Cold Comfort

by Isobel Hart

  I looked at him this time. “I mostly taught myself, but school helped too.”

  “You’re good. Really good.” I could tell this was high praise indeed coming from someone with his sort of social status. He hadn’t needed to say anything. He looked at me again. It was a different sort of look this time, the sort of look guys normally gave Emily. “How old are you anyway?” he finally asked.

  “Sixteen. Today,” I told him for some reason.

  “Happy birthday,” he said, smiling. He leaned towards me. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,” he whispered, his breath brushing against my cheek and sending a chill over my skin. “You’re almost too good to be true,” he husked, making me blush again, which made him smile once more.

  “Play something else,” voices from the crowd called, growing restless without the hypnotic effect of the music.

  “Your fans await,” Charles told me. “I hope you have more you can play?”

  “I have loads,” I told him. And I did. I could play for hours without needing to ever repeat a song. I picked up my guitar again, crossed my legs, ignoring the way his eyes followed along their length, and started to sing. The crowd hushed once again, only breaking the silence to clap between songs.

  “So this is where everyone is,” Clarissa’s arrogant tones finally disturbed the moment sometime later, breaking into the middle of a song. “What’s so good about her anyway?” she said dismissively as I stopped. “All anyone’s been saying to me for the last hour or so is ‘I should hear the singer at the fire pit’. I don’t think she’s all that. I can sing better than her.”

  The crowd shifted with discomfort at her criticism, uncertain how they were meant to respond. Clarissa’s word clearly carried some weight around here, and she’d basically announced she thought I was crap. “Clarissa, you sound like a donkey when you sing.” Charles said with a laugh, coming to my rescue. “This lady, however, is really quite talented.” His view obviously trumped hers, judging by the relieved murmurs of approval from within the crowd. Clarissa scowled at me, but Charles ignored her and turned to face me. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Delilah,” a voice announced from the darkness, located somewhere beside Clarissa from what I could tell. I strained my eyes, peering into the inky shadow to see who could possibly know my name. Emily seemed equally surprised, judging by her expression when we exchanged a look.

  The owner of the voice finally stepped forward into the glow of the flames. When he did, it was worth the wait. He was handsome, heart-flutteringly so. My body responded immediately. From the corner of my eye I watched Emily sit up straighter and push her chest out, but the stranger’s gaze never left mine. His dark features lent an edge of danger to his appearance as he stood there and stared at me. I initially shrank slightly under the intensity of his stare until something about his eyes finally triggered my memory and I recognised a face I hadn’t seen for years. Almost eight to the day, in fact. “Hardy?” I breathed, standing up, hardly daring to believe it was actually him.

  Every summer for years I had prayed he might return, only to be disappointed. I had given up a long time ago believing I would ever see him again. Now here he was. His face had matured, his body changed and grown into that of a man’s, but his eyes were still the same as he looked down at me. His warm chocolate gaze enveloped me as it had all those years ago. “Happy birthday,” he said. I smiled that he had remembered.

  “You know her, Hardy?” Clarissa said indignantly, as if such a concept were shocking.

  “How do you know Hardy Somerville?” Charles Taylor asked at the same time as he placed an arm around my shoulders. Hardy frowned at the sight, as did Emily and Clarissa. The whole situation had started to feel very uncomfortable. I looked at my watch, shocked to see it was already nearly half one in the morning.

  “It’s late. We ought to be going.” I said, looking at Emily in the hopes she’d agree.

  “It’s not that late, and I’m enjoying myself,” she grumbled. “Let’s stay a bit longer.” The guy whose lap she was on groped about under her dress. I was shocked to see she’d let him do that to her in public.

  “Your friend’s right,” Clarissa told Emily firmly. “I think it’s well past time you both left, thank you very much.” We were dismissed. Her word was law; it was her party after all. As I made to leave, Charles stood with me. “Charles, what are you doing?” Clarissa demanded.

