‘Oh God, don’t say things like that…’
Si looked up from her neck to flash her an exultant grin. ‘Go on. Let’s me and you have some fun together, eh?’
She pushed him back with an effort. ‘No, Si. No. I want to, but… it’ll complicate things. And it wouldn’t be fair on you. Either of us. Just wait for the final, okay?’
‘Right,’ he muttered, stepping away from her. ‘Because we’re letting the universe decide, yeah?’
‘Something like that. I’m going inside.’ She dragged herself away from him to head back into the pub.
‘No, you know what? I’m not going inside.’ She spun to face him, lust turning in an instant to anger. ‘You know, you wind me right up. I swear I never know if this isn’t all one big game to you.’
‘Bloody hell, where did that come from?’
‘From my pissed-off, tortured soul, that’s where. Christ, Simon! You think just because you know I want you, you can manipulate me into going out with you? What am I to you, really? A challenge? A… a conquest? Is this all about massaging your bloody ego in the end?’
His eyes blazed. ‘Not just because you want me, because you fucking love me. Because you love me and I love you, and for some ridiculous Clarrie reason you won’t let yourself just be with me – not without some fatalistic bullshit you’ve suddenly decided to put your faith in telling you it’s okay first.’
‘That’s my choice, isn’t it?’ she said, turning away to direct a sullen stare at the wall.
‘That doesn’t make it the right one,’ Si said. ‘I’m fast running out of ideas here, Clarissa. You can call this my last hurrah if you like.’
He tried to embrace her again but she pushed him back.
‘Fine, I won’t touch you if you don’t like it,’ he said. ‘And you’re right, it is a game. A silly, childish game. But if games are the only way to convince you we should be more than just mates then hell, I’ll play.’ He glared at her. ‘Course, if you’ve had enough of games you know what to do. I’d rather go out with you because you asked me than because you lost a bet.’
‘No, Si. Wait for the final. There’s only ten days left.’
‘Yeah, and what if I lose?’
‘Then that’s that, isn’t it?’
Sonny poked his head round the door. ‘You ever coming back in? Quiz is about to—’ He stopped, catching their expressions. ‘Are you two all right?’
‘No.’ Si barged past him into the pub, his face thunderous.
Sonny turned an accusing glare on Clarrie. ‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing, it’s him. He can’t just bloody leave it.’
‘Well yeah. He loves you.’
‘Don’t start, Sonny. I’m seriously not in the mood.’
When she got back to their table, Si was at the bar getting drinks in, directing a vicious look at a beer pump he seemed to have taken a dislike to. Jeff was over there too, chatting to Mandy Atkinson again.
Clarrie dropped into her seat and glared into the foam-flecked pattern at the bottom of her empty pint. If she squinted, it reminded her of Si’s stupid wavy hair.
‘Something tells me I shouldn’t ask,’ Dave said, trying and failing to catch her eye.
‘Something tells you right.’
‘Hey, isn’t that one of your Pink Lady mates, Gem?’ Sonny asked as he took his seat, pointing to someone at the bar. ‘That was a shit team name, by the way.’
Gemma followed his gaze. ‘Oh yeah, that’s Sam. Nice lass.’
‘What’s she doing here?’ Clarrie asked. ‘Your team dropped out.’
‘That,’ Gemma said, nodding to the bar.
Clarrie turned to see what Gem was talking about. Sam, a pretty girl with a head of glossy chestnut curls and a push-up bra, had sidled over to Simon and was tapping him on the shoulder. She was wearing a face Clarrie recognised instantly as the Si simper: half blush, half smirk, all pathetic.
‘Ugh, what? She’s here to chat Si up?’
‘Yep,’ Gemma said. ‘She’s taken a bit of a shine to him. Asked me at work yesterday if he was seeing anyone and I said he wasn’t.’ She met Clarrie’s eyes with a glint of challenge. ‘Any problem, Midwinter?’
‘I bet that’s not even her real hair. I bet it’s extensions. And that’s obviously fake tan.’
‘It isn’t, you know. She’s half Spanish. Those are her real tits as well, before Dave asks.’
