The atmosphere in the beautiful Notting Hill flat felt hostile and cliquey. Amaryllis had gone directly into a bedroom with Wesley and Pandora had attached herself to some long-haired man she’d met at the Sanderson. In an attempt to fit in, Ruby accepted a joint from a man called Danny, the only person in the room who had bothered to speak to her. She’d inhaled too deeply, felt immediately nauseous and five minutes later was in the bathroom puking up the red wine she’d been downing throughout the evening.
Danny was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. She’d brushed her teeth using her finger and some toothpaste but she still felt wretched.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Danny.
Ruby nodded, too weak to do anything except take his hand. He led her into a bedroom and she perched on the edge of the bed.
‘Do you want to go home? Shall I call a taxi?’
She nodded. ‘I want to go to Knightsbridge.’
While Danny went off to make the call, Ruby began to feel worse. The room was spinning and her hands felt tingly. Oblivious to her state, Danny picked up a guitar that was propped up by the window. He began playing and singing; the melody was like a lullaby and it was sending her to sleep.
The next thing she knew his body was over hers and his lips were brushing hers with a kiss. He smelt sweet and his eyes were beautiful, thought Ruby looking up and stroking his cheek.
‘Good girl,’ he whispered running his hand lightly down her bare arm. Danny’s hand crept slowly up her thigh pushing back the fabric of her dress until his fingers were curling under the rim of her cotton knickers.
‘No! Stop it,’ said Ruby, suddenly feeling her cheeks flush with shame.
‘Come on, let’s have a little fun,’ said Danny with a sexy grin.
She was really frightened now; afraid that the whole situation was about to tumble out of control.
‘I’m fourteen!’ she screamed, pushing him away from her and scrambling off the bed.
‘Shit, oh shit!’ mumbled Danny, recoiling away from her. ‘You should have fucking told me!’
‘I know,’ said Ruby sadly. ‘I’m sorry. Please, I just want to go home and see my mum.’
Cassandra pushed her front door open and flung her car keys on the table. She felt completely helpless. She had spent the last three hours trawling round every single Brits party in London. It had been a Godsend that Rob Holland had been leaving the awards ceremony with his phone on when she had called. When Cassandra had filled him in on the story, he had roared straight round to pick her up in his Range Rover and had ferried her to a dozen pubs and clubs, even a tent in a railway arch. But no luck. Even so, she was certain Ruby and her two friends were somewhere in London partying, especially when the school had phoned confirming that a local cab had taken three Briarton girls, fitting Amaryllis, Ruby and Pandora’s description, on a two-hundred-pound cab journey to London. Cassandra sank on the sofa and put her head in her hands. She imagined her child out in the city, God knows where, with those slags. Cassandra had been quick to blame Ruby’s older friends and her school, but the terrible feeling of guilt in her chest told her otherwise. It’s all my fault, she thought. She had barely seen her daughter in the last six months. During Ruby’s October half-term Cassandra had been in Sulka. Yes, mother and daughter had been together in Gstaad, of course, but days had been spent skiing, evenings had been full of parties, and once Emma had had her accident the whole family was in a state of chaos. Time spent together in a hospital waiting room barely counted as ‘quality’. She remembered Miss Broughton’s cautionary words on the day of Cassandra’s career talk to the school: ‘I’ve always felt thirteen is a watershed age …’, ‘… the cusp of womanhood …’, ‘… she needs her mother to guide her along the right path.’
And had she been a good mother? Had she been there for her daughter at this difficult time? No, she had not.
Just then, there was a soft tap on the door. Cassandra sprang to the door, praying it wasn’t the police. For a moment, she didn’t recognize the exotic creature standing in the hallway. Ruby looked like a catwalk model, her hair long and glossy, the dress tight and black, giving her a spectacular cleavage. She looked about 21. Cassandra felt sick.
‘RUBY!’ she yelled, her fear suddenly turning to anger. But her daughter flinched like a frightened puppy and she noticed that her eyes were raw from crying.
Cassandra jumped forward and gathered her into a big hug.
‘Darling,’ she whispered, still holding onto her tightly. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
She led Ruby into the flat, feeling her shake in her arms.
‘Amaryllis has got a new boyfriend,’ stuttered Ruby, ‘some record producer guy. He got us invited to some Brits after-show party so we slipped away from school.’
‘Amaryllis is sixteen years old,’ said Cassandra, not knowing whether she wanted to throttle Ruby’s older, wayward friend or feel fiercely protective of a pretty young girl who had been taken advantage of by some man who should know better.
‘Well, he thinks she’s eighteen,’ said Ruby, wiping the corner of her eye.
‘I went to every party in London looking for you,’ said Cassandra. ‘What happened to you?’
‘It was horrible,’ said Ruby, sitting on the sofa and beginning to cry.
‘There was a guy. This guy called Danny. Mum, I think he wanted to have sex with me.’
Cassandra shut her eyes, not daring to imagine what happened next. She was not naïve: of course 14-year-old girls could be sexually active.
‘I didn’t, Mum. I promise.’