Just Between Us (13 page)

             
I ordered a medium steak with salad and potato wedges. Kyle ordered lobster therimdor. “We can share,” he said, snapping the menu shut, “if you want to?”

             
“Sure.” I smiled. The wine arrived and Kyle poured me a generous glass.

             
“So, first time in Brighton?” he sighed, “this place is pretty cool in season. Did Simon like to party?”

             
I choked mid-sip of my wine. “Wow.” I laughed. “Are we talking about this already?”

             
He grinned, “What?”

             
“I thought it’d be a couple of weeks before you interrogated me about Simon and then ripped him to shreds.” 

             
“What’s to rip? It’s obvious the guy doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it. I just want to know what you’ve been missing out on these past few years.”

             
“Well, no, he wasn’t a party animal, or much of a drinker or a socialiser really.”

             
“Then what was he?” He tipped his head to the side, his eyes staring, intently awaiting my answer.

             
“Safe.” I shrugged. “Dependable, normal, easy and …”

             
“Boring.” Kyle grinned.

             
“Maybe.” I shook my head. “I didn’t see it that way though. I wanted a sure thing and someone who I knew would always be there.”

             
“But he dumped you,” he said incredulously.

             
“I know,” I said quietly, “that’s the irony, I chose a man who bored me to tears because I thought he’d never leave me, and he left me anyway. Hopeless.” I laughed to hide the pain.

             
“If you ask me, he didn’t set you on fire, and he knew it. It was damage control because you could never have stuck that out.” 

             
“You don’t know that,” I snapped.

             
“I know you better than you think,” he said wryly. “I know that some boring twat wouldn’t make you happy forever. He’s done you a favour.”

             
“Oh yeah,” I said boldly. “So what makes me happy?” I asked dryly.

             
“Me,” he said matter-of-factly just as our food arrived.

The following morning I woke with a slight hangover, I was slowly getting used to the alcohol intake that came hand-in-hand with Kyle. We missed the hotel breakfast but were ready to explore at around eleven am. We wandered along the promenade and got some brunch from a café on the way. I had eggs Benedict and Kyle ordered a full English breakfast. His appetite was enormous for someone who had such a great body. He must go to the gym a lot to keep it up. We planned our day, looking through a tourist leaflet that Kyle had picked up at the hotel.

             
“I thought you’d been here before?” I said, looking for places of interest.

             
“I never saw the daylight.” He laughed. “I’m new to the tourist thing.”

             
“Oh.” I nodded, taking the leaflet in hand and wondering exactly who he didn’t see the daylight with last time he was here.

             
“How about we hit the pier, have a look round there, and then the shops?”

             
“I quite want to see the Pavilion,” I added, “is that sad? I love stately homes and castles.”

             
“Well, technically it’s a palace,” he teased.

             
“Same difference.”

             
“Okay.” He grinned. “Pier, palace, and then shops if we have time?”

             
“Sounds great.” I grinned. I felt excited for our day together and couldn’t wait to start exploring. It reminded me of how Kyle used to make me feel back in the day. Every touch, every stolen kiss set me on fire, and just the promise of five minutes together would keep me going all day. A smile from him would ease any worries I ever had, and it was only when we were apart that my mind wandered about the enormity of what we were doing.

             
We walked to the pier, got some candy floss, and laughed. We played a few slot machines and mused how similar it was to Blackpool. We finally made our way to the rides, buying tickets, and tackling the roller coaster that seemed to hang out over the water. I was a dare devil for rides, but somehow these felt more dangerous as they were squeezed onto the pier. We laughed manically on the waltzers, and the ride supervisor spun us so fast that I couldn’t lift my head up.

             
From there we walked to the pavilion. It took us half an hour, and I was glad that I wore my Converse. Kyle made a spectacle of himself, following the tour guide leaflet that we had brought, pointing other areas of interest out to me in an informative voice. I tried to ignore him at first, but he insisted on reading loudly and getting in my face until I cracked a smile. When we found the Royal Pavilion, I was immediately blown away by its beauty, and could not wait to get inside. We made our way through the luscious gardens until we were inside, and I was in awe of the magnificence of the place, the décor was out of this world. Kyle seemed impressed, but not as enthusiastic as me. Later we found the tea room and shared tea from an old fashioned English teapot, and a scone.

