Popping the Cherry (11 page)

‘Go on, Lena, you’ll be fine.’

‘Wish me luck.’

‘Luck,’ Jake said, before pulling the door shut.

He waited until I was through the front door before backing slowly off our driveway. With one last smile and a quick wave, he was gone, presumably headed home to his bed. I heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to see my dad.

‘Everything OK, Tink?’ he said. It didn’t matter how many times I asked him to call me Lena, he always used my childhood nickname instead. I swear he only did it to wind me up. ‘You look a bit pale.’

Before I could reply, Mum’s singsong voice carried through the open doorway. ‘You’re back early, love, was that Jake dropping you off?’ she said as she bustled out of the living room to join me and Dad in the hallway. ‘Good grief, are you still in your pyjamas?’ Her gaze must have climbed all the way to my face then, though, because she didn’t give me a chance to answer, and her voice became deadly serious. ‘What’s happened?’

And that’s when I burst into tears again.

So much for the drip-feeding idea
.

One look at my parents and it all came flooding out in between mangled sobs before I could even struggle out of my coat. They ending up helping me out of it, their gasps audible, even over the racket I was making. Damn, I’d forgotten my coat was covered in blood. Mum threw her arms around me in a tight hug. Dad, too, his arms reaching around ‘his girls’, and the three of us stood there in the hallway for ages until my crying subsided.

Mum relaxed her grip first, then Dad, and we broke apart. They looked as grim as I felt, but then Mum snapped back into ‘Mum’ mode and ushered us to the kitchen. Dad and I sat around the breakfast table, watching as Mum fussed around making drinks before joining us. Yet more sweet tea was thrust at me—the huge pot for their benefit as much as mine, I suspected—and they asked me to repeat everything, having not been able to understand half of what I’d said.

Starting with the gig, I told them everything, even the whole coke thing. Once they’d got over the initial horror, they took it pretty well, considering, and when I’d finished talking they told me how proud they were of me. I’d underestimated them big time, and vowed never to tell them I hadn’t felt I could confide in them. It would only hurt them and I didn’t want that, especially when they thanked me—actually
thanked
me—for talking to them and telling them what had happened.

Instead of going into ‘lock Lena in her room forever’ mode, Mum shared a look with Dad and heaved a sigh, then told me that, although it was hard for them, they had to accept I was almost an adult. She patted my hand as Dad looked at me and nodded his agreement, and she told me they would always support me, no matter what, and how they would try to respect my decisions. I wasn’t their little girl any more.

Yikes, how grown up did that make me feel?

Unfortunately, this whole treating-me-like-an-adult thing also meant I had to call in sick myself. Naturally, I put it off as long as possible by having another cup of sickly sweet tea, then I went for a steaming hot bath to stop me from seizing up any more.

As I lay back in the soapy suds, my mind drifted to Jake. His actions had been over and above what I could have expected from my best friend’s brother. My heart raced at the thought of him, remembering how gentle his fingers had been, how caring and attentive he had been, how warm and comfortable he was to snuggle up with, how close I’d come to kissing him.

Argh!

I plunged beneath the water, not caring about the splashes over the sides, as I tried to wash away the memory of him. I eventually had to come up for air and directed my thoughts to work instead. My heart raced for an entirely different reason as I tried to psyche myself up to make the dreaded call.

It’s not as if I could have dragged myself into the shop anyway, no matter how much I loved my job—which was almost as much as I loved the staff discount—because I’d have been pretty much useless, considering that I could barely move. And who would want to be helped in the changing rooms by a girl who looked as if she’d picked a fight with a brick wall and lost? I wasn’t exactly a walking fashion statement on the best of days, but I wasn’t usually a kaleidoscope of bruises with the mental capacity of a zombie, either.

When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I climbed out of the bath and dried off gently, wrapping the fluffy towel around me to walk the short distance to my bedroom. I couldn’t resist staring at my body in the full-length sliding mirror that concealed my wardrobe. The bruising looked even worse than before—‘angry’, even. My gaze fell on the phone perched on my bedside table. Oh, God! Why did I have to think of angry?

