“No, no, I…don’t think so.”
“What did you row about?”
“It’s…a bit personal. I don’t think I can say it.”
“Oh, right. Was it really serious?”
“I’m not sure. I was quite disrespectful. And he’s very big on respect.” I grimace, quailing inwardly at the thought of his reaction to last night’s little performance.
“So…what’s the worst that could happen?” asks Caitlin, agog.
I know what the worst is. He could leave me. But I don’t want to think about that now.
*
Of course, once two more Bacardi Breezers have breezed down my gullet, detail more colourful than I would ever have divulged in a sober state passes my lips. The lecture notes that started it all…the running machine…cutting my own switches on the Downs…and the butt plug incident all spill out in a fruity punch that puts the Breezer to shame. Why is daytime drinking so much headier than the evening version?
Caitlin clinks her bottle against mine, “Here’s to sexy sadists,” she says. “Preferably without anger issues though, eh? Another?”
“We ought to eat something,” I say cautiously. “Let’s go to the chippy. Give us a sec; I’m just going to the loo.”
Inside the cubicle, I yield to curious temptation and switch on my phone for a few seconds. Thirty eight missed calls. That’s it; I don’t want to see any more. I switch it off again, suddenly tearful. I love him so much. I don’t want to lose him.
Then the need for f
ish and chips overrides all other considerations and I join Caitlin on the cobbles outside.
*
We need another drink to wash down the vinegar-tinctured grease, so we head back to the pub. It isn’t until we are right at the bar that I notice who is standing next to me. Adam Ellwood.
Caitlin jostles me painfully in the ribs, but I am too busy staring. He is no less gorgeous than I remember, though now he seems a bit young for my tastes. All the same….a lump rises to my throat. He looks around casually, then double takes and frowns.
“Can’t be Beth Newland, can it?”
“Can,” I say with a beaming grin. “You remember me?”
“I remember you doing all the choir solos in assembly. You have a terrific voice.”
I can’t believe this. Adam Ellwood, who was so far above me that he blocked out the sun, is…possibly….flirting with me.
“Thanks. Er. So how are you these days?”
“Good, pretty good. Listen, what are you girls drinking? Do you mind if I join you for a minute?”
“No, but…aren’t you here with anyone?”
“Just some mates. Let’s grab a table and catch up. School seems a lifetime ago now, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, at least a lifetime,” I say, twirling a strand of hair. I am a femme fatale! They cannot resist me!
Back outside in the beer garden, Adam offers us cigarettes. What the hell? I take one and suck it in greedily, bathing in the toxic lusciousness of the smoke. I have sorely missed smoking.
My erstwhile crushee regales us with stories of his brilliant university successes and whatnot while Caitlin and I loll against each other laughing at inappropriate junctures. Ellwood does not seem particularly put off by our fairly obvious inebriety though, and rattles on regardless.
“It’s nearly three o’clock,” Caitlin says to me, as he fishes his fag packet back out for another offering. “We should be in church.”
“Oh yes,” I say. “We should be. Ah well.” I take another cigarette and spark up.