Page 104 of Who’s That Girl?

‘You knew better,’ I finish.

Her face flushes.

And my heart sinks. I should have known. I’ve always been crap at taking advice. I’ve always been stubborn. And when I was younger, I was so headstrong. I always did exactly what I wanted. I never listened to anyone.

Not even myself, I realise, suddenly feeling a burst of anger at Lottie for not taking my advice. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to help myself if I won’t listen? But it’s not just her I’m angry at; I’m angry at myself. For not stopping her, for not being able to prevent her from making the same stupid mistake as me. After all, isn’t that what I’m here for? To protect her? To prevent her from doing all the things I wish I hadn’t?

Regret stabs. I’ve let Lottie down. I’ve let myself down. I had a chance to put things right and I blew it. Feeling like a complete and utter failure, I glance at Lottie, her face puffy and blotchy with tears, and unexpectedly my anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. Experience has taught me to stay away from players like Billy Romani, but it’s also taught me compassion, I realise, feeling a rush of sympathy. Because if anyone knows how bad she feels right now, it’s me, isn’t it?

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask gently.

She glances at me with surprise, then blowing her nose loudly, nods and sits down on the front doorstep. I sit next to her. Hugging her knees to her chest, she stares down at her bare feet. ‘After you dropped me off, I went back to the pub to see if he was still there,’ she says sheepishly.

‘And was he?’ I ask, although I already know the answer.

‘Uh-huh.’ She nods. ‘He was still hanging around outside with the rest of the band, so I went with him to the party …’ She trails off and falls silent for a moment as she thinks back.

As do I.

For me, that night seems like a lifetime ago, and it’s hard to think about it without also thinking about everything else that followed. The pain of rejection, the embarrassment, the regret … If I really try, though, I can isolate that evening, focus in on my feelings, remember how I felt. Young, happy, invincible. God, I felt like a completely different person back then.

‘It was amazing,’ she sighs, and despite herself, her eyes flash with excitement.

‘I know,’ I murmur.

‘You do?’ She glances at me in surprise, her brow furrowed.

‘Er, I mean, I know what that feels like,’ I say quickly, snapping back and correcting myself. ‘To have an amazing night with someone. Anyone,’ I add.

She looks at me suspiciously – as if she could never imagine someone like me having a night of amazing sex with anyone, let alone a leather-clad rocker.

‘Well, anyway, the next morning when I left, he promised he’d ring me as he was doing a gig in Leeds that night, which is why he couldn’t be at my birthday party.’ She pulls a face and takes another drag of her cigarette. ‘But that was all lies. He wasn’t doing a gig. He was with that girl.’ Her eyes fill up again and tears spill over her eyelashes and down her cheeks. ‘How could he?’

Because he’s a selfish, egotistical prick, that’s why! I want to cry, but of course she’s not going to take too kindly to that. I know, because when Vanessa said the same thing, we had a huge row and I ended up defending him and stomping home in a huff. But if I can’t tell her that, what can I tell her? The truth?

I hesitate, contemplating how much I can say, when the phone rings and a voice from inside shouts, ‘Lottie, it’s your parents,’ and someone I don’t recognise appears at the door, trailing a phone on a long extension lead.

‘Oh, thanks.’ She nods, taking the receiver, then glances back at me. ‘Sorry, I won’t be a minute.’

Now this will be interesting, I muse, watching as she presses the phone to her ear.

‘Mum! Hello, how are you?’ she exclaims, a wide smile bursting over her face.

I look at her with astonishment. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I wasn’t expecting this. She seems so pleased to hear from Mum.

‘Billy? No, he hasn’t called.’

I’m aghast. What? I told Mum about Billy Romani? I can’t believe it. I never confide in Mum about anything any more, certainly not anything to do with my love life.

‘No, I’m fine,’ reassures Lottie, before shooting me a look. ‘I’m here with a friend.’

I stop staring and manage a smile.

‘OK, well, give my love to Dad, won’t you? And remember, I’m coming up next weekend, so I’ll see you then … Yes, I’m really looking forward to it. We can go shopping together. I’ll spend the vouchers you bought me.’ She laughs, and I’m sure I can hear Mum laughing on the other end of the line. ‘OK, bye, Mum! I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you too.’ She hangs up and turns to me, her face still suffused with a large smile.

I feel a beat of regret. I never have those conversations with my mum any more. Nowadays ours are so snatched, so abrupt, so much less intimate. Like our relationship, I realise, trying to remember the last time we went shopping together.

‘So do you speak to your parents every day?’ I ask curiously.