It wasn’t that I was hoping to see Eve. Well. Only a bit. Being at home was just too depressing. Mum cried all the time. Not loudly. Never even openly, but she wandered around looking so sad it made me feel terrible. I tried to give her a hug a couple of times. But that just made her cry more. She always ended up pushing me away, saying something like: “I won’t lay all this on you, Luke, it’s not fair.”
I wanted to say none of it was frigging fair. But I didn’t know how to say it. And I felt guilty that she was so unhappy and I hardly thought about Dad at all.
I hadn’t played any of his old records. Mum had given me Dad’s old-style record player out of the loft. I don’t know why she’d thought I might need Uncle Matt’s help to set it up. The thing was out of the dark ages, technology-wise – a switch for the record setting (45, 33 or 78), an on/off button and a volume knob.
I plugged it into the socket in the corner of my room, then covered it over with a towel. When Mum asked if I’d listened to any of Dad’s records yet, I just said I wasn’t ready and she let me alone.
In the end, being back at school wasn’t much better than being at home. My friends were all dead weird with me. It was like they didn’t know what to say to me about Dad, so they’d decided it was easier not to say anything. It’s hard to explain. They talked and joked like always and we played football just as before, but there was this way they had of looking at me, like I came from another planet and might mutate into a bloodsucking alien at any minute.
I wasn’t Luke anymore. I was the bloke with the Dead Dad.
And then there was Eve. Or, rather, there wasn’t. That first day I looked out for her all the way to school, then again when I was leaving. No sign. I even walked past Chloe’s classroom once – but it was empty.
That was Friday. The weekend passed slowly. By Monday I’d almost convinced myself I’d imagined her. Certainly I must have imagined how beautiful her face was. And I hadn’t even seen the rest of her.
Chloe and I hardly ever walked to school together, but we sometimes met up to come home. That Monday afternoon I was hanging about by the wall near the entrance gates, half waiting for her. It was in the back of my mind that when Chloe came out with the rest of her class, Eve might be there too. But I wasn’t really thinking about it.
I looked up. There was Chloe, surrounded by her friends as usual. They were giggling. Looking at their mobiles. A few of them wandered off. The rest shuffled round.
And I saw her.
She was smiling, listening to someone. My mouth fell open. She was even hotter than I’d remembered. I stared, trying to take all of her in at once. Long, slim legs. Curves everywhere. Sleek blonde hair falling dead straight onto her shoulders. And that face. Jesus. Even the way she stood was sexy. Her head to one side. Her hand, pushing back her jacket, resting on her hip.
The other girls drifted away. It was just her and Chloe now. Then they started walking across the tarmac. Except Eve didn’t walk. The way she moved was more like gliding. Like a cat – smooth and fluid and unbelievably sure of herself.
Oh crap. They were coming towards me. They were wrapped up in their conversation, not looking at me, but they were definitely heading in my direction. Getting closer and closer. In a minute she was going to be standing right next to me. My heart pummelled against my ribs.
Seconds pulsed by. I stared down at the ground. And then she was here. Close enough to touch.
“Luke?” Chloe sounded impatient.
I looked up at my sister, catching Eve out of the corner of my eye. My throat was dry. Lust rocketed through me. There was nothing about her that wasn’t perfect. The way her upper lip dipped into a V in the middle. The way her jumper clung to her . . .
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chloe said.
I shook my head. “Nothing,” I blurted out.
Stop. You’re behaving like a total nutter. Calm down.
I looked down at the tarmac again. There was this tightness in my chest. It crossed my mind that I might be having a heart attack. I stood there, concentrating on breathing. Eve dragged one of her feet seductively across the tarmac. She was wearing black shoes with thin, pointy heels.
Chloe had clearly decided to ignore my peculiar behaviour. “So where’re you meeting Ben?” she said to Eve.
“The Bell.”
Oh God. Even her voice was sexy – all low and raspy.
“Ben’s done me this new, totally brilliant fake I.D.,” Eve said. “We’re meeting for cocktails at happy hour.”
