Pretty Twisted (12 page)

I blinked. ‘As in . . . a date?’

‘I guess. How about it?’

‘Come on, Lucy. You know I’m with Freya. I’d never cheat on her.’

‘You know what pisses me off?’ Lucy burst out. ‘Since she came along and you did that concert, you think you’re in another league. We used to get on; now you just grunt whenever I try to chat to you.’

She was right, I guessed. We had hung out at school every so often, and a couple of times we’d met up in the evening. It all seemed a long time ago now. ‘That’s because I’m always half asleep on that zombie bus.’

‘No, it’s because I’m not “cool enough” to be seen with, because Freya gave you this whole new image and you’re still clinging on to it even now she isn’t around –’

‘Hey! That’s well out of order!’

‘But you’re lying to yourself! You’ve dropped all your other interests – you could have joined college gaming club with me and made lots of mates but you won’t because you’re scared you’ll look sad, or people will pick on you or something.’

‘People did pick on me, remember?’

‘At school! We’ve moved on since then – not that you seem to have noticed!’

‘Lucy –’ I said, drawing breath. But she was on her feet and heading down the carriage, even though we wouldn’t get into Ipswich for a good ten minutes. What the heck had all that been about? I mulled over it for a few minutes before deciding Lucy didn’t understand. Maybe I was more image-conscious these days, but without Freya and music, hanging on to who I’d become was about the only thing I had. Why did girls get crushes on guys with steady girlfriends anyway? Seemed pretty stupid to obsess over someone you couldn’t have.

My train arrived at Liverpool Street on time. I went to the meeting place, the AMT coffee stand. Ros wasn’t there yet, so I waited, feeling eager yet oddly nervous too.

Rosalind

10.25 a.m.

My retro hat was gone. I discovered this when, too anxious to do anything else, I started getting ready early. Must have left it at the aren’t-artists’, I realized. That was just wonderful – another problem to sort out.

I stuck my head round the door of Olivia’s room. She was sitting in bed listening to the Killers and texting her boyfriend.

‘Livy, can I borrow a tenner?’

‘Why don’t you ask Dad?’

Dad hadn’t said a word to me at breakfast. He was out at neighbourhood watch this morning, which was just as well, as I had a feeling he’d stop me going out again. It was also lucky he hadn’t got close last night. I’d realized this morning that my hair smelt of weed and cigarette smoke and washed it thoroughly.

‘Dad’s out,’ I said. ‘Please.’

She sighed. ‘There’s some cash in the pocket of my jacket.’

‘Thanks. You wouldn’t be extra nice and let me borrow clothes too, would you?’

Olivia raised her eyebrows. ‘You know they won’t fit you.’

‘You don’t need to remind me.’

She watched as I looked through her stuff, feeling like a sticky-fingered toddler. I took out a denim skirt and a stripy strapped top. If I put them with a necklace and my school tights, I might look OK. I returned to my room, locking the door. The skirt proved to be unwearable without a belt and the top sagged when I bent over, but they were still better than anything in my wardrobe.

When I went out to pick up my tights from the laundry basket I bumped into Olivia on the landing.

‘You’re not going out like that, are you?’ she demanded.

‘What?’ I said defensively.

She grabbed my wrist. ‘God, don’t you know anything? Come here.’

Olivia pulled me into her room. She opened one of her drawers and dangled a bra in front of me.

‘Put this on.’

‘It won’t fit.’

‘I know, just put it on.’

I turned to the wall and did as she said. When I turned back Olivia was armed with a box of tissues.

‘Pad it with these. It’ll give you a bit of shape.’

I did as she said. Then I went to the mirror.

‘Wow,’ I said, tilting to view myself from one angle, then another. ‘I actually look female.’

‘You’ll look better if you put on a bit of make-up. Here, let me do it.’

She sat me down on her bed and got out an eyeliner. She smudged it round my eyes then applied mascara, threatening to stop if I dared blink.

‘I don’t look much like me any more; I guess that’s a good thing,’ I said, admiring the results. ‘Thanks, Livy.’

