Dating Down Page 6

  Tomorrow I’m going to hurt. I’ve climbed much higher than the top diving board. I’m somewhere up in the sky with all the stars. I only meant to take her to the dance and go. I’ve no idea why I’m here now. And I don’t need to be smart to know this is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done!

  Sunday 00:01 a.m.

  Tammy

  Hands buried in his trouser pockets, Gary keeps shifting his weight between his right and left foot as if he’s trying to work out how to say good-bye. I’m not sure I know, either.

  “Come on you two,” says Mr Millington, my English teacher, who’s been patrolling the dance floor like some prison guard all night. “Time to go home – alone!”

  I giggle and lose myself in Gary’s chocolate eyes again. We’ve swapped mobile numbers. I’ve phoned him and he’s phoned me, just to make sure there were no mistakes. But now it’s really time to go.

  “I’ll call tomorrow, after I’ve been to see Jack.”

  “Okay – I hope he’s all right.”

  “Thanks,” he says, looking down at his feet. “Well, bye then.”

  Then he leans forward, gives me one very quick kiss on my cheek, which still manages to send my stomach all giddy, and goes.

  I miss him the moment he disappears from my sight. Today’s gone from nightmare to fairy tale, and hoping I don’t wake up to find myself back as Cinderella’s ugly, fat sister, I go outside to find Dave when Carrie catches me up.

  “Told you he was crazy about you,” she says, linking arms with me.

  “I’m crazy about him too!” I confess, happy to talk about Gary.

  She giggles. “So what are you doing now?”

  “Going home. Why?”

  “No you’re not. You’re coming upstairs with the rest of us!”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. Rachael and Morgan have split up, so we’re going to have a sleepover and pig out on chocolate cake to cheer her up.”

  “And you want me to come?” I ask, looking for the hidden cameras. There aren’t any – guess this is for real.

  “Of course, silly,” Carrie says, waving at Callum, who’s just leaving with a group of his mates. “I miss spending time with you.”

  “But I haven’t got anything with me.”

  “None of us have,” she says, pulling me with her. “That’s what hotel robes are for. Come on – it’ll be fun.”

  They call home, and I go and see Dave, who’s waiting in the lobby, looking bored. “I’m going to stay the night with the girls.” I’m still cross with him, and I’m going to be for some time to come. “And before you say anything, Gary’s gone!”

  “I know,” says Dave. “And I’ll stay here to make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  “Whatever!” I turn to leave, but Dave catches my wrist.

  “Tamara, that one’s trouble.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He’s covered in tattoos.”

  “So is David Beckham!”

  “David Beckham doesn’t get into fights, and by the looks of him, he’s been in one hell of a punch-up!”

  I shiver as his words take me back to the park and those two thugs pinning me to the ground. “Go home, Dave,” I say, clenching my hands to control the icy tremors. “You can pick me up in the morning.”

  He shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose like I’m giving him a headache. “Have you called your mother?”

  I shake my head. “She won’t care.”

  He hands me his mobile. “Call her.”

  I do as he asks, not because I have to but because it’s just too embarrassing not to with all the hotel staff looking.

  “Dave?” my mother answers her phone.

  “It’s Tammy,” I correct her. “Carrie and the girls have invited me to a sleepover at the hotel. Can I go?”

  “Carrie Hamilton-Smith?”

  “Yes,” I reply. “Please, Mummy, we’re just going to watch some movies and order chocolate cake.”

  “Very well,” she agrees. “But don’t you go eating any cake. You’ve still got another ten pounds to lose.”

  “Thanks.” Most mothers worry you’ll be off drinking, doing drugs, or having sex – not mine. All she cares about is me getting to a size zero, which will never happen unless you can catch anorexia.

  “Hand me back to Dave.”

  I do, Dave gets the confirmation he needs, and I head up to the room, leaving him sulking in one of the beige hotel lobby armchairs.

