Girl Heart Boy: No Such Thing as Forever (Book 1) (8 page)

We squeezed past a bunch of Year Sevens sitting in the stairwell sighing over a newspaper story about Justin Bieber. I almost envied them.

‘Yeah, all right,’ I said, in answer to Ollie’s question. ‘Is everyone going?’

He held open our tutor-room door. ‘After you.’ We sat down. A few others were dotted around, but Ollie and I were the first of our group.

‘Ashley’s got to work and Cass is seeing Adam,’ he continued. ‘But Donna and Rich are coming.’ He drummed his knees under the table. ‘Anyway. Glad you’re feeling better, flower.’

‘Yep, much better, thanks,’ I said, trying to ignore the little hammer in my brain that was like a metronome, every beat an image of Joe: Joe at Victoria when he met me on Saturday morning, Joe’s naked body, Joe’s face as he came, Joe when he left me at the station. Especially Joe when he left me at the station.

‘Uh, Sarah?’ said Ollie.

‘Yeah?’

‘Jack’s talking to you?’

I looked up to find everyone else had arrived. I really needed to get on top of the zoning-out thing. It was embarrassing. ‘Sorry, Jack. What did you say?’

‘Just that it’s good you’re coming tonight.’

I smiled brightly. ‘Oh yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.’

‘Cool.’ He peered at me, as if he was worried I’d blow at any second.

‘What?’ I laughed. ‘I’m fine!’ Judging by the sceptical looks around me, no one was convinced.
‘Honestly! Look, I just zoned out for a minute. I’m not going mental or anything.’

Donna raised an eyebrow. ‘And are we allowed to talk about the Joe thing?’

I shrugged. ‘If you want.’

Cass still looked worried, bless her. ‘Are you sure you’re OK, hon? I mean, this is us.’ She gestured around the table. ‘You don’t have to pretend.’

‘What? I’m not pretending!’ This was beginning to piss me off. ‘Look, it’s true I was gutted after I left Joe on Sunday, but it was my own fault. I just read too much into it. End of. It was still an amazing weekend …’ I lowered my voice. ‘We still had amazing sex.’ I looked pointedly at Ashley and Donna.

Ash spread her hands. ‘Fair play, Sar. I can respect that.’

‘Me too.’ Donna came round the table and gave me a hug. ‘I’m glad you’re OK.’

‘Yeah, we didn’t like sad Sarah,’ said Cass, smiling at me.

‘So does this mean we can get pissed tonight to celebrate?’ asked Rich, rubbing his hands together.

‘It’s always when I have to work,’ moaned Ashley. ‘Can’t we do it this weekend instead?’

‘Aw, babes, we’ll do it then too,’ said Rich. ‘Why don’t you tell your mum that you can’t work tonight?’

‘Right. Like that’s an option,’ said Ashley bitterly. Her mum owns a designer wedding dress boutique in The Lanes and they do fittings in the evenings. Ash has to wipe off her eyeliner, put on a suit and make nice with brides-to-be and their rich mummies. It’s ironic, cos the shop doesn’t make Ash’s mum rich. Pretty much the opposite, in fact. Bad time for the economy, and all that.

‘Me and Adam are having a night in,’ said Cass, looking disappointed. ‘But if I finish my Spanish translation in time I’ll definitely come out at the weekend.’

Rich put his arms round me and Donna. ‘Looks like it’s just me and ma bitches then.’

‘And Jack and Ollie,’ I reminded him.

‘Yes, they are my bitches too,’ he agreed, and then ducked as various missiles came at him from Ollie and Jack’s direction.

I had such lovely friends. Why couldn’t they be enough for me? I sighed and turned to the front as Paul finally arrived to count us in and read out the day’s notices.
Tonight will be good
, I told myself.
Just focus on that.

And, actually, it was good. To start with anyway.

From the moment the teams ran on to the pitch, we knew it was Jack’s night. He was on fire. Even I
could tell he was all over the other team, ducking and diving and basically being a total hero. Me, Donna, Ollie and Rich leapt about on the sidelines, cheering like loons.

‘Drink, anyone?’ Rich held out a hip flask.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Donna, unscrewing the lid and reeling back before she’d even taken a mouthful. ‘Ugh, what the hell is that?’

Rich shrugged. ‘Calvados. It was either that or wine. And only winos put wine in a hip flask.’

