Game Girls (4 page)

'Say cheese, please.' She looks round as Dale
holds a mobile up at her. It's one of the newest
multi-media Smartphones. He is taller than
Tom. Golden blond. She usually goes for tall
blond-haired guys.

She glitters out a smile at him. Eighteen.
Gorgeous. Princess for the day.

The doorbell rings at the same time as the
land line phone.

'I'll do the door,' Courtney says.

Alix wonders if Courtney was listening after
all, and then decides that it doesn't matter. Her
CD had a Cash Converters sticker on it
anyway. It's not as if she broke the bank buying
it.

She watches as Courtney washes her hands,
drying them carefully on some kitchen towel.
She folds it neatly into squares before wedging
it into the already bulging bin. 'Probably the
first of the college crowd. Prepare for
Invasion.'

Alix watches Nathan's eyes follow Courtney
as she heads to the hall, and thinks it'll make
things easier if they get together. She'll only
have to choose between two spunk hunks then.
She heads for the front room. It'll be Mum who
has rung, of course. Everyone else always calls
her mobile.

Beside her, Aaron kneels by the CD player,
starting up the Blades.

'Hello? Mum?'

'Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday
to . . . '

Mum always sings as if she's on stage, to an
audience. Alix can picture her now, the way
she'll be shaping her face. Possibly stretching
out one arm for performance value. If Carlos is
there, watching, she'll be sliding him glances,
and smiling. He'll be transfixed. Drooling. The
creep. 'Hi, Mum.'

The Blades start up and she drums her nails
on the handset, tapping her fingers with the
beat.

People start filling the room. Dale appears,
takes another mobile shot, winks and shows it
to her. She smiles down at it, nodding, thinking
she's looking good.

Tom jostles past him, mouthing, 'It's vodka
and orange.' He hands her a full glass and
stands watching her, knocking back his own
beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand. He has nice hands. Strong-looking. Alix
likes guys with strong-looking hands.

She tries to focus on what Mum is saying to
her. 'So how are you, darling? Are you having
a good day?'

'Fantastic, thanks.' She sips the orange
vodka. Dale is lurking with his mobile again. A
gold-haired god. She's going to have to choose
between him and Tom.

'Aaron said he was coming, and you'd be
having some friends round. That's lovely for
you.'

'Yes.' She waits for Mum to tell her exactly
when she's flying back to celebrate with her.
She's bound to make it special, even though it'll
all be rushed. A shopping spree – probably
London. A meal out in one of the restaurants
down the cobbled lanes in Long Cove. Then
hurried goodbye hugs before jetting back to
Tuscany for more lavishings with Creepy
Carlos. 'Thanks for the present. The crucifix.
It's fantastic.'

'Carlos found it. It's very valuable. He says
we
must
get it added to your contents
insurance.'

Dale seems to be taking a string of pictures,
and Alix forces another smile across at him.
Creepy Carlos chose it? What the hell has her
eighteenth got to do with him? Mum should
have been pounding the streets of Tuscany
choosing something herself. She'll be glad
when Mum finally drops him and moves on to
the next one – and in between lovers Mum
always spends more time with her. 'Carlos
chose it? That's sweet of him. Give him a hug
for me.'

'Of course, darling. But – Alix – there's
something else. The reason I couldn't come
over to be with you today. I wish I
could
have
come – then I would have been able to tell you
properly.'

'Tell me what properly?' She feels an uneasy
prickling in her chest.

'I've been feeling so queasy. And the doctor
said . . . '

Alix drains back the orange vodka in one
go.

'We've been trying for a while, as they say.
We thought I might be too old . . . ' Mum gives
a high, girlish laugh.

Presents pile up in the corner. Ribbons and
bows. Strangers have been choosing things;
wrapping things; lavishing her. More of the
rabble press in, blowing her kisses. Someone
turns the music up louder. Courtney appears,
dragged in by Nathan. They start to dance.

'. . .was so lucky . . .Carlos sorted out a
specialist and . . . '

Aaron comes in with Fern, sits her down on
the sofa. Fern waves at Alix. She looks flushed
and nervous, her eyes following Aaron as he
disappears back into the kitchen, coming back
a moment later and bringing her a drink.