Painfully aware that my time was running out, I changed into my own pyjamas, soft and cuddly ones with teddy bears all over them—so
not
grown-up—then sat on my bed and picked up the phone, scrolling through my contacts until I reached the Ts. I hit ‘call’ and dialled the shop’s phone number for the second time ever, the only other time being when I’d applied for the job in the first place.

My heart was beating so fast, I could see the veins pulsing in my wrist, the blue threads brought to the surface by the hot water. I couldn’t sit still and ended up pacing the room despite the aches. By the time my boss came on the line, I’d worked myself into such a tiz that I very nearly was sick, in the literal ready-to-hurl way, not just the I-can’t-come-to-work way. What was wrong with me? This wasn’t like me at all.

Hmm …

Come to think of it, I was acting more like Gemma in full-on drama-queen mode, when I was usually the cool, calm and collected one. I stopped pacing and took a deep breath, already feeling calmer. Instead of feeling overanxious, now I just felt silly, even more so when ‘calling in sick’ turned out to be a perfectly straightforward exercise.

The call was over in five minutes flat and most of that was my boss asking me over and over again if I was all right and if I there was anything I needed. She even said to take the next Saturday off as well, full pay, no arguments. By the end of the call, I’d regained enough composure to ask her to warn the other girls to be on the lookout, too. Maybe I could do the grown up thing after all?

With the rest of the weekend to myself, I closed my curtains, then hobbled back to my bed, crawling beneath the thick quilt and resting my head on the pillow. I stared up at the ceiling and replayed the conversation with my boss. I’d been working at Topshop for coming up a year now, every Saturday without fail, with extra shifts during the holidays as well. In all that time, I had never taken a day off sick, so why I felt guilty was anyone’s guess.

Maybe for underestimating them, too?
As well as yourself?

Ugh! I pulled the quilt over my head, then sat back up to grab my iPod. I spent most of Saturday with my MP3 player on low, the headphones jammed into my ears to block out the usual daytime sounds, catching up on missed sleep to the background music of Ed Sheeran, Rihanna, Olly Murs and the
Twilight
soundtrack. My constant stream of painkillers continued, and, when I did drag myself out of bed for meals, Mum and Dad made a point of not mentioning …
it
.

Too exhausted to dream, I woke up on Sunday morning feeling fully rested. I thought about going out and getting some fresh air, but decided against it in the end. I’d had quite enough the other night and wasn’t quite ready for the big bad world yet. My bad mood was instantly wiped when Gemma turned up unannounced at my bedroom door. She’d figured I needed pampering more than Ben needed cheering on at rugby, so came bearing face masks, her trusty pedicure kit and three tried-and-tested chick flicks. Best of all, she’d brought the ultimate in comfort food, consisting of a bag of fresh pain-au-chocolat and a steaming hot hazelnut latte from Donovan’s, our favourite coffee hangout.

Sheer bliss
.

She didn’t even chew me out for disappearing on her, and letting Jake run me home instead of getting her up. Maybe Jake had been right, but it struck me as a bit odd that she didn’t say anything at all about it, not even as a joke, as if she was trying to avoid any mention of her brother, full stop. Something was definitely amiss but I couldn’t put my finger on what, or why, especially when she was otherwise acting her usual bubbly self.

So much so, I shared with her my increasing paranoia about being a virgin; about how the attack would never have happened if I’d put out to Hayden, or Damian even, except I wasn’t as succinct as that. Gemma listened to my rambling, hugging me at all the right moments, then, once I’d got it all of my chest, she squeezed my hand and suggesting I keep going with Operation: Popping the Cherry and not let creepy Hayden scare me off.

No chance of that, my virginity was starting to feel like a curse.

After a day’s worth of being thoroughly spoiled, followed by Mum’s legendary roast-chicken dinner, I was feeling pretty good about life when it was time to head up to bed. I woke bright and early, half an hour before my alarm was due to go off, but I was wide awake and raring to go. Aside from some bizarre dreams I was doing my best to forget, I’d had another great night’s sleep.

There was a definite spring in my step as I got showered and ready for college; even the thought of having to face Hayden on the bus didn’t bother me as much as I’d feared. Determined to show him what he’d lost, I risked washing and blow-drying my hair before dressing in my usual jeans and long-sleeved tee. I even had time to put on some makeup before I headed downstairs for breakfast.