‘You know you don’t always have to siphon off your parents’ alcohol. You could just buy stuff like a normal person,’ said Donna, taking a swig and wincing, then contemplating the flask appreciatively. ‘Huh. Nice burn.’

‘I know, right?’ Rich nodded enthusiastically, as if he’d fermented the stuff himself.

Donna passed the flask to Ollie, who took a couple of sips then passed it to me. I didn’t even think. I just drank. ‘Oh God, that’s disgusting.’ It tasted like medicine-flavoured fire, and not in a good way. I stuck my tongue out and flapped at it to take away the burn.

‘Whoa, Sarah, drinking on a school night?’ Donna grinned and gave me an atta-girl arm punch. ‘Nice one, babes. Do you good.’

I hoped so. I was about to pass the flask back to
Rich when something stopped me. Sod it. I took another swig. And another.

By the end of half-time, I was hammered. But it was fine. Great, even. I was having the best time. Everything was Jack, and the boys, and Donna, and resolutely, definitely, positively not Joe.

The whistle blew for the start of the second half and we turned our attention back to the match. I jogged about on the spot as Jack weaved through the other players towards the goal. ‘C’MON, JACK!’ I bellowed. I turned and started conducting an imaginary choir. ‘Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate?’ I chanted, then paused and grinned expectantly at the others.

Rich laughed and shook his head.
No cheerleading
, he mouthed.
Not cool.

‘What?’ I was flabbergasted. ‘Cheerleading rocks!’ I started high-kicking and waving imaginary pompoms. ‘C’mon, people, get with the cheerleading programme!’ I tugged at Donna’s coat. ‘Donna. Donna. DONNA. Cheerlead with me. DONNA!’

She gently prised my fingers from her sleeve. ‘All right, Sar, maybe calm down, yeah? It’s getting a bit annoying, babes.’

I shrugged and turned back to the match. They were always on at me to lighten up, and here I was, light as a freakin’ feather. I danced about on the
sidelines, shouting encouragement to Jack, then turned to Rich but he shook his head and held the flask out of reach. ‘Sweet-pea, you’re hammered.’

I gave him a
duh
face. ‘No! Really?’ I jumped up to grab the flask, but Rich pushed me away with a gentle shove to the forehead.

‘Look, much as I’m loving new crazy drunkard Sarah, I think you’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘This is a bad idea, believe me.’ I slumped and nodded, then lunged as soon as Rich started to put the flask back in his pocket.

‘HA! Gotcha,’ I crowed, holding the flask up for a second before throwing my head back and downing the lot. ‘Aw. All gone,’ I said, holding the flask upside down.

‘Thank God for that,’ said Donna. ‘Sit down, will you, before you fall over.’

But I was one step ahead of her. My legs suddenly buckled and I fell heavily to the floor.

‘Ow, that hurts,’ I said, tears of pain stinging my eyes. And you know how one tear can spark a flood? A second later, it was as if all the grief in the world was on my shoulders.

‘Oh, babes,’ sighed Donna, squatting down and putting her arms round me. I rested my head on her shoulder and howled.

‘All done?’

I nodded and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. We were in the bathroom at Donna’s house, and I had spent the last forty-five minutes puking up a potent cocktail of Calvados and the chicken burger and chips I’d had earlier. I turned and sat on the bath mat, my back against the bath. Donna joined me, wisely taking the side furthest from the toilet.

‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, putting my head in my hands.

‘I know, babes, you’ve told me, like, a million times.’

I peered at her through my fingers. She was staring straight ahead, her expression neutral. She didn’t look angry, but you could never tell with Donna and you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her. Ours is not a friendship based on similar personalities. She’s a laid-back, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl. I’m pretty much the opposite. But despite or, I dunno, maybe because of this, we get on. She’s fun, and nice, and I like her honesty. And tonight she’d somehow got me to her house, persuaded her dad to let me stay, and held my
hair back while I’d surrendered my stomach contents to the porcelain god.

I was having a severe attack of the guilts. ‘I don’t deserve you,’ I said, shaking my head.

‘Piss off,’ said Donna, good-naturedly. She examined her nails. ‘And stop worrying about it. Happens to the best of us.’

I sighed. ‘Not to me it doesn’t.’

She laughed. ‘Yeah, well, about time it did.’

We sat in silence for a minute. I looked around for my phone. ‘What time is it?’

‘Probably close to midnight. And your bag’s downstairs.’

