‘Risky Business or Top Gun?’
‘Top Gun.’
‘Let me see.’
George leapt up, and she shuffled to make room on her desk as he rested his hands on the Formica top, leaning forward to get a good look. She looked at the man again, now caught in conversation with their mum. Please, she thought to herself, don’t let her say anything stupid. There was something about this guy that held her attention, and she hadn’t even seen him close up yet.
‘Well, hello,’ George drawled. ‘He’s gorgeous.’
A flash of irrational jealousy flung itself across her body and all Laurel could do was nod, because he was. Even from across the street, two storeys below.
‘And totally gay.’ George moved and flopped back down onto her bed again with an indulgent sigh. ‘Lucky me.’
Was he? How could you tell if someone was gay just by looking? George was, but Laurel only knew that because he’d chosen to tell her. Even their parents had no idea, and he was their son. It was just as well too because their mum would have to swallow her words about them at number twenty at the very least. Laurel never let herself think about the worst-case scenario when it came to what might happen if or when they ever did find out. Their parents were quietly vocal about their views on ‘gays’, especially since those terrifying adverts about AIDS had started being shown on TV at every available opportunity. Laurel looked out at the man again. She hoped George was wrong.
It wasn’t only that her stomach was swirling and her heart racing or that her palms were sweaty. She’d felt those things before. This was something different. There was something about him that she couldn’t pull her attention away from. He was magnetic, and she watched him, completely transfixed, until she saw her mum point back towards their house. As soon as he turned his head to follow the trail of Alice’s arm, Laurel jolted away, letting the net curtain fall back into place. He couldn’t see her. Not properly, at least not from where he was and not through the nets their mum hung at every window to keep out prying eyes. Laurel’s breath trembled as she blinked and turned around, putting her camera on the table.
‘Oh, Lorie,’ George said. ‘You’re blushing.’
‘What?’ She scowled and hopped down from the desk. ‘No, I’m not.’
‘You are. Looks like you’ve found yourself a crush.’ He grinned and got up from her bed before stretching his long body with his arms over his head. ‘Fancy listening to the Top 40 with me later?’
She nodded, not even pretending that she might have better things to do. It was one of the highlights of her week.
Laurel sighed and flopped onto her bed when George left to go back to his own room. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. She was being silly. There was no way that guy across the road could’ve seen her, but she almost wished he had. Everything around her felt stagnant. Nothing ever changed.
She cast her eyes around her room, with its floral wallpaper and peach border. The floor was covered in a thick carpet like every other inch of floor in their house - bathroom included - thanks to her dad’s job. A visible trail had worn into it, like a well-trodden path leading from her door to her bed. Her bookshelf was stacked with books she’d read and reread a hundred times, and well-thumbed copies of Just Seventeen magazine. She even still had her Pierrot the Clown doll from her eleventh birthday sitting on her desk. It was as if she were stuck in a snow globe, waiting for someone to come along and shake it and let some excitement rain down.
George had been right about there being no need to knock on her door, and it wasn’t the only thing he’d guessed correctly. Her cheeks had burned when she’d looked at the man across the road. She had the feeling that the arrival of this family might just be the start of something. Maybe George had been right about that, too. Maybe they would shake things up.
‘His name’s Nico,’ George said, as he slid into the opposite chair at the kitchen table the next morning.
‘Who?’ Laurel asked, taking her strawberry Pop Tart from the toaster.
He raised an eyebrow and peeled the foil lid off from a bottle of milk. ‘Really? Do I need to remind you about the enormous blush on your face yesterday?’
Laurel sighed. How did he even manage to get his eyebrow up that far, anyway? She couldn’t, and she’d spent endless hours practicing in front of the mirror. Like everything else about him, it was apparently effortless.
‘So, his name’s Nico,’ George continued, pouring the milk onto his Frosties. ‘Last name’s Papoulis. They’re Greek and from London. The oldies are his parents.’
She rolled the unfamiliar, foreign name around in her head. She liked it. And he was Greek - that would explain the jet-black hair and olive skin.
‘He’s twenty-five, though. Too old for you.’ George’s lips turned up into a smile. ‘But not for me.’
Laurel rolled her eyes, refusing to take the bait he was dangling in front of her.
‘Apparently the mum’s an Avon lady and the dad’s a chef. He’s opening a new restaurant in town,’ George concluded. ‘I reckon Mum’s hoping for discounted make-up and dinners out.’
‘That’d be good.’ Laurel grinned.
‘What would be good?’ Alice asked as she walked into the kitchen, clipping on a purple plastic earring.
Laurel nibbled on her Pop Tart. ‘The new neighbour being a chef in town.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Alice replied, sitting at the table. ‘We should go when it opens, try some Greek food.’
‘I’m in. Anything that gets me out of having to wash up must be ace.’ George grinned.
‘There’s always plenty more chores to do. I’m not the only one with a pair of hands in this house.’
Laurel caught her brother’s eye and kept quiet as she finished her breakfast. Ever since their mum had got her new job as a secretary, she’d been trying to get them to do more and more around the house. It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t have such high standards. Laurel had lost count of the number of times she’d got through her list of chores only for her mum to complain that she hadn’t done them properly.
