Kitabı oxu: «If You're Not The One»
JEMMA FORTE grew up wanting to write for Cosmopolitan magazine, be a famous actress or work in a shoe shop (she loved the foot-measuring device in Clarks). Her parents didn’t want her to go to stage school because, according to them, she was ‘precocious enough already’. However, they actively encouraged her obsession with reading and writing and she wrote her first book, ‘Mizzy the Germ’, when she was eight. She sent it to a publisher (unwittingly backing up the whole precocious theory) and was dismayed when for some reason they didn’t want it.
Years later, due to The Kids from Fame (and she blames them entirely), her desire to perform hadn’t abated. Hundreds of letters, show-reels and auditions later she finally became a Disney Channel presenter in 1998. After Disney, Jemma went on to present shows for ITV, BBC1, BBC2 and C4 and, when not busy writing, can still be found talking rubbish on telly to this day. If You’re Not the One is Jemma’s third novel. She lives in London with her children, Lily and Freddie.
If You’re Not the One
Jemma Forte
www.mirabooks.co.uk
For my nephew. Welcome to the world.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a book is a solitary activity. Getting it on the shelves, however, is a hugely collaborative effort, so I have a lot of people to thank. Enormous thanks must go to my publishers, MIRA. I am so happy to be with you and your enthusiasm and passion is refreshing and wonderful. In particular, many thanks must go to my brilliant editor, Sally Williamson, and fantastic agent, Madeleine Milburn. Like David Seaman, you are both a pair of ‘safe hands’. Unlike David Seaman, you’re pretty and don’t have big moustaches. Thanks must also go to Claudia Webb.
Writing this book has coincided with a pretty turbulent period in my life. Thanks to my family for seeing me through it. There are times when that ‘blood is thicker than water’ business really rings true and times when frankly your family are the only people who will put up with you. Of course, they don’t have much choice. You’re related, you’re not going anywhere and there’s no getting out of seeing you over Christmas. So thank you for steering me through to the other side and not drowning me along the way. I don’t know what I would have done without you all and will never forget your kindness, patience and support. Dad, Sally, Mum, Mauro, Jessica, Isabel, Paddy, Jim, Harry and Imogen, you are the best bunch of freaks known to man and I love you all to bits. As ever, thank you also to those of you who read an early draft, gave me notes and encouraged me to carry on.
Ooh, after that rather earnest bit I find myself suddenly overcome by a strong desire to dilute it by writing ‘big shout-out’, like I’m on the radio—I might go with it…Big shout-out to Lily and Freddie, the two best kids in the world. You’re both spectacular little monkeys and I look forward to embarrassing you for many more years to come. I know only too well how lucky I am to have children who people actually like inviting round for tea. Thank you for being so gorgeous and for being kind. Kind is good.
My friends. What a bunch! You’re all fabulous. I’d like to mention the usual suspects of course, my life-long friends Becky Rolfe, Alessia Small and Stroma Inglis. And very special thanks must also go to Fiona Wright, Nigel Mitchell, Charlotte Woodward, Laura Slader and Carmel Allen for various reasons, which mainly involve them being incredible, caring and/or helpful friends in one way or another.
As for Sarah Jane Wright, I don’t even know where to start, so we’re just going to have to go out for cocktails and take it from there. I love you loads and don’t know how I’ll ever thank you.
Now, last, but definitely not least, to Ross. Not a day goes by when I don’t think, ‘God, you’re tall.’ Then, after that, I ponder on how lucky I am to have you in my life and to have your friendship. You’re amazing, a one-off, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your input on this book (you were right about the ending, of course you were) and everything else you do for me, including making me laugh, a lot. I could go on, but know how much you hate compliments and how unbelievably bad you are at taking them, so instead I’ll just say, ‘Sofa’ and hope that that says it all.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
ONE WEEK EARLIER—FRIDAY
THE PAST—AIDAN
PRESENT DAY
SATURDAY
THE PAST—AIDAN
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER ONE
PRESENT DAY
SUNDAY
THE PAST—TIM
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER ONE
TUNNEL NUMBER ONE
THE PAST—MAX
THE PAST—TIM
THE PAST—MAX
MONDAY
TUESDAY
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER TWO
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER TWO
WEDNESDAY
THE PAST—MAX
WEDNESDAY CONTINUED
THE PAST—STEVE
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER ONE
THURSDAY
THE PAST—STEVE
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER TWO
TUNNEL NUMBER TWO
TUNNEL NUMBER TWO
PRESENT DAY
THE PAST—MAX
FRIDAY MORNING—THE DAY OF THE ACCIDENT
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER THREE
TUNNEL NUMBER THREE
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER THREE
PRESENT DAY
TUNNEL NUMBER THREE
FRIDAY—THE DAY OF THE ACCIDENT
PRESENT DAY
EPILOGUE
Author Q&A
Extract
Copyright
PROLOGUE
Friday May 18th
Jennifer Wright slammed the door and ran down the road as fast as her ill-fitting footwear would allow her to, tears blurring her vision. She didn’t care who saw her. All she was conscious of was her need to get away from her husband and his ability to hurt her. Not that he was letting her get away that easily.
