Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1) (4 page)

I didn’t tell the girls everything. It hadn’t been amazing. I mean, it had been nice, but to start with it had hurt, a bit, and I didn’t make noises or anything. The earth didn’t move. You know what I’m saying.

But that didn’t bother me.

What bothered me was that the next day he went back to England. We had to say goodbye in front of everyone else who was leaving that day. About thirty people milled around the coach that the holiday company had provided to take them to the airport, its engine idling away in the heat. It wasn’t exactly romantic. Obviously we hugged, and kissed – an amazing, soft, tender kiss that makes my lips tingle every time I think of it (which is a lot) – and Joe leant down and whispered, ‘I’ll miss you,’ into my ear, which made me cry despite all my efforts, but I wished
we were alone. He wiped a tear away with his thumb, smiled this sad little smile and said, ‘I’ll call you soon.’ And then he was on the coach and I was crying properly as he craned his neck to keep waving at me.

I hadn’t heard from him since.

And he had taken up permanent residence in my brain. I could not stop thinking about him. I just had to be patient: he’d promised to call, so he’d call. But, AAGH, the waiting was killing me.

‘Oh, mate, that sucks,’ said Donna, looking genuinely sympathetic, while Cass squeezed my hand and Ashley shook her head in disgust at Joe’s failure to keep his promise.

‘Thanks, but I’m fine, honestly!’ I said, although my mood had plummeted ten shades darker. ‘He didn’t say
when
he’d phone. And I’ve only been back a couple of days.’

‘Why don’t you call him then?’ asked Ash.

I shrugged sheepishly. ‘I don’t have his number.’

Donna slapped her forehead. ‘Shit, Sarah! Boys always refuse to give you their number if they’re only up for no-strings pulling. It’s like a boy law or something.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ I said, my face beginning to burn. ‘It’s not that he refused to give me his number, just that he asked for mine, so I didn’t think … Look,
you can believe what you want, but I was there and I’m telling you. It was special.’

Cass shot Donna a warning look before turning wide eyes to me. ‘Course it was, honey. You wouldn’t give it up for anyone.’

‘Exactly.’ My vision went blurry as my eyes filled with tears. I pretended to look for something in my bag. Didn’t fool the girls for a second, of course, but they were sweet enough to pretend. I didn’t know whether I was crying cos Joe hadn’t been in touch or because Donna, and probably Ashley, thought he was a wanker. I sneaked a look at Cass, who was staring at me with concern. I didn’t want to be like her: besotted with an unfaithful idiot who all your friends know is an unfaithful idiot.

‘Look, if it really did mean as much as you say – which I’m sure it did,’ Ashley held up her hand to stop any protest, ‘then maybe, I dunno, he lost his phone or something.’

I sniffed. ‘Yeah. I did think that could be it.’

Cass patted my knee. ‘Well, there you go, hon. You write to him care of his uni, he gets back to you, and all is well.’

Donna gaped at Cass like she’d just suggested I send myself as a naked telegram. ‘Yeah, right. And what if he just hasn’t got round to calling her?’ She turned to me. ‘You writing him a letter is just going to
tell him you’re a stalker. If you must go down that route, work out his uni email address and contact him that way.’

Ashley butted in: ‘But only if you have a reason. Don’t just email saying, “Hi! It’s me! Why haven’t you called?” like some mental bunny boiler. Say you’re going to be in London visiting a friend or something, and if he happens to be around you thought it’d be nice to catch up.’

I mused on that one for a moment, little prickles of hope stirring in my gut. ‘And he definitely won’t think that’s stalkerish?’

‘He might,’ shrugged Ash. ‘That’s the risk you take.’

Donna nodded. ‘Yeah, actually I’d leave it a bit longer. Wait another, like, two weeks. After that you’ve got nothing to lose by contacting him.’

I looked at Cass to see what she thought, but she pretended to be engrossed in her tuna salad. Which probably meant she disagreed with the other two.

Brilliant. I might be an A-grade student, but I’m a total failure when it comes to the opposite sex. I felt a stab of annoyance. Bloody Joe, being all sexy and attentive and invading my every thought then disappearing into the ether. I tried to ignore the ache in my loins and resolved to give him exactly fourteen days. If he hadn’t been in touch by then, I was sending him
an email. I didn’t care what Donna and Ashley said. Anyway, they always agreed with each other – you could pretty much count them as one person.

‘Anyway, look on the bright side,’ said Donna, rocking back on her chair. ‘We’re Year Thirteens now – and there’s only, like, ten months until we’re officially released into the big, wide world … And soon we won’t even need fake ID – BECAUSE IT’LL BE REAL!’ She folded her arms and beamed around at us.

