by Fiore, Rosie
‘And you see Finlay …?’
‘I normally go up one afternoon in the week, and every Saturday I take him to football. He comes to stay with me every second weekend as well. I think we have a better time together, and we spend real quality time too. I’m happier, he seems happier and I hope Lindsay’s happier as well.’
‘It all sounds very civilised,’ said Holly, sipping her wine. They seemed to have done in the bottle of wine and without her noticing, Fraser had ordered another and filled up her glass and his.
‘I hope so,’ he said, smiling.
‘So does this mean you’re …’ She didn’t know quite what she was trying to say, and she had a sudden moment of terror that she’d got completely the wrong end of the stick and he was just being friendly. Damn, this dating/not dating thing was a minefield. She blushed furiously and stared down at her plate.
‘ … Ready to move on?’ he said quietly. She would have loved to see his facial expression, but that would mean lifting her eyes from her plate and as her face was the colour of the wine she was drinking, that wasn’t going to happen. She allowed herself a small nod instead.
‘Did you actually listen to the voicemail I left you?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She’d been too busy primping and exfoliating.
‘I wish you had. It’s a work of art. I sat in my office for an hour, and wrote down what I was going to say, and then read it in my best Radio Three classical-music-DJ voice.’
‘Because …’
‘This is the first time I’ve asked someone out. It’s the first time I’ve been out with a woman who wasn’t my wife, and I’m terrified. I’m so terrified I’ve accidentally drunk four glasses of wine and I’m going to have to put you in a cab home because I can’t drive.’
‘If it’s any consolation, I’m terrified too. The last time I dated … well, it was a long time ago.’
‘You can’t tell me a woman like you has been single for a long time. You’re not a nun, are you?’
‘Far from it … just been recovering from a bad, bad breakup. That’s why I came back from South Africa.’
‘How bad?’
‘He broke my heart, bankrupted my company, nearly landed me in jail and fled the country?’
‘Wow. Sounds like a great guy.’
‘Yes, well. All in the past now.’ She smiled and said, ‘Is there any more wine?’
Fraser picked up the bottle and peered at it quizzically. ‘Nope, all gone. I could order another …’
‘A third?’
‘Hmm … maybe not.’
‘Well, you’d better call me a cab then.’
‘You’re a cab.’
Holly smiled. ‘Those jolly paediatrician jokes still working for you?’
‘Well, the kids keep coming back.’
‘I’m not sure it’s for the jokes though.’
‘So’ – Fraser leaned back in his chair slightly – ‘I could call you a cab from here, or you could come back to mine, which it so happens is just around the corner, and we could have another glass of wine, or a cup of coffee, or I keep an awful brand of neon-pink squash that Finlay likes. I could rustle you up a glass of that. And then I could call you a cab from there.’
‘Wow, now that’s an offer a girl would be crazy to refuse.’
Fraser paid the bill, and they left the restaurant. As they walked back to his flat, it seemed the easiest thing in the world to hold hands. He lived on the first floor of a rather nice house. Holly had imagined it would be a sad bachelor pad with make-do divorced-dad furniture and a sleeper couch, but instead it was a warm and cosy two-bedroomed apartment. He might have no interest in cars, but he had spent money and time to make a beautiful home. The living room had two enormous brick-red sofas, and a selection of kids’ toys in a massive wicker basket under the coffee table. As soon as they arrived, Holly excused herself and went to the bathroom. She was nervous … Being in Fraser’s apartment suddenly made this seem very real. She liked him a lot and was definitely attracted to him, but was she ready to sleep with him? Did he think she would? Damn! She was out of practice with this whole dating thing. She washed her hands, tidied her hair and contemplated putting on more lipstick, but then decided not to. She rinsed her mouth out with water, squared her shoulders and went back into the living room.
Fraser had put on some music and was sitting on one of the sofas. He smiled lazily at her as she came into the room. She went over and perched on the opposite sofa.
‘So, Miss Evans,’ he said in his best doctor voice, ‘what seems to be the trouble?’