‘Jen,’ Max yelled down the road, clearly in no mood to consider what the neighbours might be thinking. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Come back. For goodness sake, you’ve made your point.’
Jennifer ignored him. If anything, she picked up the pace, wishing it was dark so her flit could go unnoticed. She’d always loved living in the suburbs of South West London partly because everybody looked out for everybody else. Today however, it would have suited her far better if she’d lived in a place where people didn’t give a damn about their neighbours. That way she could have wailed like a banshee and charged down the road without worrying she’d provided the man on the other side of the street (the dull husband of the quite nice woman at number forty-two) with a juicy bit of gossip.
She’d caught his look of alarm as he’d taken in her tear-stained face and heavy coat, which was far too warm for this unusually clement May evening. Not that there was any way she was taking it off, for what Jennifer knew, but the man from number forty-two didn’t, was that all she had on underneath was a bra, a G-string, suspenders and stockings. The killer heels she’d originally teamed the whole ensemble with had been kicked off mid-argument, replaced by the footwear that happened to be nearest the front door, a revolting pair of lace-ups, usually reserved purely for gardening purposes. Without woolly socks, her stockinged feet were slopping about inside them.
Panting with exertion, Jennifer finally came to the end of the street. Briefly she turned round to see what Max was doing. She could just about still make him out, hanging out of their front door, obviously in two minds about what to do given that their children were sleeping inside.
Screw him.
Karen.
That’s who she needed.
Fumbling in her pocket with shaky hands, Jennifer found her mobile which she’d had the sense to grab on her way out.
Half walking, half running now, she rounded the corner onto the busy main road and scrolled through her phone looking for her best friend’s number. Wiping her face with the back of her hand she managed to rub away some tears but was surprised by how persistently they kept on coming. Briefly she acknowledged that there was a huge possibility she was having a nervous breakdown.
As she headed for the zebra crossing she listened to Karen’s phone ringing and prayed she’d pick up. She did.
‘Oh Karen,’ Jennifer managed, speaking loudly against the traffic, choking on tears again.
‘Oh my god, what is it? What’s wrong?’
The concern in her voice almost floored Jennifer for a second. Thank god Karen’s house was only ten minutes away. She couldn’t get there soon enough. If only she’d chosen a less hot coat.
‘Oh Karen, it’s all gone wrong and I just don’t think I can do this any more…’ Jennifer broke off, half stumbling over an uneven bit of pavement. Wretched shoes. Then a bus whizzed past just as Karen was answering. It completely drowned out her response which forced Jennifer to say, ‘Come again Karen, I couldn’t hear you.’
‘I said where are you? Do you want to come round?’
‘Yes please,’ Jennifer wailed, putting one foot out onto the road.
‘Good,’ said Karen ‘Well just come straight away and I’ll open a…’
But Jennifer never got to hear what her friend was going to open (though forced to guess she would have gone with a textbook bottle of dry white wine), because at this point her phone was flying high up into the air and she was staring at it aghast, wondering why everything had suddenly gone into slow motion. At the same time, although she didn’t exactly feel it, she was also aware of the most enormous impact, of the most sickening crunching sound and of the metallic taste of fear, dread and regret coursing through her body which was now being flung skywards having been hit very hard by a car. For a brief moment, just as gravity was about to take command and begin Jennifer’s terrifying and brutal descent towards the hard ground and the bonnet of a Ford Fiesta, she was filled with an illogical, yet undeniable sense of embarrassment. For the thought entering her brain at that precise moment was that there was a strong chance that whoever was driving and/or an ambulance team were about to discover what she had on under her coat.
And that was the last conscious thought she was to have for a very long time to come…
ONE WEEK EARLIER—FRIDAY
Jennifer Wright hadn’t been entirely sure for a while now if she really liked her husband any more. As a result she’d been suffering from a sort of creeping, low-level anxiety for months. The thought of living out the remainder of her days in the suburbs with him terrified her, and she’d lost count of how many times she’d been struck by one solitary thought: Is this it?
