‘Sorry,’ Josh tells me with pride. ‘Iloveto ruin his hair.’
I decide that I like Josh Hamilton very much.
Elliot starts the process of fixing his hair one-handed when I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Unsurprisingly, my mum is calling to check in.
I speak to her quietly and reassure her that the gig went brilliantly and that I’m fine – no, really, absolutelyfine– until she believes me.
‘Is that Suzie?!’ Hennie shouts back at me.
I nod.
‘Tell her I love her!’ she coos.
‘Hennie says she loves you,’ I tell her with a grin.
‘She’s a sweetheart and I love her too but please tell her that I do really need my pink scarf back.’
‘She needs her pink scarf back, Hen,’ I report dutifully.
‘Never!’ Hennie screams loud enough for my mum to hear and I’m immediately met with her loud cackle in response.
We’re lucky that Hennie folded so neatly into the Hartley household after her parents’ divorce and the several disasters that followed when we were twelve. After moving in with her mum and her new partner, it became clear that he was intimidating and aggressive and not fit to parent. It was also clear that her mum didn’t seem to notice or care.
After a few turbulent years with them, she eventually moved in with her nan. She still lives there, and doesn’t have much contact with either of her parents now.
My parents understood her situation and went above and beyond to make Hennie feel at home with us: my mum cooked us her favourite dinners and cut her hair, my dad teased us about what films we were watching and helped with her maths homework. Soon enough, she joined us for our summer holidays and my mum bought her a chest of drawers to throw her spare clothes in. If we’re being honest, the Hartley spare room is really just Hennie’s room.
The bullies at my school were relentless until Hennie came into the picture at that time. Some days, I felt like if it weren’t for her protection I might not have survived it.
Without realising it, Hennie and I offered each other a kind of protection from the spaces that we knew to be unsafe. Hen was ready to fly to my defence from the second we walked through the school gates, and ate dinner with my family when she didn’t want to face her own. When she said goodbye, my mum would kiss her on the cheek and leave behind a red lipstick smear, which Hennie would lovingly rub with the back of her hand as she made her way home again, knowing it would be the same again tomorrow.
My mum takes a deep breath after her Hennie-induced giggles. ‘So, you’re okay? Any other news? Have you met anyone nice?’
‘Er.’ My eyes flick quickly to Elliot. ‘I mean, we’ve only been here one day, Mum.’
‘Well, I imagine there must be lots of lovely looking young men there–’
‘Um, sorry Mum, I should probably go,’ I say hurriedly, hoping that Elliot cannot hear her. ‘I’ll probably lose signal any second.’
‘Alright, well let me know how you are. You know I worry.’
‘I know. Sorry, I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘And enjoy it.We would, wouldn’t we, Pat? If we were there?’ she shouts, her voice echoing around the kitchen. I wince at the sudden increase in volume.
‘What?’ I hear my dad’s muffled call somewhere in the background.
‘We’d enjoy Firecrest, wouldn’t we? If we were young?’
‘What are you talking about? Who are you talking to?’ Dad replies.
‘Our beloved daughter, Patrick,’ she says. ‘She’s at that music festival.’
‘Oh!’ His voice is clearer now. ‘Tell her to drink lots of water, it’s roasting out there.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Drink plenty of water, sweetheart. This heat won’t do you any good.’
I hope Elliot doesn’t hear my mum fretting about my long history of heat exhaustion, but from the looks of his hidden smile I can only assume that he does.