‘I don’t need to ask, I can tell,’ Dave said. ‘My Boobdar is infallible. I made sure I had a good look at them at the first quiz: purely academic interest, you understand.’ He reached for a fistful of the chips they were sharing. ‘Anyway, this is Denworth, not Essex. You’d be amazed how few of the girls round here can afford to get their tits done.’
‘So?’ Gem asked Si when he came back with the drinks. Sam had retreated, blushing and quite possibly giggling, to a table in the corner to enjoy her rosé with another female friend.
‘So what?’
‘So, you were talking to Sam. What’s the verdict?’
Si shrugged. ‘Seems nice. We’re going out for a drink on Friday.’
Clarrie glared at him. ‘Seriously? You asked her out just because of… of what happened outside? That is so bloody childish.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, love,’ he said, staring sulkily into his pint. ‘I didn’t ask her anything, she asked me. And I’m entitled. I’m not a fucking monk, you know. It’s not like anyone else round here is going to ask me out, is it?’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’
Si and Clarrie knocked back a mouthful of beer each in silent synchronisation, oblivious to the puzzled stares of the other Flower Arrangers.
‘Right,’ Clarrie said, standing up.
Sonny looked up at her. ‘Where’re you going now? Second half’s starting in a minute.’
She didn’t answer. Instead she weaved her way to the Les Quizerables table and tapped Darren, deep in conversation about one of the blank spaces on their answer sheet, on the back.
‘Hiya, Clarrie,’ he said, looking up. The lad next to him shot her a suspicious glance and surreptitiously turned their answer sheet over.
‘Don’t worry, mate, I’m not here to cheat,’ she said. ‘I’m just here to… Darren, what’re you doing on Friday?’
‘Nothing much, why?’
‘I just thought… I mean, I wondered, um…’
Darren smiled. ‘Would you like to have dinner with me, Clarrie?’
She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks, I was well out of my depth there. Yes, I’d love to.’
‘Italian? We can go to Valentino’s, they do nice pasta.’
The look Darren’s teammate had fixed on him couldn’t have been more incredulous if his captain had transformed into a meerkat and started singing ‘O Solé Mio’.
‘What the hell, Daz?’ he said. ‘Going out with an opposing team’s captain a week before the final, are you insane? Those bastards already cost us our best player, now you’re going to let them screw tactics out of us as well.’
Clarrie grinned at Darren. ‘Didn’t know you had a Sonny of your very own.’
‘Yeah, this is Graham. Say hi to Clarrie, Graham. She’s an old friend from school.’
Graham just glared at her.
‘So see you there on Friday then? Around seven?’ Darren said.
‘Looking forward to it.’
When she got back to the table, she found the four remaining members of her own team staring at her in disgust.
‘Did you just do what I think you did?’ Sonny asked.
‘What?’ Clarrie scowled around the table. ‘Darren’s an old friend, isn’t he? We’re just going to catch up, that’s all.’
Dave shook his head, one hundred per cent serious and actually angry for once in his life.
‘God, you two, this is pathetic,’ he said to Clarrie and Si. ‘I never thought it’d be me saying this but honestly, grow up, the pair of you. I mean, you two have been best mates pr
actically since you fell out of your fucking mothers, haven’t you? You tell each other everything yet you can’t seem to manage the simple five-minute conversation it’d take to sort all this.’
Si shrugged. ‘Don’t blame me.’
‘I don’t blame you.’ Dave glared at Clarrie. ‘I blame her.’
Clarrie refused to lift her scowl. ‘Why is everyone always taking his side? Anyway, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve known Darren years, he’s a nice lad. You lot are always telling me I should go on more dates.’
‘Not just to get back at Si we’re not,’ Gemma said. ‘Come on, Clar, call it off, eh?’
‘Tell you what, bugger this.’ Clarrie pushed her beer away and stood up. ‘We’ve done the literature round, you don’t need me. I’m going. See you all a week Friday for the final.’
Without bothering to wait for a reply, she grabbed her bag and stomped out of the pub.
26
Clarrie had never been to Valentino’s before. It was pretty posh: all mood lighting, penguin waiters and panoramic windows, with mellow instrumental jazz playing over the sound system.