‘Well, Doctor,’ she said, ‘I’m really not sure how to play this. I’ve got a case of the first-date nerves and I’m suffering from trembling knees. What do you prescribe?’
‘Firstly, I would recommend you come and sit over here, on this sofa. The view is so much better.’
Holly got up and crossed the room to sit beside him. He was looking at the opposite wall, and she looked at it too. It was a big expanse of wall, and it was empty except for a small framed picture about the size of an A4 sheet of paper.
‘The view’s unusual,’ she commented. ‘What’s the picture? One of Finlay’s?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Fraser. ‘Go and take a look.’
She got up again and crossed back to look at the picture. It was a small, simple pencil sketch of a sinuous naked woman. The style was familiar, but it wasn’t until she glanced at the signature in the corner, that she realised. ‘Oh my God, it’s a Chagall. A real Chagall.’
‘Indeed it is. I bought it when I moved here. Sold my very expensive car, bought the banger I drive now, and blew the money on that.’
‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I love it. I can sit here all evening and look at it.’ Fraser had got up too, and was standing beside and slightly behind her. She felt his hand touch the hair at her temple, lightly, so very lightly.
‘The cut has healed beautifully,’ he said. ‘You’re barely going to have a scar at all. Soon no one will know I tried to brain you with a boomerang.’
He kept stroking her hair and then lightly touched the side of her face. She leaned lightly against his hand and he seemed to take that as encouragement, as she hoped he would. He slipped his hand down on to her shoulder and turned her gently into his arms. It was a very, very tentative first kiss, feather-light on her lips, dry and warm. But he smelled so good, so very, very masculine, that Holly found herself sliding her arms around his waist and pulling him closer to her. The kiss deepened, and they fell in a tangle on to the nearby sofa. He slid his hands all over her body, as if he didn’t know where to touch her first, and kissed her mouth, her ears, her neck, anything he could reach. It was clumsy, they kept elbowing each other and clashing teeth, gasping, ‘Sorry,’ and ‘Oh God, you taste delicious,’ and ‘You too, but your elbow’s on my hair.’ It was so ridiculous, that, nice though it was, Holly felt herself starting to giggle. Fraser must have felt her smile against his lips because it made him smile too. The little bubble of laugher between them broke the tension, and they disentangled themselves and sat up, panting.
‘Wow, am I out of practice,’ Fraser said ruefully.
‘Me too.’
‘I was so hoping to impress you with my smooth moves.’
‘I was enjoying your moves,’ she said, taking his hand.
‘There are spotty fifteen-year-olds with more impressive moves,’ he said. ‘Look, I desperately, desperately want to carry on, and drag you into my bedroom and take off all your clothes, but …’
‘But …?’
‘This is going to sound so stupid, but firstly, Lindsay will be dropping Finlay off here at eight tomorrow morning, and it would be slightly awkward if I was still in bed with you …’
‘I see that.’
‘And secondly, I haven’t got any …’
‘Oh.’
‘I don’t suppose you …?’ he said hopefully.
‘No, I’m not carrying a pack of condoms like a modern woman sho
uld,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think … well, that we’d get here so quickly.’
‘Me neither,’ said Fraser. ‘But you’re just so …’ He leaned over and kissed her again. The temperature between them very quickly began to rise again.
‘Oh God …’ he groaned, breaking away. ‘Right now, I’d willingly trade in the Chagall for a pack of three.’
‘I should go,’ said Holly reluctantly. ‘We don’t have to … do everything tonight. There’ll be other nights. There will be other nights, won’t there?’
‘Please. Please can there be another night really, really soon?’ he said. ‘I’d say tomorrow, but I have Finlay for the weekend. Sunday night?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so. As soon as I know what’s happening with my mum …’
‘Listen to us … children, sick mothers … We have all the sexy banter, don’t we?’ He grinned at her.
