Laura is scowling at me now. I’m watching her bottom lip quivering, like a thousand things are trying to get out of her mouth at once.
‘Arghhhh!’ she blurts eventually, storming off in an unjustified huff.
I dry off and I pick up a bottle of some Calvin Klein aftershave I got for Christmas the year before last. Does this stuff go off? I quickly slap some on anyway and head into my room to find something to wear. I finger through the four items of hung-up stuff in my wardrobe and pull out a checked shirt I’ve never worn, then I hang it back up and grab a long sleeve navy T-shirt from the folded pile underneath. It smells clean. I put my jeans and boots back on. No point doing anything with my hair, it is what it is. I pop into Evie on the way down and give her a kiss, for luck, and then take the stairs three at a time.
‘I’m off out!’ I shout back into the house from the hall door.
‘Don’t be late!’ Mam cries out from the kitchen.
I slide open the porch and step into the fresh evening air. I have to squeeze between Da’s van and the blue hydrangeas Mam loves as much as the four of us put together. As I hit the road I feel the heat of the sun on my back and the smell of washing powder wafts up from my T-shirt as I walk. Or maybe it’s the aftershave. I shake my watch down to my wrist; nearly ten past eight! But she’ll be late; girls always are.
I pass Dessie’s newsagent and turn the corner into Brackenbury, and there it is: the sea, glistening away, all shimmery at the bottom. This view stops me in my tracks some days. You’ve to get to the end of the road to get the full beach panorama. From here it’s only a glimpse, but it’s a promise and sometimes that’s enough. The water is perfectly still, like oiled glass. Two kids in pyjamas play football on the green. Laughter and music spill out from a garden close by. The happy-chatter gets louder as I pass and a marvellous smell of sizzling sausages wafts over their side gate. The taste of cold beer suddenly hits the back of my throat. Despite my meddling sister, it’s a fine evening to be alive.
I walk on past Kenny’s old girlfriend’s house, cross over by the doctor’s surgery and hit the SPAR on the corner of the main road. Cars still line the beach side and there’s a queue of kids milling around outside the kiosk. I get a flash of long blonde hair sitting on the wall behind: a mirage rising up through the heat. I try to look again, closer, but the kids are blocking my view. A white van speeds past as I go to cross, forcing me back up on to the path. I can’t see anything now. A caravan tootles along behind a long Volvo and I jump out into the road and wait for a break. After a group of motorbikes spurt past, I dart over, finally hitting the safety of the other side. I look down to my right and there, behind the gaggle of kids with their ice creams, I see the golden mane sitting alone watching the sea. As though sensing me she slowly turns into view.
It’s not her.
EMERALD
A total operating system upgrade
It’s not easy to dress for a party and nail the girl-next-door-about-to-go-babysitting look. Grandma will definitely suspect something if I come downstairs in anything other than the jeans or baggy track pants I’ve been wearing all week. I’ve got that fluttery sensation in my tummy again. It’s been there since I hopped out of the bath. I’m slathering myself in more of the cocoa butter I found in the bathroom when the blankets in front of me start to pulse. I assume it’s another text from Dad, and I flip up the covers with a greasy hand where my phone is vibrating underneath.
Watching the phone ping away in my hand I realise it was a mistake not to shut down my WhatsApp account as well as Insta. It is going off! Kitty has posted a load of selfies of her wearing the exact showgirl outfit she put on Pinterest weeks ago, complete with enormous turquoise feather headpiece. She’s holding a champagne saucer and slaying it as only she can. It’s hard not to marvel at her, but as I do, it suddenly strikes me as kind of weird that someone so gorgeous needs to invite all of us to remind her just how off-the-hook gorgeous she really is. The whole thing is sort of YAWN.
Kitty: Roll up. Roll up. Let’s get this party started!!!!!
Despite everything I thought a minute ago, I start to punch out some stock compliment, the like of which I’ve typed a thousand times and never really mean. Actually, it’s not that, but there comes a time when all the compliment trading gets a bit meaningless. I’m side-swiping for an underused emoji, still pondering whether all this fawning is some kind of compulsion, when someone else gets there first.
