Faye Meredith - Becoming Edward

by Faye Meredith

  ‘So what are you going to do about it?’ asked one of the men. He had a blue T-shirt on that revealed two large muscular arms. The other man was similarly dressed in a white T-shirt. They both had short cropped hair and tattoos up their arms, not the trendy kind that everyone has, but the old style that have a dirty blue look to them like they’re made of bruises.

  ‘I’m not going to do anything. I’ve done nothing wrong,’ said Lewis.

  ‘Yes you have. Our little sister’s in tears because of you,’ said the man in the white T-shirt.

  ‘I never promised her anything. We had a good time together and that was that.’ Lewis folded his arms as if to signify the end of the matter.

  ‘That’s not the way we heard it. You told her she was the only girl for you.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘You calling our sister a liar?’

  ‘No, listen, this happens a lot to me.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Go around breaking little girls’ hearts, do you? Leaving people like us to pick up the pieces?’

  Rachel didn’t like the sound of this. It couldn’t be true. Then someone standing next to her whispered something to her friend: ‘Well, Lewis has got a reputation.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the friend replied. ‘He’s like the Russell Brand of Bournemouth.’ They both giggled.

  Rachel wasn’t having any of this. They seemed to be talking about a different Lewis to the one who carried her down to the beach.

  ‘We’ve heard all about you,’ said the man in the blue T-shirt. ‘You think you’re a big shot, don’t you.’

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘Yes you do. We asked around. Everyone’s heard of you. You’re a man-slag. A tart. A womaniser. I bet you don’t even remember her name do you?’

  ‘No, course I don’t,’ said Lewis. ‘I can’t remember every girl I’ve got off with.’

  ‘There you go, ladies and gentleman.’ The man in the blue T-shirt addressed the crowd as if he were a barrister trying to convince a jury. ‘He says he can’t remember the girls he’s got off with. I think that makes him an asshole, don’t you?’

  Rachel shuddered. She wanted to run to Lewis and stand next to him in support. But she was also beginning to see a different side of him.

  ‘Okay, I admit I do get off with a lot of different girls. I’m not denying that,’ Lewis said. ‘But I never promise them anything. I always make sure they know it’s a bit of fun. Anyway, I’m going to stop all that now.’

  ‘That’s convenient for you,’ said the one in the white T-shirt. ‘But you’re not getting off that lightly. I don’t care if everyone sees what we’re going to do to you. You deserve it.’

  The two men moved in towards Lewis, who put his fists up ready to fight. Just then, someone pushed their way through the crowd. It was the mountainous figure of Seth.

  He moved into the centre of the room and stood in front of Lewis, blocking their way.

  ‘It’s okay mate, I can handle this,’ he said to Lewis, looking down at the men. He was a good four inches taller than them and he was wider than both of them put together. Seth smiled. ‘Do you know what tonight’s forecast is?’

  ‘Eh?’ they asked in unison.

  Seth cleared his throat. ‘I said, do you know what tonight’s forecast is?’

  The men looked confused.

  When there was no answer, Seth moved slowly towards them so his face was inches away from theirs. He held up one gigantic fist. ‘Tonight’s forecast is thunder.’ Then he held up his other fist. ‘And lightning. Let me tell you, people who get hit by thunder and lightning never get up again.’

  The two men stared at the apelike knuckles waving in front of them. They swallowed hard.

  Seth continued his little performance and whispered: ‘One other thing you need to know is I love fighting. I’d love to see what your two stupid faces look like after I’ve buried my fists into them. I guess I’m a bit of an artist when it comes to kicking people’s asses. The only reason I haven’t done it yet is because it’s Olivia’s birthday and I think two mangled bodies probably wouldn’t make her very happy, so jog along little men.’

  The men looked blank.

  Seth cleared his throat. ‘I said jog along little men.’ Seth’s voice was still quiet but laced with menace.

  They looked at each other, turned and walked out of the house. The crowd of people made a corridor for them. A few drunken people muttered something about them being losers, and then they were gone.

  Lewis turned to Seth. ‘Cheers, man, but you know I could’ve handled them on my own.’

  ‘Yeah, right. You’re a lover not a fighter. Did you like my thing about the weather forecast?’

  ‘That was the corniest line I think I’ve ever heard – thunder and lightning? Been working on that one for a long time, have you?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. But did you see their faces? That was classic.’

  Lewis and Seth laughed and high-fived each other. Rachel could see them from the other side of the room, being all matey and smug. She felt disgusted. She didn’t agree with the two men’s methods - coming here to start a fight - but she could understand their motivation. They were defending their sister’s honour, which was the decent thing to do. Lewis, however, wasn’t decent. From where she was standing it all looked like a big joke to him. How many other girls had he done this to?

  Just then, Olivia marched up to Lewis looking like she was going to dislocate her jaw and bite his head off.

  ‘You stupid prick,’ she said, shouting about an inch away from his face. ‘This is my party and you had to go and spoil it.’

  Instead of dispersing, everyone stayed to watch the new drama unfolding. Seth stepped back and cracked a large smile.

