off. “See you,” I call after him. And only you. Without Lace. Maybe it hasn’t been such a bad day after all.

Chapter 7

Haymitch scowls when he sees what we’re having for dinner. “Why didn’t you get the chicken pie?” “Because we sold all the chicken pies, that’s why.” I slam down the plate in front of him. “This is what was left. If you don’t like quiche, then don’t eat it. I don’t care either way.” I reach for the bowl in the centre of the table and pile salad onto my plate. I’m in no mood for Haymitch’s grousing. It’s not like he’s paying for it. “Sheesh! What’s got your goat?” asks Haymitch, who is already shovelling quiche into his mouth.

“People. I’m sick of them. Is it my fault if the beestings run out? If you turn up at the end of the day, just before closing, is it so surprising there’s none left? And then I have to be nice and apologise. For something I’m not responsible for. Idiot woman.” Haymitch laughs. “I knew when you took the job it wouldn’t last. I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long. What is it? A month? Just quit if you don’t like it.” “I can’t. Not yet, anyway. It’s too much like giving up. Besides, I like the people I work with.” “Life’s too short to stay in a job you hate,” says Haymitch. “You like the teacher job, don’t you? Do more of that.” “I might later on. If I’m asked.” I do like it at the school and the Matson’s seem pleased with the job I’m doing. And the way the school is growing, it won’t be long before one day a week won’t be enough to allow every child to have a turn in the woods. It’s just not safe to take large groups out there. But in the meantime, a fondness for my co-workers aside, there are benefits to staying at the bakery. Not least, as a distraction from the current situation with Peeta. It’s either fill my hours, or sink into despondency again.

“You’ll miss the free cakes if I leave,” I tell him. A selection of them is on the table for dessert. Two chocolate eclairs, a fruit tart and, Haymitch’s favourite, an apple pastry. “That I will. But my waistline won’t,” he replies, as he pats his stomach, which admittedly, has grown larger since our dinners started. “As if you’ve ever cared about your health,” I counter, thinking of how much alcohol he consumes. “I exercise.” “Bending the elbow doesn’t count.” “Humph,” grunts Haymitch. “Speaking of health, how’s it going with the boy?”

I shrug. “OK, I guess. He remembers some things. A lot more than I thought he did, actually.” “But?” Haymitch prompts. “I thought he’d remember . . . other things. The tapes Dr Aurelius sends doesn’t help. They’re of us acting for the cameras, or at some kind of odds with each other. Negative stuff. It just reinforces what the hijacking made him believe.”

Despite Lace’s absence for the last two tape viewings, there’s been no progress in my quest to get Peeta back. Except maybe for the seating arrangements. The single-seaters had been pushed to the far sides of the room with the two-seater placed squarely in front of the television, so there was no ambiguity about where I was to sit. There was no cuddling or hand holding. There wasn’t even the slightest encroachment into the other’s space. Peeta sat with his hands tucked beneath his underarms, or clasped in his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with them. I fancied that he wanted to put them on me but I had made him self-conscious about it. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. The tapes were bad. The first was of me dropping a tracker jack nest on him. I had to admit that it was as it appears– I was indeed trying to kill him. Peeta readily accepted my explanation that I thought he had joined with the careers and was out to kill me. But it hardly paints me as having his welfare at heart, let alone having tender feelings for him. The second was when I drugged Peeta with sleep syrup so he wouldn’t prevent me from going to the feast to get his medicine. Just before I left, I had remembered I was supposed to keep up the star-crossed lovers routine and gave him a long, lingering kiss goodbye. It’s so obvious to anyone watching closely that the kiss was a calculated move rather than a spontaneous, sincere one. Even down to the pretend tear I wiped from my cheek. I cringed when I saw it, terrified of what Peeta must be thinking. But when I glanced his way, all I saw was a complete lack of surprise. Worst of all, he didn’t even seem that sad about it. When he asked his questions, there was no way around it. Yes, Peeta. I did it for the camera. The only positive is that it led to a discussion of how I risked my life to save his and how I was only alive to do it because he had saved me first. But Peeta already knew about the feast. He was told of it in 13. What he doesn’t know is why I did it. And after seeing that tape . . . well, he couldn’t be blamed for thinking that I haven’t one scrap of romantic feeling for him. Perhaps he even thinks protecting each other is some kind of quid pro quo arrangement born of the Seam ethos of owing. You save me, so I save you. And that could be another reason for why he doesn’t want me in his guest room anymore. He couldn’t see the point of it continuing it.

“He doesn’t remember that he’s in love with you, is that the real problem?” Haymitch asks. Shocked, I simply stare at him. I didn’t think he knew. He’s given every impression that he’s either ignorant of my feelings for Peeta, or too absorbed with his own problems to care. I start to protest but he waves it away.

“Don’t bother denying it. Anyone with eyes to see could tell you loved him. I should know. I bear the marks.” He indicates the faint white lines etched on the sides of his face. It’s where I raked him with my fingernails after I learned that Peeta had been left in the arena. “And then how you came back to life the day he returned to 12? Sweetheart, it’s all over your face. I think the only one who isn’t aware of it is Peeta.”

It’s all I can do not to slap him. Haymitch baited me over Peeta dating Lace. Said I must be glad that Peeta’s attentions are off me. Fought me when I announced my intention to distance myself from Peeta unless he tried to get his memories back. And now he says he knows that I loved Peeta all along? “But then why – “ I begin. He puts up his hand in defence. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I thought goading you might force you to act, instead of hanging back and letting things happen. If you would just tell Peeta how you feel – “ “I did.” I interrupt before he can go further. “He took it the wrong way. He thinks of me as some kind of family member. He’s told me to my face that he’s not in love with me anymore. More than once, in fact. And how awful it must be to have someone in love with you when you don’t feel the same way about them. And then there’s Lace . . . The only way I can see clear is for Peeta to get his memories back. Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about me anymore, memories or not. But I have to know. I can’t . . . I can’t move on until I do.”

One thing you can say about Haymitch is that he doesn’t embarrass you with soppy expressions of sympathy. He just listens to what you have to say and then gives you the best advice he can. Not that I’m always inclined to follow it. “Snow got to him more than I thought then,” he says. “He’d been so attached to you that I thought it would only take . . .well, it seems I was wrong. Of course, it could all be in the timing. And it does sound to me like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything but who knows what’s going on in his head these days. What concerns me most is that one day he’ll wake up from all this and find he’s caused so much damage, that there’s no going back.”

Peeta had said the same thing, although I doubt he was thinking of me when he said it. But I know Haymitch is. What would be my breaking point? That line he’d have to cross, that my being with him would be unthinkable? I’ve thought about this a lot and failed to come up with an answer. But I do know that the longer he is with Lace, the less faith I have in the strength and infallibility of Peeta’s love. Time isn’t just not on my side, it’s not on Peeta’s either. Would he marry her? He might, if things continue as they are. I don’t know if he’s slept with her. But he most likely has. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think about it, I want to curl up with the agony of it. Has that been the end, that point of no return, and I haven’t realised it yet? Right now, it’s hard to see beyond the fact that Peeta is with another and I don’t have him. It consumes me, motivates nearly everything I do.

Would it be fair of me then to pursue a relationship with him, if I can’t be sure that that point hasn’t already been reached? Because, ignorant of his past he may be, there’s no denying that Peeta seems happy in his ignorance and happy with Lace. What if he does get his memories back and he loves me again but then I don’t want him because I can’t get past his relationship with her? That would be despicable on my part, if the only reason he had for recovering his memories was because I had coerced him into it. If I do it certain in the knowledge that I’ll still want him because I love him, it makes me self-centred, but it’s forgivable. But it still won’t be for Peeta’s sake, but my own. There needs to be a better reason. “Then we have to stop him before he does,” I reply. “If Lace is the one he wants to be with, then he should make that decision with his eyes open. Peeta and I talked the night before the Games. About what we wanted to achieve. I just wanted to survive it. But for Peeta, the most important thing was to stay himself. To show that the Capitol doesn’t own him. Don’t we owe it to him to help him do that?” “Even if we have to drag him kicking and screaming?” “Even then,” I say grimly. As content with the status quo as Peeta appears to be, I know that the real Peeta – the Peeta I’m fighting for – would want to get back to himself. No matter what. Haymitch helps himself to a chocolate éclair. I take a fruit tart before Haymitch eats them all.

“Um, has Peeta said anything about me? I mean about how he feels about me?” Now that Haymitch knows everything, I might as well pump him for information. Peeta might have confided in him. I’ve overheard Peeta talking to him about Lace, whereas he rarely mentions her to me. Haymitch seems uncertain, but then he shrugs. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to tell you from Peeta’s point of view. And you should know what you’re facing. He says it was an illusion – a childhood crush that didn’t survive the harsh light of reality.” It’s worse than I thought then. I thought he merely didn’t remember what it felt to love me. But now I learn that he doesn’t think it was ever real. The devastation must show on my face, for Haymitch’s voice softens. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t think it was a load of horseshit I wouldn’t have thought that the only thing you had to do was to tell him how you feel about him. I saw it all. The only illusion is what Peeta is telling himself. OK?”

I take a breath. “OK,” I say, not sure that it makes it any better. It’s what Peeta believes that counts.

