Summer at Tiffany's (37 page)

She shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me. It's all Amber's handiwork.'

‘No it's not. I was there when you sculpted those thighs, remember? When Kelly had you tower-running and doing early morning runs around the park?' he laughed softly. ‘I had to massage you better, I do believe.'

Cassie couldn't find her voice. She couldn't believe he'd said that out loud, referenced something intimate between them that they could never – either of them – afford to refer to. She drank faster, confused by his behaviour. His touch just minutes earlier had felt electric, yet he treated her like a ‘mate'; he had followed her to the tent, but only to bring her back to the others. Was she imagining things, misreading signals tonight? Putting subtext into actions that wasn't there? Reading innuendo in meanings that were perfectly clear? She turned away. It had to be the alcohol.

‘I hope it is Coldplay that's on.'

He missed a beat and she knew he was staring. ‘It probably isn't. Why would they do a little gig like this?'

‘Well, they are from Devon. That's the next county to here, and people from the West Country stick together.'

‘Then it probably is them, then.'

She glanced at him, his tone too acquiescent, his mind clearly on something other than the line of conversation. ‘Yeah.'

He hesitated. ‘Do you remember when they played Madison Square Garden? We tried for hours to book online.'

‘Sold out in an hour,' she murmured. ‘Yes, I remember.'

‘So then maybe tonight is . . . karma. Restoring what should have been ours all along.'

Oh, come on! She wasn't imagining this! She looked at him, her heart pounding way too hard and fast again. What the hell kind of game was he playing here?

‘Hey! The universe owes us a Coldplay concert. Am I right?'

There it went again, the conversation taking a slippery bypass away from where she'd thought it was heading. Jeez. She laughed, a frown on her face as he slipped away from her suspicions again. She must be drunker than she thought; she was all over the place tonight.

‘Come on, drink up. These'll go warm,' Luke said, tapping the other beers. ‘Race you.'

‘Oh! Wait . . . !'

The sky rose above them like a phoenix, raging red, its fiery wings spread from one end of the world to the next, but even that couldn't compare to the lightshow on the stage before them. Strobes pulsed like galactic sabres, the ground trembling beneath their feet as the bass began to boom and the crowd's shouts rose to a towering crescendo. ‘Coldplay' was on everyone's lips now – God help the band coming out if it wasn't them, Cassie thought, as Luke led her through the crowd again, the shock of his hand on hers dulled now by four beers and a couple of chasers.

Something in the way he held himself made people stand aside for him. Was it the white smile that contrasted so cleanly with his rough stubble? His expensive jacket? The self-assurance that came from success? Could they tell he came not just from another country but another world? Her other life?

She followed him, hoping they would at least get close enough to see the band on stage, even if they did have to watch the video screens to tell who was who. There were more people here than she could fathom, white lights of phone screens already held aloft, set to ‘pause', as they waited for the band to come on. The warm-up acts had done their work with aplomb – the mood was electric – and with the sun almost set, what else was there to wait for?

Nothing.

In the next moment the lights went down and the crowd went wild. An explosion of white lights more like fireworks set the stage alight and suddenly a man with an elephant mask was singing at a mic, his head filling the hundred-foot screen.

The crowd erupted as Chris Martin's distinctive voice carried over the field and down to the creek behind. Cassie threw her arms in the air with a scream, jumping up and down dementedly and whooping as loudly as she could.

She couldn't believe it. They actually were here! Here she was, in a festival in Cornwall, listening to Coldplay – part of a
scene
. She felt the energy lift her up like a wave. Why had she never done this before? It was yet another thing she had missed out on in those lost years of her life. She looked across at Luke and was surprised to see he was already watching her, a quiet smile on his face as she overreacted for them both.

He leaned in. ‘Can you see them?' he called across to her.

‘Sort of,' she shouted back.

He dropped down to his knees. ‘Come on.'

She looked at him in horror. ‘Luke, what the hell are you doing?'

‘Get on my shoulders.'

‘No!' she laughed.

