Don't Want To Miss A Thing (12 page)

‘Yay, Dex! Heyyyy!’ He heard raucuous male laughter and
pounding music. So the rest of the world wasn’t asleep after all. Just over a hundred miles away, Kenny and Rob were in a nightclub having the best night ever.

‘Dexy, mate! What’s up? Listen, where are you? We’re at Mahiki and you need to get yourself over here now!’

Dex exhaled steadily. ‘I’m in Briarwood.’

‘Bryard?’ Kenny sounded baffled. ‘Never heard of it. Is it new? Hang on, is that the place that just opened behind Harvey Nicks?’

‘Ken, listen to me, concentrate. I’m not living in London any more. It’s almost four thirty in the morning and I’m in my cottage in Briarwood. With Delphi.’

‘Delphi.’ Kenny was drunk; it took him a couple of seconds to absorb this information. ‘Oh, that’s your sister’s kid, right? But who’s looking after it? Can’t you leave them there and still come up?’

Dex felt his jaw tighten; had Kenny always been this much of a prize idiot? ‘No, I can’t. Because I’m the one looking after Delphi. Who’s a
she
,’ he added pointedly. ‘Not an
it
.’

‘Hey, man, don’t get mad.’ Evidently still flummoxed, Kenny said, ‘But you’ve got a nanny too, right?’

‘No, no nanny. Just me.’

‘Oh man, that sucks. So, who’s in charge?’

‘I am.’

‘But . . . but . . .’

‘Guess what? Some people actually think I’m capable of it.’ Dex ended the call and switched off the phone.

Silence reigned once more.

Chapter 15

‘OK if I sit by you?’

Amber looked up and saw the tall boy with the floppy brown hair who’d visited the café back in February – it must have been six or seven weeks ago now. Molly had forced him to take one of her business cards and there’d been no sign of him since.

And now he was back. Still good-looking in that clean-cut way of his and still absolutely not her type.

‘Fine.’ She nodded; he already had his hand on the arm of the chair next to hers. ‘Didn’t think we’d see you again.’

‘I’ve been busy.’ He shrugged and sat down. ‘You’re Amber, right?’

‘Right.’ Of course he remembered; he was the kind that would.

‘I’m Sam. Hi.’

‘Hi.’ OK, now she was sounding like a parrot. ‘Can I just say something?’

He hesitated. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Look, don’t take this the wrong way,’ said Amber, ‘but if you’re here because of me, don’t go getting your hopes up.’

‘Meaning . . .?’

‘I don’t fancy you. Not at all. No offence.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Sam. ‘Are you always this blunt?’

She shrugged. ‘Pretty much. Sorry, I just think some things are better said and got out of the way.’

‘Fine.’ A glimmer of a smile. ‘Luckily I don’t fancy you either. So that’s good news, isn’t it?’

Amber raised a sceptical eyebrow. Modesty aside, she was perfectly well aware of how pretty she was. Most boys were attracted to her. He was probably just saying it to get even.

‘See that over there? Smashed on the floor?’ Sam indicated something on the ground ahead of them.

Twisting on her chair to see what he was pointing at, Amber said, ‘Where? What is it?’

‘My heart, broken into a million pieces? Can’t you see it? That must mean I’m OK.’ He clapped a hand to his chest. ‘Phew, lucky. Still in one piece.’

‘You’re hilarious.’

‘Thank you. I know.’

Despite the fact that he was gently mocking her, Amber was intrigued. ‘So what made you come back?’

He indicated the closed drawing pad on his knee. ‘I want to learn how to draw cartoons and comic strips.’

‘Let’s have a look?’ She opened the pad and flicked through the half-dozen or so pages with drawings on them. Oh dear.

‘Well?’ Sam was waiting for her reaction.

‘You know how I’m a bit blunt?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, these aren’t very good, are they?’

He surveyed her with amusement. ‘I know. That’s why I’ve come along to this evening class, to get better.’

But something told Amber that it wasn’t.

Everyone else had arrived. Molly cheerily greeted them all,
introduced Sam to the rest of the class, wrote a list of drawing tasks on the board and pinned up a selection of photographs for people to use as the basis for caricatures and cartoons. Once they’d all started work, she would spend time with each student in turn, guiding them, offering help and suggestions and explaining how to create scenarios and particular effects.

‘It’s lovely to have you back!’ Sitting down in front of Sam, she looked at the cartoon he was currently working on.

‘It’s OK,’ said Sam, ‘you can say it. I know it’s rubbish.’

