Soulmates (5 page)

I was late for my English lesson. I burst through the door to a class full of unimpressed and stony faces. I apologized to my teacher, who waved me away and continued teaching.

Frank had left a space for me and I scuttled over to him.

“What have I missed?” I whispered, getting my A4 notebook and biro out.

He handed me a copy of a book. I grimaced at the front cover. Ergh.
Romeo and Juliet
.

“It’s our Shakespeare play for this term,” he said. “Aren’t you supposed to simper and gush on about how romantic it is?”

I raised an eyebrow ironically at him in reply. He raised one back and we both laughed. He knew “simpering” wasn’t part of my vocabulary.

Frank Dayton was one of those friends you make out of convenience when you don’t know anyone in your class. None of my friends took English, so luckily I’d sat next to Frank in my first lesson, who didn’t know anyone either. We quickly discovered we shared a mutual love of sarcasm, passing judgement on everyone, and weird sci-fi loner novels. I sometimes spent time trying to decide if I fancied him. He was technically good-looking. Blond hair, green eyes, worked out, all the usual box-tickers. But he just wasn’t my type. And he played rugby. Ergh. It was one of the things we argued about, as I usually couldn’t bear rugby players and their massive egos.

If I was really bored I would wonder if he fancied me, but was mostly certain we only mutually used each other to get through English A Level. We didn’t really speak outside of class and he never went to Band Night. He was into trance music. Double ergh. I regularly teased him on his musical choice. Why bother liking clubbing music when you live in Middletown? Where are you going to rave? In your Renault Clio?

My teacher, Ms. Gretching (very important you remember the Ms., she goes nuts otherwise) was still talking. She was droning on about how Romeo and Juliet were meant for each other but “true love” always self-destructs. I had an inkling this academic point wasn’t actually on the syllabus, and had rather more to do with the white strip of skin on her finger where her wedding ring used to be.

I groaned and lay my head on the table.

“Do you really hate
Romeo and Juliet
that much?” Frank asked, finding amusement in my dismay.

“Yes,” I whispered back. “The whole story is ridiculous. It’s just about a pair of melodramatic teenagers high on dopamine ruining their lives because of some adolescent crush. I wish we could have done
Macbeth
instead.”

Frank looked at me for a moment. “You’re really not like other girls, are you?”

I looked at the row of girls sitting opposite us. They were four identikit blondes Frank and I regularly took the piss out of because they obviously spent about two hours getting ready for college – full face of make-up, GHD ringlets, fake eyelashes EVERY day. They were hanging on Ms. Gretching’s every word, simpering whenever she used the words “soulmate” or “true love”.

I gestured towards them. “Thank God,” I replied.

We were instructed to start reading the first scene. Frank and I flipped our books open and read for a few minutes.

“So why were you late anyway?” he whispered, turning over a page. I saw he was two pages ahead and it bothered me. “You looked a bit flustered when you came in.”

I had a quick flashback to my Noah encounter and felt my breathing speed up. “If you must know,” I said. “I was being asked on a date.”

I studied Frank’s face for a reaction. He didn’t look upset. More surprised. So he didn’t fancy me then. Oh well, it figured, I supposed.

“Who would want to go out with a grunger like you?”

“Grunger? Seriously, Frank? It’s not the nineties. Just because I listen to real people making real music instead of a computer beeping repeatedly doesn’t mean I’m Kurt Cobain.” I was a little hurt by his remark. I knew he was joking, but he had just validated one of my biggest insecurities. Why
would
anyone want to go out with me?

Frank realized he’d picked a topic of conversation I wasn’t prepared to be sarcastic about and waved his hands like he was surrendering.

“Okay, firecracker. I didn’t mean it. I’m sure you’re lovely to go out with.”

“I’m delightful.”

“Of course.”

“Everyone’s dream woman.”

“Definitely.”

“I’m just jealous,” he said, eyes mischievous. “You see, I’ve been dying to take you out myself. There’s this great trance night I know about. Just your sort of thing. About time you started listening to proper music…oww.”

I had elbowed him in the ribs.

Ms. Gretching heard his yelp of pain and glared at us.

“Well,” she said. “Poppy and Frank have obviously finished the first scene. As you are both so
enthusiastic
, why don’t you read the parts of Romeo and Juliet in the next one?”

We both groaned.

“I blame you entirely,” I whispered as I forced myself to stand and read the part of wet, stupid Juliet.

English was a double lesson so, by the time I’d finished pretending to hurl myself around a balcony, it was lunchtime.

“You made a lovely Juliet,” Frank said as I pulled my chair back. “Very convincing.”

