by Liz Bankes
It takes me a moment to process that.
‘What?’
‘You really lurve me, don’t you?’ His voice is all husky.
‘No, I don’t!’
‘You do!’ He’s made his eyes all wide and he’s pouting.
‘I do not.’ I jab him in the ribs.
‘Ow! Look,’ he says, ‘you wanted this to be strictly friendly. So I’ve been behaving myself.’ A smile creeps in at the corners of his mouth. ‘Mostly.’
The moment fizzes in the air between us and I smile at him.
‘But for the record,’ he carries on, ‘I think you’re hilarious. I don’t know why you’re so fixed on this friends thing, but if that’s something you can’t tell me then that’s cool. The main thing is I like hanging out with you. I’d like to keep hanging out with you.’
I get the urge to grab him and kiss him and start off whatever adventure will happen if I do. But I can’t just yet. Also, the room is still spinning and if I let go of the bed I might fall over.
‘How do I know these aren’t lines you use on all the girls?’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’
I pad back into the massive bathroom, following Spencer and holding the spare toothbrush.
‘You know, you could just run round and round in here to dry yourself. You wouldn’t need a towel,’ I say as I make my way towards the sink.
‘That’s what all the girls say,’ he says dryly. ‘Actually, no. No one has said that before.’
We both look at each other and then start cleaning our teeth at the same time. I am surprisingly coordinated seeing as I was having trouble sitting up. Then I catch Spencer’s eye in the mirror. Involuntarily, we both break into a grin. Which causes me to briefly dribble and quickly aim my face over the sink. When I look up, Spencer is still smiling.
‘I’ad ang urlly nii iii u-ay,’ he says through the toothpaste. Then he spits.
I steal a glance at him in the mirror. ‘Was that, “I had a really nice time today”?’
He looks at me quizzically. ‘Maybe.’
I drink a gallon of water to ward off certain death and then lie back in the bed. The mattress creaks as he joins me. He starts talking again about the agent woman he met and I stare straight up at the ceiling. I could roll over and talk to him properly but there is the smallest chance I might be sick.
It takes me a few moments to realise he’s asked me a question.
‘What do you mean, “What about me?”?’ I say as it sinks in.
‘What was Colin, the producer, saying to you?’
I force my brain to remember. ‘He was saying he would find me more interesting things to do.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Yeah, I was hoping maybe I might get to meet some of the writers and find out what they do. I’ve got this sort-of idea thing I’m working on.’ I stop, realising what I’ve said. ‘It’s probably crap.’
I hear him shift over on to his side. ‘I’m sure it’s not. I’d love to read it.’
I turn on to my side away from him. ‘Night, night!’
‘Gabi . . .’
I do a pretend snore.
His arm slips round me and I realise my whole body is tensed. ‘I’m going to pester you till you let me read it,’ he says. His breath on my neck makes me even more tense, but at the same time feel like I want to melt into him. We stay like that and bit by bit I relax. This is what Max used to do when I got wound up. Just be there. And one by one all my panicky thoughts would switch off.
It’s strange being in the same situation with a different arm around me. He feels solid and there and like if I push him he’ll push back. Like he feels this could be something really special and he won’t give up at the first sign of trouble.
But how can you be sure?
I wake up an hour later and creep out to the loo, only treading a little bit on Spencer. I’ve got a pounding headache and I want to die.
When I come back in, he’s awake. He asks me if I’m all right and I tell him that it feels like tiny people are having a rock fight inside my skull.
‘I know a good cure for a headache,’ he says, looking at me steadily, with a hint of a grin.
I open my mouth, but can’t think of anything to say and shut it again. Like a fish. I go over and sit on the bed and look at him. There’s a wicked glint in his eye and it makes me smile. I hardly know anything about him, but there’s something drawing me in. I kind of find it exciting that he’s a mystery.
I lean towards him and get a flutter of panic. Are we actually going to do anything? What if he’s in fact a bit of a dick and he does this routine on every girl? Also, my boobs go a bit all over the place when released. I didn’t care with Max, but things with Spencer are different.
