Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(64)

‘Fuck off – no, I fucking didn’t,’ Suzanne said, laughing.

‘Oh, shit, yeah – that was me.’ He laughed too, loud and amiable. Out of all of the strangers here, Toby was definitely my favourite, with his cheerful brown eyes, quick smile and eyelashes that put mine to shame. ‘But you were there.’

I looked at Suzanne, assuming this was an extension of a joke, but she just rolled her eyes and grinned at him, settling the cigarette back between her lips. She caught my eye and shook her head a little. Don’t ask.

‘How are things going with Liz?’ she asked, a little pointedly. At some point – I had no idea when – Toby’s girlfriend had departed from the group and not returned.

Toby flashed her a grin. ‘Pretty good. How about you? Got a boyfriend down in Brighton?’

‘Oh, please.’

‘Brighton boys not good enough?’

‘Not all girls need boyfriends,’ Suzanne said. ‘I’m a happy soloist, thanks.’

I took another sip from the Coke bottle and thought about this, zoning out of the conversation I had little to add to anyway. Technically Suzanne and I were both single, but I’d never thought of myself as ‘happy’ about it. Did it all come down to who had the power? Suzanne was single out of choice (she could clearly have anyone she wanted), while I was hindered by a lack of interested parties, let alone options. And even when there was a hint of interest, in the form of the sweet Tariq Laham, I chickened out.

I tried to imagine how different things could have been for me if I’d led a different, less sheltered life. Not going to private school, to start with, but maybe even growing up here, with Suzanne, in this city, instead of Brighton. Would I be more confident and extroverted? Or was my self-conscious introversion just part of who I was? Maybe it would actually have been worse to be surrounded by boys every day, who would probably have teased me relentlessly rather than fall in love with me.

Still, the thought process was an oddly unsettling one. I’d always thought of my personality as a fact of my life, a given, regardless of my circumstances or friends. But maybe it wasn’t.

The word ‘weed’ jolted me back to my surroundings and I looked up, suddenly anxious. One of the newer arrivals, a boy with sweeping brown hair whose name I thought might begin with a J, was rolling a joint.

‘Is that for me?’ Suzanne asked, stretching out a hand towards him. Joe? Jack? Jay?

‘Get your own,’ Joe/Jack/Jay said, laughing. ‘Dirty scrounger.’

‘I am getting my own,’ Suzanne said. ‘From you. Go on.’ She grinned flirtatiously at him, wide and dazzling. It was her usual winning smile set on fire. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

‘Oh, I bet you will.’ There was a devilish smirk on his face. He wound up his arm and tossed the spliff into Suzanne’s lap.

‘Lighter?’ she prompted.

‘God, you’re demanding.’ He reached into his pocket and withdrew a metal Zippo. ‘There’s a cover charge, you know.’ As he threw it at her, he glanced at me. ‘Does your friend want one?’

‘We’ll share,’ Suzanne said immediately. ‘Caddy doesn’t want to make anything up to you.’

The laughter seemed to come from all around me, and I wondered how many people were actually there. I tried to smile, but I felt so out of my depth I wanted to sink into the ground. I’d never felt so private-school girl in my life.

‘Hey –’ Suzanne had leaned her head close to mine and was speaking softly, directly into my ear so no one else could hear – ‘that was just for show. You don’t have to have any.’ I could hear the protective affection in her voice, the reassurance, and the anxiety that had seized me at the first appearance of the joint disappeared.

‘Can I try it?’ I whispered back.

‘Do you want to?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! Gimme.’

She laughed, putting her hand through the crook of my elbow and squeezing. ‘I completely love you.’

‘Watts!’ someone called. ‘Are you done yet?’

Suzanne fumbled with the lighter, cupping one hand around the flame as she lifted it to the joint between her lips. I watched her confident movements, the ease in the way she inhaled before tossing the lighter to whoever it was who’d spoken. I’d never seen her do this, yet how many times had she clearly done it before? I thought about Dylan and his friends. Maybe even Rosie?

She handed me the joint, smaller and lighter than I’d expected, and put her head close to mine again, in the pretence of leaning against my shoulder, her voice low. ‘Make sure to breathe in normally.’ Was this the dreaded peer pressure the professionally anxious had always warned about? Half drunk with a friend I loved and trusted in the middle of a park in Reading? It didn’t feel like it.

I inhaled, trying not to think too hard about what ‘normally’ meant, given that I’d never even smoked a cigarette, and felt the smoke burn into my mouth, curling in my throat. It tasted thick and hot and disgusting. I choked out a cough, spluttering out a humiliated ‘Sorry’ as I pushed the joint back into Suzanne’s hand. For all her whispered instructions, I’d made it pretty clear it was the first time I’d tried one, but I was gagging too much to really care.