“Shut up, you,” I said, chucking my pen at him. Annoyingly, he caught it. “Anyway I noticed you doing loads of dramatic pauses in your Romeo monologue. Who do you think you are, Leonardo DiCaprio or something?”

“You’re just jealous.” Frank chucked the biro back at me.

I lunged for it but whacked it with my hand and it rolled under the table. I ducked to retrieve it, slightly conscious that my arse was poking out right in front of him.

“Of you? You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, finally grabbing my pen, wiggling up, and turning to leave. “Anyway, lovely as it was and all, I’m off.”

“Bye bye…Juliet.”

“Shut up.”

My friends were all in the canteen already, sitting at our usual table. Lizzie was sitting cross-legged, writing something in that bloody notebook she incessantly carried around. Ruth was, funnily enough, admiring herself in a compact mirror – ever the stereotype. And Amanda had Johnno with her. They were holding hands but both looked constipated with fear.

“Poppy!” Lizzie yelped when she saw me. “Guess what? The paper is interested in my dead fish story.”

“That’s brilliant,” I said, dumping my bag on the table and pulling out a chair. Amanda and Johnno smiled hello, while Ruth just nodded.

So she was going to be like that, was she?

“I’m a superstar,” Lizzie said, beaming.

“Lizzie, you’re not supposed to say that about yourself.”

“Screw that. Who else is going to pump me up? Journalism is a cut-throat world, you know. You have to believe in yourself.”

I rolled my eyes and pulled out my peanut butter sandwich. Lizzie’s determination was disconcerting. I was seventeen and didn’t have a clue what to do with my life. I didn’t particularly enjoy any of my A level subjects. I wasn’t particularly good at any of them either. I liked reading books, but only as a leisure activity. I hated studying narrative technique and all that drivel in my English lessons. I bit into my sandwich and let Lizzie’s excitable chatter wash over me, pondering the evening ahead. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was flattered Noah had picked me out, even if he was bad news. Admittedly, I didn’t know for certain he was bad news. Was I being unfair? Assuming he was a player just because he was good-looking and in a band?

No. It was more than that. He did something to me that I didn’t understand. I’d lost myself in just one weekend because of him. A sixth sense inside of me was flashing a warning light. Half of me wanted to ignore it and run straight to our date. But the other, sensible half had me on reins.

Lizzie eventually stopped droning on about newspapers and asked, “So what are we up to tonight? I’m not staying in on a Monday, it’s too depressing. Plus its ultra-gorgeous outside. We have to make the most of it.”

I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice casual.

“Actually,” I said, screwing up the foil from my sandwich, “I bumped into that Noah guy this morning on the way to college and he invited us to go to the Lock and Key with his band.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me.

“What? When did you see him?” Ruth asked. She looked suspicious.

“We just bumped into each other and he asked if we wanted to come out.” I thought it best not to tell her he’d been waiting for me, hoping he would bump into me.

Lizzie looked like she was going to explode with excitement. “Tell me everything that happened,” she said. “Every last detail.”

I shrugged and tried to ignore Ruth’s dark look. “There’s no more detail. The whole band is going. It should be fun. Plus, if we get to know them better, we might be able to get free entry to Band Night.” I opened my bottle of water and took a much-needed gulp. “So, are you up for it?”

I surveyed their faces. Ruth was still glowering. Lizzie wiggled in her seat like a hyperactive five-year-old on Christmas morning, and Amanda just looked overwhelmed. She was clutching Johnno’s hand, who wasn’t paying the situation any attention at all and was staring absent-mindedly out the window to where his mates were playing football.

“Of course we’re up for it,” Lizzie said. “Sounds like a laugh.”

I looked to Ruth. She glared for a few moments, and then her face softened.

“Yeah, I’m in. I quite fancied the bassist anyway. I might make him my new conquest.” She puffed up her chest theatrically and made us all laugh. I nervously reminded myself that, until yesterday, Noah had been her intended conquest.

We turned to Amanda in unison, waiting to hear her inevitable excuse.

Blinking at us desperately, she said, “Tonight? I think I’m supposed to be having dinner with my family tonight.”

We groaned. Nobody could lie worse than Amanda. She was incapable of pulling the wool over even a sheep’s eyes.

“Come on,” I said, poking her in the ribs, which I knew she hated. “It will be fun. New people. New conversation…”

“New totty…” Ruth chipped in and she smiled at me genuinely. So we had made up then. Phew.

Amanda looked to Johnno for backup but he was still watching the football. “I…I…did say I would have dinner with them…”

Lizzie took over. “For God’s sake, Amanda,” she said. “Even a nun could lie better than you. Isn’t that right, Johnno?”

