A Girl Like You (18 page)
Authors: Gemma Burgess
By 10 pm, the atmosphere has improved. A bit.
We’re sitting around the courtyard table, with a smorgasbord of bread, cheese and pâté, and about 16 bottles of wine. It’s getting cold, but we’ve drunk enough not to care.
And I’m feeling less self-conscious. With the help of wine, Sophie and Vix.
‘And the moral of the story is that snowflakes are not an adequate form of rehydration,’ says Vix, finishing a story about a house party in Scotland.
‘But the condensation from a cold beer bottle is OK, right?’ says JimmyJames.
‘Definitely,’ agrees Vix, leaning over to bump her fist against his.
‘We should make up a secret handshake!’ says JimmyJames.
‘Let’s not, and say we did,’ says Vix.
‘Robbie! Robbie.
Robbie
. Robert!’ says Dave. Robert, who is trying to talk to Bella and Ollie, ignores him. ‘Fine, ignore me. JimmyJames and Luke, what do you think about the Vegas plan?’
‘Vegas, baby,’ grins Luke. ‘Vegas!’ shouts JimmyJames.
Why is it that you mention Las Vegas to any man aged between 20 and 40 and he starts shouting ‘Vegas’ like a fratboy on spring break?
‘Aw, it’s so cute that you think you’re allowed to go to Vegas for your stag,’ says Sophie tenderly.
‘Vegas,’ whispers Dave hopefully.
I laugh, and he grins at me.
‘I’m having a low-key hen, with a fireman stripper, blow-up penises and L-plates,’ says Sophie. She’s joking, obviously. That’s her worst nightmare. She’s banned us from organising any kind of hen night.
‘Fucking hell, this wedding is just cliché after cliché,’ snaps Bella.
The table falls silent. Ollie gets up and walks inside without saying anything.
There’s a pause. Sophie stares into space. She’s pretending she’s not here. But I’m furious, and I can’t hold it in any longer. How dare Bella take her mood out on my poor sister?
‘What the fuck is your problem?’ I say. She looks at me unblinkingly, then slowly gets up and follows him inside. I shake my head to myself. What a cow.
‘Love on the rocks!’ shouts Dave. He turns to me conspiratorially. ‘It’s a Neil Diamond song. Love on the rocks, ain’t no surprise . . . pour me a drink and I’ll tell you some lies . . .’
‘Shut up, Dave,’ says Luke. He looks upset.
‘To be honest, I’m not surprised it’s not working. Bella lives in Bath, for fuck’s sake,’ says Dave amiably. ‘You know, I realised recently I don’t trust anyone who lives outside of London. In fact I don’t trust anyone who lives outside Zone 2.’
‘Then you’re a prat,’ says Vix. Dave grins at her.
The sound of angry shouting drifts from the kitchen. We all fall silent and listen, but I can’t make out any words other than ‘I’m sick of you—’ and ‘I’ve had enough of this bullshit, you never—’ and ‘I didn’t even want to—’ and then the kitchen door slams.
Sophie puts her face in her hands and starts crying. Shit. She really hates confrontation.
I quickly get up and walk over to her. ‘Honey, just ignore her. She’s a complete fucking bitch.’
‘Do you mind? She’s my sister!’ says Luke.
‘Well, get her a muzzle,’ I snap.
‘I don’t want her to come to the wedding,’ says Sophie, through her tears. ‘She’ll ruin it. I’m de-bridesmaiding her. I’d rather have Plum, anyway.’
‘Don’t talk shit!’ says Luke. ‘You do that and this wedding will implode.’
‘Fine!’ snaps Sophie through tears, and runs into the house.
Luke looks into space for a second. ‘Fuck!’ he mutters, and follows her.
There’s a very tense silence at the table again. JimmyJames and Vix start giggling slightly hysterically.
‘I love these group bonding weekends,’ says JimmyJames.
‘I think Bella and I could definitely be best friends,’ agrees Vix.
‘Bella likes drama, that’s all,’ says Dave. ‘Everyone just calm down.’
I’m biting my thumbnail worriedly. Robert looks up at me and our eyes meet. Please fix this, I think desperately. Thank God for mind reading: he nods, and turns to Vix.
‘So, Victoria, tell me more about this guy,’ says Robert quickly, pouring her another glass of wine. JimmyJames immediately starts to tease her, and the night – or what is left of it, anyway – picks up slightly.
Then Dave leans right back in his chair, his legs stretched out under the table, and our feet touch. I meet his eyes and, feeling cockier than I have all day, I don’t look away. He narrows his gaze and I can feel my heart beating in my throat for several seconds. Oh God, this is unbearable . . .
