The Sound (12 page)

I pull a face. But inside – inside I’m melting into a puddle.

‘I can take care of that blind jerk for you if you like,’ he says, making a joking move to stand.

I catch hold of him by the arm and pull him back down beside me. ‘No,’ I say, a little too breathlessly. ‘I’d rather you stayed. And kept talking.’

He’s lying down beside me now, on his side and looking up at me. His head is not so far from mine.

‘About your thighs,’ he says.

‘Yes?’

‘I think I need to examine them, in order to verify how mistaken the blind jerk was.’

He lays his hand just above my knee and the muscle vibrates. I hope he can’t feel it.

‘This thigh here,’ he says, ‘is particularly lovely, I think.’ He strokes his finger up the length of it and I am so thankful – so, so thankful that I remembered to
shave my legs. His hand stops just at the edge of my shorts. My leg is now jelly in his hand. I am dissolving into the sand. I am ooze.

And then he leans in, slowly, perfectly, and kisses me.

Finally! I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to pull.

Ha ha

Tell me everything
, Megan types furiously. I can hear her fingers smacking the keys even though several thousand miles separate us.

It was nice
, I write.

Nice?
Megan writes back.
Just nice?

It was great
, I add.

Did you shag him?

I’m not going to answer that question.

Did you?

NO
, I write, shaking my head at the screen.

Megan knows I’m a virgin so she’s just saying this to wind me up. She thinks my idea of waiting for
the one
is sweet but tells me that I am, as a consequence, going to end
up a lonely old spinster watching
Coronation Street
every night with a TV dinner on my lap because
the one
doesn’t exist except as a fragment of my pathetic imagination,
which was irreparably damaged in early youth by the repetitive viewing of Disney films and Spiderman cartoons (for years I entertained the notion that Spiderman was my one true love).

As well as saying I had fat thighs, Will also accused me of being a frigid virgin, as if the two went hand in hand. My experience with Will is making me wonder if Megan is right and
The
One
doesn’t actually exist but is in fact a myth made up by Hollywood writers and young adult authors to sell their wares.

So maybe I should just get it over with.

When are you seeing him again?

I don’t know. He hasn’t called.

Play hard to get.

I would, I think to myself, if he actually was giving me a chance to be.

Thanks for the advice, Mum
, I type.

BTW, talking of mums, I ran into yours at Sainsbury’s and she said you need to call her.

Megan works at Sainsbury’s which means she has near daily communication with my mother, who likes to queue up at Megan’s till even if she has fewer than eight items and could go
express. They talk as Megan scans. I haven’t Skyped my mum and I promised her I would at least once a week. But I can’t call her tonight. In fact, I realise, as I glance at the clock, I
need to get a move on.

I have to go
, I type quickly.
Sorry.

Where?
Megan asks.

A gig.

After to-ing and fro-ing about it I’ve decided to go. And my decision is based not on Jesse but on the fact that it’s live music and right now I’d listen to Michael
Bublé if he was the only live gig in town. There’s something hypnotic and mind-blowing about listening to musicians play live and even bands that suck still give me material for my
blog.

Cool. Jealous. Who with?

Jesse.

Who dat?

Some guy. I hired a bike from him. He kind of invited me.

On a date? You two-timer.

No, it’s not a date. There’s a group of them going
.

I’ve figured out that Jesse wasn’t asking me
out
out when he invited me to the gig. He mentioned that there would be others. And he didn’t offer to pick me up like
Jeremy did, which would have maybe qualified it as a date. And if he
had
meant it as a date I would have said no because I have no intention of going out with someone who hits people for
fun and who walks like he has a prison-made shank stuffed down his jeans.

Does Jeremy know ur going on a d8 with another guy?

It’s NOT a date!

Megan is still typing –
What has happened to you? You’ve been gone a week and you’re suddenly more popular than X Factor. Total slutbags.

Thanks. And anyway I don’t fancy him.

Why? is he a minger?

No. He’s
– I stop. I don’t want to tell Megan about Jesse’s violent past as she’ll go into hysterical panic mode like she did a few months ago when someone
in the pub bottled a guy who was standing right next to us. She might do as she did then – freak out and say something to my mum which led to me being grounded for a week even though I
hadn’t even been the one wielding the bottle.