‘It isn’t. You’ve got some lovely lines going on here. Just too many of them. What you want to do is cut it down to the absolute minimum. Simplify.’ Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Molly copied the scene he’d been attempting to convey. ‘See? Pare it right back, exaggerate the expressions . . . and you don’t need so many movement lines. Try again, let your hand relax and loosen your shoulders. Draw the lines faster . . . there, you see? So much better! Just enjoy it and don’t get hung up on the tiny details. They’re
your
characters; you can make them do anything you like . . . that’s it, keep going . . . and again . . . well done!’

Amber smiled at the look on Sam’s face. She’d seen it before, that moment of sheer wonder when Molly first showed her students that their work could be so much better than they’d ever imagined. It was revelatory and uplifting, like watching a five-year-old ride a bike for the first time without stabilisers.

He was still pretty rubbish mind, but that didn’t matter. Molly’s enthusiasm was infectious; her speciality lay in abolishing the fear that caused so many to tense up and fail before they’d even started.

‘Hey, cool.’ Sam’s face was an absolute picture as he swooped and swirled across the page with his pencil. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never tried this before. Just holding the pencil more loosely makes a difference . . . oops, that’s wrong.’ He’d made a swoop too far.

Molly grinned at Amber and prompted, ‘What do we say now?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Amber recited to Sam. ‘You aren’t Michelangelo working on a three-ton chunk of Carrara marble. It’s just a piece of paper. If you can fix it with a rubber, do it. If you can’t, turn the page and start again.’

‘That’s right.’ Molly gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘And what else do we say?’

‘Put some effort in,’ Amber told Sam. ‘Practice, practice and more practice.’

Molly smiled at them both. ‘Exactly. And have fun.’

Twenty minutes later, Sam had completed his first caricature. He showed Molly. ‘Well?’

‘That’s really good.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Um . . . Mick Jagger?’

‘No!’

Amber stifled laughter.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Molly.

Sam gave her a wounded look. ‘It’s meant to be Steve Tyler.’

‘Well, it looks just like him. Both of them, in fact. They’re practically twins anyway,’ said Molly.

He peered across at Amber’s drawing pad. ‘Who are you doing? Is that Shrek?’

Amber looked innocent. ‘Actually, it’s you.’

‘Thanks a lot.’ He grinned.

She liked the way he took her teasing in his stride. ‘No, it’s Shrek. So are you going to be coming along every week from now on?’

‘I don’t know, depends what else is on. Maybe, maybe not.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Cheltenham.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘You’ve got a short memory. Sam.’

‘I know that. Surname.’

‘Why, so you can look me up?’

Rumbled. Amber shook back her magenta curls and said impishly, ‘Maybe.’

‘Sam Jones. But I’m not on Facebook.’

‘Seriously? Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s possible to live without it, you know.’

‘How about BBM?’

‘No.’

Shocked, Amber said, ‘So how do you keep in touch with people?’

‘Emails. Texts. Don’t worry, I manage.’

They carried on drawing and chatting. For a while they talked about music. Then things moved on to the A levels he was taking in the next three months, his plans for a gap year before university and how his parents were coping with the prospect of him leaving home.

‘My dad’ll be fine. Mum’s dreading it. How about yours?’

‘Oh, I’m only in year twelve, I’ve got another year to go yet. But they’ll miss me when I move out, I know that. There’s only me,’ said Amber. ‘So they won’t know what to do with themselves once I’ve gone.’

‘And your mum runs the café. She seemed nice when I saw her.’ Sam was now attempting a caricature of Prince Charles; he paused to peer at the photograph he was working from. ‘What’s she like?’

‘My mum? She’s the village agony aunt. If people have problems, she’s the one they come to. It’s that thing she has.’ Amber searched for the right word. ‘Empathy. It’s like she always
understands and never judges. Kind of the opposite of me,’ she added with a grin. ‘I’m not gentle at all and I’m
very
judgy.’

‘Judgemental.’

‘I also don’t like it when people try to tell me I’ve said the wrong word. I prefer my way.’

‘More of the judgy, less of the mental.’ His mouth twitched at the corners. ‘What’s your dad like?’

‘He’s great. Always busy,’ Amber amended. ‘But fun too. We’re just a really happy family. Sorry if that’s not very interesting, but it’s the truth. How about yours?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Nothing too traumatic. Same, pretty much. Better than a lot of people.’

‘How are we getting on here?’ Having done the rounds of the group, Molly was back. She stood behind them, rested her hands on each of their shoulders and surveyed their work. ‘Very nice, both of you.’ She winked as Amber twisted round to look up at her.

