Beautiful Broken Things(Beautiful Broken Things #1)(8)

‘Nope,’ I said, feeling even worse. Had she thought I was going to? It hadn’t even occurred to me.

Sarah reached out and tapped Suzanne’s knee. ‘Can you sit properly? You’re making me nervous.’

‘I’m fine,’ Suzanne replied without moving. ‘I trust your driving skills.’ She leaned further against the back of her seat, glancing around me. ‘Didn’t you bring any stuff?’

‘What stuff?’

Her face fell. She looked genuinely disappointed. ‘Are you really not coming?’

‘No,’ I said awkwardly. ‘I’m just coming for the pizza.’

‘Oh.’ She looked confused. Obviously the idea that someone wouldn’t jump at the chance to go to a party full of strangers was alien to her. We were clearly never going to be friends.

‘I don’t know anyone,’ I said, feeling like I needed to explain myself. ‘Plus I’ve got Service tomorrow.’

‘Service? What’s that?’

‘It’s a programme that Esther’s runs,’ I explained. ‘It’s like community service.’

She looked appalled. ‘And you have to do that every Saturday? Aren’t you allowed to have a life at that school?’

‘Suzie,’ Sarah said chidingly, but there was a laugh in her voice.

‘It’s just one Saturday a month,’ I said quickly. ‘But no, now you mention it.’

The car jolted to a stop at the traffic lights, and Suzanne’s head jerked forward. ‘Ouch,’ she said.

Sarah reached out her hand again and pushed her palm playfully against Suzanne’s face until she gave in and sat properly. For the last few minutes of the drive, I watched the back of Suzanne’s head. Her hair had been mussed slightly by Sarah’s fingers, causing blonde wisps to escape from her high ponytail. Just below the ponytail, partially hidden by the thin straps of the top she was wearing, I could see a scar snaking from the back of her neck, curving towards her right shoulder.

‘Call me tomorrow when you want me to pick you up,’ Sarah said to Suzanne as we pulled up outside Rosie’s house.

‘I’ll just get the bus,’ Suzanne said lightly.

‘No,’ Sarah said, patient but firm. ‘Call me and I’ll pick you up.’

Suzanne made a face as if she was about to protest, then thought better of it. ‘Fine. But don’t blame me if I drag you away from something more exciting.’

‘What’s more exciting than you?’ Sarah asked teasingly. I wondered how old she was. Somewhere in her thirties maybe? Something about the way they talked to each other made me feel like they didn’t know each other that well, as if they were just practising their niece and aunt roles. ‘Hey, have a good time, OK?’ She reached into her pocket and produced a ten-pound note. ‘Emergency money. Which I expect back when I see you tomorrow.’

Suzanne pocketed the cash, turning in her seat to me. ‘Ready?’

‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said to Sarah, opening the car door.

‘No problem. Nice to meet you, by the way.’

Unsure what to say to this, I smiled and nodded on my way out of the car. Suzanne swung her bag over her shoulder and looked expectantly at me. She was wearing tight dark jeans with a glittery cami top and heels. She could have passed for eighteen easily.

‘You look amazing,’ I couldn’t help saying, even though a second compliment really wasn’t necessary.

‘Thanks!’ she said again, unfazed. I started towards Rosie’s house and she followed.

‘How did you learn to do your make-up like that?’

Suzanne shrugged. ‘YouTube videos? I just experiment a lot really. It’s easy.’

It is not easy.

‘I can show you,’ Suzanne offered. ‘I used to do my friends’ make-up all the time.’

‘Maybe,’ I said vaguely.

Rosie was still wearing her school uniform when she opened the door to let us in. Skipping any greetings, she brandished a Papa John’s menu at us, beaming. ‘Mum says so long as we get a Veggie Supreme for her, we can have whatever we want.’ She stopped waving the menu and looked at me. ‘You didn’t bring clothes?’

‘I told you I’m not going out,’ I said, trying to quash a rising irritation.

‘I thought you might change your mind.’ She jutted out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. Then she glanced at Suzanne. ‘Oh my God, I love that top. You both have to help me decide what to wear.’

The ‘both’ was generous. It seemed unlikely to me that I’d have anything to offer in this area. Why would she ask me when Suzanne was right there? It would be like choosing an emu over a flamingo.

I was right. While Suzanne and Rosie played dress-up with Rosie’s entire wardrobe, I sat on the bed and fattened myself up on pizza, reading an old issue of Glamour magazine and contributing nothing but ‘hmmms’.

To her credit, though probably more to do with best-friend loyalties than my dazzling fashion sense, Rosie tried, pulling a sequinned top out of the wardrobe and holding it up in my direction. ‘Do you think I can wear this again so soon after your birthday?’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘It’s not like it’s the same people.’

‘Good point. Jeans or a skirt?’ She directed the question at Suzanne, who shrugged.