Trouble (2 page)

“Was he pissed off about that?” Rex again.

“Not really. I’m pretty crap at it.”

Tyrone laughs and so do the rest of them. Only someone listening for it would hear the nanosecond time lag.

“You’re not so bad, Aaron Tyler.” Tyrone slaps me on the back so hard he nearly dislodges the mouthful I was midway through swallowing.

Not so bad?
Interesting.

FRIDAY 2
^ND
OCTOBER

HANNAH

Lola isn’t eating her beans. They’re green, so you can’t blame her. Baked wouldn’t be a problem. Mum works late on Fridays so teatime’s always a little bit … tense. Despite having raised a teenage son already, Robert has a hard time keeping a grip on his youngest. And me. He manages to get Lola to eat one bean and considers that a win, ignoring the fact that she then eats her pudding and half of mine on top. Afterwards, Lola insists on doing my hair before she starts on her Fluffy Kitty collection. By the time she finishes I’m not sure who looks worse – me or Princess Purry.

Thankfully my grooming session is cut short by a text from Katie:
cu in 10
. Which is code for:
get the drinks in
. I don’t have to go far.

Before he left, my stepbrother had a massive party and because Robert is Robert and Jay is Jay, Robert gave him loads of money for it, WAY more than any normal dad would. But Robert likes to flash the cash – especially on his only son. Anyway, Jay overbought on the booze and because I was “helping” him order, he overbought on the sort of booze that
I
liked. I reckon that was the best night of my life…

Worst. Ever. Morning. After.

I might miss Jay, but at least the stash he left me under his bed means I don’t have to miss having someone around to buy me alcohol.

AARON

For the last four weeks the highlight of my social calendar has been the two hours after school on Fridays, when Dad drops me off at Cedarfields, a local old folks’ home, where I spend time with some of the lonelier residents. Despite spending most of my time there being teased, patronized or ignored by people who consider the television better company than me, I somehow find it more enticing than the prospect of actually going out.

But I have a deal with my parents, which is that if someone makes an effort to be friendly, I’ll make an effort too.

When I told Mum that my lunch on the top-dog table resulted in an invitation to hang out at the park tonight, she threw her arms around me and squeezed until I expired. Dad prised her off, but even then she was so overwhelmed that she started rubbing my back.

“If you’re going to act like this every time I go out then it’s going to put me off,” I said and she instantly withdrew her hand. The last thing she wants to do is jeopardize my reluctant steps towards integration.

“Which park?” (Mum)

“The one by the river.”

“Who with?” (Dad)

“Tyrone and Rex and … their friends?” It was more likely Dad would know their names than me. He’s good at his job. Good enough to move into a reasonable position at a reasonable school at a very reasonable speed and get his son into the same school, no questions asked. At least, no questions that I know about.

“The
basketball
lot?” Dad said, his voice incredulous. I’m not known for my sporting prowess.

“It’s not like they asked me to take a shot before they invited me along.”

“Just as well,” Mum replied and I let her give me another hug. I’m doing this for her, after all.

So, now, with my father’s blessing and a scarf foisted on me by my mother, I’m standing outside an off-licence which is far enough from our house that my parents won’t know about it, wondering if I can pass for eighteen. I don’t want to go in and I don’t want to drink whatever it is that I buy, but this is what’s expected and I have promised my parents that I will try.

HANNAH

Katie is late and all I’ve being doing since she texted is trying to repair the damage done to my hair during Lola’s grooming session. I’m not sure it looks any better than when I started, but my arms ache. She arrives wearing her clothes for the park – that boob tube isn’t the wisest choice for someone with a rack like hers, but there’s no telling Katie. Once my bedroom door’s shut, I hand her a bottle and open one for myself.

“What happened to your hair?” she asks.

“Lola. Is it really that bad?”

“No…” She doesn’t look too sure. “Wear your blue skirt and no one’ll look at your hair anyway.”

Sounds like a plan to me. As I dig about in my wardrobe looking for a top I haven’t worn a thousand times already, Katie tips her bag out onto my bed, finds her make-up under tomorrow’s clean undies and starts dusting on more powder and grumbling about her skin. To be fair, her skin’s pretty bad at the moment, but I’m starting to get bored of hearing her moan on about it. It’s not like it stops her from pulling.

