Don't Ask (15 page)

Alex’s Dad opened the front door. ‘Hello Laura, it’s good to see you,’ he said. He glanced at my bags, before picking one of them up. ‘My goodness, you have brought
a lot with you. Are you planning to move in with us?’

I reddened. ‘No, Mr Porter, and thank you very much for having me. I just wasn’t sure what to bring.’

‘It’s OK, Laura, I was only teasing. I’ll take your bags up to Alex’s room. Why don’t you go into the kitchen – Alex is in there with her mother.’ He
pointed to his left, and called out, ‘Alex, your guest is here!’

She came out of the kitchen, smiling. There was something different about her, something I couldn’t quite figure out.

‘Hi Laura,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you made it. How are you feeling? Come in and have a drink. We’re just sorting out some food for tonight.’ She gave me a
hug and took me by the arm, leading me into the room behind her.

‘I know – it’s your hair!’ I exclaimed (after I said hello, of course). ‘You’ve had your hair cut! It really suits you.’ She’d had her hair styled
into a long bob, which gave it more body and made it seem glossier. She looked lovely, older and more groomed, and our two-year age difference all at once felt more stark to me. I’d never
been to an eighteenth birthday party before; only a few of my friends had turned sixteen. People always said I appeared and acted grown-up for my age; would anyone guess I was still only fifteen
(and three-quarters)?

‘Thanks,’ Alex said, stroking the ends of her hair, in the way that people do when they’re not used to a new style. ‘I fancied a change. Mum, meet Laura.’

Alex’s mum came over. She was much shorter and rounder than Alex, with a kind face.

‘Hello Laura,’ she said, in a soft Scottish accent. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’ She held up her hands, which were covered in flour and butter, and laughed.
‘Do you mind if we don’t shake just now?’

We spent the next two hours baking and icing cupcakes, something I hadn’t done since I was a kid. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be, especially the decorating part. My cupcakes
were works of art, with marbled technicolour icing and jelly tots and silver balls arranged so prettily that they’d have made Nigella proud. The only problem was, they looked so good I
decided I didn’t want anybody to eat them. I said someone should set up a cupcake gallery so I could put them on display.

Alex’s mum laughed at me. ‘I didn’t buy all those ingredients just so they could go mouldy in a museum somewhere. Trust me, they’ll taste even better than they
look.’

She was right. By the time Alex and I went upstairs to get ourselves ready for the party, I’d eaten so many cupcakes that I wasn’t sure Laura would fit into any of Alex’s
dresses, or mine.

Alex’s bedroom was right at the top of the house, in a converted loft. It was incredibly neat and clean, which I should have expected, with Arsenal posters all over the walls. A scarf,
just like the one her dad had bought me – and that I’d passed on to Jack – hung above her bed. It looked more like a boy’s bedroom than a girl’s.

‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ I said.

‘No worries, it’ll be good to spend some proper time together. And there’s no way you’d have been able to get home on your own tonight to . . . where is it that you live
again?’

‘North London,’ I said, narrowing it down to about a twenty-mile area. I’d always been deliberately vague about the exact location of my house, because it was where Jack lived
too, and I wasn’t sure if Alex knew his new address. Realising I might sound evasive, I added, ‘Um, a couple of miles from the Arsenal ground.’

‘Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re so lucky! I’d love to come and visit you some time soon.’

‘Definitely,’ I said, hoping she couldn’t hear the insincerity in my voice. ‘We’ll have to arrange it.’ Of course, if we were going to be proper friends,
I’d have to find a way around this problem too, even if it meant setting up in a squat on my own, or paying for Jack to leave the country.

‘Let me give you your present,’ I said, changing the subject. I’d bought Alex a CD she’d mentioned she wanted, by some girl band I didn’t rate. It didn’t seem
like much for an eighteenth, so I’d added a set of rose perfumed soaps and body lotion from Mum’s spare present collection, which was mainly made up of recycled gifts. Mum always said
she worried that one day she’d end up giving an unwanted present back to the person who’d bought it for her.

