Eventually his feet carried him the three miles home. He opened the door, to be greeted by his Mum’s curvy smile.
‘Hi, Clive. What happened to you?’ she said.
‘Hi, son,’ said his father standing beside her. It looked like they were posing for a photograph.
‘I felt like a walk,’ said Clive.
‘What, after work? You’re usually tired after work?’ said his Mum.
‘Well today I felt different.’ Clive was struggling to keep his anger under control.
‘Oh, OK. You hungry?’
‘No.’ Clive turned and used his long legs to take him up the stairs and into his room as swiftly as possible. He closed the door, leant against it with his back and slowly slid down until he was sitting on his haunches. He banged his head against the door several times.
About a minute later there was gentle knock.
‘What?’ Clive snapped.
‘May we come in?’ said his Mum.
‘No.’
‘Please, son. We’re worried about you,’ said his father.
Why were his parents so bloody nice? It made him sick, like they were trying to roll him up in a protective mattress made of marshmallow.
‘I’m fine. Just go away.’
‘Please, Clive. Are you in trouble?’ asked his mother.
‘No.’
‘Is it a girl?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Is it a boy?’ asked his father. Meltdown was going to begin in 3,2,1…
Clive flung the door open. ‘I’m not gay, alright!’
‘I didn’t say you were,’ said his father.
‘Well that’s what it sounded like. Why do all fathers assume that if their son hasn’t got a girlfriend then he must be gay? Have you thought I might be finding it hard to get a girlfriend? Or the genes you’ve given me don’t exactly make me a catch? No, course you haven’t. You think - no girlfriend, he must be gay.’
‘Let me handle this,’ his mother said to his father.
‘Handle this!’ Clive’s overload was cranked up to 11 now. ‘What do you mean handle this? There’s nothing to handle. You’re talking as if I’m a broken shopping trolley. I don’t need handling.’
‘Go,’ said his mother to his father. He didn’t need anymore encouragement and retreated down the stairs and away from the domestic war zone erupting on the landing.
Clive’s mother went into his bedroom and sat on his bed. ‘I think I owe you an apology.’
‘What for?’
‘I always pretend to know what you’re going through and that’s a stupid thing to think. I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re going through; only you know that.’
‘Who says I’m going through anything,’ Clive said, looking at the floor.
‘If you are and you want to talk about it, I’m listening. If not, then that’s fine too.’
‘Why are you always so bloody understanding? I’m being a shit and you should be shouting at me. That’s what parents are supposed to do, isn’t it?’
‘That wouldn’t be very helpful.’ She bent her head down level with Clive’s. ‘I can do the shouty parent thing if you want. That’s what my mum did to me and I hated it. So I swore that if I ever had children I’d never do it. It’s your choice.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Maybe I won’t, but at least we can try. We’ve got nothing to lose, have we?’
‘S’pose.’
‘Girls are funny things, you know. I used to be one so I should know.’
Clive cracked a microscopic smile.
‘What are you smiling at?’
‘Nothing. How do you know it’s about a girl?’
‘I’ve got three brothers and I’ve seen your exact same expression on all three of their faces when they were about your age. Each time it was a girl. So it’s just an educated guess.’
‘Good guess,’ said Clive.
‘So what’s the problem?’
Clive told his mother about Rachel and how he felt about her. How he’d been waiting for the right time to ask her out when Lewis had just come out of nowhere and snatched her away.
‘Well just because she’s gone to a party doesn’t mean she’s going out with this boy.’
‘Mum, you should’ve seen him. He had the kind of face that girls can’t refuse.’
‘You’re good-looking,’ said his mum, putting her arm around his shoulder.
‘Nice try, but every mum is required to say that to their son.’
‘You are. You’ve got a lovely face.’
‘Thanks, mum, but girls don’t want lovely, they want someone who looks like they’re a film star or in a band. I look more like a children’s TV presenter.’
‘No you don’t. Anyway, I thought you said Rachel wasn’t as shallow as all that.’
‘She’s not. She’s really into books, like me.’
‘Well, have you thought about trying to get to her through words?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Why don’t you write something for her? What sort of things does she like?’
‘Vampires.’
‘Great. Write a vampire story especially for her. You’re a great writer, Clive and that would really touch her I’m sure.’
Clive went silent. His mother was right. He could write – he was good at that. He couldn’t compete with Lewis on looks, but writing was a different matter. He had to admit, it was a great idea. Brilliant, in fact. Clive could feel the bitterness being neutralised in his brain. It was being replaced with something far more potent. Inspiration.
*
The top deck of the bus was as stuffy as a vacuum and the tiny windows, which had been opened as far as their rails would allow, let little more than a whisper of air into the hot compartment. Rachel shifted uneasily on the hot sticky vinyl seat that made her dress misbehave. It kept pulling it in the wrong direction, revealing too much thigh for her to be comfortable. She tugged at it at regular intervals, trying to restore some modesty.