She leaned over and kissed him softly. ‘Welcome to adulthood, Dr John. Okay. One of us has to be strong. I’m going. If you could ring for a taxi for me, I’m going to get a glass of the radioactive squash you promised me.’ She got up and walked towards the kitchen, very aware that Fraser was watching her shapely behind in her jeans and very glad that he was.
19
MEL NOW
She was addicted. She logged on to Facebook at least ten times a day, to check if there’d been any action on Serena’s wall, and to see what ‘Triggah’ was up to. He obviously thought he was quite the gangster, but according to his date of birth he was just sixteen, and he was still in school. It wasn’t the same school as Serena, and it wasn’t a very good school, but he was, at least nominally, still in formal education. It was something.
Serena posted on his wall all the time. Often it was just a ‘luv ya babes’, or a heart, or she’d put a YouTube link to some hideous song. Mel couldn’t understand what they saw in the terrible music, but it seemed to be the thing that united Serena with this boy. He’d sometimes ‘like’ her posts, but didn’t respond very often. He seemed to have stopped posting on Serena’s wall as much as he used to. In fact, when Mel looked back, he hadn’t posted anything there for several weeks.
She checked Facebook using her phone, but if she wanted to look at pictures in more detail, she preferred using a computer. Of course, it was risky to do it at home, because while Serena usually disappeared into her bedroom and stayed there, she might emerge at any moment, so Mel could never relax. If Serena was out, she stayed online continually, in case there were updates or pictures posted, and she kept a constant eye on any events Serena said yes to attending. So far, she hadn’t lied outright to Mel about parties she was going to, but she knew that she had stretched the truth a bit about who was going to be there or, if she was sleeping at a friend’s house, how late she stayed. Mel felt much more in control now: as if she was a secret guardian angel watching over Serena. She knew that if Serena knew, she wouldn’t see it in the same way at all, and she kept promising herself that she would stop once she was confident that Serena wasn’t doing anything stupid, or as soon as she felt Serena was old enough to look after herself.
But then everyone started talking about the party. It started with a boy at Triggah’s school posting an event he called ‘Free House’. Mel thought maybe he meant free house music, and that he was hosting some kind of gig, but she soon worked out that his parents would be out of town and that he’d be throwing a party with no adult supervision. People kept joining the event and there were soon over a hundred, including Serena and Triggah. Some wit posted, ‘Are we drinking your dad’s booze cabinet, or do we bring our own? and that led to a flurry of comments, suggesting that if people clubbed together, someone’s brother could be persuaded to go to Costco and get enough beer to get everyone slammed. Then a post appeared that chilled Mel to the bone: ‘J says he’ll come with draw and pills.’ She didn’t know what ‘draw’ was, but in conjunction with ‘pills’, it didn’t sound good. If she was to hazard a guess, it was probably a term for marijuana. She was no blushing innocent, and she’d smoked plenty of it when she was younger, but she’d heard that what was out there now was much more potent than the stuff they’d had as teenagers. Besides, Serena was so young, and if she was off her face, at an unsupervised party full of strangers and the hideous Triggah, who knew what might happen?
Mel didn’t know what to do. So far, Serena hadn’t mentioned going to a party that weekend, but she had developed a pattern of announcing her social plans only just before they were about to happen. Mel might once have thought it was the spontaneity of teenagers, but now she was a little wiser, she knew it was because that way Mel would have little time to check up on Serena’s story or ask too many questions. She had to stop Serena going to that party. Could she invent some kind of family emergency? Commit them both to a social occasion somewhere? She knew if she did, Serena would just beg off and make an excuse. Maybe she could get Bruce to invite Serena to do something. Serena would go along with whatever her dad asked, but when Mel rang Bruce’s mobile, he didn’t answer, and then sent her a text to say he was in Spain for a fortnight. Nice of him to let her know.
