Watching You, Watching Me (Back-2-Back, Book 2)

by Chloe Rayban

  Rosie was lying on the floor in a horrible splayed-out position. Her skirt was rucked up, showing her legs. She looked terrible. Matt was leaning over her and turning her on her side and shouting to someone to help move her.

  ‘Let me through, I’m her friend!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘An ambulance is coming.’

  I didn’t think they should move her, but one of the bouncers came and carried her into a side room and laid her out on a couch.

  She was breathing all right but I couldn’t wake her up. I kept patting her face and someone brought a wet towel, but she just groaned and kept her eyes closed. If she’d just fainted she’d have come round by now. I held her hand. It was cold and clammy. Why didn’t the ambulance arrive?

  ‘D’you know what she’s taken?’ asked Matt.

  ‘Taken?’ I repeated stupidly. ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t with her all the time. She was with these guys we met.’

  ‘Where are they? They must know. Go and find them.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave her.’

  ‘This is important. I’ll stay with her. Hurry.’

  The club was back in full swing. Everyone was dancing as though nothing had happened. It all seemed so unreal. I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. As if I’d got caught in some strange subterranean world. A world that Rosie was trapped and drowning in and I was involved in a race against time to save her. I searched in vain through the dancers but I couldn’t find Rob or Clive. I wanted to go back to Rosie. I wanted more than anything to go back and find her sitting up and smiling and fine again. It was like some terrible nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from.

  When I got back to the room, she was lying in the same position. But the ambulance men had arrived.

  ‘You her friend?’ asked one of the ambulance man. He was putting an oxygen mask over her face and they were loading her on to a trolley.

  I nodded.

  ‘You’d better come with us then.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ said Matt, and he squeezed my arm.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  We went out through the back of the club and climbed into the ambulance behind the stretcher. The ambulance got going really fast. They had the emergency siren going. I knew it must be serious.

  They’d fixed all these electrodes to Rosie like you see in Casualty. When you see it on TV it’s kind of dramatic and thrilling, but it’s different in real life. It’s frightening. I felt sick with fear and cold right through. And I felt guilty too. The ambulance men were being kind and reassuring but underneath I could feel a kind of resigned disapproval. You could tell that they had to deal with this sort of situation time and time again.

  During the journey I had to answer all these questions. Did I know what Rosie had taken? How much alcohol had she had to drink? Was she on any medication? Did she suffer from diabetes, a heart complaint or asthma? Was she epileptic? What was her address? Home telephone number? Next-of-kin …

  It totally freaked me when they asked about next-of-kin. It was as if she was going to die …

  Then I had to give the name and address of her doctor, which I knew because she went to the same doctor as me.

  The ambulance doors were opened at the Emergency Entrance right beside the Casualty department. They bundled Rosie on to a trolley and raced through these flapping plastic doors with her. They wouldn’t let us go with her. Matt and I were told to go and sit on some plastic chairs in a brightly-lit Reception area, and wait.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ said Matt. I could tell he was only trying to comfort me.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She’s not in a coma or anything.’

  ‘Isn’t she?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You must have some idea what she’s taken?’

  ‘I know she had some vodka earlier.’ I told him about the way those boys had spiked the punch. And then I tried to remember what had happened afterwards and how much she’d drunk at the pub. It was all getting confused in my mind.

  ‘I’d better try and ring her mum.’

  ‘The hospital will have done that already.’

  We sat and waited for what felt like an age. Matt found a coffee machine and bought us two coffees but I was shaking so much I could barely hold mine.

  Matt was being so kind it really set me off. I started to cry.

  ‘Come on, drink up.’

  Then he started teasing me about the way I looked. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the window and I almost had to laugh. I guess I was a bit hysterical really. I had make-up all down my face. I looked terrible.

  I found a tissue and blew my nose and felt better. We had to wait ages. Matt kept me talking to take the strain off. And it did help in a way. We talked about loads of things. Then North Thames came up in the conversation.

  ‘I didn’t realise the place was that rough,’ I commented.

  ‘You’ve been inside?’

  ‘Yes … for the concert …’

  ‘What concert?’

  ‘The Christmas Concert?’

  ‘Didn’t know there was one. When was it?’

  He hadn’t been there. Hadn’t even known it was on. I’d been such an idiot, fretting over nothing. I was so sure he’d seen my excruciating performance …

  ‘Did you play that piece I heard you practising?’

  I nodded.

  ‘That was really cool, that piece.’

  I stared at him to see if he was sending me up. But he seemed deadly serious.

  ‘Cool?’

  ‘Yes. I’m into dance music, club stuff, but that doesn’t mean I’m totally blinkered you know.’

  ‘You liked it?’

  ‘Yeah — wish I could play like that.’

  And to think I’d gone through all that pain and suffering for nothing.

  We waited for another hour. I started to feel exhausted and icy cold. I think I must have been shivering because Matt put his coat around my shoulders and his arm around me. Gratefully, I snuggled down against his shoulder.