  I don’t know why he insists on acting like some over-protective uncle, and if I wasn’t still cross with him, I’d probably give him a hug. Poor Dave. Since Mummy hired him, he’s been more of a parent to me than mine have been in a lifetime. But that doesn’t give him the right to give Gary a hard time.

  I pause at the lift and look back at him trying to get comfy in the lobby armchair, and suddenly I feel awful for being such a cow to him. “Dave?”

  He looks up, his brow all creased up.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He ambles over with a small smile on his lips. “I’m sorry too.” He looks much older when he’s tired. “I don’t mean to come on all heavy, but I don’t want to see you getting messed about.”

  “I won’t,” I say. “I’m a big girl, and I can look after myself.”

  “That’s what my sister said when she got pregnant by some loser at seventeen.”

  “I’ve only just started seeing Gary.” I’m rather touched, but I’m also still a tincy bit annoyed, because I’m not that stupid. “So please, don’t go and ruin things.”

  “Okay.” But he doesn’t look happy. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Are you really going to stay here the night?”

  “No,” he says. “I trust you. I don’t trust him, mind, but I trust you.”

  I feel a bit bad being so happy when Rachael’s just split up with Morgan, but she soon cheers up when the chocolate cake arrives, and me, I couldn’t be happier. I’m in. I’m part of the inner circle, and I’ve got everything I ever wanted!

  We all sit cross-legged on the huge bed, dressed in fluffy white hotel robes, drinking champagne from teacups and stuffing our faces with great wedges of layered, moist, dark-chocolate sponge, gooey-beyond-belief fudge frosting, chocolate curls, chocolate-covered cherries, more chocolate fudge sauce, and whipped cream. I’m in chocolate heaven, but it doesn’t taste as good as Gary.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” Jane begins. “What’s he like?”

  I’m blushing all over again as I remember what it was like kissing him.

  “That good,” Rachael exclaims, still forking cake into her mouth. “Still, at least you’ve got your priorities right, unlike that bitch Sue.”

  “Rachael!” Carrie looks horrified.

  “I needed her,” Rachael hisses, forgetting all about the cake. “And because Paul –”

  “She really likes Paul,” Carrie protests. “And you’ve us.”

  “I know,” Rachael agrees, patting the space next to her. “And I’ve got Tammy too.”

  I join her, happy to be favourite. I guess this is what it was like for Carrie when she first got invited into their group and why she’s probably looking at me with sad eyes – she’s jealous. Carrie Hamilton-Smith, size-zero Barbie doll, is jealous of me! Could things possibly get any better?

  We chat and laugh some more, Jane puts on MTV, and we are just starting to let ourselves go, singing along to some old disco hit, when there’s a knock at the door. Terrified the hotel manager is going to tell us off for making too much noise, Carrie scrambles around to turn off the TV, Rachael hides the champagne, and Jane heads off to answer the door.

  “Tammy, it’s for you!”

  My heart does this little dance in case it’s Gary on the other side. Jane’s certainly giggling like she did when I first introduced her. But it’s not Gary, it’s Dave. “Dave, what are you still doing here?”

  “Your mum called,” he sighs. “She wants her sapphires back.”

 
; “Now?”

  “Afraid so,” he says, rubbing his face. “She’s going to Prague in the morning and wants to take them with her.”

  With an exasperated sigh worthy of Mummy at her most irritating, I remove the earrings and drop them into his open hand.

  “I need the necklace too,” he tells me with a slight yawn. “Please, Tamara, I’m shattered, and I need to take them to the airport first thing.”

  I’m not going to give him a hard time. It’s Mummy I’m angry with, not him, and marching up to the mirror so I can take it off, I freeze. Oh god! Mummy’s sapphire necklace – she’s going to kill me!

  “Don’t tell me you’ve lost it,” Dave groans.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat’s closed up from the terror eating up my insides. Those two thugs – they took Mummy’s necklace.

  “Tammy, what’s wrong?” Carrie’s by my side, her face as concerned as her voice.

  “Mummy’s necklace,” I gasp.

  “What necklace?” Carrie asks, holding me tight out of fear I’m going to pass out or something.

