Chapter Three
Wednesday
Ruby:
Despite everything I've been through, and the fact I'm naturally more introverted than Oscar, I think it's important to note: I'm not shy.
It's hard to be shy when you've got a twin who everyone has doted on since birth. For the first fourteen years of our lives, we very rarely spent time apart. Even when Oscar was at football, I was on the sidelines cheering him on. Which means everyone knew me because everyone knows him.
We've never been the kind of siblings who squabble and we enjoy each other's company. We only really started spending time apart when we turned fifteen, and it was when I was sixteen that I withdrew from him completely.
It has never been hard for me to make friends though. I've always been good at reading people, and usually, the ones I choose to like, friend or otherwise, like me back.
Sitting directly opposite me at the small table, in the world’s most crammed café, is a boy I can't get a gauge on at all.
He's tall, with thick dark hair that badly needs cutting.
Green eyes beneath heavy brows. A mouth that doesn't seem particularly interested in smiling.
And the unsettling feeling that I should know him already.
He isn't saying much. Scratch that—he isn't saying anything. Josh is as tight-lipped as a nun's asshole, which is only making me want to get to know him more.
In total contrast, Ewan hasn't stopped talking. I don't mind. He's funny. Easy to listen to. But I'm finding it increasingly difficult to focus on what he's saying because he's sat here in a T-shirt.
It's October. In Lincoln.
The question erupts from me, stopping him mid-story: "Aren't you cold?"
"Nah,” He glances down to his white top before looking back at me. “I'm a warrior." Pinching the fabric and tugging at it, he gives me a small smirk. "It's the Scot in me."
I eye him. He’s ginger, with blonde eyebrows and red stubble. "You're Scottish?"
Ewan takes a sip of his coffee. "My family are. They're from a tiny town called Plockton, but moved to England when I was born."
I turn to Josh, and there's a definite zing as our eyes meet. I can't wait to tell Dr. Haynes I do still feel something other than empty. "And you?” I ask him, snapping my eyes to his. “Where are you from?"
Josh lifts the hand holding his coffee cup slightly. His fingers are long and his hands are big. "Louth."
"No way!" The excitement jumps out, making me sound far too eager, which I am, but only because it’s always nice to find someone who lives close by. "That's near me. I'm from Woodhall Spa."
"Cool." His voice is indifferent, but his gaze pins me in place.
“I’ve been a few times,” I continue with way too much energy. “It’s nice.”
“It is,” Brooke says. “I’m from Louth too.”
I look at her. “Really? I would’ve guessed London.”
Brooke looks really offended. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Ewan rolls his eyes to her, grimacing a bit. “You know why.”
“I don’t.” She folds her arms. “Born and raised in Lincolnshire, thank you very much.”
“Poshest woman in Louth,” Ewan adds, laughing as he rubs her shoulder.
Brooke shoots him a look. “I’m not that posh.”
“Your parents’ house is massive.”
Brooke waves a hand to Josh. “So is his!”
“Mm,” Josh grunts in answer.
I peer at him. "That's all you’ve got?"
He pauses for a breath. "What?"
"An entire town and your review is 'cool' and 'mm'?"
His fingers tighten fractionally around his coffee cup. "It's just... home."
“You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not saying much of anything.”
“Yeah.”
That’s it. That’s all I get. It’s enough that I’m starting to wonder if I’m imagining the way he keeps looking at me. Maybe my mental health isn’t as improved as I thought? Maybe I’m delusional? Hallucinating things. Manufacturing my own reality.
Dr. Haynes once asked if I thought the reason I’d never been in love was because I spent too long daydreaming about it. She was trying to suggest that I’m too scared to open up, but I’m sorry, have we not listened to the things that have happened to me? People are the literal fucking worst.
"What are you studying?" Brooke asks me. Her face is laden with makeup, and her pink lipstick hasn't smudged at all.
“English.” I turn in my chair so I can see her without twisting awkwardly. "I copied my brother because I’m a loser. You?"
“Psychology.” She smiles warmly, sitting straighter, one hand smoothing a chocolate-brown curl away from her cheek.
“I want to be a therapist, eventually. Maybe work with kids. My dad’s a psychiatrist and Mum’s a civil servant, so there was never much chance of me getting away with not having a decent career.
They’ve worked me pretty hard and can be strict as hell. ”
I nod sagely. “My mum is the same. Well, she kind of had to be since Dad was hardly around.”
Brooke’s smile fades a little and she gives a small nod. “Yeah, my grandparents came over from Jamaica. Mum and Dad were both born here, but they’ve always been really big on us making the most of every opportunity.”