'. . . so maybe you could come here instead?
Christmas would be best. I should feel better by
then. From what I remember with you and
Aaron, the nausea wears off after about three
months. Carlos will send you the fare.'

Alix's hand clenches on the empty glass. If it
breaks the jagged fragments will cut her palm.
Warm blood on the carpet. Has Carlos told
Mum they
must
get the carpets insured?

'Alix?'

'Mum, I have to go. I can't hear you very
well.'

She puts the receiver down slowly.
Carefully. She feels she has iced up somehow;
frozen inside.

Dale appears and she lets him take the
empty glass from her. Tom touches her
shoulder.

She stares at them both for a moment and
then shakes herself, forcing out a smile.

To hell with Mum.

To hell with everything.

She links arms with both Tom and Dale, her
beautiful strangers. Pulling them closer she
steers them towards the middle of the room.
Glowing. Gorgeous. Princess for the day.
'Come on, let's dance. All three of us together.'

* * *

Nathan has led Courtney into the front room
where the Blades are playing – again. It must be
Aaron's CD because the one she gave was left
upstairs. She's still got the receipt – so Alix can
swap it if she likes. Or perhaps she'll just pass
it on to someone else, at another party.
Recycling presents. What does it matter where
something comes from? If she was Alix she'd
probably recycle it too.

They start to dance in a slow, distanced way.
She can feel his eyes on her, trying to make her
look back at him. His right arm circles her
waist, pulling her closer. 'So-oo sexy.'

Courtney stiffens.

He loosens the hold but keeps his hand
there and she can feel it touching and touching
and touching all through her black sleeveless
top, to her skin.

She dances faster so that she can turn her body
away from him and try and give herself a bit of
space.

He speeds up too, catching her waist again,
drawing her back in. 'Are you gay or something?'
he laughs, nibbling her ear.

She makes herself smile at him, and hopes it
doesn't look too fake. She should at least try and
look friendly. These are Alix's brother's mates
after all. She should do this for Alix –maybe that
could be her birthday present. A sort of hostess.
Alix might find that more useful than a doubled-up
CD. 'Of course not.' She thinks that maybe
being gay would be better. Easier. Only she isn't.
She doesn't want girls to touch her anymore than
she wants blokes.

She lets him nuzzle against her. Stroke her
back. Pull her in tight.

There's a stack of presents on the floor and
she counts them. Nineteen. There must be
more people here than that but some will have
come with partners. One present between two.

The evening slides on. The noise grows.
Nathan steers her back into the kitchen for more
vodka. A chubby-faced bloke is stirring the
bubbling chilli, splats of sauce spluttering over
the top of the oven. Courtney resists the urge to
grab at a kitchen towel and mop it all up.

'Who's burning the garlic bread?' Patti
Hodge hustles past. She's doing the same
business studies course as Courtney. The course
where Courtney first met Alix.

'Oh shit.' A bloke who has been leaning
against the opposite wall, his eyes half-closed,
looks at Patti and gives a high-pitched giggle. 'I
forgot about it.'

Everyone shrieks with laughter as a charred
black baguette is pulled out from under the
grill.

'Shit.'

'Think it's probably cooked.'

'Who likes their garlic bread well done?'

'Come on, letsh go outside.' Nathan seems
determined to stay glued to Courtney and she
thinks that, even if she got rid of him she'd
probably have to do it all again with someone
else, and she couldn't face that. It just isn't
worth it. 'OK. I'll get my jacket. It's in the hall.'

They carry their drinks into the tiny patch of
Alix's rain-sodden garden, sitting on a patio
under a dripping sun umbrella. The metal chair
burns cold on the back of Courtney's legs. Light
spills out from the kitchen window, highlighting
the spiking rain. A snail edges slowly across the
paved slabs of concrete, a thin trail of silver
marking its path. Courtney draws her feet in
under the chair. Nathan shuffles nearer, trying to
kiss her ear, her cheek, her lips.

'Yoor sho shpecial,' he says.