She was thinking of inventing a deathly illness and begging Serena to stay home and look after her, but it would seem very out of character, and besides, she knew she wasn’t a good enough actor to pull it off. The difficulty with being Serena’s online friend was that she couldn’t take that friendship into the real world, or even do anything to draw attention to herself. She thought of posting as Lauren and suggesting that the party might be raided by the police or something, but then everyone would want to know who she was and how she knew. She felt powerless. Maybe not knowing was better than knowing and not being able to stop things happening.
Late on the Friday afternoon, she was sitting at the computer in the office at work, staring at the screen, waiting for Jo to arrive so they could cash up and close the shop. The last customers had left about five minutes before and she knew no one else was likely to come in. There was a post on the Facebook page for the party that had her flummoxed. ‘Sum1 getting NOS,’ it said. ‘Bring balloons.’ What the hell was NOS and why was it related to balloons? Some kind of party game? She wished she had some way of decoding this cryptic youth-speak. She looked out through the open door of the office and saw Jo’s car pull up outside. Jo got out and set about unloading the kids from their car seats and getting her things together to come in. Mel didn’t want to have to explain why she was on Facebook on the work computer, let alone logged on with a fictitious profile. She was about to close down the Facebook profile and go out to meet Jo, when she saw a little red notification flag come up. She clicked on it. ‘Jason “Triggah” Cook sent you a message.’ She opened the link. It took her to a private message, and Triggah had written a single word: ‘Peng,’ Peng? What the hell was peng? Jo was coming through the door, and Mel quickly closed the browser window.
She went out on to the shop floor to meet Jo. Without thinking, she said, ‘What’s peng?’
‘Pen?’
‘No, peng. P-E-N-G. it’s something I … heard Serena say.’
‘In what context?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Jo looked surprised. ‘I don’t know, it’s not one I’ve heard before, but youth slang moves so fast. We wrinklies can’t be expected to keep up.’ She thought for a second. ‘Tell you what … I remember Lee saying that when they’re working on youth campaigns and want to use the right slang terms, they use Urban Dictionary.’
‘The what?’
‘It’s an online slang dictionary that anyone can contribute to, like Wikipedia. Try looking it up there.’
‘Thanks, I will,’ said Mel, as if it wasn’t a big deal. She went over to the till and she and Jo went through the day’s figures while Zach and Imogene played in the play area. Since Jo had decided to say yes to the big investor, she wanted much more detail on the day’s sales and the traffic through the shop, Mel was usually very good at keeping notes on people’s browsing habits and what
their kids got up to while they were looking at the clothes, but for the last few days she’d been so distracted she’d been a bit sloppy. She could see Jo wasn’t very pleased with the level of feedback she was getting.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I’ve had terrible period pains all day. I haven’t been at my best,’ she said. She felt awful lying to Jo, but she wasn’t going to admit to spending the afternoon Internet-stalking her own daughter.
‘That’s okay,’ said Jo. ‘Go home and rest. We’ll get some better data tomorrow.’
Mel excused herself and headed for the door. She couldn’t wait to get home. She’d tried looking at websites on her phone a few times, and she just couldn’t get on with it. She wanted to be able to sit at her PC and and look up this Urban Dictionary. When she got home, Serena was slumped in front of the television, watching a DVD of something violent that involved cars roaring around and crashing a lot. Often, when Mel came home and Serena was in the living room, she would make an excuse and go to her room, but today, she glanced up, but stayed on the sofa watching the film. Damn. Mel went through into the kitchen and started preparing dinner. She was itching to switch on her PC. She put her head around the door and said, ‘Any homework to do?’
‘Done it,’ muttered Serena.
‘Great!’ Mel said brightly.
Eventually, the swelling music suggested that the film was finished and Mel assumed that Serena would then head for her bedroom, but she switched over to a music channel and sat in the same position, watching music videos.
Mel dished up dinner and carried plates through into the living room. ‘Let’s eat in front of the telly for a change,’ she said cheerfully, handing Serena her plate. ‘Is there anything we could both watch?
‘EastEnders?’
‘Too depressing,’ said Mel.
‘There’s that American comedy thing on E4,’ Serena said.