Chapter 1 #2
‘That’s why it’s called Ashford International,’ said Amy, hands on hips.
‘I thought they were just being fancy.’
‘This is so exciting,’ said Caz. ‘You realise you’ll need better make-up than that.’
‘I haven’t got any on.’
‘Why not? What time’s he coming to get you?’
‘I’m meeting him on campus in an hour.’
‘An hour?’ said Caz in alarm. ‘We don’t have much time.
’ She stood up, no longer acknowledging her pain, this mission clearly more important than her hangover.
She took in my giant fleece like she hadn’t noticed I’d been in it for the past hour that we’d been in the kitchen. ‘And that is not what you’re wearing.’
‘She shouldn’t be wearing it any time,’ said Amy, pulling a face. ‘How many times have we told you to bin that thing?’
‘It’s so cosy.’
It might be unflattering, and a bit bobbly from the frequent wash and wear, but I swear it had saved me from getting hypothermia living in our freezing house.
‘It might be, but it’s also ugly. You can’t wear that to Paris. Come on, let’s sort you out.’
They pulled me up and guided me out towards my wardrobe, leaving the table, and seemingly any form of free will with it.
An hour later, I walked onto campus, tugging at my roll-neck that I was convinced was trying to suffocate me. It was Caz’s and a little too small for me.
Amy and Caz had come up with an outfit that they called Parisian chic, the roll-neck paired with a corduroy skirt, chunky knit tights, cream-coloured knee-high suede boots with the tiniest hint of a heel, topped off with a knitted flat cap on my head.
It might have seemed chic in my bedroom, but standing on campus on a Sunday morning, watching people do the walk of shame, I felt more ridiculous than they looked with the bed hair and last night’s clothes.
‘Bloody hell, I said jeans and trainers,’ said Will, walking up behind me. He leaned over and tapped me on the bum as he gave me a kiss. ‘You look good though.’
‘Um, thanks.’ I took in his jeans and a sweatshirt that – from the ketchup stain on the cuff – looked like he’d been wearing it all week.
Still, Paris, I thought to myself. It didn’t matter how we were dressed, the fact we were going was the main thing.
‘Caz and Amy said I should make an effort, it being my birthday and all.’
He closed his eyes for a second and then flicked them open.
‘Right, happy birthday,’ he stuttered. ‘I … um … I’m going to get you a present when we’re there.’
‘Ooh, lovely. Something special to remember the day by.’
Will pulled a face before he shook it off. ‘Yeah. Um. So did you have a good night last night?’
‘We did. Caz got me up on stage and the DJ made everyone sing “Happy Birthday” to me, the Stevie Wonder version, not the normal one.’
His eyes were glazing over and I could see he didn’t really care.
He had an aversion to our student union, not understanding what we saw in it.
It had been one of the things I’d liked about him at first, as it meant that he didn’t want to come with us on nights out.
Which, after having a boyfriend in first year who followed me round the club getting in the way, suited me fine.
‘It was fun,’ I said, trying to supress a giggle at the memory of Caz falling down the steps onto the dancefloor and styling it out with a forward roll. ‘How was your Call of Duty tournament?’
‘Awesome.’
I nodded, convinced my eyes would equally glaze over if he elaborated. ‘Are we going to head down to the train station or … ’
‘Nah, we’re getting a bus from behind the student union.’
‘A bus?’ I didn’t know of any bus from here going to Ashford.
‘Yep. In fact, we don’t want to miss it.’
He shoved his hands in his pockets and motioned with his head for us to get walking.
Campus was quiet, as it always was before midday on a weekend, but it seemed that anyone that was braving the early morning start was heading in that direction.
When we got to the car park, there was a large coach with students milling around it. Someone I recognised as one of the student union officers was by the door, holding a clipboard and discussing something with the driver.
‘Here we are,’ said Will.
‘Here we are where?’ I looked at the mostly male students hovering around the coach. Most were dressed in tracksuit bottoms and jeans. Not another carefully selected Parisian chic outfit in sight.
