Once Lauren was in her car on the way to Kian’s flat, things started to look brighter. Chris was doing well at the dealership; maybe he could get an advance on his bonus and they could pay for more of the wedding themselves? Or better, he could ask Irene for some money to pay for some stuff? She was always offering to chip in for the cost of things.
Then there were her brothers. I could ring Billy, she thought; he’d just sold his house, so he’d have some spare cash to lend Mum – and then we wouldn’t have to cancel quite so much.
A few gold plates slipped back, and her mental wedding dress flounced up from its scaled-back Monsoon stand-in state, to a bridal shop one, with an extra ruffly skirt.
For a second, Lauren remembered the look on her mother’s face when she’d suggested talking to Irene, and she felt a bit uncomfortable. And there was always the off-chance that Billy might tell Dad. But what was the point in being so proud? Mum was in trouble, and Irene was only too happy to pay. What else did Irene have to spend her money on anyway?
I can sell my car too, she thought, nobly, parking outside the flat and locking her little Clio. It’s not worth much, but it’s a start.
A bell rang in the back of Lauren’s mind that the handmade wedding dress currently under construction cost exactly three and half times more than Chris had paid for her car, but she didn’t pay too much attention to it.
‘Chris!’ she called, letting herself in. ‘Chris?’
The curtains were still drawn in the flat, but she could hear the shower running.
They must have had a late one after I left last night, she thought, picking her way through the pizza boxes in the sitting room. The whole flat stank of lager and stale smoke. Lauren felt bad about storming out of the pub like that, but Chris needed to know that she wouldn’t stand this stupid competition between her and Kian for his attention.
He was an adult now, a fiancé. And now they had adult-sized problems to deal with.
Lauren was just about to go through to Chris’s room, through the sitting room, when a small girl with an even smaller towel wrapped round her Fake Baked body, and another round her head, stepped out of the bathroom, and right into her.
They stared at each other in mutual shock, as the girl clung to what Lauren knew was actually a hand towel.
She must be Kian’s pull from last night.
The poor thing, thought Lauren. No wonder she wanted a shower.
‘Hi,’ she said, with a friendly smile, dumping her handbag on the sofa, where various clothes still lay crumpled as they fell. Lauren tried not to look, as did the other girl. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m not stopping. Kian up and about yet, then? Or is he still sleeping it off?’
‘Kian?’ The girl’s face was blank.
‘Oh, my God, you mean you didn’t even get to exchanging names?’ exclaimed Lauren. That was bad, even by Kian’s standards. Still, the girl was pretty cute: dark hair and eyes, no visible tattoos. Not very Longhampton. Whatever it was that Kian had, he certainly knew how to use it. ‘For future reference, his name’s Kian Matthews, and he sometimes talks about himself in the third person, so I’m surprised it didn’t register, to be honest. He must have been really plying you with booze!’
‘I wasn’t that drunk!’ she protested, angrily. ‘I didn’t come back with a Kian! I came home with
Chris
! Excuse me, but I have no idea who Kian
is
!’
‘What?’ Lauren’s knees went weak, as if someone had tripped her up. Her body suddenly felt completely empty, and she could barely form words through her shock. ‘Chris? You’re sure about that?’
‘Yes, Chris. Chris Markham, works at the Jaguar dealership. I’m not some
slapper
!’ The girl pouted, and through her rising hurt and anger, Lauren couldn’t help noticing that she was one of those small, sexy pert girls who’d always made her feel so galumphing and lanky. The girls who always ended up with cool guys like Chris.
All of a sudden, Lauren felt fourteen again; gangly, red cheeked and, worst of all, the last to know
anything
.
‘And who are you?’ the girl demanded. ‘Do you live here?’
‘I’m his fiancée!’ yelled Lauren, drawing herself up to her full five foot ten. She towered over her. ‘I am Chris’s
fiancée
!’
The fury of Lauren’s words knocked the wind out of both their sails.
‘Oh, shit,’ said the girl in a small voice. ‘Shit.’