To some degree, it was less a thought, more a feeling. She was only thirty-eight but felt like she was hurtling in slow motion towards middle age and decrepitude, while swept up in an unstoppable snowball of routine, malaise and domesticity. Lately, she could be in the middle of any number of mundane tasks, when from nowhere she’d be practically knocked over by a violent urge to run barefoot through long grass, dance till dawn (preferably on some form of narcotic), sleep in a yurt, or, failing that, to have the sort of passionate, filthy sex with a stranger that would leave her panting and covered in a film of sweat.
But Jennifer was a married mother of two, with a part-time job, and was fully aware, not only of how wildly inappropriate these yearnings were, but also how…impractical. There’d be consequences, ones she didn’t have the heart to deal with, and besides, these days, if she danced till dawn it would take her at least a week to recover and quite frankly they couldn’t afford the childcare.
‘Is this it?’ whispered her subconscious, again. The thought it might be freaked her out to say the least. However, at a loss to know what to do about any of it, she’d decided simply to wait things out, to try and remain positive, keep taking the Prozac and not to jump out of a window, for the time being.
Until one Friday evening in May that is, when Jennifer decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.
All relationships went through patches, she thought determinedly, clipping on her suspender belt and adjusting her newly bought black and red bra whilst manhandling her boobs into it. She owed it not just to herself but also to her children to try and make things better. Although she’d been hovering round the notion of what might happen were she and Max to split up, it was too terrifying a prospect to face head on as an actual possibility. And besides, after eleven years of togetherness she still loved Max. It was just a shame it was such a familiar, unexciting version of love, which occasionally had the tendency to veer off into violent hatred territory. The fact they hadn’t had sex for over four months wasn’t helping matters either.
Feeling surprisingly nervous Jennifer pulled open her wardrobe door so she could appraise herself in the full-length mirror that hung behind it.
Wow. She hadn’t looked this tarty in a long time. The evening sunlight poured through her bedroom window, bathing the entire room in a golden glow, highlighting her cellulite and the fact they desperately needed a new carpet.
At first Jennifer felt incredibly self-conscious, standing there, trussed up in broad daylight. Eventually however, she grudgingly admitted that she kind of got away with it. She’d always had an hourglass figure and these days it was probably covered by less flesh than it had been even pre-children. In her twenties she’d taken her figure for granted. Post-partum however, not only had she been hit with the realisation that actually she wasn’t immortal, she had also worked out that she was stood at a fairly major crossroads. One way led to elasticated waists, one-piece swimsuits and never being able to reveal her upper arms again, the other to still being able to look good in the odd bit from Top Shop, skinny jeans and the vaguely hateful yet better than frumpy ‘yummy mummy’ moniker. Terrified by the prospect of turning into her mother Jennifer had jogged determinedly in one direction, started doing boot camp at the park twice a week and stopped eating cake.
She peered at her face, wondering vaguely how old a complete stranger would guess she was. There was no denying she was in the midst of her fourth decade and yet it was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was that was different about her face now to how it had been in her twenties. Yet that difference was undeniable. She still had friendly, warm brown eyes but nowadays when she applied eye-shadow much of it disappeared into a crease she was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. Due to her weight loss she had good cheekbones and her thighs looked good, yet she had to make sure she didn’t lose too much weight or her face was in danger of starting to look gaunt. She had faint crow’s feet round her eyes and a bit of a frown line which had deepened visibly around the time her babies had become toddlers at which point there had suddenly been more to frown about. But, she had a pretty face and, on a good day, could still scrub up well. She still had sex appeal, could turn a head and be whistled at by a builder and her wide smile, good, orthodontically-treated teeth (thank you, Mum) and long, thick head of brown (dyed) hair counted for a lot. Only for how much longer was anyone’s guess.
Turning round so she could glance back over her shoulder and examine what her bottom looked like in her new very uncomfortable G-string, she decided that if she squinted she didn’t look that far off the girl she’d been when she’d first met Max. Screw it, she thought, fired up by a growing sense of confidence. She was old and wise enough to know that any normal red-blooded man wouldn’t care anyway. Rather than scrutinising her for imperfections, surely he’d only see the naughty underwear, the effort she was making, the invitation.
She drew the curtains. Better. Direct sunlight and partial nudity were best kept apart. Across the room her phone was vibrating. She tottered over to it in her heels. The display showed it was her best friend, Karen, phoning to check up on her.
‘I feel like a right old scrubber.’
‘Good,’ said Karen. ‘You’re supposed to. You’re about to seduce your husband.’
‘Oh god,’ groaned Jennifer, returning to the mirror to examine herself from all angles again. ‘I’m not sure I can do this. I’m not sure I want to do it, truth be told. I’ve still got this week’s episode of The Apprentice to watch.’