Chloe giggled. “Oooh. Cocktails,” she said.
“Yeah.” I could hear the grin in Eve’s voice. “Guess what his favourite is?” She leaned over and whispered something in Chloe’s ear.
Chloe squealed. “No way. I can’t believe they’re even allowed to print that on a menu.”
“They’re not – but Ben knows the barman. They make it up for him specially.”
I decided that I hated Ben.
“Anyway, I’d better go home and get ready,” Eve said. “Bye, Chloe.” She turned slightly sideways. I could tell she was looking at me. “Bye,” she said.
I had to say something. I might not get this close to her again for days. I looked up. Eve was smiling at me, her lips slightly parted.
I stared at her mouth, feeling my face redden. “Bye,” I squeaked.
For God’s sake, look at her properly.
I forced myself to look her straight in the eyes. They were almond-shaped, the palest blue I’d ever seen. But I could tell she wasn’t really seeing me. Like, she was right there, looking in my direction, but not . . . not noticing me.
And then she was gone. As she glided through the school gates, Chloe swung her bag over her shoulder.
“Did you have to behave like that?” she snapped.
I swallowed. How much had she noticed? “What d’you mean?”
“Hardly looking up at Eve, like that. Not saying anything. It was really rude.”
My mouth fell open, but Chloe had already stomped off towards the gates.
Over the next few days I seemed to see Eve everywhere – wandering down the corridor, chatting with her friends in the cafeteria, smiling mysteriously on her mobile.
I dreamed of going up to her, but I didn’t have the nerve. Even if Eve didn’t think I was rude – or a complete retard – I had no idea what to say to her. So I watched her from a distance.
If you’re thinking that seeing her must have got easier, let me tell you – it didn’t. Every time was like the first time.
A slap in the face. A punch in the stomach. A kick in the head.
She was the hottest person I’d ever met. But she had a boyfriend. And, even if she didn’t, what chance would I have had with her? No girl I knew had ever gone out with a boy in a lower year.
I talked to other girls. I did my homework. I played football. I even spent a couple of hours looking through Dad’s singles collection, though I didn’t actually play any of the records. Part of me wanted to, but it was like, if I listened to them, I’d be saying everything between me and Dad was OK. That I forgave him for leaving me such a useless, heartless pile of crap.
Nothing took my mind off Eve.
February began. It was a cold day – exactly a month since Dad died, or so Mum said. Still dark when I got home from school. I’d been in my room. Then I got hungry and came down to the kitchen. As I reached the door, I overheard Mum on the phone.
“It’s just so hard to tell,” she was saying. “He’s so withdrawn, just stays in his room all the time. Only comes out for meals.”
Was she talking about me?
“OK, OK, I’ll ask them,” Mum said. “I’ll let you know.”
She hung up the phone, then called me and Chloe into the kitchen.
We sat down at the table. Chloe’s face was covered in green gunk – some kind of face mask. A few weeks ago I would have made some jokey comment about how hideous she looked – or at least tried to make her laugh so that the dried mask cracked. Bu
t now, I couldn’t be bothered. My head was too full of Eve.
“A group of us – girlfriends – want me to go away with them to this spa,” Mum said nervously. “Just for one night. A week on Saturday. I said I would ask you, see what you both thought.”
I tried to look interested.
Chloe’s eyes widened. “You mean leave us on our own?”
Mum bit her lip. “I thought maybe you could both organise sleepovers but if—”
“No way.” Chloe thumped her fist on the table. “I’m sixteen! I’m perfectly capable of staying here overnight by myself. Send Luke off to a friend, but I won’t go.”
“Hey,” I said indignantly. “If she’s staying, so am I.”
Mum looked at us both as if she was trying to make up her mind.
“You should go, Mum.” Chloe’s voice was suddenly soft and gentle. “You deserve a break. And you don’t need to worry about us. I’ll look after Luke.”
I opened my mouth to protest that I didn’t need looking after, but Chloe glared at me. I shut up. Whatever. What did it matter really?