‘I’m not ready to be number twenty-five just yet,’ I say quickly.
He grins. ‘I had something else in mind.’ He’s moved off the bed and is standing in front of me. And at that moment I grab the front of his T-shirt and pull him towards me. We kiss and his body is pressed between my legs, grazing up against me. He pushes me back on the bed, so I can feel the weight of him on me. As our kisses get harder, I pull at his hair and I can hear both our breathing get faster. He runs his hands over my legs, just missing the place where I feel I might explode. Then he pulls his head away from mine and, keeping eye contact, moves back down until he’s kneeling by the side of the bed. He pushes the edge of my T-shirt up and kisses my stomach. He slides off my knickers and his kisses carry on going down. I freeze for a moment when I realise what’s happening. This is definitely crossing over into something. Something . . . But soon it is difficult to think.
He’s right – it does get rid of my headache.
Afterwards he slides behind me and puts his arm round me.
‘That was more than strictly friendly,’ I say.
‘All part of the service,’ he says, sort of into my hair.
‘You’re just my tour guide though,’ I say. ‘Don’t go getting above yourself.’ He can’t see how much I’m smiling.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
We spend the rest of the night curled up together. We just sort of fit. I don’t sleep for ages because millions of things are buzzing round my brain, but mainly I want to stay in this moment for as long as possible.
Chapter 22
Spencer’s gone when I wake up. And for a moment my heart plunges in my chest. Then I spot a note on the pillow. He’s drawn a cup of tea on it.
It is a bit of a shock to look in the mirror and see how monumentally rough I look this morning. Then I remember the mugs of wine. At least I have an excuse for looking a bit corpsey. I don’t have any make-up with me, so Spencer will just have to deal with it. It’s best he sees my morning face now really, just so he doesn’t get a shock in the future. Assuming there is going to be some sort of future. I can’t just pretend nothing happened last night, can I? Or that it wasn’t a big deal.
This is going against my rules. I want to keep it fun. No thinking. If I want to run downstairs and kiss him now, that’s what I'll do. I don’t need to go all Dawson’s Creek and analyse everything.
I pop my head round the banister and peer into the kitchen on my way down the stairs. Spencer is on the phone and holding what looks like a business card. He’s speaking too quietly for me to hear anything.
‘Who was that?’ I ask when he hangs up.
He laughs in a bit of a shocked way. ‘Don’t be nosey.’
That’s pretty annoying. I thought we’d begin the day kissing and saying nice things to each other, not with secret phone calls. He passes me a tea, like that will distract me. Actually, it does a bit.
Maybe if I kiss him he will tell me. I put my cup down on the table and go over to him, slipping my arms around his neck.
He steps back and moves away from my mouth, sloshing his tea over his hand in the process.
I pull my arms away quickly. Flashes of panic are starting in the pit of my stomach.
I hope I haven’t just made an awful mistake.
‘Gabi.’ He fixes me with a look I can’t read. ‘Did you know you talk in your sleep?’
That throws me. The panic dies down slightly, but I still have no idea what is going on. ‘Yeah, M— A couple of people have mentioned it.’
He frowns into his tea. What did I say? I know I’ve said, ‘Max, I love your sexy body,’ a couple of times when I’ve been in bed with Mia. She only really minded when I put my leg over her at the same time. And once some stuff I said traumatised Mia’s little brother Matthew when we were on that family camping trip. It can’t be worse than that.
He’s not grinning like I said something funny, though. He’s frowning into his mug
‘You said, “I love you, Max”.’
The words hit me like a block of ice in the chest.
He finishes off the tea in one go and turns away towards the sink.
‘You should hear some of the stuff my friend Nish does in her sleep.’ My voice is coming out all sing-song. ‘I’m nothing compared to her.’
His mug clangs on the bottom of the sink and he walks back towards me. ‘Yeah? What does she do, then?’ He smiles.