             
The afternoon was starting to draw in as we left the palace. I was grinning from ear to ear. Kyle pulled me to him, his arm around my shoulder.

             
“The bitch is back,” he said, giving me a squeeze.

             
“I hope so.” I sighed as he let me go. I turned to him and the grin just wouldn’t fade.

             
“Happy suits you so much better, Soph,” he said.

             
“You soppy bastard.” I laughed.

             
“I got you this,” he said, handing me a brown paper bag that said “Royal Pavilion” on it in royal blue writing. “I got it when you went to the toilet.”

             
“What is it?” I asked as my hand gripped the bag.

             
“Open it,” he said, looking forward absently.

             
We slowed our walk, and I reached inside the bag, and there was an eraser that was every colour of the rainbow, and on it was printed “Royal Pavilion”. “Oh my God,” I said, “it’s just like the one …”

             
“Your nana got you from Sandringham House,” he finished.

             
“That I lost when we moved house,” I said quietly. “You remembered that?”

             
“Of course.” He shrugged. “I paid attention.”

             
I was lost for words, choked with emotion that I refused to show. “I … how did you know it was like this?”

             
“No big deal.” He laughed, a little embarrassed. “I just saw it and remembered the story. That’s all.”

             
“Thanks Kyle.” I pulled him to me and hugged him tightly.

             
“It’s only an eraser, nothing really.”

             
I smiled to him, looking up into his chiselled face. “Thanks,” I said simply, tearing my eyes away. I had forgotten that I ever told him that story, that it was the last thing my Nana had bought me before she died of cancer and how much it meant to me. It was stupid, worthless really, but it had meant everything to me, and the day she gave it to me I was in awe of an eraser that looked like a rainbow. I decided that day that it was far too good to ever be used, and so it became priceless to me after she died. He threw his arm over my shoulder again. “We can marker pen Sandringham over the “Royal Pavilion” bit.” He laughed.

Later that night we dressed up for a big night out. I wore a strapless, deep pink dress that was fitted and cut in at the waist by a black belt. I piled my hair on top of my head into a bun and wore long gold earrings that made my neck look longer. I even applied false eyelashes and wore eyeliner to provide an Audrey Hepburn feel to the outfit. Kyle came for me around seven, and when he saw me he wolf whistled.

             
“Looking damn fine, Miss King.” He grinned.

             
“You too,” I said. “Let’s go.” He wore dark jeans, a tight black top, and a grey suit jacket. He looked irresistible as usual, and I wondered if Kyle could ever look any other way. People turned to look at him as we left the hotel, and I felt a surge of pride that he was mine for the night.

             
We grabbed some dinner at a small Italian restaurant before having drinks at some trendy local bars. Kyle ordered champagne, and I was tipsy after my third glass.

             
“Want to hit some clubs?” he asked.

             
“Sure.” I nodded.

             
It was at the first club that I realised just how much of a big deal Kyle Hanson really was. Everywhere we went his name seemed to be on the list. He pushed me past the queues and into the most exclusive looking clubs that I had ever been to. We found our way into VIP areas where he shook people’s hands and introduced me as “his friend.” Men kissed my hand and women looked at me with jealousy. They spoke to him politely about his recent recordings and some even enquired about meetings, but Kyle always gave them his card and asked that they contact Geraldine. He knew all the DJs, the managers, and even owners who appeared from nowhere to make his acquaintance. I felt as if I were on the arm of a celebrity and felt ashamed that I had no idea what Kyle actually did and why he was a big deal to all these people.

             
When we made our way into the fourth VIP area, walking up some steps that were mostly deserted except for us, Kyle turned to me. “You Okay? I’m not neglecting you am I?”

             
“Oh no.” I shook my head, “it’s fine, I’m enjoying myself.”

             
He leaned down to me and put his forehead on mine, “If you want to leave, you say the word.”

             
“I don’t want to leave,” I whispered.”