‘Morning, Dad,’ I said, as I walked into the kitchen and saw him sitting at the breakfast table with a newspaper. Either I was running earlier than I thought, or he was running really late. His eyes widened when he saw me. I swear I could feel him watching me the entire time I poured a bowl of cereal, looking away only when I joined him at the table. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work already?’

‘You’re going to school today, then?’ he asked, ignoring my question.

‘It’s college, Dad, not school. And, yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?’ Like I needed to ask. It was written all over his face that they didn’t think I’d be going back today and didn’t want to leave me on my own. Dad must have drawn the short straw to have to stay home and play babysitter. I didn’t know whether to be annoyed or touched by their concern. I was about to press him for an answer when the doorbell saved him.

For an old man, he could still shift. He was on his feet and out of the kitchen before the chime had finished echoing. Typical. Never mind, he’d be back in a minute. I scooped up a spoonful of cornflakes and tried to crunch quietly, listening to him open the front door, and the sound of mumbled voices on the doorstep. Except that the other voice was familiar. And it was doing funny things to my tummy, unleashing a swarm of butterflies and sending heat to my cheeks and everywhere in between.

‘Tink?’ Dad called out, raising his voice to make sure I heard him. Along with half the neighbours. And Jake.
Oh, God, shoot me now
. ‘There’s somebody here to see you.’

I was already up on my feet and charging to the front door before Dad could embarrass me even more. Pity I hadn’t remembered I still had a mouthful of food; I nearly ended up choking, cutting my throat to shreds as I swallowed the remaining, unchewed, cornflakes. I passed him in the hallway and shot him with my best evil glare, but he just smiled and raised his hands in the air as he wandered back to the kitchen.

More likely running from the scene of the crime
.

‘Jake?’ I croaked, trying to dislodge the last of the cereal and doing my best not to splutter all over him.

He looked good—great, even—and I was secretly glad I’d had extra time to get ready this morning. The early-morning sunlight was hitting his hair, making the gold and bronze shine out. Not many guys could pull off the ‘white overalls covered in paint splodges’ look but Jake worked it, along with the grubby, well-worn, work boots.

‘Tink?’ he teased, dragging my attention from his attire to see the playful glint in his eye. He was biting back a grin but the corner of his lips turned up at the edges anyway.

When the world didn’t open up and swallow me as I’d wished, I settled for covering my face with my hands. ‘I’m going to kill him,’ I mumbled.

‘Why? Jake reached for my fingers, lowering them so he could see me, bright red cheeks and all. His eyes shone brightly, full of the laughter he was doing a good job of holding inside. ‘It’s cute.’

Overcome by the tingles that had spread from my fingertips all the way down to my toes and were now on a beeline to my chest, I looked up to meet his gaze, hoping to see some kind of sign that he’d been affected too. He squeezed my hands tighter and the sudden shock—the zap—made me want to gasp. Jake released my hands and flexed his fingers, his action matching mine, and he stared at me with wide eyes.

Interesting …

Without Jake’s touch bombarding my senses, the fog in my brain cleared. ‘So what brings you here?’ I asked, scrambling to get back onto firmer ground.

‘I’ve got a proposition for you?’

‘Pardon?’ I blurted. It was safe to say, they weren’t the words I’d expected him to come out with. My firmer ground dissolved into quicksand and I was left floundering.

‘Although I should probably run it past your folks first,’ he said, oblivious to my mounting peril. ‘You know, check they’re OK with it?’

‘OK with what?’

‘How about you invite me in? I’ll even promise not to call you Tink.’ Jake winked and slammed me with a self-assured grin that brimmed with confidence.

‘Er, yeah, sure.’ I shuffled to one side to make room, amazed I was capable of moving my feet.

Here I was, on the verge on a mental meltdown, and there he was, looking cool and unruffled. I didn’t generally go for violence but considered making an exception, sorely tempted to grab hold of his overalls and shake him. Jake immediately stepped inside and hovered in the hallway.

‘Thanks,’ he said, then waited expectantly, looking right at me as I clung to the open door for support.