Darren pulled her chair out for her and she took a seat, feeling self-conscious. She’d dressed up a bit for tonight in bootcut jeans and a strappy top, plus heels – actual, real heels she’d bought specially. But most of the other women there seemed to be in dresses or skirts, items of clothing Clarrie reserved for weddings, funerals and meeting her mum’s boyfriend of the month.
‘Bit different to Pizza Hut, this,’ she said to Darren.
‘Well I’m not going to take you to any old dive after all the times I’ve asked you out, am I? No offence to Pizza Hut.’
It was true. He was a far cry from equalling Si’s record, but Darren must’ve asked her out five or six times in the last few years without getting a yes. She’d say one thing about the men in her life: they were bloody persistent.
‘What changed your mind in the end?’ Darren asked.
She shrugged. ‘Dunno really. Well, I know why I said yes. What I don’t know is why I turned you down so many times before that. Sorry.’
‘You were worth the wait,’ he said, catching her gaze.
Ugh, he was being romantic. Bit early in the night to be going the full Disney prince, wasn’t it? They hadn’t even had a drink yet. She managed a diluted smile and pretended to busy herself with the menu, giving her an excuse to drop eye contact.
‘Well, how’ve you been then?’ he asked. ‘It’s ages since we caught up properly. I only ever see you lot at the quizzes, and Sonny gives me a filthy look whenever I try to talk to you.’
Clarrie smiled. Despite the team’s accusations, this wasn’t a revenge date, not exactly. She did like Darren – she’d always liked him, and she was genuinely looking forward to catching up.
She’d known him as long as she’d known Sonny, Dave and Gem, although he hadn’t been in their group of mates: more a friendly nodding acquaintance. They’d got to know him pretty well in sixth form though, when he and Si had been on the rugby team together, and after they’d all joined the League a rivalry had sprung up between Darren, Dave and Sonny that had lasted into what now passed for adulthood.
‘Not bad, still at the shop,’ she said, steeling herself for the inevitable small talk. ‘What about you? Working for your dad still?’
‘No, I finished my MBA last year. I work for myself now. Management consultancy.’
Okay, so far, so boring. Not that her job was so amazingly fascinating. Sold a book today, it was made of paper… first date chitchat was the worst.
Darren laughed suddenly. ‘God, think I just made myself nod off. Let’s skip the small talk, eh?’
She grinned. ‘Fine by me.’
‘Hey, remember that teacher we had for A-Level History, Mr Phillips? Saw him in town the other day.’
That’s right, Darren had done History as well, hadn’t he? She’d shared a table with him and Si at the back. They’d never seemed to do as much work as they should, but somehow Si still came sailing through with top marks. She’d been surprised when he’d picked History for his degree subject; even more when he’d made it his career.
Wincing, she pushed thoughts of Si to the back of her mind. She was out with Daz. Think about him.
‘Is Mr Phillips still around? He must’ve been a hundred then.’
‘Nah, we were just young, Clarrie. He was probably only in his late fifties.’
‘Ha! You sound like Jeff Henderson.’
Their conversation was put on hold for a moment when the waiter came over to take their orders.
Darren chose the chicken tagliatelle and, to avoid looking too much like she didn’t know what she was talking about, Clarrie asked for the waiter’s recommendation. He suggested spaghetti arrabbiata with a bottle of Frascati between them and she nodded, pretending she knew the difference between a Frascati and any other type of wine. She knew it was a white one, at least. In the eyes of the quiz team – Gemma excepted – that practically made her a connoisseur.
The waiter fetched a bottle and Darren tasted a sample, then nodded to the man to pour them both a glass. He seemed to know his wines anyway, unless like Clarrie he was trying to bluff it out. She stifled a giggle when she wondered if he had a cafetière.
Right. Time to do the date thing, if she could remember how. Flirt mode activated.
‘I used to fancy you rotten in sixth form, you know,’ she said with a coy smile after the waiter had gone.
‘Christ, really? Wish you’d told me that then.’
Darren tried and failed not to look too pleased. Still, at least he was managing to be modest about it. She could picture Si’s shrug, the cocky reply of ‘You’re only human’ if she’d said the same thing to him.
