14

The following morning I sleep through my alarm. I’m late to work, where I’m forced to surrender an hour’s wages to smug Jeremy. To make matters worse, it tips it down the entire shift and we’re left with masses of sausages. Bye-bye, bonus.

My mood lifts momentarily when I get home and smell roast chicken. We haven’t had a roast dinner in absolutely ages – ‘too much of a palaver’ according to Mum, who is always absolutely knackered by the time Sunday rolls round.

I’m hanging up my damp denim jacket on the peg in the downstairs loo when I hear Frankie’s voice coming from the kitchen.

Frankie used to be Audrey’s swimming coach until he retired last year and scary Steph took over. Even though Steph is a former Olympian and apparently an incredible coach, I know Audrey misses Frankie like crazy. Before he retired, he was a regular fixture at our breakfast bar, putting the world to rights with Mum and Dad over endless cups of tea.

I follow the smell of roast chicken to the kitchen. The entire family is sitting around the table, Frankie at its head.

‘Hey, Mia,’ he says, waving. ‘Looking lovely as always.’

‘Cheers, Frankie,’ I reply.

I vaguely remember Mum mentioning his visit now. He can’t make the wedding because his niece or nephew or someone is getting married that same weekend, but he wanted to wish Mum and Dad well and give them their present in person. A box wrapped in shiny silver paper sits at his elbow.

My eyes drift to the pile of dirty dishes next to the sink and a stripped chicken carcass sitting on a wooden board.

‘Wow, thanks for waiting for me,’ I say.

‘Don’t be silly. There’s a plate for you in the fridge – you just need to pop it in the microwave,’ Mum says before turning her attention back to Frankie.

I frown and open the fridge. Behind me, Frankie continues telling everyone about the house he’s having done up in the Lake District.

‘I’m so jealous,’ Mum says.

‘I’m not going to lie,’ Frankie says. ‘I’m absolutely loving it, even though the place resembles a bomb site right now. No running water, no electricity. I’m basically camping.’

I peel the clingfilm off my plate. ‘Mum?’ I say.

She swivels round in her chair, looking annoyed at the interruption.

‘Mia, we’re talking,’ she says.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter, poking at one of the potatoes on my plate.

‘What is it?’ she asks, sighing.

‘I don’t have a Yorkshire pudding.’

‘Really? I could have sworn I made enough for one each.’

‘Oops!’ Grace says. ‘I think I took two by accident. Sorry, Bean was hungry!’ She pats her tummy smugly.

‘But Yorkshire puddings are my favourite bit.’

‘Mia …’ Dad says, his eyes narrowing.

Translation: Stop being a brat in front of our guest.

‘Oh, forget it,’ I mutter. I open the microwave, shove my plate in and slam the door.

By the time I turn round everyone’s in stitches over something Frankie just said. It looks like a scene from a TV commercial – one big happy family. They’re just missing the dog.

I eject my lukewarm food from the microwave and take it outside, even though it’s still drizzling and all the garden furniture is wet through, heaving the patio door shut behind me. I can still hear them all through the glass though, their muffled chatter punctuated with frequent explosions of laugher.

‘Do you not want pudding?’ Dad asks as I return inside and dump my dirty dishes in the sink. ‘I made an apple pie.’

I hesitate. Dad’s apple pie is really, really good.

‘With custard,’ he adds, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

‘I can’t,’ I say, blocking out the sight and smell of the fresh-out-of-the-oven pie cooling on the top of the hob. ‘I’m going out.’

‘Where?’

‘Stella’s.’

‘Don’t you two ever get bored of each other?’ Grace pipes up.

‘No. Don’t you ever get bored of being permanently attached to Sam?’ I ask, looking pointedly at their entwined fingers.

‘It’s not quite the same thing,’ she replies.

‘Of course it isn’t. It never is, is it?’

She sits up straight. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

But I can’t be bothered to explain. That’s half the problem; whenever I try to describe how I’m feeling, I always come off sounding petty and childish by bringing up stuff that happened years ago.

I sigh. ‘Just forget I said anything.’

