You only get one first time …

From driving tests to relationships, Valentina Bell thinks she’s a failure, with a big fat capital F. At this rate, she’s certain she’ll be a virgin for ever. So Lena’s friends plan Operation: Popping the Cherry to help her find the perfect man first time.

Yet somehow disastrous dates with bad-boy musicians and fabulous evenings with secretly in-the-closet guys aren’t quite working out how Lena planned.

Soon Lena’s avoiding Operation: Popping the Cherry to spend time with comforting, aloof Jake, her best friend’s older brother, who doesn’t make her feel self-conscious about still clinging to her V card. But could Jake show Lena that sometimes what you’re looking for most is right by your side?

A Forever for the twenty-first century

Popping the Cherry
Aurelia B. Rowl

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright © Aurelia B. Rowl 2013

Aurelia B. Rowl asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2013 ISBN: 9781472018052

Version date: 2018-07-23

AURELIA B. ROWL lives on the edge of the Peak District in the UK with her very understanding husband and their fantastic son and daughter, now aged six and four, along with the mad mutt who is happy to be used as a sounding board and writing companion. They are all used to her getting too caught up with her latest writing project … or five! … and she is guiltily counting down the months until she has both kids at school full-time. Her debut contemporary romance, Christmas is Cancelled, was released in December 2012 with book two in the series expected November 2013. She cannot wait to share her YA/NA story, Popping the Cherry, with you and hopes you’ll love the characters as much as she does.

I would like to express my deep appreciation for my husband, and thank him for his unwavering support. Life can be a bit chaotic as stay-at-home-mum to our two (mostly) wonderful children, but my husband is always ready to pick up the slack. Huge thanks must also go to my ABCs – my BETA readers and critique partners—for always being available and for keeping me on track and always having something positive to say. There are too many to mention individually but I couldn’t do it without them.

Thanks also to my editor, Anna Baggaley, for her brilliant vision and encouragement. With Anna’s guidance, this story turned out even better than I’d imagined, way back on that chilly afternoon on January ninth* but most of all, I’d like to thank Anna for taking a chance on me and my characters. I am proud to be an author with HQ Digital, the new digital imprint for Harlequin UK, and I look forward to a tantalising future with this dynamic, forward-thinking publisher.

I would like to give a special mention to Steven Mather, whose rather handsome face you will come to know if you follow me online, and also to Margaret Rowles, PR officer for Beaulieu Enterprises; I only wish I could have included more detail on a truly stunning location.

And on one final note, if you are over fourteen, or a parent/carer of a teenager, and you are looking a real and relevant guide to sex and relationships, please check out www.bishuk.com; there is even a free book you can download. I didn’t discover this fantastic resource prior to writing Popping the Cherry but the two seem to go hand in hand. Shame they didn’t have this kind of thing when I was a teenager!

* There I was, happily unloading the dishwasher before heading off on the school run, when the plot bunnies viciously attacked me with a fully formed story, complete with beginning and end, and then wouldn’t let me write anything else.

This book is dedicated to my wonderful husband—I couldn’t have completed it without him—and also to my children, just because they’re both awesome and make me smile every single day.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One: Dumped

Chapter Two: Intervention

Chapter Three: Stranded

Chapter Four: The Chase

Chapter Five: Rescue

Chapter Six: Crush

Chapter Seven: Propositions

Chapter Eight: Candidates

Chapter Nine: Kiss

Chapter Ten: Apology

Chapter Eleven: Driving

Chapter Twelve: Date

Chapter Thirteen: Panic

Chapter Fourteen: Family

Chapter Fifteen: Police

Chapter Sixteen: Revenge

Chapter Seventeen: Respite

Chapter Eighteen: Confrontation

Chapter Nineteen: Beach

Chapter Twenty: Torn

Chapter Twenty-One: Defeated

Chapter Twenty-Two: Halloween

Chapter Twenty-Three: Hero

Chapter Twenty-Four: Busted

Chapter Twenty-Five: Peace

Chapter Twenty-Six: Tinkerbell

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Waltz

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Gift

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One
DUMPED

I, Valentina Bell, am a failure.

A failure with a big, fat, capital ‘F’ if today was anything to go by.

First, I failed my driving test, after skipping my last class to take the damn thing. English literature is my favourite class too, and it was my turn to read the part of Catherine in Wuthering Heights. Second, my boyfriend of four months and twenty-seven days dumped me, and then refused to drive me home because he didn’t want to waste another minute with me. Bastard! Third, I ended up missing the bus. Barely. The driver even gave me a snarky wave as he pulled away from the bus stop like it was the highlight of his day.

Great. Just great. Really!

It was gone ten o’clock at night, pitch black, frigging freezing for the beginning of June, and I had to try really hard not to cry. I didn’t want to give tossers like Damian and the bus driver the satisfaction, even though they couldn’t see me. More to the point, if I started, there was no telling when I’d be able to stop, and then my face would go all red and blotchy, my mouth would puff up, and I’d get a runny nose. I knew for a fact I didn’t have any more tissues because I’d used the last one to clean the dog crap off my shoes, which is what made me miss the goddamn bus in the first place.

Yeah, my life sucks.

Because screaming like a banshee would probably get me arrested, I groaned instead and stared at my mobile phone out of habit. At least I’d had just about enough battery left to get a call out to Gemma to come and pick me up. I didn’t even get chance to tell her why before my phone died; I’d run most of it down earlier, bitching to her about the rotten driving test.

Stupid examiner.

This was all his fault. If he had passed me, I’d be cruising home and everything would be fine. I had a perfectly good car stuck on the driveway at home—nothing flash, it was my seventeenth birthday present from my parents a couple of months back—and it’s just sat there, waiting for me, taunting me. But, then, if Damian had taken me home, as any decent ex-boyfriend would, it wouldn’t have mattered, so it was his fault too.

Well I hope karma turned around and bit them both on the backside.

Hard.

A set of car headlamps drew nearer so I dragged myself away from my one-girl pity party and lifted my head in time to see a purple Corsa drive past me on the opposite side of the road.

At last.

I pushed away from the wall of the bus shelter and watched the car turn off the main road into the next side street on the left, swing in a wide arc, then drive back towards me. It pulled into the bus stop, coming to a stop right in front of me. The window nearest to me rolled down and the cute brunette leaned across the vacant seat to speak to me.

‘Hey, foxy lady, do you take I-owe-yous?’ she said, smiling brightly.

Typical Gemma, always trying to be funny.

‘Hey, Gem.’ I reached for the handle to open the door, then flopped into the seat. ‘Thanks for coming to get me.’

‘What are best friends for?’ she said, flapping her hand at me. ‘But, umm … speaking of which, what am I doing here?’ Her grin faltered. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be at Damian’s tonight?’

Straight to the point. Something else I could rely on Gemma for.

‘I was.’ I busied myself with the seatbelt to avoid her searching gaze. ‘Until he dumped me.’

‘What? No!’ Gemma yanked up the handbrake and slipped the car into neutral. ‘Why?’

‘Because …’ I sighed and pretended to study my nails. ‘Because I wouldn’t sleep with him.’ There, I’d said it. Out loud. And it sounded pitiful.

‘You’re kidding me.’

I shook my head.

‘What a dick!’

‘Yeah, that about covers it. He called me a …’ A flush worked its way up to my cheeks until I was grateful for the open window. ‘He called me frigid and told me he was going to go and find a “real girl” instead, so he could “get some pu—”’

‘No, don’t say that word, I hate it,’ Gemma spluttered. ‘Nobody in their right mind still uses it,’ she said, her voice getting louder with each syllable. ‘It’s vulgar and horrid. God, you’re better off without him anyway, Lena.’

‘I know,’ I said, but my tone lacked conviction and tears welled in my eyes.

‘Look, just forget him. He’s a moron to let you go, and he’s so not worth your tears. You deserve much better.’

‘Thanks, Gem. What the hell did I ever see in him?’

‘He was kinda cute. You weren’t to know he was a prize twat. At least you found out now, not later?’

‘I guess …’ I sucked in a deep breath and blinked back the tears. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea and all that, right?’

‘Right.’ Gemma’s eyes took on a glazed look and her head tilted in such a way that spelled danger.

‘Gemma,’ I said, adopting my stern tone. ‘What’s going through that scary brain of yours?’