“Brooke doesn’t need to worry, though.” Ewan pats her knee. "She'll be good at psychology. She's nosy enough."
"I don't think I'm nosy at all.” She shrugs, looking mildly uncomfortable. “I just take an interest in the people I like.”
“Does it make you overanalyse people?” I ask, genuinely interested.
“Not yet, but I’ve heard it does.”
I nod at her before I turn to the two boys. “And you?”
"We're studying Law." Ewan clasps a big hand on Joshua's back.
My eyebrows shoot up. "Law? Really?"
"Why do you sound so surprised?" Josh asks, his eyebrows pulling together slightly.
I feel my face heat. "Do I? I'm not. It's impressive."
He stares at me, like the compliment is a lie or something. His shoulders draw in a fraction, and he rubs his thumb over the rim of the cup. "Right."
Confused by his reaction, I jut chin out. "I wasn't joking. Seriously. It's impressive." Oh my God. Stop. Talking. My legs cross under the table, the toe of my Uggs bumping lightly against his boot before I pull it back. "You should be proud."
"For studying Law?"
"Wouldn't you have had to take the LNAT?"
Josh seems momentarily surprised. His fingers tap twice against the cup, the tiniest tic of anxiety. "Uh... yeah.”
"And isn't that notoriously difficult?"
"Only if you lack comprehension." He gives a sharp shrug. Everything about him is sharp. His gaze. His voice. The way he seems to shave every sentence down to its bare bones.
Every time our eyes catch across the table, I almost start vibrating right off my seat. He’s so gorgeous that butterflies swoop in and my palms get slick, even my bloody toes tingle. Did you know that could happen from the sight of a boy? I did not.
To be honest, I don’t think chemistry between two people can be manufactured—you either feel it or you don’t. And even if my brain wasn’t reacting to him, my body certainly is.
"Josh?" A female voice sounds from my side.
The four of us turn our heads towards her. There’s a girl standing next to Josh's chair—tall, tanned, long dark hair pulled into a ponytail, gold hoops, flawless makeup. She's wearing almost the exact same thing I am; beige jumper, black leggings, Uggs.
As his eyes land on her, Josh goes rigid. His shoulders tighten and his jaw clenches before he forces his expression blank again.
Ewan mutters, "Oh fuck," under his breath. Brooke slowly lowers in her seat like she wants to disappear. I frown, looking between Josh and the intruder.
"Bonnie?" Josh reels his head back as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I go here," she snaps, looking equally as furious. "What are you doing here?"
"I go here.”
"I thought you were going to Oxford?"
"Plans change, Bonnie. You know that."
"Yeah." She chews her bottom lip and glances at the table; her eyes sliding from Josh, to his friends, to me. She turns back to Josh. "Look, can we talk?"
"No.”
"Josh—"
"I said no."
"You never let me explain."
Josh pushes back his chair and gets to his feet, angling his whole body towards her. "I'm not doing this."
"If you let me explain—"
He moves toward her, close enough she has to tilt her chin up. His eyes are blazing, all the quiet tension gone. "There is nothing to explain. You did what you did. You should fucking own it and leave me alone.”
I study Josh. He’s livid. Clearly not as unfeeling as he comes across.
She reaches out to touch his face and he recoils before her fingertips get anywhere near him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Josh,” she begs, voice thick with emotion. “Come on. It’s me.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“You made it like this, Bonnie.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she chokes out, reaching for him again. This time he pushes her hands away from him, a grimace forming on his face.
I’m desperate to ask what she did. Shit in his cereal? Fuck his dad (I’ve been there—not fucking someone’s dad, obviously, but someone fucking mine).
Did she cheat on him? How long were they together? Was it a recent breakup? None of these things should interest me but they do.
A sudden feeling of protectiveness washes over me. No one should be touched without their consent. "I think you should go.”
All eyes turn to me. Every single pair failing to mask their shock and surprise.
"Who are you?" she snaps, placing her perfectly manicured hands on her hips.
"Uh, Ruby. And you are?"
"No, I don't care who you are." Her eyes flick over me once, dismissive. "Who are you to tell me to leave?"
Uh? Firstly: rude. Secondly: I think the fuck not.
"I'm his girlfriend," I boom, ensuring everyone hears it. "Who the fuck are you?"
Bonnie's jaw drops so far she’ll probably need someone to come and locate it. She looks between me and Josh furiously. Ewan makes a choking sound. Brooke smacks him in the chest.
Bonnie recovers first. "You're his what?"
“Girlfriend," I repeat, some kind of instinct driving me deeper into this madness.