‘You have to,’ Karen said frankly. ‘Not see The Apprentice, though at some point do, it’s hilarious, but have sex first. If you don’t do it soon he’ll start looking elsewhere.’
Jennifer wasn’t so sure. Karen had been flabbergasted when she’d admitted how long their dry spell had been and was clearly working on the proviso that no man could live without sex, but then again, Karen was married to a man who woke her up most mornings with something hard jabbing into her back. Whereas these days, Max seemed to have lost his sex drive completely.
‘Still on for a drink next Tuesday?’ Jennifer said, changing the subject. It felt weird making small talk while dressed as a sex worker.
‘Definitely. I’ll try and leave work a bit early and I think Lucy’s coming but Esther still hasn’t got a babysitter.’
Just then Jennifer heard the sound of Max’s key in the lock. ‘Ooh he’s back. I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Good luck.’
Jennifer put her phone on silent then raced over to the bed and got herself into position. As she did, it suddenly occurred to her that instead of being consumed by lust, Max might find the sight of her trying to seduce him wildly funny. Oh my god, what if he laughed at her?
Quickly, she swerved her mind back round to the task ahead, acknowledging along the way that it was probably as much her fault as it was her husband’s that they hadn’t done it for so long. She was usually exhausted by the time he got home, busy trying to get the kids to bed and looking forward to nothing wilder than a glass of wine and some telly watching. Tonight however, with the girls at a rare sleepover at their grandparents, there was no excuse. They would have sex. Being physically close was what was required to lessen the emotional distance between them. She felt quite militant about it.
Downstairs she could hear Max taking his shoes off. She waited for him to call up the stairs, but instead it sounded like he was heading straight for the kitchen. Still, he’d come looking for her soon enough.
Minutes passed. There was no sign of him. Then she heard him leave the kitchen and go into the lounge. Damn. This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to come upstairs and find her leaning back across the bed like a wanton sex goddess. Then, filled with raging desire caused by the fact she was wearing a bra that wasn’t flesh coloured and pants that weren’t large and from a Marks and Spencer pack of three, he was supposed to leap on her and ravish his way back into an intimate relationship.
Still nothing. Feeling irritated beyond belief, she now had no choice other than to heave herself back up and reach for the house phone, the suspender belt disappearing rather depressingly into the crevice of her belly. She rang his mobile.
‘Hello?’
‘What are you doing?’ she asked, making a monumental effort to sound less irritated than she felt.
‘Nothing. Got myself a beer and I’m watching a bit of sport. Why, what are you doing? What are we having for dinner?’
As Jennifer was treated to a crystal clear image in her head, of her husband in his usual position, lying on the sofa caressing his nuts, ‘relaxing’ with a bit of sport on, while waiting for dinner to magically appear in front of him, any vague urge she might have had to sleep with him evaporated. She was a woman on a mission though. The bra alone had cost forty pounds. She wasn’t giving up that easily.
‘Come upstairs.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Please Max?’ begged Jennifer, feeling the last vestiges of sex goddess slip away from her, like smoke.
‘Can’t you come here?’
‘Just come for a second please. I’d really appreciate it.’
‘Bloody hell Jen, I’ve had a long day and I’ve only just sat down. Ooof, great goal.’
Jennifer quietly put the phone down and stared into the middle distance for a while before slowly peeling off and unclipping her temptress outfit. Once she had, she shoved it all into the back of her drawer, and replaced the prohibitively expensive underwear with a pair of pyjamas before heading downstairs to cook lamb chops, baked potatoes and green beans, served on a bed of deep resentment.
Later, as she and Max sat masticating their overcooked chops in front of The Apprentice, Jennifer wondered if Max would ever desire or appreciate her body again, or whether that was it until she died.
Is this it?
‘Good day?’ she enquired feebly at some point.
‘Er, would be if I could actually hear what was being said. Why would you speak right over the crucial bit?’ He leaned over to get the Sky remote so that he could rewind.
Jennifer stared at her husband blankly, watching him ignore her.
In that moment it hit her that she couldn’t bear for things to continue as they were. She was physically and mentally frustrated, unfulfilled by her job and sad, all of which she might have been able to accept. Only she’d also been reduced to one half of a couple who were sat next to one another on a sofa, bodies present but souls millions of miles away. And that she couldn’t cope with.
Max continued to stare at the telly, oblivious to the maelstrom of potentially life changing thoughts which were swirling around his wife’s head, unaware his other half was questioning how all the decisions she’d made in life had led to this bitterly disappointing moment in time.