‘Hmm?’ she said, the picture of innocence.

‘Don’t give me that. I’ve known you too long; the butter-wouldn’t-melt routine doesn’t work on me any more.’

‘I have no idea what you mean.’

‘You … that look … you were scheming again.’

Gemma dragged herself back from her stupor. ‘No, no, not scheming, just thinking.’

‘Same thing. Now spill!’ I said. She ignored me and slipped the car into gear, released the handbrake and pulled back onto the empty road. ‘OK, so what exactly were you thinking about?’

‘I’m not sure yet, Lena,’ she said, flicking a glance at me. ‘I need to sleep on it.’

‘Now you’re really scaring me.’

A smile broke over Gemma’s face and she laughed. ‘Just leave it with it me, OK? Right now, I’m more interested in getting you home in time for curfew.’

Damn it, she was right. I had only minutes left to get home, which meant I couldn’t keep pestering her about whatever plot was forming in that mind-boggling brain of hers. When she pulled up outside my house, I didn’t even have time to do more than shout goodbye and wave as I made a run for the front door.

I was still trying to figure out what she was thinking when the college bus dropped me off the next morning. Not paying attention to what was going on around me, I took a while to notice the girl blocking my locker. The shoes were the first thing I noticed. Nobody in their right mind wore three-inch peep-toe shoes to college. Correction: only one person would wear a pair of high-heeled peep-toe shoes to college.

A groan worked its way up my throat but I swallowed it back down. I really didn’t want to be proved right, but as I swept my gaze up and over a pair of skinny legs covered with thick nude-coloured tights, finally spotting a mini denim skirt that might as well have been a belt, teamed with a top she must have bought from the same shop I worked Saturdays in, the plunging neckline too memorable to forget in a hurry. I was in no doubt about who was waiting for me.

Alice Taylor.

Great!

I didn’t need to see the peroxide-blonde mane and trowelled-on makeup to confirm it: my eyes were already burning from seeing far too much of her. What the hell had I done to upset her this time?

‘Excuse me, Alice, I’d like to get to my locker.’ I figured it was worth a try.

Alice didn’t budge an inch. ‘You know, your parents totally screwed up when they chose your name: they should have called you Virginia instead.’ Her fake tinkly laugh rang out and her crones dutifully joined in, hovering around her like flies, their guffaws drawing even more attention to us.

‘Just do one, Malice,’ I said, in no mood for her bullshit. I looked her in the eye for the first time and had to stop myself laughing. She’d gone even more overboard than usual with the liquid eyeliner and resembled a panda. A panda who had been pulled through a hedge backwards judging from the bird’s nest that was her hair. The sad thing was, she’d actually be really pretty if she toned it down and wiped the permanent sneer off her face. ‘Why not run along with your little posse and find someone who cares for your little jokes?’

‘Aw, come on, don’t be like that,’ she said, her voice grating on my very last nerve. ‘Virginia has a far better ring to it, don’t you think? More suitable, like? You know. For someone like you.’

‘You’re hilarious. Really. I’m laughing so hard my insides hurt. Can’t you tell? Now will you shift so I can get to my locker? Please,’ I added for good measure.

‘Damian said you were a stuck-up bitch. No wonder he dumped you and came looking for me.’

Ouch!

‘Wow, really? He came looking for you? I could have sworn he said he was looking for a real girl. Mind you, he did seem more concerned about getting laid. Your reputation clearly precedes you.’ I wasn’t usually so bitchy but she’d caught me by surprise and pushed too many of my trigger buttons in the space of thirty seconds. Damian in particular was still a particularly touchy subject, after all.

‘And just what is that supposed to mean?’ Alice squared up to me as if she wanted a fight.

‘Let me put it this way …’ I said, matching her stance. Hell could freeze over before I let a troll like her intimidate me. ‘I’d rather be known as someone who doesn’t put out for anyone, than get a reputation as someone who puts out for everyone.’

‘You little bitch.’ She made a lunge to grab my hair but her expression and body language were far too easy to read, and her balance was hampered by her ridiculous shoes. I sidestepped and dodged her easily.

‘Come on, Malice, you can tell us,’ I said, raising my voice so that everyone in the rapidly filling foyer could hear. ‘Have you ever actually said no to anybody?’

Alice looked at the crowd gathering around us, then stared back at me with eyes filled with hatred. I’d really made it into her bad books this time.

‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she spluttered, putting on a good show for the audience. She leaned in closer to me and dropped her voice. ‘You might just want to watch your back from now on, Virginia. Nobody pisses me off and gets away with it. Capiche?’

Did she really just ‘capiche’ me? Like she’s some hotshot gangster now? I would have laughed if her cloying perfume hadn’t already attacked my nostrils, giving me an instant pounding headache.

‘Yeah, whatever, Malice. You know, there’s a name for people like you, too, but it’s not nice so I won’t say it. You’ll just have to figure it out for yourself.’ I didn’t think her eyes could get any wider, or wilder, but, if looks could kill, I’d be a corpse already. To be honest, I was past caring. I just wanted to be rid of her and her revolting perfume so that I could draw breath again. ‘Now will you please get out of my way? Some of us are actually here to get an education.’

Gemma timed her entrance to perfection, the crowd parting to let her through, with Chloe and Piper in position as her wingmen. Gemma looked formidable, and ready for battle. There was no love lost between Gemma and Alice, not since Alice had made a move on Ben and fallen flat on her face. Ben had not only rejected her, he’d gone straight to Gemma and told her all about it.

‘Quick, somebody call the caretaker!’ Gemma’s stage voice rang out loud and clear. ‘There’s some trash here that needs to be taken out.’ She earned a chorus of laughs as she walked towards us, then came to a standstill right beside me. ‘Christ, it reeks, too,’ she said, pinching her nose. ‘What did you do, Malice? Douse yourself in the whole bottle? Oh, never mind. I don’t expect you to have heard of the adage “less is more”.’

Outnumbered and outwitted, Alice liked confrontation only when she had the upper hand. With a toss of bird’s-nest hair, she and her crones took off, strutting towards the canteen. Rushing from the same direction, Flick dashed into view, red in the face as if she’d been running. She arrived at just the wrong the time, shoulder-barged aside, bearing the brunt of Alice’s frustration.

‘Hey,’ Flick protested, giving Alice daggers before joining us at the lockers. ‘Don’t tell me I missed it again!’

I shrugged. ‘Yep, sorry, Flick. The show’s over.’

‘Oh, man!’ she said, flopping back against the locker theatrically.

After Gemma, Flick was my second-best friend, which was handy, seeing that she was taking two of the same subjects as I was, but even thinking in those terms was too much like primary school and wreaked havoc with my newly acquired ‘adult’ mentality. A grin broke out on my face when I knew just what to say next to cheer her up.

‘Don’t worry, Flick, I’m sure there’ll be an encore. Alice did the whole gangsta capiche thing on me.’

‘No way. She actually capiche‘d you? Damn it, I miss all the best bits.’ Flick fixed her huge doe eyes on me before taking in the rest of the group. ‘Please tell me I wasn’t the only one to miss it this time.’

‘You weren’t,’ Gemma said. ‘None of us saw that one. Alice would be sporting a black eye if I’d been here for it.’

‘That would go down well on your college record.’

‘Be worth it, though,’ Gemma mumbled.

Finally able to get into my locker, I grabbed the textbooks I’d need for the morning classes as the girls swapped theories about what they would like to do to Malice. I tuned out, noticing only when they fell silent, the collective weight of their expectant stares boring into my back. I closed the steel door and slowly turned to face the people I considered my closest friends.

A ricochet of pointed glances darted around the group until Gemma stepped up as spokesperson, as usual. ‘So what did she want?’

Time to face the music, then …

‘It turns out Damian went straight off in search of her—’ I nodded towards the corridor Malice had stormed down ‘—straight after dumping me. She was just gloating, that’s all. Trying to wind me up.’

‘Well that sucks.’ Flick said.

The other girls murmured their agreement and all four of them placed their hands in a line on my uppermost arm—I didn’t even remember having crossed them in a show of solidarity and friendship.

‘Thanks. You guys are the best,’ I said, forcing a smile onto my face. ‘So Gemma—’

The bell went, cutting me off before I could resume my interrogation. Thanks to Malice, I’d run out of time and lunch break was hours away. I very nearly screamed. Aside from Flick, the others were in different classes from me, which meant more waiting. Just what I needed.