She looked at Alice as she read the newspaper. As usual, she was dressed in a white blouse, beige skirt and matching shoulder-padded jacket with a streak of lilac lipstick across her mouth. She looked like she ought to be running the world instead of their three-bedroom semi-detached house.
‘What time’s your exam today, Lorie?’ Alice asked without looking up from the paper.
‘Ten.’
Laurel wasn’t worried about passing the last of her A level English exams, she just wasn’t sure why she was doing it. Her parents were determined for her to be the first in the family to go to university, but she couldn’t help feeling it was all such a waste of time. It wouldn’t be so bad if she were allowed to study what she really wanted to. Her passion was photography but, as far as her parents were concerned, it wasn’t a stable career choice. Apparently, she needed a degree in something ‘useful’ to secure a good job with a good salary and advance up the career ladder. University was seen as the pinnacle of everything and she wasn’t even allowed to get a Saturday job or paper round. She had to concentrate on her studies, and if she needed extra pocket money, she’d have to do more chores.
When she’d received her conditional place at Bristol, her parents had been ecstatic. They’d actually jumped up and down with tears in their eyes. Despite the fact that it wasn’t what she wanted to do, Laurel had felt proud for getting in and making her parents happier than she could ever remember seeing them before. But if she’d thought that was the end of all the pressure, she’d been wrong. If anything, it had only got worse, and now she realised that she’d have another few years of living under the pressure of actually coming out on the other side with a degree.
‘We have to start thinking about the things you’ll need for uni soon,’ Alice said. ‘You don’t want to leave it till the last minute.’
‘I know.’ Laurel drained the last of her juice.
‘There’s so much to
do-’
‘Right, I’d better get going,’ George interrupted, scraping his chair back.
‘Bowl, please,’ Alice said.
He discreetly rolled his eyes in return and picked up the bowl. He gave it a cursory rinse under the tap and Laurel jumped up from her chair to stand next to him at the sink.
‘Thanks,’ she whispered, grateful for his intervention.
George shrugged it off with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. Fancy a lift to college?’
She nodded eagerly, happy not to have to take the bus and grabbed her rucksack from the back of the kitchen chair.
‘George is giving me a lift. See you later, Mum.’ Laurel blurted the words out quickly and rushed out before there could be any more talk about university. Thank God her dad was already at work, otherwise she’d have had it from both sides.
George followed her out before stopping at the front door. ‘Damn, I forgot something, I’ll be back in a sec.’
Laurel nodded as he bounded up the stairs. She stepped outside onto the pavement and took a deep breath of the early summer morning air, trying to shake off her irritation. All she wanted was to be left alone to do what she wanted to do, instead of what was expected. She looked at George’s rusty Mini. If only she had a car too so that she could get in it, drive away and never look back.
A cat slunk out onto the pavement from under a hedge a couple of doors down and Laurel crept across the road, making kissy noises to entice it towards her. She crouched down and softly stroked its marmalade-coloured fur, smiling as it purred and rubbed its head against her hand.
‘Hi,’ a deep voice said, making the cat dart away.
Laurel jumped up, startled and almost twisting her ankle. The sensation of falling only seemed to get more intense as she found herself staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, framed with long lashes. The simple mechanics of speaking suddenly deserted her. It was her new neighbour, Nico.
‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he added.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shook her head a little. ‘You didn’t.’
She quickly ran her tongue over her teeth as discreetly as she could, hoping to God that there were no stray bits of food stuck between them.
‘I’m Laurel,’ she added.
He nodded back and smiled, revealing a set of deep dimples.
‘I know,’ he replied, lifting the black bin bag in his hand and dumping it into in the wheelie bin next to him.
He was gorgeous. Even more than she’d thought yesterday, and he held her gaze for a few seconds longer than what would’ve been polite. The magnetic pull she’d felt just by looking at him from across the road yesterday was nothing in comparison to the way she was feeling right now. It was so strong she could almost see the whirling vortex of energy streaming between them like a tethering rope. Laurel blinked, taking a mental picture, noting how the morning light shone in from behind him and the way his eyes were fixed on hers. If only she could take this image from her mind, develop it and stick it up on her wall because there was something about those eyes of his that made her shiver under her clothes.
He flipped the lid of the bin down and swiped his hands down his jeans. ‘I’m Nico.’
She looked at his hands. They were big and manly, and just looking at them made her skin tingle. Since losing her virginity seven months ago, she’d told herself that she had the upper hand when it came to men. There was nothing to feel intimidated about anymore, and no more need for nerves.
She took her eyes away from his hands and grinned, injecting herself with self-taught confidence. ‘I know.’
SEPH
Seven
Seph swished her brush in a jar of clean water before carefully wiping the bristles with a damp cloth. A second jar stood next to the first, and she tipped the pond green contents down the sink in her studio, watching the water swirl away into the plughole. She rinsed the jar clean, rubbing away stubborn streaks with her fingers and then let it stand upside-down on the sideboard.