‘No problem. Where are you off to, anyway?’

I smiled and didn’t answer.

Feeling a little more confident, I messed around with shoes and hairclips until it was time to go. Knowing Dad would ask questions too if he saw me like this, I left quickly.

I was halfway to the station when the doubts I’d been trying to ignore caught up with me. Everyone had said over and over again what a bad idea it was to meet strangers from the Internet – and now the time had come, I wasn’t brave enough to ignore them. What if everyone else was right about Jonathan, and I was wrong? I hesitated for a long moment, then turned and made my way to Abby’s house.

Abby’s mum gave a double take when she answered the door – probably wondering where I suddenly got boobs from. It was clear from the way she was acting that Abby had got away with it last night.

Abby looked surprised to see me when her mum showed me into her room.

‘Ros! I thought . . . Wow! Who made you over? You look older – really cool. I love it!’

I wasn’t in the mood for this. Instead I brought up the night before – and it was just as Jonathan had said. Abby hadn’t wanted to be the one to break up the party.

‘Didn’t want to look bad in front of Claudia and the guys,’ she mumbled.

‘Oh, right!’ I snapped. ‘So you’d have moaned and groaned about how you so desperately wanted to stay, but had to go with boring old Ros, and I’d have been the party pooper. That’s mean, Abby.’

‘They’re not your friends. You’ve said you don’t care what they think.’

I do and I don’t, and nothing makes sense at the moment, I thought. ‘Whatever! Abby, I need you to come with me to Liverpool Street. I said I’d meet Jonathan there and I could really do with company, just in case – well, just in case he’s not who he said. And there’s another problem.’ I drew a long breath. ‘He thinks I’m Olivia.’

Shamefacedly, I explained.

Abby looked at me with big eyes. ‘Oh, Ros! Why do you apologize for yourself all the time? If Jonathan’s as great as you say, he’ll like you for you.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘Funny kind of boyfriend,’ Abby muttered, picking up her bag. ‘Don’t start crying, Ros. You’ll mess up your makeup. Like I said, it looks really nice. Is that tissue in your bra?’

‘I never used to tell lies like this,’ I sniffled. ‘If love’s meant to tell you who you are, then I don’t want to be me.’

‘Don’t say that. There are loads of good things about you.’

I wiped my nose on my sleeve. ‘Like what?’

Abby gave me a hug. ‘Like you’re my best friend.’

On the tube, I willed the journey to last forever. What was I going to say to Jonathan? He’d know I’d lied the moment he saw me and ‘I wanted you to think I was pretty’ sounded such a desperate excuse.

‘Best just to tell the truth,’ Abby kept saying. ‘It’s not nice but I don’t see how you can get out of this one.’

We’d texted a friend from school before setting off. I thought it might be good if a third person knew what I was doing – just in case.

I nearly bottled out when we got off the train. With each step, I felt sicker. Not ‘uppity’ any more, I thought, and took a deep breath as the escalator carried us to ground level.

I led Abby to the coffee stand the long way, bobbing behind people and hoping Jonathan’s train had been delayed. No such luck.

‘God!’ Abby whispered, catching sight of him. ‘So he isn’t a weird old man after all. He’s really fit.’

There could be no mistake – he even had a guitar case on his shoulder. He was leaning against a billboard with his hands in his pockets and I guessed he’d been waiting a while.

I forgot my nerves for a moment. He’d been telling the truth! I was so relieved that I wanted to sing it out. Everything we’d shared had been real –
Jonathan
was real, and he was even better-looking than he had been in the photo.

‘What’re you going to do?’ Abby’s voice brought me back to reality. I ducked behind a timetable board next to the coffee stand, peeping out to keep an eye on Jonathan. My heart was pounding so forcefully that I was worried it might pop out of my chest. The things I’d wondered – what it would feel like to touch his hair, to share a kiss – crowded my mind and the last of my confidence crumbled. Forget about pretending I was nearly seventeen and pretty, there was also the nightmare of Abby thinking he was my boyfriend. How had there come to be so many lies?

