Game Girls (3 page)

River's View
.
Down to two Tourist Board
stars now. And still fading. But still – it's home.

'Hello, sweetheart. Heavens, it's hot, isn't it?
You shouldn't run when it's clammy like this.'
Mum is just inside the door, resting the phone
back down on the hook.

'I'm not stopping.' Fern pauses by the stairs,
breathless. 'I've got to get something.'

'What sort of something?' Mum stops
scribbling notes in her diary, and looks up.

Fern hesitates. She can hardly tell Mum
what she's come back for. 'My sketch pad.' She
nods as she says it, as if she's in conversation
with herself.

'I thought I heard you come in, angel.' Dad
shuffles out from the study, the local
Long
Cove Echo
in his hands.

Fern hugs him, feels him fragile, so light he
could float away. She steps back, trying not to
let a rush of sadness overwhelm her. 'Good to
see you up,' she says. 'You feeling better?'

'Much.'

The answer frees her. The illusion that he is
– at least temporarily – all right. 'I need to go.'

'You might want me to read this with you
later – an arts award. The council are trawling
for ideas that might bring tourists in – it's a sort
of "Art and the Environment" project. It was
in yesterday's
Echo.
' His hands shake as he
passes the
Long Cove Echo
to her, and she tries
not to notice.

She takes the paper. Rolls it up. Of course
she'll let him read it to her. She'll do anything
for Dad. But not now. 'We'll check it out when
I get back – only that old wreck is really clear
because the tide's so low, and I thought I'd do
some rough sketches of it. I was thinking of
sculptures.'

Mum has been squinting at the diary,
checking through pages, and now looks up at
Fern again. 'Like those mermaids you did for
your GCSEs? The guests really loved them. We
could sell some for Christmas if you made up
some more.'

'They were pathetic.' Fern doesn't know
what makes her say this, but she feels a rush of
embarrassment at the memory of her school
project. What would Alix say about clay
mermaids?

Mum raises one eyebrow. 'You got an A star
for them. The examiners must have thought
they had some merit.'

Fern shakes her head in sudden irritation.
Mum would like to keep her in a safe little
world, churning out mermaids forever. But
Dad is still smiling and she's in a hurry. This
isn't the time to talk it through. 'Mermaids
won't be enough to get me into Art College. I'll
need to show lots of different ideas.' The Art
College argument is Fern's safest option if she
wants to get back into town quickly.

Anything to do with art always gets her a
winner's badge at home. If she gets into Art
College then the future is already shaped. Set
and glazed. 'Must get that pad.'

'You go carefully, Fern. Don't be back late.

And make sure you keep your mobile switched
on in case anything happens.'

'Yes, Mum. No, Mum.' Three bags full,
Mum.

'And
don't
run on the stairs.'

Up in her room she tucks the rolled-up
Echo
on the shelf, wedging it behind Lily, the
elephant, and a soft green crocodile. Then she
turns to her bed, lifts the mattress and slides
her hand in amongst the springs. Her knuckles
graze against the coiled wire and she has to
edge her whole elbow in to get some proper
space to feel.

It's still there.

She knew it would be.

Mum almost never cleans her room – she's
got too many others to do – so she's hardly
going to go poking about between the bed
springs.

Slipping the wad into her jacket pocket she
glances at the alarm clock by her bed. The
Mickey Mouse hands point to nearly five but
she can make it if she really runs. The Dress
Agency won't close until five-thirty, even
though it's Sunday. Not with all these tourists
around. The only problem will be coming up
with an excuse if she bumps into Alix and
Courtney. She ought to ring them – find some
garbled reason why she disappeared – but that
still won't explain why she's racing back down
there. It doesn't matter. She'll make something
up. The main thing is to get the dress.

Grabbing her sketch pad – just in case Mum
is still lurking – Fern runs downstairs, slipping
out of
River's View
, then running back out
through the gate and along the path.

The tide has drained even further now, the
riverbed glossy; stranded weeds and water
plants smudged up in the shine. Fern is relieved
she wasn't stupid enough to chuck the mucky
money away. She'd planned to. She'd wanted
to scrunch it and crush it into a bag of stones.
One hard throw out in the right place would
have got it sucked down and down and down.
But Mum had been out on the slipway, helping
a guest tie the dinghy up to its post. Fern had
smiled, her expression carefully blank, and
then stumbled away again. Up in her room,
she'd wedged the mucky money under her
mattress. She'd have to wait till Mum and the
guest came back in.

