Just My Luck(73)

‘A bit,’ I admit. She assumes it’s the alcohol. Better that than she has any real idea.

I don’t mean to, but I find myself moving in roughly the same direction as he does as we explore the party. When he goes on the Ferris wheel, I get in the queue; when he’s eating at the pulled pork cabin, I’m just in the next cabin along, picking at candy floss. The loss of the fluency, ease and intimacy between us is catastrophic, incomprehensible. Evie Clarke is where I ought rightfully to be, tucked under his arm, sharing his jokes, his drink, his space. I look at him and I think of the places we did it and I think of the places on my body that he has touched. My insides lurch.

‘You have to stop stalking him,’ groans Scarlett. ‘Let’s go and dance.’ I stare at her, or at least try to. The cocktails taste way better than vodka shots. These are sweet and fruity. They go down pretty easily.

Drink is beautiful and it is my friend because it makes things not matter, not to me. Maybe they matter to the person I was or will be tomorrow, but right now nothing matters. I’m floating.

Drink is awful. I’ve had too much. I’m wedged painfully between desperation and yearning. I pretty much love Scarlett right now because she’s really trying to be a proper best friend, not just a rich person’s best friend, but I’m going to ignore her. ‘I don’t want to dance yet.’ The dancefloor is in the opposite direction to where Ridley is standing.

‘Then how about some water? We should all have some water. Nella, Liv, go and get some. I’ll stay with her.’

Then a miracle happens. Ridley walks away from Evie Clarke and he walks towards me! He keeps his eyes trained on me as though there aren’t three hundred other people in the field. I hear Scarlett make a low whistle sound and Liv laughs but then they fall away. Vanish. Pouf. Just like that. As does all other sound and sense. There’s just him, walking towards me, holding eye contact. He has remained certain of himself, that’s because he doesn’t know what I know. He thinks he’s a boy on the cusp of GCSEs, A levels, university, a future. He doesn’t know what I know and the thought cheers me because for a moment, maybe I have more power.

‘Hiya.’

‘Hi.’

‘Nice party.’

‘Thanks.’ I say thanks automatically because it’s the same script that I’ve followed about fifty times tonight. He didn’t give the compliment with as much enthusiasm as some; in fact, maybe it had a sliver of sarcasm but maybe not. The vodka and the cocktails mean I’m finding what people are saying is a bit blurry. Their faces aren’t staying still either.

Ridley glances at the others that are hanging around us: Scarlett, Liv, Nella and three or four of his mates too. Liv and Nella have not gone for the water. No one is going anywhere; all eyes are on us. They are not even bothering to pretend to hold their own conversations. It’s quite cool, it’s like we’re Kim Kardashian and Kanye but it’s also awful because I know Ridley won’t be his best self in front of others. His best self is when he’s alone with me and mucking about doing daft stuff like throwing Maltesers in the air and catching them in his mouth or shooting hoops and stopping to kiss me every time he gets ten in a row (which was often, because he’s really good at sport). I finish off my cocktail because I don’t know what else to do.

‘You drink now?’ Ridley sounds surprised but pleased.

‘Things change,’ I say with a shrug. This is like the opposite of true. Because yes, I drink now, and yes, my family are millionaires, and yes, our parents have fallen out, and yes, he took photos of me with my pants down, peeing.

But I love him. That has not changed and that’s the only thing that matters.

‘How many have you had?’ he asks.

‘Not enough,’ I reply giggling. Again, most likely the opposite of true. But it sounds pretty cool, like we’re in a film or something. Nella put her hand straight in the air and actually clicks her fingers at a waiter. The others all laugh and one of Ridley’s friends says, ‘You didn’t just fucking do that for real, did you?’

Nella shrugs, ‘My girl wants a drink.’ She pouts and we all laugh again. The guy with a tray of cocktails appears and lets us all take one even though he looks unsure about it.

‘You’re all eighteen, right?’

Liv points at me and says, ‘It’s her party.’ Not really answering the question but also very much answering the question. We clink our glasses and then drink. The boys make jokes about cocktails being for ‘bloody girls’ and ask where they can get a beer.

‘There’s a bar,’ I say, pointing to one of the tents.

‘It’s free,’ adds Scarlett. Immediately all the boys dash off. I hold my breath. All the boys but Ridley. He stays. And I breathe again. He chose me over a free beer tent. That’s massive. He looks over his shoulder to where he left Evie Clarke standing. She’s still waiting for him. I see her sort of floundering about in space. Not sure what to do with herself, not sure where she fits, and I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. He turns back to me and I instantly forget her. He stayed with me.

‘Cool costume,’ he says. I wore the purple in the end. Sara was right, this isn’t the moment to undersell. I’m glad I wore the one that made Mum mutter and demand of Dad, ‘You’re happy with her going out dressed like that?’ It’s pretty obvious Mum’s losing her shit though, because in the past she ultimately made the decision on what did or didn’t happen in our house. I kind of get the feeling that Dad decides now. I don’t really know why.