After a hasty goodbye, Gemma, Chloe and Piper set off in their variations directions, leaving Flick and me to wander off to our French class. Walking beside her, I could swear she’d grown even taller since Friday. I shot a glance down at her feet but she was in her usual flats, going for Mary Janes today rather than ballet pumps. Her long legs were encased in skinny jeans teamed with a floral floaty top, and her ebony hair was tied loosely in a bun to highlight her long neck.

Yep, Flick was the epitome of your typical ballet dancer. There had to be some Latino in her family somewhere: the girl had a permanent tan to make us all jealous. Her natural grace and elegance was misleading, though, and, if you went by appearances alone, you’d think of her as aloof and snooty, when in reality she was more like a tomboy trapped in a dancer’s body. Between her and Gemma, it’s a wonder I had any self-esteem at all, yet somehow it worked, and we all complemented each other.

Gemma was the cutesy bombshell with the wicked tongue and quick temper, most likely to marry rich and become famous some day; Flick was the elegant dancer with a mischievous streak and a steely ambition to get into the English National Ballet; Piper was the brainy academic, complete with designer glasses, and could easily become prime minister one day if she overcame her shyness; Chloe was the cuddlier maternal figure with a heart of gold, the one most likely to be married and surrounded by children before she was twenty-five; as for me, I had somehow fallen into the role of sporty, not that I was affiliated with a club any more, nor did I have a clue what I would end up doing when I was older.

The five of us could have been the newest girl band, a rival group to the Saturdays or Little Mix, apart from the fact half of us couldn’t sing. Or dance. And certainly not perform in public, since Piper would have a coronary. That thought alone was enough to put the grin back on my face as I took my usual seat and pulled out my books.

‘Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs,’ said Madame Clarke, the last to arrive as usual, calling the class to order. She wore a particularly flamboyant chiffon scarf around her neck today that didn’t go with the rest of her outfit at all. Yet more of her eccentric charm on display. I caught Flick’s eye and we shared a knowing smirk as Madame Clarke scurried between the rows of desks to take up her position at the front of the class. ‘Pouvez-vous tourner à la page deux-cent-soixante-dix-neuf, s’il vous plaît?’

French went well, even though I didn’t give two hoots about what Chantal and Jean-Pierre got up to in La Rochelle, and I scored the top mark of eighty-seven percent in my last essay. Result! English was next up, language rather than my preferred literature, but we were learning about the iambic pentameter, which meant dipping into Shakespeare, another of my favourites, finishing up with Romeo and Juliet.

By the time lunch came around, my good mood was back with a vengeance. Damian was history and Malice was welcome to the low-life. The Little Mix earworm I’d had in my head all morning had been replaced by the Montagues and Capulets theme, which of course made me think of StreetDance the movie, and brought with it images of the hunky actor-slash-dancer Richard Winsor who played lead, and gave me an idea.

I dashed to the canteen to find Flick—the only other person who actually knew who Richard Winsor was—to invite her back to my house straight after college. It must be months since we’d last seen the movie and a refresher was long overdue. I could ogle the men in their tights, and she could ogle the school building, just like old times. Win-win all around, if you asked me. Except I reached the canteen first, which struck me as a bit odd when my classroom was further away, and Flick was nowhere to be seen.

Thankfully, there was no sign of Malice, either. Hopefully too embarrassed to face everyone, unless she was just stuck in detention or sucking some schmuck’s face off somewhere. I wouldn’t put it past her to have blown college off after this morning’s botched showdown, either. Where she’d go was open to debate, and the rumours about her home life were rife, ranging from her living in a caravan in true ‘trailer trash’ style, to living with her mother and her mum’s sugar daddy in some fancy mansion. To be honest, I didn’t really care where Alice lived so long as she stayed out of my way and kept her nose out of my and my friends’ business.

At least our usual table was still free. I dumped my bag on a chair and joined the line of people queuing to get some food. The others still hadn’t shown up when I carried my tray back to the table. After another glance around the canteen, I was certain they weren’t just sitting somewhere else instead, and the first flutter of concern hit me, so I reached into my bag, grabbed my phone and checked for messages, but there was nothing. No new texts and no voicemail.

Where the hell were they?

For all four of them to be missing was just plain weird, ominous even, assuming they were all together somewhere. My stomach flipped, leaving me with a bad feeling and threatening to put me off my salad. The thought of their colluding without me was never a good thing. I dashed off a quick text to Gemma to check she was OK, my fingers flying across the touch-screen keypad, then propped my phone up against my bottle of water where I couldn’t miss it when—if—it went off.

Oh, well, there was nothing for it but to start without them. I snatched up my fork up and stabbed a piece of chicken with enough force to send the cherry tomatoes flying. Damn it! As I chewed, I popped them back onto my plate and stared at my phone, willing it to buzz. Ever hopeful—or delusional—I kept my eye on the main entrance but they still hadn’t turned up by the time I’d finished my salad.

Stuff them, then.

I had far better things to do than sit on my own getting pity looks, and I was done waiting. The sun was out for a start and I could be out in the fresh air rather than being stuck inside. As I pushed back, my chair made a dreadful scraping sound, like nails down a blackboard, attracting even more unwanted attention. The burning sensation in my face told me I’d gone as red as the tomatoes, so I bent my head and stowed my phone back into my bag to avoid making eye contact, then grabbed my apple.

Definitely time to get out of there.

I was halfway to standing when Gemma appeared through one of the side doors, closely followed by Flick, Chloe and Piper.

Gee, thanks for the invite, girls.

They made Charlie’s Angels look tame as they strode towards me en masse. My pulse spiked and I eyed the doorway, ready to flee, but there was no way I could get there in time.

‘I was just leaving,’ I said, trying to sound as if I didn’t give a damn, but my voice cracked and betrayed me. I collapsed back into my seat and glared at them instead. It was either get angry or burst into tears. ‘Where have you been?’ I demanded, my tone getting more high-pitched with each syllable.

‘Sorry,’ Gemma said, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. ‘I thought I’d texted you to say we were going to be a bit late, but I’ve just spotted the failed-delivery message. I must be out of credit after calling Ben during first break.’

‘So where were you? I asked, as Gemma plonked herself in the seat opposite me. Chloe and Piper took up the seats either side of me, and Flick chose the chair next to Gemma. ‘And what were you doing that took so long?’

Gemma quirked her perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. ‘This, my dear Lena, is an intervention.’

Chapter Two
INTERVENTION

‘A what?’

Heads turned to look at us, my words coming out louder than intended.

Gah!

Gemma waited until everybody had gone back to minding their own business. ‘An intervention,’ she said, completely matter-of-fact, using the same tone she’d use to tell me I had lettuce stuck in my teeth. ‘We, as in all four of us—’ she paused for dramatic effect and waved her hand to include Flick, Chloe and Piper ‘—are all agreed that you need our help.’

‘Is that so?’ I asked.

Flick suddenly seemed determined to avoid eye contact but I refused to let her off the hook. She finally gave in and offered me a small shrug, along with a resigned smile.

Not good.

The heavy feeling in my gut got even worse. ‘Help with what, exactly?’

Gemma met my glare head-on. ‘You need to lose your virginity.’

‘Pardon?’ I hissed, unable to believe my ears.

‘Don’t you see, Lena?’ she said, not backing down so much as an inch. ‘You have so many hang-ups about sex, you’re like a faulty telephone.’

‘You’re joking, right?’ I forced out a laugh. Gemma jutted out her jaw even further, not even a flicker of a smile. My nails pierced the apple, the juice running down my fingers to form a satisfying puddle on the table. ‘Don’t tell me this is your big plan.’

‘It’s a damn sight better than being dumped.’

‘Whoa, hang on,’ I said, narrowing my eyes to accuse each of them. ‘Are you all saying I should have slept with Damian?’

‘No way.’

‘Eww, no.’

‘Not at all.’

‘Nuh-uh.’

They all answered at the same time, their voices jumbled together so I couldn’t be sure who said what. At least we were all agreed on something.

‘You can do a million times better than him,’ Flick said.

‘Which is exactly what I said,’ Gemma said. ‘And that’s where we come in.’

‘Huh?’

‘We had a little brainstorming session and came up with the most wicked idea.’ Gemma reached into her tote and produced a piece of A4 paper with a flourish. I could already see Piper’s cursive handwriting running down one side.

