‘Yeah, and she’s seen me with Emma every day since. But I’m scared it’s not that. Or not just that. Anyway, never mind. We’re talking about you here.’
‘We’re not.’
‘Yes, we are. We have to come up with a strategy for next time.’
‘Henry, I really don’t know if I want to be thinking about you and your strategy when we next . . .’
‘OK, fine, you’re right.’
I laugh. ‘So, what’s the solution? What do I do now?’
‘You’ve got ten fingers and a tongue, so just be a bit creative, OK?’
Creative . . . Coming from Henry. My friend has many talents, but – sorry – creativity is not normally one of his strong points. Why that should be different in bed is a mystery to me, but the sounds I can sometimes hear through the thin wall to his room don’t exactly suggest that Emma isn’t getting the full benefit of it.
But maybe he’s right. Maybe talking really isn’t a bad idea. Asking what’s good and what isn’t. And until then I’ll just pray it’s not too late.
TORI
Kit had to spend a week in hospital. He’s doing OK, he was lucky, and instead of going home to his parents, he’s moved into a vacant room on the fifth-form wing. Close to Will.
Mrs Sinclair ensured that Kit gets a full scholarship. It won’t solve his issues with his father, but at least he’s safe now.
Of course, the story of what happened, and the news that Kit was rushed to hospital in an ambulance, soon got around. I haven’t seen him at break times yet, but he and Will are at the midnight party in the old greenhouse this evening. He looks about as battered as Charlie did after his punch-up withValentine. I try not to think about how lucky Charlie was that Val didn’t give him anything worse than a black eye and a fat lip.
I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. The others are talking, laughing and drinking. Charlie isn’t drinking, but he’s constantly looking in my direction. We haven’t had a chance to talk in peace since last week. The conversation we need to have feels too important to be squeezed in at break or during a rehearsal. But it’s inescapable. We had sex. It was my first time. And I think Charlie needs to know that. If he doesn’t already. And if I can’t pluck up the courage to address the subject, all I can do is guess. Charlie will understand it’s important to me. He’s not like Val, who would definitely have laughed and then said it didn’t faze him that I hadn’t done it before. Who would probably have been irritated with me for making things complicated again if I’d tried to talk to him about it.
It’s not like Charlie and I never argue, but it’s different. I get him. I can generally predict it if something’s going to rile him. He doesn’t come up with totally unexpected accusations and he doesn’t insult other women. Dark red flags – and my friends could all see them. But me? I defended Val to them. Because he was so deep in my head that I couldn’t see it. Because I wanted to heal his broken soul. Whatever the cost – in this case, my self-worth.
I don’t know what it is about Val, but it was like an evil spell that suspended all my common sense. I’ve read so many books and I always thought nothing like that would happen to me. Because I’ve got my principles and a healthy awareness of myself. Because there are enough people in my life to remind me of that, and to protect me. Ha, and they did too, but I wouldn’t believe them. Val came between us. Right from the start, he badmouthed my friends, and that bothered me the whole time. It was the first, and maybe the most important, sign that he’sdangerous. But I wouldn’t see it – until Charlie had to get into a fight with him.
I walked away from Valentine by my own strength that night, but who knows where it would have gone from there? Who knows if I’d eventually have given in so that he’d leave me in peace? I’m so glad I didn’t. That this first time will always belong to me and Charlie. The thing I secretly wished for. To lose my virginity with him, even if ‘lose’ is such an inappropriate word. Because ‘lose’ suggests you should keep it, as if it’s some kind of honour. If I lose my virginity, it’s because I’ve taken a conscious decision. It shouldn’t mean ‘Don’t worry about it, you’re so young. It’s good for you to wait.’ It should mean ‘Don’t worry, you don’t need some erect dick inside you to prove that someone found you sexy enough.’ But nobody ever tells you that.
I jump as I feel a hand on my shoulder. Charlie runs his fingers gently down my spine before resting both hands on the back of the armchair in the old greenhouse.
‘Hi,’ he says.
As I turn towards him, he kisses me. Just like that, even though everyone can see.
‘Hello,’ I whisper, as our lips part again. ‘What’s up?’
‘Are you all right?’ he asks. ‘You look sad.’
‘Sad,’ I repeat.
‘Yes.’ He doesn’t look away. ‘So I just wanted to make sure.’
‘I’m not sad,’ I say. And that’s not even a lie, because the mere fact of him asking makes me the opposite of sad. And it reminds me that it doesn’t matter what happened – or almost happened – with Valentine. That’s in the past. A mistake, an experience, which I’ve learned from. This, Charlie and me, this is the present. And it’s perfect. No red flags, just Charlie, who breaks off his conversation with his friends to come over and ask if I’m OK.
He suppresses a yawn, burying his face in my shoulder as he does so. I stroke his hair.
‘Are you tired?’ I ask.
Charlie kisses my throat. ‘Areyoutired?’
I shrug. I might have been just now, but he’s creating a tingle in my stomach that’s pushing all tiredness away.
‘Want to go?’ I ask, all the same.
