Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up (8 page)

We were at my gate. ‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ I said as I fumbled for my key. ‘You make me feel like I’m completely worthless.’

Dylan and I locked eyes and then he held out his arms and I stumbled into his embrace. It had been so long that I’d almost forgotten how good it felt when he held me and how his kisses were another reason for living.

But all too quickly Dylan was backing away from me. He ran a finger down the side of my face. ‘Keep away from Carter, Edie, he’s bad news.’ Then he turned and walked away.

If I think about this any more, my head might explode.

Neither of them have called. Why am I even surprised?

Went to see a band with Poppy. We were talking about our chef, Italian Tony, and whether he was actually Italian or just had a speech impediment, when I looked up and saw Carter at the bar.

‘Who’s that?’ asked Poppy.

I managed to tear my eyes away. ‘Some boy who’s been trying to mess with my head.’

Poppy rolled her eyes and gave me a nudge. ‘Oh, Edie, you can be so melodramatic sometimes.’

I couldn’t concentrate on the band or their foxy singer, it was as if Carter had a special Edie radar fitted.

I managed to shimmy subtly in his direction but he didn’t say hello or acknowledge me in any way. I so don’t need to start getting obsessed with another boy.

Nat had big news when I met him for lunch today. Seems like Dylan and Veronique had a furious row on Saturday night about a backdrop he’d painted for one of her stupid Performance Art pieces and now they’re not talking. Hah!

Dylan came into the café today and asked me what I was doing tonight! I was like, ‘Oh so you’ve remembered that I exist then?’ He gave me one of his looks and it had been so long since he’d arched an eyebrow in my direction and given me one of his slow-simmer smiles that I arranged to hang out with him tonight. That’s how he phrased it; ‘So do you wanna hang out after work?’

I’m so bloody happy that he’s talking to me and he wants to spend time with me, that I’m not thinking rationally at all. ’Cause am I like just being really sad and taking after my glamorous Aunt Glo who reads books with titles like
Women Who Love Too Much
? Maybe I should be stronger and not so much of a pushover. Y’know, Dylan blows hot and cold and hurts me terribly on a weekly basis and then as soon as he crooks a finger, I come running.

Not only that, I have a sneaking suspicion I’m totally mixing my metaphors.

It was so near to being a proper date that I thought I might just as well call it one. I got home, had a thirty-second shower and threw every item of clothing I had onto the floor before settling for a vintage flowery dress, my motorcycle boots and a headscarf/pigtails combo. Well, it’s a look.

And Dylan was wearing
his
motorcycle boots, jeans and one of his really dodgy second-hand shirts. This one was cream with little pink stripes running down it. God, I don’t know where he finds them. I think all the little old ladies who work in the local charity shops must put them to one side for him. ‘
What a revolting garment, Gladys. That lanky boy with the scruffy hair is bound to buy it, why don’t you mark it up to a fiver
?
’

Dylan always sees right inside me, no matter how much bullshit I come up with. I ended up confessing how sad I was that me and Shona had drifted apart and how I felt like, apart from Nat and maybe Poppy, I didn’t have any real friends any more.

We tried really hard not to talk about Veronique but Dylan made this snarky remark about how nice it was to go out with a girl who didn’t expect him to pay for every round. I shouldn’t have felt ridiculously pleased, but I did.

We had a few drinks in the pub and Dylan wanted to go to this new Sixties garage night at a club in town. It was, like, we couldn’t say what we really wanted to say, which was that neither of us wanted to go home just yet. So we skirted round it with this whole, ‘You could come along, if you want’, ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind’ crap.

When we got to the club I forced Dylan to dance even though he protested and eventually he disappeared to get some drinks. Watching him walk back across the dancefloor, his gaze so intently on me, made my heart ache.

‘Being with you makes me want to cry,’ I said as he sat down next to me.

He put an arm round me and I nuzzled my face against the cosy spot where his neck and shoulder met. ‘I’ve missed your Edieisms,’ he muttered. ‘And I’ve missed you. There’s been so many times when I wanted to ring you but you were out of bounds.’

