by KE Payne
“I don’t feel as self-conscious in London, that’s for sure,” I said, looking around me.
“You? Self-conscious?” Eden looked sceptical. “You always seem so confident to me.”
Before I could answer, our train pulled into the station with a prolonged squeal of brakes, its doors opening the second it came to a halt. This train was quieter, allowing Eden and me to sit together for the one stop up to Green Park. We didn’t speak, that human quirk of being reluctant to talk in silent atmospheres apparently rubbing off on us.
Finally we arrived at her station. I was cold by now, the stuffy heat of the Underground having been replaced by the chilly late-November air biting at my skin, now that we were outside and back up at street level. Pulling my rugby shirt over my head as I walked, I followed Eden down the street towards her house, noting how much smaller and less ostentatious the houses were compared to my street.
“Why did you say you were self-conscious before you moved to London?” Eden suddenly asked. “You always strike me as so confident.”
“Impressions can be deceptive,” I said. I hooked my thumbs into the straps of my bag. “I don’t know,” I continued, “small village, small minds, I guess.”
“Cragthorne?”
“Mm.” We strode on. “In London I’m just one of many people who are the same. Back home, if you were a bit different, people felt the need to comment. Probably because they didn’t have anything better to do.”
“There’s nothing wrong with how you look,” Eden said.
“Thanks.” I stared down at the pavement as we walked on.
“I think your hair’s nice,” Eden said. “Suits your face well.”
“It’d be better if it covered my face.” I laughed. Seriously. When compliments come your way, the best thing to do is crack a joke, however lame.
“I mean it.” Eden slowed down a little. “Not many people could have a haircut like that and get away with it, but with your cheekbones…” She whistled through her teeth. “Boy, what I’d give to have your cheekbones.”
“Really?”
“Really. And your hair frames your face beautifully.”
“I don’t think beautifully is a word that’s ever been associated with me.” I laughed again, more out of self-consciousness this time. “If my father could only hear this conversation…”
“Then I’d tell him, too,” Eden said, pointing at a house just in front of us. “This is me.”
We walked to the front garden and stopped, standing awkwardly next to each other.
“Come in for a drink?” Eden asked. “It’s the least I can offer, you having walked me to my door and everything.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s getting late,” I said, reluctantly. “By the time I’ve gone back down through the Underground all the way to my station, it’ll be knocking on nine.”
Eden leant her head to one side and pulled a sad face.
I was crushed.
“But, you know what?” I said. “Hang it. I’d love to come in. Thanks.”
I followed Eden into her house, down the hallway, then on through to her kitchen.
“Juice, Sprite, milk, fizzy water?” she asked, opening the refrigerator door. “Or something hot? Coffee? Tea?”
“Sprite’s great. Thanks.” I leant against the kitchen unit. Eden retrieved a small bottle from the inside shelf of the fridge and handed it to me.
“Eden?” A woman’s voice called from the lounge.
“Yep.” Eden opened her own bottle of Sprite and drank straight from the bottle. Mother, she mouthed as she pulled the bottle away from her mouth.
I heard a door open somewhere in the hall, followed by soft footsteps on the carpet. I hung back shyly as a face appeared in the kitchen doorway.
“So?” Eden’s mother looked expectantly to Eden. “How’d it go?”
“Booted out, first round.” Eden laughed. “This is Tabby, by the way.” She rolled a hand in my direction.
“Megan,” Eden’s mum said, nodding at me. “Eden’s mum.”
“I think she already figured that out for herself,” Eden said, taking another slurp from her bottle. She caught my eye, her eyes mischievous.
“So you haven’t come home laden with medals and trophies?” Eden’s mum leant against the door frame into the kitchen, her arms folded.
“Tabby won her bout,” Eden said, smiling at me. “I got turned over practically before I even stepped into the arena.”
“Have you been fencing long?” her mum asked me. I noticed her eyes slowly travelling the length of me, from my rugby shirt down to my battered Nikes, while she spoke.
“Just since the start of term,” I said, my face growing warm.
“She’s a natural,” Eden said, catching my eye again.
“Do you live far from here?” Eden’s mum pulled herself away from the doorway and took a glass from the cupboard. She took Eden’s bottle of Sprite from her and poured a bit into the glass.
“Kinda,” I said. I handed my bottle to Megan’s proffered hand and waited as she repeated what she’d just done. “I live in Notting Hill.”
“Tabby thought she’d walk me home. I fell asleep on the minibus on the way back, and she didn’t trust me not to start sleepwalking halfway here,” Eden said, picking up her glass.
“That was very nice of you.” Her mother gathered the empty bottles and placed them in a plastic box by the sink. “But now that means you have to travel home alone. I can get Richard to run you back, if you like?”
“My dad,” Eden added helpfully.
“It’s cool,” I said. “But thank you. I have a fencing foil in my bag if anyone gets funny with me.” I drained my drink. “Actually, I ought to get going.”
“Well, very nice to meet you.” Eden’s mother walked from the kitchen. “And thank you again for walking Eden home.”
