Milly watched the little drama unfold in the pool and then, hiding behind her sunglasses, got back to her book. She wasn’t wearing a swimsuit, although she was uncomfortably hot in her T-shirt and jeans and would have loved nothing better than to plunge into the cool water. And she would have, if she’d been alone. But with Harlan there? No way. He called her fat arse all the time, while ogling Belle as she romped about in her too-revealing bikini.
God, it’s obscene, thought Milly as she lay there casting covert glances at her adopted brother. Harlan was growing up fast, his shoulders widening, a slender muscularity emerging on his torso. In figure-hugging swimming trunks, the bulge of his cock was all too evident. Not that Belle ever seemed to return Harlan’s interest. He was beautiful, she supposed – but cold as alabaster. Milly watched as he went over to where Belle was sitting by the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water, and sat down beside her.
She really is pretty as a picture, thought Milly. And Belle was fearless, too; she’d tackle anything, go anywhere, confident of a good outcome whatever she was faced with. Milly envied her that.
‘Can I sit here?’ said a voice from above her.
Startled, Milly realized that Nipper was standing over her, indicating the sunbed beside her own.
‘Sure,’ said Milly, and he sat down and stretched out. ‘Don’t take any notice of Harlan,’ she told him, laying her book aside. ‘He’s just a bastard, he can’t help it. It’s in his nature.’
Nipper turned and looked at her. ‘What’s the book?’ he asked.
Milly showed him the cover. ‘It’s boring.’
‘He’s nothing like you, is he?’ he said, his eyes fixed on Harlan. Milly thought that Nipper was Harlan’s puppy. Harlan could kick his arse, and he’d still roll over and let Harlan tickle his tummy, even after that.
‘Harlan? Christ no.’
Milly turned her attention to Belle. She let out a sigh. ‘She’s so good-looking.’
‘Fancies herself, don’t she?’ sneered Nipper.
‘Must be great, looking like that.’
Milly thought that it would be easy to hate Belle for being so perfect, but somehow you couldn’t: Belle was so kind, always willing to pitch in and help with anything. And she always tried to include Milly, always making sure she was OK. Belle called them the ‘can-do’ girls. Milly thought that Belle had a can-do attitude, for sure. But her? She was never going to set the world on fire and she knew it. Belle was like the sister Milly had never had; she loved her.
‘You’re nice looking too,’ he said.
He was only being polite, she knew that.
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You’ve got nice eyes. And great legs.’
‘And a fat arse.’
‘I like your arse,’ said Nipper.
‘Well you’re the only one that does,’ said Milly, colouring up.
‘It’s like a peach,’ said Nipper. ‘A big . . . what’s the word? Yeah a big, sweet peach.’
It occurred to Milly then that something was going on here. For the first time ever, she was being chatted up by a boy. Granted, Nipper wasn’t the brain of Britain, but he had nice thick straw-coloured hair. She glanced at him, reassessing. He was big, bulky and tanned from the summer sun. And he was tall. So what if he was Harlan’s lapdog? He thought her enormous arse was nice.
‘Milly!’ It was her mother, waving from the French doors leading into the big house, the better house, where the Stones resided. Belle might be the golden one, the outgoing and lovely one, but it was Milly’s father, Charlie Stone, who had all the power and the dosh around here. ‘Come give me a hand with the drinks?’ said Nula, who was currently at home and not for once locked up in what Harlan laughingly and unkindly called ‘the bug hutch’.
Milly got off her sunbed, aware of her hot flesh sticking to the chair, aware of her own ungainly movements, hotly aware of Nipper watching her.
‘See you tomorrow?’ he said.
Milly paused and stared at him. ‘OK,’ she said.