Friend Request(21)
‘Want a pill, Soph?’ he asked.
‘Sure, have you got something?’
‘Not at the moment but Max will be here later. He should be able to sort us out.’
He turned to me.
‘How about you?’ he asked politely. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘Oh, um, no. I’m all right, thanks.’
I cringed inwardly. All right, thanks? That’s what you say when someone asks if you want a cup of tea. As the music rose again, a wild, irresistible beat, Matt took Sophie by the hand and pulled her into the middle of the room to dance. Sophie beckoned me to join them but I can’t dance to that kind of music (or any kind) so I shook my head and took another gulp of my drink. I stood there for a while watching them, wondering how people learn to dance that way, and how they are able to do it so freely and unselfconsciously. Matt didn’t take his eyes off Sophie as she moved to the beat, taking in every perfect inch of her as her top rode up to show an inviting strip of taut, tanned skin. I drained my drink, and decided to go and get another one, more for something to do than anything else.
Back in the kitchen, Sam was still sitting at the table. I poured myself another vodka and coke from the bottles on the side, unsure what the ratio was supposed to be.
‘Blimey, like your vodka, do you?’
It was Sam’s voice. I’d obviously erred too far on the side of vodka.
‘That’s how I like it,’ I said pompously, taking a sip and trying not to wince.
‘Take a pew, Lou,’ he said, laughing softly at his own joke.
I sat down opposite him, my heart beating very fast. I could feel the swell of my stomach under the flattering black clothes I had chosen so carefully, and my clumsy hands, large and in the wrong place wherever I put them. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a small V-neck and I had a strange urge to reach out a finger and stroke the soft triangle of lightly tanned skin that was on show. Already this counted as the longest conversation I had ever had with him.
‘Soooo, Louuuu.’
He laughed again; he must have been stoned. ‘Saw you in town the other day with that new girl.’
‘Maria? Yes, she’s… she’s OK,’ I trailed off lamely, thinking of my recent phone conversation with Sophie.
‘I heard some… interesting stories about her. Matt Lewis’s cousin knows someone who goes to her old school in London.’
‘I heard there were some rumours. Do you know what they’re about?’
The effects of the vodka and my interest in Maria were making me relax to the point where this was verging on feeling like a normal conversation.
‘She’s a wild one. She likes boys, she likes girls, she likes it all ways, if you know what I mean.’
I didn’t, not really, but I got the general idea. I forced some more vodka down.
‘Apparently she went so far that there was some boy who got totally obsessed with her, wouldn’t leave her alone, stalking her and that. That’s why she had to leave her old school.’
I tend to divide the people I meet, or certainly those of my own age, into two broad categories: those who are like me, and those who aren’t. I was fascinated if a little disgusted by this new information about someone who (on my admittedly limited acquaintance with her) had seemed firmly in my category.
‘Are you sure? She doesn’t seem like that type.’
‘Ah, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch, Louise. Don’t you know that by now?’ He grinned. ‘You’re pretty quiet, aren’t you?’
I flushed, my mind scrabbling around for a response, but thankfully we were interrupted by the arrival of Matt and Sophie. Sophie flung herself down next to Sam, leaning her head dramatically on his shoulder and declaring herself dying for a drink. Matt looked unhappily at them whilst he poured her another vodka and coke and then sat down next to me opposite them, his eyes on Sophie’s hand, which kept nudging Sam’s arm playfully. None of them seemed inclined to address any remarks to me, entering into an involved conversation about the exact nature of the drugs they had taken at a rave they’d been to recently, from which I was grateful to be excluded.
The kitchen was heady with smoke and I was starting to feel a bit spaced out, unable to follow the conversation even if I’d had anything to add. I muttered something about needing the toilet, and none of the three even looked up as I rose and left the room.
I wandered upstairs, stepping over snogging couples and pairs of girls deep in intense conversation. I had a choice at the top of the stairs. To my left was what I guessed to be the master bedroom. The door was ajar and I could hear a furtive rustling and panting from within. To my right there were several doors to choose from. The first turned out to be the airing cupboard, but the second one I tried was locked, suggesting it was the toilet. I sank down and sat cross-legged on the floor to wait.
As the beat of the music downstairs faded for a second before rising again, I became aware of a noise coming from the toilet. At first I thought it was someone vomiting, but I gradually realised it was crying I could hear. A girl. She was obviously trying to keep the tears in, but it was no good. They were being wrenched out of her like a butcher tearing the innards from a dead animal. Gradually the gasps subsided and I heard the toilet flush. Despite my drunkenness, which was fairly advanced by now, I tried to arrange my face into a suitably nonchalant expression to indicate that I hadn’t heard a thing. However, when the door opened my face dropped, because the girl in the toilet was Maria.