‘You could have called me,’ I cried. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

Dylan squeezed my hand. ‘Everything’s changed.’

‘Oh, please kiss me,’ I begged because I knew that it would make everything all right.

I ended up sitting on Dylan’s lap with my hands in his hair and his lips on mine. It would’ve been perfect if someone hadn’t decided to chuck beer all over me. I looked up to see Veronique with an empty pint glass in her hand.

‘How could you?’ she screamed at Dylan. ‘With that creature!’

I didn’t stick around. I scrambled off Dylan and nearly knocked her over in my haste to get away.

So there I was walking the streets of Manchester, cold, wet, stinking of beer and unable to find an empty cab. Getting abducted would just about finish off a perfect evening I thought as a car drew up alongside me. It was Carter.

‘Get in,’ he bit out.

‘I’m all right,’ I mumbled.

‘Don’t make me get out and put you in the car, Edie.’

I got in.

We didn’t talk for a while. Carter was handling his gear lever very aggressively, like he wished it were my neck.

‘You’re unbelievable!’ he suddenly shouted. ‘What is your problem?’ I realised he must have been in the club with Veronique.

‘Will you stop shouting at me,’ I whispered.

‘You couldn’t leave him alone, could you?’ he hissed, pulling over and switching off the engine.

‘So? Why do you have to get involved in Veronique’s love-life?’ I said nastily. ‘I guess it’s more interesting than your own.’

‘What would you know about it?’

‘I know that you took me out and then ignored me,’ I spat at him.

He grabbed my shoulders. ‘I took you out,’ he said slowly. ‘Then watched you leave with
him
.’

Less than half an hour ago I’d been all over Dylan but suddenly I wanted Carter to kiss me. Desperately, I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips against his. Carter tried to pull away but I wound my arms round him and he kissed me back. It was different to kissing Dylan. Carter tasted different, he held me tight like he was frightened that I’d bolt and he was the one who pulled away first. I tried to kiss him again but he held me off.

‘You should have a government health warning stamped on your head,’ he told me before starting the car.

I must have texted Dylan like fifty times in the last three days and he hasn’t replied to any of them. Which, I guess, is his little way of telling me that he got back together with Veronique.

I might’ve phoned Carter if I’d had his number. Or maybe I wouldn’t. I’m not quite sure what’s going on there. I mean, if the Dylan thing was never, ever going to happen, then I’d probably be in the market for a new boyfriend but I’m not really sure if Carter would be my first choice. Or my second. Or even my third. But the Dylan thing was kind of happening again. And I’m not even sure that I
like
Carter or that he likes me. All I am sure of is that he’s a really good kisser.

So, last night I was sure I heard a phone ringing but I thought it was part of my dream where I was helping my dad save the world from a terrorist threat. But when I woke up this morning, there was this long, rambly and, quite frankly, deeply disturbing message from Dylan on my voicemail. Time of call: 3.57 in the morning: ‘Edie? God, I shouldn’t be calling you… it’s late… I’m drunk. I just… you know… I’m not a bad person but I’m treating you like shit and I just want you to know if I could get out of this thing with Veronique I would. It’s complicated. Well, she’s complicated. Just wanna be with you, kiss you, get naked with you… God, I’m so drunk. So sorry to be such a bastard to you, you don’t deserve it and I’m terrified that you’re going to get so pissed off with me that you just give up and start seeing someone else. But not Carter ’cause he’s a piece of work, he’s a wanker, he is. Him and Veronique, both of them, Jesus, you wouldn’t believe the half of it. I shouldn’t… I miss you so much… wish you were here right now… Oh, hell… why am I doing this?…’

I don’t know what it means, apart from giving me a certain validation that all my bad Dylan decisions were made with the belief that he did still want me. Which turns out to be true. Er, yay? And I don’t understand the Veronique/Carter thing. The best I can come up with is that they’re having some sort of incestuous affair, which ewwwww!

I just got this text from Dylan: ‘V drunk lst nite. Ignore ne clls frm me.’