Meanwhile Jennifer began plundering the reserves of her memory, something else she’d been doing a lot of lately, searching for feelings she longed to relive, for there was enormous comfort to be taken from the fact that, of course, things hadn’t always been this way.
THE PAST—AIDAN
Summer 1994
The alarm beeped, penetrating the deepest of sleeps.
‘Jen, wake up. It’s already 9 o’clock. We’ve got to get ready and if you want a shower you need to hurry. I said I’d meet Mark at The Pink Flamingo.’
‘Five minutes,’ Jennifer answered drowsily, idly scratching a mosquito bite on her leg. The whirring of the ceiling fan was in danger of lulling her back to sleep again so she forced herself to open one eye, enjoying the gurgle of anticipation that was already building in her tummy, despite her groggy state.
They’d only arrived on the island of Kos five nights ago after a fortnight of taking it relatively easy on the quieter Greek island of Santorini. Before that they’d been to Mykonos and Rhodes. There had been the odd moment of tension, but generally speaking, she and her friends had managed five weeks of travelling with no major disagreements and were having the time of their lives. They’d originally planned on visiting a few more islands before heading home but Jennifer had a strong feeling that they’d probably spend the remainder of their trip here, until either their money ran out or their livers packed up. Whichever came first. Kos had simply proved too fun to leave, what with Bar Street (self-explanatory), the outdoor clubs that stayed open till the sun was starting to rise in the sky, the sandy beaches and the biggest appeal of all, tons of gorgeous men.
They’d all slept with someone, though if she were being totally honest, Jennifer rather regretted her liaison at the beach with a handsome Greek guy on their second night. She knew she’d lived up to the reputation English girls seemed to have, of being easy. By the same token, she’d decided not to lose any sleep over it. She wasn’t proud of how little it had meant, but still didn’t see why girls should feel any worse than guys did, about what amounted to nothing more than a consensual exchange of bodily fluids. The only thing that had been slightly awkward was bumping into him from time to time. Neither of them could be bothered to keep up the pretence of interest now the act had been done.
‘Can I borrow your red dress, Jen?’ asked Esther, emerging from the bathroom in a towel, strawberry blonde hair hanging in damp tendrils around her face.
Since arriving on Kos the four of them had eased into a routine which consisted of sleeping until midday, at which point they’d force themselves to get up, no matter how much their heads were splitting, for tanning purposes. Then, after an afternoon of roasting themselves at the beach, they’d return to the apartment, shower, slather themselves in more after-sun than was probably necessary and have a sleep. Making sure first of course that they’d set the alarm so there was no danger of missing out on another night of partying.
Now, without waiting for a response Esther bent down to extract the dress, which was rolled in a ball and stuffed in Jennifer’s rucksack. Only the minute she did, the red dress became exactly what Jennifer wanted to wear that night. Esther borrowing her clothes was starting to get on her nerves, partly because with her long freckled limbs, she looked totally amazing in all of them.
Esther was the rare sort of girl who actually looked better with no make-up on at all. She wasn’t overtly sexy and yet was probably the most naturally pretty of the group. Back home in London, it was usually Jennifer’s more obvious sex appeal or Karen’s big boobs which guys noticed. However, whilst it might have taken their fellow students at College a few glances before they finally worked out just how attractive Esther really was, on holiday her tall physique and bare-faced beauty made her the instant star of the beach.
‘Um, sorry babe I think I’m going to wear it,’ Jennifer said sleepily.
Esther tutted. ‘Shit, what am I going to wear then?’
‘Don’t know, but hurry up,’ said Karen, drawing deeply on one of the two hundred Merit cigarettes she’d bought at Kos airport, before adjusting her dress straps in order to heave her considerable cleavage up as much as possible. ‘I am so up for it tonight.’
‘Makes a change,’ teased Jennifer.
‘Shut up,’ said Karen, grinning, teeth white against her brown face.
Normally her deep tan would have really suited her but sadly on this trip, the browner she got the more alarming she looked. Not for the first time Jennifer visibly balked at the sight of Karen’s hair. When they’d first arrived in Greece Karen had announced her intentions to go blonde with the help of a bottle of Sun-In. Typically, she’d ignored all her friends’ protestations completely, despite the fact Sun-In was never designed to be used on dark hair.
As a result, instead of the sun-kissed highlights Karen had been imagining, her reward for being so pig headed was patches of dodgy orange hair which looked like straw and was brittle and coarse to the touch. It had looked horrendous when she’d first done it but at least then she’d been pale.
