Remix (2 page)

“Be ready, my friend. We’re coming to—”

“Did you put any Little John on the playlist?”

“Don’t interrupt. I was trying to be all cool and movie-like,” I say, hurrying down the stairs.

“I’m sorry, please go ahead.”

“Be ready, my friend. We’re coming to get you. The weekend officially starts
now
.”

There’s a pause. “You’ve forgotten to put any Little John songs on the playlist, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

I bounce into the front seat next to Owen and give him a kiss on the cheek that nearly knocks the sunnies from his face.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were the best?” I say by way of greeting.

“No. They did not.”

“Liar.” Lee climbs up next to me. “I tell you that all the time.”

Given that my brother usually expresses love via the medium of piss-taking I’m not surprised that his boyfriend responds with a deeply sceptical silence. “Well,
I’m
telling you anyway. You” – I poke Owen in the fattest part of his arm, but he still winces, the wimp – “are the best.”

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Owen grins, coaxing his ancient van into life.

Lee leans round me and stage-whispers,
“It’s not too late to leave her at home.”

I poke him in the arm too, in the sweet spot right below what passes for a bicep on his skinny-ass body. “Shut up, Wee.”

“Poo-by.” Lee tries to squash me against Owen, who gently pushes me away and says something about “Not when I’m driving”.

The second we turn onto the seafront we hit traffic, Clifton’s clock tower looming over us in case we’d forgotten that we were already running late. Before anyone can point out that this is my fault, I hook up my phone and whack the stereo on. The first track on my playlist opens with an
immense
riff that earns me a fierce nod of approval from the chauffeur and a threat to throw me out on the tarmac from Lee, who’s never had the best taste in music.

When I remind him that he’s only got himself to blame for bringing me along, he’s forced to agree, although his eyes are smiling as much as mine when he says it.

Two weeks after I’d dumped Stu I was in the middle of watching
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
in my room when Lee knocked on the door and clocked the giant bowl of popcorn, half-empty bottle of Coke and freeze-frame of Ron and Hermione.

“Good to see I’m not interrupting anything.”

I made room for him on the bed and pressed play. All of us have radically different taste in films: Lee likes fantasy, Ed likes action and Callum likes anything wanky. I like animation. Harry Potter’s the only franchise we agree on – if it weren’t for that, Christmas TV viewing chez Kalinski would be a bloodbath.

Lee took a handful of popcorn and tried to throw it into his mouth.

“You’re getting popcorn in my bed.”

“You can snack on it later.”

“Mmm. Stale bed-popcorn. My favourite.”

“How many times have you watched these films in the last two weeks, Rubert?”

I took a swig of Coke instead of replying.

“Because it’s pretty unhealthy to spend every waking second wondering what house you’d be in—”

“Gryffindor.” Lee would be Ravenclaw, Callum Slytherin, Ed Hufflepuff. We’re not one of those magical families that belong in the same Hogwarts house. We’re not even one of those non-magical families that belong in the same
actual
house.

“—or what subject you’d be best at.”

“Care of Magical Creatures.” The Buzzfeed quiz I did got that wrong – like
I’d
be any good at Potions.

“Ruby.” When Lee real-names me, it means he’s serious. He stopped the film and turned to look at me. “Are you all right?”

“I’m sick of people asking me that. I’m fine. I’m just pissed off and bored and” – I shrugged – “I don’t know what to do with myself with Kaz in Germany and everyone else on holiday or on work placements or whatever.”

Truth was that I didn’t much feel like hanging out with anyone other than Kaz, who was away on a choir tour. Our other friends kept looking at me like I’d just lost
The X Factor
final or something, when all I’d done was lose a boyfriend. And
I
was the one who did the losing. Très irritating. I am nobody’s victim.

“How about we make a deal?” Lee said.

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“There’s some late shifts free at the ice-cream place…”

I pulled a face. I already had a Saturday job that sucked down at The Rock Shop, selling sweets to tourists with more money than sense. Summer season in a small seaside town might pay well, but it’s tedium squared.

“It’s money you could put to good use.”

“What sort of use?”

