‘Right, I’m off to find Dylan,’ she said to Heather, undoing the top button of her lacy blouse and repositioning her yin-and-yang velvet choker. She gathered her hair away from her neck. It was nearly seven thirty but it was still stifling hot and the air smelt sickly sweet. ‘I’ll meet you back here about nine fifteen. Okay?’
Heather folded her arms across her chest. ‘Fine. But don’t be late. I don’t want to piss Mum off.’
Flora sighed. Heather was such a party-pooper. ‘I won’t be late.’ Over her sister’s shoulder she spotted Dylan in the distance. He was with another bloke. Someone she didn’t recognize, not that she’d met many of Dylan’s friends yet. This bloke looked a lot older than Dylan, with a hard face and lots of piercings. Flora didn’t want to sound all middle-class about it, but she thought he looked a bit … unsavoury.
Jess took Heather’s arm and led her away, chattering in her ear, although it didn’t look as though Heather was listening. Flora wanted to reassure her sister, tell her not to worry. But she knew it would fall on deaf ears. Even though Flora was the elder, it was Heather who was more sensible and reliable, Heather who had looked out for them both when their dad died.
Flora waved at Dylan, who raised a hand in return, but he didn’t smile. He was in deep conversation with Mr Piercings. She stood where she was, waiting for them to reach her, not wanting to interrupt.
There was something different about Dylan tonight, thought Flora, as he approached. He was attempting a smile, despite a tension around his mouth. ‘This is my gypsy girl, Flora,’ he said, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘And this,’ he indicated Mr Piercings, ‘is Speedy. My mum’s boyfriend.’
‘Hi,’ said Flora, wondering why he had that nickname.
He held out a hand. She noticed his fingernails were yellow and bitten down. Flora took it dutifully, not wanting to appear impolite.Manners. Manners. Manners.Her mother had drilled it into them since they were little. But really Flora wanted to recoil. He was even odder-looking up close, although younger than she’d initially thought. He had a distinctive tattoo on his neck of a green parrot. How could Dylan’s mum fancy this guy? She’d not met her, of course, considering she’d only known Dylan a week and he was living on-site with the other workers at the fair. But he’d shown her a photo of a delicate pretty blonde, with the same dazzling blue eyes as his own. His mum had had him young, he said. She’d only been seventeen, and he’d never known his dad.
‘Nice to meet ya,’ said Speedy. He had a similar accent to Dylan – London, with a hint of West Country. His eyes lingered a little too long on the open neck of her blouse.
Dylan, as if noticing, pulled her closer to him. ‘Anyway, Speedy just popped in to say hi. He’s off home now. Say hi to Mum for me.’
Speedy grinned in response. ‘Yep, that’s right. I’m going. But I’ll bring your mum next week. It’s been awhile since she’s seen you. Think about what I said, though, yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ said Dylan, his jaw set.
‘Great.’ Speedy smirked at Flora, then at Dylan, before turning around and walking off.
Dylan didn’t say anything for a few moments, watching Speedy weave his way through the crowds. It wasn’t until he’d disappeared that Dylan turned to her. ‘Sorry about that. He’s a bit of a prat.’
‘He’s your stepdad?’ Flora said, unable to believe it.
‘Not stepdad. My mum’s boyfriend. It won’t last five minutes. He’s all right, really.’
‘You just said he was a prat.’
Dylan grinned. ‘He’s all right … for a prat. But he’s harmless. And he’s good to Mum.’
Something didn’t feel right but Flora couldn’t put her finger on it. She wasn’t used to boys, but she felt he was hiding something from her.
‘Is he local? I thought you said your mum lived in Swindon.’
He shrugged. ‘She does. And he lives with her. For now. He came to give me this.’ His eyes lit up as he disentangled himself from her and retrieved something from his jeans pocket. Then he held it flat against his palm as though it was diamonds. It looked like a bag of herbs to her.
‘What is it?’
‘Pot.’
She frowned. ‘Pot? As in …’
‘As in weed. Grass. Skunk. Whatever you want to callit.’ He folded his fingers around it and slipped it back into his pocket.
Flora gasped. ‘Shit, Dylan. Drugs.’
‘Sssh,’ he hissed, looking wildly around him as though expecting the police to be lurking at the coconut stall. ‘I was hoping you’d smoke some with me.’
Flora stared at her feet. Drugs. She didn’t even smoke cigarettes. She realized how provincial and out of her depth she really was. Despite the heat, she suddenly felt cold. ‘I don’t know …’
‘I thought you were cool.’ He sounded disappointed. ‘But maybe you’re too young for me, after all.’
Her head shot up. She couldn’t let him think that. She’d let him touch her in places she’d never been touched. She hadn’t known her body could respond to someone like that, hadn’t known she could desire someone so much. She wanted him to be her first. If he dumped her now she wouldn’t be able to live, to breathe, without him. He occupied her every thought. It was like she was possessed.