“So will Fletch be out tonight?” she asks in the least innocent voice possible.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

Katie sees right through me. “You’re going off him, aren’t you?”

“A bit.” A lot. He talks too much. And he exaggerates. And, well, I was never “on” him.

“What about Tyrone?”

“What about him?” But I can’t stop the smile edging up my face.

“Marcy’ll be out,” Katie says, and I know it’s a warning. You don’t flirt with Tyrone when his girlfriend’s around – a rule I’ve been known to break. I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about not pulling her boyfriend when she’s
not
there, either. No one knows I’ve broken that one, though – not even Katie. “Watch yourself, yeah? You know what she’s like.”

I do. But Tyrone’s worth the risk.

AARON

The carrier bag feels like it’s cutting into my bones by the time I get to the park. Even so, when I see how many people there are, I think about turning round and walking all the way back home again – although I’d have to ditch the alcohol. Might as well persevere. How bad can it be?

HANNAH

We’re late, which is a good thing – it’s not clever to arrive first unless you’re a B-baller or one of their WAGs. I wave away Katie’s offer of a cigarette at the gate, but she doesn’t move the pack from under my nose.

“Sure? It’ll steady your nerves.”

“I don’t have any nerves,” I lie. Katie and I have decided I’m not allowed to go anywhere with Fletch.

“Liar,” Katie says, lighting up.

“I’ll have one later.” I won’t be able to say no after a couple more bottles. Never have, never will.

“You can use it to stub out Fletch’s boner. That’d work.” Katie blows a rubbish attempt at a smoke ring in my face and grins as it mists about me in the cool night air. “Ready?”

Katie tugs her top up, arches her back and sticks her chest out – as if she needs to – before going in. I follow, noticing a stain on my skirt that I’m sure wasn’t there when I left the house. There’s not much I can do about it now.

The first person I see is Tyrone, standing by the benches. As we walk past I chance a sneaky peek in his direction.

He’s watching me.

For a split second I hold his gaze then look away as if I haven’t really noticed him. But once we settle on the swings my eyes are drawn back to him; he’s got his arm round Marcy. The Brad and Angelina of Kingsway – only Tyrone’s the one with perfect lips. I look at his mouth and think about kissing it.

He catches me looking.

There’s a flash of teeth between those perfect lips as he grins at me, but I don’t let on. Marcy’s looking daggers at me already. I get my phone out for something to do and discover a text from Fletch.

Hey sexy. Where ru? Thought ud b @ park? xxx

I look around quickly, but I don’t see him anywhere. When I turn to ask Katie if she’s seen him I realize she’s already got a couple of Tyrone’s mates over and the Katie Coleman Show is in full flow. Neither of them really do it for me, but Katie’ll flirt with anyone she can see through the vodka veil and when Mark Grey takes a cheeky swig from her bottle, she cuffs him about the ear and giggles. I down my own bottle and wonder how long it’ll be before I get myself into trouble…

“Hey there, Han.” Fletch’s arms wrap themselves around me and there’s a wet kiss behind my ear. I want to wipe it off. He walks round and edges one of his legs between mine, hitching my skirt up, hiding the stain amongst the wrinkles. I edge backwards as he leans in.

“Not right now, Fletch,” I say, trying not to gag at the toxic cloud of aftershave. He looks confused for a second before smiling and nodding, hearing a promise I haven’t made. I want to correct him, to tell him that “not now” means “not ever”, but it’s got him out from between my legs and that’ll do just fine. As he weaves his way across the grass to talk to some girls who will pretend he doesn’t exist, I wonder why I ever let him touch me.

My gaze wanders to Tyrone. It’s not like I can’t do better.

AARON

Since I joined Rex by the picnic tables I’ve been listening to him complain about his absent girlfriend and quietly trying to work out if park politics are any different from school ones. The only difference appears to be that, for the boys, any girl is fair game, but the girls themselves are locked in a turf war. The cool girls, the ones Tyrone talks to in school, are hanging out by the skate ramp, and there’s another group on the far side of the grass. Sitting on the swings, in a satellite group of two, are Hannah Sheppard and her friend Katie Coleman, who look
very
different out of uniform. My dad – whose favourite gripe is the ever-shrinking school skirt – would have a fit if he saw the belt that Hannah’s wearing.