  We hadn’t heard the pair of feet come squeaking towards us. A young doctor in a white coat was standing over us. He had a serious, tired face.

  ‘Natasha Campbell?’

  ‘Yes … that’s me.’

  I got up. I felt unsteady on my feet.

  ‘Your friend, Rosie. She’s going to be all right.’

  ‘She is?’

  ‘She’ll have to stay in overnight. We pumped her stomach to be on the safe side. Whoever gave her that much to drink deserves—’

  I cut in. ‘So … it wasn’t drugs?’

  ‘Not unless you call alcohol a drug. It’s a debatable point.’ He looked even tireder. ‘She’s been a very silly girl. But I don’t think she’s done herself any permanent damage.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘She’s getting some sleep now. I suggest you go home and do the same. Look, sorry, I’ve got other patients to see …’

  He went off and left us.

  I turned to Matt.

  He was smiling at me.

  ‘She’s OK. Rosie’s going to be OK,’ I said, my voice going all funny.

  ‘Come here,’ he said and he slid his arms around my waist.

  I looked into his eyes. Those lovely greeny-hazel eyes that had stared straight into mine with that look of his. He was looking at me like that now. And I found I was smiling back at him. I couldn’t help it.

  His lips were getting closer and closer to mine.

  ‘I thought you had a girlfriend,’ I said and sat down on my chair.

  ‘I’m working on it …’

  I sneaked a glance at him. ‘You are?’

  ‘Mmm … but we’ve got problems.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, she’s got a very possessive dad …’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘And every time we meet — she kind of makes off in a hurry.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘So, I’ve ha
d to find some way of keeping her in one place.’

  And he leaned across and put one arm on one side of my chair and the other on the other — trapping me.

  I would never had planned it like this. We should have been somewhere cool and romantic. When I was looking really good. Not like now, with tears and make-up running down my face. Not in an ugly fluorescent-lit waiting room with an audience of red plastic chairs.

  It was the kiss I’d been waiting for, dreaming of for so long. And it had been worth waiting for …

  When it ended, I found we were both standing up and he had his arms round me, holding me really close.

  ‘Natasha!’ a voice broke in on us. ‘What’s going on?’

  It was Rosie’s mum. She was with Ronnie — her boyfriend. She was standing there with a coat and a pair of bedroom slippers, smoking a cigarette. You could see she had her nightie on underneath.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Smythe. She’s going to be all right. Rosie’s all right,’ was all I could think of to say.

  ‘I don’t know how she got into this. I can’t understand it.’

  Matt hung back. Rosie’s mum was looking him up and down, suspiciously.

  ‘This is Matt … he was in the club with us. He helped … He called the ambulance …’ I tailed off.

  ‘The doctor says she’ll be fine,’ added Matt.

  ‘Well it’s no thanks to her friends,’ said Mrs Smythe slightly hysterically. I think she’d been drinking herself. Her hair was all over the place and her lipstick was all lopsided.

  ‘What I’d like to know is — who led her into this?’

  She stared at Matt, pointedly.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Matt, honestly. It was two boys we met in a … Umm, we didn’t really know them you see and—’

  ‘But you were going to someone’s party, someone from school!’

  ‘We did, but …’

  ‘Tasha, this is going to take a lot of explaining.’

  ‘Yes, I know Mrs Smythe.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ronnie drove Matt and me home. We sat in the back of his car not daring to say anything, like a pair of criminals. Matt slid his hand into mine and gave it a squeeze.

  Ronnie had rung Dad earlier on his mobile and told him that they were driving over with me. They’d explain why in the morning. So when we arrived at the house Dad was waiting for us. He opened the front door in his dressing gown.

  ‘You better go straight back to your place,’ I whispered.

  ‘No,’ said Matt. ‘I’ll see you in.’

  We walked down the front path.

  ‘This is Matt, Dad. He lives over the road.’

  Dad took one look at him and his face clouded over. ‘I know who he is.’

  Matt held out his hand but Dad ignored it.

  ‘Inside, Natasha. Do you realise what the time is?’

  The door was closed in Matt’s face.

  ‘Dad how could you? That was so rude. He’s been so kind. He …’

  But Dad wouldn’t listen.

  ‘I’d like to get Di and Ronnie’s version of events first,’ he said. ‘Bed Natasha, now.’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  Upstairs in my room, I went over and automatically opened my window. Matt had his open too. I couldn’t see him but I could see his shadow looming large and then small on the ceiling as he walked back and forth in his room.

  And then I heard it. It wasn’t very loud, but he was playing music for me. It wasn’t the compilation he’d played on Guy Fawkes night. It was something different. It had this long, sustained single note …

  It went through me like electricity.

  It was the opening of my Albinoni piece and it was me playing. I could tell, because it had that slightest tremor at the end that I’d been trying so hard to eradicate. He must’ve recorded me practising.

  I lay back on my bed. I had to laugh at myself. To think of all the trouble I’d gone to, to avoid being heard …

  There it was again, that almost painfully pure note — repeated and repeated again — mixed in with that really random music of his. But the funny thing was — I was actually starting to like it.