I would have taken a lot more interest if I’d known what Chloe was planning – and where it would lead.
4
The party
I said ‘I’ll see you later’
and I give her some old chat.
But it’s not like that on the TV when it’s
cool for cats.
‘Cool For Cats’
Squeeze
Mum ran through the arrangements for what felt like the millionth time. “Uncle Matt’s going to stop by at nine – just to make sure you’re OK. Then I’ll call before I go to bed – probably about eleven. Any problems call Matt or go down to the Wilsons at number forty-five. And for God’s sake, Chloe, remember to lock up at night. Two twists on the Chubb and don’t open the door unless you’re sure who it is.”
I glanced at Chloe. She was taking all the fuss remarkably well, considering how moody she normally was. I guess she didn’t want any last-minute arguments stopping Mum from going.
Mum picked up her overnight bag and took two steps closer to the front door.
“Now, Luke, Chloe’s in charge for tonight. Whatever she tells you to do, you do.”
I shrugged. “Sure.” Well that should get me nicely off the hook if Mum ever finds out about tonight.
Mum took another step across the hall, then clutched her forehead. “Oh no.” She dropped her bag.
“What?” Chloe said, with just the barest trace of impatience.
“I haven’t shown you where the stopcock for the water is. Or the fuse box.”
“ ’S’OK, Mum,” I said. “I know. Dad showed me.”
She smiled sadly at me, then picked up her bag. “Are you really sure about this, you two?”
“Yes.”
“Course, Mum.” I leaned forwards and kissed her on the cheek. “Have a good time.”
As the door closed behind her, Chloe punched the air.
“Yesss!” she hissed. “Now, come on. We haven’t got long to get ready.”
Chloe had worked on Mum for two days to convince her we’d be all right on our own. The reason was obvious – but Mum never guessed. We were going to have a party.
It was Chloe’s thing really. She’d gone a bit mad since Dad died, going out all the time; pushing it with Mum in a way she never used to. I overheard her talking about the party to one of her friends, saying it was just what she needed to get her mind off Dad.
Maybe.
I’d mentioned it to a couple of mates, but to be honest, I wasn’t all that excited about the party itself. Only in whether Eve would turn up.
My heart raced whenever I thought about it.
Eve. Here in my house.
And her boyfriend, said an annoying voice in my head.
I told it to shut up.
“Luke, are you listening to me?” Chloe shook my arm.
“Yeah, right,” I said, quickly. “Tell me again.”
“I need you down here to open the door when people bring stuff round this afternoon.”
I screwed up my face. “Where are you going, then?” I said.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “I told you. I’ve got to get ready.”
Chloe’s idea of getting ready meant spending three hours on the phone to her friends discussing the clothes they were going to wear and the boys they wanted to get off with – and then soaking in the bath for an hour.
During the afternoon I let in a number of blokes – most of them from Chloe’s class – each of them delivering a bottle of wine or vodka that they’d nicked out of their parents’ cupboards. They all asked to see Chloe, but with every arrival she’d just drift out into the landing, phone firmly clamped in her hand, wave down at them, then drift away again.
Three of Chloe’s girlfriends arrived at about six. They were all carrying armfuls of clothes and an assortment of bags and boxes. They vanished into Chloe’s bedroom, where loud squeals soon rose up over the music.
I stayed downstairs, wondering what the hell they were doing. I’d already cleaned my teeth, dragged a clean T-shirt over my head and used some deodorant. It had taken five minutes. Even allowing for putting on make-up, how much more was there to getting ready than that?
At half-past eight Chloe appeared in the kitchen.
I stared at her. She was wearing masses of make-up, an ultra-tight top and a skirt that barely covered her bum. She smiled distractedly at me, then crossed the room to the fridge and pulled open the door.
“Dad would hate you looking like that.” The words were out of my mouth before I’d even realised I was going to say them.
Chloe whipped round, whatever she had wanted from the fridge forgotten. “Yeah, well, he’s not here is he?”