‘Thanks!’ Alex exclaimed. ‘Ooh, exciting. Do you mind if I open it on my actual birthday?’

I shook my head. I was relieved. It’s always embarrassing when someone has to pretend they like your gift, when they don’t.

‘We should get ready,’ said Alex. ‘I’ve cleared some space for you over there, if you want to sort your stuff out.’

I unpacked my bags and laid out all my things. Alex came over to take a look.

‘Are those your glasses?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I screwed my nose up. ‘Hideous, aren’t they?’

‘Hmm, I can see why you don’t like them. They’re pretty big. Whatever possessed you to get purple?’

Because they matched my eyes? ‘They were in the sale,’ I said.

‘Here, let me try them . . .’

Before I could stop her, Alex had put on my comedy glasses. Far too large for her, they slid straight down her nose, where they perched precariously. She looked about fifty in them. Fifty and
completely batty.

‘They’re not very strong,’ she said. ‘I can see perfectly through them and I’ve got my lenses in. I thought you said you were really short sighted.’

‘Maybe you need a new prescription,’ I suggested. ‘They make a big difference to me.’

She frowned. ‘Maybe.’

Using Alex for a makeover proved to be a nonstarter. Clearly, I couldn’t ask her to do my hair like hers, not unless she’d suddenly acquired the skills of Nicky Clarke. And her idea
of make-up, even for a party, was a dab of lip-gloss and some clear mascara. I wear more than that to school. As for her dresses: she didn’t have any. Not a single one. Her party outfit was a
pair of jeans and a red long-sleeved T-shirt with sequins scattered across it.

‘Your new top is lovely,’ I said. It wasn’t something I’d have worn, but it suited her. ‘I don’t know what to wear at all. Can you help?’ I pulled four
dresses – every single one that I possessed – out of my rucksack. ‘What do you think?’

Alex rifled through them, holding each one up to the light and measuring it up against me. ‘They’re all really nice. But I’m not a dress or skirt person. I never get my legs
out, so I’m probably not the person to ask.’

‘You’ve got great, shapely legs,’ I said. I was being genuine.

‘Nah, they’re too muscley. You’re lucky yours haven’t bulked up through exercise. My calves are bigger than my dad’s.’

Yet another reason not to exercise, I thought. Who wants calves like a man?

‘Why don’t you go for the green one?’ Alex suggested. ‘It’s the nicest colour and I like the square neckline.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Good choice.’ It’s funny that she’d picked out the green jersey dress; it was the one I’d never worn because I didn’t feel
entirely comfortable in it. I’d liked it in the shop but every time I put it on at home I took it straight off again. It wasn’t quite me. Maybe that’s because it was more
Laura.

‘You seem a lot happier than I thought you’d be,’ Alex said, as we finished getting dressed. ‘I thought you’d be all puffy eyed and quiet, but you’re totally
being yourself. Are you really OK about Jared?’

‘I’m fine,’ I said. I tried to make myself look sad. Until she’d mentioned Jared I’d forgotten that I was meant to be heartbroken. In fact, I was so relaxed I
hadn’t been acting at all. ‘Honestly. It’s nice of you to ask, but I don’t really want to talk about it, or I’ll get upset.’

‘Sure. Sorry.’ She put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Anytime you want to, let me know.’

‘Course,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s party!’

Alex’s parents thoughtfully took themselves out for the night at about seven, and the first party guests started arriving at eight. Alex said she was expecting about
forty people (assuming nobody had posted an open invite up on Topfriendz), mostly college friends and a few selected friends from her sports and drama clubs. She said she couldn’t wait to
introduce me to her best friend Jessica (‘I’ve told her so much about you’) and to Ben, the guy from her economics class whom she thought had potential, and about whom she wanted
my honest opinion.

While we’d been getting ready, Alex’s parents had transformed the house. The lights had been dimmed and there were multicoloured fairy lights strung up across the living room and
hall, giving everything a hazy glow. There were balloons and ‘Happy Eighteenth’ banners stuck to every wall and in the corner of the living room stood two huge tables covered in food
and drink, including a bowl of fruit punch so large that a child could have had a bath in it. As it was her eighteenth, Alex’s parents had given her a few bottles of champagne to celebrate
with, the remainder of the drinks being soft.