He looked back at her. ‘Yes. You've always wanted to see them live. Do it.'

‘Luke—'

‘Cass! Do it before I get trampled to death!'

The crowd was tightly knit and moving by degrees. She threw one leg round his right shoulder, having to hold on to his head as she put her left leg over too. It seemed for a moment as though he couldn't stand up with the weight of her on his shoulders, but then his hands found hers and moved them away from his eyes.

‘That's better.'

‘Oh!' she said nervously, as he started to get up and she felt like he might pitch forwards, throwing her into the backs of the people in front; but he smoothly rose to standing, sending her rocketing up to ten feet in the air.

Cassie gripped his head harder, convinced she was going to fall, but his arms folded round her socked calves, holding her tightly in place just as Chris Martin pulled off the elephant head and ran from one side of the stage to the other. Without even thinking about it, Cassie let go, her hands in the air as she whooped at the top of her voice, laughing as she made eye contact with the other girls enjoying this privileged vantage point.

The first organ chords of ‘Fix You' rang out, a white laser beam sweeping over the crowd like a prison-yard spotlight. Cassie swayed to the beat, her head thrown back as she sang loud and proud, ‘When you try your best, but you don't succeed; when you get what you want, but not what you need . . .' She knew she was part of a collective moment that would stay forever with every person here. She felt transcendent, transported – so much so that when an image was beamed onto the huge screens, a hundred feet high, of a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and pinked cheeks, her mouth spread wide in an excited laugh and her sexy boyfriend between her thighs, it was a moment before she realized it was her.

It was quiet in the tent. Everyone was still sleeping, even though the new day was peeking belligerently through the gaps and demanding their attention. Cassie lay on her side, her back to them all, staring into the mirrored turquoise shawl that was draped down one wall. The hangover was fierce – champagne followed by beers followed by shots had been a
really
bad idea – and she felt so rotten she wasn't sure she could move from this position, much less this bed.

But that wasn't why she was awake. Beyond the throbbing pain of the hangover, her nervous system still seemed to be jangling from last night's euphoria – a slightly elevated pulse, rapid eye movement, her senses seemingly set on a higher alert . . . Her body was inert, but her mind was racing, her stomach tight and fizzing. She had the impression of standing on a clifftop, her toes wiggling over the edge as a giddying wind whirled around her, lifting her hair, tickling her skin and making her laugh, making her careless . . .

‘You awake?' Suzy's voice was feather-light in the gloaming.

Cassie froze.

‘I know you're awake. I can tell by your breathing.'

‘I'm just
breathing
,' Cassie muttered after a moment, irritated that she couldn't even doze in peace without Suzy knowing best.

But Suzy didn't reply and a moment later Cassie rolled over reluctantly, keeping her eyes closed and resting her hands beneath her left cheek. ‘I'm dying,' she said quietly, which was code for ‘Leave me alone.'

‘I'm not surprised. You were out of your tree by the time we caught up with you.'

‘That wasn't my fault,' Cassie protested, remembering Luke's overzealous ordering in the beer tent.

‘It never is.'

Cassie refused to be provoked. ‘Did you get to go backstage?' Specific memories of last night were murky – so much for the moment staying with her forever!

‘Yeah, for all the good it did us.'

Cassie opened her eyes. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, it's not all that great being
back
stage when the band's
on
stage. We ended up mainly watching them on a monitor.'

‘But what about afterwards, when they'd finished? Surely Chris Martin has seen the error of his ways?'

‘Huh, as if! I never even got to see him. Amber had gone off in a strop by then, and without a famous model by our side as confirmation that we're not a bunch of crazed stalkers, we had to leave.'

‘Why had she—'

But Suzy didn't get to finish. The door to the tent flapped open and Gem wandered in, cradling something in her arms and cooing softly. Both women sat up in astonishment – Cassie because she hadn't even realized Gem had been up and out; she could just make out tufts of black-and-white hair in Gem's arms.

‘What the hell . . . ?' Suzy demanded, her face darkening.

Gem looked up at them both with soft eyes. ‘I am
so
in love.'