Her nerves were getting the better of her and she took a puff of her inhaler. Parties were awkward enough, but a party in Sandbanks was off the chart. Flying to Mars would have been easier. These people were a different breed and their lives had never crossed with hers, apart from the brief meeting with Lewis this afternoon. She was worried she wouldn’t fit in and Lewis wouldn’t even remember who she was. He would tell her and Cassie to leave and she could see the two of them sitting on the beach after being ejected from the party, sharing a can of Coke.
‘I’m well excited,’ said Cassie, who was decked in conflicting colours that looked like they were at war. She had added a pink streak to her hair so it wasn’t left out of the battle.
‘Yeah, I hope we’ll fit in.’
‘Oh, who cares? Stuff them if they’re snobs, we’ll just have a good time. How often do we get to go to a party in Sandbanks?’
‘True.’
‘Damn right. Let’s just enjoy it. We’re probably never going to see any of them again, so who cares?’
Cassie’s words made sense but Rachel still felt apprehensive, like when you’re about to do an exam and you know you haven’t revised. She was worried they’d stick out like the two girls from the poor side of town that the posh kid had invited for fun, or because he felt sorry for them. Rachel tried to look out of the window to stop her mind from beating itself up.
The small terraced houses they passed gradually gave way to larger and larger properties. Front gardens and driveways appeared and the gaps between them got wider and wider. Soon you couldn’t see some of the houses at all - they were shielded by landscaping and high walls with buzzers and electric gates.
Rachel took a deep breath. The bus rounded a sweeping corner and plunged down a steep hill that had the harbour at the bottom. She felt little sparks of electricity dancing on her skin. They were getting near now. The harbour had expensive yachts scattered across it like hundreds and thousands.
They were in Sandba
nks, with the beach on one side and the harbour on the other. In between, a road curled around the water in a wide embrace. It was lined with ridiculously expensive houses. Many of its original buildings, mostly small bungalows and holiday homes had been pulled down and been replaced by modern palaces of concrete, steel and glass. Ferraris and Aston Martins posed on the driveways and every balcony looked big enough to land a plane on, or at least a helicopter, which no doubt, most of their owners also owned. It was a wonder that people who travelled by bus were allowed down this far.
Rachel’s heart skipped excitedly. She felt like a little girl who’d eaten too many Smarties. It wasn’t just the prospect of a posh party that was making her restless and fidgety. It was the thought of seeing Lewis again.
Rachel had vowed not to see anyone unless they were ‘the one’. She had built her defences high, so only someone of Edward proportions would be strong enough to break through. This immense wall she had created gave her comfort and meant she didn’t even have to deal with boys. But Lewis was having an effect. Little cracks had started to appear and that made her uneasy.
It had happened straight after meeting him in Books ‘n’ Beans. He was beautiful and charming, yet not vain in the slightest, judging by his appearance. She hadn’t met anyone like him before. In her experience, good looks were normally accompanied by arrogance and an ego the size of the Isle of Wight. But Lewis didn’t seem like that.
Suddenly, the bus jolted to a halt. They were here. Rachel wanted to get off and take the next bus home. A cement mixer was churning in her head, making her feel dizzy. Did she look good enough for a party like this? And what would she say to Lewis? In the bookshop today, he was just a stranger but now with several hours difference, the memories of that first encounter had turned into something bigger and far more dangerous. Her cool control was melting in the warm glow which rose up from her tummy whenever her thoughts drifted his way – which they were doing with increasing frequency.
‘Well, you coming or not?’ said Cassie.
Cassie was eager to get off the bus and into party mode. Rachel on the other hand, wanted to run a mile.
‘Er, yeah.’ Rachel tried to be enthusiastic.
They stepped off the bus and Rachel stood on the pavement like a statue, clutching Lewis’ address. Cassie snatched it with a quick flick of her wrist. Normally this would have irritated Rachel, and Cassie would have got the sharp end of her tongue, but tonight Rachel was happy for her to take the lead.
‘This way,’ Cassie said.
Rachel followed obediently and though Cassie talked non-stop about what the party would be like and what people they would meet, Rachel heard none of it. Her friend’s voice sounded like a radio in the background, while all Rachel’s thoughts were diverted in the direction of Lewis.
As they walked the houses got more and more impressive. Rachel was aware of Cassie’s jaw dropping lower and lower each time they passed the next beachside mansion.
Soon they heard the familiar thump, thump, thump of a party. A very big party. The noise got louder and louder. Rachel’s confidence got smaller and smaller. They walked past a screen of large pine trees and then they saw it. The house rose out of the ground like a giant sugar cube embellished with vast pools of rectangular glass and wood.