I look away.
Robert is now analysing a text from the date Vix had a few weeks ago.
‘That doesn’t mean he regrets the night,’ he says. ‘It means he regrets the hangover.’
‘Should I text him back, then?’ she says. ‘I mean, I took it as rejection, it’s been like, two weeks. What’s the statute of limitations on that stuff?’
‘You are breaking my heart, Victoria,’ says JimmyJames loudly.
She turns to him and presses her finger to her lips. ‘Shh. Let’s play a game called Shut The Fuck Up.’
‘Sounds fun! What are the rules?’ he says.
‘I’ll give you some love life advice, Victoria,’ says Dave. ‘Don’t ask what he’s doing, or what he’s thinking, or when you’ll see him next. Christ, I hate text-terrogations.’
‘Ignore him,’ says Robert to Vix.
‘I need some new friends,’ says JimmyJames. ‘You lot fight more than my parents.’
‘Do you think I should go and check on Sophie?’ I say worriedly. ‘No,’ says Robert. ‘Luke will sort it out.’
I can’t bear the squirmy feeling in my stomach any more. Combined with the wine and cheese, and the worry about Sophie, Dave’s presence is genuinely making me ill. Perhaps I should go to bed. He keeps looking at me with those laughing eyes, like he knows how much I’m attracted to him and thinks it’s just a big joke.
Then, as if he’s reading my mind, Dave meets my eye again. I hold his gaze for as long as I can, and feel my face start to boil. I will not look away first, I will not look away first . . .
‘I think we should buy more wine, don’t you, Abigail?’ he says quietly.
‘Ye-yeah,’ I stutter, and then swallow. ‘The place shuts in 20 minutes, though.’
Dave stands up. ‘Abigail and I are going to get more booze. You three hold the fort.’
I stand up and, without making eye contact with anyone, leave the courtyard.
We walk through the house and out the front door silently. I feel even more conscious of Dave’s presence than ever. I didn’t think that was possible.
We start walking slowly up the quiet, dark street towards the centre of town.
‘Don’t worry about Bella,’ says Dave after a minute or so. ‘She doesn’t mean that stuff. She’ll make it up to your sister.’
‘I hope so,’ I say honestly. ‘Sophie would never upset someone on purpose. Bella is totally out of line.’
‘Bella will feel bad tomorrow, trust me.’
‘Good,’ I say firmly.
I glance at him. He’s going to kiss me, I realise with a jolt of certainty. The only question is when.
The village shop sells everything from pâté and wine, to figurines of ice-skating teddy bears. Dave holds open the door for me and we head towards the wine section together. We don’t speak, but oh God, the pressure is ridiculous. I’m hyper-conscious of his every move.
At the cash register, I put my hand out to pay. Dave grabs it and moves it away, giving the shopkeeper money with his other hand. He keeps hold of my hand as we leave the shop.
Finally, as we reach a quiet, dark patch of street about halfway between the shop and the house, he stops walking. The cold November night is completely still.
I turn to face him, trying to look cool and detached, rather than anxious and lustful.
I wonder if you can die from sexual tension.
‘Cocky little thing, aren’t you?’ he says, very quietly.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m actually quite tall.’
‘So there’s nothing going on between you and Robert?’ he says.
I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just shake my head.
Then Dave leans forward and kisses me.
And it’s a very simple kiss. No tongues, no pressure. Simply his slightly cool lips pressed against mine. But – and I am not exaggerating here, I swear – an electric jolt goes right through my body, all the way to my toes and back. I want to gasp, but my lips are busy.
This is it. This is that spark I’ve been looking for.
After what feels like an hour, but is probably only about a minute, he leans back and raises his eyebrows at me. Even in the dark, he’s so fucking good-looking, I think for the eleven-thousandth time today. ‘Well, that was unexpected, wasn’t it?’ he says.
I grin at him, and he grins back. Oh, perfect sexy smile.
We put the wine bottles down and start kissing properly. Fucking hell, I keep thinking, fucking, fucking hell, this is amazing . . . My body is a tangled mess of electrical wires. He’s not too tall, so even in flats I can kiss him perfectly.
With one hand on my neck and one around my back, Dave walks me back a couple of steps till my back is up against the side of someone’s house, his whole body pressed against mine. Good thing downtown Autignac is basically asleep at 11 pm on a Saturday night I reflect, then I get lost in the kissing again.
‘I couldn’t take the way you were looking at me any longer,’ he says at one point.
‘Me?’ I gasp back a few seconds later. ‘You were the one staring at me all day.’
‘Let’s leave the wine in the kitchen, and take this upstairs,’ he says.