  “Tamara, where’s your mother’s necklace?” Dave asks for the second time.

  I manage to swallow, but there is nothing I can do to stop the tremors or the icy beads of sweat that spring up where one sapphire necklace should be.

  “I’ll get security to search the hotel.” Dave sighs, turning to leave. “See if anyone has handed it in.”

  “Tammy wasn’t wearing a necklace when she arrived,” says Carrie, who’s taken to holding me upright.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she confirms. “Could it have fallen off in the car?”

  It hasn’t fallen off in the car or in the hotel. It’s with those two thugs. Unable to stop shaking as the fear drags me back into the undergrowth where they had me pinned to the ground, I flee into the bathroom and spend the next fifteen minutes vomiting up an entire chocolate cake.

  Sunday 00:55 a.m.

  Gary

  I dig in my pocket and pull out my last note. If I spend it, I’m skint till payday. I can get the bus and ten smokes, walk and get twenty smokes, or save my note and take Tammy out tomorrow. It doesn’t take me long to decide, and today is as good a day as any to quit smoking and get more exercise. But when it starts pissing down and some git in a Volvo nearly runs me over when he jumps a red light, I decide to push my luck a little further and see if I might not get me a free ride home on the tube.

  And let’s face it, I must be lucky tonight. A pretty, funny, and intelligent girl with her own chauffeur has the hots for me, and I’ve just spent the last three hours not having to buy a single drink in some flash hotel, with her all over me! My luck is on the up. I’m not even worrying about Social Services taking Jack into care or Bill throwing me out, because I know everything is going to be okay.

  Running down the steps into the station, I keep my head down and my collar up and shake cold rain from my hair. Saturday night can be busy, which stops you jumping the barrier but does enable you to get a free pass if you shove the bloke in front of you and race through off the back of his ticket. It does mean you need to find a bloke to follow through; I can’t ever bring myself to shove a girl or an old person or anyone smaller than me. It needs to be a big bloke, someone who can handle being shoved, but there are plenty of them in London. When it’s empty, you just have to leap over the barrier and run, which works just fine for me because I’m fast, fast enough anyway to outrun anyone from the British Transport Police.

  Tonight is quiet. Blinking more cold rain from my eyes, I give the station a quick scan. Can’t see any guards or cops, so I walk up to the barrier casual as you like with a slight adrenalin buzz building up in my stomach. One more quick glance around, put my hand in my pocket to look like I’m going to pull out my ticket, then hop over and make a perfect landing on the other side. If there was a gold medal for ticket barrier hopping, it would be mine.

  “Oi, you!”

  Shit! No guards, no cops anywhere on the station, but just my luck, at the exact moment I jump the barrier, two bloody big policemen step out from a side door. I spin round and run.

  “Oi, kid!”

  Leaping the barrier, I race towards the steps and the street above, losing precious seconds as I slip on the tiles that are like a skating rink with all the rain running down the steps. I’m straight back up and halfway up the stairs and come face to face with two girls carrying a baby strapped in some huge buggy. I double back on myself, see if I can make a dash down another exit tunnel, but it’s all too late by then, and the cops grab me and bundle me into the Station Office.

  “Know how much the fine is for ticket dodging?” asks the bearded cop.

  Sitting in the tiny room with two big cops and one irate British Rail Station Guard is somewhat intimidating, even when you know they can’t do anything. I keep my hands in my pockets and wonder what I should do next. I could give them a false name and address or try my luck with a sob story, but something tells me my luck has run out and it’s time to pay up. I’ll just have to wait till Friday to take Tammy out.

  “Well?” says Bearded Cop.

  I dig in my pocket and slap my crumpled note on the table. “Can I go now?”

  “Don’t you watch the news, son?” says Clean-shaven Cop. “They doubled the fine last month.”

  I hear myself groan; yes, my lucky streak is well and truly over. “That’s all I got.”

  The bearded cop raises his eyes. “Name.”