‘Wicked as in evil and demonic, or wicked as in excellent?’

‘It’s good to see you’ve still got your sense of humour.’

‘Who’s joking?’

Gemma ignored my outburst and started to slide the page towards me, but then she noticed the state of the table. ‘Bloody hell, Lena, what did the apple ever do to you?’ She prised the mangled apple out of my grip and dumped it on my tray. ‘You’ve well and truly murdered it,’ she said, grabbing a load of napkins. She tossed one to me, then used the rest to mop up the juice and bits of pulp. ‘Right, let’s try that again,’ she said, finally getting back to the sheet of paper and offering it to me. ‘Here is your mission, should you choose to accept it.’

In no mood for one of her silly games, I snatched it off her and scanned the page. It turned out to be a list of names, all of them boys, and some of whom I recognised. And then I noticed the title: ‘Operation: Popping the Cherry’. I leaped to my feet and fired a glare at each of them in turn, trying not to shout. ‘Are you shitting me?’

Flick at least flinched and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So what am I supposed to do?’ I asked, caught in two minds whether to tear the list into a thousand pieces or scrunch it into a ball. ‘Work my way down the list and sleep with them all?’

‘Are you going to at least hear us out before you go off on one?’ Gemma sounded infuriatingly calm compared with my wailing-banshee routine.

‘I don’t even know who half of these guys are.’ I settled for tossing the page back onto the table in disgust. ‘Why not just shove me at the first guy to walk in here and pay him to have sex with me?’

‘It’s not like that, Lena, and you know it.’ Gemma snapped, finally biting back, but, instead of getting drawn into a slanging match, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Composure restored. ‘I know you’re spoiling for a fight, and I know this is hard, but you know we’d never do something like that to you.’

‘Hmph,’ I grunted.

‘Can’t you at least give us two minutes to explain?’

As I stood mulling it over, trying to decide whether to stay or flounce off as I’d intended, I noticed the glances and raised eyebrows being directed my way. Being the only one of our group standing up, combined with my raised voice and Gemma’s hissing, I was drawing way too much attention. All of the fire left me and my legs gave way before I’d made the conscious decision to sit back down.

‘Thank you.’ Gemma seized the opportunity and slid the list back across the table. This time, she kept her hand on it as if expecting me to try to destroy it. She wasn’t wrong. ‘These are just a few of the names we came up with. Guys we thought you might like, but wouldn’t necessarily think of yourself. Now it’s your turn to add your own potential candidates to complete the shortlist.’

‘Candidates? You make it sound like some kind of election.’

‘In a way, it is,’ Chloe said, speaking up for the first time. ‘Take a look at the list and get to know some of the guys on there that you don’t know already. Go on a few dates maybe. And then you cast your vote.’

‘As in …?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Chloe lowered her voice, ‘You have s-e-x with them.’ She even spelled out the word ‘sex’ as if it would deter eavesdroppers and lessen the impact.

‘And this is the best you could come up with? Your brilliant plan?’ I said to no one in particular. ‘What happened to saving yourself? Waiting for the right person?’

‘Saving yourself? This isn’t the 1950s. All you’re doing is missing out on something fun. No guy expects you to be a virgin on your wedding day these days, so you might as well get it over with.’

‘Get it over with? Jeez, Gemma, you make it sound like going for an injection?’

‘Let’s just hope it’s more than a little prick when the time comes, then, eh?’ she said, waggling her eyebrows up and down. Her quick-witted innuendo earned a chorus of giggles. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of making me smile but—damn it—the corners of my lips were curving up whether I wanted them to or not.

‘Touché,’ I said, giving up the fight. ‘That was a good one, even for you.’

‘I am rather proud of it.’

‘But isn’t the first time supposed to be special?’ I asked.

‘I wish,’ Chloe muttered.

‘My first time was over in thirty seconds flat,’ Flick said. ‘He barely got it in there in time. Talk about an anticlimax.’

‘I hate to break it to you, but it’s really not all it’s cracked up to be,’ Gemma said, yet I knew for a fact Ben had been her first. Even Piper sighed. ‘It gets better, though,’ Gemma said brightly. ‘It’s a bit like kissing, I guess.’

‘Kissing? Yeah, right.’

‘No, really,’ she said, sitting more upright to plead her case. ‘Nobody is a great kisser at the first attempt. You might accidentally bump teeth, or the guy might try to suffocate you by covering your nose as well as your mouth. And sometimes he might shove his tongue too far down your throat until you gag and—’

‘Ugh, yeah.’ The memory of my first ‘proper’ French kiss still had the power to make me shudder. ‘Been there, done that.’

‘It just takes practice, you know, until you get the hang of it.’ It might not be want I wanted to hear but Gemma was making sense even if it went against every romantic notion I’d ever harboured.

‘I think I see what you mean,’ I conceded. ‘So you’ve all had … I’m the only …’ I squirmed, too embarrassed to say the words. I’d already gathered Gemma, Flick and Chloe had done … it … but then Piper nodded, too. I spun in my chair to face her, unable to mask my surprise. ‘Even you?’

‘Yes, Lena, even me,’ she said, lifting her chin and meeting my stare, her eyes brimming with defiance.

‘Jeez.’ I was in the minority again.

‘Oh, come on. Is it really such a surprise?’ she asked.

‘Yes!‘ I wanted to yell. If I’d had to put money on anyone else still being a virgin, it would have been Piper, the oh-so-shy girl who always had her nose stuck in a book. ‘No, I guess not,’ I lied, seeing Piper in a whole new light. ‘I guess that makes me the odd one out, then,’ I said, forcing out a feeble laugh.

Nobody spoke. It was as if they could sense the battle raging inside my head. Up until that moment, I’d never considered myself to be naïve, nor did I think I was a prude, but now I had to wonder. Operation: Popping the Cherry went against everything I’d been brought up to believe, but my closest friends made it sound as if I’d been fed a load of old-fashioned nonsense.

We couldn’t all be right, so which of us was wrong?

A girl laughed at the next table but one from us, disturbing my thoughts. I couldn’t help peeking at her out of the corner of my eye, watching her from beneath my lowered eyelashes. She was sitting with a guy from Upper Sixth, holding hands, and their heads bent together. I didn’t know either of them, except in passing, but any fool could see how happy they were. The guy was hanging onto her every word, and, when he leaned in to plant a tender kiss on her cheek, a pang of jealousy zipped through my veins.

A sense of longing hit me so hard, my heart physically ached inside my chest. I dragged my gaze away before they made me cry, and my focus immediately zoomed in on the list of names until the letters danced before my eyes. If I wanted what that couple had, what Gemma and Ben had, what every other goddamn person on the planet except me seemed to have, then maybe Operation: Popping the Cherry was the key.

‘So, I just have to go on a few dates and see if any of these guys get my mojo going enough to want to … you know …?’

‘Exactly.’ Gemma grinned at me, looking mightily pleased with herself. ‘You see, ladies, I told you she’d get it,’ she said, exchanging high fives with the others. ‘So what d’you say, Lena? Are you up for it?’

Am I?

Deep down, I knew they had only my best interests at heart but they were staring at me so hard, my skin prickled. The vibe coming off them was so strong, I was left in no doubt whatsoever that they wanted me to do this. No, they really wanted me to do this. A bead of sweat broke out on my forehead and trickled down the side of my face. Nobody could make the decision for me, but even my gut instincts had abandoned me, leaving me to figure it out on my own. I could say no, but then what? I risked upsetting my friends and becoming even more of an outcast. They’d called it an intervention, but the longer I took to think about it, the more it weighed on me like an ultimatum: my friends or my virginity?

‘OK, I’m in,’ I blurted, before I could talk myself out of it again.

‘Yay!’ Gemma did her clapping thing. ‘Now, on to the deadline.’

‘What? Nobody said anything about a deadline.’

‘Go on, you tell her, Piper, seeing as it was your ingenious idea.’

‘Well,’ she said, her eyes glinting with pride. ‘What better date than your birthday, what with it being Valentine’s Day?’

‘Isn’t it just perfect?’ Gemma was having way too much fun with this.

‘Yeah, great,’ I said flatly.

‘Plus, it gives you loads of time to meet someone you like,’ she added. That much was true at least. ‘And there’s no time like the present, eh?’ she said, waving at somebody who must have just come into the canteen.