  ‘What?’ said Lewis with his hands up in the air as if he was about to surrender. ‘I can’t help it if a couple of idiots turn up and want a fight.’

  ‘Yes but you’re the reason they turned up, aren’t you? You and your bloody libido. Just give it a rest will you.’

  Olivia turned and stamped away from Lewis. On her way, she passed Seth.

  ‘What are you smiling at?’ she growled, and continued marching off towards the garden. The smile on Seth’s face only got larger.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about it, man,’ Seth said, putting a hand on Lewis’ shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a beer.’

  On the other side of the room, Rachel was getting a clearer picture of what Lewis was like. It was making her increasingly uncomfortable.

  ‘We’re leaving now,’ Rachel said to Cassie.

  ‘What? Why? You didn’t believe all that did you? Those blokes were just a couple of wankers.’

  ‘I didn’t have to take their word for it. Weren’t you listening? Lewis admitted it. He’s a womaniser. And I don’t want to hang around here and be another name on his list of girls.’

  ‘Rachel, you should give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘What? And end up like their poor little sister, no thank you. I’m going now, with or without you.’

  Rachel headed for the front door with Cassie following behind. As they made their way down the driveway Cassie struggled to keep up.

  ‘Hey slow down. What’s the rush?’

  Rachel stopped and spun around. Her face flushed with rage.

  ‘Don’t you get it? Ten minutes ago I thought I was sitting on a beach with Mr Right. Five minutes later it turns out he’s Mr Wrong and has been with every girl in town. How do you think that makes me feel?’

  Cassie didn’t say anything. She just stood there looking at the ground. Rachel turned and carried on walking towards the bus stop.

  *

  Lewis was getting worried. There was no sign of Rachel anywhere. He’d been back to the spot on the beach but she and Cassie had disappeared. He returned to the house and searched every room - still nothing. He asked if anyone had seen her but nobody knew who he was talking about.

  Lewis stood in the middle of the living room and ran his hands through his
hair. Even if he did find her he had no idea what to say to her, apart from how’s your asthma, which sounded rubbish. He sat on the sofa and watched everyone enjoying themselves. For the first time in his life he felt lonely.

  Chapter 7

  *

  The ends of Clive’s fingers were numb. He had been hitting the keys of his laptop almost continuously for the past twelve hours and his eyes were bloodshot from staring at the screen.

  After his mother had given him the idea to write a story, he had sat at the computer feeding words into it from Saturday evening and throughout the night. It was now 8pm on Sunday and he’d had no sleep whatsoever. He knew this was foolish but every time he tried to shut his eyes more ideas would prod his brain and stop him from dozing off. Every time, he was forced to get up and commit them to his computer’s memory. In the end he didn’t bother going to bed but resigned himself to the fact that sleep would only be granted when he was finished. His mind was totally locked into writing mode. It was like the most potent caffeine on earth.

  It wasn’t so much the writing driving him but the effect he hoped it would have. Rachel was his muse and his words would make her fall for him. Not the most modern way of attracting a girlfriend but it was all he had to work with. Every single word he put down was for Rachel.

  It hadn’t taken him long to think of a story. He knew he wanted it to be about a vampire, that was a given, considering Rachel’s attachment to Twilight. He knew he couldn’t equal that, but he could write something to get her attention and maybe, just maybe, get her to look at him as more than a friend. If she liked the story, there was a possibility she would like him, respect him and eventually fall in love with him.

  Words were powerful things, he knew that. If wielded in the right way they could conquer minds and change lives. All he was asking was to change someone’s heart. That hope was so powerful it had possessed him and given him the stamina to write like a savant and, fingers crossed, ensnare Rachel’s heart.

  Clive read and reread every sentence to ensure the story flowed like a mountain stream with clarity and purpose. He was pleased with it but the final test would be tomorrow when he gave it to Rachel.

  There would be no waiting for the right moment, no biding his time. He would walk straight up to her with the final draft in his hand and say he had written it for her and her alone. Even better, he would say she had inspired him to write it.

  He read the same sentence three times and realised his mind was beginning to drift. It was the first time he’d lost his focus since starting the story. Instead of hearing the words in his head, thoughts about Rachel at Lewis’ party started hijacking his brain.

  He wondered what had happened there. Had she fallen for him? Were they now an item? Perhaps she was playing it cool and making him run around after her. He played out all the different scenarios in his head. There was a very strong possibility that Lewis and Rachel were now going out together; or at least on their way there. That would make all this writing utterly pointless. It was an unwelcome thought that jabbed away at his mind. A little voice in his head kept saying: You don’t really think this is going to work do you? He had to ignore it.

  Yes, the odds on Lewis and Rachel getting together were high. But if he could get the story to her before that happened, it might be enough to fend off Lewis and make Rachel choose him.

  A picture of Lewis and Rachel with their lips stuck together forced its way into Clive’s head. He pushed it out but it flew back in again, so he mentally threw it in a box and imagined it being padlocked and buried deep underground. That would stop it for now but he knew sooner or later it would resurface to torment him. Quick, he thought, distract yourself. There was something else bugging him and he couldn’t think what it was. Then he remembered - his story had no title.