Lauren might have looked fierce, but she was falling to bits like a jigsaw inside. Am I asleep, she wondered, frantically. Am I in the middle of some horrible, cruel dream? First Mum, behaving so out of character, and now Chris. It’s just wrong.
So that’s why Chris hadn’t answered his phone after she left the pub! Her mind filled with excruciating images of him chatting this girl up with that flirty little twinkle in his eye, buying her drinks, laughing at her jokes, then taking her home in a taxi, with Kian egging him on, telling him he was too young to be settling down – she could just hear him now.
And then, undressing her, and kissing her, doing all the intimate things that he’d learned to do with
her
! In their bed! Lauren’s skin crawled and she couldn’t think any further.
Just then a bedroom door opened, and Chris’s bleary figure emerged, a hand over his face to shield his eyes from the light. His bare chest was visible under the dressing gown he’d hauled on over his boxers, and Lauren felt physically sick at the sight of his pale golden chest hair. This girl had been kissing that moments ago, touching him . . .
‘What the hell’s going on out here?’ he demanded, rubbing his eyes. ‘Some of us aren’t feeling so great . . .’
Lauren marched over, and before she knew what she was doing, she gave him an angry shove.
Chris roared in surprise, staggering back into the sofa with the impact.
‘You bastard!’ she sobbed, raining down blows on his chest with her balled-up fists, shock and humiliation fanning the flames of her fury. ‘You cheating, lying bastard! Is that why you didn’t want me to come out with you? Is that why you were so keen to move in with Kian? So you could see other girls on the side, without me knowing? Is it?’
Chris looked dazed, and tried to grab hold of her flailing hands. ‘Slow down, Loz. What are you talking—’
‘Don’t try to get out of it! She told me! She told me you took her home! She . . .’
Lauren stopped, and looked round, but the girl had slunk off, and the clothes were missing off the sofa.
‘Loz,’ pleaded Chris, ‘I can explain everything, it’s not what it looks like, honestly, it’s—’
‘Don’t bother,’ spat Lauren. ‘Tell Kian – tell him he’s got what he wanted. You can have as many single nights out as he wants now! Because you’re not having any with
me
!’
She would have said a bit more, but the thick tears were already choking up her throat, making it raw, and her heart was beating so hard she was surprised he couldn’t see it, banging away in her chest.
Chris was still yelling, ‘Lauren, Lauren!’ as she stumbled down the stairs, her feet slipping on the nasty carpet, and she had to cling onto the banister to stop herself falling as tears blurred her vision.
She knew she wasn’t really safe to drive, but yanked open the car door anyway, wanting to be gone before Chris could run out and give her some cobbled-together ‘explanation’ straight from the Kian Matthews Book of Slimy Male Behaviour. As she turned the ignition the CD player came on, and it was the compilation of songs Angelica had made for them to practise to.
‘Once Upon a Dream’ from
Sleeping Beauty
– she’d been singing along to that only yesterday, thinking how amazing it was that a guy as good looking as Chris wasn’t a dog, like some of the men her girlfriends were always being messed around by.
With a groan that seemed to come straight from her stomach, Lauren ripped out the CD and hurled it into the back seat, before pulling off the hand brake and driving away.
She didn’t know how far she drove round Longhampton but for once Lauren didn’t mind its bossy one-way systems and endless traffic lights. It left her free to concentrate on crying and feeling numb. Eventually, she found herself driving down the broad old road that ran alongside the park, where every seventeen-year-old went to do three-point turns.
She saw a large space, pulled into it, and turned off the engine. It ticked in the silence as she stared through the windscreen at the painted spike railings and leafless trees. She and Chris used to go to the park a lot when they were at school, to be ‘alone’. They even had their ‘special bench’. A few brave dog-walkers were up and about, being hauled round the ornamental duck pond by their pets. One couple was juggling a spaniel, a toddler and a double buggy, but seemed to be enjoying it.
That’s not going to be us now, thought Lauren, as her heart contracted in pain. Me and Chris, we’re never going to have a toddler and a spaniel. He’s ruined everything.