‘Oh my God,’ said Cassie. ‘It looks like the Cullens’ house.’
Rachel knew this was meant to relax her. But it had the opposite effect. It was like an omen for Rachel, and whether it was good or bad, she couldn’t tell.
Chapter 5
*
Rachel followed Cassie up the wide curving driveway, littered with fast expensive cars. Parked at the head of them all was a beautiful white convertible beetle with a large red bow stuck to its bonnet.
‘That’ll be her 18th birthday present then,’ said Cassie.
Rachel felt sick.
As they approached the wide open front door, they could see a large redheaded man. He looked like a ginger version of the Incredible Hulk. A giggly girl stood next to him, drinking from a straw that poked out of a bottle. She stopped grinning and looked Rachel and Cassie up and down. The ginger guy did the same only it was less obvious. Rachel pulled her dress down a bit more. The man broke into a wide cheeky grin.
‘Rachel and Cassie, am I right?’ he said.
Rachel smiled nervously. She didn’t know whether the tone in his voice was friendly or seedy. Judging by the way his eyes kept darting towards Cassie’s chest, she’d have bet on seedy. Cassie didn’t notice and peered through the door.
‘I’m Seth, Lewis’ friend. He told me you were coming. Go in and grab a drink.’
‘Where should I put this?’ Cassie asked, holding up a large bottle of sparkling wine. They couldn’t afford champagne. ‘It’s for Lewis’ sister.’
‘Oh, right, last time I saw her she was in the lounge.’
‘Thanks,’ the two girls replied at once.
Cassie and Rachel made their way through the hallway. Her mum’s flat and possibly a fair chunk of Cassie’s could easily have fitted inside it. Modern art covered every inch of wall space, and Rachel recognised some of the paintings. If they were originals, then the contents of the hall could have also bought both flats several times over.
If the hallway was impressive, then the lounge was like something from MTV Cribs. Huge leather and chrome sofas were arranged around a plasma screen the size of a ping pong table. A grand piano was parked in the corner and more artwork hung from the walls.
Rachel gasped as she looked at the people in the room.
‘Cool it,’ Cassie whispered to her. ‘We’re just as good as these skinny bitches.’
Bitch wasn’t a word that Cassie used very often, but in this case it was perfectly apt. The room looked like an explosion in a peroxide factory. Every girl had blonde hair as straight as dried spaghetti. They were all clad in Chanel, D&G, Moschino and other brands Cassie and Rachel could never afford; New Look was more their label of choice. The room couldn’t have been more intimidating if it had been full of assassins pointing guns at them.
Cassie put on a rubbish David Attenborough voice. ‘Now if we move slowly we shouldn’t attract their attention. Watch out for the females, they’re extremely dangerous at this time of year.’
One of the blonde girls looked familiar to Rachel, which was impossible. Who would she know at a party like this? Rachel caught her eye and the girl smiled. She was beautiful and her hair looked naturally blonde in contrast to all the fake hair that surrounded them. For the life of her, Rachel couldn’t think where she knew her from. The girl moved towards them, still with that warm smile on her face, putting Rachel completely at her ease.
The mystery girl spoke: ‘I’m Olivia, Lewis’ sister. You must be Rachel and Cassie. You both look fabulous.’
It was obvious now. Olivia and Lewis not only shared genes that gave them perfect bone structure but also the ones that made them effortlessly charming. Rachel was relieved; she thought she was going to hate his sister, even though she’d never met her.
‘I’d like to thank you for my lovely present,’ Olivia said.
Rachel looked puzzled. ‘But we haven’t given you your present yet,’ she said rather hurriedly.
‘We got you some champagne, I mean, sparkling wine. I can’t tell the difference. I’m sure you can though,’ Cassie pushed the bottle into Olivia’s hands.
‘That’s perfect. Do you know what?’ said Olivia. ‘I’m going to crack this open at midnight. It’s actually my birthday tomorrow, but don’t tell anyone. No, what I was talking about was the Twilight box set – it’s so cool and all my friends are so jealous.’
‘But Lewis bought you that,’ said Rachel.
‘Rachel, come on,’ said Olivia. ‘I know you suggested it. I can tell you’ve got great taste a mile off, whereas Lewis has got as much taste as a sandwich from an all-night garage. You’ve seen the way he dresses. Tonight, I had to lay his clothes out for him otherwise he’d be dressed like a homeless pe
rson.’
Rachel and Cassie laughed. Olivia was both charming and funny, a beguiling mix. It was easy to see why she was so popular and it wasn’t necessarily anything to do with the money or the looks.
‘Let me get you two a drink,’ Olivia said.
‘It’s okay, we’ll get them,’ Rachel replied.
‘Not at all, you’re my guests. Now what would you like?’
Becoming Edward Page 4