God, why was she thinking about Si again? She gave herself a mental kicking and forced herself back into the moment.
‘Yeah. I bet you never noticed me hanging round outside the changing rooms when you came in from rugby practice, did you?’ she said. ‘Trying to sneak a look at you in your kit.’
‘Ha! Fishing. All right, I’ll bite,’ Darren said as he topped up their wines. ‘I noticed you, on that wall by the Art block. I just assumed you were waiting for Si, that’s all.’
Had to bring Si up, didn’t he? That man was haunting this date like a… haunty thing. Whatever you call those haunty things. Ghosts. Them’s the lads.
She forced a laugh. ‘Well, that was a handy excuse.’
When their food arrived, Clarrie instantly regretted letting the waiter recommend spaghetti. Now it was there in front of her, the thought of tackling the unmanageable tomatoey fronds filled her with nameless dread. She ignored them for the time being and started picking out black olives with her fork.
‘I remember I started paying more attention to you after Sonny told everyone in the common room he’d shagged you,’ Darren told her as he made a start on his tagliatelle, expertly guiding strands of it around his fork. ‘He gave you a rave review, you know.’
She frowned. ‘He’s a cheeky bugger. Lucky he already got thumped for it or he’d be up for a bitch-slapping as well.’
‘Shit, yeah, that was proper scary. Si just launched at him. One minute he was sitting there with the rest of us, the next… well, I’m not sure how it happened exactly, it was a bit of a whirlwind, but somehow it ended up with Sonny apologising to him. I remember his nose dripping blood all over the carpet while he shook Si’s hand.’
‘Bloody hell, really?’
‘Yep. God, at sixteen it seemed well exciting. I was half up for quitting the rugby team and asking Si if he wanted to start a school fight club instead.’ Darren paused to take another sip of his wine. ‘I think that’s probably why I never asked you out when we were at school.’
Clarrie laughed. ‘What, because Sonny told everyone I was good in bed? I’m sure I would’ve been gentle with you.’
She struggled with a forkful of dangly spaghetti, making a quick note to self: spaghetti,
absolutely the worst food to order on a first date. Bloody waiter, he’d probably recommended it deliberately and was having a good titter with his mates in the kitchen. No tip for him.
‘Anyway, much as I hate to admit it, I think my sex-siren credentials up to that point may have been slightly exaggerated,’ she said, finally managing to guide the curled-up spaghetti to her mouth.
‘It wasn’t that.’ Darren reached out to cover her non-pasta-eating hand with his. ‘I just thought you and Si had a thing going on, and I didn’t fancy a punch in the nose for my trouble. You did, didn’t you?’
She slid her fingers from under his and picked up her wine to give herself something to occupy her free hand. ‘Good food here, isn’t it?’
‘Nice try, Clarrie. I heard a rumour he bet you a date on the quiz league.’
‘God, does everyone know about that?’
‘So it’s true, is it?’ Darren seemed to be trying to catch her gaze but she stared determinedly into her spaghetti. ‘Lucky for me you’re going to lose, eh?’
‘Let it go, Daz. I mean it.’
‘All right,’ he said gently, registering the annoyance in her tone. ‘Sorry. Let’s talk about something else, shall we? I want you to have a nice time.’
‘I am having a nice time.’ She mustered a smile. ‘Anyway, Sonny and Dave have banned me from discussing the League. They’re disgusted enough I agreed to go out with you right before the final as it is. Something about getting nobbled by the opposition.’
Darren grinned. ‘Play your cards right, love.’
Clarrie laughed.
She wasn’t lying: she actually was having a nice time, apart from that bit of weirdness over Si. Darren was funny, she liked that. The conversation seemed to be flowing easily – God knew, that was rare enough on first dates – and, shallow cow that she was, she couldn’t deny he was nice to look at too.
He’d kept the boyish good looks that had caught her attention back in sixth form. His coal-black hair was long, a bit too long but it suited him, with a fuzz of designer stubble and the dark eyes she liked. The polo neck jumper and smart slate-grey jacket he was wearing looked good on him as well, emphasising his broad shoulders. His physique showed he’d kept up with the rugby since leaving school.
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