Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up (10 page)

‘I thought we’d go and see a screening of
Lost In Translation
at the rep,’ Carter said to me as he opened the car door for me. ‘It seemed appropriate somehow.’

Of course, before the trailers even started Carter had his mouth locked onto mine and there it stayed for the next two hours. Then when we got outside he told me Veronique had invited us to dinner next Saturday before putting me in a taxi. Which is so many different levels of wrong that I can’t even begin to go there.

I’m now lead guitarist of Poppy’s all-girl band, Mellowstar while Atsuko and Darby from college are on drums and bass. They can’t actually play but Poppy (who scares me with her ability to tune out anyone or anything that doesn’t fit in with her musical masterplan) reckons that’s a good thing as they haven’t had time to develop any bad habits. And she thinks I’m a natural ’cause I can play the beginning of ‘
Super Bass’
on my guitar. I’m
so
not.

Carter’s just been on the phone to sort out our dinner date for tomorrow. I’d thought that the whole ‘Veronique wants us to come for dinner’ was one of his sick little jokes and I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. Turns out it
was
Veronique’s sick little joke and he was really insistent that I come. Like, we were dating or something and I was being a bitch because I didn’t want to go round to his sister’s. I wouldn’t put it past her to lace my pasta with rat poison.

So I’m going. And it’s not because Dylan will be there. I haven’t written about him for twelve days, which only proves that my string is still well and truly snapped.

Veronique’s just had me for dinner, literally. When me and Carter got to her flat, Dylan nodded briefly in my direction once and then promptly ignored me. I ignored him back. With knobs on.

I gave Veronique the bottle of white wine I’d brought. ‘I only drink red wine,’ she said sweetly. ‘But I guess I could use this for cooking.’

And although I’d phoned Carter to make sure she knew I didn’t do green stuff, she’d made this hideous mung bean bake with salad. I tried to force it down by swallowing each mouthful with lots of water and a bit of dry heaving.

Then Carter and Dylan started arguing about British Art and Veronique kept saying stuff like, ‘But I think that Tracey Emin provides a very powerful female presence.’ The three of them acted like I wasn’t there. They were being so pretentious and up themselves that I drifted off until I realised they were all staring at me.

‘What?’ I asked defensively.

‘We were just wondering what you thought about the validity of Damien Hirst’s latest work,’ Veronique said. ‘I can’t wait to hear your views.’

He was the guy who pickled dead sheep, right?

‘Um, he’s quite cutting-edge, I s’pose,’ I mumbled.

Carter gave me an encouraging smile. ‘Go on…’

Veronique put a comforting hand on my arms, so comforting that I could feel her nails digging into me. ‘I’m sorry Edie. I guess you’re a little out of your depth. Why don’t we talk about something you’re into? Oh dear, I don’t think I’ve ever watched
Hollyoaks
.’

‘God, you sound just like my mum, Veronique,’ I exclaimed innocently, earning myself a killer glare.

As I glanced up I almost drowned in Dylan’s dark green eyes that were equal parts despair and longing as he pinned me to the chair with his gaze. I stared back, unable to stop myself, until Carter nudged me.

‘Let’s clear the table, shall we?’ he said with an edge to his voice.

I grabbed some plates and hurried into the kitchen, followed by Carter who kicked the door shut.

‘You’re with
me
,’ he hissed, pressing me up against the fridge. ‘And don’t forget it.’

And when Dylan came in five minutes later to get the dessert, I was wrapped round Carter like a clinging vine. There was only one way to get through the rest of the evening and it wasn’t sober.

Carter had to stop the car on the way home so I could throw up. Didn’t even hold my hair back for me either.

‘I should have known you were too young to hold your drink,’ he said nastily as he put me back in the car. Then he made me stick my head out of the window for the rest of the journey.

Somehow I think Carter’s and my
thing
is drawing to a close.

Or not. I’ve seen Carter, like, every night this week. He refuses to call it a relationship. I think he just wants to get into my pants, quite frankly. And he’s taken me to every art gallery in the 0161 area code. Quelle boring.