             
“I don’t want you to either.” He sighed, his eyes closing for a heartbeat before he turned, taking my hand, and pulling me with him. My heart pounded at his last words, making the butterflies in my stomach awaken. This man still had such an effect on me. I was reading into every word he uttered. I was under his spell once again just as I had been ten years ago. I needed to get a grip, he was offering me friendship, and I was hearing so much more. The champagne was making me nostalgic, and his touch was making me horny.

             
He snaked his hand around my waist as we stood speaking to one of the house DJs later in the evening. He leaned to whisper in my ear, “You’re the best looking girl in every room. None of these idiots can take their eyes off you.”

             
I shook my head and gave him a knowing glare; he was teasing me.

             
“Don’t look at me like that,” he squeezed me again, “I’ve had too many drinks to resist that look.”

             
“Shut up,” I swatted him, “let’s get a drink.”

             
We stayed out until our final destination closed. I was drinking vodka and coke by that point and Kyle was having Jack and coke. Kyle propped me up as we left. He looked so unaffected by the amount of alcohol we had consumed, but I needed serious care.

             
At the hotel, Kyle helped me into my room, and we collapsed onto my bed. He removed his shoes and climbed up next to me. I kicked off my shoes, took my eye lashes off and unclipped my hair. We lay together just as we had so many times before. I turned my back to him as he spooned me from behind.

             
“I missed you, Kyle.” I sighed, and he pulled me tighter. He kissed the back of my head.

             
“Ditto,” he uttered in the seconds before we fell asleep.

Eleven
–
Just infuriating

The next morning I awoke at the crack of dawn, just as light started to stream in through the window. I struggled to remember where I was at first, and then realised that I was lying cuddled into Kyle, my arm draped over his naked chest as he lay next to me only wearing boxer shorts. My eyes roved his half naked body, and I couldn’t help but appreciate what I saw. He definitely had filled out in all the right places in the past ten years. I was still wearing my dress from last night, but somehow in the night Kyle had stripped down. I removed myself from him slowly, trying not to wake him. He groaned lightly and rolled over as I eased from his grasp. I grabbed my pyjamas, a face wipe, and locked myself in the bathroom.

             
Last night had been crazy, and I enjoyed every minute, but I was panicking that Kyle and I had overstepped the mark. I had to take deep breaths, and I looked at my mutilated face in the mirror. Red blotches and mascara were everywhere with the remnants of lipstick scarring my lips. I wiped my face clean and stripped off, hopping into the shower. I let the warm water wash over my face and soak my hair, massaging my head as it pounded uncontrollably. Once I tore myself away from the water, I dressed in my comfy pyjamas and checked to see if I looked any better. There wasn’t much improvement, but at least it might mean no more flirting from Kyle, which seemed to be getting more dangerous as the days progressed.

             
I crept back into my room and found my phone. Three texts from Ashley waited anxiously on the screen.

             
How’s London town?

             
What are you doing that could possible prevent a response?

             
Sophie Marie I better not be disappointed in you. Text me ASAP.

             
The last one was only sent this morning, and so I typed a response.

             
All good here paranoid pregnant woman, we are in Brighton, we were out last night and so didn’t see the messages. Having a good time. No more tears. See you soon. Xxx

             
“Morning,” Kyle groaned from the bed. I jumped a little at the interruption.

             
“Morning.” I smiled tightly, a little embarrassed as he laid semi-naked in my bed.

             
“Get back in bed,” he groaned again. “My head hurts, and I need a cuddle. It’s too early to get up.”

             
“I know,” I said quietly, for the benefit of my head as much as his. “I had to have a shower, I felt disgusting.”

             
“You felt great.” He grinned wickedly. I shook my head.

             
“Don’t you want to go to your room, lie in there?” I asked.

             
“Why? Do you want me to?” He sat up and didn’t seem to notice my eyes roving his body. He looked perplexed.

             
“No, just …” I began.

             
“Look Soph, get back here. I’m not going to jump your bones, I just want a cuddle, and I want it in this room.”

             
“Erm … Okay.” I placed my phone down and walked to him gingerly, getting back under the sheets.

