It took ages to get to the party. I felt nervous as we walked in – wondering if . . . hoping . . . that Flynn was going to be here.
He wasn’t.
It wasn’t much of a party either. Rubbish music. Not that many people.
Alex whisked Emmi off almost as soon as we arrived. Seconds later James Malloy materialised beside me and Grace, a bunch of beer bottles in either hand. From the way he smiled at Grace, it was
clear his fixation on Emmi had completely gone. He started chatting away with surprising confidence. I looked at Grace. Mmmn. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising. She was blushing, smiling up at
him coyly.
I didn’t give much for Darren’s chances of not getting dumped in the next twenty-four hours.
James didn’t seem to know if Flynn was coming or not. I drank a couple of beers too fast, out of nerves. Then, with no sign of Flynn in the house, and with Grace and James ignoring
everyone else, I drank another out of boredom.
I’d just extricated myself from a long and tedious conversation with the red-haired boy who played Lord Capulet when Flynn finally turned up. It was almost eleven o’clock. I looked
up and he was there, standing in the living room doorway. His white shirt was creased. He looked tired, but gorgeous.
I held my breath as he gazed round the room.
Notice me
.
But his eyes skittered past me, as if he hadn’t seen me. He looked down at the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets.
I glanced over at Grace. James was definitely moving in on her – she had her back against the living room wall and he was leaning his arm against it, above her head. Still, they
weren’t kissing yet.
I went over. ‘Hey, James,’ I said lightly.
He turned round.
‘Flynn’s here,’ I said.
James showed absolutely no interest in this bit of information.
‘Oh.’ He turned back to Grace.
‘How come he’s so late?’ I persisted.
This time James didn’t even turn round. ‘Just finished work, I expect.’ He leaned closer to Grace and smiled down at her.
Work?
What kind of work did Flynn do on a Saturday night? I stared across the room at him for a minute longer, then, emboldened by my three beers, I decided to go and talk to him. I set
off across the carpet, but before I got halfway he caught my eye. I could see from his expression that he knew I was coming to speak to him. He turned away and vanished from the doorway.
I stopped, stock-still, in the middle of the carpet. It felt like a slap in the face. Why had he done that? Didn’t he
want
to talk to me? Feeling utterly humiliated, I retraced my
steps across the living room. James and Grace were now kissing.
Of course.
I wandered over to the kitchen where the music was louder and four boys were boasting loudly to each other about how much they’d drunk the night before.
I sidled across to the counter and helped myself to an open bottle. I didn’t notice what was inside it – something pink and sweet. It tasted disgusting, but I didn’t care. As I
went back to the living room, tears welled up in my eyes. I took a few swigs from the bottle, then sank into the only available seat – at one end of a large, soft sofa. The boy at the other
end squished up next to me.
‘Hi there,’ he slurred beerily.
I got up and took another swig from my bottle. Then several more. The bottle was almost empty now. A few hot, fat tears trickled down my face.
What a rubbish party. Boys all over Grace and Emmi. And me as unloved and unlovable as ever.
Another boy wandered over to me and offered me one of those premixed rum and juice drinks. I took the bottle, twisted off the cap and drained it fast. The boy started talking to me about some
band I’d never heard of.
God
. Why were boys so boring?
After about fifteen minutes, I was feeling sick as well as bored. Making some excuse about needing a pee, I staggered out into the hall. Maybe some water on my face would help. I stumbled up the
stairs in search of a bathroom.
I was swaying a little as I walked. About halfway up, I missed my footing and lurched over, onto the stair rail. A hand pressed into my back, steadying me.
‘Doesn’t your boyfriend mind you coming to parties and getting drunk?’ said a familiar and very sarcastic voice.
I spun round, nearly losing my footing again.
Flynn was on the step beneath me, which put our heads at the same level. I stared at him, part of me soaking in the golden glow of his eyes, part of me furious at the contempt which dripped from
his voice.
‘I’m not drunk,’ I slurred angrily. ‘And I don’t have a boyfriend.’
I turned away and strode haughtily up the rest of the stairs. I had to let go of the stair rail as I reached the landing – which immediately started to spin around me. My stomach clenched
in a spasm of pain.
I put out my arm to steady myself. Flynn was still there. He caught my arm. ‘Are you okay?’ he said, more gently.