Just once, I’d like to find a boy I like and he likes me. We have a laugh and the kissing’s really good and there’s no-one getting in the way of the laughing and the kissing. Is that too much to ask for? Other people seem to manage it OK, so why can’t I? I’m starting to think that I have an invisible radar on the top of my head that only art boys with severe emotional problems can pick up.

Waved the ’rents off really early. Crack of dawn kind of early. This second honeymoon thang is actually rather sweet, though it makes me slightly mopey ’cause at the rate I’m going I won’t even be able to manage a first honeymoon. Even sweeter is the fact that they’ve left me unsupervised because they know I’m way too scaredy to even think about having a wild party. I’m slightly squicked out though at the thought of not having a designated adult on the premises especially when the house starts making those creepy intruder-on-the-stairs sound effects.

I can’t believe what happened at work today! Anna suddenly announced that we’re getting a new short-order cook in for the summer rush. Me and Poppy were getting really excited about the thought of working with some foxy super chef when Anna said, ‘Oh, I think you know him, Edie. It’s Dylan who works next door in Rhythm Records.’

I managed to get a grip on myself and muttered, ‘Oh yeah, Dylan, that’ll be nice.’ But Poppy said afterwards that I’d rolled my eyes so strenuously she thought that my eyeballs had done a complete 360 degrees.

I don’t know how I find time to even pee at the moment. After leaving work at five I managed to fit in a quick band rehearsal with Poppy, Atsuko and Darby before rushing home to massage the cramp in my strumming hand and get ready to go out with Carter who took me to a gallery opening. It was very sophisticated (translation: pretentious). I stood there clutching a glass of white wine listening to loads of Carter’s art boy mates waffling on about the artist’s ‘intense use of colour’ when out of the corner of my eye I saw Dylan and Veronique snogging behind a post-modernist sculpture and I experienced my own intense use of colour. I saw red.

‘What are you scowling about?’ Carter enquired as he suddenly appeared at my side.

‘All these people are so, so… so up themselves,’ I spluttered ’cause I couldn’t tell him the real reason why I was looking like I wanted to commit a double homicide. ‘Whenever we go out you always take me to places stuffed full of really bad art installations.’

Carter closed his eyes very slowly and then opened them again. He does that a lot.

‘So why don’t you pick what we do next time?’

I gave him a slightly incredulous look. ‘Oh, is there going to be a next time ’cause planning ahead would actually imply that we’re in a relationship.’

‘I think you actually have to be sleeping with someone for it to qualify as a relationship,’ Carter murmured silkily into my ear and I could feel myself blushing.

Carter might not want to be my official boyfriend but he’d made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t be against getting pelvic with me.

‘I want you to come to the college graduation party with me,’ I said hastily, changing the subject.

‘Oh no,’ he groaned. ‘I bet it will be full of sad girls training to be secretaries and boys doing electrical engineering.’ He shuddered.

‘I take it that’s a no then?’

Carter just smiled and looped his arm round my shoulder before nudging me in the direction of Veronique and Dylan who’d finally come up for air. I so wished they hadn’t because Dylan just stood there like one o’clock half struck and she managed to get, like, ten digs in in the course of a five minute conversation. They deserve each other.

I’ve just indulged in the sappiest behaviour ever known to girlkind. But when it’s two in the morning and the hot water pipes sound
exactly
like a crazed nutter trapped in the wardrobe, you get so scared that you do stupid things like phoning your sort-of boyfriend and begging him to come over so he can look in previously mentioned wardrobe.

Carter took it well though he had a slight edge to his voice when he discovered the crazed nutter was actually a gurgling pipe.

‘You sure it wasn’t just an excuse?’ Carter asked, after putting down the golf club I’d given him to use as a weapon.

‘What?’

‘You get me here and then have your wicked way with me,’ Carter said hopefully.

I shuffled uncomfortably, suddenly aware of my pyjamas. I was naked under them! ‘Yeah, in your dreams!’

‘I could stay here while your parents are away, you know. See off any intruders, make sure their daughter’s protected.’