We glared at each other. For a second Chloe’s bottom lip trembled. “You bastard,” she said. She raced out of the room.
I sat there, feeling uncomfortable. When Chloe’s angry with you, pretty much anything can happen. But to my surprise, when she reappeared fifteen minutes later she was wearing a big cardigan over the tight top, and had wiped some of the make-up off her face. She even had on a slightly longer skirt.
“This isn’t ’cause of what you said,” she said haughtily. “It’s ’cause Matt’ll be here in a minute.”
“Right,” I said. But I noticed, after Matt had been and gone, that although Chloe took off the cardigan, she didn’t change back into the shorter skirt. Or, as far as I could tell, put on more make-up.
Mum phoned in at eleven. Chloe was all prepared for the call. She’d waited in her room for five minutes, telephone in hand.
When she reappeared to tell me I could stop fending people off the volume dial on her MP3 player she had a broad grin on her face.
“Nothing to worry about now,” she said, turning the music back up.
I wasn’t so sure.
For a start, there were already masses of people in the house. And more kept coming. Not just people from my year and Chloe’s, but quite a lot of the sixth form and a few others I didn’t recognise at all. Older blokes with high-heeled girls hanging off one arm and six-packs of beer in the other.
Somebody brought in this massive sound system and, minutes later, the deep bass of the music was making the whole house vibrate. It seemed to give the party this new dimension – darker and rougher. By midnight, most of the people from my year had disappeared and I’d lost sight of Chloe completely.
Eve arrived at eight minutes past midnight. She was wearing jeans with this white top that curled tantalisingly across her belly button. Unlike most of the other girls, she had hardly any make-up on. She didn’t need it. She was better-looking than everyone else at the party put together.
Her boyfriend had his arm clamped round her waist, as if daring anyone to try and take her away from him. I hadn’t seen him up close since the funeral. He wasn’t that attractive, I decided. His nose looked broken and he had a fat neck.
Anyway, he and Eve wandered into the living
room. I followed. They stood in a corner and started snogging almost immediately.
I watched, hating it. Hating him. Rage surged up from my stomach, bitter in my mouth. I turned away, so full up with anger I didn’t know what to do with myself. It wasn’t just the stupid boyfriend either. I was furious with Eve for liking him. And with Chloe for letting the party get so out of hand. Who were all these people?
But, most of all, I was angry with myself for letting it all get to me. This was a party, for God’s sake. Why couldn’t I just chill? Get into the whole thing.
I looked round. There were loads of girls here on their own. And some of them were really hot. Not Eve-hot. But good enough.
Gritting my teeth, I marched through the dancing bodies that filled our living room, to a short, pretty girl with dark hair who was standing beside the light switch. I’d noticed her dancing with at least four different guys earlier. Now she looked bored.
This made me hopeful.
“Hi,” I said. “What’s your name?”
She stared at me. “Why?”
I shrugged, my nerve failing fast. “Wanna dance?”
The girl gave me a withering look. “With you?” she said.
I nodded, feeling my face and neck flushing red. The girl stared at me for several, long seconds.
“You have to be kidding,” she said. Then she stalked off towards the kitchen.
With a sigh I turned round and leaned against the wall. Humiliation now mingled with my anger. Why was it so hard? How did all these other guys do it?
I glanced over at Eve and Ben. They were sitting in Dad’s old armchair now, still snogging furiously. As I watched them, despair flooded through me. Ben’s hands were trying to get under Eve’s white top. She was pushing them away, but he got rougher, more insistent.
Why didn’t she just stop kissing him?
I clenched my fists and left the room.
I stomped upstairs. There were couples everywhere. On the steps, on the landing, in the bathroom.
I sat on the top step of the stairs and put my head in my hands.
A minute later I felt the step below me creak. For one glorious fantastical moment I imagined it might be Eve. I looked up. Ryan Kennedy – a boy I knew vaguely from the parallel class in my year – was standing in front of me. He had a wide mouth, dark, floppy hair and – I was pretty sure – had arrived at the party with lots of friends of both sexes.