“Like paying me back if I bought you a weekend ticket to Remix.”

Was he serious? He certainly looked it, only…

“You think the parentals would actually let me go?” My parents had stopped me from going to see Owen’s band Hydro because it was on a school night
during study leave
.

“You forget I can be more persuasive than you. This’ll be my last chance to hang out with you before I go away and you could
really
do with cheering up.” Lee put on his best Very Responsible Face and laid his hand on his heart. “Plus I swear on my duties as a brother to supervise you – and perhaps your good friend Kaz?”

“Seriously, you’d do that? Persuade them to let me go
and
let me and Kaz camp with you?”

This was an even bigger deal than it sounded, since Lee wasn’t going with the usual suspects from Dukes, but Owen and his mates from the cool college. People I’d actually
like
hanging out with for a weekend.

“Only if you stop spending all your time at Hogwarts and start doing something useful, like selling every-flavour ice cream to Muggles.”

Which is exactly what I did.

Dad picked Naomi up half an hour ago and the house is quiet but for the clicking of keys coming from the front room, where I find Mum, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by a sea of paper. I perch on the arm, since the space next to her is occupied by the cat. Everyone in this house knows better than to disturb Morag.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Expenses.” As far as I can work out, being a publicist is nothing
but
expenses – and possibly publicizing things, although I see less of that around the house. “With you and Naomi out of the way I’ll have everything done by the time I go back to work on Tuesday.” Mum glances up from her laptop and smiles.

I’m sure she’s only trying to make me feel better – Mum and Dad divide bank holidays between them and this one was meant to be hers until my Remix request disrupted the system.

“There’s cassoulet in the freezer and I’ve saved Wok This Way’s number on to the phone. You like Number Forty-two with special fried rice, no prawns,” I say, repeating what I’ve written on the kitchen whiteboard.

“Aren’t mothers supposed to worry about daughters?”

“We all know I’m the responsible one.” Because I am.

“Speaking of which, did you pack those condoms I left on your bed?”

“Yes. Thanks for those.” I can feel myself burning up – I thought I’d dodged that conversational bullet.

Mum doesn’t look up from her spreadsheet as she embellishes on her choice of prophylactic. “They’re the featherlight ones that feel like the real thing, so there’s no excuse not to wear one.”

I really wish she’d stop talking. Or that the others would get here. Or that my top lip would produce so much sweat that I’ll drown in my own perspiration.

Sensing my discomfort, Mum slides the computer off her lap so she can shuffle closer and rest a reassuring hand on my knee. “I’ve been to festivals” – which is news to me – “I know what it’s like. Two gorgeous girls and a field full of boys—”

“You make it sound like we’re harvesting them.”

“I just don’t want you to cut yourself when you swing the scythe.”

“Now it sounds like we’re planning to kill them.”

Mum smiles as she reaches up to stroke the hair back off my face, twisting a curl around her finger before letting it ping back. “Just be safe, chicken. That’s all.”

If she knew the only person I wanted to play it safe with was my ex-boyfriend, this would be a very different conversation.

Two hours later and Owen eventually pulls up at the end of a row of cars in a field that passes for a car park. Although the campsite and arena are hidden by a dip in the land, there’s no mistaking which way we’ll find them as torrents of festival-goers flow towards a dirt track lined with tents where staff exchange tickets for wristbands.

Ruby is beside herself with excitement. Her adrenalin levels increased exponentially with every junction we passed on the motorway and she can barely stand still, despite the rucksack on her back and the crate of supplies Lee’s told her she has to carry part of the way. It is impossible to hold a conversation with her as her attention ricochets from tour T-shirts to tattoos to hot boys in sunglasses to girls with cool hair.

Now is definitely not the time to tell her about Tom.

As we shuffle forwards in the crush, I scan the crowd around me – boys who’ve taken off their tops and tucked them into the back of their shorts, girls in bikini tops and shorts so short they’re practically thongs, middle-aged rockers whose tattoos have grown blurred with age. I catch sight of a boy in the crowd who sends a smile in my direction. I glance away before it arrives.

He isn’t the one I was looking for.