“Any time.” I watched as she wandered back into the lounge, then turned and smiled at Eden. “I really should go,” I said. “Parents stressing and all that.” I placed my empty glass back on the unit and followed Eden to the front door, then waited behind her while she opened it for me.
She moved to one side to allow me to pass and watched me as I went down the first step, then turned to face her. We stood looking at one another briefly before Eden shifted her position, clearing her throat and staring out at an invisible point behind me. “Well, thanks again,” she eventually said. “I really appreciate you going out of your way.”
“No problem,” I said, reluctantly turning away and moving down another step.
“Tabby?”
“Mm?” I turned back to face her.
“You know, you didn’t look as bad as you say you did in your breeches today.”
I laughed, remembering the fuss I’d kicked up about wearing them.
“Thanks.” I looked down at my legs. “The sight of my chicken legs in the same arena as you didn’t put you off your bouts, then?”
“Nah.” Eden leant against the frame of her front door.
“My boyish, nondescript figure didn’t make you think it was Justin Bieber himself fighting that large girl from St. Anne’s?” I grinned.
“Boyish figure? You?”
“It has been called that, once or twice in my life.”
“Tabby?”
“Yuh-huh?”
“Lemme tell you, your figure isn’t boyish,” Eden said softly. “In fact”—she pushed herself away from the door frame and stepped back inside the house, placing a hand on the door—“I’d go so far as to say it looks pretty damned good from where I’m standing.” Without another word, Eden started to close the door. “G’night, Tab.” She smiled through the small gap in the door, finally closing it properly.
Chapter Twenty-six
“And those were her actual words?” Libby leaned closer. “Looks pretty damned good from where I’m standing?”
It was Monday morning, back at school. I’d been desperate to talk to Libby about what Eden had said to me, but my S
unday had been taken up with a long, lazy lunch out with my parents in the West End. It was, they told me, a celebration for the previous day, and I should have been happy to go out. I wasn’t. Being out all day left me no time for any phone calls or, it seemed, for thinking about what Eden had said.
Of course, as well as happy, I should have been grateful that my parents had taken me out and were showing an interest in me for the first time in my life, but I wasn’t. All I wanted to do, rather than sit in a restaurant in Covent Garden with them, eating an expensive and fancy Sunday roast, was to ring Libby and ask her exactly what she thought about what Eden had said. But it’d had to wait until Monday.
“Yup. Those were her actual words,” I said, sitting with Libby at the first table we found in the canteen.
“And then she raised her eyebrow?”
“Yup.”
“How?”
“How what?”
“Did she raise her eyebrow?”
“Well, like this.” My eyebrows shot up. I shrugged.
“Did she shrug, too?”
“Be serious.”
“And how was she looking when she did this?” Libby started to unscrew the lid from the drink she’d just bought, then waited for the fizz to die down before removing it completely.
“Apart from hot?”
“Apart from hot.” Libby rolled her eyes.
“She looked normal, I guess.”
“What’s normal?”
“She just looked like Eden.”
“That’s helpful.”
“That’s all you’re getting.”
“Then maybe, I dunno, maybe you misinterpreted the situation?” Libby offered unhelpfully. “Maybe she wasn’t waggling her eyebrows at you—maybe it was windy and she got some dust in her eye or something.”
“It wasn’t windy, Lib.” I started fiddling with the leather bracelet around my wrist. “And I know what I heard.”
“Hmm.” Libby frowned. “So she gives you a comment like that, then shuts the door so you don’t get the chance to answer,” she said, still thinking. “But before that—and this is the most important bit—knowing you’re looking at her, gives you a seductive wink?”
“It was raised eyebrows, Lib. I just said.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It is. Don’t quibble.” Libby stroked her chin exaggeratedly. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“And your psychological conclusion to all this behaviour, Dr. Libby?” I asked.
“She fancies you.” Libby grinned, taking a long drink from her bottle.
“She does not,” I said. “Stop torturing me. She’s straight. She’s dated guys all her life. She’s being set up with Marcus from her French class, for God’s sake.”
“Is being set up with Marcus,” Libby repeated. “Has she gone out with him yet?”
“Not that I know,” I replied.
“So she’s stalling,” Libby said.
“Or maybe the time’s not been right yet,” I came straight back.
“And she told you that you have a good figure?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Okay, so it’s the classic straight girl wants a bit of fun, then.” Libby sat back in her chair and folded her arms, conclusion made. “She probably has every intention of dating Marcus, but in the meantime, she’s having a bit of fun with you.”
“Fun?” My heart sank.
“Fun,” Libby stressed. “As in, straight girl meets gay girl who’s confident in her gayness—as you are—and straight girl decides it’d be fun to flirt, knowing that nothing will ever come of it.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You see it all the time,” Libby said matter-of-factly.
“I never knew you were such an authority on lesbians,” I said.
“I told you, my cousin’s—”
“Dabbled,” I interrupted. “I know.”
“But you’ve got to admit, my theory does make sense, doesn’t it?” Libby leant towards me again.
I stared down at my hands, defeated. “If she is flirting with me, then it’s so not fair of her.” I looked back up. “She knows I have a girlfriend.”
Talk about having your bubble burst. Mine had totally ruptured.