‘That is a puppy,' Suzy said sternly.

Gem gave a gentle laugh. ‘Top marks.'

‘What the hell are you doing with a puppy?'

Gem rested her cheek on the top of the dog's head. ‘He's my wedding present to Laird.'

‘
What?
'

Even Cassie jumped at Suzy's tone.

‘Don't you think he's just adorable? Before Laird's parents died, his family ran an animal sanctuary. He just loves animals; he's amazing with them. He says he'd love to go back and reopen the business again, finish what his folks started.'

‘Where did you get him from?' Cassie asked, unable to resist reaching out a hand and stroking its velvety head.

‘The couple in the pink camper van, three up from here.'

Suzy scowled. ‘You're seriously telling me they're selling puppies at a festival? There's laws against that, you know!'

‘Chill, Suze. They're not puppy farmers. I got chatting to them last night when they asked about my tutu. I began moaning that I didn't know what to get Laird for a wedding present and they suggested one of their pups. Their bitch had her litter a week early, so it's thrown out all their plans; they had to bring the pups with them to this, which, let's face it, no one in their right mind would ever do! Apparently it's been, like, a complete nightmare!'

‘No shit, Sherlock.'

‘Can you imagine four puppies running riot in a camper van? Bess said they've eaten through the lino already.'

Suzy appeared to be speechless.

‘What's his name?' Cassie asked.

Gem shot a shy look over to Suzy. ‘I'd like to call him Rollo,' she said, sinking to her bed and opening her arms so that the puppy rolled gently onto the mattress, ears cocked and his tail wagging as he registered the heady scents of flat champagne, stale tortillas and hairspray in the yurt. ‘He's so like Rover, don't you think? Even down to the white flash on the top of his head.'

‘Don't.' The word was a warning, hard and flinty, and Cassie looked between the two women. She well remembered how much Suzy and Henry had loved the old dog. Suzy had cried every night for weeks after he'd died; she'd called him her ‘first love' and had refused even to consider having another dog ever since. Cassie, herself, had loved him almost as much, and their shared exeats and holidays at West Meadows, Hattie's house in Gloucestershire, had revolved around trying to get him to roll over and walk on hind legs.

Everyone watched as Rollo scampered off the bed and onto the floor, nose sniffing madly before promptly dropping his hindquarters and peeing on one of the rugs.

Suzy gave a bitter laugh. ‘You paid a damage deposit on this place, right?'

Cassie noticed, as she looked over for the first time, that Amber wasn't in bed; in fact, her bed appeared not to have been slept in.

‘Hey, where's Amber?'

The others looked over at her with mild surprise.

‘Don't you remember?' Gem asked.

‘Remember what?'

There was a brief pause. ‘She and Luke left last night.'

‘What? You mean
left
left?'

‘No! They went back to Snapdragons.'

‘Oh, I thought you meant—'

‘As if Amber can leave before the wedding! She's my bridesmaid, remember?'

‘Oh yes,' Cassie faltered, her brain trying to shift into another gear. ‘Why?'

‘Well, she
said
she had a headache,' Gem explained, but there was a tartness to her tone now that the cuddly puppy was out of her arms.

‘But . . . ?'

Gem looked over to Suzy, as if for help, but Suzy couldn't take her eyes off the puppy. He was pressing down on his forepaws, bottom in the air, his entire face stuck in a shoe as he shook it from side to side.

‘Huh?' Suzy asked, realizing she was supposed to say something. ‘Oh. She freaked when she saw you on Luke's shoulders.' Her eyes slid back to the dog again.

Cassie felt herself go pale at the thought of Amber ‘freaking'. What did that mean? Had she thrown things, called her names? Was she going to grab her by the hair and bitch-slap her the second she walked back in the door at Butterbox? And what of Luke? If Amber had ordered him home as a result of her freak-out, was he going to come clean about their past and tell her the truth about them after all?

‘Well, leaving the festival seems an overreaction, doesn't it?' Cassie asked with a forced laugh. ‘He was just trying to help me see the stage.'