I’d worked out by now that Carter’s anger would flash hot and then quickly subside, but I was still relieved when he was back to normal the next day. When I came into the kitchen, he poured me a black coffee and I breathed out my relief as I took it from him. We spent the whole day in the studio putting ‘King Cutie’ through its paces, and by the time we were finally finished recording, I never wanted to sing it again. But when Boris let us watch while he mixed the song, I found new reserves of energy. Carter and Richie headed out in their nightly attempt to sample every one of London’s bars, but Sam and I stayed late as Boris patiently showed us around his advanced software – smoothing my voice, flattening the guitars and blending the whole thing into synthetic, catchy pop-rock. When he was done, it sounded nothing like the song I’d played to the boys in the boathouse, but Boris assured me it was normal to feel like it didn’t belong to us anymore.
‘You won’t be able to promote it if it’s too close to your heart,’ he said as we stepped out of the studio. ‘A bit of distance is essential.’
I got into a taxi beside Sam. Neither of us spoke as we drove home, though we were both content. The production side of music had always interested me – the way a song could be stretched and morphed and shifted. It was the kind of thing they never taught us at the academy.
‘Don’t look now,’ said Sam as the cab pulled up to the kerb. Verity was leaning against the appliance store beneath our flat, an expanse of slim white belly between her T-shirt and her jeans. I’d tried not to think about her, or Ava or Stevie or any of the other girls I’d seen with Carter, but now I had no choice. I straightened my shoulders and got out to face her.
‘Wow, is this your place?’ she said, as if we’d been expecting her. Or maybe she thought we had. ‘I can’t believe they’ve set you up, free digs, everything! Where’s Carter?’
‘You should’ve called him if you wanted him to be home,’ I said.
She pouted at me. ‘Are you still in a strop about Regatta?’
My gaze fell on the huge carry-all at her feet. ‘You’re not staying here.’
‘Why don’t you let Carter decide that,’ she said, hoisting the bag and following Sam up the stairs. Inside, she flopped around the flat, looking in each doorway with interest.
‘It’s a bit small, isn’t it?’ she said, her head in the broom closet that passed for my room. ‘Do you really only have a single bed?’
It turned out Carter had been right in his room allocation, judging by the present company. Sam set about making tea for all of us and I tried to ignore her.
‘Poor babby,’ she said, flicking through the rack of dresses that were still in the hall. ‘It must be so weird for you, living with him.’
‘Oh, get over yourself,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not the one who’s pining after a guy who’s clearly not interested.’
‘And that just proves you don’t know him like I do,’ she said.
Downstairs, the front door clicked, and we fell silent.
‘All right, all right.’ It was Richie’s voice, louder than usual, in the stairwell outside our door. ‘Carter’s got the keys.’
They weren’t alone, then. Absurdly, I wanted to rush into the hall shouting, ‘It’s a trap!’ but I was rooted to the floor. There was the sound of female laughter outside, and then Carter fell into the flat, his arm around a girl in a cocktail dress. Another girl stumbled in after them, and Richie brought up the rear. Both girls looked older than us, maybe in their twenties, but it could have been their make-up.
Carter’s gaze moved over the room in slow motion, finally landing on Verity in the armchair. ‘When did you get here?’
Verity’s face was white, the capillaries around her nose showing through her clear skin. ‘Oh, I’ve been here a week,’ she said. I had to admire her calmness. ‘I’ve been staying with a guy in Shoreditch. Catching the early train, though. Got to get going, actually. Much as I’d love to stay and, erm ...’ She trailed off, her facade slipping.
‘You don’t have to go,’ he said.
That statement was so stupid I had to clap a hand over my mouth to contain my laugh. His eyes darted to me and I stared back, for once relieved that things had ended between us before they began.
‘I think you’ve got a full house tonight,’ she said, each word tart. Then she picked up her bag, squeezed past the crowd at the door and tore downstairs.
The bewilderment on Carter’s face was quickly smoothed over.
‘Shame she didn’t stick around,’ Richie commented, lurching into the kitchen to get the bright green bottle of absinthe he had bought himself as a housewarming present. ‘Could’ve used the entertainment.’
Sam and I flinched. I shot Carter a look that I hoped conveyed how despicable all this was.
‘Don’t like the green fairy, Jim?’ he said, nodding at the bottle in Richie’s hand. ‘You shouldn’t judge new things before you’ve tried them.’ And he ushered one of the girls into the armchair Verity had just vacated.
I was thumping down the stairs before I could talk myself out of it. The street was quiet except for the sound of Verity’s heeled boots heading in the direction of the night bus. When I caught up to her she whirled around to face me and spat, ‘Come to gloat?’
Her mascara had run and I was reminded of Regatta, and the humiliation she’d inflicted on me – but, despite that, she didn’t deserve this. I pulled my Oyster card from my back pocket.
‘Here, take this.’ I held it out to her. ‘It’ll get you to Paddington and then you just need to take the train to Henley.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘Well,’ she said, snatching it up. ‘We share everything else.’
‘Hey.’ I grabbed her arm. ‘That was hideous.’
‘Well, he didn’t know I was coming,’ she said, in a voice that suggested she was trying hard to be reasonable.
‘Still, at the very least, Carter should be here now, not me.’ She shrugged the world-weary shrug of someone who had heard it all before. ‘Sure, babby.’
I walked home slowly despite the cold. Now I had no Oyster card, my prize money from Battle of the Bands was almost gone, and I didn’t dare ask Dad for any more funds. Back at the flat, I wasn’t surprised to find the living room deserted, four shot glasses abandoned on the table beside the empty bottle.