Cold Comfort (4 page)

Getting ready to go out in complete
silence, so as not to wake Emily’s parents, was easier said than done. We’d
made a big show of turning in to watch a movie in her room, declining the offer
of a snack, whereupon she’d launched herself into her wardrobe and pulled out
two outfits. I’d planned to wear what I’d arrived in, jeans and a cute t-shirt,
but Emily informed me the dress code was smart. Apparently I needed to wear a
dress. She pulled out a small babydoll dress in pale eggshell blue and handed
it to me. “I don’t know,” I said as I pulled it on. She was smaller than me, so
whereas on her it would have reached nearly to her knee, on me it was only
mid-thigh. The one thing we did have in common was an ample cleavage. It was
the bane of my life, and while I usually wore sports bras to contain it, Emily
was happiest when she had everything out on display. This dress was a case in
point. “I can’t wear this,” I stated firmly as I took stock of my reflection in
the mirror. She said nothing but handed me a denim jacket to quieten my
protests which I gratefully put on, pulling it across my overexposed chest.

“You look great,” she assured me, a note of
resentment in her voice as she took in my appearance. “That colour makes your
eyes pop. You’re so lucky,” she said, scowling, “you don’t even need make-up.” It
was true. I had been blessed with dark brows and thick eyelashes that framed my
unusual eyes, along with full lips that were a natural rosy red. I’d never felt
the need to enhance myself with make-up – at least not so far. I slipped
on some ballet flats while Emily chose a pair of ridiculously high heels. I knew
I had an advantage by being tall with thin legs. It meant I didn’t need to wear
heels often, which in this instance was definitely a good thing. I had the
feeling that, with the party situated around a bonfire, her heels were going to
cause problems.

“Don’t forget your guitar,” she hissed at
me, still obviously resentful of my appearance. I grabbed it by the handle as
she listened by the door for any signs of her parents being awake.

We crept in silence down the stairs,
avoiding the step that creaked, before slipping out the back door and then running
down the street giggling to where a taxi Emily had arranged earlier was already
waiting. “Alright, ladies,” the driver said with a leer when he saw us coming,
“where to?” Emily gave the address, enjoying the open fixation the driver seemed
to have with her chest as it spilled over the top of the tight dress she was
wearing. Her outfit left very little to the imagination and made mine look
positively demure. I had wanted to tell her she looked a bit cheap, but I knew an
observation like that would only have started a fight.

After less than ten minutes we pulled up in
front of an enormous house, having driven down an extensive driveway, littered
with expensive cars which were discarded along its length. I felt a shiver of
fear. “Are you sure we’re invited?” I whispered, feeling out of my depth as I
took in the sight of multiple glamorous girls dressed to the nines in expensive-looking
cocktail dresses. The guys were all in black tie. We looked Top Shop to their
Harvey Nichols.

“I told you,” Emily said, sounding
irritated as she thrust a tenner at the driver, “Clarissa invited me. It’s her
party.” I climbed slowly out the car, clutching my guitar to my chest like a
shield. Emily slid out beside me, and then we walked the short distance to the
front door, which already stood open.

Inside was a heaving mass of people; some standing
around in small groups talking and some dancing to the throb of the very loud
house music that boomed throughout. I caught sight of a DJ hunched over some
decks in the corner of one room we passed and wondered why I had brought my
guitar. Emily sensed my reluctance as my pace slowed and grabbed my arm,
marching us through the house until she spotted who she was looking for. It was
a girl; tall, thin and blonde like a hundred other girls here tonight, holding
court amidst an admiring cluster of guys. I figured we had found Clarissa.

I tried to ignore the eyes I could feel
raking over me as we walked up to her.

“Clarissa,” Emily said brightly. “We’re
here.” Clarissa just looked at her blankly for a moment, a sneer spoiling her
pretty face as she took in Emily’s appearance and judged it lacking.

