Non Pratt - Trouble

“Hey, sexy.” Tyrone turns away from me to try a low purr on his girlfriend, but she’s as deaf to this as I would be. Tyrone can charm when he wants to, but it’s usually with something more persuasive than his voice.

“I thought you were going to talk to Rex about that thing?”

Tyrone looks baffled. “You what?”

“Never mind.” Marcy shoots me a glare. “Hi, Spanner. Going for the Page Three look tonight?”

I glance down and realize my bra’s peeping out above my top. And my cleavage is popping out above my bra.

“If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” I shrug. “Or flaunt it anyway, even if you haven’t — that’s your motto, isn’t it?”

But Marcy simply smiles. “People pay me to flaunt what I ‘haven’t got’. Let me know when you finally get paid for doing whatever it is you think people want you for.” She turns away, a perfect dismissal, and lays a hand on Tyrone’s arm, leading him away from me.

I hate how Marcy thinks she’s so much better than everyone else here. I hate that she thinks she’s better than me . But I take a deep breath and then I walk away, because, you know, I can. Because I have so shagged her boyfriend.

My first sip of tepid beer tastes like self-hatred. I surreptitiously pour some out, listening to the conversation next to me between Katie and Rex, who seem to have forgotten about his never-present girlfriend.

“…not a regulation-length skirt, Katie Coleman.” Rex is buzzing. “Skirt” was almost “shirt”. Although her shirt is hardly respectable. It’s only done up with one button and that button should have been higher.

“Are you telling me off?”

“I’m just stating facts. Didn’t say I didn’t like those facts.”

Factsh .

“Show me where a regulation skirt should be.”

“There.” I see him bend down and brush her knee. “Not here.” I can guess where he’s touching her leg now.

“I’m thinking your hand shouldn’t be here either.”

“Where should it be?”

This conversation is torture. I do not want to sit here whilst Rex flirts with the girl who by all accounts — including hers — gave his friend an “epic” hand job behind the toilets last week. It’s hard not to speculate as to whether “epic” refers to duration or quality — something I’m certain Rex has thought about a lot.

The bin’s only a short walk away and I dispose of my beer. It’s only after I’ve done this that I realize it made a good shield from the world. Now I feel naked and aimless.

There is no one I want to talk to. Tyrone is arguing with Marcy, Rex has his hands full with Katie and the only other guys I know are daring each other to drink a cocktail of cider, Guinness, schnapps and cooking sherry from a plastic cup. There’s always the girls from Spanish, but I’ve only ever asked them about homework before now and that’s not going to cut it.

I never knew talking to people took practice, but it seems I’ve gone so long without any that I’ve forgotten how.

I’m feeling reckless.

“Hey, Ty.”

I turn sharply at the name of the person I used to be, but it’s only Hannah. There’s an almost-empty bottle in her hand and she’s smiling a slow smile. At me.

She must be drunk.

“Everyone calls me Aaron,” I say.

“Does everyone?” She raises an eyebrow. It’s a well-practised look. Mark Grey notices us and turns to the guy next to him and nods in our direction.

“So.” I struggle for a moment. “What are you up to this weekend?”

Hannah blinks and I notice her lashes are clogged by too much mascara. “I don’t know. You?”

“I have plans to write the great American novel.” This throws her, but only for a second.

“Good luck with that, being a Brit. I’m thinking those Yanks might not go for your greatness.”

She’s sharper than Tyrone. Although that’s not saying much. The guy’s a blunt tool in every sense — he might be the hamster’s cheeks around here, but a week of being in favour has left me practically comatose. Tyrone talks about himself all the time, even boasting about Marcy only serves to make him look better. Everyone else’s stories and opinions boomerang back to him; he’s done everything, or knows someone better than us who has. Only, when I listen, it seems he’s got absolutely nothing to say.

“Bored?” Hannah says, reading my mind.

“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, then worry that I’ve offended her since she comes here every week. “Maybe it’s just me. I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s not just you. This place is better in the daytime, when the swings are for kids and the roundabout isn’t weighed down with drunken basketball morons.”

I look at her and wonder what she’d be doing here during daylight hours. She reads my mind once more.

“I come here with my sister a lot.” Her face lightens underneath all the make-up. “She’s five.”

“What’s her name?” I ask, surprised to find I’m curious about someone else’s life. It’s been a while since that happened.

“Lola — although we all call her Lolly,” Hannah says, then glances down at her bottle and chucks it in the bin. “Let’s get out of here.”

This isn’t really how I thought it would go. I’d imagined less talking and more flirting. The two are usually the same when it comes to boys, but this one’s different.

I don’t want different, though. I want sex.

It doesn’t have to be him, but he’s new and I want to be the one that gets there first. I don’t like the idea of Katie setting her sights on him once she’s chewed Rex up and spat him out. Katie and me are different. I like boys. A lot. They’re fun to hang out with, they can open jars without looking constipated, they have short hair and they smell good (mostly). Katie does not like boys. She dis likes them. When she’s after a boy it’s about power. Katie is about the hunt and the kill. She’s a predator. Me? I’m a tourist. Pick the destination, plan the holiday, check out the best bits, then leave. Thanks for the memories and all that. I’ve not always travelled so far, but once you’ve been there and enjoyed it, it’s a lot easier to make the journey again. And again. My tourism might look like Katie’s shoot to kill, but if I were a boy, I’d rather shag someone who liked me rather than someone who didn’t.

As we walk by the slide, I see Anj looking at us and I stick my tongue out and grin. She pretends to disapprove with a roll of her eyes, but when she turns back to her friends she’s grinning too. We pass Tyrone and Marcy and I slide my hand into Aaron Tyler’s pocket and take out his phone.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, aware that Tyrone has noticed as I tap my number into another boy’s phone. “Just giving you my number.”

Tyrone watches as I return the phone to the pocket I took it from, linking my arm in Aaron’s as I do. I give my audience a sly wink. Tyrone gets it elsewhere, why shouldn’t I?

The footpath leads down to the river and turns into a towpath. Neither of us says anything. My arm is still in Aaron’s, and I get a thrill from the warmth of his body next to mine. I lean in slightly and breathe deeply. He smells of something vaguely familiar. Something that makes me feel safe.

I can see the bridge. It’s a good place, quiet at this time of night and there are some nice dark shadows between the pillars.

Hannah leans into me as a breeze whistles up from the water under the bridge. It feels nice to have someone close again.