‘Are you sure you want to walk down by the river? Bad memories and all that,’ Mark says. He is still pale, but other than a night on an IV drip he hadn’t needed any serious treatment. He was lucky. Luckier still that despite the doctors not being able to work out what he had taken, their standard treatments for overdose had worked: pumping him with fluids, giving him charcoal to help eliminate the poison from his system. His blood tests showed that there was nothing left behind, although they did stress that they couldn’t know if there would be any long-term effects.
They’ve sent the capsule off to toxicology for testing, Mark told her. Because no one actually knows what it is. Laura watched a TV documentary about legal highs. It was horrific. People injecting stuff into their groins. People convulsing on the ground while their mates filmed them. According to the show, the problem with these drugs is that every time the lab develops an assay to identify them, the manufacturers come up with something new. Laura realises how lucky he was. Lucky that he’d come to see her. Lucky that she hadn’t ignored him and let him wander off. Things could’ve been very different.
Laura and Mark are walking side by side. Occasionally, his hand strays towards hers, but she pushes it away. She hasn’t forgiven him just yet.
‘I’ve no bad memories of that day,’ she replies. ‘Just what happened after . . . and yesterday, obviously – when you scared me half to death.’
He lets out a long, slow sigh. ‘You know . . . or maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t ever feel like this. But sometimes – don’t you just wish you weren’t one of the good kids? Just for a while? Imagine what it might be like to swear at old people at bus stops, skive off school and go drinking . . . take a few risks now and then. It’s so fucking boring being the one who does well at school. The one that your parents like to boast about in their Christmas cards to Auntie Pat, who I really don’t think gives a fuck one way or another.’
Laura laughs. ‘Have you actually got an Auntie Pat?’
‘No. But you know what I mean. It’s not just me, is it?’
Laura takes his hand. He grabs hold of it, tight. ‘Why do you think I did what I did, with you . . . what we did?’ They pass by their picnic spot. Tucked away in a corner, they can make out the edge of a rug. The faint sound of voices. Ah well, she thinks. It was hardly a unique choice of venue. They stop walking and he pulls her close.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘You’ve no idea how much. I thought I was being wild and crazy hanging out with Gaz, taking that shit. I could’ve died. You saved me.’
‘Quinn saved you. And don’t think he’ll be letting you forget it. He wasn’t happy with you for standing me up the other night. Said something along the lines of “liquidising your bollocks to put in the pâté”. It’s put me right off that stuff now, I’m telling you.’ He pulls her closer, and she enjoys the feeling of his arms around her again. She feels a stirring inside her, but she pushes it away. They’ll both need to wait a bit longer for that. ‘Did your mum and dad go mental?’ she says into his chest.
He leans his chin on her head. ‘Not yet. They were mostly just scared, and shocked. I was hooked up to the drip when they arrived. I think my mum went a bit hysterical. They were quiet this morning. I think I’m going to get the “we’re disappointed” chat later. I’m just glad they let me come down to see you first. I wanted to make sure we’re OK. I mean . . . I totally get it if you don’t want anything more to do with me, but I wanted to explain at least. I don’t want you to think I’m a total dick. I’m not like Gaz . . .’
Laura pulls away. ‘Talking of Gaz – what’s going on with him and Hayley? I’m done with her, but I don’t want her to end up in a ditch somewhere.’
Mark laughs. ‘He’s a drug-dealing creep. He’s probably shagged half the girls in the county. I reckon she’ll get the clap. If she’s lucky. I’d try to tell her to stay away, but she won’t listen. She’s off the rails, that one. You’re right to be wary. I feel sorry for Sean, though. He did actually like her. It’ll be interesting to see what happens in a few days’ time when Gaz and his dodgy mates have moved on to the next place, looking for new pickings.’
‘Are you going to talk to Davie? About the stuff you took . . . Gaz made it, didn’t he?’
‘Enough about Gaz.’ He leans down, places a hand under her chin, lifts her face up to his. She likes the move, although it feels a bit rehearsed – like something he’s seen in a film or something. She lets him kiss her, just a gentle brush of his lips against hers. Then she pulls away. She has to ask him this now or forever wonder if she’s making a big mistake.
‘You know . . .’ she says, making it sound like she’s pondering some great truth.
‘What?’ He is smiling. Anticipating.
‘You did do something the other day that pissed me off a bit, actually.’
‘Oh?’
‘You called me a “wee nympho” . . . and I didn’t really like the way you said it. Like it was bad, that I might be enjoying it. Enjoying doing it. You made me feel cheap.’
‘Isn’t that a line from a film?’
She punches him playfully in the ribs. ‘Never had you down as a fan of Pretty Woman. Seriously, though, what was that all about?’
Mark sighs. ‘Just me being a dick. Honestly, Laura. I’ve fancied you for so fucking long. I was starting to think it was never going to happen. The amount of times I thought about you . . . when I was in bed on my own, late at night. Imagining what it might be like to kiss you, never mind anything else.’
She turns away so he can’t see the big fat grin on her face.
‘Well, OK then. I guess I should be flattered.’ She kicks at a stone. ‘There is one more thing though, since you asked . . .’
‘Oh yeah?’ He looks sheepish, waiting for her to hit him with something else that’ll make him squirm.
She leans up and whispers in his ear: ‘You still taste of sick.’