Except, once she'd hidden it she didn't want
to touch it. She didn't want the memory.

But she's not scared of the memory now.
With an ache in her lungs and a stitch in her
side, she's only scared that she won't be able to
run fast enough in the heat. Today, by the fruit
machine, Alix listened to Fern's worst-ever
secret and didn't judge. She wants Fern there
on her birthday. She linked arms with her as
they walked through the arcade.

The present is a giant thank you.

And that revolting time with Khaki Steve
will have turned out to have done one good
thing after all.

* * *

'H
APPY BIRTHDAY.' Courtney blinks
twice as Alix opens the door in the shimmer-blue
Dress Agency dress.

'Thanks. Fantastic to see you. God, you
look drowned. Stick your umbrella on the side
there, and come upstairs. I've been slaving over
a hot stove all afternoon, so I'm only just
finishing getting ready.'

Courtney follows Alix up to her bedroom,
and drops her overnight bag down onto the
bed. The room is warm, almost too hot for her,
and the fluffy cream carpet gives everything an
air of luxury, despite the muddle of clothes and
shoes and magazines. Alix has been set up well
– white-lacquered furniture, velvets and silks.
No expense spared. Courtney wonders,
suddenly, if her mum is on a bit of a guilt trip.
Maybe she feels bad about living abroad? 'The
dress looks really good on you. You must have
got round your mum after all.' Unzipping her
bag, she sorts through the neat stack of
underwear and towel and tomorrow's Easi
Shop overall.

'Actually – Fern got it. Came over with it
this morning. I wasn't up but she left it in a bag
on the front step, then sent me a text and woke
me up anyway.' Alix pulls a face at Courtney,
and Courtney pulls a face back.

Fern is ridiculous.

Fern gets everything wrong – even when she
does something right.

'Anyway – you look good too. All black – as
ever. I love the top.'

Courtney shrugs. 'Got it from a charity
shop. It's OK, I suppose.' Fern's overenthusiastic
present needles her. Has Fern
really got money to throw around? She pulls
her own gift from her bag, and tosses it to Alix.

Alix catches it, tearing the paper. 'Hey – a
Blades CD. That's fantastic too. Thanks.'

Courtney takes her bag, pushes it under
the corner chair, and sits down. She's feeling
cheap and tacky, and hopes the sales girl took
the Cash Converters sticker off the CD case.
'So – where did Fern get the money? I
thought they were having to boil rats to
survive at
River's View
.'

Alix props the CD up next to the mirror.

Courtney thinks the shimmer-blue dress is
like gossamer on her, catching the light when
she moves. Sassy and tight. A second skin.

Alix peers in the mirror, pouts, and begins
brushing her hair. It is silky sleek like spun
gold. Long and straight. Shampoo advert hair.
Her reflection smiles out at Courtney. 'It's a
dark, deep secret – I'm not supposed to tell
anyone.'

The needling becomes a scratch now.
Courtney raises her eyebrows. Maybe Fern
nicked it. But as soon as she thinks this, she
knows it isn't true. Fern is the sort of person
who would have the drawer snap shut on her
if she even as much as brushed her fingers over
a till.

She might not really know Fern – might
never have wanted to – but she knows
about
her. They went to the same schools together,
right through from infant days.

'I've got it. It was a tip. One of the guests at
River's View
.
Good service or something.'

'Sort of. You're getting warm.' Alix laughs.
'I've got the vodka ready for us – Vladimir – on
the table by the bed there. D'you want some?'
She swings away from the mirror and reaches
for it, twisting off the lid.

She swigs hard. Four noisy gulps. Then she
hands the bottle across to Courtney. 'Now
you.'

Courtney tries not to think about germs and
saliva. Closing her eyes she swallows hard, the
clear liquid fire in her throat. Alcohol is a kind
of disinfectant. It'll be all right.

Opening her eyes again, she sees Alix is
back by the mirror, her hands on her hips and
standing sideways on. 'This dress doesn't make
my stomach look bulgy though, does it?'

Courtney can't believe Alix doesn't know
how thin she is. Thin slim. Not all knots and
bones and bits-jutting-everywhere thin. The
question is for show. And for praise. 'If
someone stuck you up against the wall you
might get mistaken for an ironing board.'

Alix laughs. 'Sounds interesting. Being stuck
against a wall by someone.'

Courtney laughs back but it's a sound she
doesn't feel. Alix is like that a lot. Easy about
sex and always up for surprises. Anything – or
anyone – to pass the time.