Bryony: MY GURL BE ON FLEEK TONIGHT!!!!!
Ugh! Bryony giving it all that, like she’s not from Bradford on Avon.
More photos come in; ping ping ping. Everybody’s at it now. I scan through my friends dressed in a variety of amazing outfits: a sad-looking clown and even a strong man with inflatable weights. Bubbles … I see Bryony is typing again.
Bryony: On my way!!!! With THIS ONE
I stare at the photo of Bryony, dressed as a sexy ringmaster, kissing a furry lion. What? I look again and although I can only see one side of the lion’s face, I’m sure it has Rupert’s eye and nose and mouth too. I shake my face to get my eyes to focus. Yes, it’s Ru in a lion costume! Rupert and Bryony are in the same picture, together, lips touching and his giant furry arms slung around her neck. WTF? I collapse on to the bed and scan all the new photos again. There’s no preamble. No warning. No reveal. It’s like it’s not even a thing. I knew Bryony liked him and he liked her, hardly unusual for two uber-popular people, but not like this. Have I been seriously deluded? Is that why she posted the ugly picture of me? I lie back and stare at the ceiling expecting something intense and urgent to engulf me … But nothing, only a faint winded feeling like my chest is losing air.
Seriously, how can they even pretend this is cool? Everyone knows Rupert and me kissed. Kitty has been pushing us together for months. It’s been like an entire squad assignment. Unless … of course Kit, Bryony and EVERYONE ELSE already know about the text he sent the other day and they’ve moved on already? I consider typing something cool back, but I have no words. I don’t know what to feel. Between this and the nonversation with Mum earlier, I am OVER today.
Then it strikes me, clean, like a mallet over the head: I’m not upset about Ru and Bryony. Well, I’m hurt and possibly quite angry but not sad. Truth is, it’s humiliating. It’s that horribly familiar sense of shame, only made worse by the reality that their cute little revelation has been shared with the whole WhatsApp group.
I thought coming offline would do it, but still I feel like I can’t get away. I’m not even there and it’s all still stalking me.
How did I once believe that this summer, with my endless exams over, I could go for a total operating system upgrade and morph into a new, improved version of myself? I try to reject all the superficial crap, but then I can’t cope without it either. I’ve barely known what to do with myself, or my suddenly way-too-empty hands this past week. Without the endless side-swiping and scrolling, my fingers knit themselves together obsessively, like Grandma’s.
Perhaps I have Obsessive Comparison Disorder. Seriously, I read somewhere that this actually exists. I almost reactivated my Instagram last night, but I closed it and … considered Snap Chat. But I held firm.
I look at my phone again, not to pour over the trillions of comments that jolt the handset every few seconds. I just want the time. 8:21p.m. I’m late for my own lie! Next thing Kitty texts me that photo of her! Was the post to WhatsApp not enough? God, I want her glass of champagne. I want something. Maybe it’s recklessness, desperation or massive FOMO, but I need to get out. I need to escape my brain. I pull on some jeans and grab my bag: phone, lip gloss, euros? Check, check, check.
Maybe a quick revenge selfie before I leave? A quick WhatsApp won’t hurt, will it? Remind them all I’m still alive. Let them know Bryony’s photo hasn’t actually finished me off. I tie my hair up and stand over by the window, sucking in my cheeks and head-tilting exactly like Kitty taught me. Angles and a flattering light source is everything, she says. Chin drop is a bi
t severe, but it’ll do.
TURNIN’ UP IN DUBLIN TONIGHT.
I punch the words into caption, not quite resisting the urge to add unnecessary shamrock emojis. I reread it and cringe; I sound just as try-hard as Bryony. Delete! I’m staring at the shadows under my eyes, thinking I need some kind of filter. I’m ruminating on the skin-bleaching merits of Instant over Fade when I hear the front door. OMFG. It’s loud! It’s only the second time I’ve heard Grandma’s doorbell ring.
‘I’ll get it!’ I holler, pounding down the stairs, literally racing for the door. I figure it’s best that Grandma stays rooted in front of the TV this evening. If she gets up out of that chair she’s likely to insist on driving me to babysitting and I can’t take that risk. I start to drag back the heavy wooden door.