  “You said the party was over,” he answered smoothly. “Or at least, the guitar music and singing is over, which is the only good thing about this party, so I’m leaving too. Come on, Delilah.” He grabbed a hold of my hand at the same time as Hardy stepped forward.

  “Let go of her, Taylor,” Hardy said in no uncertain terms.

  “Have you got some sort of prior claim, Somerville? I thought you were seeing the delightful Clarissa here.”

  “I said let her go, Taylor,” Hardy repeated, his voice cold and hard.

  “Hardy,” Clarissa whined beside him, “what does she matter to us? Let him go and fuck the little tart. It’s all girls like her are good for anyway.”

  At that I grabbed my guitar case and put the precious item away before striding back up the lawn, ignoring all the people that called after me. I hated the way Clarissa had spoken about me. Even more, I hated the thought of Hardy being with her, letting her put her hands on him. How could he like a girl like her? I wondered as I strode around the side of the house, determined not to let any of them hurt me with their words any further. I walked for nearly five minutes until I finally found a route through the many flower beds, out onto the gravelled path at the front of the house.

  “Delilah,” Hardy called. I was surprised he had reached the driveway before me but figured he had taken a more direct route through the house.

  “Delilah,” Charles called from behind me. Emily was just behind him, staggering along in her stupid heels. I wheeled between the pair of them, uncertain now we were all here what I was going to do or how I was going to get home.

  “I want to go home,” I said to Emily. She shrugged and got out her phone to call a taxi.

  “I’ll take you both,” Charles informed her. Emily beamed at the prospect.

  “No you bloody won’t,” Hardy said in a low voice, his face hard as he squared up to Charles.

  “Cool it, Hardy. I’ll drive them home. Nothing more. I know she’s only just sixteen. Back off and calm down before you make the whole situation a hundred times worse.”

  “If you touch her,” Hardy threatened, his eyes simmering.

  “Go back and appease Clarissa before she declares all-out bitch warfare on the lovely Delilah here. It’s the last thing the girl needs or deserves. I’ll get the girls out of here,” he promised at the same time as Clarissa arrived on the driveway, forcing Hardy’s hand.

  Reluctantly Hardy moved towards her, to head her off from a further confrontation. Simultaneously Charles herded Emily and me towards an expensive-looking Audi TT. I cast a last look at Hardy before I allowed Charles to lead me away. “Get in the back,” Charles said to Emily, “there’s a dear. Delilah’s legs are longer than yours.” Emily scowled as she clambered in. The car was clearly not made to have passengers in the back, judging by the way Emily had to contort her small frame to fit in. I was in a much comfier situation when I climbed into the passenger seat beside Charles, my guitar case wedged between my knees.

  Charles immediately picked back up from his previous line of questioning. “So how do you know Somerville, Delilah?”

  “My mother works for his father. I live on his estate. We played together as kids.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” Emily sniggered from behind us.

  “I was eight, Emily. We built the treehouse together. That’s all. I haven’t seen him in eight years.” Charles nodded, looking pleased.

  “Where am I going?” he asked Emily through the rearview mirror. She gave directions, and the remainder of the short journey passed in silence, all of us caught up in our
own thoughts.

  My head was still spinning. I was recovering from the realisation that Hardy had been close all this time. At St Andrew’s. He’d just never bothered to come back to see me. And why should he have? To see a stupid little girl who’d thought him to be her friend. That their summer had meant something. I felt embarrassed that I’d allowed myself to live off those happy memories for so long, believing them to have signified something deeper than a means to occupy a few weeks.

  When we finally pulled up a few houses away from Emily’s I was relieved to get out of the car. I wanted to creep away on my own and mourn the destruction of my happiest childhood memories. I hadn’t had many to hang on to – they were some of my most precious. “Hold up,” Charles called to me quietly as Emily clambered slowly out the back seat. I halted and turned to look at him as he walked towards me. “I’m having a small gathering next weekend. The weather’s meant to stay hot, so I thought we’d have a pool party. People will be staying over. I’d like it if you came. Guitar most welcome,” he said with a smile. “And Emily,” he added as an afterthought. I started to refuse him, but Emily was in there straightaway.