She hugs herself suddenly, although the cold
isn't coming from Alix's fluffy carpet overheated
bedroom. It's coming from inside her. A black
wave of knowledge that she doesn't want to think
about.

She shakes her head quickly, forcing herself
out of the swamping dark. 'The dress looks
good. Honestly.' Well done, Fern. I hate you.
She wishes she'd bought Alix something more,
but she's supposed to be saving all her Easi
Shop earnings – she's going to need a deposit
for a flat. It's her big plan for when she's
finished college. She's getting away from home.
Leaving completely. She'll only ever go back
just to touch base with her brothers.

'So – what else did you get – for your
birthday, I mean?'

'My mum sent some jewellery. And we'll go
shopping when she comes over next week.'
Alix lifts a blue velvet box, half-buried by a
muddle of make-up, opens the lid and hands it
across. 'It's not really "me", but I suppose it's
the sort of thing you keep forever. I'll probably
love it when I'm a hundred and ten.'

Courtney widens her eyes at the sparkling
crucifix. It's a dazzle of colour, crystal gems
catching rainbows in the bedroom light. 'Are
they real diamonds?'

Alix leans across her, lifting it out and lacing
the chain between her fingers. 'That's what the
card said.' She swings the cross to and fro,
watching it for a moment. 'It's a scary thing
though, a crucifix. I mean, I don't believe in
God or anything, but they do have a sort of
magic power. Evil things are supposed to
shrink and die when you wave them about.'

Courtney thinks about this. She used to
have a crucifix, a tiny gold one that she got
when she was christened, and she wore it all
the time when she was younger. It never did her
any good. 'You'd better look after it then.

Make sure it stays on your side.'

Alix laughs and sits back on the bed,
swilling the vodka again. Her long legs are
curled under her, the magic-power crucifix still
dangling casually from one hand. Courtney
thinks that, whatever she's doing, Alix always
looks amazing. A moment in a photograph.
Courtney never looks like that. When she
catches her face in the mirror she always looks
so strung up. 'This deep dark secret . . . '
Courtney can't stop herself. She wants one last
try. 'Did Fern . . . ?'

'Look. I really can't tell you. But maybe
you'll find out one day. Secrets always come
out in the end. Now – sssssh.' Alix sits
forward, then freezes, one hand raised slightly
as she tilts her head. 'Listen. Outside.'

Courtney listens. The rain is stronger,
flinging itself at the window. 'The weather?'

'No, no.' Alix drops the crucifix down onto
the quilt. 'There's a car turning in the drive.'
She bounces up from the bed, hurrying to the
window. Then she ducks back. 'It's my brother
– Aaron – with his mates.'

Courtney can now hear the growled purr of
an engine. The slosh of tyres on wet tarmac. She
goes to the window too, standing just behind
Alix. Four blokes get out of a four-by-four,
dipping their heads against the rain as they wait
for each other.

'That's an expensive set of wheels. Someone's
parents must be loaded.' Alix's voice has
dropped to something husky and deep. 'I didn't
expect them yet. They were supposed to be
having football practice before they left. The
rain must've stopped them.'

She steps away, picks up the Vladimir, swigs
it hard and then hands it across to Courtney
again. 'I couldn't tell from that glimpse
though.'

'Couldn't tell what?'

'What one I'd want. Could you?'

Courtney grips the bottle, staring down on
the four tops of heads which are now huddled
outside the front door. She wants to make
herself feel something. Excitement. Anticipation.
Bubbles and giggles and girlish delight.
None of it comes.

The doorbell rings and it is like a scream
through the house.

The cold wash of black slides through her
again.

* * *

They all squash up in the hallway. Aaron gives
a small bow. 'Pray, gentlemen – let me introduce
you to my fair sister Alix – and . . . '

'Courtney,' says Courtney.

Aaron smiles. '. . . the delectable Courtney.'

Alix smiles back at her brother. He's
brought three amazing guys with him. All
gorgeous beautiful spunk hunks. Aaron might
not be into girls but his mates usually are. The
mates he lets her meet, anyway.

'This is Nathan, Dale and Tom.' Aaron
comes forward, goes to hug her and then stops.
'Sorry, fair sister – don't want to get that dress
wet. It's thumping down out there, and look at
me – I'm dripping. But anyway – happy
birthday. And hey – you look stunning.'

Warm wonderful Aaron. She doesn't care
what his secrets are. He's the one guy in the
world she'll never get bored with.