‘The bus. For the booze cruise.’
‘The booze cruise.’ My voice was flat.
‘Yeah. Dover to Calais. It was only a pound a ticket, bargain!’
‘A pound a ticket.’
I realised I was parroting back to him what he was saying, but I was in shock.
‘Did you remember your passport?’
I nodded, now rendered speechless.
‘Chug it, chug it,’ chanted one of the guys near the front of the queue. His friends joined in clapping and shouting until the boy in the middle of their group downed a tin of beer.
I shuddered. It wasn’t even eleven.
‘It’s going to be awesome,’ said Will. ‘My housemate went over a few weeks ago with his parents. Brought back a whole boot of booze. Obviously, we’ll only have what we can carry, but I’ve got my big rucksack.’
He showed it off proudly as he led me to the back of the queue. I didn’t resist, still mourning my trip to Paris that never was.
‘I thought you’d be more excited. Getting to go to France for your birthday.’
‘You’re right.’ I tried to find some enthusiasm. ‘Actual France. How long are we going for?’
‘I think we get three hours.’
‘Three hours? Is that all?’
From the few French family holidays I’d been on as a child, I knew you could barely eat a meal there in three hours.
‘Don’t worry’ – he squeezed my hand – ‘it’ll be plenty of time to buy everything. All the big shops are together.’
‘We’re not going to sightsee?’
Will laughed and then stopped when I didn’t join in.
‘That’s not really what a booze cruise is for. Clue’s in the name.’
How was I going to explain this to the girls? They were expecting me to come back with stories from the Eiffel Tower, not hypermarkets in Calais.
‘Don’t worry, though. There’s a shopping centre with clothes shops too.’
‘Great,’ I said, thinking of my trip I had planned with Mum next week. Any surplus birthday money had already been earmarked for that.
‘Happy birthday, babe,’ he said, putting his arm around me as the queue started to move. He handed over our ￡1 tickets and we were on our way.
The coach journey was nothing like the trip I’d envisaged on the Eurostar.
I’d pictured the two of us sitting while looking into each other’s eyes, setting the tone for our trip to the city of love.
Instead, we were crammed next to each other, surrounded by what seemed like the entire men’s rugby team.
They must have been the only people to bring booze on a booze cruise.
‘Passports,’ said the student union rep. ‘We’re almost at Dover and we just need to get them ready for passport control.’
I dug around in my bag and handed mine over.
He took Will’s and gave it a quick scan, before doing the same with mine.
‘Your birthday’s the twenty-ninth of February?’ He held the passport closer to his eyes before looking up at me. ‘It’s your birthday today?’
I nodded. ‘This is my birthday treat from my boyfriend.’
He looked at Will and nodded his head. ‘Awesome present, dude.’
The two high-fived. Men really were different to women.
‘You know, there’s a guy near the front whose birthday it is too,’ he said, turning to point to a few rows in front of us, but all I saw was a sea of rugby players.
Maybe a birthday amongst them explained why they’d been so spirited this morning.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone born on the twenty-ninth before, and there I am meeting two of you in two minutes. Amazing. What are the chances of that?’
He didn’t stop to ponder the odds and off he went. I’d never really thought about it, but I’d never met anyone who was an actual birthday twin either. I’d met people who celebrated on the first of March like I usually did, but never one born on the twenty-ninth.
‘It’s weird, isn’t it? Two leaplings,’ I said to Will who had rolled up his coat against the window and was nestling his head against it.
‘Not really.’ He shuffled in his seat, trying to get comfortable. ‘This is a cool thing to do for your birthday. I’d expect there to be even more of you.’
Before I could respond, he’d closed his eyes.
I looked over the sea of heads, trying to catch a glimpse of my birthday twin, but really it could be anyone.
There was a one in fourteen hundred and sixty-one chance of being a leapling, but what were the chances of two of us being here and on this very bus?