CHAPTER THREE
‘JUST BECAUSE THE DOOR IS PAINTED PINK,’ Pepper Cousins bellowed at the two young brunettes and their tripods, ‘IT DOES NOT MAKE IT A FREE BACKDROP FOR YOUR BASIC-ASS FEEDS!’
Raina jumped out of the way as the young women dashed by her. ‘But, Pep, your door and the cherry blossoms? Heavenly.’
‘Don’t encourage them.’
Raina laughed. She kissed her best friend on the nose and slipped into her Notting Hill house. She made her way to the kitchen, Pepper grumbling in her wake.
‘How was your school visit?’
Raina made a face while taking a long swig of water from a bottle in the pink Smeg fridge.
Pepper’s eyes narrowed but she smirked. ‘How. Was. Your. School. Visit. Raina?’
Raina grinned. ‘Eventful.’
The girls had quickly moved from quizzing her about former employers to asking about relationships and sex.
‘So, I learned the hard way that posh schools get a bit shirty if you say “condoms”,’ she informed Pepper.
‘Why were you talking about condoms? I thought you were there to do your neurodiversity spiel. Do you suddenly have a special interest in contraception?’
Raina fought a smile. ‘I was there to talk about work. But they started asking about sex, so I told them to always use protection, never bow to pressure. And refuse to give your number to lurkers. I think it’s important. No one talked to us about it.’
‘That’s not true,’ Pepper said derisively. ‘My mother handed me a chocolate bar and told me boys only like the ones that haven’t been unwrapped.’
‘Well, that’s completely disgusting.’
‘They probably get super-duper sex education these days,’ Pepper pointed out, snatching a cucumber from the fridge and caressing it in a way that made Raina roll her eyes and let out a snort of amusement. ‘Gone are the days of passing around one of these and—’
‘You had cucumber in your sex-ed lessons?’
‘Most teachers would use a banana, but let’s be honest, the curve on them is disconcerting.’
‘And misleading. I didn’t use fruit or veg today; I just told the truth.’
‘Look at you, almost thirty and the perfect role model,’ Pepper mused. ‘Anything exciting happen? Did a teacher rugby tackle you for going off-book?’
‘Oh, they had one for the hall of fame today.’
‘Uh oh. How bad?’
‘Pepper,’ Raina said cheerfully, snatching a piece of newly sliced cucumber and biting into it with a satisfying crunch. ‘Did you know, neurodivergent people can’t feel actual human emotions?’
‘I heard,’ Pepper said darkly, ‘they can see in the dark.’
‘I heard they drink blood.’
‘I heard they sneak into your house after midnight and reorganize your bathroom cupboards.’
They laughed.
‘I don’t get it,’ Raina added, growing a little more serious. ‘They never think people like me are in the room. They talk on and on about us, and it makes me feel like the person in a paranormal film who’s trying to hide the fact that they’re a vampire.’
‘What a charming comparison.’
‘Well, that’s how it makes me feel. I have to just sit there and grimace. “Yes, kids, she’s talking about people like me. Possibly some of you.” Like we’re not human. Like we’re not . . . I don’t know.’
It suddenly didn’t feel very funny any more.
Pepper didn’t notice her friend’s change in demeanour. ‘So, how did it go from this other person saying you’re an alien freak with no heart to you talking about sex? Showing off?’
‘I wasn’t talking about sex; I was just answering their questions. I got up and basically tried to undo all of the propaganda she’d been spouting. Mrs Horn – oh fuck, you should have heard her. Anyway. Some of the girls knew the podcast.’
It had been nice to see. She was getting close to half a million listeners a month and growing more and more by the day.
‘Well, there you go,’ Pepper said admiringly. Smug pride rouging her cheeks. ‘You thought no one would listen and now you’ve got teenagers asking you inappropriate questions while their teachers think, Who the fuck did we actually invite here today?’
‘It’s a dream come true.’ The remark was dry and laced with irony but Raina did feel a strange sort of vindication. ‘I’ve always wanted to lead people down the path of great sex, self-love and saying a big fuck-you to anyone who thinks Rain Man is the be-all and end-all of talking about autism.’