‘Huh?’ I turned in my seat and followed her gaze all the way to the guy from her Drama class—Sean something-or-other—who returned her wave and changed course.

With a sinking feeling, I checked the list of candidates. Sure enough, Sean Cole was in at number three. And he was now headed our way. There wasn’t time to fold the shortlist neatly, so I screwed it up in my fist and rammed the damning evidence into my bag. From my hunched position, I watched as a pair of brown suede Vans came to a stop directly behind me.

‘Hey, Gemma,’ said a deep voice with a soft Scottish lilt. ‘Did you want me?’

Caught red-handed, I froze, still collapsed in my chair like a moron. You could always rely on me to make a good first impression—not!

‘Hey, Sean.’ Gemma’s voice sounded muffled from my position beneath the table. ‘I thought it was about time I introduced you to my best friend.’

Say what?

I shot up so fast that I caught the back of my head on the edge of table, hitting it hard enough to make a loud bang. If Sean had any sense he’d back away slowly from the crazy girl before I did anything else stupid. Instead, he hovered, waiting to be formally introduced. Maybe he felt sorry for me, or thought he was being punked. Once my eyes stopped watering, I glared at Gemma, giving her my best evil eye. To her credit, she didn’t bat an eyelid; the drama lessons were clearly working for her.

She didn’t even react when I ‘accidentally’ kicked her under the table as I twisted in my seat to meet cherry-popping candidate number one. Sean was standing so close to my chair, I had to tip my head right back to see him. The weird perspective made him look like a giant. He could probably see straight up my nose, too. Jeez, would my misery never end?

‘Hi, you must be Valentina,’ he said, turning his brown-eyed gaze on me and offering me his hand.

‘Yep, that’s me,’ I said, placing my hand in his. ‘But everybody calls me Lena.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Lena,’ he said, bending from the waist in a bow. Cute and charming, but I felt nothing, no tingles or flutters, not even when Sean lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss onto the backs of my fingers.

‘You too, Sean.’ I could see why he was taking drama. Sean practically oozed charisma, definite actor calibre. In fact, he probably had a whole entourage of swooning groupies already, and judging from the sigh I’d heard behind me, Flick was more than willing to become a fully fledged member. My friends weren’t the only ones capable of playing matchmaker. ‘So tell me, Sean, have you been introduced to Felicity yet?’

‘No, I don’t believe I have.’ Sean followed the direction of my free hand.

The moment his and Flick’s eyes met, I was all but forgotten. Excellent.

‘Sorry to dash off,’ I said, ignoring Gemma’s scowl as I stood and lifted my bag onto my shoulder. ‘I have to get a book from the library before my next class, but it was lovely to meet you, Sean.’

‘You too, Lena,’ he said.

‘Oh, I need to go to the library, too,’ Gemma said, leaping to her feet. Her smile didn’t fool me for a second. ‘We might as well walk together.’

Oh goody!

‘Sure thing,’ I said, struggling to maintain my happy face. ‘Bye, then, see you all later.’

‘Bye,’ came the chorus of voices.

Gemma pounced the moment we were out of earshot. ‘You haven’t really got to go to the library, have you?’

‘Nope.’

‘So what the hell was all that about back there?’

‘All what?’ I said, feigning ignorance. Gemma wasn’t buying it. ‘Look, it’s no big deal. Sean wasn’t my type, that’s all, whereas Flick was just begging to be introduced. Could you not feel the vibe coming off them?’

Gemma slipped into her own thoughts for a moment and then relaxed. ‘Yeah, OK, I’ll give you that one. They did look pretty hot for each other. And all that hand-kissing stuff is right up Flick’s street.’

Phew!

‘Precisely. It was only fair to pay it forward.’

‘So where are you off to in such a hurry?’ Gemma asked.

And there was I, thinking I was off the hook.

‘I’ve got a free period, so I’m off to the baker’s. All of a sudden I could murder a pain-au-chocolat. I couldn’t possibly think why, though, could you?’

‘Uh-oh.’ Gemma came to a standstill and caught hold of my arm to stop me from walking off without her. ‘Lena, are we OK?’ she asked, all the aggression gone from her voice. ‘You’re not mad at me?’

Wow, she seemed proper worried. Scared, maybe.

‘No, we’re cool,’ I said, drawing her into a hug. ‘It’s been a crazy couple of days, what with yesterday, and now this … this mission. I just need some time to process it all.’

She did the single-eyebrow thing, as if she could tell I was holding back. ‘You sure that’s all it is?’

‘No.’ What I really needed to do was tell her how much I hated Operation: Popping the Cherry, but how could I when it had been her idea? ‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ I said instead.

Gemma still didn’t look convinced. Her lips were thinner than usual, and she wouldn’t stop trying to use her X-ray vision on me. Time to change the subject before I cracked.

‘So can I get you anything while I’m out? I know it’s not a patch on Donovan’s but it still hits the spot.’

She huffed out a sigh. ‘No, thanks, I’ve blown all my calorie allowance already. I don’t know where you put it all.’ Gemma checked her watch, then pulled me into another hug. ‘Right, I’d better get back inside before the bell goes. Talk to you later, yeah?’

‘Will do. Go on, you’d better run,’ I said, shooing her towards the main building. The bell rang right on cue. ‘Bye,’ I called out to her hastily retreating back. She tossed her hand up as a wave and carried on power-walking.

Idiot that I was, I didn’t think to dump my text books before I left college. I envied Gemma’s speed and agility when the walk to the baker’s took longer than usual, thanks to the weight of my bag. My shoulder throbbed and sharp, stabbing twinges kept shooting up my spine in addition to the rapidly worsening tension headache. At least I’d had enough sense to bring my painkillers with me.

I fell onto the shiny silver bistro chair as if it was my new best friend—my long-lost brother even—and the old woman behind the counter shot me a sympathetic smile. She came to the table to take my order, which the staff weren’t supposed to do, so I must have looked as much of a wreck from the outside as I felt on the inside. I winced as I lifted my heavy bag onto my lap. Damned if I could find the stupid pills, though. My bag had turned into Mary Poppins’s carpet bag somewhere on the walk and I spent forever rummaging through the crumbs and hair bobbles. Man, I needed to clean out my bag more often!

OK, so it would have helped if I’d remembered putting them in the zip pocket on the front at the outset, but I figured it out in the end. Triumphant, I tossed the white plastic packet onto the table and nearly knocked the tray out of the woman’s hands.

‘Omigod! I’m so sorry,’ I said.

What a klutz!

If I kept this up, I’d do someone an injury. Maybe I should be using my free period to draw up a poster? A warning to everyone to stay away from me for their own safety. For an old lady, she had better reactions than I had. She managed to save my huge mug of mocha, extra sugar, and my pain-au-chocolat from hitting the deck.

‘No harm done,’ she said kindly.

Sure enough, the only evidence of my stupidity was the big slop of cream sliding down the side of mug. And it was getting away. I lunged forward to ‘save’ it—which makes it sound as if I actually had a choice in the matter—and blocked its path with my finger. The cream with its dusting of cocoa settled along the length of my finger. I had it now. Dipping my head to meet my finger halfway, I shoved the gooey spoils into my mouth and moaned as my taste buds took over.

The woman laughed and said, ‘I’d have done exactly the same.’

Oops!

I’d forgotten I had an audience. I offered her a feeble smile, my cheeks warming rapidly. She patted my shoulder, then turned and walked away, but I’d barely managed one bite of my pain-au-chocolat before she was back.

‘Get those down you,’ she said, indicating the painkillers and plonking a glass of water in front of me.

Man, I must look bad.

I half expected her to watch me take the tablets, as my mum used to do when I was little, but she shuffled back behind the counter and left me to it. Only when I was certain she wasn’t about to pop up over my shoulder again did I risk getting the crumpled sheet of paper out of my bag. Even then, I kept it out of sight beneath the table, too ashamed to be caught with it. I grabbed my phone out, too, and checked for messages. Nothing. Good. So I put it on the table next to my mug.