She swigs more vodka, wondering why she
can't get drunk like every other person at this
party. Being drunk would make her normal.
Being drunk would make her forget.

He pushes one hand down the front of her
top. She grips his arm, pulls his hand out and
places it firmly on his own knee.

'Are you schure you're not gay?' He keeps
pawing at her, his hand groping lazily, his head
half-buried in her shoulder.

She thinks that maybe this is outside her
role as party hostess. Above and beyond the
call of duty. Alix surely wouldn't want her
reduced to this – not even as a present.

Five minutes later, when he staggers up and
goes inside for the loo and 'top upsh', she slips
away, heels squelching into the soggy grass as
she hurries out through Alix's side-gate. The
rain washes him off her, dripping him out into
tiny pools and puddles as she walks.

* * *

Fern can't believe it. All that stupid worrying
and that lonely hearts Khaki Steve disaster and
thinking she might be too ugly or boring or
stupid for anyone to really like her and
now. . . ! Alix's brother!

He looks like Alix too. Wheat-blond hair
and blue blue eyes. Beautiful.

He's got his arm round her. Well, not exactly
round her, but stretched along the back of the
sofa.

They haven't said a lot because the music's
up too loud, but not talking is good because
she probably wouldn't be able to think of
anything interesting enough to say.

She wonders if Alix mentioned her to him.
She thinks she must have done, because he
seemed to know exactly who she was when she
arrived. Alix must have said something nice, or
else he wouldn't have bothered to come rushing
over. She tries to think through what Alix might
have told him, but it's hard. Whenever she tries
to think of nice things about herself, it's as if a
giant boot comes thumping down out of the sky
and squashes it.

She shifts slightly on the sofa, leaning her
head backwards, suddenly aware that it is now
resting against him. Heat blushes through her.
Is this too keen?

Alix is up dancing, dazzling brighter than
diamonds, whirling about in the shimmer-blue
dress and caught between two partners that
Aaron has told her are his friends.

Courtney
has
been dancing but she went off
to the kitchen a while ago, another of Aaron's
friends leading her away.

Fern hopes Aaron doesn't want to dance.
She's so awkward with it – she can never pick
out where the beat comes. All the sounds
muddle up in her head. She gets it too fast or
too slow and at a primary school disco she
once turned round to find two boys mimicking
her, lurching about, clumsy as clowns.

'Can I get you another drink?' Fern realises
Aaron is talking to her.

She looks up at him, making her eyes meet
his even though she can feel the blush heat up
her face again. The truth is she doesn't want
one – she's already had a Breezer, just out of
embarrassment. But he's going to think she's
stupid if she says no. 'I could have another
Breezer,' she says.

'You could,' Aaron smiles at her and his
blue blue eyes are warmer than Alix's, 'but
what do you actually want?'

She smiles back, uncertain. Is it all right to
be honest? His face is up close to hers and she
can catch the scent of him – slightly musky.
Almost sweet. 'I'm not that good at drinking.'

He tilts his head, the blue blue eyes
considering her. 'It's not a test,' he says gently.
'You can't get it right or wrong.'

'Actually – I can.' She thinks even this
answer is wrong, because someone like him
will want girls who are mature and
sophisticated. 'I mean – it makes me a bit silly.
Alcohol. I can't hold it very well.'

He smiles again and all her insides are
melting. Liquid.

Then he squeezes her shoulder and gets up
and she knows she's blown it. Of course she's
blown it. As he walks away she stays sitting
stiffly on the end of the sofa, his touch on her
shoulder like a burn. Nobody comes over to
her. Everyone is talking and laughing and
getting drunk and she tries to keep her
expression relaxed and happy, relieved that at
least Mum is picking her up and she's got an
excuse for leaving early.

And suddenly he is back, smiling, handing
her a drink. 'I've got you some fruit juice. Sorry
I took so long. I had to rummage through
cupboards for it.'

Fern's whole heart seems to spill over. He
hasn't minded about her being honest, and he
hasn't tried to push her with the drinking. He
isn't a Khaki Steve, happily watching her get
more and more drunk.

'Thank you.' She pushes out a smile at him
and he smiles back.