I hear him before I even see him.
‘Howrya!’
It’s Liam! All sparkly Levi-blue eyes, leaning on the other side of Grandma’s porch, leaning like he’s holding up the door, the house, the trees and the whole world; not the other way around. Oh my God, I’m so late. He’s come to get me! Clueless to the house of lies I’ve built around tonight, why wouldn’t he? He automatically steps inside but soon his wide smile fades. It takes a minute for me to twig that the look on his face is a reaction to the abject horror stamped all over mine. I can’t let Grandma see him. This could blow everything.
The chair creaks in the living room and I picture Grandma rising up out of it. ‘Who it is, Em?’ she shouts out excitedly.
I immediately want to push him back down the drive, or hide him behind the wheelie bins, but I just stare straight at him, wordlessly ushering him back, away, anywhere but here. How do I begin to explain this? I don’t remember him being so tall. His eyes work hard, examining my face but he’s not telepathic so next thing I’m literally shooing him out of the porch.
‘Emerald?’ She’s turned the TV down and the whole world goes quiet. ‘Who’s there, love?’
Jesus effing hell! ‘Um … just the aloe vera guy again, Grandma,’ I shout back before moving out on to the front step myself and marshalling Liam silently back down the drive. His once confused face sets to something harder and he turns around and walks off. I immediately want to call out to him to explain, but I know I can’t risk it. I’m praying he’ll stop by the rose bushes, or duck down behind the car but he keeps retreating towards the road. An invisible rock slams into my chest as I watch him walk away.
Do I follow him? Do I go in and see to Grandma? I quickly stick my head through the living room door. ‘Hey,’ I say, sounding anything but normal. ‘I’m going to head off now.’
She scans me up and down. ‘Right so, Em,’ she says. ‘Did you get the spare key from the hall table?’
‘I’ll grab it on the way out. Thanks.’ I’m trying not to sound agitated but I’m not sure it’s working.
‘And you definitely don’t want me to run you down there?’
‘No, no, I’ll enjoy the walk,’ I say, edging backwards out of the room, guilt writhing further along my spine with every step.
She blows me a kiss. ‘OK, best of luck.’
‘Enjoy the film!’
‘Oh, and Em?’
Ohmygod, he’s probably half a mile away already. I grit my teeth. ‘Yes?’
‘You won’t mind if I slip off to bed later? I find it hard to keep my eyes open after ten o’clock these days.’
‘No, God, of course not. I’ll be fine.’ I give her a final wave and scurry back out of the door.
LIAM
Dream, Liam, dream!
I hear her footsteps behind but I don’t turn around until I’m past the gate and well into the neutral turf of the main road. Only then do I stop walking. She’s wearing these high blue jeans and I try not to look at the thin band of flesh between her waist and the bottom of her cropped T-shirt. Her hair is tied in a loose knot on top of her head and a couple of long strands fall down around her face. She looks exactly like I remember, which doesn’t help. My heart is going like that Kango hammer again.
‘The aloe vera guy?’
She’s looking at me with that intense, spring-loaded stare, logging everything I haven’t yet said. I feel see-through. It’s like at any moment she could take flight, like a bird. I almost wish she would.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says.
‘For what?’ I’m goading her to say it.
‘For being late … and you know –’
‘Lying about me?’ She does this tiny nod. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, stomping on ahead. ‘I get it. Kenny was right –’
‘It’s not like that,’ she shouts, chasing behind me now. That she understands my half-finished sentence just confirms Kenny was spot on. It’s obvious she thinks I’m not good enough for her. Don’t know what I was thinking at all.
‘Liam!’ she shouts again. ‘Wait. Please.’ I turn back as her hand reaches up and yanks at her knot of hair and I watch hopelessly as it cascades down. I’m not being dramatic; cascade is the only word to describe how it falls loosely around her shoulders like water. ‘It’s not you …’
I turn around and begin to walk slowly on again past the entrance to the beach. All of its earlier promise feels unbearable now. I don’t want to look. ‘It’s not me then, no?’
‘No!’ She’s gathering pace and marching along beside me; her body wired with fitful energy. ‘No. Honestly, it’s nothing to do with you. It was just easier not to say where I’m going tonight. My family is kind of complicated.’