Johnno pulled his attention back and looked at Amanda adoringly. “Yes,” he said to her. “You’re the most honest person I know. That’s why I like you so much.”

Amanda flushed the colour of a radioactive beetroot, and, as a result, Johnno turned mauve as well. They dropped each other’s hands and both looked at the floor.

Lizzie, Ruth and I all smirked.

Johnno got to his feet ungracefully and pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders. “Anyway…I’d better go join the guys outside for…er…the…rest of the match.”

Amanda could barely look at him. She shrugged her shoulders in a vain attempt at a breezy and non-committal manner. “Sure,” she said, her face still bright red. “See you later.”

Johnno stood there awkwardly for a moment more, like he was trying to build up the courage to say something, but then bottled it and practically ran out of the canteen.

The moment he’d gone, the rest of us dissolved into hysteria.

“Oh my God,” Lizzie said, tears in her eyes. “You two are so funny.”

Amanda looked at her in dismay.

“You really are,” Ruth added. “You’re like the two shyest people I’ve ever come across in my whole seventeen years. How you even got together is a miracle of science.”

Amanda looked like she was going to cry. I could see the angry comebacks forming in her mind, never to be expelled. Then she shook her head and grinned.

“Shut up,” she said. “Okay, I know we’re both a little…repressed…”

Her choice of word made us lose control again.

“But we’ll get there. Anyway…” She struggled to build the courage to say the next sentence. “…At least I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Ruth, Lizzie and I looked at each other, still laughing and raised our eyebrows.

“Now that is true,” I said, moving into Johnno’s seat and putting my arm around her. “We shouldn’t mock you. You are, after all, the only one who’s found somebody.”

“I find somebody about once a week,” Ruth said and the hysterics began again.

The girls at the table next to us looked at us like we were mad, which only made us laugh harder.

When we had finally regained our self-control, I turned to Amanda again. “So, are you coming?”

She gulped but I knew she was going to give in. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll go to the pub.”

“Brilliant.” I stood and looked at the clock. I had less than five minutes to get across campus to my next lesson. “Meet you all outside the gates after college.”

They nodded, and I turned and made my way towards class.

The rest of the afternoon passed pretty quickly.

I feigned concentration during Psychology, and double Photography took me through to the end of the day. I hid myself away in the calming red light of the darkroom and listened to my iPod while I processed some David Bailey-style photos I’d taken of Ruth. The mixture of music and darkness soothed me as images came to life in the developer liquid. But my calmness evaporated the moment the final bell went. I ran to the girls’ toilets, poured out the contents of my make-up bag into the sink and got to work making myself semi-presentable. Five minutes later and I was…improved. On the outside at least. My insides still felt like unset jelly.

I worked on my game plan as I made my way to the gates. It consisted of two words: “stay cool”. So easy in theory, without Noah there to distract me. Ruth, Amanda and Lizzie were waiting for me at the entrance. They all looked slightly more made-up than at lunchtime, so I obviously wasn’t the only one who’d made a last-minute dash to the ladies’.

“You ready?” I said, linking arms with Lizzie.

“Of course, of course,” she replied.

I grabbed Amanda’s arm, who was already linking with Ruth, and wondered if girls ever grew out of the arm-link. I hoped we wouldn’t.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on that bassist,” Ruth said. “I decided to seduce him while I was bored in Travel and Tourism.”

“Honestly, woman. You are such a perv,” Lizzie said, mock-outraged.

Ruth shrugged her shoulders. “Just treating men like they’ve been treating us since the dawn of time. It’s role reversal. It’s empowerment. It’s feminism.”

I laughed. “All valid points, Ruth, but I’m with Lizzie. You’re just a perv – using half-baked ideals about equality to cover up your bad habit.”

Ruth looked proud of herself. “Maybe.”

We flip-flopped our way towards the pub, the sun still shining high in the sky. When we arrived, the band wasn’t there yet. We shuffled in nervously, using Ruth as our confidence. The Lock and Key was an overly trendy pub, very typical of Middletown. It had supposedly groovy purple lighting and high bar stools with red velvet covers. The place attracted up-themselves young professionals – the sort who liked to roll their shirtsleeves up and laugh loudly while necking a four pound bottle of beer with an “edgy” label. We usually avoided the place. The female manager had a nasty habit of ID-ing young girls more attractive than her, but luckily she wasn’t on duty today. We pushed Ruth to the front and, without hesitation, she confidently ordered four bottles of Corona and lime. The barman, a skinny guy with hair that must’ve taken at least half an hour to craft, took her money without question and pulled the tops off for us. Ruth expertly handed them over before leading us into the beer garden.