The sound of children’s laughter trickled through the open window, blending with the music from her speaker and a cool breeze wafted in. It landed on her skin as she flexed her fingers to draw out the stiffness after sitting for hours in intense concentration. She circled her wrists and looked at the canvas sitting on her easel with an appraising, critical eye.
For the last three days, she’d bunkered herself away in her studio from morning till night, reminding herself of Janice’s advice. She was trying to be less critical of her work; the voice that said everything she did was nothing short of awful. They’d been long days, especially considering that she’d only averaged three to four hours of sleep each night. Forcing herself to stay in her studio had proven to be a great distraction from everything Nico-related during the day but, when she went to bed, it became a different story. It was keeping her awake at night and she still had no idea what to do next, or whether she should even do anything at all.
‘Seph?’ Ben’s voice called through the door and she pounced on it as it began to open, shutting him out.
‘Don’t come in.’
She kept a firm grip on the handle just in case he tried again. She’d never let anyone except Janice see her work until she was finished before and she wasn’t about to change that now.
‘I mean it,’ she added.
‘Alright, alright.’
She pictured him stepping back from the door with his hands raised in bewildered acceptance.
‘What’s up?’ she asked, leaning against the doorjamb.
‘We need to get a move on or we’ll be late.’
‘Late?’
‘It’s the concert at Passing Clouds, remember?’
‘Damn,’ Seph muttered to herself. That was tonight?
She’d put a reminder on her phone and written it on her wall calendar, circling it in red pen to make sure she wouldn’t forget. Ben had made a short, non-narrative documentary to act as the backdrop for his friends’ concert and he’d been jittery about it for ages. Seph had been so absorbed in her work that she’d completely lost track of the days of the week, let alone the time. She opened the door a little to look out at him and a flash of hurt flickered in his eyes.
‘You forgot, didn’t you?’
‘What? Of course not.’ She squeezed through the gap in the door and closed it shut behind her. ‘As if I’d forget about something like that.’
Ben looked at her and his eyes hovered a little too long over the state of her hair. She shot a hand up and tucked a wayward strand of it behind her ears. She didn’t need a mirror to know it was greasy and in need of a good, thorough wash.
‘You’re nowhere near ready,’ he said knowingly.
‘Actually, I just finished. I am all done and all yours.’
She went to wrap her arms around his neck, but he shook his head and held her at arm’s length as if he didn’t know quite what to do with her.
‘This is a fresh T-shirt,’ he said.
‘And?’
‘And I plan on wearing it tonight. I don’t want it to get ruined.’
She grinned and pulled him towards her anyway. ‘I won’t ruin it. But if I do, you can consider it your very own personal work of art. Kind of like a Persephone Powell exclusive.’
The warm sound of Ben’s laughter landed in the middle of her chest, right in the centre of her breastbone. It was a sound she could listen to forever.
‘You can always wear a different one,’ she added.
‘I’ll have nothing left to wear at this rate.’ Ben sighed but relaxed in her embrace anyway. He kissed the top of her head. ‘You’ve ruined two already this week already.’
She sucked in the scent of him. He smelled good. Really good. Seph let her face rest in the middle of his chest, inhaling his clean freshness. It was a heavenly tonic after being in her stuffy studio all day. She stretched her fingers out wide, letting them roam across his back. His shoulders were firm under her palms and she kissed his sternum, feeling th
e subtle drum of his heartbeat on her lips.
‘You look better out of clothes than you do in them, anyway,’ she said with a smile.
Ben laughed. ‘Ah, I see where you’re going.’
‘Why, where am I going?’
‘Babe, we don’t have time for this.’
She let her lips linger against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. ‘Time for what?’
‘You know what.’
‘The concert doesn’t start until eight.’ She spoke slowly, trailing her fingers along the nape of his neck and he shuddered, like he always did. Seph smiled. It was Ben’s weak spot and it always made him putty in her hands.
‘I have to get there early, you know that,’ he murmured into her hair.
She twisted a lock of his tight curls around her finger and looked up at him from under her lashes. ‘A few more minutes won’t hurt, surely? We can be quick.’
Filled by a primal, almost feral urge, Seph reached up onto her tiptoes and despite his protests, Ben bent his head until their lips met. Her pulse throbbed in her neck, matched by the delicious shots of warmth in her belly and between her legs. She pulled him closer and kissed him greedily, filled with the need to be on him and against him, to have him completely. She craved his closeness and touch. Every night since he’d come back from Tangiers, Seph had wrapped herself around him with every possible inch of her skin touching his, using the time she couldn’t sleep to take comfort in the steady rhythm of his breathing.
She let her hands roam free in his hair, scrunching it up and feeling the softness of it in her fingers as he pressed himself up against her. She leaned against the wall, using her hands on the back of his head to pull him closer and he lifted the hem of her paint-splattered shirt. The touch of his fingers against the sensitive skin of her hip made Seph shudder, and she sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his bottom lip.
‘Hey.’ Ben snapped his head back. ‘Take it easy.’
‘It was just a little nip. I can kiss it better.’ Seph tried to wrap her arms around him but he shook his head, eyeing her with a look she couldn’t quite read.
What Goes Down: An emotional must-read of love, loss and second chances Page 6