“Any last words of advice?” I ask. “Stay honest,” Haymitch tells me. “If you’re not truthful about the bad, then he won’t trust you to be truthful about the good. It will come eventually. Be ready for it.” I nod and take a bite of my fruit tart. What Haymitch says makes good sense. What’s on the tapes has to improve soon. I hope. There are times when I wonder what Dr Aurelius is trying to do to me. It’s like he wants to drive Peeta and me even further apart. But I told Peeta to trust in him and it behooves me to do the same.

After Haymitch leaves, I trek upstairs to Prim’s room and sit on her bed. I come up here to talk to her about Peeta. In those dark days after the hijacking when I thought that Peeta would die insane and hating me, she was possibly the only one who had faith that Peeta would recover and come back to me. I try to remember it when the situation seems hopeless, but as the days go by and there’s no change, there are occasions when I’m tempted to simply give up. To let Peeta pursue the path he’s chosen while I do my best to find myself a new one. But then I remember the boy who was determined to defy the Capitol in the only way that was left to him. And that was not to let the Capitol make him into something he wasn’t. I owe that boy. In more ways that can possibly be imagined.

My eyes land on the primrose painting on Prim’s dresser. Right side facing the wall, one corner of the frame broken. If the pearl represented the boy with the bread, this painting could represent the Peeta he is now. His true self hidden from view, his mind fractured. But not beyond saving. There’s some good news, Prim. I thought I was alone in this but I’m really not. Tonight, I learned that I’ve had an ally all along. But then Haymitch has always known about Peeta and me. Right after winning the games when he made sure to warn me to keep up the star-crossed lovers act, but not Peeta. “Don’t have to. Peeta’s already there,” he said. Peeta already in love and me on the way. Perhaps the situation is now reversed and it’s Peeta who’s not there yet but is on the way. I have to keep believing that.

Chapter 8. My hand hovers over the plate of cookies Peeta offers me. He’s baked an assortment. Chocolate, shortbread, jam filled and gingerbread. I decide on the chocolate and take a bite. “Mm. This is really good. They don’t make cookies at the bakery.” “Yeah, I know,” replies Peeta. “That’s why I make them when you come around. Thought you’d like a change from buns and cakes.” “I do. But when did you visit the bakery to know that they don’t make cookies? I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’ve called in a few times,” he says. “Usually on a Friday when I know you’re working at the school. I didn’t want to crowd you.” I feel my face redden at the implication. When I told Peeta that we have nothing more to say to each other, I didn’t intend that he’d have to go out of his way to avoid places that I might be. “I didn’t mean . . . that is, you shouldn’t stop yourself from doing something just to please me. Visiting the bakery is hardly crowding me.” “Do you really mean that?” he asks, hopeful expectation in his voice. “Of course, I do. You should go anytime you like.” Peeta’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve been offered a job as a specialist cake decorator but I didn’t want to accept unless I knew you’d be OK with it. Flora told them of the cake I decorated for Annie and Finnick’s wedding and Cass said I could be just what they were looking for. And then I was invited into the kitchen to do a demonstration cake – and Katniss, the set up they have compared to my family’s bakery. Electric ovens instead of wood fired ones, a wall of refrigerators, stainless-steel bench tops and so much room. I’m to have my own dedicated workspace . . .” And so Peeta continues, his face glowing with enthusiasm. Despite the potential awkwardness of us sharing the same workplace, I find myself smiling back. Clearly this has resonated and another puzzle piece to the identity of Peeta Mellark has fallen into place. A combination of baking and art; it’s such a natural fit for him. Totally unlike me and customer service. I figure that if it doesn’t work out between Peeta and me I should find it no hardship to look for another job. It’s probably what I’ll be doing someday soon anyway. Eventually we settle down to watch the video. I hope that the happy mood isn’t ruined by what we’re about to see. I’ve come to call these tape viewings as the “reading of the tape” because it evokes the same sense of dread and inevitability that preceded the reading of the card. That feeling when you know you’re about to get awful news but there’s nothing you can do about it. Thankfully, it won’t be like the old days with double the number of tributes, or a reaping from the existing pool of victors. But I can’t help but fear that out of all the film that was taken of Peeta and me, Dr Aurelius will choose something that suggests disdain, indifference or obvious acting on my part. It’s what he’s sent so far. Peeta presses a button on the remote and Caesar Flickerman fills the screen. He’s standing centre stage, microphone in hand. Since he’s sporting powder blue hair and matching make-up this must be our first Games. So far, so good. This was so early in our relationship that we hadn’t done anything yet that could possibly be said to define it. The tension in my muscles eases a little and I even feel a little optimistic. Maybe we’re turned a corner from all those compromising tapes.

After telling a few jokes, Caesar introduces the girl tribute from District 1. That was Glimmer, beautiful and sexy in a gold see-through gown. So unlike - BAM! Suddenly Glimmer morphs into a grotesque swollen thing with foul green liquid bursting from a hundred trackerjack stings. I blink and look again to reassure myself that it’s just a trick of my imagination. The all too familiar signs of an anxiety attack starts to rise in my chest but I manage to tamp it down by concentrating on the next tribute to be interviewed. I steal a glance at Peeta and it’s clear that he struggles with a memory associated with Glimmer too. What it is, I don’t know. Each interview lasted three minutes. I tick them off as they appear. There’s Cato, big and hulking; a predator and proud of it. I push away memories of how he died before they can take hold. And Foxface from District 5. I try not to think of her emaciated body being lifted into the hovercraft but how much I admired her cleverness at the feast. And then comes Rue, my little ally, who I couldn’t save and pain stabs at me is if it were yesterday. And not just for Rue, but for every innocent child she represents. The children who were forced to compete in the Games. The children who died the night 12 was bombed. The Capitol children who burned outside Snow’s mansion. And Prim. I must gasp. Or something. For I feel my hand taken possession of by a large male one. “Katniss, do you want to stop?” Peeta regards me with such concern that I have an almost overwhelming impulse to throw myself onto his chest and take refuge there. I imagine his arms enfolding me, pulling me close. And that could have happened too, before I had given him my ultimatum. But now he’s too self-aware of any unconscious demonstrations of affection to initiate it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for crumbs. “No. I’m OK. Let’s keep going,” I say, as I pull my hand free and turn my gaze back towards the television. Thresh returns to his seat after his interview and then my name is announced. Cinna’s magic had turned me into dazzling, otherworldly figure in a jewelled gown that flashed yellow, red and white with accents of blue. But although my gown evoked the power and beauty of a firestorm, my demeanour didn’t. I was almost petrified with nervousness and it showed. Caesar asks what impresses me about the Capitol. I struggle for an answer, but then my eyes go to someone in the crowd and I visually relax. It was Cinna. Be honest, he told me when I confessed my worry to him that I didn’t know how to present myself. In Haymitch’s opinion, I was as charming as a dead slug. But Cinna saw a side to me that Haymitch hadn’t. A side that was appealing and was admired for her spirit. “The lamb stew,” I blurt out. And some of the audience laugh. And then I see myself act very un-Katniss like, or at least, not as I see myself. Yet I was being myself, which is strange. Giggly, girly, artless. I twirl for the cameras and collapse into giggles. But when Prim’s name is mentioned, I’m all deadly determination. Is that what others saw in me, a reason why I was chosen to be the Mockingjay? Someone like themselves, to whom they could relate to, with an unexpected core of steel? I can only wonder. Peeta’s the last to be interviewed. And he’s so handsome and charming, it wouldn’t surprise me if every teenage girl in Panem hadn’t instantly made him her latest celebrity crush. Lace would have seen this. Perhaps on a large television screen in some community hall in District 8 for it was mandatory viewing. It’s even possible she was infatuated before she met him for real. Not that I can blame her if she was. He certainly cuts a romantic figure as he and Caesar banter back and forth. He has the audience eating out of his hand. Caesar asks if has a girlfriend back home. I risk a nervous glance at the Peeta beside me. I search his face for any sign that it sparks a memory but I don’t see one. It has got his interest though. He leans forward, his eyes intent on the screen. I turn back to the television. The onscreen Peeta hesitates. That’s the cue for Caesar to delve deeper. Peeta describes a girl he’s had a crush on ever since he can remember who didn’t even know he was alive until the reaping. The solution is simple, explains Caesar. You win the Games and then she can’t refuse you. Peeta disagrees. Winning won’t help because the girl came with him. That was me. The camera pans between Peeta and me and even goes to split screen. His face is beet red, his eyes downcast, his expression one of resigned sadness. Mine is just as red, eyes fixed on the floor, my expression one of disbelieving shock. The crowd roars its sympathy and support. Peeta, with his tragic tale of a hopeless love, had blown the rest of us out of the water. I recall how I furious I’d been. Peeta had used me to gain audience sympathy and had undermined me in the process! The anthem plays and we file off stage. Credits begin to roll but then it switches to the tributes and their entourages piling onto the elevators. Since it’s of poorer quality and seems to be have filmed from a fixed position above our heads, I figure this must be from surveillance tape. I had taken a different car from Peeta but the person who had prepared this had spliced the tape from the elevators together so that it goes from me, to Peeta, and then back to me again. Peeta is pale with trepidation. I’m pale with suppressed fury. I reach the 12th floor first and the doors close. But as Peeta exits his car, the doors remain open just long enough for the camera to record me shoving my hands against his chest and knocking him backwards. The tape ends. There are a few moments of silence before Peeta seems to gather himself sufficiently to turn off the television. He looks down at his hands. One of them has a double crescent of faint white scars. I clear my throat. “That wasn’t caused by the urn. I think they had mostly healed up before the next morning with the special medicine they had. In any case, the full body polish would have got rid of any marks.” Peeta nods, but he continues to gaze at the scars as if there’s a memory contained within them that he can’t quite reach.

