My friend’s with Kai Swanning.
Kai’s with Courtney.
Josh grabs my waist as I fall but I don’t have to go all the way; I can stop myself, especially in these magic, flat, rescue shoes. I can. I save myself and stumble up which feels amazing, like I’ve triumphed, not lost, and I’m running away and I’ve still got my bag and I’m leaving behind me a sea foam of drama and everyone’ll know it’s because I’ve seen them together but I’m drunk and light and heavy and I need to go home before I’m sick.
Chapter 5: Sunday
So as you can imagine, Sunday’s fun.
When I wake up, ‘pings’ from the study flash straight through the wall and on through my head as I lie in bed, willing my brain to cope. Mum’s IM-ing someone. Maybe an internet date.
“Oow-ow,” I crawl to the bathroom and scrub myself sober. When I come out, Mum’s in fluffy slippers, holding my phone.
“Josh dropped it in,” she says tightly but her face is soft and trembly so I can’t look at her.
“When?” Head hurts.
“Half an hour ago. I thought he might come and wake you but he seemed in a hurry. Lisi, did you and Josh fight?”
This is not some American sitcom and I am not a pre-teen. Mum is irritating the hell out of me and it’s none of her business. I smile sweetly. “No.”
Twelve minutes is what it takes me to:
Bundle clothes in the washing machine and turn it on
Make toast with honey and banana
Drink three pints of water
Tell Mum a story about how I got home
Text Erin and Rach but not Courtney
Ring Josh and close the front door behind me
We arrange to meet outside Tesco so I have three minutes to make things ok again.
Easy.
It starts well ‘cos I actually like what he’s wearing: grey leopard print skinny jeans and a ‘pimp my toaster’ t-shirt and I tell him and he smiles. Then it all goes bad.
“D’you know what happened last night?”
He’s quiet, finger-flicking. “Kai and Courtney weren’t serious if that’s what you’re worried about.”
And that makes me crosser.
I stare at a man across the road arguing with his wife.
“You scared me a bit.” I take a breath. “When you disappeared, I mean. I thought you were upset ‘cos of Kai and I don’t know what happened with Felix. What happened with Felix? Don’t lie, Josh — something did.”
He looks at me strangely and there’s a car alarm going off and the Sunday world’s broken up now. I have forty nine seconds before I lose my job.
“Don’t lie,” he says like he’s testing the words out. Then he jumps onto the top step of my café where everyone can see: all the customers and everything. And he sings:
“Don’t lie? Ooh my,
Lees-eye, how hard
Do you try ... to not lie ?” and he puts his finger on his cheek and does the stupidest face.
“Don’t split infinitives,” I yell, thinking of Miss Mint. Then he pushes me quite hard so my anger switch flicks on and I swear and don’t care and turn my back on him and go inside.
* * *
Where it’s chaos. The Country Kitchen in the Arts Centre, where I’ve worked since the start of year 9, is a malty den of fruit patterned vinyl tablecloths, peppermint infusions and head-sized meringues. Martha says if you want a kick, try the ‘lively’ ginger beer. It blows your mind, apparently.
“Look what the cat dragged in. Late.” Martha grins toothily. “Table sixteen: three pots of tea - two Earl Grey - a fruit scone, plum pud and drizzle. And no added hangover face, thank you. I know that look.”
She does.
“There’s two chocolate fudges to shift. Get moving.”
My boss and I are a tag-team. She knows my moves; I know hers. She does quiche, I do toast. She smokes, I steal chocolate. She likes grannies, I take the toddlers. We have many understandings.
“Rang your mum last night. Said she’s made loads of bread so I said I’d bring some jams round.”
Martha’s Mum’s best friend: fit, tough; she works the tables like she’s putting out fires. “But she reckons she’s busy. Too busy to see me.” The fag end of her sentence glows indignantly.
“Yeah, she’s studying.” I whisk crumbs from a table for four and lay up. “Always on the computer — I never see her. She doesn’t know I exist.”
But Martha checks me. “Don’t play the pity card, my love. Doesn’t suit.” Something spikes inside me and I sulk. Apron on, pencil tucked, water bottle at the ready I think about how much chocolate fudge cake it would take to force-feed Courtney before she’d explode.