‘Don’t do that. Don’t even think it,’ said Amber. ‘I’m not his type and he isn’t mine.’

‘OK, so that’s me told. In that case I want you to move your chairs so you’re facing each other.’ Molly took a step back and gestured with her arms. ‘And I want you to draw each other.’

Sam frowned. ‘What, our faces?’

‘Whole body caricatures. As exaggerated as you want. And I wouldn’t ask you to do this if you were each other’s types,’ said Molly. ‘Because you’d probably end up being offended and having a massive row. But seeing as you aren’t, you can draw away and be as mean as you like.’

‘Brilliant!’ Amber’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.

‘So come on.’ Molly addressed Sam. ‘What would you exaggerate in order to draw Amber?’

‘Mad hair.’ Sam made spiralling gestures around his head.

‘Good. What else?’

‘Giant gypsy earrings.’

Amber jangled them with pride; she always wore huge silver hoops in her ears.

‘And?’ said Molly.

‘Bony shoulders. Big feet.’

Amber gasped at this slur. ‘Hey, watch it,
Bambi
.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ demanded Sam.

‘Your eyes! Those great long girly eyelashes. Like a
camel
.’

‘Draw each other,’ Molly said calmly, ‘and try not to come to blows. Can you manage that, d’you think, or shall I pair you up with Greg and Toby instead?’

Sam looked at Amber. ‘Would you rather do that?’

Amber smiled slightly. ‘No.’

He shook his head at Molly and said, ‘It’s OK, we’ll be fine.’

Chapter 16

The evening class was about to come to an end. Frankie, watching from the doorway, inwardly revelled in the sight of Amber and the good-looking boy sparring with each other as they compared their finished drawings. After all these weeks he’d come back. What’s more, they seemed to be getting on well together. Was this a sign that Amber was finally growing out of her grunge-boy phase? No offence to all the grungy boyfriends she’d brought home over the last couple of years,
but please God make it so
.

‘Mum, over here!’ Having spotted her, Amber enthusiastically beckoned her over. ‘Look what we’ve been doing!’

‘Hello, nice to see you again.’ Frankie beamed at the boy with the long-lashed green eyes, floppy hair and fresh complexion.

‘Hi.’ He smiled back at her.

‘His name’s Sam,’ said Amber, showing off her artwork. ‘See how I’ve given him a camelly kind of face?’

‘Very good. You don’t really look like a camel,’ Frankie assured Sam. Then she burst out laughing at the sight of the caricature he’d drawn of Amber.

‘Thanks a
lot
.’ Amber tutted. ‘You’re only supposed to laugh at my picture of him.’

‘I can’t draw. I’m rubbish,’ Sam said good-naturedly. ‘But it’s been fun.’

He was wearing really nice aftershave; such a novelty. ‘They’re both great. And having fun’s what it’s all about.’ She smiled again at Sam and hoped she wasn’t scaring him.
Was this how Carole Middleton had felt when Kate first introduced her to Prince William?

‘Actually, Mum, I was telling Sam about you being a kind of agony aunt, good with problems and stuff. And he’s got one you might be able to help with.’ As Amber said the words, Frankie saw the boy tense up and look momentarily panicked.

‘Don’t worry.’ Amber’s earrings jangled as she reassured him. ‘I know it’s hard to come out and say it. Want me to do this for you? The thing is, Mum, Sam’s got this secret and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He likes dressing up in girls’ clothes. Skirts and high heels and stuff.’ Lowering her voice she added, ‘And, you know,
lacy underwear
. I’ve told him it’s fine, nothing to be ashamed of, but do you think he should tell all his friends?’

For the first few seconds Frankie had believed the story; her brain had shot into overdrive, ricocheting wildly from
Oh no!
and
Poor boy
to
How can I help him?
Then she’d realised it was just one of Amber’s silly jokes and there was no need to worry after all.

What was interesting, though, was the way she and Sam both relaxed at the same time, as if the two of them had been simultaneously bracing themselves for whatever Amber may have been about to say.

Then again, that was the trouble with Amber; no one could ever know with certainty what might be about to come out of her mouth.

Frankly, was it any wonder the poor boy was nervous?

As he left Briarwood behind him, Sam’s heart was racing. He’d covered his tracks, hadn’t he? Left no clues. Two visits now and
he knew he shouldn’t be pushing his luck. But what he hadn’t anticipated was how strong the pull would be.