by Liz Bankes
When I am sorting through all the paperwork they’ve given me – lists, props to check for and these forms I have to go and ask members of the public to sign if they end up getting filmed – Spencer appears at the door of the room I have started calling My Office, but is really just a cupboard I found.
He appeared just as I was singing to myself. I am singing the song from Les Mis that’s about hearing the people sing, but I flinch in surprise when I realise he’s there and whack my head on a shelf, so the line comes out ‘Singing the song of angry— bollocks!’
I wait for him to stop laughing.
‘So, Gabi, how does a party sound to you? I’m guessing you don’t have many in your sleepy village.’
I’ve told him I live in quite a big town with its own nightclub and kebab shop, but he won’t listen.
‘We have loads of cool parties, actually,’ I say, not very convincingly.
‘Are they in the church hall?’
‘No!’
‘Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll text you my address. Drop by around nine?’
That does sound like fun. And it’s the night Nish and Rosie are visiting. ‘My friends are coming up tomorrow.’
He shrugs. ‘Bring them. You can all crash if you want – plenty of room in my bed.’ He gives a big grin, but for a moment our eyes meet and something flashes between us. A brief image.
They’ll be so excited to go to a properly cool house party, but that image has made me feel funny about it. Like they might think I’ve got over Max too quickly and I’m chasing after some random guy. I can’t even imagine being with someone else. Not for a second. That moment just now doesn’t count. What’s a good excuse?
‘We can’t. We have dinner plans.’
‘Do you go to bed straight after dinner?’ Spencer has an arched eyebrow and is leaning forward like he’s trying to win me over.
‘Sometimes, when I’ve eaten a lot.’ It’s true – once Max had to call a taxi to take me home from Wagamamas because I ate so much I thought I was going to slip into a coma.
He reaches over and pokes me on the arm with his finger. ‘Come on.’ He’s looking at me through his curly hair. I’m burning all over. And at the same time I want to run away. Then he pokes me again. ‘I’ll keep doing this until you agree to come to my party.’
‘Fine! If you’re that desperate!’
He smiles mischievously. It looks good on him. ‘Great, because I was thinking I really need someone to serve the drinks . . .’
Chapter 10
On the announcement board it just says Delayed. That’s helpful. They were already held up getting into London Waterloo and then Rosie went all the way to the barriers at London before she realised she’d lost Nish, who was waiting on the platform because she had assumed there were ‘people who take your bags for you’. They got on the Underground and last I heard from them they’d changed on to the Overground to get to Hampstead Heath. Maybe they’ve lost signal.
Then the expected arrival changes to two minutes’ time. I text them all saying 2 minutes and they both reply separately with YES !
Two minutes later a train hoves into view and the announcement lady does her announcement and I do a few jumps up and down with a small squeal. A woman sitting on a bench gives me a weird look, as if to imply that I am a weirdo. I just assume that she isn’t waiting for her two best friends in the world (apart from Mia) to visit her.
When I see Nish step off the train I run at her and scream. My lone scream is quickly joined by hers and I am sure even Rosie gives a faint yelp, but that could have been caused by my forceful hug. My run and scream make the woman on the bench jump. She makes a noise that sounds a bit like ‘Blap!’ and hits herself in the face with her book. I feel a bit bad, but not that bad.
After a session of hugging and jumping up and down, we finally start talking in words.
‘So we are actually going to a party with famous people?’ says Rosie.
‘Well . . .’ I consider. I may have bigged up Spencer’s party to make them more excited about the visit. ‘The guy whose party it is has a small part.’
‘Gross,’ says Nish.
‘Oh dear,’ says Rosie.
‘In the show, you perverts! But he’s invited everyone. So all the cast could be there. Or none. Or some.’
‘I don’t mind,’ says Nish.
‘We’re here to see you!’ says Rosie.
When we get back to her house, Granny has got out a fondue set and a whole load of posh cheese that she says is from Borough Market. She’s laid out bits of French bread, grapes and carrots and red wine and whiskey, which is for her ‘because it’s Friday’, even though she drinks it on every other day as well.
