Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (21 page)

I smiled wanly.

Frasier appeared behind Becky and began pulling stupid faces. Then he made a loud chimpanzee noise which finally got her attention.

She turned and elbowed him sharply in the stomach. “Oh, give it a rest, will you?”

Frasier laughed moronically. I studied his glowing complexion and still found it hard to believe to how different he looked. That herbal face scrub he was using had certainly worked wonders.

“Okay,” he said when he’d regained his composure, “let’s be serious now. What are you girls doing this Saturday?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and rocked back on my heels.

“Nothing. Why?”

“What’s going on this Saturday?” Becky chirped.

“It’s my brother’s twenty-first and he wants to go out clubbing,” Frasier explained. “He says I can bring a couple of friends along so I thought … do you guys want to come?”

Becky’s face lit up with excitement. “I’m definitely up for that.” She glanced at me and I nodded my head uncertainly. “Okay, so that’s me and Sam in. I’ll also invite Marie and Hannah. So, which club are we going to?”

“Some place called Revolution,” he replied.

“I know Revolution,” Becky said. “It’s around the back of the shopping mall near where the old cinema used to be. Thing is, it’s over twenty-ones only, and I’ve heard the bouncers there are harsh. How are we going to get in?”

Frasier tapped the side of his nose. “Don’t worry. My brother’s friend knows one of the promoters, so he’ll get us on the guest list. And when you’re on the guest list, the bouncers tend not to ask too many questions.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” I muttered. “I think I look kind of young. I don’t want to go all the way there only to get turned away. It’ll be too embarrassing.”

“Hold that thought.” He took out his phone and snapped a photo of me. “I’ll have you a convincing ID by Saturday. So no excuses, okay? You’re coming.”

“I want a fake ID too!” Becky squealed, even though it wasn’t necessary. She could have easily passed for twenty-five, never mind twenty-one. “Please, please make me one, too. I don’t want to take any chances either.”

Nodding eagerly, Frasier took a snap of her and stored it in his phone along with mine. “Okay, two fake IDs coming up.”

Becky clapped her hands together. “This is so exciting! Can’t wait. I’ve never met your brother before. Is he bringing a lot of friends along?”

“Maybe two or three.”

She turned to me. “You can come to my house beforehand to get ready. It’ll be great! We can make a proper girly night of it.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, heading toward the door. “I don’t really do girly nights.”

“Oh come on, don’t be such a spoilsport. It’ll be fun. Hannah and Marie will be there.”

“Whoop de do.”

“Don’t be like that. I won’t take no for an answer. Remember, you still owe me big time for standing me up last Friday. This can be your way of making it up to me.”

“Oh, all right,” I groaned, raising my hands in surrender. “I’ll come.”

“Wicked!” she squeaked. “This is gonna be so much fun. You’ll see.”

Great.
A girly night with Hannah and Marie. It’ll be “so much fun”… like a bullet in the head. Still, if it helps to keep my mind off Lee, then it might be worth the agony.

Revolution

O
n Saturday, I got to Becky’s around seven-thirty. Our girly night had been due to start at five, but I couldn’t bring myself to get there any earlier and endure more time with them than was necessary. I took my overnight bag with me just in case I did wind up having to sleep over after we got back from the nightclub.

Becky lived in a large, three-story town house in Middleton Square, a more gentrified part of Elmfield than the neighborhood I came from. It was pretty dark as I swung up the well-kept drive, and I felt an unexpected pang of nerves, wondering what the evening had in store for me. Cautiously, I rang the bell, and then stood back and waited for someone to answer. A minute passed before the door opened.

“Sorry to disturb you. Is Becky at home?” I asked politely.

“You must be Sam.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.”

Becky’s mother was nothing like I expected. Becky was tall and skinny, but her mother was a tubby mouse of a woman, with a large head that didn’t quite sit right on her shoulders. Old, too—I guessed around sixty. Either that or she’d had a hard life.

She gave me the kind of pitying glance I’d long grown accustomed to. It was a look that said she recognized me from TV and knew about my past, but was way too polite to say anything. I hated it when people did that.

“The girls are waiting for you upstairs. Follow me and I’ll take you to them.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, pet. Becky’s always talking about you. She says you’re one of her very best friends.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

Smiling broadly, she led me through the brightly-lit front hall to a staircase at the back of the house. Photos covered the walls depicting Becky throughout her life: Becky aged two, Becky aged five, Becky aged ten, Becky on a safari, Becky at Disneyland. Interspersed among the pictures were various framed accolades she must have picked up over the years, such as a an award for tidiest Girl Scout and a certificate for coming in fourth in a relay race at a school sports day.
I didn’t even know they gave certificates for coming in fourth.

Within seconds, I’d figured out that Becky was an only child and her mother was obviously one of those mollycoddling types who thought the sun shone out her daughter’s behind and also had the audacity to inflict that notion on the rest of us. Too bad. The world was full of deluded people.

We reached the upstairs landing and were greeted by the heavy bass of an R’n’B song playing in one of the rooms.

“They’re in here,” she said, pushing a door open with her shoulder. Becky’s bedroom was pink and fluffy, with an enormous, king-size bed covered with dolls and teddy bears. The environment was an homage to Malibu Barbie. A white book shelf covered one wall, and on the other a wardrobe was topped with a fluorescent pink stereo. In the corner sat a computer desk with a high-priced PC.