Luckily for Karen however, what she had in her favour was her attitude. She’d always had incredibly thick skin meaning that it would take more than orange hair to ruin her holiday. Whereas, had the same thing ‘happened’ to Jennifer, it would have been a complete game changer. And as for Lucy, who’d always been self-conscious about her looks, partly because she’d never had brilliant skin and suffered from a bit of acne, if she’d had to deal with the Sun-In disaster she probably wouldn’t have left the apartment ever again, unless it was to go shopping for a burkha. But then Karen pretty much had a ‘fuck it’ approach to most things which would get her far in life, occasionally into trouble and lots of male attention.
Tonight she’d tried to mitigate the hair disaster by gelling it all back off her face. It looked seriously bizarre but, as ever, Karen preferred to concentrate on the positive so was reeking of confidence due to how good her boobs looked in her mini dress. Jennifer admired her for it.
As Jennifer looked at her friends, her best friends, getting ready for their night out, their biggest concern being what to wear, she was filled with the sense that this was a carefree time to be treasured. When they got home, A level results would be waiting for them and the next stage of education would begin. But for now they didn’t have to worry about anything except getting a tan, a task the girls had applied themselves to with more zeal than they probably had to their recently taken exams. Only Lucy with her pale, almost translucent skin and mousy blonde hair was still roughly the same colour she’d started out, though not for want of trying.
‘Do I look all right?’ she asked now, having slipped on a halter-neck top and a pair of shorts.
‘You look lovely,’ said Jennifer sincerely, lazily stretching one brown leg out over the white sheet she was entwined in. She loved having brown feet. ‘Those polka dot shorts are really cool.’
‘Come on,’ nagged Karen, who was dying to meet up with Mark. She’d met him four nights ago. He was twenty-four, from Wigan, and worked as a carpet fitter which had given rise to lots of predictable jokes about Karen getting laid.
‘Right,’ said Jennifer, finally heading for the shower.
Two hours, a quick pizza (they ate as cheaply as they could every night, preferring to save their money for drinks) and one bar later, they were in the best spot on the island. Club Kaluha. The club was huge, and outrageously expensive to get into unless you struck it lucky and got a pass from one of the PRs who scouted Bar Street looking for girls to entice in. Jennifer and her friends hadn’t paid to get in once so far, but poor Mark and his mates had had to stump up every night, much to their chagrin.
There was an inside section of the club but the majority of it was outside and in the middle was a massive pirate ship surrounded by palm trees. Walking in, having greeted the bouncers who by now they were on first name terms with, they were met by a wall of house music and what felt like an electrical charge of energy in the air, palpable anticipation. Then again, everything was always going to feel magical when there was a warm breeze, everyone had a tan and people’s biggest concern was who fancied them.
‘You all right?’ said Lucy to Jennifer, coming to join her on one of the outside seating areas where she had a good view of the ship and the main bar. She’d been sitting there for a while now, on her own, enjoying the music and watching the world go by.
‘Yeah, well happy. You?’
‘Good. Bit sad though. I don’t want this to end.’
‘I know,’ said Jennifer. ‘It’s been amazing. Still, I reckon uni’s going to be a right laugh.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Wish we were all going to the same one. You and Karen are so lucky.’
‘Look at Esther,’ interrupted Jennifer, nudging Lucy hard and laughing.
The two girls chuckled as they watched Mark’s mate, who for some inexplicable reason was called ‘Bonehead’, trying desperately to chat Esther up. Esther looked decidedly unimpressed as Bonehead advanced ever closer to her, shouting in her ear against the music. At the same time she was backing away, partly because he had a terrible lisp so was literally spraying her with his enthusiasm.
‘Mark’s a lovely guy but his mates are well annoying,’ said Lucy.
‘I know,’ agreed Jennifer. ‘I feel like we’ve slightly lost Karen to Mark too which is a bit of a shame. She’s bloody obsessed.’
And then, at exactly the same time, they saw him.
‘Oh my god,’ mouthed Lucy. ‘Are you looking where I am?’
Jennifer certainly was. He was absolutely gorgeous. Without even realising she was doing it, she suddenly found herself sitting up and angling her entire body in his direction.
He was standing by the bar, to the left of the ship, and was nodding his head in time to the music, watching a group of girls who were dancing next to him. He completely stood out from the crowd. He was wearing a T-shirt and combat trousers but his body was that of a demi-god and to Jennifer he seemed to ooze testosterone, sex appeal and something more dangerous. His arms were muscular yet lean and brown and he put Mark and his mates in the shade. They were mere boys compared to this specimen of manhood.
Just then he turned and caught Jennifer’s eye and as he did, a number of things happened. Firstly, Lucy realised in a nanosecond she was out of the running. Secondly, Jennifer suddenly sensed that the next few days were going to be very interesting, and thirdly he gave her such a confident grin she suspected he was thinking along the same kind of lines as she was. It was as if he liked what he saw but more thrillingly, clearly knew he could have it.