He gives a rueful laugh. “It’s just as well I didn’t make a move on you before we were reaped. That would have been a massive waste of time. It made you pretty angry, huh?” “Yes, but not for the reason you think. I thought you were trying to get an advantage over me. Get the audience onside and make me look weak. I didn’t know you were trying to help me. Haymitch set me straight.” “I remember scraps of it,” he says, raising his head for the first time. “I thought you were mad because of Gale. That he’d get the wrong idea and think you felt the same way.” “That’s right,” I say, my hopes starting to rise as they do whenever he shows signs that his memories are coming back. “And then you said that he’d recognise a bluff when he saw it.” Peeta nods, considering it. Perhaps now he’ll realise why we had misunderstood each other’s motives. Why I had thought he was acting along with me as part of the star-crossed lover’s routine. Suddenly his face brightens as if something he’s agonised over finally has an answer. “Yes, that’s what it was. It was a bluff! It makes sense. That’s why I went from having such strong feelings to not having them. I’ve confused what was made up with what was real. Even now I . . .” He seems doubtful for a moment before he gives his head a shake. He turns to me with a dazzling smile. “You know what this means, don’t you?” “No,” I whisper. A knot has formed in my throat and threatens to choke. “We can truly be friends now. None of that unrequited love business making it awkward between us.” He looks at me with wonderment. “That saying – “the truth shall set you free” – it’s true, isn’t it? And it’s thanks to you. If you hadn’t insisted that I confront my past then I’d have gone on believing what had never been real in the first place.” He shakes his head disbelievingly at his former stupidity. “You’re a marvel, do you know that?” “I’m really not,” I manage to get out. I want to cry. But I also want to punch him really, really hard. I want to kick him viciously in the groin and scrape my nails down his face and watch the blood flow. He’s HAPPY! Haymitch had told me that Peeta thought his crush for me had been an illusion, but now it seems that even the illusion had been an illusion. It was all a bluff! I have to get out of here. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have people to meet in town. I think we’ve covered it all, anyway. I’ll see you next week. Thanks for the cookies.” Peeta hardly has time to say goodbye, I’m out the door so quickly. The walk from his house to mine only takes a few minutes. Nonetheless, it takes all my self-control not to break into a run. I need somewhere to hide. Fast. In my bedroom, I tear off the shorts and halter top I had painstakingly chosen to wear today. They weren’t really suitable for the cooling weather, but they showed my figure to its best advantage. How futile it was trying to look attractive for Peeta. On my bed are the clothes I wore this morning – khaki trousers, a t-shirt and my father’s hunting jacket. I hurriedly put them on. The closet has never looked more inviting. I push aside the hangers of clothes, curl into a corner and pull the door closed. And for a few blessed hours I shut everything out. Chapter 9

As soon as I enter the bakery I can tell something’s afoot. The store appears empty even though we’re about to open, and I can hear voices raised in excitement coming from the back. It’s there I find Cass, Julius, Cornelia and Flora clustered around a paper Cass holds in his hand. As usual, it’s Cornelia who speaks first. “Cass has been asked to create and oversee the dessert course for the Mayor’s inauguration party. And the bakery has been asked to supply the bread.” “Congratulations,” I say. “That’s wonderful news. I hear it’s going to be big.” Or big by 12 standards anyway. I got an invitation in the mail yesterday. Haymitch said that all prominent citizens will get one. My first inclination is to say no. I have a dislike for these kind of events from all the Capitol parties that Peeta and I were forced to attend. But I’m certain Peeta will ask Lace and I don’t want to appear as some sad hopeless case by either staying at home or having Haymitch as my date. The trouble is that I had thought of asking Cass. Now who?

“Yeah, it’s a big event but we’ve done bigger. And Cass has done feasts so he knows what’s needed to cater to a crowd,” says Cornelia. “Maybe opera,” says Cass who’s already thinking of the menu. “What’s that?” asks Flora. “It’s a dessert of layered almond sponge flavoured with chocolate and coffee and then topped with chocolate ganache,” he explains. “We can make it here and then transport it in slabs to the venue to be portioned and given the final decoration there.” Coffee. Yuck. “It sounds delicious,” I say. Maybe I can get him to change his mind. Or at least have an alternative. The subject changes to what type of bread they’ll make and I judge it a good time to get back out front. Someone has to work around here. Flora follows and together we ready the store for opening and then unlock the door and put the open sign up. There’s the usual early morning rush and I barely notice when Peeta arrives and slips past us to get started on the cake orders. It’s only a few weeks since he started here, but demand for his cakes has increased to the point that the hours he works at the bakery will soon supersede the hours he works at his sign writing business. I don’t think it will be long before he’s full-time and the sign writing is abandoned. I know he prefers to decorate cakes than paint signs because he told me. Not that there’s been a lot of conversation between us lately unless it’s directly related to the tapes Dr Aurelius sends. After Peeta’s joyful revelation that his crush on me was apparently nothing more than a scam invented to give us an advantage in the Games, I haven’t had the inclination to give him any more than I feel obliged to. I haven’t felt so disheartened over Peeta since those miserable days when he was first hijacked. At least I was his primary focus then. I thought there couldn’t be anything worse that being told I was no longer loved. But then Haymitch told me that he believes it had all been an illusion. Now he’s taken it one step further. It was an illusion of an illusion. I don’t know what I am to him. The female equivalent of Haymitch? Someone he unconsciously gravitates to because of shared experiences?

The following Saturday, I didn’t bother to dress up for Peeta. I wore the clothes I’m comfortable in – my usual khaki pants and T-shirt – my hair in a simple braid down my back and no make-up. I refused the cookies he offered with the excuse that I’ve been eating too much sugar lately. And when I sat on the couch beside him, I kicked off my boots, pulled my knees to my chest and wound my arms tight around them. No chance of any sympathetic attempts at hand holding if he can’t easily get to them.

The tape was of the tributes parade. Both of them. We certainly dazzled in the costumes Cinna and Portia designed for us. But the most marked difference between the two parades was in our attitudes. The parade for our first games was shown first. There’s me, smiling, waving, throwing kisses to the crowd. Haymitch later asked where I had pulled that cheery, wavy girl from. But I was just being me, which surprised even myself. I felt Peeta’s eyes on me. Maybe he was puzzled too. There hasn’t been a lot for me to be cheery and wavy about since I got back to 12. For the Quell, we were told to be contemptuous and unsmiling. To be above it all. That was me being myself too. And then it was Peeta being unlike himself, barely deigning to spare the crowd a glance. Yet I know he wasn’t acting either. When the tape ended Peeta asked his questions. Despite a concerted effort, I couldn’t help being short with him. His expression was puzzled, questioning, and maybe a little hurt. Not that I cared. Yes, yes, it was for the cameras. Isn’t that what you want to hear? And the next week, Dr Aurelius sent a propo tape from District 13. The one where I talk about how I met Peeta for the first time - in the rain, on the verge of starvation, all hope gone. How he took a beating to give me the loaves of bread that saved us. And that we didn’t speak until years later when we were on the train to the Games. “But he was already in love with you,” said Cressida off camera. “I guess so,” I replied. The conversation turned to how I’ve coped with our separation. “Not well,” I said. The tape ended there, although I had gone on to talk about the Capitol. I guess that part has no relevance for Peeta’s memories. “It was kept up even after my capture then?” he had asked. “It was used as propaganda tool. For audience sympathy.” And it’s true. It was. It wasn’t an act by then, of course. But that’s not the question Peeta asked. “But the bread story is true. I remember that.” “Yes. That was true.”

There were no more questions. I assume he was happy with it. Anything to confirm what he wants to believe. Last Saturday, it was the marriage proposal. Peeta, on one knee, professing his great love and then begging me to marry him. And me accepting, of course. It was all fake, Peeta. As fake as fake can be. “Whose idea was it?” he had asked. “It was mine. I thought it might convince everyone that our love was real and put a stop to the unrest in the Districts.” There Peeta. The honest truth. It wasn’t even you who suggested we marry. Happy?

Actually, when I think back on it, Peeta didn’t seem that happy. Maybe because his hope for us to be great friends, now that we’re supposedly unencumbered by an awkward history of unrequited love, hasn’t worked out as well as he might have hoped. Try as I might, I can’t completely hide my hostility towards him. It’s my armor and I have no intention of taking it off.