I shook my head and grinned. ‘Hmm and who’s going to protect me from you?’ I demanded as we walked down the stairs.

As I was opening the front door, Carter suddenly grabbed me and kissed me in a way that made my toes curl and my hands clutch at his shoulders to stop myself from falling over.

‘Thought you might want to know what you were missing,’ he chuckled as I pushed him through the door.

‘Go!’ I said firmly.

‘I’ll see you Monday night then,’ Carter promised.

I frowned. ‘Monday night?’

‘The college graduation party,’ he reminded me.

Sometimes I don’t know whether to kiss him or kill him.

I always have a better time getting ready for a party than I do once I’m actually at the party and trying to be all party-like. Although it’s just a college graduation bash and Carter’s only coming with me ’cause I wore him down through the medium of nagging, I’m still really excited. So excited that I’ve spent most of the day in the hairdresser’s blowing the emergency money Mum left me on some white blonde slices and a manicure. I don’t know what I’m going to do if the hot water tank suddenly explodes but at least my hair looks all kinds of wonderful.

The reckless hair dye decision kind of inspired me and, as I stroked pink glittery varnish onto my toenails and wondered whether my matching hairslides and my pale pink Sixties shift dress were just a little
too
pink, I decided that tonight I was going to find my inner child and run with her. Forget being responsible and mature, tonight I was going to be irresponsible and
im
mature. I’ve spent far too much time recently being the queen of angst.

Carter turned up on time last night. Bang on time, which I don’t think has ever happened before.

The doorbell rang as I was sliding on my cork wedges. I concentrated on walking sedately down the stairs and not breaking my neck even though the thought of getting to spend four hours with Carter was doing weird things to my stomach.

He had his hand raised to have another go on the doorbell when I finally managed to let him in. He was wearing narrow-legged trousers from one of his second-hand 1940s spiv suits and a short-sleeved shirt with little geometric patterns on it. Carter always looks like he’d been born sixty years too late. But in a good way.

‘You took your time,’ he complained, running a hand through his dark blond quiff.

‘I was having trouble negotiating the stairs,’ I muttered. ‘I couldn’t decide whether to go for functionality or fashion forwardness in my footwear.’ Carter can still make me really nervous, even after all this time. Being nervous makes me talk a lot.

He looked me up and down. Slowly, I could feel a blush starting at my hairline and travelling all the way down to my newly varnished toes.

‘I see fashion forwardness won in the end,’ he commented archly. ‘Can you walk in those?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘So am I coming in or are you actually ready, for the first time in our short but eventful relationship?’ he asked. ‘You look nice, by the way. Like a strawberry milkshake.’

‘Oh thanks, Carter,’ I said sullenly.

‘I love strawberry milkshake!’ he protested with a smirk. ‘Stop being so touchy. Now have you got everything: keys, purse, lip-gloss, phone… ?’

‘I’m good to go,’ I said decisively. ‘Are you driving?’

‘I thought we’d walk into town. I guess I should have checked the footwear situation with you first,’ he smiled. ‘We’ll flag down a taxi once we get onto the main road.’

As I wobbled down the street in my wedge heels, Carter took my elbow. He doesn’t do holding hands. In fact, he scorns all public displays of affection, unlike Dylan who’d been happy to snog me at bus stops and in shop doorways. But Dylan was the past and Carter was right now and I didn’t even want to think about any possible boy-shapes that might be lurking in the future.

The party was being held at Kudos, this horrible, tacky nightclub in the centre of town.

As Carter caught sight of the two bouncers on the door and the gang of lads in pastel shirts, who were queuing to get in and stinking of cheap aftershave, he winced.

‘I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,’ he said.

‘Wait till you get inside then,’ I teased. ‘They have plastic palm trees and a dancefloor that lights up.’

‘One of your regular haunts is it?’

‘One of the chefs at work had his birthday party here,’ I explained. ‘There was a massive fight and I saw this guy get glassed. It was horrible and his girlfriend was crying because there was blood on her dress and…’