‘Totally,’ said Cass, sighing contentedly. ‘And it’s Jack’s eighteenth next week.’ She pointed her fork at me. ‘See: something to look forward to already.’

Hmm.

Our mate Jack’s parents had booked out the top floor of a pub for his birthday party. It was a full-on do, complete with ‘Happy 18th Birthday’ banner, grandparents, great-aunts downing white-wine spritzers and uncles sipping bitter and tapping their feet to the jolly young people’s music, a finger buffet and a huge cake in the shape of a football shirt with ‘Jack is’ written across the top and ‘18’ in the middle. (Jack’s a proper sports whizz. If we lived in America he’d wear one of those red-and-white jackets with the letters on the back and be dating a cheerleader. As it is he owns enough polyester sportswear to burn Brighton
to the ground, he’s a lifeguard at our local pool at weekends and doesn’t have a girlfriend. Not that he doesn’t have his fair share of WAG wannabes – he is, after all, a fit blond footballer. He’s just a bit like me, I suppose: discerning.)

Jack’s mum had asked me, Cass, Ashley, Donna and our other friends Rich – Jack’s best mate – and Ollie to help blow up balloons, set out the buffet and generally get the place looking like her idea of a dream party venue. Which is to say not exactly
our
idea of a dream party venue, although to be fair Jack would have loved it whatever she did. If he ever makes it big he’ll make a rubbish celebrity footballer. He’s far too nice and sensible.

We put the last plate of pineapple and cheese on sticks on the table, symmetrically placed between a pile of napkins and a stack of paper plates, while Jack’s mum stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips. ‘It’s great,’ she sighed. ‘Well done, everyone.’

Ash caught my eye and gave me an
aw, bless
look. Jack’s mum was so welling up. I suppose it’s a big thing when your only child turns eighteen.

I sneakily checked my phone. Still no messages. There were only a few days left till Joe’s deadline, and I wasn’t having any luck emailing him. (My plan had changed slightly, in that I’d decided to try emailing straight away while giving him a two-week deadline
to get in touch. Kind of nearly the same as plan A, but with the added bonus of pandering to my total lack of willpower.) Every possible permutation of his name and his uni’s web address bounced back. But I wasn’t going to think about that tonight. The DJ had just arrived, and he was wearing an actual powder-blue tux over an actual cream ruffled shirt. If anything was going to take my mind off Joe, it was a comedy DJ who didn’t realize he was comedy.

While DJ Cheese was setting up, the birthday boy arrived. He sidled in, looking uncomfortable at being the star of the show. So of course we cheered and leapt on him in a birthday bundle before breaking into an impromptu rendition of ‘Happy Birthday To You’, complete with harmonies. Rude not to.

‘Thanks for that, guys,’ said Jack, smiling and straightening his shirt. ‘You going to give me the bumps next?’

‘Don’t tempt us,’ said Rich, handing Jack a drink. ‘Happy birthday, mate.’

Cass did little lady jumps and clapped her hands. ‘Adam’s waiting outside, so, quick, give him his prezzie, give him his prezzie!’

Rich ran back to our table and fetched a gift bag from where he’d hidden it under his coat. ‘Carefully wrapped by
moi
,’ he said, handing it over while we all stood jittering with present-giving trepidation.

‘Aw, thanks, guys.’ Jack reached into the bag and pulled out an original programme from the 1982–83 FA Cup Final between Brighton & Hove Albion and Manchester United. Rich had won it on eBay for £30, and we’d all contributed.

Jack’s face broke into an enormous grin. ‘Shit, that’s awesome!’ He laughed with delight and flicked the pages. ‘Man. It’s brilliant … Seriously, thanks so much.’

Rich thumped him on the back. ‘You’re welcome.’

It was lovely. Even miserable me couldn’t help smiling at how much Jack loved our present. Then a squeal of feedback announced that the DJ was about to start his set, and the moment was broken. Cass ran off to fetch her man and the rest of us gawped at DJ Blue Tux.

‘Evening, pop-pickers – I’m Alan and I’ll be spinning the platters that matter to celebrate Jaaaack’s eighteenth birthdaaaaay! So let’s start as we mean to go on … with a funky slice of puuuure disco. Iiiiit’s …’ [dramatic pause] ‘the Bee Geeeees!’

By this point the girls and I were falling all over each other in joy. ‘Oh my God, I LOVE this man. I want to HAVE HIS BABIES!’ whooped Ashley, dropping to her knees in ecstasy.