The mention of Friday leads into talking about Crazy Friday, which obviously Granny wants to know all about. Luckily we stick to stories of me falling into a bin, Nish ending up sleeping in a barn and being woken by pigs, and Rosie vomiting in a stranger’s bag and not telling them. No mention is made of anyone mooning at the window of Pizza Express.
Granny is telling us all these stories about when she worked in the theatre. There was this actor called Geoffrey who took himself really seriously and Granny and the other cast members played pranks on him, including Granny bringing a pig on stage and then just carrying on with her scene as normal.
Everyone is hooting with laughter, especially Granny, who has the loudest laugh known to sound. Rosie says that we laugh in a really similar way. People are always saying how alike Granny and I are.
I can see what they mean. Granny says that her outspokenness skipped a generation in Dad, who is a worrier and what Granny calls a ‘sensitive soul’, and went straight to me. Granny calls it ‘being forthright’, but at school most teachers called it ‘not thinking before speaking’. I think they spotted it in my first week at secondary school when I told my form tutor Mr Malone that I was laughing at his bald-spot instead of making up a lie.
Granny tells the story of how she met Grandpa. It’s another one I’ve heard a million times, but I love it. Granny went on a cast outing to a bar in London to celebrate the opening night of her first play – she was a fairy in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Grandpa was dragged there by his friend, who offered to buy Granny a bottle of champagne in return for a dance. Granny saw a ‘short, odd-looking man standing there’ and turned to ask him who he was. Before she could, Grandpa said, ‘Mine’s a pint. You look like you can afford it.’ She turned down the dance with the friend and asked Grandpa if he’d like to dance instead, but he said he’d rather have a conversation.
‘Big mistake,’ he said to me once. ‘Couldn’t get her to shut up after that.’
‘And what we learn from that,’ says Granny, ‘is to always go for the one who makes you laugh.’
We make our way steadily through the cheese. Rosie is saying something about not eating too much so we aren’t bloated at the party, but I pretend not to hear her. She will say stupid things from time to time.
Later, it turns out she may have had a point. When dinner is finished, the eating has made me sleepy and I try to persuade them that going to bed now might be more fun than the party. They are not having any of it and they drag me kicking and screaming – not literally . . . Well, a bit. I do like to make a fuss – back down to the station.
On the train Nish says, ‘Are all the places they go to on Made in Chelsea around here?’
Rosie says, ‘No, those are probably in Chelsea.’
Because we had a bottle of wine with dinner, the conversation inevitably soon turns to willies.
‘So,’ I say sadly, ‘I will most likely never see another willy again. I’ve decided to be celibate for five years. After that I’ll be old so there probably won’t be any point.’
Nish raises an eyebrow and Rosie says, ‘Don’t be silly!’
‘Surely they’re all pretty much the same.’ Nish shrugs. Nish is going out with a girl called Effie and they’ve been together two years, so she doesn’t have mu
ch interest in willies.
‘Are you forgetting about the oblong willy?’ I remind her. That was a story involving Sandra from college who is a few years older than us and shares a lot if you ever sit next to her in Media Studies.
‘They differ wildly,’ says Rosie and we start to nod along, before realising what she’s said and turning to look at her.
‘WHAT?’ I say.
‘Wildly?’ says Nish.
‘Where have you seen these wild willies, Rosie?’ I say, asking the real question for both of us.
Rosie goes red and she raises her voice above our cackling. ‘I just meant . . . everyone’s different, aren’t they? Anyway, what’s this guy like? The one whose house we’re going to?’
‘Fine! Just normal.’ I frown and fumble in my bag for my phone. When I find it and check the time I see there’s a text from my sister Millie on there. I click to open it and see the word Dad and my stomach drops for a second. Surely something hasn’t happened – he’d seemed so much happier recently.
But when I read it properly, it says, Look at Dad’s Facebook.
So I click onto Facebook and Dad’s profile. He’s apparently posted a status.
Gabi Morgan’s body is covered in a thick coat of hair. It has been difficult raising a wolf-child. Thank goodness my other daughter is normal.