Around mid-morning, there’s fewer customers and the sounds of conversation drift out from the kitchen. Julius, Cass and Peeta talk animatedly about bread making techniques. Cornelia joins in occasionally. Cass and Peeta congratulate each other on what a great team they make with Cass’s frosting and Peeta’s skill with cake decorating. Peeta fits into this environment like a hand to a glove. Yet aside from making some connections to the people who work here, I’m an uneasy fit. Peeta is clearly the favourite. And why wouldn’t he be? He’s the one with the valuable skill. He’s the one who can charm the birds out of the trees. By the time Cornelia comes to serve behind the counter so I can take my lunch break, I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I go to my favourite spot - a bench beneath a large, shady oak that somehow survived the bombing, in a small park adjacent to the school grounds. My lunch is two cheese buns and some fruit brought from home but I have little appetite for it, so engrossed I am in gloomy thoughts. “Can’t stay away from the place, huh?” I look up and there’s Max coming my way. He sits down beside me. “Are you going to eat that?” I sigh and hand him a cheese bun. Max takes a bite. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “I’ve known horses with faces that aren’t that long.” “Know a lot of horses, do you?” My tone is caustic but my lips twitch. We tease and annoy each other but it’s all in good fun. Few people can shake me out of a bad mood quicker than Max can. And put me into one too. “I’ve known a few. I like mules better, though, stubborn though they are. They remind me of you.” “Ha ha.” A compliment wrapped in an insult. But somehow, he’s managed to hit on the very thing I’m miserable about and made me feel better. He makes no secret that likes me, shortcomings and all. And I know he likes me better than Peeta. He calls Peeta “Psycho Boy” in spite of all my efforts to get him to stop. I think the fact that it annoys me has an added charm for him. “So what is it? Has sharing a workplace with Psycho Boy started to wear thin?”

“No,” I say, even though there’s some truth to it. “And stop calling him that. He’s not a psycho.” Or a boy either. Peeta and I left childhood behind a long time ago. I hand Max the remaining cheese bun. I’m not going to eat it. “I don’t know if I’m suited to working in a shop, that’s all. I’ve been thinking of reducing my hours if the Carters agree.” I know Sateen would like to take them up. She’s helping her brother save money to start up a clothing factory. “Good. You can put in more time at the school then. One day a week isn’t enough the way the school’s growing. And Moira can do with a hand with the junior school too. You’re a natural at it, you know; teaching. My parents said they’d like to take you on full-time eventually. And they can assist with training if needed.” My spirits perk up immediately. I do like teaching and it’s something I can make a long-term career. Not since my hunting days when I provided for my family have I had an occupation I can take pride in, and I’ve missed it. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks. I’ll ask if I can reduce my hours at the bakery when I get back. I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.” I suppose I could simply resign. It’s what I’ll do eventually. But in the mean time I like the people I work with, still need to keep occupied doing something, and I don’t want to give Peeta the impression that his presence pushed me out. My appetite restored, I regret giving away my cheese buns. But there’s still an apple and a banana to eat. I set to work peeling the banana. Suddenly an idea comes to me. “Max, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour. The Mayor’s inaugural dinner is coming up and I need a date.” “And you want me to find you one?” I’m tempted to throw the banana peel at him. “No, I’m asking you to be my date. Strictly as friends, of course.” “Of course. Not going with Peeta then?” “No,” I say, as casually as I can. “He’ll probably take Lace.” Like most people, Max had assumed that Peeta and I were still together. Peeta’s defection to Lace is not something I like to talk about, so Max has only been given information on a need-to-know basis. But he could have picked up more from local gossip. “I see,” he says in a voice that implies that he sees a great deal. “I have one question before I accept. Is this an exercise in making Psycho Boy jealous? Because I want to know if I should be prepared in case I incur his wrath, like that poor guy he pushed into a pod that time.” I do my best to tamp down my irritation. Unfortunately, Max’s distrust of Peeta isn’t uncommon. The incident to which Max refers was broadcast across all of Panem. Not to mention that Mitchell had come to my defence after Peeta had tried to bash my brains out with his gun. “It was an accident and Peeta was hijacked then, and not responsible. I assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe, jealous or not.” If I should be so lucky, that is. Peeta’s too besotted with Lace to feel any jealousy over me. This is all about salvaging some pride. “All I’m saying is that I’m up for it if you are,” he says, as he nudges his shoulder against mine. I scowl at him, just as he intended.

“What I want from you is to behave yourself and not embarrass me,” I tell him.

Chapter 10

I turn my head to the side to get a look at the timer as it ticks down the minutes. Half an hour to go. And then, once this white goo is rinsed off, there’s exfoliating and moisturising creams to follow. The thick white ointment, combined with the heat, makes my skin itch like crazy. Only I can’t get at it to scratch. I’m encased in a long metal tube, almost like a casket, with a hole at one end for my head to poke through. Octavia calls it a cellular regeneration chamber. I call it a torture chamber. She and Flavius brought it from the Capitol at great expense. They hope it will form one of the mainstays of their business.

But at least it’s the last of the skin treatments, and while I had my doubts, it’s been surprisingly successful. The skin tone has evened out and there’s no difference now between the old skin and the grafts. And where it had looked slightly melted in places has smoothed out quite a bit too. Octavia tells me only a full body polish would fix it completely, but I’m happy with the results. A spot on my right thigh starts to itch, but even by extending my hand out as far as it will go, I can’t reach it. Another itch springs up on the back of my shoulder. Again inaccessible. With concentration, I ignore them until they go away. But then it’s my left ankle. A travelling itch. I try to nap using the relaxation techniques Dr Aurelius taught me but it’s hard to drift off when there’s itching inside the chamber, and noise from outside it. Snatches of conversation, and the hum of hair dryers easily penetrate the thin curtain that covers the opening to the alcove. After a slow start, business at the salon is booming. You’d think they’d be able to afford thick draperies by now, if not an actual door. Flavius and Octavia keep up a steady stream of patter. They tell me it’s a requirement in the beauty industry. Customers seem to expect it. And even if the customer is disinclined to talk, they still converse between themselves, talking mostly of inconsequential things. However, they have at least one chatty customer today. Her voice had been partially drowned by a hair dryer, but now that it’s been turned off, I know who it belongs to. A peal of pearly laughter confirms it. “My boyfriend told me that none of it was real. It was all about putting on a show and being entertaining to get sponsors. Everyone had an angle. The brainy one, the sexy one, the arrogant one and so on. The star-crossed lovers were made up too, to get sponsors. It was all a big hoax but not many people know that,” says Lace. “No, it wasn’t,” chimes in a female voice with a District 12 accent. I recognise the voice, but I can’t quite place it. “I don’t know about all the others but the star-crossed lovers were real. I was in the same class as them at school.” Of course, Leevy. She was a neighbour of ours in the Seam who made it to 13 after 12 was bombed. Evidently, she’s returned to 12 to live. “Katniss kept to herself, but Peeta was always staring at her. We wondered why he didn’t try to talk to her, but he probably thought she was with Gale. Most of us did. But then, Merchant seldom mixed with Seam unless it was at the slag heap and that wasn’t Peeta’s style. In 13, she broke down over what Snow was doing to him and he was only rescued because she couldn’t perform as the Mockingjay. I also heard she had a pearl she carried around in her pocket – the same pearl he gave to her in the arena.”

“It’s true,” says Octavia, “about the pearl.” I momentarily fear that Octavia will admit to being on my prep team. In the districts, anyone who was associated with facilitating the Games, risks ostracism at best. But Octavia is smarter than I gave her credit for. “My cousin knew one of Katniss’s prep team. She says they often shared a bed. And once she actually walked in on them, cuddling together. Maybe it started as a hoax, but it didn’t end that way.” “See,” says Leevy. “I’m sorry to say, but when it comes to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, your boyfriend knows shit.”

There are a few moments of silence before Lace responds. She sounds rattled. “But he’s not with her now. Whatever it was, it didn’t last.” “Well, Snow did a number on him, that’s for sure. Cracked his brain real good. But what if it all comes back to him? That’s what I’d be afraid of, if I were his girlfriend,” Leevy says. “I guess it’s fortunate then that you’re not,” says Lace tersely. “Flavius if you don’t mind, I think I’ll reschedule for the colour. I really should get back to the shop.” “Yes of course” returns Flavius. “I’ll make you another appointment.” Nothing more is said until the door opens and then clicks shut. I hear sympathy in Leevy’s voice. “It’s for her own sake. Nothing good is built on a lie.” Except for Peeta and me. No, I remind myself, it was only half a lie. Peeta was genuine. And then it became real for me too. The timer goes off and Octavia comes in to release me from this contraption, rinse off the cream and then apply another one. While she works, she excitedly tells me that Venia and her family are moving to 12 and she’s to join her and Flavius in the salon. I hardly hear her. So that’s what Peeta told Lace! That it was all a hoax. I suppose it’s not a surprise. Not from what Peeta himself has told me. And he hasn’t really told her anything that’s untrue. It’s just not the whole truth. So now she knows, but what she chooses to do with it remains to be seen. My situation remains the same. As Lace said, he’s not with me now. He’s with her. It’s what Peeta believes that counts. And even if Peeta’s memories return it doesn’t mean that his feelings for me will too. The following Saturday I’m at Peeta’s house as usual. I don’t have high hopes. If Dr Aurelius’ plan is to make it seem that our relationship was just one big act, I’m sure there’s still plenty of compromising tapes to choose from.

When Peeta invites me in, his smile is tentative. I feel a flash of guilt. He’s probably uncertain about what kind of mood I’m in today. I have been prickly lately. And none of this is his fault. I know he’s mostly watching these tapes because I more or less coerced him into it. And he doesn’t know how much it hurts me that he’s happy to think that our romance had only been a scam for audience sympathy. If our positions were reversed, Peeta would be helping me all he could, not sulking and shutting me out half the time, no matter how much he was hurting. I really should try to be more patient and understanding, and not to take out my frustrations on him. Most of all, I should remind myself why I’m doing this. To help Peeta find himself.

