Pretty Twisted (7 page)

Freya shrugged my hand off. ‘Maybe next time we won’t run into your immature little friends. Have you been bragging about me to them?’

I closed the door, dismayed. ‘They’re not my mates, OK? I just know Stuart a little. And of course I mention you. You’re my girlfriend. You’re part of my life.’

‘More like some kind of status symbol! You need to make your own mark on people, Jonathan, not use me to impress them.’

‘I don’t! Well, maybe just a little. When I’m with you I’m someone. On my own I’m just nobody.’

‘Of course you’re somebody! Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not being silly; things have been really tough without you. I love you, Freya.’

‘It’s like you think we’re the same person sometimes,’ Freya grumbled. She hunched in my armchair. I knelt by her and took her hand.

‘I don’t get why you’re so mad. Would you rather I pretended I didn’t have such a beautiful girlfriend?’

Freya ran a hand over her face, drawing a breath. ‘Forget it, OK? I’m tired and I’m being unfair. ’Night.’

I didn’t want go to bed. I wanted to clear the air, ask what I could do to make things better. No, scrap that, I wanted to go back in time and make that table booking and have an amazing romantic evening. Then we wouldn’t be in this mess and right now she’d be moaning about having to sleep in the spare room rather than cosying up with me. Freya gave me a cool peck on the cheek on her way out. I took off my tie and threw it across the room. So much for James bloody Bond.

Ever since we started going out I’d been worried that Freya might lose interest. Even now, I could hardly believe a girl like her had chosen me. While Freya hadn’t exactly been one of the ‘popular’ crowd, she stood out at school because she was beautiful and flaky and did things differently. She was the only kid in the year to use weird organic products in cookery class and she looked tall in school photographs because she wore her thick, waist-length hair piled on top of her head. I used to be fascinated by her hair; however tightly she pinned it up, locks always fought their way out of grips and toggles and by afternoon registration it would be loose. I’d always had a bit of a crush on Freya, but so did plenty of other guys. Probably I’d never have plucked up the courage to speak to her if she hadn’t approached me in music class and asked if I wanted to partner her for our GCSE project. I could hardly believe my luck. The first time I found one of her hairs stuck to my blazer it made me feel very funny.

To my surprise – and everyone else’s – we made a fantastic team. At first there was a bit of friction because my ideas centred around rock music while she was into classical, but this soon proved to be a plus. Freya thought of things I never would have and vice versa. And, in between melodies and quavers, we got to know each other, and before I knew it I had turned into a Freya addict, unable to concentrate on anything else. Problem was, I was still too shy to speak to her outside class. People were always buzzing round her, and I wouldn’t have felt comfortable joining them.

It was just as well I discovered that Freya had a Saturday job at an old-fashioned tea shop in one of the neighbouring towns, because waiting for the time between classes to pass was driving me mad. I went to the tea shop the first chance I had. I wore black and brought my guitar, with the idea that I could sit at the back, scribbling music and looking mysterious, as though I was plotting the downfall of the government or something.

I quickly realized it wasn’t that kind of tea shop. Everything was decorated in pink and white and the dainty tables made me feel clumsy. The other customers – mostly elderly ladies – stared at my outfit. Worst of all, when Freya appeared I went bright red.

‘Hi,’ she said, flashing a bright smile. ‘Wouldn’t have thought this was your scene.’

I mumbled something lame about fancying tea. She was wearing a dress with a frilly apron that made me feel scruffy. When she brought my tea I drank gingerly, afraid I was going to snap the delicate cup. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so left quickly and hung around until the shop closed and Freya came out – almost bumping into me.

‘Jonathan! You nearly scared the life out of me. Why are you still here?’

‘Waiting for the bus.’ That, at least, was true enough. ‘Are you going to get it?’

‘My dad’s picking me up. Want a lift?’

The last thing I felt like was meeting Freya’s father, whom I imagined to be the stern, protective sort. So I made up some excuse and got the bus. But I went to the tea shop the next Saturday, and the next, and Freya drifted along to talk to me every so often. She didn’t ask why I had suddenly started visiting – it must have been obvious. On the fourth week I even accepted a ride from her dad, who turned out to be about sixty and rather quiet.

One dreadful time I ended up in the tea shop with Mum. She’d forced me to go clothes shopping and we’d spent a ghastly afternoon traipsing round outdated shops.

‘I fancy a cup of tea and a cake,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to the Copper Kettle.’

Hastily I said, ‘I don’t want to. The last time we went there the cakes were rubbish. I’d rather go home and do my homework.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t be silly! They do lovely cakes.’

I sat as far back from the table as I could, trying to pretend that Mum was nothing to do with me.

‘Hi! What can I get you?’ It was Freya, of course, who came to serve us.

‘Tea, please,’ said Mum.

‘Anything to eat? We’ve got apple turnovers again – the ones you like, Jonathan.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ I muttered, and Freya went away.

‘I thought the cakes were “rubbish” here,’ said Mum wryly.

‘I only came in here once when I was waiting for the bus.’

‘Sure it doesn’t have anything to do with our waitress? She’s very pretty.’

‘She’s just a girl from school, OK?’

Mum shut up, but there was a knowing look in her eyes.

On Monday I said to Freya, ‘In case you were wondering, I’m not in the habit of hanging out with my mum. Saturday was a one-off.’

