Part 15 (2/2)
”Your five minutes is up,” I said.
17 * PRETEND BEST FRIEND
KAZ.
There's cl.u.s.ters of people spread out across the gra.s.s around the Heavy Tent and it takes a while to find a s.p.a.ce. Once we do, Lauren embarks upon making a daisy chain whilst I hold up my flower crown, framing the central peak of the tent against the sky, and take a photo to send to Mum.
All good here. How was your date last night?
It doesn't take long for her to reply: Good. He enjoyed the ca.s.soulet you cooked.
I almost choke in horror as I hammer away at my phone. YOU LET HIM COME TO YOUR HOUSE ON A FIRST DATE? THAT'S REALLY DANGEROUS!!!
It's like she's never watched Silent Witness or Luther or CSI. All of which she's got entered on her dating profile as her favourite TV shows.
Who said it was a first date?
I'm confused. Who did you send me a photo of?
That was tonight's one, the one I need the red clutch for. That *is* a first date. Last night was Tony. You'd already vetted him.
Mum has a curious definition of ”vet” I've never met any of these men.
Don't invite tonight's one round to the house.
Her reply's as fast as if she's actually sitting next to me: s.e.x at his, then?
”I give up.” I murmur the words as I type.
”On what?” Lauren holds up a chain of four daisies and pulls a face at it.
”My mum. She invited a man from the Internet over to her house. For dinner,” I add, since I don't want Lauren getting the wrong impression about my mum. (Even though it would be an accurate one.) ”Your mum dates men off the Internet?”
”Doesn't everyone's?” I feel a bit defensive, having inadvertently opened up my mum's love life for review, but Lauren just laughs.
”I hope not! Mine's married to my dad.”
Sometimes I forget that other people have normal parents. Parents who don't give their daughters boxes of condoms and rape alarms as presents. Parents who think a boyfriend in the hand is better than ten at a festival. Parents who know when the cat needs flea treatment and how to reset tripped fuses.
Even with my help, the daisy chain is only two links longer when there's an especially discordant crash of guitars that fades to feedback and people start to emerge from the Heavy Tent, surrounded in a miasma of dust and gently steaming skin.
”Hottie alert.” Lauren whistles through her teeth exactly the way Ruby would, before glancing nervously at me. ”Don't tell Tom I said that.”
As if Tom has any grounds for objection.
”My lips are sealed.” I link the ends of our rather woeful chain together and look up. ”Where?”
”Twelve o'clock. Looks kind of familiar...” She's frowning.
When I look up, my heart sinks. It's Stu. He's walking in this direction, talking to someone obscured from view by a clot of burly metal-heads wearing an ill-judged amount of black leather. The vest Stu's wearing is ripped along the seam and as he twists to say something to his companion, the material flaps open to reveal the dark fingers of his tattoo curled around his side like a giant clawed hand. Watching him approach is like seeing a magnet dragged through iron filings with every girl's attention aligning as he pa.s.ses.
Next to me, Lauren murmurs, ”Be still, my beating ovaries.” Which I find disappointing I always imagine a Venn diagram of people who fancy Stu and people who fancy Tom to be two entirely exclusive circles.
”You know Stuart Garside, then?” I ask, surprised. Lauren told me she lives in the next town inland and goes to a completely different school from anyone I know in Clifton.
Lauren waggles her hand. ”I know the name. And the face.”
I guess Stu's reputation carries further than I thought.
”Who's that he's with?” she asks, and with dismay I realize who it is.
”That's Owen,” I say. ”One of the boys we're camping with.”
Owen and Stu are about to walk right past us when Lauren asks, ”Shouldn't you say something?”
Reluctantly, I stand and call for Owen.
Owen scans the surrounding area as he approaches, clearly relieved at the lack of Ruby. Stu's expression is less easy to interpret.
”Owen, this is Lauren. Lauren, this is Owen. We like Owen.” Owen reaches out to shake Lauren's hand, sees the dirt that's gathered in the creases of his palm and retracts it into a wave, before wiping his hands on his shorts. Stu watches me, eyebrows c.o.c.ked as I mutter, ”This is Stu. We're not so keen on him.”
This time it's Lauren leaning in for a handshake as she says, ”Hi. I'm Lauren.”
Stu meets her eye. ”Oh, I know who you are.” Lauren blinks at him in flattered surprise so that she doesn't see his attention flicker to me. ”I know your boyfriend, Tom.”
I think back to the undercurrent of unspoken things that pa.s.sed between him and Tom last night and I feel like strangling him. And Tom. And possibly myself for being so stupid. I'm very throttle-happy today.
Lauren is so flummoxed by this recognition that when Stu asks where Tom is, I'm the one forced to reply although my one-word answer of ”Hospital” is enough to prompt Lauren into a lengthier explanation.
”... Kaz has been awesome, letting me tag along with her so I might actually get to see some bands. Plus it's about time we got to know each other.” She beams brightly in my direction as if I'm someone worthy of knowing.
I feel anything but and when Stu's eyes flash with amus.e.m.e.nt, the thought of him seeing the way I was around Tom last night crawls under my skin until I actually have to scratch.
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