             
He pulled me to him, his arm creeping round my waist, and he smoothed my hair down so he could get comfortably cuddled into me. “You don’t have to be nervous around me, Soph, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable.”

             
“I know.” I sighed. It wasn’t him I didn’t trust. It was me. Just his arms around me excited every nerve ending I had. His very smell drew me in, and stirred feelings inside me that I had spent so long trying to bury. I was so afraid that I would become addicted to him again. It certainly wasn’t being uncomfortable that I was worried about; it was allowing myself to become too comfortable and never wanting to let go. Kyle was a hard habit to kick, and like a crack whore I was driven to madness in need of my fix.

“You keep your pyjamas on,” he said later. “I’ll go and get a shower and get dressed. Then we’ll drive home.”

             
“In my pyjamas?”

             
“Yep.” He nodded. “We can just transfer you straight to the sofa when we get home, order junk food, and watch shit on TV.”

             
“I’m not an invalid.” I sighed. “What if we get stopped by the police?”

             
He shrugged, “They’re jamas not bondage gear.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled.

             
“I’ll just get dressed, thanks, but we can still do the sofa and junk food.”

             
“Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together, “Action movie time.”

             
I groaned, “Go and get ready, we can negotiate the film on the trip home!”

             
Within the hour we were on the road, and I slept most of the way. It was probably the best idea since I wasn’t sure that I wouldn’t be sick. We pulled into Kyle’s car park at five, and he carried both our bags upstairs. I slunk onto the sofa, and he grabbed us drinks from the fridge, plopping down next to me.

             
“Best weekend in years.” He grinned.

             
“Me too.” I nodded. “Now let’s eat our weight in take away and get a soppy romantic comedy on.”

Old Times

After finishing our A Levels, our school always held an annual Summer Ball for the sixth formers that was held at a local five star hotel. It was a somewhat extravagant black-tie affair. Kyle was given Mick’s credit card to go and get something to wear, whereas my mum took me on a shopping trip to Manchester to find something. Mum did ask Kyle if he wanted to come, but he just shrugged and said, “No.”

             
I could tell that Mum wanted to reach out to him, that she wanted him to be more a part of the family, but from his mannerisms and attitude it was easy to see that he couldn’t wait to get out of the house. I had come to experience the two sides of Kyle and also to accept where I stood. When we were alone he was alive, his eyes shone with lust as they raked over me, and I was putty in his hands. However, when our parents were around and in front of his friends he didn’t seem like that at all, he was sullen and didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I was all right with it really, as I wasn’t sure I even liked him as a person, and every time we had sex I kept telling myself it couldn’t happen again. The only problem was that when we were alone, without trying at all and sometimes without even speaking, he would win me over. I never felt used or dirty, just exhilarated, and the risk of getting caught made it more exciting.

             
My friends and I were looking forward to the summer ball. Mum had bought me a three quarter burnt orange dress that looked like something Carrie Bradshaw would wear. I had burnt orange strappy heels and an appointment at Mum’s hairdressers on the Friday afternoon to have my hair put up. Ashley and Kathryn were coming round to mine, Mum was going to make dinner and we would have wine, and then get dropped off at the hotel. It was all planned to perfection.

             
So, on Friday afternoon I drove to my appointment and sat in the chair idly reading a celebrity magazine whilst my hair was put into a myriad of loops and folds to look like a woven basket of blonde strands. My mum’s hairdresser, Lisa, didn’t need the other person in the conversation to actually respond. She was able to speak at you and fill you in on her boyfriend drama, salon and local gossip, and her thoughts on the world news whilst you sat there without uttering a word. It was truly a gift. She was, however, extremely talented, and I was overwhelmed by my hair.

             
“Thanks so much, Lisa,” I said, beaming as I left. “It looks amazing.”

             
“How do you fancy some false eyelashes? I’ve started doing these individual ones, they are amazing,” she enthused.

             
“Erm,” I looked at the time. “I suppose so.” My mum was going to pay tomorrow when she came in, and I knew she wouldn’t mind. It wouldn’t make me late, but things would definitely be a little more rushed. I had a beauty routine I needed to adhere to.             