  Now, I don’t lie to cops. I mean, it’s one thing lying to your mates, yourself even, but cops – no. The trouble is, with Social Services sniffing around, I don’t want to give them any more reasons to take Jack away from us. Besides, it’s only ticket dodging, hardly crime of the century. “Lee,” I say. “Lee Wilkins.”

  “So Lee,” says Bearded Cop, watching his mate fill in the form with my false name. “Where do you live?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. I just might get away with it. Now what address to give? I decide to use my old nan’s because I think I can still remember the post code. The flats are going to be demolished, so no chance they will ever be able to trace me. “Flat 14b, 1 Richmond err...” Shit, what is the postcode?

  “Can I see some ID, Lee?” says Bearded Cop, folding his arms.

  Shit! I swallow and close my eyes as I debate whether to tell them I’m Gary or wait till they see it on my student union card. “It’s Gary,” I say, sobering up fast. “Gary Ashworth, 17, Millard Terrace.”

  “ID,” says Beard.

  I push myself to my feet and begin searching pockets, but for the life of me I can’t remember where I put my cards because I never wear a suit. I pull out one empty packet of smokes, one lighter, my mobile, my door keys, some gum, and Tammy’s necklace.

  “Shit!” I got a black eye and a boot in the guts trying to wrestle it off that psycho, and in all the mayhem I completely forget to give it back to her.

  “Nice sapphire necklace, son,” says Bearded Cop, who does sarcasm almost as good as I do. “Is it yours?”

  “No.” I lick my lips. I don’t like the way they are looking at me.

  “So whose is it?”

  “Err...” Not sure if Tammy is technically my girlfriend yet, so I say, “My friend.”

  “This friend a girl?”

  “Well it wouldn’t be a bloke, would it?” I hate it when people try to make fun of me. “It’s just a stupid necklace. What’s the big deal? I’ll give it back to her tomorrow.”

  “It’s a sapphire necklace,” says Beard.

  “So?” I really don’t know where this is going, but they’re making me sweat – for real.

  “Looks expensive,” Beard continues, holding it beneath the desk lamp and making it sparkle. “How did you get the black eye?”

  I squirm some more and decide to answer him with a shrug. If I tell them what happened in the park, they’ll want to talk to Tammy, and I don’t want to put her through all that again.

 
“Where have you been tonight all dressed up?” asks Clean-shaven Cop.

  Freezing, with wet hair and a white shirt that has gone see-through in the storm, I don’t exactly feel dressed up. “Some fancy party,” I mumble.

  “With your friend that’s a girl,” says Beard – he does the most talking. The other cop, he just stares me out with his steel-grey eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Where was this fancy party?”

  I can’t remember the name. “The big white hotel nearby with the fountain out front.”

  Clean-shaven Cop raises an eyebrow and turns to his mate and whispers something. Now both of them fix their eyes on me. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve just come out of Westmore College’s prom?”

  “I guess,” I say. I don’t know what Tammy’s school is called. “It was in the ballroom.”

  “And you were invited?” Beard exclaims, even more sarcastic than normal.

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really!” What’s their problem? “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong, I just forgot to give my friend back her necklace.”

  “And how did you come to be in the possession of her necklace?” asks Beard, crossing his arms.

  “Err...” Think, Gary, think. But despite my pulse racing at a million miles an hour, I can’t think of anything. “It got caught in her hair.” There, that works. “She gave it to me to mind. I just forgot to give it back.”

  “The clasp is broken,” says Clean-shaven Cop, examining the necklace with his eyes and fingers.

  “Yes.” I seize on it for an excuse. “I remember now. I broke the clasp when I was trying to untangle it from her hair.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Clean-shaven Cop doesn’t look convinced. “You didn’t tell me what the name of your friend is.”

  Shit. I know I really should just tell them what happened, but Tammy – I can’t, I just can’t do this to her. She didn’t want the police involved, and the necklace can’t mean that much to her, can it? I mean, she didn’t miss it either. “Sue,” I say. “Sue Smith.”