I hung around in the background while Alex greeted her guests, smiling and waving hello each time she pointed me out. When Ben arrived, Alex gave me a wink. I hadn’t expected him to
resemble Jack, but he had the same stocky build and fairish hair, and it unnerved me. Either Alex had a ‘type’ or she was even less over Jack than I’d thought. I forced a grin and
winked back, nodding my head in approval.

I didn’t warm to Jessica. I felt that she eyed me suspiciously when we were introduced and that she’d made up her mind in advance to dislike me. Like Katie, she was clearly jealous
when anybody new appeared on the scene and extremely protective of her best friend. I decided to keep my distance. The last thing I needed was somebody asking too many probing questions.

Being Laura at the party was easy. I discovered that if you dance a lot, you don’t really have to talk to people at all, you can just smile at them. Even when people did try to make
smalltalk, the music was so loud nobody could hear what anyone else was saying. This guy – his name sounded like Steve or Dave – kept dancing next to me and trying to make eye contact.
Every time he came too close I twirled my body around, so that I was dancing with my back to him. That was very rude of Laura; of course, Lily would never do anything like that.

I spent a great deal of time hovering by the food and drinks table, keeping busy by rearranging the cupcakes (hiding the best ones at the back in the hopes they’d be left over at the end)
and pouring myself punch. I was hungry but nobody else was eating much and I didn’t want to look like a greedy pig, so I stuck to crisps and nuts, which I could stuff into my mouth while
nobody was looking. As there was lots of fruit in the punch I figured it would count towards my five a day.

I wasn’t expecting it, but I really started to enjoy myself. The weird thing was, I lost all track of time. I’d be dancing and then I’d look at my watch and a whole hour would
have gone by. And maybe I did need glasses after all, because I was sure the room was starting to go a bit blurry, and that when people talked to me their voices sounded echoey and that they were
swaying backwards and forwards. Even stranger, my thoughts were all jumbled up and seemed to be popping into my head in a random order. When the room began to swim, I stumbled to the door and
announced, ‘Feeling a bit dizzy,’ to no one in particular. Somehow, I managed to find my way out through the kitchen into the back garden. I sat smack down on the patio and almost
rolled straight over. I giggled, righted myself, looked around me and then remembered how Jack and I had first met during a party, in a back garden not dissimilar to this one. I found myself
smiling in a moronic way. Oh my God, I thought. I feel totally out of control. I must be pissed. I’ve never been pissed before. But I’ve only drunk fruit punch. How did that happen?

I don’t know how long I’d been outside, when Alex came to find me. ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘Someone said they’d seen you come outside. Here . . .’ She
handed me a pint glass full of water. ‘Drink this.’

‘I juscht needed some fresch air,’ I slurred, taking the glass and spilling half of it. ‘I’ll be finesh.’

‘Oh dear. Sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have warned you. Someone poured a load of vodka and God knows what else in the punch. Don’t tell my parents – they’ll
freak.’

‘Shokay.’

‘By the way, I promised I’d tell you this: my friend Dave really likes you. You know, the dark guy who was dancing with you for a while. He thinks you’re playing hard to get. I
told him you just broke up with someone and it’s probably too soon. Am I right?’

I nodded, although I didn’t have complete control of my head, so it might have been a shake. ‘I still love Jasch . . .’ I heard the name ‘Jack’ begin to tumble out
of my mouth, as if in slow motion, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘I . . . mean . . . Jaresch.’ I giggled, hysterically. ‘Whoops, I can’t even shay it.’

‘I know.’ She smiled. She hadn’t noticed my slip-up. ‘I’m going to get you some food and another drink. Stay there.’ It seemed only a second later that she
was standing next to me with a plateful of bread and cheese and another pint of water. ‘Have this, you’ll feel better.’