I looked down at my drink, bemusedly, as we followed her outside.

“Since when do we drink beer?” I whispered to Lizzie.

“Since we’ve been invited out by a cool band.” She took a short swig. “Hmmm, not entirely awful,” she said, wiping her mouth with her hand.

The saving grace of the Lock and Key was the beer garden, especially on such a sunny day. The owners had presumably spent huge amounts of money hiring a landscape architect, who’d sculpted the space into something almost magical. Hedges and trees hid tucked-away tables, while twinkling lights and electronic heaters gave the place a fairy-tale glow after sunset. Right then though, it was still blisteringly hot and many tables had already been taken by groups of slightly sweaty businessmen, who were trying to look cool by rolling up their trouser legs and wandering around barefoot.

Ruth steered us towards the last large table and sat on the central seat with the best view of the pub’s back door. She pulled out a pair of massive red sunglasses, wrapped them round her face, then took a long drink of her beer.

“Ahhhh,” she said. “This is the life.”

I looked down at my drink and tentatively took a small sip. It actually wasn’t bad. I took another, larger sip, and tried to forget Noah would be arriving imminently.

We spent a while pretending to be interested in making conversation, but the atmosphere was tense. We were all nervous. Well, Amanda and I were for sure. Ruth’s eyes snapped towards the door whenever it opened, surveying everyone who walked through, and sizing up any girl who dared intrude. Meanwhile I replayed the words
play it cool play it cool play it cool
over and over.

I felt him arrive before I saw him.

My throat closed up, my heart attack started and the faintness hit me full force. I gulped on my beer to try and calm myself. Big mistake. The liquid gushed down the wrong tube. My eyes bulged and I started choking. Then there was a sudden feeling of burning on my back. I was being thumped. I couldn’t see who it was but feared the worst – every time the hand made contact with my back, it fire-blasted my skin through my thin vest top. It had to be Noah. After four giant whacks, I could breathe again. Tears were running down my face as I gasped in precious air and pulled myself together.

I slowly looked up to survey the damage.

Lots of confused faces stared back at me. I noticed the singer from the band, and two other boys who had to be the bassist and the drummer. Lizzie and Amanda were giving me
What the hell?
looks. Ruth was stifling laughter, obviously ecstatic I’d made such a show of myself again. And there was Noah, crouching in front of me, a massive smirk on his face.

“Wow, Poppy,” he said dryly. “You really know how to turn a guy on, don’t you?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a hanky. “Here.” He handed it over. “You’ve got mascara running down your face.”

Blushing, I snatched the hanky off him and dabbed it around my eyes. “Thanks,” I said. “But seriously, Noah – what sort of guy carries a HANKY round with them? What are you? A character from an Enid Blyton story or something?”

Everyone laughed, except him.

“You’re making it worse,” he said. “You’re just smudging your make-up round your face. Aww bless, did you get all made-up just for me?”

I scowled in return. “You wish.”

He looked hurt for a second, then stood up and threw a hand out to his bandmates.

“Boys, this gorgeous choking girl is Poppy Lawson.” I waved, still mortified. “And this,” he continued, “is Ruth, Lizzie and Amanda.”

Lizzie waved back maniacally, Amanda squeaked hello, and Ruth coolly acknowledged them with an aloof wiggle of her fingers. God, life is unfair.

The boys sat down. I got wedged next to the singer guy, who told me his name was Ryan.

“So, singing…” I said, taking a small neck of my beer and not choking this time. “What happened? Can you not play an instrument?”

“Oi,” he said, but laughed. “My voice is the instrument.”

I furrowed my eyebrows.

“Actually that sounded really pretentious, didn’t it?” He looked worried, his blue eyes searched my face with genuine concern. Ryan, bless him, seemed to have that surprisingly common lead-singer problem of actually being shy and insecure in real life.

“I’m just trying to cover the fact I’m musically dyslexic,” I said, hoping my own self-deprecation would calm his anxiety.

“So you can’t play anything?”

“Just the recorder when I was little. So what are your band’s influences then?”

I let his enthusiastic babble wash over me and nodded whenever I heard key words like “The Smiths”, “The Libertines”, “The Clash”.

As I smiled and nodded, I took in the scene around me. Ruth had, unsurprisingly, found herself in a Noah and Bassist sandwich. She was in full seduction mode again, batting her eyelashes at the bassist, who I think was called Will. Her back was deliberately turned to Noah, trying to prove what a catch she was and how uninterested she was in him simultaneously. Lizzie was talking to the drummer, Jack, about some political biography they’d both read. She was firing questions at him and arguing with every statement he made, but they seemed to be getting along. Amanda was listening intently to Ruth’s flirty banter and playing “best friend” by laughing hysterically at every slightly witty comment. And Noah…well, I hadn’t let myself look at Noah. Until now…

I regretted it immediately.