So I return Peeta’s smile with a dazzling one of my own. And when he asks if I’d like a drink before we start, I don’t wait to be served in the sitting room, but follow him into the kitchen as I used to do and take a seat on a stool at the bench. Peeta seems a little surprised, but also happily relieved. “Tea?” he asks, as he holds the kettle aloft. “Please,” I say. There’s a plate of cookies on the bench. Not an assortment this time. I guess he got tired of baking so many when I wasn’t eating them. “Mm, coconut. I love your coconut cookies. All your cookies, really. It’s a shame the bakery doesn’t make them.” Peeta fills the kettle from the tap. “I’ve mentioned it to Julius, but he says they’d rather concentrate on the items they have. Apparently, cookies didn’t sell very well in the Capitol. We sold a lot of them in my family’s bakery, though.” “Different clientele, I guess. More money to spend on cakes.” An idea comes to me. “Has he seen your decorated cookies, though? The ones you frost with floral designs? That could be a great addition to the cake decorating. Cookies for special occasions. That sort of thing.” “Yeah, I’ll mention it. Although the cake decorating keeps me busy. Have I told you? I’ve given up sign writing to work full time at the bakery.” “Wow. You must really like it then.” “What’s not to like? Doing what I love. Normal hours. And there’s no working with hot ovens all day since Cass is the one who bakes the cakes. You don’t mind me working there, do you? I sometimes worry that I’m invaded your space. You were there first, after all.” “Of course not. Don’t be silly. I don’t think I’ll be at the bakery for that much longer anyway. I much prefer working at the school. I’ve even been asked if I’d like to teach in the classroom. Can you imagine that? Katniss Everdeen, school teacher, in front of a blackboard with a class full of kids?” “I can, actually. You’ve always had a natural rapport with children. Look how you were with Rue. And there’s Prim. Sometimes . . .” Peeta pauses here, as if he’s not sure he should continue.

“Sometimes what?” I prompt. “It’s nothing really, just the way you were with Prim. You were more than sisters. Almost like mother and daughter. Sometimes, when I was watching you together, I thought what a great mother you’d make.” “Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond. There’s a dozen different thoughts and emotions to process. The pang of loss whenever I think of Prim. That Peeta had been observing Prim and me together and I had been totally unaware. That Peeta thought I’d be a good mother, even though I’ve been determined never to be one. And something else. “You remember back then?” “Yes. Most of it, I think. Nearly everything up until the Games, anyway. After that it’s patchy, or I can’t tell what’s real or not. But the tapes are helping a lot, although Dr Aurelius did warn me I should be careful how I interpret.” “Sounds like good advice.” So, Dr Aurelius hasn’t abandoned me, after all! I feel enormously encouraged to learn that he’s working with Peeta to challenge any pre-conceptions he might have. Peeta fills the teapot from the kettle and places it on a tray alongside two mugs and a small jug of milk. Neither of us take sugar in our tea. He nods his head towards the sitting room. “Shall we?” “Of course.” I take the plate of cookies and follow him into the room. It’s the usual set-up, a two-seater couch in front of the television set, a coffee table between them. “Can you get that?” asks Peeta, indicating a book that’s in the way of him setting down the tray. “Sure.” I put down the cookies and pick up the book. It’s of medium size with a fabric cover in a warm red colour. There’s an end table beside the couch and that’s where I put it. “What’s it about?” I open the cover and I see that it’s filled with clothing designs. No one has to tell me who’s drawn the illustrations. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. Peeta comes to stand beside me. “It’s Lace’s birthday present. Effie sent me the book and Lace made the cover. See, it’s like your family’s plant book. It’s where I got the idea from, actually. Lace wants to develop her own line of clothing. When we’ve finished the book, it will be kept in the shop for people to browse and choose a design from.” “What a good idea,” I say dully. Keep it together, I tell myself. Don’t think about it. If I do, I’ll lash out. I know I will. But oh, the agony! My most precious moments with Peeta given to Lace. I imagine them, probably here in this very room, heads cosily together as she describes what she wants him to draw and then Peeta sketching it for her. Just like Peeta and me when we worked on my family’s plant book while I was recovering from an injured foot. I wonder if she notices that special look he gets on his face when he concentrates, or how long his eyelashes are. I swallow my hurt and anger as best as I can and move over to the couch where I take up my defensive position. Knees pressed to my chest, arms around them, head down, eyes front. Peeta comes to sit beside me. “Katniss, is there anything wrong?” I shake my head. “Of course not. What could possibly be wrong?” “I’m sorry if the book reminded you of your father.” “It didn’t. Look, can we just watch the tape,” I say irritably. Peeta shoots me a worried look, but seems to have made up his mind that it’s better to say nothing. No doubt he thinks I’m a moody bitch compared to Lace’s perpetual sunshine. And for once I don’t care. He reaches across for the remote and turns on the television. I blink in surprise at what fills the screen. It’s not the Games, or rebel propaganda, or District parties. It’s the roof. Our roof. The rooftop garden at the training centre. It’s late afternoon, going by the light, although there’s little to see. Just a dome-shaped room with a door, railings around the periphery and a garden on one side of the dome. After a few seconds, Peeta and I emerge through the door and walk over to the railing. You can see our lips move but there’s no sound. “Was this for the cameras?” asks Peeta. “No, we didn’t know about the cameras. We were mostly concerned about being overheard. It was windy on the roof. It’s why we went up there.” To my own ears, my voice sounds shaky. I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, questioning. But I keep mine forward, focused on the screen. It’s just my luck that the lack of sound means I’ll have to provide a running commentary. “This is during our first Games. We had just got back from the Tributes Parade. We wanted to talk about Lavinia. She – “ “I remember Lavinia,” says Peeta, cutting me off. Snow had Lavinia tortured in front of him. Thankfully, she had died quickly. Unlike Darius, who lived long enough to have body parts cut off before he died. Stealing a glance at Peeta’s closed off face, it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Nothing good, by the look of it. I nod, and say nothing more about her. It’s a timely reminder of why I’m here, and that no matter how much I’m hurting now, it’s no comparison to what Peeta has suffered. I try to get a grip on my emotions and concentrate on what’s on the TV screen instead. The onscreen Katniss and Peeta walk over to the garden. “We thought the wind chimes would drown out our voices.” There’s nothing else to add, so I settle in to watch our youthful selves and ruminate on how much their lives would change. More that they could ever have imagined. And doesn’t it look so romantic, to anyone who didn’t know better. I stop to sniff at a blossom like a romantic heroine in one of those silly Capitol movies and Peeta takes off his jacket to place it around my shoulders, buttoning it at my neck. Eventually we go inside, and I think that must be the end of the tape. But the screen is black for only a second and when the picture returns it’s of Peeta leaning against the rail, deep in thought. It’s night time, and although I don’t remember the roof being lit at night, everything is visible. It must have been filmed with a special camera like the glasses we had in the first Games for seeing in the dark. Peeta’s not alone for very long. I see myself walk across the tiled floor to stand beside him. “It was the night before we went into the arena,” I explain. “I couldn’t sleep. So I went up to the roof to get some air. You were there for much the same reason.” Peeta says nothing but his eyes are intent on the screen. It seems to me, that unlike previous tapes, these are stirring something deep inside. The couple on TV talk amiably at first. But it becomes increasingly agitated. It’s not a flat-out argument exactly, but you can see he’s angry about something, and she takes offense at it. Then she walks off and he’s back to his musings. But he’s not introspective as he was before, but annoyed and frustrated. It’s not long before he leaves too and the footage ends. But then the image returns. It’s bright sunshine in the film that follows and I know what’s to come next. I reach for the remote and press pause. “Are there any questions before we go further?” I ask. “We were talking about not letting the Capitol change who we are. To show that they don’t own us.” Peeta looks to me for confirmation. “Yes, that’s right. But I didn’t understand. Not then, anyway. I just wanted to survive the thing. But you wanted your death to mean something. Something noble. Something they couldn’t take from you.” He nods, considering it. “Yeah,” he says, and his face brightens like he’s had a breakthrough. “It’s why I came up with the star-crossed lover’s idea. It was something that would give my death meaning. And help you at the same time.” “Yeah,” I say. I turn my face back to the TV to hide my disappointment. What he says is true and I can’t deny it. That’s precisely the intention he went into the Games with. When will I learn not to get my hopes up? I press the pause button again to continue the tape. I see us burst through the dome door laden with food and blankets for our rooftop picnic. We’re relaxed and happy, making the most of the time left to us before we entered the arena once more. Neither of us thought we’d come out of it alive. I burrow my face against my knees. I don’t want to watch this. It’s too painful, remembering us as we once were. So young, so in love. If only I had fully appreciated it then. But we simply ran out of time. Peeta asks no questions while the tape runs. I only know it’s finished when I hear the clatter of the remote on the coffee table. “It almost looks like a date,” he says, with a queer sort of laugh. And then, after a pause, “Was it?” I take a breath. “I suppose it depends on what you mean by a date.” I have to admit that it’s ambiguous at best. There was no conscious thought that we were having one. We played games, ate food, lay in the sun. I practiced my weaving on the hanging vines. Peeta sketched me. I lay my head in his lap and he played with my hair while I made a crown of flowers. But there’s no kissing, no hugging. Nothing that really stands out that we were more than friends. Not to anyone who doesn’t want there to be, anyway. Like Peeta. I unwrap my arms from around my legs and slowly rise from the couch. I don’t want to hear him attribute it to being part of the act, or a blurring of the boundaries because of how we were forced to behave in public, or simply because that’s how friends interact. “We had only a short time left and we wanted to make the most of it. It was one of the best days of my life. It was a good day for you too. At least you said so. You said you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.” My eye lands on Lace’s book. He’s given that memory away. And the swimming lessons. And for all I know, our roof top date too. What next? The kisses on the beach? A gift of burned bread? All I know is that I’ve had more than enough for one day of the emotional upheaval a mere couple of hours in Peeta’s presence can do. The contrast between the Peeta on the tape, who loved me with every fibre of his being, and Peeta, as he is now, all this love and devotion going to another, is more than I can bear. “Look, I have to go now. I’m meeting some people in the town and I don’t want to be late.” It's an old excuse and one I’ve used before. But it’s credible one. I try to get out most Saturday nights. “I’ll answer any questions next time, OK?” “Katniss,” I hear called after me. I pretend I don’t hear and close the door quickly behind me. Chapter 11