You know, if he keeps yanking me back and forth like a freakin’ yoyo, eventually my string is just going to snap.

Nat’s got a date. And I’m pleased for him, really I am. Especially as the date is this cute boy he’s been lusting over for weeks. But it’s late Saturday afternoon and I should be getting ready to go out and have fun and instead I’m preparing to go to Blockbuster to pick up some chick flicks for me and Mum to watch. And you know what else? It’s my birthday today. I’m eighteen; it’s meant to be a big bloody deal and Nat was going to cancel his date so we could go out to dinner but all he’s talked about for the last two months is how dreamy Joe is, so I was really mature about it. Shona called me this morning but she’s going to a rave in Blackpool tonight with ‘the others’ and there was no invitation forthcoming. And it’s not like we’re good friends any more so why should she be obliged to spend my birthday with me? But the thing that really hurts (we’re talking about the same level of pain that you might get from having a limb amputated) is that Dylan hasn’t sent me a card or phoned me or even texted me. I’m eighteen and I’ve got no-one to do anything with on my birthday. Am I such an awful person?

Oh God! I bumped into Carter in the DVD rental shop. Luckily, I’d picked up
Amelie
and not something really girly and tragic, though I’d just been about to snatch up the last copy of
He’s Just Not That Into You
, when I heard a cough behind me. ‘So this is what you get up to on a Saturday night?’ It was Carter.

Of course, he was returning some arty foreign film on his way out to do something incredibly exciting with all his incredibly exciting friends.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ I brushed past him so I could get some ice cream.

‘So, I hear you’ve been managing to stay away from Dylan,’ Carter continued, following me. ‘Or vice versa.’

‘Go away,’ I said between gritted teeth.

He leant against the freezer door, even though most boys know that you should never come between a girl and her Rocky Road. ‘You were a bit more talkative last time I saw you,’ he continued. ‘When you weren’t trying to shove your tongue down my throat.’

‘Look, about that… I was upset, I didn’t know what I was doing,’ I mumbled.

‘Whatever.’

That was it, time to go!

Carter trailed me to the back of the queue, while I stared ahead and willed everyone in front of me to hurry up.

‘You always disappear when things get interesting,’ he smirked.

‘Or when you insult me,’ I pointed out.

‘Look I’ll see you around, sweetheart,’ Carter said, bending down to give me a kiss on the cheek before he sauntered off.

How could I have thought that there was even the remotest chance that we might get together when he’s so utterly obnoxious?

But never mind him for the moment. When I got home, there was a huge bunch of flowers on the doorstep. No joke, there were about a hundred white freesias wrapped up in pink paper with a ribbon and even before I opened the card I knew they were from Dylan. I’d once told him how they were my favourite flowers because they smelt so lovely but you never get that many for your money. They must have cost him a fortune.

It was another home-made card. A collage this time with French words and Sixties girls stuck all over it. ‘I remember exactly what I was doing this time last year,’ he’d written. ‘I can’t turn back the clock but I can wish you Happy Birthday. Love you, D xxx’

I was definitely sniffing when I opened the front door and Mum said Poppy had just called (I’d left my moby at home) and she was waiting in the Dry Bar for me with Atsuko and Darby, a couple of girls from college.

Mum was really cool about me bailing on our chick flick night. She sat on the edge of my bed as I was pulling on my going out jeans and crying at the same time.

‘I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Is it about the flowers?’

‘It’s boy stuff,’ I choked out. ‘Big, hairy boy stuff.’

And then I burst into tears even though if you cry on your birthday you’re meant to have bad luck for the rest of the year and also, I’m meant to be an adult now. But Mum just patted the spot next to her and gave me this amazing cuddle and didn’t bug me for further details. Plus, she let me borrow her art deco earrings.

I had a good time. I drank too much, got seriously chatted up by this guy who’s in the Manchester City reserve team, and for a brief moment I thought it would be very funny to date a footballer and change my name to Chardonnay. Instead I ended up with a bag of chips and Poppy crashing at my house.

It was a pretty good way to end my birthday actually.