  “We’d be delighted,” she assured him. “Text me the details,” she said, as she reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He dutifully unlocked it, never taking his eyes off me, and she entered her phone number, quickly calling herself so she had his too. Then she pulled me towards the house, beyond excited at having got Charles Taylor’s number in her phone.

  I could feel Charles’ eyes on me until we walked inside the silent building. We got back to her room, quickly changed and got into bed. All the while Emily never ceased her chattering about the night we’d had until I finally pretended to be asleep. Once I was certain her breathing had slowed and she had at last fallen into unconsciousness, I lay there in the darkness and cried.

  Chapter 5

  Emily was even more insufferable than usual the entire week. She’d barely left me alone for a minute, mainly because I think she was afraid I might change my mind about going to Charles’. It meant she was at my house from just after breakfast every morning to discuss strategies for the forthcoming party. Fortunately that seemed only to involve her talking and me listening – and agreeing to everything she suggested. She was still convinced she was in with a chance with Charles, despite what she’d referred to as his ‘slight infatuation’ with my voice. In reality I didn’t think she really cared which guy she scored with, as long as she snagged a rich boyfriend of some sort.

  When I dared to suggest I didn’t want to go to the party, she nearly took my head off with an irate blast of profanities. Apparently I was about to ‘ruin her life’. The day Charles texted her with the address, and said that people would be arriving any time from ten in the morning, she had talked about nothing else for the rest of the day. The first dilemma was strategizing how she should respond. After an hour of agonising she finally settled on a ‘lovely, see you then x’. Then I had to endure hours of speculation about what his lack of a follow-up message meant. Really, what more was there to say? I thought. I made the mistake of saying it out loud which only meant I’d then had to listen to her harp on about it for another couple of hours as she’d tried to explain it to me.

  I couldn’t help thinking she also had an ulterior motive for being round at mine so much. I hadn’t missed the way her eyes had raked over Hardy at the party. I guessed a part of her was hoping he might appear on the doorstep. Finally, by lunch time on Thursday I’d had more than I could stand and sent her home, telling her there were things I had to do and that I’d see her on Saturday morning. We had planned to be at Charles’ for lunchtime – apparently it wasn’t ‘cool’ to be early. We, or at least Emily, had spun a story about a school friend having a weekend party. There was no mention of boys, and she’d assured my mother that the girl’s parents would be on the premises. Mama, having never had any reason not to trust me, happily gave us her blessing and even told us it sounded like fun. I churned with guilt at the lies we’d told her.

  I’d been collapsed in an armchair for about fifteen minutes after Emily had finally left when I heard a quiet knock at the door. I shifted myself reluctantly towards it, wondering what the hell she had left behind, or forgotten to tell me, only to find Hardy on the doorstep.

  He laughed at my obvious surprise. “I thought she’d never leave,” he admitted, and I wondered how he knew she had been here at all. “Can I come in?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “I’d rather not have my father see me here.” I stepped aside and let him in, acutely aware of the way he seemed to fill the room now compared with the last time he’d been here.

  We stood awkwardly in the small lounge and stared at each other. I feasted my eyes on all the small details I’d missed at the party the other night. I hadn’t had a chance to take in just how much he’d changed physically when I’d seen him in the dark. He’d certainly grown up. He was tall, easily over six foot and broad at the shoulder, but not too broad, tapering to narrow hips. The t-shirt and jeans he had on clung to him and showed off his fit, defined physique. I felt my mouth go dry in response to his very male form. He must be eighteen now… there was little evidence of the boy I had once called my friend, except for the occasional flash of emotion in his eyes. “You’re all grown up,” he said, echoing exactly what I’d been thinking. “God, look at you. You’re so fucking beautiful,” he groaned. “I always thought you would be, but Jesus. I mean, you’re….” He seemed momentarily lost for words. “When I saw you at Clarissa’s the other night, heard you singing… All those people transfixed by you. I knew it had to be you. I would have known that voice anywhere. It had the same effect on me when I was a kid.”