‘I think it’s sweet that you’ll go places with her.’ Freya tilted her head, smiling. ‘You know, you don’t have to keep catching me at work. Sundays I’m free all day.’

‘Would you like to go somewhere with me next Sunday?’

It was out of my mouth before I had time to think.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘That’ll be great.’

And that was how it started. We went for a walk with our guitars, played a concert to a field of cows, and Freya asked me if I fancied doing a duet in the Easter Cabaret.

‘You want me to go onstage with you?’ I asked, astonished.

‘Why not? You’re a fantastic guitarist, and if we’re as good at writing lyrics as melodies, it’ll be a breeze. I can sing and play rhythm.’

I wasn’t sure how I felt about performing in front of the whole school, but I was too awestruck to refuse. ‘I never had anyone to share music with before,’ I said.

‘Me neither.’ She smiled. ‘So, you going to kiss me now?’

After a few dates she started nudging me to get a better haircut and a cooler pair of specs, and to stop mumbling when I spoke to people. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, so be more confident,’ she said. My parents had said this before, but coming from Freya I believed it. We worked hard preparing for the concert, and a friend of Freya’s took some great publicity photos that we stuck all over school. Now that I was Freya’s boyfriend, people started realizing I existed, and it was the happiest time of my life. The concert went amazingly and people were still congratulating us weeks later.

Thinking of the past made me realize how much I missed it. Even though I knew Freya wasn’t far away and I could still play my guitar if I wanted, it felt like I’d lost the two things I really cared about. After some minutes of tossing and turning in bed, I knew I wasn’t going to sleep, so I got up and logged on to my MyPlace account.

Ros was there. She always was.

Late night hi.

hi. thought u werent going 2 b online 2day .

I shouldn’t be but The Worst Night Ever happened.

I told Ros how I’d screwed things up. It was funny how easy I found it to be honest with her; maybe it was because we were chatting over a screen, or perhaps, somehow, I knew Ros wouldn’t judge me.

that really is the worst night eva. u must b gutted.

Freya was furious. Says I use her as a status symbol. So what if I do? Aren’t I allowed to show off my girlfriend?

maybe shes got used 2 doin things alone. maybe she feels weird bein a couple again.

If it’d been three months since I saw her, maybe, but it hasn’t even been three weeks! How can that much have changed?

ur in different places doin different things. maybe u need 2 get 2 no each other all over again.

No, there’s something else she’s miffed about. Wish she’d tell me. She should, if it’s something I can fix.

sumtimes theres no ‘should’ wiv ppl’s feelings – & maybe u cant solve it either. u expect 2 much of urself.

I raked a hand through my hair.
You’re probably right. Guess it isn’t fair to dump all this on you. You don’t even know Freya.

u needed 2 tell sum1. thats ok. il always b here.

What, always? Even when we’re old and grey with grandkids?

lol. maybe not like that. u no wot i meant.

Freya and I didn’t get much time together on Sunday as she slept in most of the morning. I did go into her room at about ten, but she just pulled the covers over her head. All too soon we were outside her parents’ house, saying goodbye. She was spending the afternoon there before going back to London.

‘I’ll come and visit you soon,’ I said, kissing her. ‘I really want to see the conservatoire and meet your new friends.’

‘Bye.’ She picked up her holdall, then dropped it and wound her arms around my neck, squeezing tightly. ‘Sorry I’ve been a bitch.’

did u talk?
asked Rosalind when I logged in that evening.

No.

u were the 1 who told me nothin beats honest talkin.

More fool bloody me. Let’s not talk about Freya, it’s too depressing. How was your weekend?

weird. we met those artists – & i need ur advice.

Rosalind

7.50 p.m.

Abby, Claudia and I arrived at the Malt and Hops early. Despite the chilliness we sat on the benches outside because Claudia said the guys would want to smoke. I was wearing a scarf and hoody with a sweater underneath, and Abby had a coat, but Claudia, in only a strappy top with a push-up bra, denim shorts and tights must have been freezing. I almost felt sorry for her.

I was also wearing a retro hat I’d seen in a charity shop. It was a blue-and-white striped cap, a bit grubby and slightly torn. It covered most of my hair, leaving only a few strands peeking out. Abby fell about laughing when she saw it and asked if I’d lost all sense of style. Maybe it did make me look a little like an old-fashioned schoolboy, but at least it wasn’t boring. I’d never had much interest in clothes shopping, but seeing the pictures of Freya had opened my mind and now I felt inspired – perhaps I might be able to get a skirt or top next time, something to give my body a little shape.

The guys were late. Even Abby was starting to mutter about going home by the time three figures appeared at the end of the road. Claudia jumped up, calling out and drawing attention to us, as though the rest of the world cared what we were doing. The man in front greeted her with a kiss on either cheek. He wore an almost too-smart suit and tie and huge gold rings on his fingers. There was no way he was younger than thirty.

‘Evening, Clauds, you look great,’ he said, sitting next to her. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘Good,now you’re here.’ Claudia gestured to Abby. ‘This is the friend I told you about, Gabe.’

‘Hello, darling.’ He gave Abby a wave. Then his gaze passed to me. ‘I see you brought your kid brother along.’

‘Are you joking?’ Claudia sniggered. ‘That’s just someone Abby knows.’