We’ve found a tidy little spot halfway up the field marked
SOUTH SLOPE
. Our tent is up in record time, and I leave Kaz to unpack and go to offer my services to Lee and Owen. They’re wrestling with the canvas monstrosity that me and my brothers used to cram into when holidays were compromised by four sets of school fees. There’s only one set left now … or none at all, given the massive question mark over whether Flickers will have me back after the results I got.

“Need any help?” I offer, just as one of the poles slips and cracks Lee across the knuckles. He gives me a murderous look, which I take as instruction to go back where I came from – i.e. the tent, where Kaz is
still
unpacking. Admittedly I cheated by not packing properly in the first place, but it looks as if Kaz has brought her entire wardrobe.

“You know we’re only here three nights, right?”

Kaz gives me Unimpressed Face. “It’s called being prepared.”

“What, for a Who Has the Most Tea Dresses Competition?” Kaz throws a ball of thermal socks at my face and I start rooting around in her toiletries bag.

“What are you doing?” Kaz is refolding her pyjamas to put in her sleeping bag. I have not brought any pyjamas. Or any deodorant. Or toothpaste.

“Looking for deodorant. And toothpaste.” But that’s not what I find. “Oh my God, Karizma Asante-Blake – have you come prepared for an
orgy
?”

Kaz looks very hot and bothered and actually drops the shirt she’s trying to fold as I brandish the MASSIVE box of condoms I’ve just discovered.

“Mum gave them to me.”

“And she thinks
you’re
going to need all these?” The packet says TWENTY-FOUR. Kaz hasn’t even had sex with
one
person yet – her and Tom went out for nine months and didn’t manage to get round to getting it on. One weekend’s barely going to be enough for her to
look
at another boy, let alone boff one.

“You know what my mum’s like,” Kaz says.

I do. Afua’s well cool. Not like my mum, who had a shit fit when she found a blister pack of the pill under my pillow and banned me from seeing Stu for a fortnight. She’d have banned me for life if she could.

“Still, your mum’s right to be worried, dude.” I eye her outfit. “The way you look in that dress this weekend will be like a gender-flipped Lynx ad.”

It’s not an outfit I’ve seen before and Kaz is showing a lot more off than she’s usually comfortable with. I thoroughly approve.

It’s the first time Ruby’s mentioned my dress and now would be the perfect time to tell her why I’m wearing it.

What I actually say is, “I’m sure I’ll be beating them off with a stick.”

“You know
beating them off
usually works best with your hand?” Ruby’s doubled over, laughing so much at her own innuendo that the second ball of socks I throw at her misses. Once she’s recovered, she rips off a strip of condoms and tucks it into her pocket before declaring that I have finished unpacking (I haven’t) and crawling out of the tent. Where Ruby leads, I follow. Even if I haven’t finished unpacking.

Instead of heading down to the bottom of the hill where there’s a cluster of fair rides and a ton of people who’ve yet to find a place to pitch their tent, we walk up to the line of stalls at the top. Almost immediately I’m distracted by one that’s full to brimming with the most tasteless tat I’ve ever seen. Within a minute of dragging Kaz inside, I strike gold in the form of an awesome penis-shaped bong.

“Oh God, do you have to?” Kaz says as I make her hold it so I can take a photo that I send to Ed asking him if he needs a flat-warming present – although since Emma made him get rid of his old lava lamp, I’m not sure she’ll go for the purple-penis bong.

“Yes, I absolutely do. It is perfection in glass form.” I take it from her to hold it close to my face and stroke it lovingly as Kaz turns away, hissing at me to put it down.

Her advice comes too late. Someone, namely the stallholder, has noticed. “Buying for yourself or a friend?”

I glance round to see if there’s any further opportunity to humiliate Kaz, but she’s disowned me and is trying to look
extremely
interested in the racks of novelty socks outside.

“Much as I love an anatomically accurate appendage,” – I glance at the stallholder again, he’s quite cute – “I think I’m going to pass on this particular occasion.”

“You sure? I’ll do you a
dicks
-count.” His eyes twinkle as I shake my head and smile.