It’s only once I’ve left the house I remember that Stella isn’t around today. It’s her dad’s birthday so she’s out for lunch with him, Stu and her stepmum. I know for a fact Mikey’s out of action today too because he’s stuck looking after The Accident while his parents go to a wedding, so I text Kimmie on the off-chance she’s around. A reply pings back a few minutes later.

Yes! Come over anytime. K xoxo

I ring the doorbell. Unlike ours, Kimmie’s actually works. A few seconds later, her older sister Sophie opens the door with her elbow. She’s wearing a pair of red-stained plastic gloves, a purple hoodie I recognize as Kimmie’s and star print leggings. I wouldn’t dream of helping myself to anything from Grace’s wardrobe: a) It wouldn’t probably fit anyway; and b) Grace’s clothes are dull with a big fat capital D.

‘Come on up,’ Sophie says, skidding across the wooden floor in her socks. ‘I’m in the middle of dying Kimmie’s hair.’

I follow her, pausing to wave ‘hello’ to Mr and Mrs Chu, who are sitting at the humungous kitchen table, reading the Sunday newspapers, classical music playing in the background. They smile serenely and wave back. Although we generally hang out at Stella’s place because of the lack of parental supervision, Kimmie’s house is actually the nicest of all my friends – all soft white walls and glass, and cupboards and drawers that shut themselves without making a sound. It’s also massive; the ground floor alone is probably bigger than my entire house.

We head upstairs to the bathroom Kimmie and Sophie share. It’s jammed full of products, every available surface littered with bottles and tubs and tubes. Sophie and Kimmie share pretty much everything, from shampoo and tampons, to each other’s sentences.

Kimmie is sitting on the lowered toilet seat, her hair slick with dye. ‘Hey, Mia,’ she says. ‘Sorry, won’t be long.’

‘No worries,’ I reply, sitting down on the edge of the bath. ‘What kind of dye are you using?’

Sophie tosses me the empty box. A glossy redhead pouts back at me. ‘It won’t go as red as that on KimKim,’ she explains. ‘It’ll be more of a reddish glow.’

She squeezes the last of the contents from the dye bottle on the top of Kimmie’s head and carefully massages it in. Sixties music is leaking in from Sophie’s bedroom. She and Kimmie automatically begin to harmonize, swaying their shoulders in unison and giggling over the same lyric.

Sophie pauses singing. ‘I’m just gonna make sure I haven’t got any on your skin,’ she says, wetting a cotton wool pad and dabbing at Kimmie’s hairline. She’s working on the back of Kimmie’s neck when she stands back and gasps.

‘What?’ Kimmie cries, her eyes wide with alarm. Sophie winks at me over the top of Kimmie’s head.

‘I’m sorry, Kimkim, but there’s a massive red splodge on your neck and it won’t come off!’ she says.

‘What? Where?’ Kimmie asks, twisting her body awkwardly as she attempts to look in the mirror.

Sophie lets Kimmie sweat for at least ten seconds before gleefully yelling, ‘Psych!’ and creasing up laughing.

‘Oi!’ Kimmie says, grabbing a flannel and chucking it at her sister. ‘That’s so mean!’

She’s laughing though, the same squawking laugh as her sister. I can’t help but feel a bit left out as they shriek and lob cotton wool balls at each other, totally in sync. Kimmie chucks me a couple of cotton wool balls so I can join in but my heart’s not really in it. I try to imagine the same scene with me and Grace, but it feels forced, two fakers just playing at being sisters.

‘OK, twenty minutes, then we rinse,’ Sophie says, once she and Kimmie have exhausted their supply of things to throw at each other. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?’

‘No thanks,’ Kimmie and I reply.

Sophie leaves the room, singing the song from earlier, Kimmie unable to resist joining in until Sophie’s voice has faded away.

We head into Kimmie’s room where we clamber onto her king-size bed, sitting opposite each other with our legs crossed.

‘How was the dress fitting?’ she asks.

I fill her in.

‘It sounds really nice,’ she says when I describe the lilac dress.

I pull a face.

‘It does!’ she insists. ‘And even if it’s not, it won’t matter because you’ll make it look nice anyway.’

Even though it’s a totally soppy thing to say, I can’t help but smile. You can always rely on Kimmie for a compliment. She’s nice that way.

Her phone beeps. She reaches for it, her eyes widening as she reads what’s on the screen.