Reluctantly I hand over my fur lined cape to the cloakroom attendant. It’s chilly in the antechamber. Every time someone comes through the doors, a blast of cold air comes with them. It may not be winter yet but it feels like it. “Where’s Arthur gone to?” I ask Max. I’m in a hurry to get into the main reception room where hopefully it will be warmer. “I think he went to the men’s – no, there he is.” Arthur is talking to the manager of the medicine factory. We’ve been here barely five minutes and he’s already networking. Sateen’s got Arthur all wrong. He’s not shy. He just doesn’t do small talk. Get him onto his favourite subject, business, and there’s no shutting him up. I give him a wave to attract his attention. He nods in our direction, says something to the manager, and makes his way over to us. “Sorry.” He offers his arm. “Shall we?” I link my arm through his and my other arm through Max’s. We make an impressive threesome. Max is dapper in a suit made by Arthur. When I had asked him to be my date I didn’t stop to consider that a teacher from 5 is hardly likely to possess a dinner suit. The invitation expressly stated black tie. So, I took it upon myself to arrange one for him. And then Arthur, always on the lookout for opportunities, offered a suit free of charge if I could wrangle an invitation for him to attend tonight’s dinner. Easy! Every invitee could bring a partner. Arthur is technically Haymitch’s date. And doesn’t he scrub up well in one of his own creations? He’s every inch the successful business man from the polished shoes, to the expensive suit, to the slick combed back hair. And Max is resplendent too. He’s really very good looking when I think on it. Tall, broad shouldered and with classic features. A shame about that errant lock of hair though. I should have sent him to Flavius. Oh well, too late now. And I don’t look too shabby myself. I wear one of Cinna’s gowns. The very one that Johanna Mason wanted to reach through the screen and tear off my back. The deep blue velvet strapless number with the diamonds. They’re not natural diamonds, though. Cinna said they are synthetic but you can’t tell the difference. They form the bodice with its deep sweetheart neckline to fit snugly to the hips and then flare out to a full skirt with diamonds scattered to resemble stars against a midnight sky. Flavius has done my hair swept to one side and held with a diamond clip. I feel very glamourous. Inside, guests mill around while waiters move between them with trays of drinks. Tables are set around the periphery and in the centre of the room is a dance floor. I haven’t danced since Finnick and Annie’s wedding. That was the night I later went to see Peeta. He was strapped to a bed, hypodermic syringes at the ready, and staring at me as if were some kind of weird transforming mutant. And I was in pain from the wound to my side, on the defensive from his barbed comments, and inhibited by the doctors observing us from behind the one-way glass. But I should have said it. When he asked, “did you love me?” I should have said yes. Maybe it would have made the difference.

“Katniss?” I look up and see Max observing me quizzically. A waiter stands nearby. “Do you want a drink?” “Yes. Thanks.” I take a glass of champagne from the tray and the waiter moves away. “Where’s Arthur?” I scan the room but I can’t see him. “Over there.” Max point his glass towards the far side of the room. I can just make out Arthur in deep conversation with a prosperous middle-aged couple. “No flies on Arthur.” I nod. “None at all. But it’s what he’s here for.” “So, what does one do at these things, besides stand around holding a drink?” asks Max.

“You mingle. And hope they serve the food soon.” I take a gulp of the champagne. I don’t really like it but I need something to relax me. I was ill at ease as soon as I entered the room. Too many reminders of other parties, I guess. And Peeta should be around here somewhere. With Lace. “He’s behind you,” Max says. “With the mayor and his wife.” Without thinking, I quickly turn my head in that direction. Peeta is looking our way and gives a brief wave. I force a smile. Lace stands beside him elegant in a simple yellow lace gown, her mahogany hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders. My own gown, which I was so pleased with before, feels overdone and garish now. Ideal for a Capitol party, certainly. But not for a conservative district like 12. I turn back to Max. He has a smirk on his face. He leans down to whisper into my ear. “If it makes you feel better, Peeta’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you come in. In that dress, and with not just one man, but two, he’ll be jealous in no time. If he’s not already, that is.” I scowl at him. “I told you. I’m not interested in making him jealous. In fact, I hardly think of him at all.”

Max almost chokes on his drink. “If you say so,” he says. But the knowing smile remains. I itch to slap it off.

We do the mingling thing, moving from one group to the next. Max is surprisingly good at it and it takes a lot of pressure off me. I’ve never been good at this. The exchange of pleasantries when meeting people for the first time. When Peeta and I were together, I’d let him do it for me and I’d just smile and answer questions when asked. I take a moment to sneak a glance at him. He has an arm loosely around Lace’s waist, looking rather bored, actually, as Lace and Arthur talk animatedly together. It’s probably about the clothing industry. I didn’t know they knew each other. But knowing Arthur better now, he probably knows all the business owners in 12. Peeta turns his head in my direction suddenly and I quickly avert my eyes, embarrassed to be caught looking. The food starts to come out and we take our seats. Arthur is seated next to Haymitch, of course, and I have fun watching the speculative glances that come their way. Haymitch thinks it’s a big joke and attempts to put an arm around Arthur who shoves him off. Everyone at the table dissolves into laughter, which garners the attention of nearby tables. I see Peeta look over, and it seems to me that he’d rather be here with us, rather than with the staid group of people he’s seated with. The first course is some kind of fish served in a buttery sauce with almonds. Braised goat with roasted vegetables is for main. And then the course I’ve been waiting for. Cass’s dessert. He decided to forego opera for something more ambitious. It’s a dome of crisp chocolate decorated with gold leaf. A little jug of hot chocolate sauce accompanies it and when it’s poured over the top, the chocolate melts to reveal a rich chocolate mousse beneath with chunks of preserved pear at the bottom. It’s absolutely delicious and I eat half of Max’s serve as well as my own.

After dinner, many people move between tables to mingle some more. Max heads off to the bar to get more drinks, Arthur is back to his networking, and I’m left alone, my two dates otherwise occupied. “Hey you,” says a voice close behind me. I turn my head to see Peeta smiling down on me. Lace is with him. “Oh, hi!” I say. I try to inject as much friendliness into my voice as possible. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see Peeta, it’s just that I’m not happy to see her. “Having a good time?” Peeta shrugs. “I suppose it’s an improvement on the Capitol parties.” “You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem, Mr. I’m-Bored-With-It-All” says Lace, with her trademark giggle. “What about the rest of us who haven’t been to anything fancier than the Victory Tour parties, not that District 8 could afford to put on a particularly good one.” Been to a lot of Victory Tour parties, then? I’m tempted to ask. What was a factory worker doing at a district party? Only dignitaries, their families, and prominent citizens were allowed to attend. Something’s not quite right about Lace. “The food was great,” says Peeta. “But that was the only good thing you could say about them.” I nod. “Yeah, they were awful. Especially the District parties where you’d have to face the families of the dead tributes.” The smile on Lace’s face disappears. A moment of kinship between Peeta and me isn’t what she wants to see. Nor a subtle rebuke that has no idea what she’s talking about.

There’s an awkward pause. I wish they’d move on but they remain where they are. It’s as if there’s a purpose for them coming over, but they haven’t got around to it yet. Peeta breaks the silence. “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he says, pretending to be annoyed. “Ok, Ok,” says Lace, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted. I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” She kisses his cheek before she leaves and Peeta’s eyes follow her retreating form while she disappears down the hall. Peeta takes the empty seat beside me. “So, what do you think of the party?”

“Hm?” I ask, momentarily distracted. I’ve been wondering what Lace means by “don’t bug Katniss.” Why would she say it? And why would she say it in front of me? “Oh, um, the party’s alright, I guess. Certainly not the worst I’ve been to.” “I’m mostly here because Lace wanted to come,” explains Peeta. “She hopes to expand her client base to specialise in formal wear. And the people here are the people wealthy enough to afford it. She made the dress she’s wearing.” “She and Arthur have something in common then. He came for the same reason. To make business connections. It’s a lovely dress.” I feel I should say something nice about it.