  Clive needed to think of something but he could feel his brain slowing down. He was nearly finished, just a bit more editing and he’d be done. The trouble with having the end in sight was it made his mind relax. He didn’t want to think of titles, not after writing twenty thousand words. But it must have a title. It was crucial. Clive yawned; the tiredness coaxed him into its cosy embrace. The thought of switching the computer off and climbing into bed was excruciatingly tempting.

  Clive shook himself in an attempt to wake himself up. He looked at the remains of a cup of coffee which hadn’t been hot for three hours. Clive grabbed it and threw it down his throat. It tasted bitter and stewed. He took the mouse of his computer and clicked on iTunes. Maybe some music would keep him awake and dislodge some ideas from his brain.

  He scrolled through all his albums but he didn’t feel like listening to any of them. So he clicked on his folder marked odds and sods, which was full of singles and random bits of music that he liked. As he scrolled down the list of titles, he stopped on one that caught his eye - A Love Like Blood by Killing Joke. He liked the title and it sounded perfect for his story. He couldn’t remember the song so he hit play and turned the volume up loud. When the first few lonely chords rang out, it all came back to him. A relentless heavy guitar riff cut through the song like a rusty saw.

  As he listened, Clive sat back and afforded himself a little fantasy. He imagined his story being made into a film and turning up at the premiere with Rachel on his arm while flash bulbs went off around them. They would go in and take their seats. The film would start with A Love Like Blood playing over the opening credits.

  He could see Rachel looking at him proudly. She was wearing a scarlet dress, her face as pale as chalk. She was stunning. After the movie finished and the applause subsided she kissed him again and again and again. It was all so perfect and he wondered how many other writers sat in front of their computers like this, imagining themselves getting awards or seeing their books turned into movies, with a beautiful partner on their arm.

  Clive read through the whole story one more time, changing little bits here and there. When he was satisfied that it read okay, he saved it and turned the computer off. Then he flipped off the light, rolled into bed with all his clothes on and fell straight to sleep.

  Clive woke up ten minutes before the alarm was due to go off. He was surprised at how awake he was, considering how he’d spent the previous twenty four hours. But then he was still on a mission and that spurred him on. Writing the story was only half of it. He now had to put it in Rachel’s hands and tell her how he felt. This was definitely going to be the harder part of the task.

  He switched on the computer, found the document entitled A Love Like Blood and hit the print button. While the printer spat out the pages, he got washed and dressed. He took the freshly printed manuscript out of the tray, squeezed a staple in the top left hand corner, put the whole thing in a clear plastic sleeve and shoved it into his bag alongside his text books.

  He headed downstairs for breakfast. His father had already left for work and his mother was getting ready to do the same.

  ‘How did your writing go?’ she asked.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Can I read it?’

  ‘No.’

  Clive stuffed nearly a whole piece of toast in his mouth so he could leave the table without getting into a tricky conversation with his mum. Though he was grateful to her for giving him the idea to write a story, the last thing he wanted to do was get into a discussion about it. Besides, it was far too personal.

  He said goodbye and made a swift exit. Grabbing his coat he was out of the house within a few seconds.

  As he walked down the road, he remembered he had double English first. That was a good thing because he sat behind Rachel. It was her favourite subject so hopefully it would put her in the right frame of mind. After the lesson it would be break time which meant the classroom would empty out quickly and he could get Rachel on her own. That’s when he’d give her the story and tell her about his feelings for her.

  Cassie would be there of course, but he got on with her okay. He’d have a word with her before they went into class and ask if he could speak to Rachel
alone. Cassie would understand. Although, knowing her, she’d interrogate him afterwards to find out what it was all about.

  Clive thought about the possibility that Rachel could be going out with Lewis. He didn’t want to but he had to. This could all end up making him look like a complete tool. It wouldn’t be the first time. Romancing women was a language he didn’t speak. He was determined this time would be different. He wouldn’t let anything distract him from his goal, but equally he didn’t want to look stupid. If Rachel was going out with Lewis he would need to rethink his strategy. He thought about this as he walked along the road, staring at the people with blank faces sitting in traffic queues on their way to work.

  An idea came to him. He would ask Cassie what had happened at the weekend before he did anything. That way he could get the low down on what was going on. Cassie would know the score and would be only too happy tell him everything, leaving no details out. If Lewis hadn’t gotten anywhere with Rachel he would continue with his plan. If they were together he’d have to work something else out. Biding his time wasn’t something he wanted to do but he might have to if Lewis and Rachel were now a couple.

  As Clive walked along the streets of bland houses, he formulated a plan for that as well. He would wait until Lewis slipped up. He had known guys like Lewis before; being good-looking was their strength and it was also their weakness. They stayed with a girl for a while, but sooner or later the temptation of other females would always prove too much for them. They’d make a mistake and get off with someone else. He’d witnessed it loads of times before at school. Hot guys were always breaking the hearts of girls who didn’t know any better. There would be the inevitable argument in the playground between the boy and the spurned girl. She’d always say things like ‘How could you?’ While he pretended to be sorry. Then she would burst into tears and retreat back to the comfort of her girlfriends who would embrace her and shout ‘bastard’ at the offending boy.