Donna stood up and straightened her top in a businesslike manner. ‘I’m so going to make a request.’
And we all trotted after her as she marched over to Alan, who was biting his bottom lip and getting funky to ‘Stayin’ Alive’. She pulled his sleeve and he turned to us, taking his headphones off one ear and smiling expectantly.

‘Are you doing requests?’ she asked.

‘Not yet, but I will be later when the olds are a bit drunker. First half’s for them, innit. Gives everyone a good time.’

And our mouths all fell open like someone had put a coin in a slot, because when Alan spoke he was broad Sarf London and, underneath the suit and guy-liner, he was actually not that much older than us.

Ashley narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you really called Alan?’

He smiled. ‘I am tonight.’

‘Oh go on, tell us your real name,’ wheedled Donna, but he just shook his head. I saw Ashley quietly appraising him. I so knew what was going through her mind.

The song came to an end and ‘Alan’ nodded cordially at us. Translation:
Nice to meet you, but go away now.

‘Ash, tell me you’re not going to pull the DJ,’ I said when we’d got back to our table.

She tossed her hair. ‘Why not? Bet he’d tell me his real name.’

I shook my head sorrowfully. ‘Where’s the romance in your soul?’

She stuffed a mushroom vol-au-vent in her mouth. ‘Don’t have any.’ She waggled her fingers at me. ‘Got fire in my loins instead.’ Or I think that’s what she said.

‘Oh God, it’s him.’ Donna scowled in the direction of Cass and her boyfriend, who had just arrived and were walking towards us hand in hand, Cass leaning into him like walking had become a bit of a stretch. Adam had that effect on her. She seemed to regress fifteen years when they were together. She even stood differently, with her toes turned in. Maybe it was because he was older than her, or knew her parents, or something. He was twenty-one and worked for Cass’s dad’s building company. He’d got the job straight from school because Cass’s dad knew his dad and he was friends with Cass’s brother, or something. It was all a bit icky and incestuous, anyway. He and Cass had met when she was fourteen and doing some office adminy-type work for her dad over the summer. Adam was insanely good-looking and could totally turn on the charm when he wanted to, and her parents thought the sun shined out of his arse: let’s just say there was never any issue about Adam sharing Cass’s bedroom. It was really infuriating, cos you just
knew that they’d go mental if they found out what he was really like.

Anyway, he totally had Cass under his spell, and she turned into an annoying person when they were together. She knew it, too, but she was too much in love with him to do anything about it. Hey ho.

‘Hi, everyone,’ sang Cass, giving us a little wave. ‘Go and get the drinks, will you, babe?’ she asked Adam, leaning up to kiss him then wiping the lipgloss mark off his mouth with her thumb. ‘Usual for me.’ He gave us a cursory glance and went off to the bar.

Cass sat down. ‘Your mum rounded up the whole family, then?’ She smiled, looking around the room. The tables were rapidly filling up, mostly with complete strangers. Jack looked slightly embarrassed.

‘Yeah. And the rest.’ His mum was from a big family so Jack had like a million cousins, and she pretty much knew everyone because of her charity and outreach-type work. His dad, on the other hand, did some kind of local government work and barely spoke. He could have been a professional assassin for all I knew. He took keeping himself to himself to a whole new level.

‘Well, I think it’s lovely,’ said Cass, stroking his arm. ‘And I bet you a million pounds the DJ is three songs minimum away from playing the Grease Megamix,
which everyone knows is when a good party becomes an AWESOME party.’ Ash raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She can be a bit earnest when it comes to music, although give her a few drinks and she’ll leap about to ‘I Will Survive’ like the best of us.

Suddenly Rich pressed himself against me. ‘Ooh, Sarah, your pocket just vibrated.’

I gave him a shove, ‘Gerroff, perv.’ But I wasn’t offended. Rich is the loveliest guy on the planet. And not into girls. Not that you’d know it if you didn’t know it, if you know what I mean.

‘Well?’ asked Donna, as I checked my phone.

I shook my head. ‘It’s from my mum.’ It wasn’t anything that couldn’t have waited till she saw me. I put my phone away and waited for the adrenalin rush to subside. Talk about hope springs eternal. Every time my phone rang, I hoped it was Joe. I even
expected
it to be Joe, which was just stupid.

Ollie stood up. ‘C’mon, then. Who’s dancing?’ And he shimmied on to the square of scuffed wood in front of DJ Alan’s booth, hunching his shoulders and pointing his fingers like a badass. He was the only (straight) boy I knew who’d happily be the first on the dance floor. How he managed to be the playboy of Woodside High, I do not know.