  “I’m not sure your girlfriend was so keen.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said dismissively. “Just a hook-up. Casual, you know?”

  “No, I don’t know,” I replied honestly.

  “No, I don’t suppose you do. I’m glad about that,” he admitted. His voice was gruff when he said it. He took a step towards me.

  “Why are you here, Hardy?”

  “I had to see you.”

  “Why? After all these years. Were you really at St Andrew’s all that time?” I couldn’t hold back the note of hurt in my voice. He flushed with embarrassment.

  “I wanted to see you again. I missed you so damned much after that summer. Especially that first term at school. I nearly came back the next summer… I just couldn’t face seeing him,” he said, glancing in the direction of the big house. “I can’t stand him.”

  “I understand.” I did. He was horrible. The few occasions I’d come into contact with him over the years he’d made my skin crawl. I kept away, so I couldn’t blame Hardy for wanting to keep well clear of the man when he would have been forced to live under the same roof as him. I wanted that for him too. “So you’re at St Andrew’s,” I said again, calmer this time. “I never thought to ask before.”

  “I wasn’t then. I was being tutored to pass the entrance exam. I only started after that summer. Mostly I’ve spent the holidays with my mum in California, but sometimes I’ve stayed with friends. Like Charles.”

  “You’re staying with Charles?” I was surprised. They hadn’t seemed all that close when I’d seen them together. More like at each other’s throats.

  “You need to keep well clear of him.”

  “Why? He seemed okay. He was nice, nicer than anyone else at that party, which isn’t saying much, I know. Anyway, you must like him if you’re staying with him.”

  Hardy stepped closer again. “He’s no good for you. Please don’t come to his gathering this weekend, just stay away. I know he invited you, and he’s talked about nothing else all week. I don’t want him near you… can’t stand the thought of him touching you. You’re young. You don’t know what men like him are like yet... I hope you never do. You’re too good for him.”

  “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. I think I have a fair idea what men like him ar
e after.” I was irritated by him telling me what to do. As if he had any right to march back into my life and start dictating my choices to me. “What on earth gives you the right to come in and tell me who I should or shouldn’t spend time with? I haven’t even seen you for eight years. You don’t know anything about me.”

  He took another step forward, bringing him to within an inch of where I was standing, and my words dried up. His physical presence overwhelmed me.

  “I know, you’re right, but I feel like I do know you. I feel like there’s a connection… even after all this time.” He trailed off. “I don’t know,” he said as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I know it sounds crazy. Jesus, you make me feel crazy. I hate my best friend at the moment for even looking at you that way. God help any other man who goes near you.”

  “You are crazy. You know nothing about me,” I repeated.

  “Please, don’t go to Charles’.”

  “I have to. Emily would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

  He looked pained by my words. “Promise me, then. Promise me you won’t let him touch you, don’t get cornered alone with him. Promise me you won’t let anyone touch you. Please,” he begged. He was so close to me now I could feel the fine hairs on my arms standing to attention. I thought for a brief moment as I watched him close his eyes that he was going to kiss me. I wanted him to kiss me. Instead he took a deep controlling breath and stepped away.

  The stubborn part of me refused to bend to his will, as he tried to sway me with his intense chocolatey gaze. I held my tongue and jutted my chin out defiantly, daring him to press me again. I had no intention of letting anyone near me at the party, but he didn’t need to know that. He sighed, saying nothing before finally nodding once more and leaving. It felt like a small victory, but instead of feeling pleased I just felt even more confused.