I swallowed. ‘I’m fine,’ I snapped. My stomach heaved.
Oh God
. ‘Except . . . except I think I might be sick.’
Flynn pushed open the door in front of us. The bathroom. As he stood back to let me through, my gut spasmed with pain again. I stumbled inside, shoved at the door behind me and sank to my knees
in front of the toilet. A few seconds later and my stomach was heaving itself up into the toilet bowl.
‘Aahh,’ I moaned to myself, tears welling in my eyes. My forehead felt clammy with sweat, my throat burnt and swollen.
Ugh.
Vomiting is so disgusting. It doesn’t often happen . . . I mean, I can’t remember when I was last ill . . . but when it does, I hate it . .
.
A hand stroked my hair.
‘AAH!’ I jumped up, spinning round. Flynn was straightening up behind me. The bathroom door was shut behind him.
Oh my God.
He was in the room. He’d
been
in the
room when . . . I stared up at him, speechless. I couldn’t believe he’d just seen me puke my guts up. I turned quickly, put the toilet seat down and flushed.
‘Better?’ Flynn took a sip from his plastic cup. The liquid inside looked clear.
‘You oughta be careful.’ I forced a grin, trying to cover up just how hideously embarrassed I was. ‘Neat vodka? You’ll be next.’
He looked at me without smiling, then held out the cup. ‘It’s water,’ he said. ‘I don’t drink alcohol.’
I stared at him in disbelief.
‘Have it,’ he said. ‘I was going anyway.’
I took the cup from his hand and took a tiny sip. Water. It soothed the burning in my throat. I wanted to rinse my mouth out properly. But there was no way, not with Flynn watching.
Instead, I wiped my mouth with the back of my shaking hand, sank down on the floor and leaned against the side of the bath. At least I didn’t feel sick any more.
Flynn towered over me. ‘I wanted to make sure you were okay.’
He hesitated.
‘Why don’t you drink alcohol?’ I said, fixated by this latest intriguing revelation.
Flynn shrugged, his mouth twisting into an ironic smile. ‘Look where it gets you,’ he said, indicating the toilet behind me.
I blushed. ‘Okay, but . . . I mean, is it that you don’t like the taste?’
‘It’s not that.’ Flynn paused. Then he sat down on the floor opposite me. ‘Er . . . did you mean . . . what you said, about not having a boyfriend?’
I frowned at him. My head felt clearer than it had, but not totally clear. Why on earth would he think I had a boyfriend?
‘Yes,’ I said.
Flynn stared at me. ‘It’s just, when I saw you, when we had that coffee . . . the way you rushed off after getting that phone call. I could see you didn’t want whoever it was
to know you were with me.’ He shrugged. ‘I kind of assumed it was some guy.’
I frowned. ‘It was Emmi,’ I said. ‘Emmi and Grace. I was late meeting them. That was all.’
That wasn’t quite all, of course. I hadn’t wanted them to see me with Flynn, but . . . Another thought occurred to me.
‘Why didn’t you ask me if I was going out with anyone?’ I said.
Flynn shrugged again. He looked away.
He didn’t ask because he likes you, you idiot. And he didn’t want to risk being humiliated in case you said you were with someone else.
I chuckled drunkenly, suddenly feeling deliriously happy.
He likes me. He likes me.
Except. Except . . . My befuddled brain inched its way to the horrible truth of the situation. I was drunk and he was not only sober but actually
non
-drinking for some reason. Worse.
Oh God
. Worse of all possible worses. He’d just seen me be sick. Which must be the biggest turn-off known to mankind.
Flynn stood up and held out his hand. ‘You should get some air,’ he said.
I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He kept hold of my hand as we crossed the landing and went down the stairs. Outside the front of the house the street was quiet, just a steady
thump, thump
from the music inside.
As we walked a little way down the pavement, I shivered.
Damn
, I’d left my jacket inside. The cold air was sobering me up fast, though. I remembered how I’d cried before
I’d puked and wished I’d looked in the bathroom mirror before I’d left the room.
Flynn was looking at me again. I turned my face away and licked at the finger of my free hand. I ran it desperately under my eyes, hoping I’d pick up any smudged traces of eyeliner and
mascara.