‘Won’t they miss us?’ I say.
‘Of course they will,’ he says. ‘But I couldn’t give a shit. Let’s go.’
‘Hello.’
I open my eyes. It’s a second before I remember where I am.
I am in my bed in my parents’ house in Autignac. Very naked. With Dave next to me. Also very naked.
‘Hello,’ I whisper.
We’re lying side by side, facing each other, in my little bedroom. The house is totally quiet: no one else is up yet. My chin feels hot and chafed – damn thee, stubble rash – and my breath is, I suspect, kittenesque. But I can’t bear to move. I’ll just breathe through my nose.
‘I was magnificent last night, wasn’t I?’ he whispers.
I start to laugh. Hell of a way to break the morning-after ice.
‘Come here,’ he murmurs, and pulls me towards him for a kiss.
‘Gently,’ I say. ‘My lips are swollen from all the snogging.’
‘I’ll kiss them better,’ he whispers, moving me underneath him and placing his hands on either side of my face.
And now, I must briefly draw a veil over your eyes, or perhaps cut to a scene of a rocket launching, a flower coming into bloom in fast-forward, or train pistons shunting back and forth. We all know how great sex is (unless you haven’t had sex yet, in which case: don’t rush, the first time sucks, and remember to play it safe). So just imagine it with a smooth-skinned, flat-stomached, very enthusiastic man who you fancy so much that you want to grab and paw and bite every inch of him. That’s what this is.
My God, sex is amazing. To think that I used to actively try to avoid it when I was living with – no, no. Don’t think his name. Just think about Dave. Concentrate on the now. (How zen I am.)
‘Ahh,
la belle
France,’ says Dave, an hour later, as we lie on the seriously rumpled sheets.
‘My poor childhood books, seeing this sort of activity. They’ve led such sheltered lives,’ I say. ‘What time is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ says Dave.
I grab his watch from the bedside table. ‘It’s 10 am. I’ll go to the bakery,’ I say. ‘I wonder if everyone is awake. I hope Sophie and Luke made up. I’ve never seen them fight . . .’
‘Of course they made up, don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Do you think everyone drinks coffee? Maybe I should get some orange juice, too . . .’
‘Who cares what they drink? Come here, angel. I’m not done with you yet.’
‘No,’ I say, wriggling out of his grasp.
‘Abigail. I said come here,’ he says.
‘I’m not steak. You can’t just order me,’ I say. It’s a quote from
Working Girl
. I wonder if he got it. I shuffle off to the tiny en suite off my room and try to ignore the inevitable ‘he’s-looking-at-my-naked-arse’ thought.
Remain in control of this situation, Abigail, I think, turning on the shower.
‘Do you have any soap to drop?’ says Dave, stepping into the shower with me, and the next second he’s kissing me against the shower wall and well, again I must draw a veil over your eyes.
When I finally get downstairs, leaving Dave upstairs ‘to make some calls’, only Sophie and Luke are awake. They’re draped over each other on the sofa, watching French cartoons on TV.
‘Morning,’ I singsong. Looks like they’ve made up.
They both look over and smile. ‘Morning, sweetie,’ says Sophie.
‘Sorry about all the drama, Abigail,’ says Luke. He leans over to kiss Sophie’s head. ‘I was a brute. Your sister has forgiven me.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ says Bella, coming into the kitchen. ‘It’s all my fault.’ She walks straight over to Sophie and Luke. ‘I really am sorry, Sophie. I was so rude and I didn’t mean any of it. I was premenstrual and drunk and Ollie and I were fighting . . .’ Bella seems genuinely contrite. ‘Please forgive me?’
‘Of course!’ says Sophie, brightening. She is clinically unable to hold a grudge. ‘Are you and Ollie OK?’
‘Ha, sort of,’ grins Bella ruefully. ‘He ordered a taxi at 7 am and took the early flight home.’
‘Ah,’ says Sophie. Bella shrugs. I can’t read her face – is she upset or relieved? She’s so self-controlled.
‘Well, I’m going to get bread and croissants for breakfast,’ I say. ‘It’s lovely and sunny. We can eat in the courtyard. Back in 20 minutes.’
I’m so giddy with happiness, I have to fight the urge to skip up to the bakery. Just 24 hours ago, I hadn’t kissed Dave yet. Now I have. Our first kiss was right there, against that wall. And it was amazing. It was sparktastic. I can’t wait to do it again. I feel all hot and tingly at the thought.
But what if that was just one night for him? I feel a strange flutter of panic: I want him, and I desperately want him to want me . . .
Hang on. Did I just use the d-word?