  I fell asleep with the sound of it in my ears.

  When I came down in the morning. Dad must have heard Rosie’s side of the story. He made me go into the sitting room with him and closed the door. He wanted me to tell him my side of it.

  I told him everything. And I made sure he realised how Matt had nothing to do with what had happened to Rosie. He’d been the one who’d acted — as they say in parent-speak — responsibly.

  ‘He was the one who took charge, came with me in the ambulance. No-one else took a blind bit of notice.’

  As I ended. Dad said in a grim resigned voice. ‘Well let’s be thankful that Rosie is all right.’

  I came out feeling really rotten.

  ‘Poor Tasha, you must’ve had a horrid time,’ said Gemma, who had been waiting sitting on the stairs. I think she’d been trying to listen through the door. She gave me a hug.

  ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that you and Rosie were extremely disobedient,’ said Mum, who was waiting in the kitchen.

  It was a really weird Sunday. I spent the morning in my room, catching up on homework and halfheartedly tidying up. Every now and again I would go over to the window and look out, wondering what Matt was up to. My mood see-sawed between the deepest gloom and guilt about the night before and blissful flashbacks of that moment in the hospital waiting room.

  All I wanted to do was run across the road. But my parents had strictly forbidden me to do so. Clearly penance was in order. So I kept to my room and put up a resentful barrier of silence.

  At around mid-morning Dad came upstairs and said, ‘Come on Tash. Snap out of it. We’re all going for a cycle ride. Big demo up in Shepherd’s Bush. On that street we’re trying to persuade the Council about.’

  I hesitated. I was tempted to stay home — who cared about some boring old street the other side of London? But clearly Dad was holding out a metaphorical olive branch. And I quite liked ‘Reclaim the Streets’ demos — they generally had music and really odd crazy-looking people went along.

  ‘OK.’ I said.

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  He turned to go back down the stairs. I could tell by his voice I was forgiven.

  ‘And Dad …’ I couldn’t stop myself. The tears just came in a flood.

  ‘I’m really really sorry,’ I sobbed.

  He opened his arms and gave me a big hug.

  ‘It was just so … so horrible,’ I blubbed into his shirt. ‘I was so sure Rosie was going to die … If Matt hadn’t been there …’

  ‘It was good of him to stay with you.’ He sounded thoughtful.

  ‘Yes …’ I said. ‘He’s nothing like you think he is. Honestly.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s get going — its a lovely day for cycling.’

  It was a good day for a cycle ride, actually. Bright autumn weather, the trees were changing colour and there was that special autumn smell of fallen leaves in the air. As the four of us free-wheeled through the park I started feeling better.

  The demo was on one of the slip roads that led up to West Way. West Way is a giant overpass that’s meant to take the pressure off the traffic going through London.

  According to Dad though, it increases the traffic, because more roads just encourage more people to use them. The point of the demo was to persuade the Council to divert one of the the slip roads and make it into a traffic-free cycle way.

  By the time we arrived, quite a crowd had gathered. You could hear the music from way off. A barrage of vans and bicycles had been built up at one end, cutting off the street. And it had been decorated with balloons and bunting. Basically it looked like a big street party.

  ‘Good crowd,’ said Dad as we came to a stop. ‘Let’s hope the Press have turned up.’

  He scanned the crowd for a glimpse of cameras. Sometimes we even got TV coverage. But something else had caugh
t my eye. It was the van the music was coming from …

  Only one van in the world could have those weird psychedelic flowers painted on its side.

  ‘Come on Tasha,’ said Dad. What are you staring at?’

  ‘You know that person — the one I’m meant to keep well away from? He’s actually over there, doing the music for your precious demo.’

  Dad shaded his eyes: ‘That really him …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Dad. He exchanged glances with Mum. She half nodded.

  ‘Hold this.’ Dad leaned his bike against mine.

  I watched as he made his way across to the van. Matt was concentrating, working on the decks with the sun on him. A group of little kids was dancing to the music. He didn’t see Dad till he was standing right over him. He was too absorbed, mixing from one track to another. But then he looked up and he did a double-take as he saw who it was.

  Catching my eye, he said something to the big guy beside him and got up from his seat.

  I saw Dad was holding out a hand. Matt shook it.

  He looked back across to me. Our eyes met.

  I knew this was the beginning of something — or maybe it had begun already, way back and I’d only just realised. Maybe he’d had his eye on me all along.

  Well anyway, that’s my side of the story.

  Maybe you’d better hear his.

  BACK

  2

  watching

  you, watching me

  Matt’s side of the story …

  ‘The things I’d like to do with boys.’

  I was intrigued. What were these things?

  Let us in on the secret, girls!

  Also by Chloë Rayban

  in the

  BACK

  2

  series

  footprints

  in the sand

  read

  Ben’s side of the story …

  and

  Lucy’s side of the story …

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 1999

  HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers