‘Hungover, are we?’ Jeremy asks the following morning at work.
‘No. What makes you say that?’ I snarl.
‘Number one, you’re wearing sunglasses when it’s overcast. Number two, you’re on your third can of Coke. And number three, you just gave that woman change for a twenty when they only gave you a ten.’
‘What? Who?’ I ask, scouring the playground for disgruntled customers.
‘Don’t worry, I sorted it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Do I get a thank you?’
‘Thank you,’ I mutter.
‘Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.’ He cups his hand to his ear, his eyes dancing with amusement.
‘Thank you,’ I growl.
Jeremy smirks. It doesn’t help that he looks annoyingly healthy today, his face tanned and freckly from a cycling trip to France he’s been banging on about all morning.
The fact is, I’m not even vaguely hungover, just knackered after a crap night’s sleep. I spent hours tossing and turning, reliving the shame and humiliation of Paul’s rejection.
When I get home after work today though, I can hear him out in their back garden, playing Frisbee with Duncan. Part of me wants to brazen it out, go and lie in the hammock in my white bikini and show Paul what he’s missing. The other, bigger part of me never wants see him ever again. All I know is, I can’t concentrate on anything with their stupid voices floating in through the patio doors.
Dad is still in bed, sleeping off his stag do hangover. I was still awake when he stumbled in at almost 5 a.m., tripping on the stairs and frantically shushing himself. I stick my head behind the living-room door. Mum is lying on the sofa with the curtains drawn.
‘Good night?’ I ask, nodding at the pint glass of Berocca she’s sipping from.
‘Not so loud,’ she says, wincing.
‘Sorry,’ I say, adjusting my volume to a loud whisper. ‘Did you have a good night?’
‘Hmmmm, probably a bit too good.’
‘Did they get you a stripper?’
‘No. Thank God. I have absolutely no desire to have to see anyone’s dangly bits other than your dad’s.’
‘Ew, Mum.’
She smiles. ‘Come sit with me for a bit,’ she says, patting the sofa. ‘We haven’t had a proper chat in ages.’
I hesitate, tempted. When I was younger I used to tell Mum everything. We’d sit at the breakfast bar every day after school and I’d tell her all about who fancied who and who had fallen out with who and she’d listen patiently and ask lots of questions, and not in an annoying patronizing way, but like she was actually interested. I imagine telling her about the events of the last two days, how it might feel to let it all just pour out. I know I can’t, though. If I tell her about last night she’ll go bananas, and somehow the idea of sharing an edited version of events seems worse than saying nothing at all.
‘I can’t,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m going out.’
‘Where?’ she asks.
‘Stella’s. We’re going to revise.’
‘OK, sweetheart,’ she says, stretching. ‘What time will you be back?’
‘I’m not sure. When we’re finished, I suppose.’
‘Well, let me know your dinner plans so I know how many pizzas to order, OK? I can’t face doing any proper cooking today.’
‘OK.’
She blows me a kiss. I pretend to catch it and blow one back, feeling a bit sad but not really knowing why.
I leave the house with no real intention of heading to Stella’s. I’m still pissed off with her about the prospectuses and I’m too tired to have it out with her and too tired to pretend everything’s fine.
I head into town instead, wandering aimlessly from shop to shop. In WHSmith I flip through magazines until one of the shop assistants asks if she can help me, which of course is unsubtle code for ‘buy a magazine or bugger off’. I tell her ‘no thanks’ and shove the copy of Heat I’ve been looking at back on the shelf. I can feel her eyes boring into my back as I sashay out of the shop and it takes all the strength I have not to turn round and give her the finger.
Having exhausted all the browsing possibilities on the high street, I find myself skirting the perimeter of Rushton Park. The weather has brightened up. Maybe I’ll go lie down in the sun for a bit. Yeah, I’ll listen to some music on my phone, try to relax a bit and forget about last night.
I stop at the newsagent’s near the park gates and buy a Twister ice lolly. When I open it, it’s all mushed-up and wonky, like it’s melted then been frozen again. I eat it anyway, but it tastes sort of funny.
I wander into the park with no real aim or destination. I just know I don’t want to be at home listening to Paul and Duncan do their father and son act in the garden. The park is busy, kids swarming the adventure playground like locusts.
I’m passing the little wooden hut that sells bird feed when I spot Aaron.
He’s sitting with a bunch of other boys in a raggedy circle, a beer cooler in the centre, a couple of scratched-up guitars scattered on the grass. I contemplate texting Kimmie to alert her, knowing she’d be down here like a shot. But after the other night at Stella’s, I’m not in the mood for seeing Kimmie either. I’m not in the mood for seeing anyone I know today.
I veer off the path and walk towards the boys. One or two of them look familiar but the majority I don’t think I’ve seen before. A couple of them notice me approaching and are already sitting up to attention like meerkats by the time I arrive. After what happened with Paul last night, their reaction feels good, really good.
‘It’s you,’ Aaron says, standing up.
My heart does an unexpected little leap. Not that I fancy him or anything, it just feels nice to know that he has noticed me before, that I didn’t imagine his lingering stares; that I’ve still got it after all.
‘It’s me,’ I confirm, my lips curling into a smile.
‘Aaron,’ he says.
I resist the urge to say, ‘I know’. Instead, I tell him my name and ask if he and his friends can spare a beer, cocking my head to the side and biting my lip. It has the desired effect and at least half of the group scramble to be the one to hand me a can from the cooler. Aaron gets in there first though, triumphantly pressing it into my hands, his long, skinny fingers purposefully brushing mine.
The rest of the boys open up the circle so I can sit down. I hold the can against my forehead for a few seconds, before transferring it to my chest, multiple sets of eyes tracking my every move. I open the can and take a long sip.