I hate my sister.
I start to write a text to Spencer and get as far as Hello and then Nish, already giddy on wine, leans over and hits Send. I give her a glare and write Hello again. Her hand darts over and again she sends the message. Now I have sent Spencer two messages just saying Hello. So I get Rosie to restrain her – she can do a sleeper hold and we’re not sure where she learnt it – while I start a new message.
Hello there . . . Sorry my friend is giddy on wine and sent those other messages. We are on our way. Warning: we are expecting hot actors (you don’t count) x
We are chatting as the train pulls into Clapham and we almost miss the stop. After a panicky leap through the closing doors we are on the platform catching our breath. I feel my phone vibrate in my bag. He’s replied already. Keen. That gives me a happy buzz.
Don’t think that was meant for me. Glad you are having fun tho. M
My heart drops. I sent the message to Max.
Chapter 11
A cheer goes up as we walk into Spencer’s party, which brings me out of my guilt over texting Max. It’s a three-storey, old-looking house which he shares with five other people. As we go in, there are people chatting on the stairs and in the corridor. There’s music pounding out of a doorway under the stairs and a lot of noise coming from the living room. This is an actual, proper party! Not like the ones we used to have at home, where we’d wait for Fat Steve to buy us cider and then end up dancing round to music playing from someone’s laptop until someone (usually Rosie) was sick in their own hair.
The two guys that cheered us could be Spencer’s housemates, although I don’t think they know who we are and they look a bit like they would cheer anything. This is proved right when they cheer Rosie for hanging up her coat. They usher us in and introduce themselves as Ravi and Sam. Ravi looks normal enough until I notice he is wearing a onesie and Sam has that haircut where it’s shaved at the sides and long on top and massive black-rimmed glasses, which I don’t think have any glass in them.
We pass the doorway under the stairs that still has the music thumping out, as well as strobe lights.
‘That’s the rave dungeon,’ says Sam, casually, like everyone has a rave dungeon under the stairs.
We weave around people in the living room. No celebrities, but Spencer has still got loads of people at his party. And it’s the summer holidays!
Rosie and I make our way through to the kitchen, leaving Nish to faff about what to do with her expensive coat – she says it’s well known that students can’t afford nice clothes.
‘So what’s the deal with this Spencer person?’ says Rosie.
At that moment the fridge door, which was open when we came in, swings shut to reveal a grinning face.
‘Hello, hello.’ Spencer nods at me. ‘Thank you for the texts.’ Then he folds his arms and looks seriously at us. ‘So what is the deal with this Spencer person?’
I open my mouth to speak, but there are actually no words in my brain. ‘He’s . . .’ I start.
Spencer waits, clearly enjoying every moment.
‘He’s a boy . . .’
‘Chum?’ says Spencer.
I nod.
‘That’s me,’ he says to Nish and Rosie. ‘Boy chum, London tour guide and provider of drinks.’ He gestures to the fridge. ‘Help yourselves, ladies.’
Spencer is a hit. Rosie thinks he’s lovely and Nish says he’s ‘charming, for a boy’. For some reason my first thought is that they never said anything like that about Max.
Max always made loads of effort to get on with them. He burnt all of his episodes of Game of Thrones onto discs for Rosie after I told him how much she liked it.
I think I’m still feeling guilty about that text.
Nish went to find the loo and we’d already lost Rosie to a crowd of excited men, so I’m left standing opposite Spencer. He’s about to say something when some girls who have just arrived grab him. He hugs both of them and kisses them on the cheek. Then he’s offering them drinks and asking them if they’ve missed him since the end of term. When one of them says no, he pokes her on the arm and says, ‘Don’t lie’ and does his crooked eyebrow thing.
He’s obviously just a massive flirt with everyone. I don’t know why I’ve been getting so wound up.
I go to look for Nish to suggest some crazy dancing in the rave dungeon. I find her asking someone if there is a safe here, so I pop her coat in a nearby drawer and drag her down the steps.