“Who exactly are you?” she asked with
disdain, making the group around her laugh. Emily blushed, and for a moment I
felt sorry for her. Then Clarissa’s attention shifted, and she noticed me
standing there with my guitar. “Oh yes, you’re the bonfire entertainer. It’s
outside, obviously. I don’t know what you’re doing in here. Follow the smoke.” The
group laughed again at the obvious dismissal and closed ranks around her. I simmered,
wishing we could just hightail it home again, but Emily was determined to have
her fun.

“Come on,” she hissed at me, as if somehow
her humiliation was my fault, pulling me through the crowds of people until we
emerged onto the patio at the back of the house. She paused to get her bearings
and then, spotting the obvious glow of a fire pit, pulled me into the darkness.
I laughed as she sank heel deep in the lawn, but she just scowled at me, so I
shut up.

I was grateful, as the darkness enveloped me,
to be away from the intensity of the house and the unwelcoming crowds. The glow
from the fire as we approached seemed warm and inviting by comparison. A small
group sat quietly around what appeared to be a proper fire pit. I had to give
it to Clarissa, or her parents at least; they didn’t do things by halves. Log
benches were placed strategically around the pit, a couple of them unoccupied. Emily
tugged me towards the first one that seemed vacant. The group, mostly men with one
token girl, looked up as we walked up.

“Hello, hello, who have we here?” a boy
drawled at our approach. “Move into the light so I can see you properly.” Obediently
we both stepped closer, into the glow cast by the flames. I could feel the
overt scrutiny of the group, particularly that of the boy who had spoken. It
was fairly obvious that all the kids here were older than us. They must have
just finished their A’ levels and been preparing for their gap years or
university. I felt intimidated by the cool, collected way they had about them,
embarrassed by my lack of experience in dealing with situations like this. I
stared at the floor, my face set, unable to look anyone in the eye. It was only
when Emily squeezed my arm, and I could sense her obvious excitement, that I finally
looked up. The boy who had spoken, I quickly realised from his appearance, was Charles
Taylor. Emily had given me a very comprehensive description, and from what I
could see she hadn’t particularly exaggerated. For once.

Emily preened herself under his scrutiny, ignoring
the unwelcoming vibes from the girl currently positioned on his lap. “Not
Clarissa’s usual type of friends,” Charles said, dismissing Emily immediately. “Ah,
a guitar!” he exclaimed with obvious delight as he peered through the darkness
at me. “I specifically asked Clarissa to find someone who could play. She
bitched like mad about it. Still, here you are,” he said, looking at me. His
eyes ran up my legs and paused at my cleavage as I struggled to both hold the
guitar and cover myself with the jacket at the same time. I blushed and he
laughed. “Sweet,” he said with a grin. “I hope you can play as nicely as you
look. Sit down,” he said, pointing at a space.

Emily scowled at me as we took a seat on
one of the spare log benches, away from the downward drift of smoke, and made
ourselves comfortable. I got my guitar out and spent a few minutes tuning it. “What
do you want to drink?” Emily asked as she stood, making a production of
brushing herself down. I knew it was for effect. She wanted to draw attention
to her assets.

“Just water,” I replied, knowing my throat
would dry out if I sang for any length of time. I didn’t drink alcohol anyway. I’d
tried it a few times – Mama had always been open to me trying things –
but I’d never really liked the taste.

“We’ve got some bottles of water in here,” Charles
supplied helpfully, pointing to a bucket filled with ice that contained a
selection of bottled drinks. Emily grabbed herself a beer.

“Charles, she’s awful,” the girl on Charles’
lap intoned nasally, after I’d been tuning for a couple of minutes. “Make her
stop.”

“She’s tuning up, you silly mare,” Charles
informed her dismissively. He pushed her off his lap so she landed on the bench
to his side, while he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs in
anticipation.

I felt a pinch on my leg. “He’s mine,”
Emily hissed. “Don’t forget.”

“I don’t want any of them,” I said,
irritated. Unfortunately it was loud enough for Charles to hear, and he raised
an eyebrow in amusement, which made me blush again.

