Chapter 3
‘I must have my share in the conversation.’
‘Please let me go with him!’
I was pleading – hands clutching a damp tea towel, practically on my knees at the kitchen sink, doing everything short of swearing eternal servitude.
I’d been campaigning hard ever since Dom had looked up from his giant bowl of cornflakes that morning and casually declared that it might be fun if his little sis came along to Toby’s party.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed past noon. Time was running out.
‘You’re only just sixteen, Florence. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Dom’s only just passed his driving test.’
We were elbow-deep in the washing up. I was drying mugs like my life depended on it, trying to earn good-girl points. I’d already scrubbed the bathroom sink, unprompted.
‘I’ll be safe with Dom. He’ll look after me. Pleeease.’
Mum sighed. She was on her third sigh of the day. Maybe more.
‘Please, Mum. It’s Toby’s party. His mum and dad will be there.’
Her lips pursed slightly at the mention of Toby.
‘His mum’s really nice, isn’t she?’ I tried, layering in diplomacy.
The lips softened. Audrey Bostock liked Mum. Mum liked Audrey. I’d found my angle.
Upstairs, the thudding beats of Pink Floyd stopped. Seconds later, Dom came crashing down the stairs, like a one-man stampede. He charged into the kitchen, straight to the fridge, ripped the foil off a pint of milk and downed it in one go.
We watched him in silence. He finished with a triumphant belch and wiped the moustache off with his sleeve.
Mum sighed again. ‘Can’t you use a glass, Dom? And that’s your second pint today.’
Dom just grinned. ‘Growing fast. I need it.’ He turned to me. ‘Florence, you good to go in a couple of hours?’
I looked at Mum. My eyes saying: this is everything.
She relented, hands dropping back into the bowl. ‘All right, you can go. Dom, you are fully responsible for your sister. Have you got that?’
He threw a lazy arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll be safe with me.’
I raced upstairs and began the delicate, high-stakes process of trying on nearly every item of clothing I owned. I glanced at the photo of Jamie, now Blu-Tacked to my mirror.
I had exactly one goal: to walk into that party and stop time. Jamie would see me, cross the room in a slow-motion swirl, and I’d melt into his arms. We’d snog. Obviously.
Then Dom appeared at my door. ‘Change of plan. Jamie phoned. Got to pick him up from the station on our way. We leave in five minutes.’
He was gone before I could speak. Jamie? Five minutes?
I lunged into action, flinging outfits into a bag, snatching the only two eyeshadows I owned – electric blue and emerald green – and a hairbrush.
Sleeping bag, pillow, toothbrush: check.
I was halfway out of the door when I spotted the mud on my white T-shirt, courtesy of the dog walk earlier.
I yanked it off and replaced it with a faded blue one.
So much for arriving at the Bostocks looking like a goddess.
‘Hurry up, Flo!’ Dom was already halfway to the car.
The Mini’s engine roared to life as I bolted outside.
Mum was on the drive, arms crossed. ‘Drive carefully!’
Dom grinned, gave her the thumbs-up. I threw my things into the backseat.
‘And look after Florence!’
I jumped into the passenger seat. Dom crept out of the driveway like a Sunday driver, one eye fixed on Mum in the rear-view mirror. We rounded the bend – and he hit the accelerator like we were in a Bond film.
‘Put the radio on, Flo.’ He was in his element, speeding through the countryside like it belonged to him. I gave up trying to apply eyeshadow after the third lurch.
We screeched into Hampfield Station where a lone figure was standing against the wall of the ticket office, smoking a cigarette like he’d just stepped out of a magazine shoot.
Jamie.
The photo hadn’t come close.
His hair was swept back in a perfect wave, sunglasses perched on his nose. Black linen shirt, jeans, suede Chelsea boots. Designer everything.
But it wasn’t just the clothes. It was the way he wore them – like he’d been born in them, like style was something that happened to him rather than something he had to try to achieve.
The linen shirt was slightly rumpled; one sleeve was pushed up carelessly to his elbow.
The cigarette dangled from his fingers with practised ease, and when he exhaled, he tilted his head back just slightly, exposing the line of his throat.
He looked bored. Beautifully, devastatingly bored.
This was it. This was him. My Darcy moment, right here in a car park in Hampfield Station.
‘Hop in the back, Flo,’ said Dom, as Jamie pulled the door open.
I didn’t dare step out. Instead, I scrambled over the gear stick and slid into the back like a scurrying rat, wedging myself between our bags.
‘Hey, Dom, thanks for the ride,’ said Jamie.
His voice was husky, all clipped vowels, and quiet confidence.
Not loud or showy – he didn’t need to be.
It was the kind of voice that made you lean in to hear better and feel privileged when it was directed at you.
He didn’t have a bag. Just himself. Because of course he didn’t need anything.
People like Jamie simply existed perfectly, wherever they were.
Dom nodded towards the backseat. ‘This is my sis, Flo.’
Jamie turned. Slid off his sunglasses. Looked right at me.
Time did something strange. Slowed down, maybe it had stopped altogether.
His eyes were grey-green, the colour of the sea before a storm.
There were actual cheekbones. A jaw that belonged in a Renaissance painting.
And something else – something in the way he looked at me, like he was cataloguing everything in one sweep: my messy hair, my old T-shirt, the way I was hunched between the bags like I was trying to disappear.
‘Hey, Flo, great to meet you.’
He smiled. I melted. The heat of embarrassment was blazing a fire engine red trail up my neck.
‘Hey,’ I squeaked.
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Jane Austen’s heroines had witty retorts. I sounded like a trapped mouse.
He winked. I died.
Just winked – casual, easy, like we were already in on some joke together – and turned back to Dom.
The front seat became a cockpit of cool. They were laughing, talking, catching up, the windows down, wind blasting into the back. I tried to keep my hair in place. I failed.
Jamie’s cigarette smoke blew back too, wrapping itself around me like some grown-up, rebellious perfume.
The names they mentioned were unfamiliar. Girls, boys, parties I hadn’t been invited to. Dom had a whole life that had nothing to do with me.
I caught fragments: ‘…absolute nightmare at Leo’s…’ ‘…Charlotte was off her face…’ ‘…you should’ve seen Jake…’
I said nothing. Just sat there soaking it all up, savouring my first taste of grown-up life. I was on the edge of it for now; close enough to feel the heat of fledgling desire pulling me in, like a moth to a flame.