And with that he lets me off the hook.
Chapter 23
Spencer had to go to a meeting so I walk back to the station on my own.
I can’t help what I say in my sleep, can I? There’s no point in feeling weird and guilty about it. And Spencer and I aren’t even properly together. It was just a bit of fun. Friends with benefits. All that stuff about liking him was just the alcohol playing tricks on my brain.
I don’t really have the money to keep calling France, so send Mia a text instead.
Sexy times with Spencer! Do you want the deets? ;) x
No thanks, I’m eating x (But I am happy for you.)
I sent you an FB message ;) x
Gross x
I kind of wish that I had got to speak to her properly. I’m making out like it wasn’t a big deal. And like the sleep-talking thing was funny. I think I’ll call home, though not to tell them about Spencer, obviously.
It is Saturday so Dad will be making bacon bagels. He gets a bit annoyed that Millie and I just ask for bacon bagels all the time because he can cook loads of amazing food. Julia should totally think of employing him at Radleigh, if he didn’t have his job selling pipes or walls or whatever, that is. The pulled pork thing he makes is tons better than the one they do. But on the other hand, you can’t beat a bit of bacon.
I am not as bad as Max though. The time he came round for dinner and told my parents that he liked eating Chow Mein Pot Noodles with ketchup, I think Dad almost stabbed him with a fork.
‘Hello?’ goes a voice.
Oh, no. I’ve got Millie on the landline.
‘It’s me, can you put Mum on?’
‘Ugh, you smell.’
‘Shut up, ugly. Put Mum on.’
‘I can, like, smell you from here.’
‘Shut up.’
‘It’s like you’ve pooed yourself.’
‘What have you been doing? Missing me?’
‘I changed Dad’s Facebook status to say you were covered in hair.’
‘I know.’
‘Okayluvyabai.’
‘Wait! What about Dad? Can I speak to him?’
‘Dad’s mental again. He’s baking a wadload of cakes.’
‘Don’t say wadload!’
‘Okayluvyabai!’
She hangs up. Argh! She is so annoying. Next time we play the fighting game, I am really going to hurt her. I say ‘game’, but it’s just me and her fighting, really. With weapons. I think Mum and Dad were a bit disappointed that we didn’t just play with the dolls and stuff.
My phone rings. It’s home. I hate my sister.
‘Piss off, you knob.’
‘Gabi?’
‘Oh, hi Dad!’
Talking to Dad was like being wrapped in a big warm blanket. He asked me all about the job and kept saying how impressive it was, even though I was mostly talking about coffee and photocopying. When I told him I might have the chance to do something different, he said, ‘Ooooh,’ and asked what sort of thing. I said probably looking at trends and things. He said, ‘Ooooh,’ again because I don’t think he knew what I was on about.
He was telling me about his job. He’s back at work now after his break and apparently Sue Someone placed the wrong order and Jacqui Something was going to tell her off but couldn’t because of her hyperactive thigh. I think that’s what he said. Dad’s job is very boring, but he likes to talk about it a lot and we all pretend to listen, except Millie, who tells him to stop boring her. Because she is fourteen. And a demon.
When I told him about the girls visiting and us going to a house party he paused for a moment, before saying, ‘No boys.’
‘Dad!’
‘You should focus on the summer. And your friends. Don’t bother with men – they’ll only annoy you.’
‘Should I tell Mum not to bother with you, then?’
‘Oh, I annoy your mum all the time. I mean it, though. You should have a break after Max. Focus on you.’
I told him that boys were the last thing on my mind, and ignored the tiny bubble of guilt at the lie as I thought of last night.
I also asked if he wanted to come visit me in London, but he said it wasn’t a good time at the moment, so I made him promise to make and send me a bacon bagel. He didn’t technically agree, but I told him if he really loved me, he would find a way.
When I hang up, I look around and have no idea where I am. I’d wandered off from Spencer’s and have ended up on a bridge over a canal. It’s pretty, though, with a golden glint on the water from the sunrise.
