‘You seem excited,’ Liane said. She’d come back from Bean, having failed to even see Alfie, had a shower, called home, and decided to spend the evening doing absolutely nothing. She leaned against Issey’s doorway wearing a T-shirt and nothing else.
‘He’s cute,’ Issey said, shrugging.
‘Who is he? Can you tick him off the list?’
‘Not sure yet. He works in that shop – you know, the one with all the lit-up signs in the window? I’m hoping he’s got a tattoo at the very least.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know. We just said we’d get some food.’
‘So you’re not going to be late? Cos we’ve got that essay and you said –’
‘Yeah, I know. We’re not going to do it tonight though, are we? Tomorrow morning?’
‘Yeah, I was just thinking … if you were hungover …’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Issey said. ‘You?’
Liane shook her head, as if to clear it. ‘Yeah, sorry, m’fine. Just talked to my mum and she was a bit … you know.’
‘Ugh,’ Issey said. ‘Parents.’
She posed, pouting, with one hand on her hip, the other pushed into her hair. ‘How do I look?’
She was wearing a short black dress with a black leather jacket and motorbike boots.
‘Gorgeous,’ Liane said.
‘What?’ Paige snapped, looking up from her laptop.
‘Two pints of lager and a packet of crisps please,’ the man said. He was young. Probably not much older than Paige. Shaved head, angry eyebrows. Just the kind of bloke she would’ve shagged without hesitation in the past. But now? She couldn’t be bothered. When had that happened?
‘Seriously?’ Paige said.
‘It’s the name of a TV show,’ Paige said, closing her laptop and reaching for a pint glass. ‘I used to watch it when I was a kid.’
‘Never heard of it,’ the man said. ‘Was it good?’
‘Can’t remember,’ Paige said. ‘Which crisps?’
She got him the drinks and the crisps and he said, ‘Have one yourself,’ which she thought probably meant that he would also be up for a quick trip to the loos, if she was so inclined. But she needed to finish her essay and every time she was interrupted she had to go back to the beginning. Postmodernism fucked with her head.
She opened her laptop to find the screen covered in flickering multi-coloured lines. ‘Fuck,’ she muttered, tapping the space bar. ‘No. No no no no no.’
‘Paige?’ Jonny said from somewhere over her shoulder.
‘Hang on,’ she said, trying to remember when she’d last hit save. ‘Look at this. Do you think it’s fucked?’
‘Have you got the charger?’ Jonny said. ‘Take it in my office and put it on charge. Sometimes that helps.’
‘’K,’ Paige said. ‘Thanks.’
In Jonny’s small and sweat-scented office, Paige plugged the laptop in and watched the screen turn black and heard the fan stop whirring.
‘No,’ she said, her eyes filling. She scrubbed at them with the heels of her hands. ‘For fuck’s sake.’ But it was a 3,000-word essay. And she’d done maybe 2,500. And she had no idea if she’d saved it and even if she had, if her laptop – her ancient, on-its-last-legs laptop – was fucked, then she was too. She closed it, leaned over and banged her head on the desk a few times. She opened the laptop and held her breath while it flickered back to life.
‘Thank fuck for that,’ she said.
‘Do you really love it?’ Lou asked again as she and Ella walked back up Bold Street towards home.
‘I do,’ Ella said, glancing at her reflection in a shop window. Her hair was a brighter pink than even she’d expected. ‘I promise. I love it.’
Ella had stayed ’til the end of Lou’s shift, reading over some notes on her laptop and making a plan for the essay she had to write by the end of the following week. The salon hadn’t been busy, but there had been a fairly steady stream of customers, though not enough to distract her. What had distracted her though was worrying about Dylan. Dylan somewhere off in Europe, pissed and high.
Dylan was utterly hopeless with drugs. Always had been. He got dopey and clingy, loved everyone and thought everyone loved him. Which was pretty similar to his personality when he wasn’t high, but both drink and drugs heightened it and lowered his common sense. Ella was fairly confident the other boys would look after him, but she still had an image of him wandering lost and alone in some strange city, being taken advantage of. It was ridiculous. He was her older brother, ffs.
‘You OK?’ Lou asked, as they turned off at Wetherspoons. ‘You seem distracted.’
‘Just worrying about my brother,’ Ella said. ‘He’s pissed.’
‘Pissed off or drunk? Oh and hey, I totally forgot. Did he say “Hot Lou”? Did he mean me?’
Ella rolled her eyes. ‘God. Yes. He saw a photo of you on my phone once and got all creepy about it.’