‘He’s coming over,’ squealed Lucy all flustered.
‘Oh my god,’ panicked Jennifer, realising her friend was right. ‘I shouldn’t have had that slice with pepperoni on it. Quick Luce, smell my breath.’
‘Fuck off, weirdo,’ complained Lucy, shoving her away. ‘And no, you’re fine anyway.’
Quickly, Jennifer stopped breathing on Lucy, pulled her skirt down and rearranged her legs to look as slim as possible. Then, as he continued his approach, she flicked her long, brown hair over one shoulder, realising as she did how obvious she was being. She flicked it back again but then worried in case she looked like she was having some kind of attack.
‘All right, girls,’ he said, finally coming to a stop directly in front of Jennifer. His accent was broad and northern.
‘All right,’ said Jennifer looking him straight in the eye, acknowledging the instant flicker of attraction that she’d felt between them. This was going to be so much fun.
She frowned at Lucy who was making a silly face at her as if to say I see you flirting, Missy.
‘Drink?’
Jennifer nodded, her eyes never leaving his. Nerves dissipating, she concentrated on letting him know she was more than a match for him and felt her stomach flip as he grinned again and looked her up and down in a way that could only be described as filthy. Every nerve ending fizzing, Jennifer watched as he returned to the bar where the queue for drinks was three people deep, while Lucy elbowed her excitedly in the ribs.
‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,’ squealed Jennifer, eyes still glued to him.
Unsurprisingly, the barmaid noticed him at once and served him straight away. She obviously knew him and the easy way in which he bantered with her, made Jennifer briefly wonder what she was getting herself into.
A minute later he returned carrying three lethal-looking cocktails. Jennifer was pleased he’d got one for Lucy.
‘Here you go. B52s’
‘Thanks,’ said Jennifer, tossing her hair again and shoving her breasts out as far as she could until, that is, she realised Lucy was laughing at her at which point she returned them to their normal vantage point.
‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, matter of factly.
‘Not so bad yourself,’ she shot back, thrilled by his flirting.
‘Thanks for the drink,’ said Lucy, giving her friend a large wink and slinking off to leave them to it and find some fun of her own.
Half an hour later, Jennifer had found out that his name was Aidan, that he’d been on Kos all summer and that he was the most exciting person she’d ever met. He didn’t seem to conform to any rules. He’d left home, was travelling the world, his only real plan being to permanently escape his home town of Carlisle and to end up living in Australia. They’d already kissed and it was so charged with sexual excitement it had practically blown her head off. Now he was sliding his hand gently up and down her thigh, which tickled a bit, in a gloriously shivery kind of way.
‘Do you want one?’ he said suddenly, pulling a little bag of white pills out of his pocket. He took one out and offered it to her. It had a picture of a dove on it.
‘Not sure,’ said Jennifer truthfully.
‘Your mates can have one too,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty and they’re very clean.’
Jennifer shrugged, determined not to display how much her mind was racing while she worked out what to do. She’d not had ecstasy before but everyone she knew who had, like Karen, said it was amazing.
‘If Karen’s up for it I will,’ she said, leaving Aidan behind to go and get her friend who was inside on the dance floor.
Once she knew she was out of his line of vision, Jennifer stopped trying to walk sexily and started practically galloping towards her friend, gesturing to Karen to meet her halfway. ‘Aidan’s got some e’s,’ she shouted into her friend’s ear over the deafeningly loud music. ‘Shall we have one?’
‘Oh my god, so not only have you pulled the hottest person on the island, he’s got pills as well?’ she shouted back, out of breath from dancing, eyes shining. ‘You are such a bitch. Why didn’t you say earlier? Make sure he gives one to Mark too.’
Jennifer nodded and turned on her heel to find Aidan, hoping desperately he wouldn’t have disappeared or met someone more interesting during the last forty seconds.
As she made her way back, she decided that with regard to the pill, she should probably just go with the flow. Her dad had always told her that in life it was better to regret something you’d done than something you hadn’t which sounded like good advice to her, even if he probably hadn’t had class A drugs in mind when he’d said it…
One hour later and Jennifer was standing in the middle of the club, with her hands in the air, feeling happier than she ever had in her entire life. ‘Rhythm is a Dancer’ by Snap was playing, a tune which they’d heard on average at least three times a day recently but at this precise moment it sounded more amazing than it ever had before.
Jennifer scraped her hands through her hair and exhaled noisily, letting the rushes she was experiencing travel up her body. Right now there was not one place on earth she’d rather be.