‘No toothpick-counting from you. By the way, we need to get ready, like, now. The car’s coming at quarter to eight.’
Raina exhaled. ‘Okay, so I was really looking forward to the getting made up part. I’m now not so sure about the going out part.’
‘Raina Lewis, don’t you dare.’
Raina sipped her drink and wondered if this battle was worth the emotional horsepower.
Pepper had grown up with an obscene amount of money.
It had granted her a magical ability – she was able to walk into any and every room, knowing that she belonged.
She had more friends than hairs on her head.
She seemed to know everyone in London and everyone loved knowing her.
Raina enjoyed watching it happen. She liked seeing the strange mist of instant adoration descend upon people.
Pepper’s presence was the oil that eased the creaking, cranking hinges of a clunky social scene.
Raina was not that way. She often felt like the spoke in the wheel.
Being autistic meant she was a vegetable in the fruit bowl.
Social interactions could be dire if the other person was able to sense she was different.
Events like the Hathaway Dinner were full of hungry piranhas and Raina didn’t fancy being a nice juicy morsel for them to devour.
She’d learned to mask but, at best, that only made her feel like a piece of crystallized fruit in the bowl.
Something that looked exactly the same, but don’t bite into it. The inside isn’t what you’re expecting.
‘You’ll look beautiful. We’ll take great pictures, we’ll have a nice meal and a boogie, and we’ll leave.’
‘No, we will not!’ guffawed Raina. ‘I can never drag you out of these things before the sun comes up.’
‘These people aren’t fashion or music people, we won’t stay long.’
Pepper received different offerings from different communities.
The literary scene was a new charm on her social bracelet but she was hoping to meet an editor who would commission her to write a style guide.
Raina was the only one out of the two of them who actually read books but she admired Pepper for refusing to let that stop her.
‘Right,’ Pepper said briskly. ‘Shower, shave and then pre-drinks. I’ve laid your dress out upstairs.’
Raina glanced at her. ‘Are we in an Edith Wharton novel?’
‘You can’t wear that, Raina! This is posh!’
Raina swallowed. If Pep said it was posh, it really must be. ‘Black tie?’
‘The blackest.’
‘All right, Duchess.’
Pepper disappeared into her downstairs bathroom for a shower while Raina stepped into the main bedroom. Laid out on the queen-sized four-poster was a backless rose-gold dress made with a ton of sequins.
‘Pep!’ Raina called, knowing her friend wouldn’t hear her. ‘This is too good for the likes of me!’
Raina was drawn to it, though. She knew Pepper was thorough – it would fit like a glove with shoes to match. She smiled gently and stroked the fabric. A little shimmering strip of a life that seemed far away.
Her mind suddenly returned to one of the girls from earlier. An earnest face who had come to her privately.
‘Do you still believe in love? After everything?’
Raina had been so thrown by the question. By the hopeful face of its owner.
‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve been disappointed. I’ve been let down. But the search will end one day. And it will be like “Wild is the Wind”.’
The girl’s face had scrunched up in confusion. ‘Like . . .?’
‘Do you know that song? I want someone like that song. Unapologetic. Complicated. Real. Maybe not something everyone else gets. But I do.’
She lifted the dress and held it to her body. Pepper’s way of life was only ever for borrowing.
‘Pepper, I’m staying for the meal and then I’m out.’
Her friend yelled back an obscene response and Raina laughed.
‘Well,’ she said softly. ‘Real until midnight and all that . . .’
Tom took in the expansive hall of the V he merely grimaced. ‘Made your donation yet?’
Seb snorted. ‘Don’t even know what it’s for, mate.’
Ottie laughed sharply and Tom tried to mask his own disapproval.
‘It’s for tackling illiteracy.’
‘Oh, yah, great stuff. Not pointless at all. Everyone can read, for fuck’s sake.’
Tom didn’t correct his friend but he thought of his own father – the greatest man he knew, who would quietly ask either Tom or his sister Mirren to read menus for him on the rare occasions when they went out to eat.