I’m having trouble working out where these two fit in. That’s why I keep glancing over – nothing to do with the legs that Hannah’s got on display.

“Drink?” I hand Rex another beer and remind myself exactly how bad it would be if I opened one for myself. No one wants to meet Drunk Aaron. I’m familiar with his work and I think it’s best he stays safely tucked inside a sealed can. Safer for me, safer for everyone else.

HANNAH

I’m bored. Katie’s off with Mark Grey and I’m giving her ten more minutes before I leave without her. With Tyrone joined at the face to Marcy, the only entertainment left is playing bitch tennis with Marcy’s lot, but with their best player out of the game it hardly seems worth it. Besides, I’m not in the mood.

I check the time on my phone. Katie’s been gone over half an hour. Seriously, how long does it take for Mark Grey to get off? I send her a text telling her I feel sick and I’ve gone home. She has a spare set of keys – this isn’t the first time this has happened. In fact, it happens almost every time we go out.

Halfway down the path to the back gate I hear footsteps behind me. I keep walking, listening as whoever it is draws near. Please be Tyrone, please be Tyrone, please be Tyrone…

“Hannah?” Not Tyrone. Fletch. Of course. He’s in front of me now, his head cocked to one side, looking me in the eyes, a grin not far from the surface. “Going somewhere more private?”

“Yes. Home,” I say, not quite looking at him.

“Yours or mine?”

All of a sudden I feel so tired that I want to curl up in a little ball on the path and go to sleep. But I’ve got to suck it up.

“I shouldn’t have come over to yours again on Tuesday,” I say and I sense his smile fading. “It was a bad idea.”

“That’s not what you said at the time…” He starts to run his hand under the hem of my skirt and I feel a slight buzz at the touch, my willpower wobbling. The way he feels as his body edges closer to mine isn’t so bad and the sound of his breathing – slightly too heavy as if he can’t wait to reach me – is a turn-on. I open my mouth as he draws closer and let him kiss me with a lunge that makes me gag. This boy needs some serious training in the tongue department.

There are footsteps as someone hurries past and I find myself hoping that it wasn’t someone from school.

Stepping back, I put enough distance between me and Fletch to catch the flash of anger on his face. “Look, I’m sorry…”

“Yeah. Whatever.” The words land at my feet as if he’s spat them and, as he walks away, I fight back an urge to shout out the truth – that he was a pity shag, someone that couldn’t disappoint me because I expected absolutely nothing from him. It was what I needed.

Next time it’ll be someone I actually want.

AARON

When I return from a trip to the bushes, Tyrone punches my shoulder like I’m one of the guys. He’s clearly drunk, since he introduces me to his girlfriend, Marcy, and tells me she’s a model for the third time that night, then laughs when I tell him that. Now I’ve been deemed “funny”, almost anything I say gets this reaction – understandable given the company he keeps. His friends are practically interchangeable. All on the basketball team, all in Tyrone’s thrall. Beyond Rex the only one I could pick out of a crowd is Mark Grey, and that’s only because he’s the size of a house. He went missing a while ago with Katie Coleman, which Rex seemed inexplicably aggrieved about.

I find an empty table where I can sit and rest for a moment. Socializing is tiring.

A voice I don’t recognize says, “Hey,” far too close to my ear for my liking. Glancing round I discover Marcy sitting with one hip propped on the table. It’s easy to see why she’s a model. She possesses an angular, almost alien, beauty, all cheekbones and jawline – the kind with no warmth. As far from my type as it’s possible to get.

“Er, hi?” My voice sounds like it’s yet to break and I clear my throat.

Marcy edges close enough that she bumps her arm into mine. For an alarming moment I worry that she’s going to sit on my lap, but she doesn’t, for which I am grateful – Tyrone would have a hard time seeing the funny side of that.

“Just wanted to say hello properly,” she says.

I hadn’t been aware that the ones we’d exchanged three times already were inadequate.