Flynn took my arm and pulled me round. I was really shivering now. It was freezing with just the little black top on. He put his hands on my arms and rubbed them up and down. His eyes were dark
gold now and soft in the street lamp above our heads.
‘Why do you hate drinking so much?’ I said slowly.
He stopped rubbing my arms and let his hands fall to his sides. ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘I just hate drunks.’
A car whooshed past us. I didn’t know what to say.
I only got drunk because you didn’t look at me.
Flynn looked over my head into the night. Then he took a step back, away from me. ‘Are you okay?’ he said.
I nodded. ‘Flynn?’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘I . . . I like talking to you.’ I closed my eyes.
How pathetic did I sound? Shut up, River. Shut up until you’re sober.
I felt his fingers draw gently down the side of my face.
I shivered, my skin tingling where he’d touched me. I looked up. He was staring at me, his expression somehow both tender and exasperated all at once.
My heart was pounding, my legs threatening to fall away from beneath me.
Kiss me. Kiss me.
He leaned forward as if he was going to kiss me, then he whispered, ‘I like you too, River, but I’m not kissing you while you’re drunk and your mouth tastes of puke.’
He drew back and grinned. A confident, entirely sexy, beautiful grin. ‘I’ll walk you home, though,’ he said. ‘If you’d like?’
I blinked.
Oh yes, oh yes. I would like.
Then I remembered.
‘I can’t,’ I stammered. ‘I’m supposed to be going back with Emmi and Grace later. They’re sleeping over at my house.’
Flynn stared at me, his eyes boring right into me.
‘I can’t stay here any longer,’ he said. ‘Mum’s working nights this week. I have to get back before twelve-fifteen or else Caitlin and Siobhan’ll be on their
own.’
I wanted to ask him why Siobhan couldn’t look after Caitlin. Why she couldn’t stay on her own. But his eyes were stripping me of the power of speech. Or maybe it was all the beer and
rum.
‘Promise me you’ll go straight inside and find Grace and James,’ Flynn said. ‘Tell James I want him to take you home, to make sure you get back all right. And promise me
you’ll go soon. Okay?’
I nodded. He pointed towards the house. ‘I’ll watch you back inside. Go on.’
I walked carefully back along the pavement, feeling ridiculously happy. At the door I turned. Flynn was still watching me. He raised his hand in a wave, then spun round, shoved his hands in his
pockets and vanished into the night.
I went straight up to Grace and James when I got back to the party. They were all over each other. I had to stand right next to them for about ten seconds before they even saw me.
‘I’ve just been sick,’ I said.
‘Oh, Riv.’ Grace made a sympathetic face. But I could see she was in no mood to leave. James said nothing. I turned to him.
‘Flynn saw me being ill. He’s gone, but he said I should ask you . . .’ I stopped. Apart from not really wanting to talk about Flynn in front of Grace, it struck me that there
was really no need for James to come home with us at all. Emmi, Grace and I were perfectly capable of making our own way back.
But James was already nodding. ‘He wants me to take you home? That’s fine,’ he said.
‘What?’ Grace was looking at him, horrified.
‘Both of you, I mean,’ James said hastily.
Grace frowned. ‘Are you really feeling ill, Riv?’
I swallowed. I wasn’t too bad, not any more. But I’d promised Flynn I’d let James make sure I got back okay. And I’d said I’d leave soon. I frowned. Something about
the leaving soon thing didn’t quite make sense, though I couldn’t put my finger on what.
‘Grace, why don’t you find Emmi? Tell her River’s not well. Needs to go,’ James said quickly. ‘I’ll get her a drink of water.’
Grace looked at him, then nodded. She disappeared out of the room. As soon as she was gone, James grabbed my arm. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
I stared at him. ‘I’m fine, look, Flynn was just suggesting you might take me home. He wanted me to go soon. But there’s no need – I feel okay now. And I’ll be with
Emmi and Grace when I do leave.’
James shook his head. ‘He’ll be really annoyed at me if I don’t do what he said. Anyway,’ his face reddened, ‘Grace is staying with you, isn’t she?’
I frowned. ‘How d’you mean, “really annoyed at you”? Why would he be? I don’t understand.’
‘Me and Flynn have an agreement. He lets me copy his English and history homework. Then, if he asks me to do something like this, I do it. No questions.’
My frown deepened. ‘How often does he ask you to walk his . . . his friends home?’