Desperate
.
Fuck.
Stay in control, Abigail. Remember Robert’s tips. I can be cool and detached. And anyway, it can’t be just one night for him. Not the way he was looking at me, and the, frankly, utterly incredible sex . . .
‘
Bonjour
!’ I exclaim, walking into the
boulangerie
with a huge smile. Ten croissants, ten
pain au chocolats
, three baguettes and some brioches should do it. I also pick up some orange juice and some flowers for my mum.
When I get back to the house, Bella is lounging on the other couch, and Dave is lying on top of Luke and a shrieking Sophie.
‘Hold me,’ begs Dave. ‘You two have each other. All I want is a little cuddle. Maybe you could stroke my hair.’
‘I’m not going to cuddle you,’ says Sophie, giggling. ‘Get off. You’re squashing me.’
Standing up, Dave looks over and winks at me and I wink back. Suddenly I see Bella staring at Dave, and her gaze slowly moves to me. I look away, but not before I see the look of shock on her face.
She’s not over him, I realise. The idea makes my stomach flip.
‘I’m going to call Ollie,’ Bella says, bounding up and heading towards the stairs.
No, she’s fine, I tell myself as I walk into the kitchen. She’s calling her boyfriend. I’m imagining things.
Dave sits down on the other couch.
‘So, Luke, are you playing nice again? You know how much I hate fighting.’
‘Then stop fucking stirring everyone,’ replies Luke.
Sophie comes into the kitchen and sidles up to me, whispering: ‘Am I imagining things, or did you and Dave . . .?’
I meet her eye and grin. Sophie chortles with glee, and then, as Dave and Luke both look over, pretends to have a coughing fit. I deliberately hadn’t mentioned my uber-crush to Sophie, as I knew she’d tell Luke. (Not that I’d blame her, that’s how relationships work.)
‘Something funny to share with the rest of the class?’ calls Dave.
‘Scuse me, something in my throat,’ she says, taking the orange juice and glasses out to the courtyard.
‘Morning, all,’ says Robert, coming into the living room, followed closely by Vix. I look at them delightedly. They scored! I thought JimmyJames fancied Vix. Typical Robert. Oh well.
‘Coffee for you, sire?’ I say to Robert cheerfully, as Luke and Vix help Sophie carry the rest of the breakfast things outside.
‘Yes, please,’ he says. He’s not as grinny as I’d expect, having just scored with one of the bridesmaids. I would have thought that’d be the kind of thing that’d make him happy.
‘Victoria,’ I say, waggling my eyebrows at Vix, as we walk outside.
‘Calories don’t count in France, right?’ says Vix, picking up a
pain au chocolat
.
‘Not when you’ve burned them all off during the night,’ says Bella, coming back out into the courtyard. I glance up immediately, but she’s not looking at me. Guess Ollie didn’t answer her call.
‘I bloody love everything French,’ continues Vix airily, ignoring her. ‘French pastries, French wine, French cheese—’
‘French fries, French kissing—’ inserts Sophie.
‘
Écoute
, Robert,’ Vix calls into the kitchen. ‘We need more milk! How do I say milk in French?’
‘
Lait
,’ Sophie and I say in unison.
‘
Plus de lait!
’ she shouts. Robert returns with the milk, and Vix winks ostentatiously at him, mouth full of
pain au chocolat
. ‘Thanks for the
lait
.’
I smirk to myself. They’d make a good couple, wouldn’t they?
‘Please move to London,’ says Sophie mournfully to Vix. ‘I’m tired of only seeing you on one drunken weekend every three months. And I’m too old to make a new best friend.’
‘I might,’ replies Vix. ‘I’m running out of men in Edinburgh, fast.’
‘Sleep well, princess?’ I whisper, as I pour Robert some coffee. He looks tired, I suddenly notice.
‘Pretty good,’ he whispers back, putting his sunglasses on. ‘Well done, by the way. Looks like you made this weekend your bitch. Attagirl.’
‘High fives to me,’ I agree, smiling to myself.
Everyone’s eating with hungover enthusiasm. Dave is down the other end of the table, talking to Luke and Sophie about the wedding. It is just not fair the way men can wake up and look gorgeous even when they’ve been drinking. I needed ten minutes of careful make-up just to look human.
Suddenly, there’s a moan from the side of the courtyard, and a figure wrapped in the waterproof barbeque cover rolls across the courtyard, unravelling as it goes. It’s JimmyJames.
He has leaves in his hair and his face is marked where he used the barbeque cover rope as a pillow. He looks like Edward in an amateur production of
King Lear
.