I stand there staring down at the water for a while and think how difficult it is to sort one thought from another.
I want to see him but at the same time I want to run away.
Chapter 24
Shooting starts at midday, so it doesn’t really seem worth going back to Granny’s. I text her saying I will see her tonight. Her reply doesn’t make any sense and is mostly nonsense words, because I think she is texting while out on a run. I wonder what people with no friends do in London.
When I arrive on location, Spencer is already there. He is talking to Heidi and the director, Mark. I am sure his eyes flicker in my direction as I go past, so I wave, but he seems not to have seen me. Why is he even here? He filmed his line the other day. I know he’s in the background for lots of scenes, but still.
At my desk (a bit of shelf where I put my things) there’s a note waiting for me.
Gabie.
Please stop putting coffee in plastic cups. They injure my hands. I would like paper cups from now on.
Regards,
Heidi
Well, that’s rude. And wrong. How hard is it to spell Gabi? And who writes Regards on a Post-it? And I don’t have any paper cups. God, I want to kill people.
Then I see Angry Skull milling about outside, talking to Heidi and a woman I’ve seen a few times, who I think is one of the writers. Spencer is still over there, and it looks like he is being handed a script. He must have given Heidi my name, though not the additional brain cells to spell it. I want to talk to Angry Skull about the more interesting things I might get to do. Would he think it was bad if I didn’t provide paper cups for his star actress, though? It could come across as if I was deliberately injuring her hands. There must be something I can do.
The square outside the main university buildings seems to have some sort of Saturday market. As I head on over, it looks promising, though I must not get distracted by the smell of meat. I walk through, absorbing the hum of chatter interrupted by fizzing and sizzling from the stalls. There are olive stalls, stands piled high with cheese, a man selling bacon bagels – a whiff of that one nearly wipes all thoughts of my cup mission from my mind.
The aroma of coffee beans keeps poking through all of the other smells and eventually I track down the stall
it’s coming from. The man standing behind it looks only a bit older than me. His nametag says Felix and so I am guessing he is Spanish. He also looks Spanish and the stall is called A Taste of Spain. Could I tell him it is a strange English custom to give free paper cups to women?
‘Excuse me,’ I say, loudly and slowly.
‘Yes, madam?’ he says. In a London accent. I won’t be able to fool him with made-up English traditions. I’ll have to just ask.
‘Could I borrow one of your cups?’
‘Will you bring it back?’
‘No.’
He laughs. ‘Then you can have one of my cups. Can I ask why?’
‘I’m working on the TV show filming over there. I have to give people coffee and someone says that plastic cups injure her hands.’
I show him the note.
‘So you’re . . . Gabie?’
‘I’m Gabi, without the “e”. I didn’t think it was that tricky to spell. Although once when I got a coffee at Starbucks they’d written what looked like Nip on it.’
He laughs again and hands me a stack of paper cups and plastic lids for them. I shove them into my handbag, checking the time on my phone. Shooting won’t have started yet. It is good I arrived early, even if the reason for it was that I have no friends and nothing to do.
‘Thanks so much,’ I say.
‘Wait a sec,’ Felix replies and I see he’s started making a coffee. He steams the milk, puts the lid on and holds it out to me. ‘And this one’s for you. Tell your friends to come to A Taste of Spain.’
‘I don’t have any friends.’
‘Oh.’ The pause is awkward.
‘But when I do make some, I will tell them!’
‘Great!’ He looks relieved – probably that I am leaving.
I hurry back out of the square, across the road and into the campus. The same group are still standing there talking. Heidi sees me.
‘Oh, you got my note. Great!’ She gives me a huge grin. Then she reaches for the nice coffee with the steamed milk. I keep hold of it just a second too long, but she gives a firm tug and then she has it. I catch Spencer’s eye. For a moment my heart leaps, getting a brief image of last night, but the feeling falters a bit when I think of the morning.