After another quick scan of the baker’s-stroke-café, I was satisfied no one was watching me. A tingle of excitement buzzed in my fingertips as I spread the page across my thigh, pressing it firmly with both hands to ease out most of the creases. Time to check out the nominated ‘candidates’ and also try to come up with a few of my own. I’d read only halfway down the list when the door opened, drawing my attention, and in walked one of the guys from college. I knew that only because I’d seen him on the same bus as I’d been on nearly every weekday since September, the mysterious emo guy who always sat at the back with his headphones in his ears and his eyes closed.

Fascinated to see him with his eyes open and actually moving, I watched him stride over to the counter to place his order. His body language and his voice exuded a level of confidence that made me pay close attention whether I wanted to or not. He was dressed all in black, his skinny jeans and black T-shirt a complete contrast to his pale, angular face. His long, midnight-black hair fell loose over his shoulders, easily as long as mine, reaching past his shoulder blades. When he turned to look around for somewhere to sit, his bright green eyes met mine.

Who is he?

Instead of being embarrassed, caught staring, there was something hypnotic about him that stopped me from averting my gaze. One side of his mouth cocked into a half-smile and he gave me a single nod by way of greeting, breaking eye contact only when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. His order ready, he turned his back to me and—just like that—the spell was broken, releasing me. I reached for my latte, drinking deeply with my eyes closed, gripping the mug to stave off the sudden chills.

Sensing movement near me, I opened my eyes. A tall, dark figure appeared in my peripheral vision and my heart fluttered. Emo Guy was already halfway across the room, mug in hand, and the list was spread out on my lap. Lunging for my bag would be too obvious. I had to think fast. The fluttering sensation turned into a hammering but my fingers still worked. Keeping my movements small, I folded the list in half, then discreetly slid it between my thighs and crossed my legs to hide it.

Close up, he seemed even more vampire-like—in true Gothic style—and I half expected to see fangs when he opened his mouth. Emo Guy wasn’t my usual type at all, but he was definitely hot in his own kind of way.

‘Hi, Lena isn’t it?’ he asked.

The words for my planned introduction dried up in my mouth—he already knew my name—so I gawked up at him and nodded like an idiot.

‘Mind if I join you?’

This time I shook my head, still scrambling to find my voice.

‘Thanks.’ Emo Guy cocked another grin, as if pleased with the effect he’d had on me. I’m glad it pleased somebody, because it was doing my head in. He put his mug of steaming black coffee onto my table, then nimbly eased into the seat opposite. ‘My name’s Hayden.’

Hayden.

Why did his name sound familiar?

Hayden did most of the talking—the usual small talk—and the next half an hour flew by. I wasn’t at all surprised to learn he was a musician—it was either that or acting. After two failed attempts at eating my pain-au-chocolat without making a mess, I gave up and wrapped it in my napkin, but it gave me the excuse I needed to grab my bag. I stowed the shortlist at the same time as the pastry.

Phew.

The alarm on my phone sounded, signalling that my free period almost over. I had to get going: I couldn’t afford to miss another English lit class, but I didn’t want to appear too keen by asking to exchange numbers. Hayden followed my cue, though, and walked back to college with me; he even carried my bag. As we went our separate ways to get to class, I hoped I’d see him again, especially once I realised why his name was familiar.

I didn’t have to wait long. Hayden sought me out on the bus home and plonked himself into the empty seat beside me. I almost cheered out loud, the envy of half the girls on the bus. His leg brushed against mine and a faint zap attacked my senses. When he invited me to come and watch him play on the Friday night, I couldn’t hold back my smile, and with his name already on the shortlist, there wasn’t a single valid reason to say no. Operation: Popping the Cherry was go-go-go.

Chapter Three
STRANDED

It took me the rest of the week to come up with my own candidates, what with all the umming and ahing. Despite my reservations, I had to admit the list of candidates was looking dang fine. It was impossible to not feel even a teeny bit excited.

‘We’re off in a minute, love,’ Mum said, poking her head through the gap of the open door.

‘Oh, OK,’ I said, trying to sound natural and not burn myself as I straightened my hair. ‘Have fun. I hope you win.’

‘So do I. It’s been a few weeks and your dad’s poor ego’s getting dented.’

I forced out a laugh. ‘I bet.’

Mum’s smile faded and her brow creased into a frown. ‘So how do you know this Hayden again?’

‘He goes to my college, except he’s in Upper Sixth.’ My hand started to shake, so I put the straighteners down.

‘What time is he picking you up?’

‘The band are swinging by to pick me up on their way to the gig. They should be here in about ten minutes or so.’

Mum’s lips pursed and her right eyebrow twitched. ‘The band?’

Oops. I must have forgotten to mention that bit.

‘Yeah. Hayden’s the lead guitarist.’ Probably best not to mention the band was called, Screwed. ‘They’re quite good, apparently.’

OK, so I’d never actually heard of them until that week, but Mum didn’t know that. I couldn’t even tell her what kind of music they played, let alone if they were any good or not, but it was safe to assume they were more likely to be a heavy-rock band than a boy band.

Mum tried to give me the all-seeing-eye treatment and I had to fight the need to flinch. ‘And how long have you known him?’

‘Since September.’ I stretched the truth to get her off my case. ‘He even gets the same bus to college as me,’ I said, boldly meeting her gaze.

‘Hmm …’

In the silence that followed, we both heard a car pull up outside the house.

‘Is that your taxi?’ I asked.

She crossed to my window.

‘Yes it is,’ she said, looking out. ‘I’ve got to go. Just …’ Mum hesitated then let out a sigh. ‘Be careful,’ she said eventually. ‘And make sure you take your phone with you.’

Too damn right.

‘Will do.’

Going out with Hayden was one thing, but the prospect of getting into a van with a bunch of strangers was making me nervous enough without Mum adding to my paranoia. Not now I’d finally convinced myself it would be fine. That was before I knew I’d be crammed in the back of an old, beaten-up Ford Transit with Hayden, two other guys, a set of drums, two amplifiers, three guitars, a keyboard and some microphone stands.

Every time the van screeched around a bend, we all slid from one side to the other, trying not to get crushed by the equipment falling and rolling everywhere. The pain didn’t end there, either. Once they started their set, my eardrums hurt, too. Appropriately named Max, the lead singer preferred shouting and hollering to actual singing, with the band thrashing out one song—ha!—after another with no respite.

Just great.

Heavy metal was so not my thing. I was in the minority, though—again—and the pub was full to bursting. The dance floor had become a writhing mosh pit and the only safe spot I could find to avoid being whipped and potentially blinded by all the flying hair was wedged in tight next to a speaker.

Hayden played guitar brilliantly, his performance faultless. He looked the part, too, dressed in his uniform black, this time wearing leather trousers and a sleeveless vest, showing off the tattoos on his arms, his green eyes ringed with a heavy line of black. Sadly, this other side to him just didn’t do anything for me. I was more inclined to ask him for some tips on applying kohl eyeliner than try to discuss anything else. Thankfully, he was too caught up in the music to pay any attention to me; they didn’t even take a half-time interval, so I got away with playing Candy Crush and Angry Birds.

By the time Screwed reached the end of their set and completed their second encore, I’d drained my phone battery and was convinced my ears were bleeding internally. More alarmingly, I hadn’t figured out how to politely decline if Hayden asked me out again. He stepped off the foot-high stage and came straight for me, his eyes wild, pumped from all the energy in the room. Trapped with no way out, I felt my pulse spike and my heels smacked into the speaker. He wasted no time in grabbing me and pulling me against his soaking wet body, dripping with sweat. I opened my mouth to protest but he took the opportunity to plunge his wet, slimy tongue inside, shoving it so far back he triggered my gag reflex.

Hayden tasted of stale cigarettes and salt, and I barely controlled the urge to retch. A shudder ripped through me, which he immediately took the wrong way. He dropped his hands to grope my backside, pulling me even more firmly against him so I could feel something else stirring to life inside his leather trousers. It was exactly how I imagined being a groupie to be, all I needed was ‘property of …’ stamped somewhere on me. How long until he asked me to step outside, or to pop back to the van, or maybe he was happy to get it on right there under cover of the speaker. Losing my virginity with a guy I didn’t remotely fancy any more in a crowded room full of pissed-up metal-heads didn’t appeal. Neither did the kissing, or, rather, the gross tongue-thrusting.

He had to notice I wasn’t joining in soon, surely.

Apparently not.