'Thanks.' She squeezes his hand and smiles
round at the spunk hunks. She loves it that
they're beautiful. Loves it that they've made the
effort to come. She still can't decide which one
she wants to go for, but time stretches ahead.
There's no hurry.

They've got to be better than the college
rabble anyway. The guys there are decent enough
but . . . She rolls the thought round her head,
trying to decide what she's thinking. Not enough.
That's it. Decent enough, but not enough.

'We've got you refreshments – stashes of the
King's best beer,' Aaron is saying. 'It's all out in
the carriage.'

'Bring it in. Bring it on. I've made up some not-so-royal
chilli, and there's garlic bread and rice
and salad.' She knows she is glowing. Knows the
spunk hunks are taking her in and looking her
over. The shimmer-blue dress clings in all the
right places. They are probably trying not to stare
at her breasts. The thought of this makes her
warm and shivery, and she bites back a smile.

The night is young, and it belongs to her.

'Sounds like a banquet. I'll bring the booze
in.' Aaron grins, and goes off.

'I'll go and help. I'm Tom, by the way.' The
spunk hunk who was the driver shoots a grin at
her, and heads back outside. He's got a smile to
die for. A bit short for her, but who cares about
height tonight.

Nathan and Dale turn and follow him.

Alix raises her eyebrows at Courtney, who
raises her eyebrows back.

'Kitchen,' says Alix. 'Let's make sure
everything's ready.'

She closes the door, trying to use the
moments between lighting the oven and
manoeuvring the salad from the over-stuffed
fridge, to gauge a reaction from Courtney.

'What d'you think?'

'
I think they look . . . ' Courtney gets glasses
down from the cupboard. Lines them along the
top of the washing machine. Then she fills up a
bowl of frothy hot water and starts cleaning
the sink. '. . .OK.'

'OK? Come on – they're gorgeous. Which one
would you go for? I promise to give you a free run
if you just say the name.' Alix pulls some garlic
bread from a carrier bag on the floor, wraps it in
tinfoil, and pokes it on the bottom shelf of the
oven. It's too long and it crushes up against the
door as she jams it shut. She shrugs. It doesn't
matter. Everyone will be too drunk to care soon
anyway.

'Sorry.' Courtney jerks a look round at her,
her expression strained, as if she'd been
somewhere else in her head. 'What did you
say?'

Alix pulls a frozen pizza from the freezer,
tearing open the box. 'Surely you—' But the
question is sliced short by spunk hunk Tom
staggering in with a box of beers.

Alix steps slightly to the side but the space is
tight and Tom brushes her arm as he passes,
pressing into her.

'We've got plenty of vodka.' Alix smiles at him
and sweeps her hair back from her face. It splays
down over her shoulders, and she can feel its silk
touch on her skin. 'And some soft drinks. Of
course.'

'Of course.' Tom edges Courtney's newly
lined up glasses to one side and plonks his box
beside them. 'Many coming?'

'Just a college crowd. They'll bring drinks
too. Do you think I've got enough though?'

'Oh, I think so.' Tom gives her the to-die-for
smile. 'You've got plenty.' He looks at her.
They are very close. He has tawny eyes, gold
flecks among the brown. The rain has curled
his hair slightly. Dampened his shirt. She
wonders if she should slip off her heels.

'Food, glorious food.' Aaron springs into
the kitchen, sniffing like a starved bloodhound.
'All smells delicious. It's been a miserable
journey in the rain, and we need replenishing.
Oh, hang on – birthday gift for the fair
maiden.'

He hands Alix a parcel. Small. Flat. CD size
and shape.

She takes it, turning slightly to break the
moment with Tom. 'Thanks – I – wonder –
what – it could – be.'

Tom laughs loudly.

Dale and Nathan appear in the doorway.
They are laughing too. Alix thinks about
princesses in history, all the court bent double
because Her Royal Highness said something
amusing. She feels a rush of something.
Confidence? Power? She is Princess for the
night. All the world will bow before her.

She shreds the last corner of paper from the
CD, waving it round as if there are crowds
lining the streets to see it. 'Thank you, Good
Sir.'

'The Blades, my fair maiden. Triple box set.
A real favourite at court, I understand. You
haven't got it, have you?'

Alix slides a look at Courtney, who is still
scouring away at the sink, her back to them all.
She's fairly certain she's not listening. 'No. No.
I've been wanting it, though. It was top of my
list – even ahead of a certain bewitched frog.'