I tried to stand up, but the room started spinning crazily so I sat down again. ‘Are you sure it’s OK to stay tonight?’ I rested my cheek against the cool side of the bath. I was feeling sick again.

‘Yeah, Dad’s fine with it,’ Donna replied, eyeing me warily. ‘You OK?’

I nodded, although I wasn’t convinced.

‘I need to call my parents.’

‘Don’t worry, I already texted your mum from your phone. You told her Jack’s team won so we’d come here to celebrate and as it was late you were going to stay the night.’

‘Oh, thanks, Don,’ I said, relieved I had one less thing to worry about. ‘Did she reply?’

Donna smiled at me. ‘Dunno. You started vomming.’ I smiled what I believe books call ruefully and had another go at standing up. Donna took my hand. ‘Careful. Take it slowly.’ She kept hold of me as I gingerly followed her into the bedroom she used to share with her sister until last year, when Jess left home. Donna pushed all the books, DVD cases, clothes and magazines that were piled on Jess’s bed on to the floor. ‘Hop in.’ I gratefully crawled on to the delicious, cool sheet, and Donna covered me with the duvet. I’d worry in the morning about what clothes to wear to school.

I smiled dopily, my eyes already closing. ‘Fanks, Don.’ I felt the mattress dip as Donna sat next to me on the bed. She stroked my hair away from my eyes.

‘No probs, babes. Any time.’

But I was already asleep.

I woke the next day to broad daylight. Donna’s curtains were open and her duvet hastily flung over her sheets, which is what passes for making the bed in Donna-land. I listened. The house was empty. I sat up and clutched my head. Ow. My first proper hangover. My mouth felt like sandpaper that someone had used to wipe their bum. I gingerly lay back down, and something crackled under my head. I felt behind me, grunting with the effort, and grabbed a piece of paper between my fingers.

S. Left you to sleep it off. Dad’s at work. Help

yourself to shower, clothes, food!!

Later, dude. D xxx

 

I groaned. Not only did I never get drunk, especially on a school night, but I also never bunked off, and this was my second sicky in a week.
Joe’s doing this to you
, said a little voice in my head.
You’re better off without him.
I ignored it. I was better off WITH him. That was the whole point. Duh.

I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, which still stank of sick. I groaned again. I doubted I’d ever be able to look Donna’s dad in the eye again, although he was the most liberal of all our parents – he’d bought Donna an eighth of weed for her birthday – so maybe he wouldn’t care. I really hoped not. Parents liked me. I had a kind of head-screwed-on vibe that they went for.

I carefully locked the bathroom door and fiddled with the shower dial. A jet of freezing cold water hit my arm. Shit shit shit. Whatever I did, the water wouldn’t heat up. In the end I took the shower head out of its holder and blasted the neediest parts of my anatomy as quickly as I could. At least it cleared my head a bit.

Back in Donna’s room I kept my towel wrapped round myself with one hand and opened her knicker
drawer with the other. I grabbed a pair of plain black socks and the first boring-looking pair of high-legs I found (Donna had a strict pants hierarchy: plain high-legs at the bottom, thongs in the middle, shorts with matching bra at the top) and put on my own bra. Next I opened her wardrobe. She was a good size smaller than me, but I found a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that I could just about do up. They would look completely wrong with the ballet pumps I was wearing yesterday, but I told myself firmly that it was the price I paid for being such a dirty stop-out. Thus attired, I gathered up my own smelly clothes and went downstairs.

My bag was leaning against the bottom step. I found my phone and felt a little stab of hope as I brought it to life. Three texts. My heart thumping, I opened my Messages box. One was from Mum, saying she’d see me tonight, one was from Donna, and one was from Ollie wanting to know how I was. I hadn’t really expected anything different, but still. I sighed and wandered into the kitchen. I wanted to eat something, but nothing appealed. There was a can of Diet Coke in the fridge, but it felt wrong taking the only one. I took a couple of Hobnobs from the biscuit jar, picked up my bag and opened the front door. I didn’t want to go to school and face everyone. I didn’t really want to do anything except sleep. I felt like shit, and
not just from the booze. I slapped my own face.
For God’s sake, woman, pull yourself together.
With a shake of my shoulders, which did nothing at all to make me feel better, I shut the door behind me and started trudging in the direction of school.

I was concentrating so hard on not giving in to the nausea that was once again washing over me that I didn’t hear my phone ringing until it was almost too late. I grabbed it on the final ring and, without looking to see who it was, pressed the button to answer.