“Hurry up and play,” Emily said
impatiently. She really had little appreciation of music, or what was required
to make it sound beautiful, concerned only with appearance. I ignored her, swallowing
my fear as I prayed nerves would not lock my throat down. I closed my eyes like
we’d planned, took a deep breath and began to gently strum, choosing my
acoustic version of ‘Umbrella’ to begin with.

This was home for me. Playing my guitar
gave me pleasure like nothing else, and I’d always lost myself within music. I
quickly segued from ‘Umbrella’ to ‘The A Team’ by Ed Sheeran, before moving on to
some of the older songs I adored, like Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’ and Bob Marley’s
‘Redemption Song’. I barely even opened my eyes in between, oblivious to my
growing audience.

It was only when the rasp of my voice
finally took its toll on my throat, and I needed a drink of water, that I
finally paused. As I opened my eyes I was startled to find the group now stood six
deep around us, all watching me. I blushed as they applauded with genuine
appreciation on their faces. Emily sat basking in my reflected glory, telling
anyone who would listen that I was with her. She had manoeuvred herself around
the group so she was now seated beside a good-looking blonde guy. Charles
Taylor was next to me, his previous companion nowhere to be seen.

“Well, well, well,” he said as he handed me
a bottle of water without me even needing to ask. “You’re quite good, do you
know that?” I said nothing as I removed the cap and raised the bottle to my lips.
He shifted closer. I pretended not to notice, focused only on the soothing
liquid now cooling my parched throat. “Where did you learn to play?” he tried
again.

I looked at him this time. “I mostly taught
myself, but school helped too.”

“You’re good. Really good.” I could tell
this was high praise indeed coming from someone with his sort of social status.
He hadn’t needed to say anything. He looked at me again. It was a different
sort of look this time, the sort of look guys normally gave Emily. “How old are
you anyway?” he finally asked.

“Sixteen. Today,” I told him for some
reason.

“Happy birthday,” he said, smiling. He
leaned towards me. “Sweet sixteen and never been kissed,” he whispered, his
breath brushing against my cheek and sending a chill over my skin. “You’re
almost too good to be true,” he husked, making me blush again, which made him
smile once more.

“Play something else,” voices from the
crowd called, growing restless without the hypnotic effect of the music.

“Your fans await,” Charles told me. “I hope
you have more you can play?”

“I have loads,” I told him. And I did. I
could play for hours without needing to ever repeat a song. I picked up my
guitar again, crossed my legs, ignoring the way his eyes followed along their
length, and started to sing. The crowd hushed once again, only breaking the
silence to clap between songs.

“So this is where everyone is,” Clarissa’s
arrogant tones finally disturbed the moment sometime later, breaking into the
middle of a song. “What’s so good about her anyway?” she said dismissively as I
stopped. “All anyone’s been saying to me for the last hour or so is ‘I should
hear the singer at the fire pit’. I don’t think she’s all that. I can sing
better than her.”

The crowd shifted with discomfort at her
criticism, uncertain how they were meant to respond. Clarissa’s word clearly
carried some weight around here, and she’d basically announced she thought I
was crap. “Clarissa, you sound like a donkey when you sing.” Charles said with
a laugh, coming to my rescue. “This lady, however, is really quite talented.” His
view obviously trumped hers, judging by the relieved murmurs of approval from
within the crowd. Clarissa scowled at me, but Charles ignored her and turned to
face me. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Delilah,” a voice announced from the
darkness, located somewhere beside Clarissa from what I could tell. I strained
my eyes, peering into the inky shadow to see who could possibly know my name. Emily
seemed equally surprised, judging by her expression when we exchanged a look.

The owner of the voice finally stepped
forward into the glow of the flames. When he did, it was worth the wait. He was
handsome, heart-flutteringly so. My body responded immediately. From the corner
of my eye I watched Emily sit up straighter and push her chest out, but the
stranger’s gaze never left mine. His dark features lent an edge of danger to
his appearance as he stood there and stared at me. I initially shrank slightly
under the intensity of his stare until something about his eyes finally
triggered my memory and I recognised a face I hadn’t seen for years. Almost
eight to the day, in fact. “Hardy?” I breathed, standing up, hardly daring to
believe it was actually him.