He’s just not my type
, I finish but even as I write the words I wonder at that. I mean Jesse Miller is undeniably hot. I shake my head in disgust at myself. I have kissed Jeremy
and therefore I shouldn’t even be considering whether another boy is hot – should I?

Jeremy likes me. I think. And he says nice things about my thighs, whereas Jesse just takes the piss out of my cycling. And I have no idea why I’m even thinking about all this because this
is NOT EVEN A DATE.

I have to go
, I type, while frowning to myself.
Bye. Miss you.

On that note I hit play on the new playlist I’ve put together – keeping it down because the kids are finally asleep and Carrie and Mike are working downstairs – and try to
figure out what to wear.

I don’t want to look like I’m trying to impress, or like I’m trying at all, in fact. So I pull on the clothes that are lying on my chair – my Clash T-shirt and a pair of
skinny jeans and then my grey Converse. I look in the mirror. Maybe it’s just because Jeremy’s words are still ringing in my head but my thighs actually don’t look fat anymore.
They do look sexy. Not that I need a guy to make me realise that, I tell myself sternly. I brush my hair and put on some make-up and then head downstairs.

Carrie is working in the study but Mike is in the living room, reading through a sheaf of papers while watching a game of football. (Is that what they call the sport where all the men wear crash
helmets and leggings and pound each other into the ground over who gets to hug the rugby ball?)

‘Hey, Ren,’ he says.

‘Hi,’ I answer.

‘Do you want to borrow the car?’ he asks.

I have already told them I am going out tonight. Mike was enthusiastic, telling me that if I wanted to be a music journalist I needed to get out there and see as much live music as possible.
Carrie worried about my safety and I kept my mouth shut as to who had invited me, telling her I’d be meeting up with some friends from the beach. She probably thinks that means Jeremy and
I’m not about to disabuse her of this notion given her reaction when she found out who I’d rented the bike from.

I consider Mike’s offer. I’m getting the hang of driving on the right side of the road (the wrong side that is) and I figure that I’m not going to want to cycle the four miles
back home late at night, especially after the kerb-crawling incident. So, ‘That would be amazing,’ I say. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course.’ Mike gets up and tosses the keys to me. ‘Have fun,’ he says turning back to the game.

I pull into the car park behind the bar and spend several minutes psyching myself up and checking my make-up before mentally slapping myself around the face and getting out of
the car.

I take a deep breath and stroll inside, past the sign that says, ‘Over 21s only’.

It’s all wood floors and wood-panelled walls inside, and there’s a stage on one side where a band is setting up. People are fiddling with wires and drum kits and microphone stands.
Already I can feel the buzz. I have no idea what music the band plays or even their name, but there’s an energy in the air that’s palpable. The crowd is young and hip for the most part,
which is also a good sign. If they’d all been over fifty and wearing cowboy boots and plaid I might have been less enthused, though I’m not impartial to a bit of Johnny Cash.

The floor beneath my feet is glazed and tacky with beer. I unstick my feet and do a circuit of the room, looking for Jesse. But he’s nowhere to be seen.
Great
, I think to myself,
he’s stood me up for our non-date
. I think about going to the bar and ordering a drink to give me something to do, and so I look less like a total lemon standing here by myself, but
I don’t want to get ID’d and thrown out. I scan the room one more time and then I notice something familiar about one of the people standing with his back to me on the stage. His black
T-shirt is rucked up exposing a tanned stripe of skin. He’s wearing scruffy jeans and beat-up trainers. Just then he turns and sees me. I was right. It’s Jesse. He holds a hand up in
greeting, then jumps down off the stage.

‘You came,’ he says, walking towards me.

I have to fight the urge to step backwards. I’m acting like a pillhead. I shove my hands into my pockets and aim for a nonchalant slouch. ‘I came,’ I answer.

‘I didn’t think you would.’ He’s smiling as if he’s just won a bet.

‘Why?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows and daring him to give me an answer.

He shrugs. His eyes flash with amusement and something else, curiosity perhaps.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asks.

‘OK,’ I say, hesitant. Everything always feels like a test with him.