‘Aren’t they all,’ I say it under my breath, but I slow my pace and allow her to fall into my rhythm. The beach exodus traffic passes steadily, practically brushing the pavement where we walk. Em lurches as a giant green bus whirrs past her on the outside so I move around to her right, shielding her from the road. It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t mean anything.
She stops and bites down on her newly glossed lip. ‘So where’s this party?’
I notice the crossover of her front teeth again. For some reason this token imperfection makes me happy. The evening sunshine drenches her face in warm gold. I can feel myself thawing. ‘D’you remember Kenny?’ I ask. She nods. ‘It’s his girlfriend Fiona’s birthday – her eighteenth. Her parents are away so it’s a free gaff.’
‘A house party?’
‘Yeah, like a house party,’ I say, thinking this is indeed a finer term.
‘Should I have brought a present?’
‘Nah, you’re all right. I doubt Kenny’s even got her one.’ Her mouth laughs without her eyes. ‘It’s just down here, about halfway to the village. Won’t take us long. If you’re still up for it?’
‘I’m up for it,’ she says quietly and we continue along by the golf club, slowing to a calmer, more manageable pace now. She looks up from the pavement to me. Her eyes are a kind of colour I’ve never seen; like stones.
‘So what are you doing in Portstrand then?’
‘Staying with my Grandma.’
‘So I see. I’ve always wondered who lived up that dark drive. Never see anyone coming or going. We used to call it the haunted house. Well, you know … when we were younger.’ She’s looking at me strangely. ‘How long you here for?’
‘Been here two weeks, which means I’ve got … six to go.’
‘Serious?’
‘Yep.’ As she says this, her hands stop trailing the railings and she does something with her hair, taking it all over to one side.
‘Where’s the rest of your complicated family then?’
‘In England. Dad’s super busy. He’s mostly in London and my mum is doing a course. So I’m … here,’ she says, shrugging her shoulders.
‘You don’t seem too happy about it?’
‘I wasn’t at first, but –’ She stops and we linger on this as a determined dog-walker weaves in between us.
‘Can’t say I blame you.’
‘Sorry … that didn’t come out right. It just wasn’t how I’d imagined my summer.’ I’m thinking about what to say when she continu
es. ‘It was thrown at me, I guess. I had other plans. You know?’
‘Sure,’ I say, not knowing at all, but immediately I’m trying to imagine what her other plans may have been. ‘How old are you?’ I blurt it out of nowhere. I’ve been dying to ask.
‘Sixteen.’
‘You seem older?’
‘Do I?’
‘Yeah, you do.’ I’m not sure where to go with this. She hasn’t asked anything about me, so it’s a bit awkward. ‘D’you live in London?’ I ask eventually, just to stop myself from humming.
‘No. Somerset.’
I don’t know where this is but I don’t want to sound thick. ‘It’s this way,’ I say as we wait to cross the busy road.
We hike up the steep bit through Elm Park, which is a little estate Da built ages ago, and then we cut through the lane at the back and walk together in silence for a bit. We’re walking in time now and I turn and smile at her. She smiles back. Despite all the confusion and anger I felt ten minutes ago, my heart sinks as we get close to Fiona’s. Feels like we’re finally getting somewhere. I’d have more of a shot at getting to know her roaming suburbia than at this party, that’s for sure. I try to slow down but we’ve already reached the bottom of the hill by Fiona’s estate: hers is one of six big, red-bricked houses in a little cul-de-sac. Music pulses up the pavement from the garden.
Em turns to me. ‘I might not stay too late, if that’s OK?’
‘Anytime you wanna leave, just shout. I’ll walk you home.’
Kenny flings the door open before we even hit the drive. ‘Well, howrya, Flynn, ya big ride, ya?’ Clearly Kenny didn’t wait to get stuck into the booze. He’s got a big skeezy head on him already.
‘All right.’ I grunt it. I want to deck him, but I can’t and the prick knows it. ‘You remember Emerald?’
‘How could I forget,’ he says, and he does this funny bow thing like a complete spanner. Then he stands there for a bit, gawping at us.
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