Becky was perched on the edge of the bed painting her toes with bright pink nail polish. Marie was sitting in front of the dresser, flat ironing her long, brown hair while Hannah was rifling through the wardrobe, comparing different outfits.

Becky glanced up and smiled. “Hey, what took you so long?”

“Sorry, I had some stuff to do,” I mumbled.

“Are you girls all right for drinks?” Becky’s mother asked. “And what about food? Are any of you hungry? There are sausage rolls and ham sandwiches if you’re interested.”

“Mmm, sounds great.” Marie turned around. “Thanks, Mrs. Martin.”

“No, no, we don’t want any food yet,” Becky interjected, waggling the cotton buds between her toes. “Maybe a bit later. We really should finish getting ready first.”

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you girls to it then.” Her mother waddled from the room.

“Do you like my nails?” Hannah asked, shoving freckly fingers in my face. She was wearing the same garish pink polish as Becky.

“Yeah, they look good.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her fake tan had made her knuckles orange. With a heavy sigh, I slung my bag on the floor and collapsed next to Becky on the bed.

“Careful!” she squeaked. “You almost spilled my nail polish.”

“Sorry.”

Marie spun her chair to face me, still raking the flat iron through her hair. “What are you wearing tonight, Sam?”

“Let’s see …” Bending over, I unzipped my bag and pulled out a plain black top and jeans.

Becky made a face. “God, that’s a bit boring, isn’t it? That’s the same stuff you always wear to school. Why not shake it up a little? Wear a skirt or something.”

“Yeah, we’re all wearing skirts tonight,” Hannah chimed in. “Why not join us? Then we can be co-ordinated, like a groovy girl group. It’ll be so cool.”

Becky’s voice adopted an authoritative tone. “Marie, sweetie, open the second drawer on the dresser and bring out some of my skirts to show Sam. I’m sure she’ll find something she likes.”

“But I don’t do skirts,” I pouted. “I won’t feel comfortable. Why can’t you guys just let me be?”

“Nonsense, you’ve got a lovely figure. Why do you always try to hide it? Are you afraid of looking good? Come on, Sam, try being a bit adventurous for once. Remember, you only have one life.”

Marie dutifully fished out a bundle of mini skirts and dropped them into my lap. Reluctantly, I began inspecting the skimpy pieces. Some of them were barely bigger than a belt!
What the hell is Becky trying to get me into?

“So, what’s the deal with you and Frasier?” Hannah asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.

“Well, you know, I always see the two of you hanging out at lunch together, talking and stuff. It’s pretty obvious there’s something going on.”

“I can assure you, there’s not.”

“Why not?” Marie cut in, her voice accusatory. “Frasier’s looking great since he lost the glasses. I think the two of you would make a really cute couple.”

“No way,” I protested. “Trust me, he doesn’t like me that way. He’s a lovely guy, but he’s got a crush on someone else.”

Hannah mimicked a theatrical drum roll.

“Why’s everyone looking at me?” Becky smirked, screwing back the lid on the nail polish. “So what if he likes me? He’s obviously got impeccable taste.” She stuck out her tongue and Marie giggled. “Okay, I agree that he’s looking rather fetching these days, but I’ll have to pass for the moment. I’m still holding out for you-know-who.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Oh no, not
Lee
again. I thought you’d gotten over that!”

“Nope,” Becky said, strutting on the side of her heels to the full length mirror. “I’m not ready to give up yet.”

“I don’t blame you,” Marie sighed. “He
is
mind-blowing.”

“Yeah, but he’s also got one hell of a screwed-up personality,” Hannah said, turning down the volume on the stereo. “All that business of him refusing to give Becks his phone number was just plain weird. I think he’s a player. He’s probably got a girlfriend, but he’s still trying to keep his options open. That’s the problem with good-looking boys. They always come with so much baggage.”

“Maybe so, but I still think he’s worth the fight.” Becky’s mouth became a small, tight line. “There must be some way of tracking him down. I mean, I’ve tried everything—I’ve been to his school, I’ve checked all the social networking sites, but it’s impossible. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air. If only I knew his surname, that would be a start.”

“Weaver. His surname’s Weaver,” I said.

Everybody looked at me.

“How do you know?” Hannah asked suspiciously.

“Simple. I asked him.”

“Lee Weaver,” Becky murmured, speaking to her reflection. “I’m coming to get you, Lee Weaver. Sooner or later, you’ll be mine, I promise.” She gathered her lank, blond hair into a bun and held it there for a second before letting it tumble around her shoulders. “Hannah, turn the music back up. It’s time to party!”

A loud bass guitar flooded the room again, and Becky began gyrating in front of the mirror in time to the beat. Her moves were fluid and sexy, her body in complete tune with the music in a way I could never hope to be. I was so jealous. She was truly a great dancer.

“Have you decided what you’re going to wear?” she demanded, rousing me from my trance.

I glanced down at the bundle of skirts cradled in my arms. “Um, no, they’re not really my thing.”

“What about a dress?” Marie suggested, proffering a slinky red number. “I think a dress would really suit you.”

Gingerly, I took it from her, stood up and held it against me. It had a few too many ruffles for my liking. If I’d been taller, it would have been pretty short—but since I was considerably smaller than Becky, the hem came to just below my knees. I supposed it was tolerable. At least it covered my thighs. “This one looks all right, I guess,” I said.