One of the Girls(71)

‘None of those other fuckers noticed. God knows how I made it back.’ Wet hair hung down her back, her body beautiful in the moonlight.

‘You shouldn’t have gone out there!’

Bella slipped an arm around Robyn’s waist. ‘My complicated little Robyn. Still looking out for me, aren’t you?’

‘You’re wet,’ she said, shrugging her off, annoyed. ‘Here,’ she said, shoving Bella’s dress at her.

She pulled it on obediently, like a child. ‘We’ve not been close for a while, have we?’

Robyn didn’t want a conversation like this. Not tonight.

‘We never talk about it,’ Bella persisted.

‘About what?’

‘What happened that night.’ Bella reached out, placing her damp fingers at the base of Robyn’s skull where a scar weaved through her hairline. ‘You remember.’

She did.

The crack of her head against the side of the pool.

Darkness.

Followed by Bella looming over her, calling her name, face washed white with fear.

Bella had been the one to take her to A&E, apologising over and over as she drove, a dream catcher swaying from the rear-view mirror.

They waited for two hours to be seen, Robyn shivering in a damp towel, her skin smelling faintly of chlorine. The doctor who finally saw her glued the gash in her head and handed her a leaflet about concussion. ‘Have you got someone to stay with you?’

‘Me,’ Bella had said. ‘I will.’

So they’d returned to Robyn’s house, her parents already asleep. They ate Marmite on toast in the kitchen and sipped on glasses of squash, and Robyn had felt like she was both a child and an adult in the same skin.

Later they had crept upstairs to Robyn’s room. Usually, she’d set up the futon for friends, but there was no spare bedding and she didn’t want to wake her parents. ‘All right sharing?’ she asked, pointing to her single bed.

‘Course.’

Bella borrowed one of Robyn’s T-shirts, sitting on the end of her bed, removing her make-up with a face-wipe, revealing glittering, fresh eyes.

‘Sorry you’re missing the party,’ Robyn said as they climbed into her bed, the mattress bouncing.

Bella shrugged. ‘We’ve just left sixth form. The next decade is for getting wasted and partying.’ She grinned, her smile smelling of toothpaste.

Robyn stretched across and turned out the light. The room fell dark, quiet. Tentatively, she lay back, feeling a hot throbbing in her skull.

‘How’s the head?’ Bella whispered.

Robyn adjusted the pillow, rolling onto her side. ‘Better if I lie like this.’

She was facing Bella. She opened her eyes and could see her silhouette inches from her face. Her eyes were open too.

Bella’s voice was quieter when she spoke again. ‘I’m really sorry. I should have been holding onto you.’ She reached out, her hand finding Robyn’s, fingers interlacing beneath the duvet.

Robyn could feel the heat of Bella’s hand, the pressure of their skin touching. The atmosphere became charged. She wasn’t sure if it was just her who felt it or Bella, too. She was aware of a surprising, pulsing heat in her groin. She was dizzy, almost breathless.

Bella’s thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. Somehow their faces seemed closer. She could feel Bella’s minty breath against her cheek. Then she felt the brush of her lips – tentative, exploratory at first – and then fuller, melting against her own.

Bella’s lips were exquisitely soft and full. Robyn had kissed lots of boys. That was not what kisses were supposed to be like. They were harder, urgent. Bella’s mouth was cushiony and sweet; she wanted to sink into it.

Beneath the duvet, Robyn felt her hand being drawn down the length of Bella’s body, trailing over the soft skin of her stomach, being guided lower still.

She blinked, trying to free the memory, but the sparks of it burned, red-hot.

‘We both remember,’ Bella said.





63

Bella

Every detail was vivid in Bella’s mind: their fingers entwining as they kissed; the smooth warmth of Robyn’s thighs sliding against hers; the faint chlorine smell that still lingered on her neck; the press of her knees into the crook of Robyn’s as they’d fallen asleep, curled together.

What she also remembered was waking in the morning, alone. She’d pulled the duvet close to her chin, waiting for Robyn to return with a cup of tea and packet of biscuits – their usual post-sleepover pick-me-up – yet the bedroom door never opened.

Eventually, Bella had slunk downstairs, barefoot, wearing the previous night’s dress, the gold fabric feeling cheap and glitzy in the unforgiving morning light.

Robyn was sitting at the kitchen table, flanked by her parents. Her face was washed clean, hair brushed straight, eyes shadowed. ‘Hey,’ Robyn said, without meeting Bella’s eye.

‘Good morning, Bella,’ Robyn’s father welcomed. ‘We hear you took Robyn to A&E last night. Thank you very much.’

‘It’s fine,’ Bella said, trying to rearrange the too-low neckline of her dress. She made fists of her hands, the red nail polish feeling garish in their quiet, grief-filled home. She had the unnerving sensation that she’d walked into a funeral service wearing fancy dress. She glanced at Robyn for reassurance, but her gaze was lowered to the kitchen table.