The moment I stole a glance, his eyes met mine instinctively, and I felt my chest tighten. He held my gaze steadily, the smile wiped from his face. I didn’t allow myself to breathe and I let whatever was passing between us pass. Every part of me yearned for him in a way completely new to me. I wanted to jump over the table, grab his face and taste him. Like an animal. It was terrifyingly overpowering and I could tell he felt the same. His hands were gripping the dry wood of the table. He looked…almost hungry. I realized then that all those bonkbuster chick-lit books I sneered at actually had it right; those tired old clichés were true. I wanted to devour him, rip his clothes off, consume him – all those melodramatic things I used to read aloud and laugh at. A tiny part of my brain was reminding myself to get a grip, but that flicker of logic was powerless against my body’s sensory overload.

“Poppy?” I heard someone say. Was it him? It wasn’t. His eyes had lowered. The moment was over.

“Poppy?”

“Huh?” I snapped back to reality. It was Ryan talking.

He had finished speaking and I obviously hadn’t noticed. He looked upset again, like he knew he wasn’t interesting enough to hold my attention, and I felt guilty.

“I was just saying…” he went on, clasping and unclasping his hands. “…I was wondering who your favourite band is?”

“Oh,” I said, frantically scanning my brain for a suitable answer. But it was oxygen-starved. I grasped for words. “The Beatles,” I heard myself say. Stock answer. No one can argue with The Beatles.

“Really?” Ryan said. “Yeah well, I suppose you can’t argue with The Beatles.”

Exactly.

I could still feel Noah’s attention on me and began to feel a little sick. I needed to get away from him. He was like kryptonite or something. I couldn’t stand it.

I stood up and felt my legs buckle slightly beneath me.

“Hey, would you excuse me a sec?” I asked Ryan, grabbing his hand for support, not caring what he might think of the physical contact.

“Of course.”

“I just need to…er…get another drink…”

And then everything went black.

I regained consciousness before I opened my eyes.

“Is she okay?” I heard a worried voice say. Maybe it was the drummer.

“She’s fine.” That was Lizzie’s voice. “I think she just got too hot.”

The realization of what had happened dawned on me. Humiliation seeped through my face and I felt my cheeks flush.

“She’s still not awake. Should we call 999 or something?”

I kept my eyes closed. That way I could pretend it wasn’t real.

“Let’s tickle her,” I heard Noah say.

He wouldn’t, would he?

“Noah, are you really going to tickle her?”

“Yep.”

I knew if he touched me again I wouldn’t be able to handle it, so, cursing him silently, I reluctantly opened my eyes and let the scene come into focus.

“See. She’s awake.”

I was on my back. Squinting up against the sun, I could see everyone’s expressions. Ryan, Will and Jack looked absolutely terrified but were trying to hide it, pretending girls randomly passed out in beer gardens all the time. The girls, Ruth included, looked suitably concerned. It was just Noah laughing. I glared at him.

“Wakey wakey,” he said. “Nice of you to join us.”

I tried to sit up. Bad move. Everything lost focus again and I fought to stay conscious.

“Careful now,” Lizzie said, kneeling down and letting me put my weight on her. “Let’s go to the ladies’ and get you sorted out.”

My face burned. I hated my stupid body and its bad habits. “Sorry,” I said, stumbling to my feet. “I think I just got too hot. Didn’t drink enough water…”

I leaned on Lizzie for support and she guided me expertly to the loos, Ruth and Amanda in tow.

“Maybe you guys want to get another round in,” Lizzie called behind her. “We won’t be long.”

I staggered into the toilets and Ruth put a loo seat down so I could sit. I fell onto it and put my face in my hands, willing myself to wake up from the nightmare. I practised my breathing exercises, counting in and out again, and gradually felt myself getting stronger.

The toilets were insanely plush and over the top. Instead of a sink there was a stand-alone basin which spurted out water like a fountain. The walls were painted deep purple and adorned with giant gold-framed mirrors. I could see at least six images of myself reflected around the room.

I looked a mess.

When I got my breath back, I looked up at my friends.

“Well, where the hell did that come from?” Lizzie said.

I looked down at my flip-flops. “Sorry,” I said. “Twice in a week.”

“What happened?” Ruth asked gently. I found it vaguely amusing that she was here playing the “caring friend” role. She obviously wanted to impress Will with her (fake) generous nature.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.

“Was it another panic attack?” Amanda said. “It wasn’t like at the gig. You just passed out like a normal person.”