‘What’s up?’ I ask.

She passes me the phone, her lips pursed tightly together.

Hey Kimmie. Hope ur having gr8 wkd. Coffee sometime? Daniel x

‘Daniel?’ I say. ‘Who’s Daniel?’

‘Daniel Clark,’ she says.

I continue to look at her blankly.

‘Mia, he’s in our sociology class!’

‘Is he?’

As a rule, I don’t really pay attention to the boys at school. Since breaking up with Jordan, I’ve sworn off guys my own age.

Kimmie sighs and takes back her phone, tapping at the screen a few times before handing it back to me. ‘This is his Facebook profile picture,’ she says.

The screen is filled with a photo of a vaguely familiar boy with curly brown hair and rosy cheeks, playing a guitar.

‘Oh yeah,’ I say. ‘He sits next to Amir, right?’

Amir and I snogged a few times back in Year 10.

‘That’s him.’

‘He’s not bad,’ I say, passing back the phone.

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. You’d look good together.’

He’s not my type at all, but I can definitely see Kimmie with him. They both have that sweet, wholesome thing going on.

‘Text him back then,’ I say. ‘Actually, don’t. Leave it a few hours, let him sweat it out a bit.’

‘You think I should say yes then?’

‘Of course. Why not?’

‘I don’t know,’ Kimmie says, tracing the floral pattern on the duvet with her fingertips. ‘I mean, he’s nice and everything but …’

‘But what?’

‘Promise you won’t make fun of me?’

I narrow my eyes. I’m not very good at promises.

‘Please, Mia.’

‘Fine, I promise. Just tell me what the problem is.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘Aaron.’

‘Aaron?’ I splutter. ‘Are you serious, Kimmie? But he doesn’t even know you exist!’

Her face crumples. ‘You promised not to make fun of me!’

‘I’m not making fun of you, I’m pointing out a fact.’

‘What about the other day? At the lido? We totally had a moment.’

I wince, remembering the way Aaron stared at me as I sunbathed. I’d caught him at it later too, as I walked to the vending machine and back, his eyes on me the entire time.

‘I don’t know,’ she continues. ‘I just feel like something could actually happen between us this summer.’

‘And you’re worried if you do anything with Daniel, it’ll rule that out?’

‘I guess so. Does that sound mad?’

‘Kind of, yeah. I just don’t get why you can’t see how stuff goes with Daniel in the meantime.’

Kimmie looks horrified.

‘Oh, come on,’ I say. ‘You’re seventeen. It’s not like you’ve got to marry either of them.’

‘It’s just that if I’m going to have a boyfriend, I want to commit one hundred per cent and I can’t commit to Daniel while I feel the way I do about Aaron. I’ve always said I want my first time to be with someone I really care about.’

‘Er, slow down a bit, Kimmie, he’s only asked you out for a coffee.’

‘I know that. I’m just trying to think ahead.’

‘Well, you’re totally overthinking it.’

‘Maybe,’ she replies, chewing on her fingernail.

‘Like, aren’t you glad you lost yours to Jordan?’ she says. ‘Instead of some random guy?’

I try not to stiffen at the mention of Jordan’s name.

‘What was it like?’ Kimmie asks. ‘The first time you did it, I mean? Did it hurt or anything?’

‘I don’t really remember,’ I say, shrugging.

‘It was nice, then?’ she asks hopefully.

‘Look, Kimmie, like I just said, you’re overthinking it. Trust me, once you’ve actually done it, you’ll realize sex isn’t the big deal people make it out to be.’

She continues to look unconvinced. Poor Kimmie. Sometimes I reckon she’d be happier living in the olden days, back when couples didn’t kiss until after they were engaged.

‘And for the record, I think you should go for that coffee with Daniel,’ I say.

‘Maybe in September,’ Kimmie replies. ‘I just want to see what happens this summer first, to find out if Aaron and I have something or not.’

‘But what if Daniel meets someone else and you miss your chance?’

Kimmie lifts her chin determinedly. ‘Aaron’s worth the risk.’

I frown and wonder if I’ll ever feel that way about someone, the way Kimmie feels about Aaron. No matter how hard I try though, I just can’t quite imagine it.