Suddenly she felt Aidan’s hands on her shoulders, massaging her, kneading her. His touch was so firm and felt so good that she staggered a little bit, almost losing her balance. She turned round.
‘All right,’ he grinned, chewing gum, his eyes wide and pupils really black.
‘Yeah,’ was all Jennifer could manage to utter, but she grinned back at him and it didn’t seem to matter in the slightest that she’d lost the power of speech. She literally couldn’t care less. All that did matter was that she was with her best friends, and with Aidan, who happened to be the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life, listening to music that was literally transporting her to another dimension. She looked over at Karen who was dancing at a hundred miles per hour as if someone had told her all human life depended on it, Mark watching adoringly from the side, a daft grin on his face. Meanwhile, Esther and Lucy had kicked their shoes off and were having a chat on the cushions, stopping now and again only to give each other a big hug. God she loved them all.
‘Good isn’t it?’ said Aidan.
But Jennifer was too fucked now to reply. Her jaw was trembling a bit and she could feel her eyes rolling slightly in the back of her head but she wasn’t remotely bothered. Quite the opposite in fact. Instead she was relishing every minute of the warm, soupy sensations that had taken over her limbs and merely wanted to enjoy them flooding over her.
‘Hey you, you OK? Come and sit down,’ instructed Aidan.
Stumbling slightly but happy to do as she was told, Jennifer let herself be led to the cushions where her mates were sitting.
‘Jen,’ they said delightedly as if they hadn’t seen her for a week, eyes huge and shining. ‘Come here, babe. Love you.’
‘Love you too,’ she said softly before lying down on the cushions. She was overcome by a desire to writhe around on them but something told her it was probably best not to.
Maybe she’d run that thought past the girls.
‘Don’t you feel like rolling around on the cushions?’
‘What?’ said Esther, whose jaw was quivering slightly.
‘I said,’ repeated Jennifer, suddenly desperate for some water, ‘don’t you feel like rolling around on the cushions?’
Lucy nodded. ‘I do, I feel like stuffing them up my top too and pretending I’m up the duff.’
This struck Jennifer as not only funny but wise.
‘And I feel like sticking one down my pants so I’ve got a massive butt,’ added Esther.
‘And I feel like…’ Jennifer tried to join in but was defeated once again by ever increasing sensations that were flooding her system. After a long pause, she uttered ‘sticking one up my arse’. Only by then, the thread had been rather lost so it came out as a totally random statement. However, rather than feel embarrassed, she was amused by how ludicrous it all was. Besides, what anybody thought just didn’t seem to be a problem.
‘Stick what up your arse?’ enquired Aidan, looking confused.
‘Nothing,’ muttered Jennifer, the notion of trying to explain her thought process far too daunting at this stage.
‘You girls are funny,’ said Aidan, head bouncing in time to the beat, and as they bathed in his compliment, it was like they’d known him for years.
‘Where did you all meet?’
‘School,’ said Esther looking really out of it and clearly loving the next tune that had just come on: ‘Everybody’s Free’ by Rozalla.
Karen came whooping over. ‘Come on you lot. Fucking tune! Come and dance Jen, on your feet now.’
‘Too wasted,’ She managed.
‘But happy?’ checked Aidan.
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, flopping back onto the cushions.
Everybody’s free to feel good.
She waved her hands around, playing air piano.
‘Hey, you girls are great,’ said Aidan, continuing on the same theme, chewing gum frenetically.
‘We sure are,’ concurred Lucy, trying to pull her friends in for a hug, but Jennifer was too wasted. She just wanted to sit in peace, in her own space, without being manhandled.
‘Love you girls.’
‘Love you too,’ agreed Jennifer, hardly able to open her eyes, she was rushing so intensely.
‘Even Bonehead’s all right,’ said Esther, looking over to where he was busy stacking boxes.
‘I may have let Bonehead have a cheeky half, whereas this lunatic told me she definitely wasn’t coming up so she’s had a whole one,’ Aidan said, gesturing to Jennifer.
‘Have you?’ said Esther and Lucy in unison, slack-jawed.
‘Yup,’ said Jennifer, collapsing into the cushions again. ‘Oh my god this tune is amazing.’
‘Nutter,’ said Esther.
‘Can I have another one?’ asked Jennifer.
‘No you cannot,’ said Aidan, stroking her leg as her friends looked on, not knowing whether to be impressed or worried by how well Jennifer had taken to the drug. ‘I can see I’m going to have my work cut out with you, you little minx.’
And that was it. From that sentence forward, continuing in the vein of giving everything little or no real deliberation, choosing instead to be steered only by instinct and desire, as you do when you’re young, Jennifer and Aidan were an item.
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
