‘Like I said, it isn’t a big deal. Possibly a brain malfunction. But we – um, we sort of kissed? Like, on the mouth? But–’
‘What?’ She’s up in a flash. ‘You kissed? Oh my God, Iknewit–’
I sit up as well, shaking my head frantically. ‘No, no, Hen. It’s not like that. I think he was drunk or something but he clearly regretted it immediately. He pulled away and said that he shouldn’t have done it,’ I say, hurt creeping back into my voice.
She sits back, brows pinched together in confusion. ‘That’s bizarre. Maybe he was being gentlemanly and didn’t want your first kiss to be a drunken moment or something–’
‘I can’t emphasise enough how quickly he wanted to get away from me, Hennie. I should have seen it coming, really.’ I rub my eyes, trying to push away the mental image of his mouth on mine.
Hennie hums. ‘Well, who knows what the fuck is going on in that brain of his? He’s kind of a closed book.’
I avoid her eyes, recalling last night in my tent. His hands over his face as he told me everything.
‘Can I be frank?’ she asks.
‘When are you not?’
She shoots me a look. ‘He’s obviously obsessed with you.’
I shout with laughter. ‘Please. On what fucking planet?’
‘The planet that he kissed you on?’ she says, as if it’s obvious.
‘Yes, the same one where he said he “shouldn’t have”.’
She tilts her head curiously. ‘Have you seen how he looks at you?’
‘No,’ I say easily. ‘Maybe he thinks I look like an interesting bird. Like a buzzard.’
‘Mmm. You definitely haven’t seen how he looks at you,’ she says in a flat voice.
‘Do you mean the glaring? I don’t think that means he’s obsessed with me.’
‘Right.’ She speaks carefully. ‘I don’t think it’s entirely unlikely, though. Don’t you think it’s worth… considering?’
‘No,’ I reply with a sharpness in my voice that I hadn’t anticipated.
She watches me, her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. ‘This is probably an annoying thing to say: but I wish you could see how pretty and fucking wonderful you are. Everyone knows that you’re a catch, but somehowyoudon’t.’
I clench my mouth shut in a tight smile. Hennie often tries her best to raise my confidence, and I do love her for it. She’s always been quick to remind me of the traits that she loves about me – how much she wishes she had my freckles, how she craves fuller lips like mine. That she adores my hair.
But while I appreciated her praise, I found it difficult to believe whilst I had consistent insults thrown at me by our peers for the same traits. I hated to admit that the observations cancelled each other out. But for me, they did.
Thankfully, my confidence has grown incrementally since then, but not enough to believe that anybody would ever find me beautiful. Any compliment that has kindly been bestowed upon me by anybody over the last couple of years has rolled right off me.
I lie down again with a sigh.
‘Listen. Do you remember last year we met those guys on the beach in Hove and one of them desperately wanted to go out with you–’
‘Desperate is a very strong word,’ I mutter.
‘But youdoremember that he asked for your number and you said you had a very important business call and ran away?’
‘I did have an important business call,’ I retort.
‘You did not. It was eleven p.m., Nora.’
‘Mmm.’