She grabbed her coat and got out. It really was cold, and she had to set off walking at some pace to keep warm. Longhampton’s park was surprisingly big, built for the town by some Victorian factory owner who felt his minions should have somewhere to go for their daily sunlight ration, and Lauren had covered nearly a mile of winding path before she suddenly ran out of energy and slumped on the bench, where she and Chris used to snog until their lips were sore, and sat staring miserably into space.
She probed her broken heart ruthlessly, making herself picture Chris with that girl, whose name she didn’t even know, wallowing in the pain of it all. How could he do that to her? When they were so far down the line with the wedding? He knew the deposits were paid!
Well, it was all off now. And he’d be lucky if her dad didn’t go round there and thump him.
From nowhere, Lauren suddenly thought of her mother. Mum’s gone into all that debt for nothing, she realised, horrified, and even though she didn’t think she could feel any worse, she did.
The town hall clocked chimed the half-hour, then the hour, and Lauren still couldn’t find the energy to move. Footsteps came and went, sometimes slowing, as well-meaning passers-by peered to see if she was OK, and despite feeling as if she were filled with broken glass, Lauren somehow managed to mumble, ‘’M fine, thanks. Really, thanks,’ and force a twisted smile until they walked on.
After a while, though, she heard a voice she recognised. A man’s voice.
‘Lauren?’ it said, tentatively.
The accompanying footsteps slowed, then stopped in front of her.
Slowly, Lauren parted the fingers covering her face, and saw two pairs of trainers standing on the pathway. Two pairs.
She looked up. It was Chris, and he had Kian with him. Both looked as if they’d only just stopped yelling at each other; Chris looked furious while Kian just looked weaselly.
‘Kian’s got something he wants to tell you,’ said Chris, and gave Kian a shove.
‘Chris didn’t pull that girl,’ admitted Kian. ‘It was me.’
‘You’re just saying that to cover up for him,’ said Lauren, dully. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘No, really,’ said Kian. ‘It was me. I told her my name was Chris because . . . well, I’m lying low for a while, put it like that. Not exactly . . . off the leash at the moment.’
A tiny glimmer of hope flickered in Lauren’s heart.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he went on. ‘I didn’t think it would cause problems. I mean, come on! How was I meant to know you’d come over?’ He gave Chris a side look. ‘Didn’t even know you’d got a key.’
‘Shut up, Kian,’ snarled Chris. ‘It’s not me you should be apologising to.’
‘Yeah, sorry, Lauren.’ Kian tried his winning smile, but neither Lauren nor Chris responded. ‘Look, you’ve obviously got some making up to do, so I’ll, er . . . I’ll . . .’
‘Shove off,’ supplied Lauren.
‘Yeah. I’ll . . . shove off. See yiz later.’ He turned on his heel and ambled off. He’d only gone a few steps when he turned round and shouted, ‘Still on for best man, then?’
Chris looked at Lauren, and she saw something weird in his eyes. Embarrassment, she decided. And probably he was annoyed with her for lamping him like that, and he was entitled to be, really.
‘Get bent, Kian,’ she yelled. He flicked a cheerful v-sign and carried on walking.
Chris didn’t move. For a moment, Lauren wasn’t sure what to say; you couldn’t just slam big emotions like that into reverse, and be all nicey-nicey again.
‘And
is
the wedding still on?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Is it?’
Lauren knew she should feel relieved, but somehow she didn’t. Something else had been dislodged from a dark part of her mind – was it the pissed-off expression in Chris’s eyes last night, when she’d asked him to come home with her, and he’d looked daggers at the thought of cutting his evening short? Was it that she’d never be able to enjoy the wedding now, knowing what trouble her mum was in? Or was it something else? Like, doubts?
Lauren stared at her feet, shocked at herself.
Chris sat down next to her, and fiddled with the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt. Lauren loved that Gap sweatshirt. It made him look like a blond jock from
The OC
, or the clean-cut hero of some American teen film.