One of the guys picks up a guitar, strumming it a couple of times and asking if I have any requests. I name a Taylor Swift song. Everyone laughs. They think I’m being ironic. He plays some gloomy song I’ve never heard before instead. I pretend to listen carefully to the wanky lyrics, nodding along with everyone else and adopting the same vaguely stoned expression. Aaron grins at me across the circle. I hold his gaze in return and try to ignore the guilt tugging at my brain cells.
The song ends. I realize my can is empty. As if by magic, Aaron passes me a new one, open ready.
‘You’re a mind-reader,’ I say.
He performs a little bow. ‘At your service.’
Someone else has the guitar now – a boy with scruffy brown hair and cut-off jeans. He plays a never-ending version of ‘Hey Jude’, with Aaron sitting astride the cool box, drumming on it with his palms. I join in on the endless ‘na na na na’s’. The next song is fast and upbeat and one of the other boys pulls me up to dance. The two beers have stripped away my inhibitions. Along with the added incentive of ten eager pairs of male eyes, I grind and writhe in time to the music. At the end of the song everyone begs me not to stop. I do, though. Best to keep them wanting more.
The sun is starting to go down. I find my phone and text Mum, and tell her I’m going to eat dinner at Stella’s. Without my noticing, everyone has changed places and Aaron is next to me now, lying on his side, propped up on his elbow. I mirror him, knowing my body looks extra hot this way. I’m pleased when I notice Aaron’s eyes trace my curves from head to toe and back again.
‘I didn’t know you were a drummer,’ I say, nodding over at the cool box. ‘Are you in a band?’
‘Nah,’ he says.
‘Dunno. I just play for fun.’ He pauses. ‘If I was in a band, would you come watch me play?’ he asks.
‘Maybe. Depends how nicely you asked.’
He grins. ‘You’re Grace Campbell-Richardson’s sister, aren’t you?’ he says, inching closer.
The mention of Grace’s name sobers me up for a second. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘So?’
‘You’re really different from her.
‘Different how?’
‘Oh, good different,’ he says quickly. He leans in so his lips are only centimetres away from my right ear. ‘Sexy different.’
His breath tickles and makes me shiver. It feels good to hear him say that. It feels safe. Because being sexy is one thing I’ve always been good at, the one thing I can beat Grace at.
‘You come to the lido sometimes, don’t you?’ Aaron adds.
‘Sometimes.’
‘I’m a lifeguard there.’
‘Oh, really?’ I bluff. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you.’
‘Yeah, you were there a few weeks ago, with a really camp guy and a blonde girl who kept screaming about getting her hair wet.’
Mikey and Stella.
‘And Kimmie,’ I say quickly. ‘Our friend Kimmie was with us too.’
Aaron looks blank.
‘Super-cute Chinese girl?’ I add. ‘Shiniest hair on the planet?’
He shrugs. ‘To be honest, it wasn’t really your friends I was looking at,’ he says, fixing me with a meaningful look.
I glance away, down the rest of my beer and try to push Kimmie’s face out of my head.
With the sun steadily dipping in the sky, it feels cold suddenly, goose pimples breaking out on my arms and legs and stomach. I sit up, wrapping my arms round my knees. Aaron notices and whips out the hoodie he’s been lying on, placing it round my shoulders. It stinks of his aftershave. After a bit I slip my arms through the armholes and zip it up to my chin. The sleeves are too long, just the very tips of my fingers poking out.
‘Aw, you look well cute,’ Aaron says.
I roll my eyes towards the sky.
‘You do!’ he insists.
A couple of girls turn up, each of them carrying blue plastic bags full of more beers. They glare at me, the interloper. I ignore them and rest my hand on Aaron’s thigh as I reach into one of the bags for another can of beer. The taller of the two girls sucks in her breath but doesn’t say anything. Someone starts playing the guitar again and we all sing along. The whole time Aaron draws on my back with his index finger.
A few songs in, I realize I need the loo. I stand up, wobbling a little. Aaron jumps up to steady me.
‘Hey there, Bambi,’ he says, not letting go of me until he’s satisfied I’m capable of remaining vertical without his assistance.
We’re miles away from the toilet block so I stagger into the bushes and pull down my shorts and knickers, squatting down. I seem to pee for ages. It feels good. I can see the group through the foliage, their faces illuminated by cigarettes and mobile phones.
I’m making my way back towards the group when someone grabs hold of my arm and pulls me back into the bushes, leading me to a small clearing.
‘Hey,’ Aaron says.
‘Hey,’ I murmur back.
As he puts his arms around me, I think of Kimmie. I know I should probably shake him off, return to the others, give Aaron back his hoodie and go home, but I can’t resist the look in his eyes, the look that says ‘I want you’. He kisses me. I kiss him back and do all the things I know boys like. I sigh and moan and run my hands through his hair and trace them round the waistband of his jeans, and wrap one leg around his. He responds, groaning and murmuring my name into my hair. He smells of grass and beer and sweat.
It’s not like he’s ever paid Kimmie any interest. It was me he was looking at both those times at the lido, not her. He doesn’t even know who she is, he admitted as much when I described her just now and clearly had no idea who I was talking about. It’s not like if I walked away now, it would change anything, that he’d magically start fancying her.
His hand sneaks under the hoodie, under my top, my bra, seeking out skin.
‘You want to come back to mine?’ he asks breathlessly, as his cold palm cups my left boob.
And even though I don’t actually fancy him, and even though I know Mum will be expecting me home in a bit, and even though I know Kimmie would be devastated if she could see me right now, letting Aaron Butler, love of her life, kiss my neck and try to undo my bra strap, I tell him ‘OK’.
Because, sod it, I’m having fun and feel good about myself for what seems like the first time in ages.