             
I arrived home an hour before the girls were due, and even though my eyelashes looked amazing, it was a concern that I would only have an hour to prepare. I wanted to be in my dressing gown with only make up and my dress to apply when they arrived. It was only half four, and so my mum and Mick weren’t back either. I dashed inside, grabbed a drink, and then ran upstairs. I was in a tremendous mood and couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. I couldn’t wait to party with my best friends, and I had a summer of freedom ahead of me before I started my degree at the university in Newcastle. I suddenly felt euphoric and turned my music up extra loud, beginning to pull my things together on my bed that I needed for my preparation.

             
“Hi,” Kyle said from behind me. He stood in my doorway. I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of his voice.

             
I spun around. “Hi.” I smiled thinly. Despite the past couple of weeks, it was still a little awkward between us.

             
He walked towards me, “You look …” His eyes roamed over me. “Good.” He sighed, leaning into me as I stood against my bed, he kissed me softly.

             
“Kyle,” I said, pushing him away. “Mum is due back any minute.”

             
“So,” he kissed me again, “I only need a minute.”

             
“I need to get ready.” I giggled lightly.

             
“You already look great.” He roamed his hand down my back and over my bottom. I gave into his kiss, and it became more urgent. He groaned into me and tried to push me back on the bed.

             
“No Kyle,” I snapped out of my trance, pushing him lightly again. “My hair.”

             
“What?”

             
“I can’t get my hair messed up, I’ve just had it done.”

             
“I won’t touch your hair.” He tried seductively again, taking my chin and lifting my face to his. His beauty was breathtaking and heartbreaking all at the same time.

             
“Kyle.” I placed my hand on his chest, “Seriously … it’s a no, I need to get ready and I don’t want to get all sweaty.” His persistence was starting to irritate me.

             
“Who cares, Soph? Who’s gonna notice?”

             
“What?” I snapped, anger rising in my voice. “What so no one notices me? What’s the point of all this?” I moved my hand around my face to emphasise my point. “You can’t polish a turd, is that what you’re saying?”

             
“Soph.” He cracked a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off.

             
“I’m just a joke to you, Kyle, some girl you can manipulate to get what you want? You flash that smile and my knickers fly off?” I spat.

             
He stepped back and the smile faded to anger, something that Kyle didn’t usually bother to display, indifference was his usual forte. “Oh fuck this.” He turned to walk away.

             
“Yes, fuck this. When I’ve got a choice, when I’ve got a voice, when I’m an actual person …”

             
He spun around so fast that I jumped out of his way, his anger was bubbling, and I suddenly saw a side to him that I had never seen before, “You always had a choice, Sophie.” he raged. “This was never about just me; you wanted this, too. I know you did.”

             
“I hadn’t even thought of it until you …”

             
“Leave it.” He shouted, “Get all prettied up to flaunt yourself in front of all your little friends and see if I give a shit. I’ve had my fill anyway. You made it so easy and now I’m fucking bored.” He glared at me as tears pooled my eyes. “That hurt, Soph?” He grinned.

             
“You’re a prick.” I shook my head. “I should have trusted my instincts.”

             
“Sure should have, Princess Sophie. Fucking me never ends well.” His smile hardened, and his eyes didn’t leave mine. I didn’t have a retort, and so I held my head high, grabbed my things and fled to the bathroom.

             
I was so angry and so upset at the same time. Two weeks, two fucking weeks was all it had taken for Kyle Hanson to become part of my fantasies. I didn’t even realise I was doing it, but I had built him into an imaginary version of the person that he really was. I had taken what we had and built it into something meaningful. I told myself not to, but I was a typical girl, and I couldn’t help myself. I had taken the hot, sweaty, meaningless sex and turned it into a connection. It had been impossible not to, and I was convinced that deep down he felt it, too. I knew Kyle Hanson, I had seen him from afar for years, and he was a certain type of boy, the type who broke hearts, didn’t commit, and certainly didn’t show emotion. I shook my head and stared at myself in the mirror. My brown eyes were now framed with large, fake eyelashes that just highlighted what a fool I was.