“Why do I feel like I’ve stumbled across girl talk that’s going to make me wish I hadn’t?” Greg sat down beside us with a thump.
“Because you have?” Libby offered. “Well, actually, for girl talk, read girl trouble.”
“Aren’t they always?” Greg asked. He reached over and took Libby’s bottle, then drank from it.
“Always what?” I asked.
“Trouble,” Greg said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He handed the bottle back to Libby.
“So it would seem,” I said.
“Problems with the girlfriend?” Greg asked.
“If only it was that simple.”
“Tabby has trouble with someone she wishes was her girlfriend,” Libby chipped in.
“Eden, I presume?” Greg pulled a chocolate bar from his bag and started picking at the wrapper.
“Do you know anyone else in this school that makes her walk around with a face like that?” Libby gestured towards me.
“Thanks,” I replied sarcastically.
“She’s coming on to her,” Libby said, lowering her voice. “Like, big time.”
“I thought Eden was straight.” Greg looked puzzled. He unfurled the foil wrapper from his chocolate bar, snapped off one block, then offered it to me and then Libby. I took my piece, thanking him, then put it in my mouth, loving the feeling of the chocolate melting on my tongue. “Although from the way she was acting towards you on Saturday, I’m starting to doubt that.”
“That’s what I just said!” Libby clapped her hands together, making both Greg and me jump. “I said, didn’t I?” She looked wide-eyed at me.
“She was just being friendly on Saturday,” I argued.
“Fell asleep on her shoulder on the way home,” Greg said to Libby, making her eyes widen.
“She was tired,” I said. “We all were.”
“I didn’t fall asleep on Tim though.” Greg grinned and offered another piece of chocolate to Libby. When she shook her head, he ate it himself.
“Okay, so tell him what she said to you when you left her, then,” Libby said, signalling towards Greg.
“We were talking about me on the way home,” I began.
“Get to the crunch,” Libby said, making a winding motion with her hand and earning another look from me.
“And we got to talking about the way I look, and my figure, and stuff—”
“Like you do,” Libby offered helpfully.
“And I happened to say I thought it was too boyish—”
“And that’s when she said—”
“Looks pretty damned good from where I’m standing,” I said before Libby could interrupt again. I shot a look at her, then back at Greg, his next piece of chocolate poised just in front of his mouth.
“Wow.” A grin spread across his face. “I’d have paid good money to hear her say that.”
“Now tell me she’s not playing with her?” Libby said.
“Like a cat toying with a mouse, by the sounds of it,” Greg said. “And boy what I wouldn’t give to be that mouse.”
“Stop being a twat, Greg.” Libby rolled her eyes.
“Why? Eden’s fit, we all know that.” Greg looked hurt.
“Yes, and Tabby’s crazy for her, so quit being such a bloke about it,” Libby said. “Besides, she’s already blown you out once, so don’t even bother.”
“She blew you out?” I looked at Greg, jealousy pricking at me. “I didn’t know you’d asked her out.”
“Yuh-huh,” Greg said. “Beginning of term.”
He offered me another block of chocolate, which I took.
“She said no when you asked her?” I asked, eating my chocolate.
“She did,” Greg said. “Politely, but firmly. She was very
sweet, actually. Worried in case she’d hurt my feelings, but she made it very clear she wasn’t in the least bit interested in me.”
A wave of relief washed over me.
“Have you ever considered,” Greg said, leaning over towards me, “that she might—just might—like you?”
“As I’ve just been saying,” Libby said.
“Hang on,” I said to Libby. “One minute you’re saying you think she’s playing games with me, and the next you say she’s genuinely interested?” I buried my head in my hands. “This is too fucked up.”
“So she’s bi-curious.” Libby sat back triumphantly.
“Bi-curious?” I peered at her through my fingers.
“I’ve read about it,” Libby said. “It happens.”
I slid down further into my chair. This was all too much to get my head around.
“Whoever said being a teenager was easy?” Greg pulled my hands from my face. “And Amy? Where does she figure now?”
“The same,” I said. “She’s coming down on Saturday.”
“Good timing.”
“Isn’t it just?” I replied. “Just how am I going to get myself out of all this mess?”
Greg spread his hands out. “I can see it now,” he said. “The Tabby-Amy-Eden love triangle.”
“You love rat.” Libby caught Greg’s eye and dissolved into laughter.
Their words rang in my ear.
Love triangle? Love rat?
That wasn’t me. That wasn’t what I was like. I was loyal. Devoted.
Just how the fuck had I managed to get myself into such an emotional mess?
Chapter Twenty-seven
“You know we have to go to one of these lectures before Monday, don’t you?” Eden said. “That means going to see it Saturday, writing it up on Sunday, then handing it in Monday.”
“Lectures? Monday?” I sat at my desk staring dumbly at her.
“Earth to Tabby,” Eden said patiently. “Mrs. Belling told us about it last week.”
The week you told me I had a nice figure? You expect me to remember what Mrs. Belling said?
“We have to attend one of the four lectures on Freud at the museum for our psychoanalysis essay, which—”
“—has to be handed in Monday?”