‘You locked me out,’ he says indignantly. ‘I could have frozen to death. To
death
. Oh, goody. Breakfast.’
JimmyJames came outside for a cigarette when everyone moved inside at midnight, and the courtyard door locked behind him. Everyone assumed he’d gone to bed.
‘I scaled the outside of the house using the barbeque cover rope to help me,’ JimmyJames tells us, tearing into a
pain au raisin
. ‘I knocked on all the shutters, till I fell off and lacerated my arm – see? Look,’ he rolls up his sleeve to show off a very mildly grazed elbow.
The girls all make sympathetic noises. I splutter into my coffee with laughter, catch Dave looking at me in mock-alarm and blush. Darn it, I thought I had this self-conscious thing under control.
‘I shouted for a bit, till your neighbour yelled at me.’ Sophie and I exchange a grimace. ‘And after about an hour, I decided my priority was survival.’
Luke laughs so hard at this he starts to gag and has to leave the table and lean over, hands on knees, gulping deep breaths till he feels better.
JimmyJames carries on.
‘Temperatures can get down to six or seven degrees celsius in France at this time of year. And, as we all know, it’s imperative to keep your head warm. So I fashioned a sockturban, thusly, wrapped myself in the waterproof cover, using leaves and the rope as a pillow.’ He smiles proudly at us all.
‘Very, uh, impressive,’ says Robert.
‘So, what have I missed?’ JimmyJames says. ‘I’m glad to see Lady Bella is smiling again.’
Bella grins and blows JimmyJames a kiss. ‘Oliver has, sadly, left us,’ says Dave solemnly. ‘Rest in peace, Oliver.’
Sophie, Vix and I all immediately glance at Bella, anticipating fireworks, but she just grins and lights a cigarette.
‘What an exciting weekend it’s been,’ says JimmyJames, reaching for another croissant. I catch Dave’s eye and can’t help but grin helplessly. Blushes be damned. ‘Right. Who was bad with whom? And why do you look like the cat that’s got the cream, Abigail?’
The last activity of the weekend is a
boules
tournament in a nearby town. Personally, I think we could do without it, but Luke is set on us all bonding as a wedding party.
Boules
, in case you’ve never seen it, is a French version of bowls, and the specific game they play in our area is known as
pétanque
. The Béziers
boules
tournament is taking place on the long gravel pedestrian area in the centre of town, and there’s a carnival atmosphere. It’s a much bigger town than Autignac, and all the cafes and restaurants lining the street have installed outside seats and heaters so people can witness the game while they eat.
Dave and JimmyJames immediately decide to have a glass of wine ‘for sustenance’.
‘I need it,’ says JimmyJames earnestly. ‘I think my platelets are down.’
‘I just really like wine,’ says Dave. He leans over to me. ‘Can I get you some wine, hot stuff?’
I grin, shaking my head. Out of the corner of my eye I can feel Bella staring at me, but when I turn, she looks away.
The tournament has three different levels: the professionals, who take it so seriously that they’re barely speaking to each other; the middle league, who seem to be mostly couples and friends pretending not to take it seriously; and the bottom league, which is a shambles of fights and laughter. Just our style.
‘I think I should probably concentrate on staying alive, given my last 24 hours,’ says JimmyJames in a slightly martyred voice. ‘I’ll just have a nice sit down here and drink wine,’ he pauses. ‘I’d feel a lot better if Victoria would stay with me.’
‘Get used to disappointment,’ she replies.
‘I speak disappointment fluently,’ says JimmyJames. ‘Please?’
‘Fine,’ she says. ‘If you get me a chair and table, I will sit.’
‘Fine. We’ll register the six of us, then,’ says Luke. ‘We can play triples. Robert, Dave and I against Sophie, Bella and Abigail.’
‘Aces,’ says Bella, lighting her eighth cigarette of the day.
‘I notice you still smoke like a Russian peasant,’ comments Dave.
She blows a smoke ring at him and he grins. She’s extremely cool. So much cooler than I am. I bet she never needed a singledom coach.
‘What are the rules?’ says Bella. ‘How does it work?’
‘Toss a coin, draw a circle, throw the ball, person nearest the jack wins,’ says Robert shortly. He’s kept his sunglasses on since breakfast. A sign of remorse, or else just his usual hangover grumpiness. Poor Vix. It’s a shame she didn’t kiss JimmyJames.
‘This is so heavy!’ exclaims Sophie, picking up one of the
boules
. ‘Right. I’m ready.’
‘I’m going to beat you lot like a Christmas puppy,’ says Dave with an evil grin.
‘I’m going to beat you like a foster child,’ says Bella, squaring off against him.