“So’s yours. Cinna?” “Yes, Cinna.” There’s a stab of pain at the mention of his name, and I put my hand to the crystal beading on the low neckline, as if I could somehow connect myself to the man who designed it. Peeta’s eyes follow and I snatch my hand away, embarrassed to be thought trying to draw his attention to my breasts. They’re nothing to boast of, but Cinna knew how to make the most of my figure and I was both younger and thin from the strain of the Victory Tour when this gown was made. The gown is tight over the bust and I’m almost spilling out of it. “He certainly knew how to dress you,” says Peeta. “You always looked amazing in his creations.” I smile wanly at him. “Thanks,” I say. It isn’t really much of a compliment. Attributing my “amazingness” to Cinna’s designs and then speaking in the past tense even though I’m wearing one of them right now. “So . . . Max,” he says, putting emphasis on “Max”. “You’ve never said anything.” Yeah, like we tell each other things like that. How much did you tell me about Lace? “He’s a friend.” I say. “Just a friend?” “Peeta, it’s none of your business.” This line of conversation is irritating. He hardly talks to me about his own relationship but he’s being nosy about mine. “Yeah, sorry. It’s not. But, for the record, I want you to know that if it makes you happy, I support it.” Now he’s really annoying me. “Why would I need your support?”

Before Peeta can respond, Max appears with a glass in each hand. “Hi Peeta,” he says. “Hello Max.” Peeta stands up. “I’d better go. Lace will be back soon. I’ll see you later, Katniss.” “She’s got him well trained, hasn’t she?” asks Max, taking the seat Peeta just vacated. I just give him a look. But silently I agree. She talks to him like a child. “Stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” “Yes, Mommy.” He even seemed to need her permission to talk to me. Maybe her attraction is that she gives him the affection he felt he didn’t get from his mother. Now there’s a weird thought. The music starts up for the dancing. Max grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon. This will get you in a better mood and help work off all that alcohol you’ve drunk.” “I’ve hardly had anything,” I protest. “Yeah, sure.” Max puts his arms around my waist and I put my mine around his neck. It’s slow music and we shuffle around for what passes for dancing nowadays. He leans down and says in a low voice, “Over there. At three o’clock. Peeta and Lace. Let’s give him something to be jealous about.” I’m pulled hard against him and then he attempts some fancy turns that has my feet barely touching the floor. “Will you stop that?” I say, seriously annoyed. People are looking at us, wondering what we’re doing. I catch a glimpse of Peeta. His face is unreadable. It’s the mask he puts on when he wants to hide his thoughts. His actor’s mask. “Definitely jealous,” says Max. I don’t say anything. Even if he is, one thing I’ve learned about Peeta by now is that whatever he’s feeling, it will soon be interpreted the same way he’s interpreted everything else.

I see Peeta whisper a few words to Lace. She nods and they leave the dance floor and then disappear through a set of double swinging doors. It’s a service entrance of some kind because I’ve seen a couple of the waiting staff emerge and exit from that door. My imagination goes into overdrove over why Peeta and Lace would use it. Neither the restrooms or the main entrance is through there. If I didn’t have Max with me, I’d be tempted to follow. The dance ends and with nothing better to do, we join Haymitch at the bar. At Haymitch’s request, the bartender has lined up shots of whisky in a long row. It’s all the different types stocked at the bar, and Haymitch wants to compare and sample them all. Max has one, out of politeness, I think – he doesn’t like whisky. I quickly discover that I don’t either, but I like the way it blazes a trail of fire down my throat and then spreads through my veins, to dull the anxiety a little because the longer Peeta is away, the more tense I become. I put out my hand for another shot. Haymitch laughs and Max looks on questioningly but I ignore him and down it in one gulp. My head feels fuzzy but I keep my eyes on the swinging double doors, waiting for Peeta and Lace to emerge. When they eventually do, they head over to a group of people around our own age and have a merry time, talking and laughing. Peeta’s arm is around Lace’s waist and he bends his head to drop a kiss onto her mahogany hair, mussed, I presume, from a recent make-out session. “Always. You promised me always,” I say, under my breath. “What?” Max asks. “Nothing.” I put the empty shot glass on the bar. “I think we can go now. I’ve had enough.”

Chapter 12

Dear Peeta,

I’m writing to you because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.

I want to apologise that I threatened to end our friendship if you didn’t try to get your memories back. Friendship shouldn’t be conditional and my motives for insisting that you do were selfish ones.

I want to apologise for my insinuation that the real Peeta Mellark didn’t come back. Whoever you are, and whoever you choose to be is the real Peeta Mellark. Again, my motives were selfish. I want to apologise for implying that you a coward. You have a right to live your life as you choose. You have a right to make your own reality. I was the coward for not facing mine. I want to apologise for presuming to know what’s best for you. Only you can do that because you’re the only who truly knows what you want. Again, my motives were selfish. It seems strange that after all this apologising for being selfish that I intend another selfish act. But since it’s about myself, I feel entitled to make it. I want to end our relationship. Entirely this time and for reasons I don’t want to share. It’s nothing you’ve done. There’s nothing for you to feel guilt over. This is about me and how I want to live my life. I’m sorry to leave in the middle of the tape viewings. Especially since it was indirectly initiated by me, and, I suspect, done at least partially for my benefit. But if you choose to continue and you need someone to help give context, then Haymitch is the logical choice. I know you trust him more than me anyway. Please continue to work at the bakery. This is work that you love and I don’t. I’ll be full time at the school eventually anyway. I’ve given my notice to the Carters and requested that it be effective immediately. Flora and Sateen will fill in until they get a replacement. I intend moving out of the Village as soon as I find alternative accommodation. In the meantime, I ask that you to refrain from initiating any contact. I thank you for tending the primrose bushes but I want it to stop. I wish you every happiness in life, Peeta. No one deserves it more. You already have the foundation for it. Work that fulfils you, a woman you love and who loves you back, and many friends. As for us, we were mere ships that passed in the night, tossed together upon raging seas, and then set on course to sail in opposite directions once calmer waters prevailed. Kind regards, Katniss. So, what do you think, Prim? That last line too much? Yeah, it is pretty corny. I’ll get rid of it. It’s just hard to know how to finish it. The rest of it seems so cold. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Once you know something is as good as dead, finish it off. Cleanly. An arrow through the eye. A sharp knife to the jugular. Pretentious attempts at metaphors have no place in it. Or was that a simile? I forget the difference. It’s a good thing then that I won’t be teaching English. Or art. My gaze comes to rest on the canvas atop the dresser. Its right side is facing outwards now. I’ve at last accepted that the real Peeta Mellark did come back. The Peeta Mellark that he is now, anyway. I had once compared the painting to Peeta, his true self hidden, his mind fractured, but not beyond saving. Now I’m stunned at the sheer arrogance of my former assumptions. What do I know of Peeta’s true self? Who am I to assume his mind is fractured just because he hasn’t fallen at my feet to declare his undying love? How do I know he needs saving? Or if he even wants to be if he does?

It’s a beautiful painting, though. A single bloom with a bud attached. The leaves painted in shades of grey so as to not take the focus from the bright yellow of the primrose. I wonder if Peeta meant it to represent life springing from ashes, and the bud to represent the constant renewal of life. What do you think, Prim? But Prim is silent. Prim is dead. Peeta is dead. It’s time to face harsh realities. I print out the letter in my neatest handwriting, leaving out the bit about ships passing in the night. And then I seal it in an envelope and stuff it in a drawer. I think better of giving it to him. It’s a dilemma – how to divorce myself from his life. If I shut him off suddenly and without explanation, it will cause confusion and pain. If I do it gradually, it will still cause confusion and pain, but at least it will be a progression and give him time to adapt. If I tell him the truth, it will also cause confusion and pain. Confusion, because in Peeta’s mind a romantic relationship with me isn’t even a possibility. And pain, because he’ll have to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. Besides, pride is one of the few things I have left. So, I write another letter. Dear Peeta,

I’m sorry to have missed you when I called around earlier.

A lie. There was no such attempt.

I wanted to let you know of my decision so you have time to make alternative arrangements. For a few weeks now, I’ve questioned whether I’m the most suitable person to talk to about the tapes Dr Aurelius sends. Apart from the fact that you have trust issues with me, I feel that someone who was an observer rather than a participant might be of more value. I think Haymitch would be the perfect choice if you plan to continue. I’ve consulted with Dr Aurelius and he has no objections.

Half a lie. I did consult with Dr Aurelius but he gave no opinion when I told him what I planned to do. He was only interested in my mental state and what activities I was involved in.

I want to apologise for my insistence that you “find yourself” as a condition of friendship. Friends don’t ask for conditions. And I was also wrong to imply that you’re not the real Peeta Mellark. Whoever you decide to be, you are the real Peeta Mellark. You can’t be anything but Peeta Mellark and I won’t think any less of you if you abandon the program. Much love, Katniss.