Josh finds his voice. "Ruby—"
But I cut him a look that basically says: go with it or die. I can’t wait to tell Oscar I did a ‘him’. That I’m fake-boyfriending someone on the first day I met them. He’ll find it hilarious. It’s exactly what he did with Emma.
Josh wisely shuts his mouth.
Bonnie scoffs, letting out a breathy, humourless laugh. "Right. Sure. Since when?"
"Since before you turned up," I say breezily. "Now leave. You're upsetting him."
Josh inhales sharply at that, which I choose to take as support. He can hate me after, I won't care. I don't know him. But she needs to know she can’t behave the way she is.
Bonnie turns on him. "You're with her?"
"Yeah," Ewan says brightly. "They're, uh, very together."
“Seriously? Her?"
"I take offence to that," I frown. "I'm not a disease-riddled donkey he should be avoiding." I shuffle in my chair. "Are you insinuating I'm ugly or something?"
“I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
She lifts her chin. "I meant he doesn't date people like you."
"People like me?" I lean back slightly, folding my arms. "What does that mean?"
Bonnie hesitates, realising that saying it out loud will make her look even worse than she already does. Her gaze drags over me again, slow and judgemental, utterly pathetic. "You're not his type."
"As opposed to you?"
"Yes. You’re nothing like me and I'm his first love."
"Oh, give over, Bobbie."
"It's Bonnie."
"Bianca, whatever. No one cares."
Her glare snaps back to Josh. "Seriously?"
Josh finally moves, the muscle in his jaw relaxing enough to talk. "Yeah. Seriously."
She sputters. "Josh, come on. This is ridiculous."
"It is not ridiculous. You're being rude." Then, as if it physically pains him to say, he adds, “you're being rude to my girlfriend."
The gritted teeth are a bit much, if you ask me. I might not be as pretty as her, but I wouldn’t say I’m the worst-looking girl to pretend-date for thirty seconds.
“Yeah, Bernie,” I taunt, maybe leaning a bit too much into the bitchy attitude. “You’re being rude to me.”
“It’s BONNIE!” she screams, hands balling into fists at her sides.
“What was that? Bernadette?”
Her entire face goes blotchy with rage. “That’s it—”
“Alright.” Josh cuts across her, sending me a warning look before turning back to the girl. “Bonnie, you need to leave.”
“No!” She gets this wild, almost desperate look in her eyes. “Now I know you’re going to be here, and I’ll have to see you around, we need to talk!”
“We don’t need to talk,” he says, it’s all manly and assertive and makes me want to fan myself. “I don’t want a conversation with you.”
“How are we supposed to move past it—”
Josh’s eyes harden in a way that makes even me sit up straighter. “Bonnie. I’m not talking about this in public. I’m not talking about this ever again.” He takes a big gulp of air. “Go. Away.”
“Bonnie,” Ewan says carefully, hands up like he’s trying to calm a feral animal. “You know what you did. I don’t think this is the best way to handle it.”
Her head snaps toward the ginger boy so fast I’m surprised her ponytail doesn’t fly off her head. “I know a thing or two about you, Ewan. So, I’d keep your mouth shut if you want to keep the peace.”
Bloody Nora, she’s a vicious cow!
Ewan blinks, stunned. “What the hell does that mean?”
Bonnie ignores him. She’s locked on Josh again, an unsettling energy emanating from her. “We will talk about this!”
“Take the fucking hint, Bonnie!” Josh hisses—and this time, he loses his cool.
His careful exterior melting completely away.
“It’s not even a hint. I’m outright telling you to fuck off.
I don’t want to be rude to you, I don’t want a scene, I want peace.
I’ve had enough drama and crap to last a lifetime, so do me a favour—take your conversation, your chats, your apologies, and fuck off back to whatever emotionally inept place you crawled out of. ”
Woah.
Bonnie swallows, looking between the four of us as the fight slowly drains out of her. She looks small and completely human. I feel a flicker of guilt at the sight. For all I know, he did something awful and she’s here trying to fix it.
But the way Josh reacted to her, the way Ewan braced and Brooke practically folded into herself, reminds me of how we all reacted to Harriet on New Year’s Eve, right before I punched her.
Whatever happened between them, Josh is the one who got hurt.
Badly by the looks of it.
Bonnie looks at me last, her face full of something mean and ugly, before she turns and storms off, her Uggs smacking the floor like an angry toddler.
We all watch as she leaves, none of us saying a word. When the door of the café slams shut behind her, I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair.
“What,” I ask the table quietly, “the fuck was that about?”