Hayden shoved his hand down the front of my jeans and roughly fumbled to get past the next barrier blocking his path. No way was he getting his fingers—or anything else, for that matter—inside my lacy hipsters. Not now, not ever. I raised my hands to his chest and shoved so hard he went flying backwards, tripped over some guy’s foot and ended up on his arse. His wide eyes narrowed and he closed his gaping mouth, then he sprang back onto his feet and lurched towards me, his whole body tense.

‘What the hell is your problem?’ he hissed.

‘My problem?’ I put my hands on my hips and matched his aggressive tone. ‘Do you make a habit of shoving your hand into a girl’s pants on the first date?’

The last thing I expected him to do was laugh.

‘Oi, Hayden,’ Max called, his voice hoarse after all that shrieking. ‘Put your piece of arse down for five minutes and get over here, this stuff doesn’t pack itself away.’

Piece of arse?

‘Be right there,’ Hayden shouted, not even attempting to put Max straight or stick up for me.

My hands clenched into fists. ‘I am not your “piece of arse”, Hayden.’

‘No, you’re not, are you? You’re feisty.’ He stepped into my space again and circled around me, trailing his hand over my butt. ‘I like it when a girl plays hard to get.’

‘I am not playing hard to get.’

‘No?’ Hayden aimed his lopsided grin at me, back on the charm offensive. I swear he must practise the look in front of a mirror every night to get it just right. It wasn’t working on me any more, though; my fingers itched to wipe it off his face. ‘So would it be OK on the second date, or are you going to push me all the way to the third?’

Jeez, the guy was delusional. And a little bit creepy.

Why hadn’t I just bailed when the first song drilled a hole into my sinuses?

If I had any battery left on my phone, I’d be using it right now to get someone to pick me up. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi, I didn’t even know where I was, which meant I was stuck with Hayden and his stupid bandmates for the time being. Hayden misread my sigh and shot me a wink as he backed away to join the rest of the band on stage.

‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he said, putting ideas in my head.

Like hell was I going to stand around like some kind of trophy! I wandered out into the car park the moment his back was turned and sucked in a deep breath. The car park was virtually empty already, just a couple of cars and the band’s van, parked side on with its rear doors wide open, illuminated by the car park’s up-lighters. Waiting in the van was better than standing around like a fool, so I set off towards it. Hayden would find me all too soon, anyway. I climbed aboard the van just in time to disturb the drummer, Pete, as he snorted a line of white powder.

Oh, man!

He turned to face me, his eyes glazed and unfocused. ‘Want some?’ he asked, offering me the straw he’d just a second ago had up his nose.

‘No, thanks.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he said, putting the straw back up his nose and blocking the other nostril with his index finger.

Unable to tear my gaze away, I watched him hoover up the last of the dust before unrolling the straw to reveal a twenty pound note, which he slipped back inside his wallet, then into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall of the van, inhaling deeply through his nose, then exhaling slowly through his mouth, looking utterly at peace as a contented smile teased the corners of his mouth.

Pete heard the voices the same time I did. He opened his eyes and stared past me, his pupils the most dilated I’d ever seen on anyone. Hayden appeared at the door first, his guitar slung over his back as he carried an amplifier in his arms. The bass guitarist, whose name escaped me, rammed the microphone stands into my outstretched legs.

‘You could have just asked her to move her legs, bro,’ Hayden said, finally coming to me defence. I wish I could say I was relieved to see him. He hopped up and came to sit right beside me, grabbing hold of my hand. Pete stayed at the far end, the bass guitarist stepped over me to join him, closely followed by Chris on keyboards, then Max climbed in and closed the doors behind him so we were all crammed in the back of the Transit. Just when I didn’t think things could get any more surreal, Max held the van keys out to me.

‘I don’t suppose you drive?’ he said.

‘N-no,’ I stammered. ‘Not yet.’

Max cursed and shook his head. ‘Here you go, then, Pete, it looks like it’s up to you to get us home tonight.’ Max tossed the keys over to Pete, who missed them completely and they crashed to the van floor.

‘Pete?’ I blurted, my voice raised enough to bounce back of the walls. ‘But he’s—’

‘Hayden, why don’t you and your lady come up front with me?’ Pete asked, cutting me off. ‘Give the boys some room to spread out?’

‘Lady’ was a darn sight better than ‘piece of arse’ at least.

‘No, it’s OK.’ Hayden put his arm possessively around me. ‘Lena’s cool.’

I am?

Max shrugged. ‘If you say so, bro.’

By way of assurance, Hayden shoved his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a couple of bank notes, one folded into a small square, the other folded in half and slightly rumpled from being wedged up tight against his arse. If it was possible to feel sympathy for a piece of paper, then I did. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out a bank card, the same bank as mine as it happened, not that I was desperate to find anything in common with him or anything.

Mesmerised, I watched him turn the card over so that the magnetic strip faced up and prop it on his bent knees. Hayden pressed the crisper banknote against his thigh to straighten it, then nimbly rolled into a tight cylinder.

What the …?

Oh, Valentina Bell, you are so naïve.

It wasn’t just Pete on the happy dust: they were all at it. The puzzle pieces that had been bugging me all evening suddenly slotted together to form a complete picture in high definition: the pre-gig pep talk that I wasn’t invited to, the high-energy performance, the sweating, the copious amounts of water they’d all been drinking, Hayden’s wild eyes, his personality transplant … And there was I thinking Hayden had been on a natural high when he’d come off stage. No wonder he’d always come across as mysterious on the bus: he was more than likely either stoned or coming down.

With his straw constructed to his satisfaction, Hayden unfolded the second banknote carefully, then bent it in half horizontally. Keeping his knees perfectly still, he tipped a line of white powder onto the back of the bank card. As if he could feel my boggle-eyed gaze boring into him, Hayden turned to look at me.

‘Do you want to go first?’ he asked, offering me the rolled-up twenty.

‘No, you’re OK,’ I said, ‘Thanks, though,’ I added, trying not to sound like a total dork.

‘Seriously, I don’t mind sharing,’ he said. ‘Besides, I can pick up more at the party.’

‘It’s just that … well … I don’t really do drugs.’

Hayden’s eyebrows arched. ‘What? Not any?’

‘Does caffeine count?’ I forced a smile onto my face.

‘No way?’ He eyed me with total disbelief. Even the other band members stopped mid inhale to stare at me. Prize freak time again. ‘You’re missing out,’ he said finally, accompanying it with a shrug.

Thinking back to the look of rapture on Pete’s face, I realised that Hayden probably had a point.

‘You go right ahead, though, before you twitch, or sneeze or something.’

Hayden nodded, then inserted the makeshift straw partway up his nose and, whoosh, half of the dust was gone. He made it look so easy.

‘I feel like a right shit leaving you out, Lena. Here—’ he tried handing me the straw again ‘—you have the rest.’

If I’d said I wasn’t even slightly tempted, it would be an outright lie. What if I liked it, though—really liked it? I’d be on a very slippery slope indeed.

‘No, you’re all right, Hayden,’ I said. ‘I think I will join Pete up front, after all.’

‘Why?’

‘Just to give you more space like Pete said. And, you know, to not put you off.’

‘Fuck. You’re freaking out, aren’t you?’ Hayden said. ‘Look at you, gnawing on your lip.’

Bugger, I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. ‘Of course I’m not freaking out.’

‘Bullshit. I honestly thought it might just be an act for college but you really are Miss Goody Two Shoes, aren’t you?’

Gee, thanks, Hayden.

‘So what if I am?’

‘It’s just so … boring. Don’t you think?’

I couldn’t even bring myself to reply. Instead, I sighed and mentally scribbled over his name from the shortlist in thick, black, permanent marker pen as he snorted up the last of the line. Impossible as it seemed after his earlier sleaze-factor, he’d sunk even lower in my estimation. Saved from having to come up with a polite decline, I got to my feet and clambered over his and Max’s legs, thankful I’d worn trousers—not that anybody was paying attention to me, anyway—and I reached the doors easily enough, but they wouldn’t budge.

‘Mind yourself.’ Pete’s voice in my ear made me jump to the side, narrowly missing Max’s fingers.

Pete turned side on, his back to me, then bumped his hip against the door at the same time as he pushed. On the second go, the door swung open and let in a surge of deliciously fresh air. Inhaling sharply, I filled my lungs, then stepped out onto the concrete to make my way to the front door. I flopped into the passenger seat, or rather my end of the bench, and tugged sharply on the wide ribbon to make sure the locking mechanism worked before I clipped myself in.