‘Is he hot?’ Lou asked. ‘Show me a photo. Actually, I can’t believe I’ve never seen a photo of him! Does he look like you? I could totally go for a boy version of you.’ She bumped Ella’s shoulder.
‘He does look a bit like me, yeah,’ Ella said. ‘I haven’t got any photos of him on my phone though.’
‘Piss off, you must have!’ Lou said. ‘I bet you all took a family one at Christmas, didn’t you? In front of the tree, all in your Christmas jumpers, reindeer antlers on.’ She tried to grab Ella’s phone out of her hand, but Ella yanked it back and dropped it in her bag.
‘I haven’t, honest! I’ll find one next time I go home, promise.’
‘Your brother thinks I’m ho-t-t,’ Lou sing-songed.
‘Only because he hasn’t met you and doesn’t know how annoying you are.’
‘You love me,’ Lou said, hugging her.
‘I do love you.’
‘And your hair. You love your hair.’
‘Yes,’ Ella said. ‘I do love my hair.’
‘How did it go?’ Liane asked without turning over.
‘Sorry,’ Issey said, climbing into bed behind her. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you up.’
‘I was awake. Mostly.’
She’d watched two episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, searched AO3 for some fanfic and stumbled guiltily across the Addison/Callie tag. That had been highly enlightening and distracting. But she’d decided she’d have to think about it some other time. She had enough to be dealing with right now.
‘So?’ she asked Issey. ‘Do you have something to tick off the list?’
Issey rested her forehead between Liane’s shoulder blades. Liane was still wearing the T-shirt she’d been wearing earlier that evening.
‘Nope. No tick for him.’
‘What happened?’ Liane asked, starting to turn over.
Issey put her hand on her back to stop her. ‘Don’t laugh.’
‘What? Why would I laugh?’
‘He’s sixteen.’ Issey buried her face in Liane’s pillow, embarrassment overwhelming her once again. When Daniel had told her – in the restaurant, as they were having coffee – she’d wanted to just get up and run straight home.
‘Oh my god!’ Liane said, laughing.
‘You said you wouldn’t laugh!’ Issey howled, face still in the pillow.
‘I didn’t. You just told me not to. Oh my god, Iz!’
‘I knowwwwwww. Shut up. God, I want to die.’
‘You didn’t do it, did you?’ Liane said. Issey could tell she’d rolled over now – her voice was right next to Issey’s ear.
‘Fuck off. God. No. But imagine if I had. Jesus.’
‘Did you kiss?’
‘No.’ Issey couldn’t breathe. She turned her head to one side. Liane was right there. Head on the pillow next to Issey’s, face just inches away. ‘We didn’t do anything.’
‘Well. That’s OK then,’ Liane said.
‘Yeah. It’s just, god. I was so embarrassed. What was he thinking?’
‘Did he know how old you are?’
Issey tried to shake her head even though she was lying down and it didn’t work. ‘He said he’d guessed I was older, but he didn’t know. I told him. When he told me. I think he was pleased. Probably going to go and brag to his mates.’
‘The playground’ll be buzzin’ at school tomorrow,’ Liane said and grinned.
‘Fuck. Off,’ Issey said, but she could feel laughter bubbling up inside. ‘Oh my god.’
‘I hope he doesn’t tell his mum,’ Liane said, face serious.
‘You’re not funny.’
‘I am though,’ Liane said. ‘I’m hilarious.’
‘You keep telling me that,’ Issey said.
‘Cos it’s true. I’m hilarious. And smart. And hot,’ Liane said.
Issey’s eyes flickered down to Liane’s lips and she closed her eyes rather than look back at her.
‘Want to stay here?’ Liane asked, her voice low.
‘No,’ Issey said. ‘I’d better not.’ Not when she was scared to open her eyes and see Liane right there in front of her, her face on the pillow, soft and sleepy.
‘You can do,’ Liane said. ‘I don’t mind. Even though you snore.’
‘I don’t snore,’ Issey said. ‘And you fart in your sleep, so you’ve no room to talk.’
‘That’s it,’ Liane said. ‘Offer rescinded. Get back to your own room.’
Issey rolled over, opening her eyes only once her back was turned to Liane. ‘I’m going, I’m going.’
‘Essay in the morning,’ Liane said.
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
‘Sweet dreams about your toyboy,’ Liane said, as Issey opened the door.
Issey grabbed a cushion from the floor and threw it at the bed.