I hold the letter in my hand for a full hour before I made the short journey to Peeta’s house to slip it under his front door. I know I’m doing the right thing but burning a bridge is never easy. Something in me broke on the night of the Mayor’s party. Right in front of me he sneaked away for a grope with Lace, and when he came back it was to talk and laugh with his friends like I didn’t exist. Not one glance came my way. Not even to see if I was still there. My faith in Peeta’s love has been corroding for some time. Now it’s completely rusted away. I love him as much as ever, but I simply don’t have the heart for it anymore. When I get back to my house, I feel surprisingly OK. Like a great burden has been lifted. Free, almost. Perhaps the numbness will leave me soon, and despair will take its place. Perhaps I’ll even regret that letter and wish I could take it back. I guess I could break into Peeta’s house if I want to. He rarely bothers to lock his back door. No, this is the right thing to do. For everyone. For me. And for Peeta. Be decisive for once in your life, Everdeen. I distract myself with making a to-do list. I’ve already given notice at the bakery. The Carters were taken aback at the suddenness but not really surprised since I’ve twice cut hours at the bakery to work more hours at the school. I suspect they knew it was coming. I’m at the school three days a week now but mostly in the classroom since it’s getting too cold to take children into the woods, especially the little ones. Finding somewhere else to live will take time. Due to the large influx of immigrants, housing is in short supply. People are coming in faster than they can build them. But I’ll put feelers out. I don’t want anything large, just comfortable and well built, and not too far from the woods and the school. And there’s another thing I should do. I should be open to dating. Not that I want a torrid romance or anything. But I don’t want to be a virgin for the rest of my life either. In the Capitol, people had sex just for the fun of it. I heard that they even arranged to meet perfect strangers for an hour or two of sex and then they’d never see each other again. I think that’s going way too far, but maybe I could meet someone nice, who wants what I want. Some companionship, some fun, but nothing serious. Max, maybe? No. I dismiss that from my mind immediately. He’s far more valuable to me purely as a friend. Besides, once you’ve vomited on someone, it’s likely you’ve blown any attraction they might have felt for you, anyway. It was really his fault. He shouldn’t have slung me over his shoulder like that just because I was walking too slow for his liking. There’s not a lot that I remember after we left the party. Only that my stomach was doing somersaults and my head was spinning. I might have blubbered a lot about Peeta too. When I awoke in my bed around noon the next day, on my nightstand was a jug of water, a glass and a piece of paper, folded in half. My midnight blue sparkly Cinna gown was draped over a chair. That’s when I realised I was naked. On the paper was a message from Max. You’re paying to have my suit cleaned. Take a couple of painkillers and drink lots of water. P.S. I kept my eyes closed. OK, I might have peeked.

I wanted to pull the covers over my head and never come out. I haven’t seen Max yet, but I know I’ll never hear the end of it. This is a gold mine for someone who loves to tease as much as he does. Well, I’m certainly not paying his cleaning bill. He got the suit for free, didn’t he?

At five o’clock, I take a position at the window in my sitting room. It’s around this time that Peeta comes home from the bakery. He would have heard of my resignation but I doubt he’ll be surprised. I’d already told him that I didn’t intend working there much longer. I see him open his front door, and then stoop to pick something off the floor. My letter. The door closes behind him. It’s done then. Now he’ll be reading it. Processing it. Possibly puzzled by it. Maybe upset? Angry? Annoyed? Indifferent? I suppose it’s inevitable that Haymitch soon hears of it. He’s at my door not long after Peeta had left his house. He stinks of white liquor. He had probably settled in for a pleasant evening of drinking himself into oblivion before Peeta disturbed him. Since he’s now disturbing me, he must consider this close to a national emergency.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You and me, we made a deal to try to save him. Remember?” “He doesn’t need saving.” I tie the sash of my dressing gown and lower myself into a chair. I’d been about to go to bed. “He hasn’t needed saving since he returned to 12. He’s happy the way he is.” Haymitch stares at me, incredulous. “Then what have these tapes been about? You weren’t concerned about his happiness then. He only started watching them because you threatened him.” I put my head in my hands. There’s no point in denying it. If Peeta’s put me through an emotional wringer, then I’ve done the same to him. That’s why it has to stop.

“I know. And I was wrong. I’ve been doing it for selfish reasons while telling myself it was for his sake. I didn’t take into consideration that Peeta’s changed. And that he might not want the same things that he did.” My voice cracks despite my efforts. “That he might not want me.” I wait for Haymitch to yell at me some more, but there’s only silence. When I raise my head, I see that he’s taken the chair opposite and he’s taking a swig out of his bottle. I think even if Haymitch were in a burning building, he’d save the liquor before himself. “Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him. So you can’t blame him – “ “I don’t,” I say. “You do. You’re punishing him for things that are out of his control – “ “No! You’re not doing this to me again. This guilt trip thing that you do. The circumstances were different then. Peeta wanted to be helped. For himself. It wasn’t to please me. And while it seems strange to say it, there was a clarity about him then too. Now he just wants to see the past through a particular lens. When we watch the tapes, no matter what they are, they’re all confirmation for beliefs he already holds. And he’s happy to believe them.” “Maybe he’s just afraid – “ “Afraid of what? That he’ll discover that it wasn’t just a sham? That I fell in love with him? You know what happened when I told him I love him. He misunderstood. That’s not someone who’s afraid. That’s someone who wants a certain reality where I’m nothing more to him than a family member. He’s told me several times that he’s not in love with me and he wants us to be friends. This whole thing – the tapes, trying to restore his memories – is me not facing reality.”

“I think you’re giving up too soon,” he argues. “If you persist for a just a bit longer – “ “No. I’ve had enough.” I shake my head wearily. “I’m tired, Haymitch. He’s happy. We should leave him be. And I want to get on with my life too. Besides, if he wants to keep on with the tapes, he can. He doesn’t need me for that. What did he say about it, by the way?”

“He didn’t even mention it. He’s upset because he thinks you’re distancing yourself from him and he doesn’t know why. This is cruel what you’re doing to him.” “And this has been easy for me?” I demand, moved to anger. “Why are his feelings more important than mine? He’s the one with a girlfriend, remember.”

Haymitch puts up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Alright. I can see your side of it too,” he says, trying to calm me down. But I’m not done yet. “Peeta’s made it very clear that he wants Lace as a girlfriend and me as a friend,” I say. “Well, it’s not what I want. Do you really think Peeta would’ve hung around being my friend if I’d ended up with Gale? No, he wouldn’t. It’s far better to go our separate ways now before there’s any more hurt on either side. I know it’s upsetting for him now but he’ll soon get over it. He’s not in the same position he was when he came back. He has a job, a girlfriend. He has other friends. He has her family.” As I list all the things Peeta has going for him, my guilt begins to ease. I am doing the right thing. Peeta will come to see it in time. “But what if that’s not what he really wants?” he asks. “Shouldn’t Peeta have a say? What’s the difference between this and what you were doing earlier?” “The difference is that he’s made his choice,” I say, thinking of the guest room ban. “I just didn’t want to confront it before.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it. He turns his attention back to his bottle instead.

“Why do you think he came back to 12?” I suddenly ask. This has never made sense to me and the answer is unlikely to come from Peeta now. “Why couldn’t he have left me alone? That day when I found him planting the primrose bushes outside my house, I thought he’d come back to me. But it was just a cruel joke.” “He can’t leave you alone. Not after what the Capitol put him through. It made him fixated on you. More that he already was, anyway.” Haymitch rises from the chair. “Well, if you’re determined, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just hope it’s the right decision.” “I hope so too,” I say to myself after Haymitch is gone. But the truth is that I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m reaching in the dark, trying to be fair to everyone, but afraid of being fair to no one. That night I have a dream. There’s nothing unusual about that, except this time it’s not a nightmare. It’s a pleasant, comforting dream that harks back to simpler times. Before Prim was reaped. When Peeta was the boy with the bread and Gale was my best friend. I trusted him with all my secrets. Even with Prim, I couldn’t be so open, my priority always to protect her. “Catnip,” dream Gale says. “I know exactly what you’re going through with Peeta. Same as me with you.” “What do you mean?” I ask. “Trying to be his friend, while he’s with another. Living in hope that things will change, but all the while knowing that the odds are not in your favour.” “Yeah.” I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm goes around me. He smells of apples, damp leather and wood smoke. “Sometimes, I want to walk away. Try to forget that I ever knew him. But then I remember how he was, and how much we meant to each other, and that he’s only the way he is now because of me. “ “And he gives you just enough to keep hopes alive,” adds Gale. I nod against his shoulder. I know how my indecisiveness must have looked to Gale, but there’s no rebuke in his voice. He’s just telling me as it was. “I didn’t want to lose what we had,” I explain. “Is that why you want Peeta? Because you don’t want to lose what you had? Because you can’t repeat the past, Katniss. You should have learned that by now.” I think about that for a moment. It’s a good question. “When I was sent to 12, I didn’t care whether I lived or died. I sat in a chair all day and only got out of it to go to the bathroom. But when Peeta came back, I started to come back too. If there wasn’t something of the old Peeta there, that would have been it for me. But there is. Memories or not, he’s still Peeta.”

“Not quite Peeta. The part of him that loves you didn’t come back,” says Gale.

“No.” Not the kind of love I want, anyway. I think about the barely begun crush I had on Gale before the Games. It had still lingered a little, complicated as is was by my confusion about Peeta. But really, it didn’t survive the Games. It just took me a while to realise it. “But what if it did, and it’s still there buried down deep. That’s possible, isn’t it?” There has to be some hope.

“Was that how it was with you for me?” Gale asks. “No,” I answer. “But we were never going to last even if we had got together. We clashed too much. Our values were too different. Maybe if the Games and the war hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have mattered. But it did.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had in 2?” he says. “That time we kissed? Just before that we talked about Peeta. How I didn’t stand a chance with you if he didn’t get better. That you’ll never be able to let him go. I knew I couldn’t compete with that, no matter much pain I was in. And that’s your problem. You can’t let anyone go who’s in pain. It’s a reason why you had trouble letting me go.” “I remember, but I don’t see how it could possibly be relevant to the present situation.” “Easy. Catnip, he’s not the one in pain this time. You are. Let him go. Look out for yourself and let him come to you.” “And if he doesn’t?” “Then the Peeta you knew is dead. And then you mourn him and you move on.” “Like you did?” I ask. But there’s no answer. I’m talking to the wind. Gale is gone.

19 notes · View notes