He holds up his hand and waves at the barman over the line of people already leaning over the bar. ‘Hey, Frank, can you get the lady whatever she wants?’

Frank the bartender is an older guy – about forty –and old enough to be Jesse’s dad but he doesn’t bat an eyelid and nor does he ask me for ID. He just nods at me and
says, ‘Sure, Jesse.’

I order a Coke and then turn back to Jesse who is now man-hugging another guy about our age. He’s got shaggy brown hair, streaked with blond, and a peeling nose. Jesse introduces me. His
name is Austin.

‘When’s the band playing?’ he asks Jesse after shaking my hand.

At nine,’ Jesse answers.

‘Hey, Jesse.’ A tall girl with long auburn hair throws her arms around his neck. He hugs her back enthusiastically and keeps his arm around her waist when she pulls away.
‘Tara, this is Ren,’ Jesse says.

I drag my eyes off his hand, pressed casually to her hip.

‘I saw you the other night,’ the girl says to me. If I’m not mistaken that’s a bitch face she’s throwing at me. And I don’t think I am mistaken because
I’m getting pro at recognising them thanks to Eliza and her friends. I frown. What is it with the girls on this island?

‘At the Reeds’, she adds, one hand on her jutting hip.

I still stare blankly. She looks kind of familiar but I don’t think she’s one of Eliza’s friends – I mean, she wouldn’t be here draping herself on Jesse if she was
friends with them, would she?

‘I was waitressing,’ the girl says.

Oh yeah. Now I remember her. She was one of the girls handing out the champagne and canapés. My gaze slips again to Jesse’s hand which is still glued to her hip.

‘You’re friends with them?’ the girl demands. ‘With the Reeds?’

I glance at Jesse who is studying me carefully. ‘Um. I’m nannying for the Tripps for the summer,’ I say.

Austin suddenly butts in, turning to Tara. ‘You were waitressing there?’ he shouts. ‘For the Reeds?’

Tara turns to him, rolling her eyes. ‘I need the money, Austin.’

Jesse’s arm drops away from her waist. He holds up both his hands. ‘It’s cool.’

Austin rolls his shoulders. ‘It’s not cool,’ he says, glaring at Tara.

I’m starting to get really confused by who’s with who here. I thought that Jesse was with Tara – but now, from the way Tara and Austin are glaring at each other, I’m
starting to wonder if they might be together.

‘Do you want a game of pool before the band starts?’ Jesse asks, clearly wanting to cut the conversation short. Tara and Austin deathstare each other for another second and then Tara
tosses her head and nods.

‘You play?’ Austin asks me.

I nod.

‘Awesome. OK, we’re a four.’

We move to the pool table that has just been vacated.

Jesse racks up the balls and I watch him stretching lean and incredibly sexily across the table. OK, I also for a split second imagine that I am lying beneath him across the baize before I come
to my senses. Jesse straightens up, tosses the cue to Austin, chalks up another cue and hands it to me.

‘Boys v girls?’

‘Sure.’ I glance at Tara.

‘Let’s take these losers,’ she says, grinning slyly at me.

Austin breaks. Tara squeezes his butt as he does and the balls go ricocheting blindly off the edges. He turns around and slaps her hand away and she kisses him on the mouth. Well that clears
that one up, I guess. She’s not with Jesse. And I am in no way relieved about that. Whatsoever.

Jesse is standing beside me, his hands resting on top of the cue. ‘So you’re a nanny?’ he asks as Austin lines up his next shot. He misses.

‘Yep,’ I say.

Jesse clears his throat. ‘I thought . . .’

I turn to him. ‘I know what you thought,’ I say and then I bend and line up my shot. I feel Jesse take a step backwards and wonder whether he’s appraising my pool skills or my
butt.

I pot the red and stand up flexing my shoulders. Tara high-fives me.

‘Nice,’ Jesse says.

I glance at him but it’s impossible to tell whether he’s talking about my pool skills or my butt.

I’m bent over the table, lining up my next shot, when a girl comes prancing over in the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen – shorter than anything that Megan would ever wear –
and a lace bra for a top. She has blonde hair cut in a sharp bob. If Noelle Reed were here she would call this girl a skanktron.