‘Excuse me,’ It was a voice with a funny country accent that spoke, and in a heartbeat I realized it was Jonathan, addressing a man waiting for coffee. ‘Do you have the time?’

The man pointed to the station clock, which was in plain sight.

Jonathan laughed, colouring slightly. ‘Oops. I need new specs.’

Hi, Jonathan, I’m Rosalind, and I’m sorry I’m a total coward, but I wanted to impress you.

Jonathan was pacing now. Asking the people at the coffee stand if there’d been delays on the tube. Beginning to look annoyed.

‘Ros,’ Abby whispered again, ‘what are you going to do?’

Hi, Jonathan, I’m Rosalind, and I think you look great.

He took his phone out. I felt my pocket buzz. I didn’t pick up.

Hi, Jonathan, I’m Rosalind, and I might be in love with you.

‘Ros! Come on.’ Abby tugged my arm, pulling me out from behind the board and towards Jonathan.

‘Abby! Let go!’ But it was too late. Jonathan glanced at us – and for a long moment our eyes met. I froze. Oh God, this was it! Beside me, Abby giggled nervously. Jonathan gave her a funny look and placed his mobile to his ear. After a few seconds, I realized. He didn’t recognize me! He thought we were just two silly little girls! Relief and bitter disappointment mingled inside me as I watched him turn his back on us.

‘Hey, Freya,’ he said into his phone. ‘Just a quick call. Can you remind me of the number of your aunt’s house again? . . . Fifty-seven, Ridgemont Street? OK. And that’s Richmond station . . . See you soon. I’ll be earlier than I thought.’ Jonathan stuffed his mobile back in his pocket and nodded to the coffee-stand people. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll be off now.’

‘Thought you were waiting for someone,’ said the woman at the till.

‘I thought I was too,’ said Jonathan. ‘Seems she’s not so keen.’

‘Ros!’ Abby hissed. I wanted to scream out that I was keen, keener than he could possibly know, but I couldn’t find the words, let alone walk up to him.

‘If you see a pretty girl with long brown hair come and wait here, could you tell her to give Jonathan a ring? Thanks.’ Jonathan gave the station a last sweeping glance and moved off. As he disappeared into the crowd I saw him raise his phone to his ear again. A moment later my mobile went off. It seemed to vibrate for a very long time. When it stopped I took it out and saw that he’d left voicemail.

‘Ros, this is Jonathan. I waited twenty minutes and you didn’t come, so I guess you don’t want to meet me after all. I’m not sticking about so I’ve gone to Freya’s. If you still want to see me, give me a ring. Bye.’

‘Ros, run.’ Abby’s voice seemed to come from very far away. ‘You can still catch up with him.’

‘No, I can’t,’ I said, and started to cry, tears running through my eyeliner in inky streaks. I felt in my pocket for a tissue, then, as it didn’t matter any more, took one from my bra cup and blew my nose on that instead.

What if he didn’t want to speak to me after this?

Jonathan

12.55 p.m.

I couldn’t believe it. Ros didn’t seem the kind of person who’d stand me up. She was always online when she said she’d be, and by her own admission annoyingly sensible. I wanted to make excuses for her, but unless I got a message soon, I’d just have to face it: she didn’t want to see me.

All those evenings we’d typed till our fingers were sore surely meant something to her. Funny how this girl I’d never met was suddenly so important to me. For a moment I wondered if Ros really was who she said she was, but I couldn’t bring myself to seriously consider that.

At least I still had something to look forward to – seeing Freya. I cheered up a little. This weekend was bound to be better than the last one – it couldn’t be any worse. Maybe then it wouldn’t matter so much that Ros hadn’t shown.

Auntie Phil’s house was a semi down a quiet road near the river. A slim woman with fashionable glasses and very carefully arranged hair answered the door.

‘Are you Jonathan? Freya’s out.’

‘I did call and tell her I was going to be early.’ I smiled, hoping to break the ice. ‘Any idea where she’s gone?’