Our hair-flicking creates a nice circle of space around us. I try not to, but I can’t stop getting a slight twinge of jealousy at the sight of Nish’s perfect figure. Her body is amazing – boobs and bum all in proportion, even if she’s throwing herself around like a madwoman and flinging her long, black hair everywhere. Better than being all boob. That must be the first thing people notice when they look at me. It’s why when I’m dancing I usually do something mad, like jiggle them around or flash my bra. A bit like I’m saying, ‘Yes, I do realise I look ridiculous.’ And because it’s funny.
In the middle of a get-low competition, which is no contest really with my low knees and Nish’s long legs, Nish gives a look of surprise as her phone vibrates in her pocket. She pulls it out as we stand up. The name on the screen is Effie. Nish pauses and looks at me as if she’s not sure whether she should go off to answer it or not and I give her a shove towards the door.
‘Don’t you feel bad about being all happy and in love – it’s my fault I’m not any more,’ I tell her.
She fixes me with a look. ‘Now, we’ll not have self-pity,’ she says, then throws her arm round my neck and gives me a squeeze and a kiss on the head. She’s like that, Nish – all practical and sarcastic, but she always lets you know how much she cares.
I see her pass Spencer on the cellar stairs and she points over to me, probably telling him I need someone to dance with now. That’s not strictly true as I would happily dance on my own, but wondering if he’s going to come over gives me a thrill.
He’s making a beeline for me and when he reaches me he leans in so I’ll hear him over the music. His stubbly cheek grazes the side of my face.
‘I’ve heard you’re a crazy dancer.’
My response, obviously, is to bust out some moves. Spencer gives as good as he gets and soon we’re both going for it and keep cracking up as the dance moves get more and more ridiculous. I challenge him to a get-low competition as well and it turns out he can get pretty low, despite being a bit lanky. We end up with his knee between my legs and mine between his and at the same moment we both give way and end up on the floor, our legs tangled together.
We clumsily get to our feet and when we stand up our b
odies are pressed together as well. I can feel the thump of the bass vibrating through his chest. I see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and then he tilts his face round to mine. Our lips are almost touching.
The vibrations of sound are going right through my body, setting off an excited, tingly feeling. Then he moves towards me, decisively, and puts his hand behind my head.
‘Wait,’ I swallow and nod over to the corner. It’s in the shadow of the cellar stairs and completely out of sight. I move over there and he follows. I don’t want to stop and think, just to be in the moment. I turn towards him with my back to the wall. He looks at me and grins, then he leans in. Our lips brush together and as they do, I pull his shirt, so he’s pressing me into the wall. It feels all wild and new and uncertain, not knowing what it will be like to kiss someone else. And finally I kiss him.
It’s like a note strikes off-key. I suddenly feel cold. The pulsing excitement that made me pull him closer has dissolved into fear and I feel like I can’t breathe. I twist my head away and push him backwards. He takes a moment to realise what’s going on and then drops his arms away from me, his eyes widened and confused.
I run round to the other side of the steps and then lunge up them two at a time. In the hallway upstairs I barge past people to get to the front door and then I’m out on to the street. The chilly night air is a relief and I gulp it in, feeling space all around me. In the front window I think I see a couple of people looking out at me, so I walk over to a tree that hangs over the pavement and crouch behind it so I can’t be seen.
I get my phone out and call Mia. There’s some funny dialling tone and I remember that she’s in France and hang up. I see Nish has sent me a text asking where I am, so I reply. She must have gone back down to the cellar after her phone call.
Almost immediately there’s the sound of the front door opening and footsteps on the path. That was bloody quick. I peer around the tree. But it’s not Nish; it’s Rosie. She comes out of the gate and sits on the wall. She has her phone to her ear. I don’t know who she’d be talking to at this time of night. Although after her ‘wild willies’ comment on the train I’ve suspected she might have a secret boyfriend. I don’t know why she’d want to keep it a secret anyway. Unless he’s weird. Or a criminal. I can’t really imagine her going out with a criminal. When we tried to get her into a pub once it all got too much for her and when the barman came near us, she shouted, ‘WE AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE.’