Funnily enough, it didn’t make me feel any better.

The sounds of tapping and then snorting from the back didn’t help, either.

Pete took his seat behind the wheel and fired up the engine. He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and bumped up and over the kerb to the protests from the back. I clung onto the door handle with both hands as he then pulled out onto the road without even looking, driving way too fast. Never in my life had I wanted to break the law so badly. Why hadn’t I lied and got us the hell out of there? I stood just as good a chance as Pete of getting us all home safely, probably better, even without a licence.

‘Um … you might want to put the headlights on, Pete.’

‘Oh, yeah. Cheers.’

We lurched so fast around one bend, the snare drum landed with a crash. Instead of slowing down, as any sane guy would, Pete seemed to accept it as a challenge and took the next bend even faster. I jammed my eyes closed but that only seemed to make my other senses stronger, so I knew the exact moment two of the wheels left the road.

I’m going to die.

My eyelids flew open on instinct and the world was on a peculiar, terrifying angle. I didn’t dare breathe out, my lips clamped shut, just in case it made all the difference between rolling the van onto its side and down the bank, and getting all four wheels back on the ground. Finally, we tipped the right way, landing with a thump. I yelped, winded by the force of the impact, but Pete just laughed, and gunned the accelerator even harder.

Enough.

‘Stop!’

‘Huh?’ Pete took his eyes off the road and looked at me. Talk about wired, it was a wonder he hadn’t killed the lot of us already.

‘Stop the van, I want to get out.’ My voice caught in my throat and my eyes implored him to slow down. ‘Please …’

‘It’s fine …’ Pete took one hand off the wheel and stopped looking at the road altogether. I bit back a whimper and tightened my grip on the handle. Pete fumbled around for something, I didn’t know what, unable to tear my gaze off the road whizzing by. Half of a rollup cigarette appeared in front of my nose, the smell telling me there was more than tobacco in there. ‘Here, get a light on this and have a few drags. It’ll help you relax.’

‘Like hell it will.’ I slapped his hand away. Manners weren’t working, time to try a different approach. ‘I said stop the van, Pete. I want to get out. Now.’

‘Fine.’ He slammed on the brakes and brought us to a screeching halt.

I didn’t even have time to react, let alone get into a brace position, but the seatbelt did its job. For a nanosecond, I hadn’t been sure and visions of flying through the windscreen were all too vivid. Curses fired at Pete from the rear as equipment crashed and rolled around the floor. I almost felt sorry for the stoned idiots in the back. Not enough to make me stick around, though. All fingers and thumbs, I fought with the seatbelt, struggling to get free.

Pete banged his knuckles against the metal divide and shouted, ‘Hayden, your lady is leaving. Are you staying or going?’

‘He’s staying,’ I muttered, before Hayden had a chance to answer. The seatbelt finally released me and I wrenched on the handle to open the door. Ignoring the step, I leaped straight down on the road.

Freedom.

Pete revved the engine and made the wheels spin, presumably trying to goad me, but I refused to make eye contact. I turned back just long enough to slam the door shut on the heap of junk, then ran to the side of the road. He peeled away, earning more disgruntled shouts. From the sanctuary of the grass verge, I watched the red tail lights race around the next bend before disappearing, leaving only silence and blackness in its wake.

Pitched into total darkness, I had to wait for my eyes to adjust. I turned in a circle, my chest tightening with each breath. Nothing was familiar. There were no landmarks, no signposts, not one thing to give me a clue to my location. I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a dead phone.

Omigod, what have I done?

Chapter Four
CHASE

Giving up and sinking to the kerb would have been easy—understandable, given the circumstances—but I forced myself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, and followed the road in the direction the van had taken. The silence wasn’t so silent after all. Leaves rustled in the trees overhead, nocturnal creatures scurried in the undergrowth, and I kept hearing a weird squeaking sound, which turned out to be bats flying above me in the starless sky.

Time didn’t mean anything to me—without my phone, I was useless—so I counted paces instead. I didn’t know how true it was, but I’d once read a thing about the Roman Empire and how the army used to count each time the left foot hit the ground. Why it stuck in my mind was anyone’s guess. Since I’d started counting, I’d walked over four thousand steps, so, going by Roman army theory, I’d already walked over two miles. An orange haze glowed some way ahead, spurring me on, and, after a further fifteen hundred steps, the sounds of nature slowly faded away, replaced by faint traffic sounds.

Another two thousand steps—another mile—and I came to a junction but with no road signs to guide me. The new road had street lamps at least, which had to mean civilisation—eventually—but which way to turn? Left or right? I stood on the corner of the junction and I stared in each direction, finally convincing myself that the glow seemed stronger coming from the left. Setting off again, I’d walked only another five hundred and twenty-seven steps when I spotted a bus stop glinting in the distance.

Yes!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t like the modern ones I was used to, with the digital board telling you the time and when the next bus was due. There was a timetable on the wall, though. And that meant I could study the route and finally work out where I was and try to figure out a way home. A car sped past, the first one I’d heard for ages, but I didn’t think anything of it until car doors banged and I realised the car had stopped a little further up the road.

Footsteps drew nearer—two sets of footsteps, in fact—so I shot a look over my shoulder. The street lights cast a dim orange glow, offering just enough light for me to see two men approaching the bus shelter. My body recognised the threat before my eyes had even focused properly. They were slowing down, looking right at me rather than ignoring me, so I turned my attention back to the timetable, hoping they’d get the message and keep walking.

‘Hey, gorgeous,’ one of them said, his voice slurred. ‘What are you doing here all by yourself? You know it’s not safe for a good looking girl like you, you never know what might happen.’

His partner in crime laughed, and not in a friendly way. The sound made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle and stand on end.

Shit!

Every instinct screamed at me to get the hell out of there.

A sudden surge of adrenaline raced through my veins, making my heart beat frantically inside my chest. I couldn’t stay in my Perspex prison. That would be way too dumb. I was like a sitting duck—except that I was standing, not sitting—and, according to the timetable, the next bus might not be along until morning. Keeping my head held high, I thrust my shoulders back and started walking, continuing down the road. I’d have to find a phone box, or a taxi, or flag someone down maybe.

Typical.

The only time I needed a road to be busy, there wasn’t a car in sight. I decided to cross over, just in case I was being silly and letting my overactive imagination run away with me. No such luck: the two men crossed the road behind me as well. Well, I hoped Hayden and the rest of Screwed felt bad when they read the news reports in the morning about the girl they’d abandoned at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere who got attacked and …

Screwed.

I swallowed.

No, I couldn’t think like that. I needed to stay calm, think clearly. Focus.

Breathe …

I can do this.

As a kid, I’d had big dreams of representing Great Britain in the Olympics, but not as a long-distance runner. My cross-country coach had a right go at me once for not trying hard enough, but I hated it—and him, to be honest—as it just wasn’t for me, not by a long shot. I didn’t have the stamina for it and my lungs always felt as if they were about to explode, which all pointed to my having to conserve my energy now, to try to outsmart these two goons rather than leg it and run out of steam.

I picked up my pace instead but, judging by the footsteps, the men had sped up, too. Damn it, I hadn’t even got a good look at their faces, but it was no good turning around now. My breath formed clouds in front of my face as my feet pounded the pavement.

Think, Lena. Think.

The bus timetable had imprinted itself in my brain, so I worked back from the stop I recognised. Finally, I had a good idea where I was, and if I was right, and if I remembered rightly, there was a small shopping precinct somewhere along this road. It couldn’t be too much further away, either, maybe another quarter of a mile or so, and I was pretty sure one of the shops was an Indian takeaway. On a Friday night, surely they would be open late. All I had to do was get there, and then, hopefully, they’d let me use their phone, and everything would be fine.

Ha! Yeah right … nothing to it.

I crossed the road again, putting me on the right side of the road for the shops, and again the goons followed. There was no way it could be a coincidence, no chance at all. They were after me. While I’ll never be a long-distance runner, I’d always been pretty good over short distances, especially sprints. I used to be able to outsprint half of the boys at school, and I got picked to represent the county one year. The two goons didn’t seem to be gaining on me—yet—so, with the element of surprise, I could maybe get enough of a head start to reach the Indian before they caught up with me.

It had to be worth a shot, and I didn’t exactly have any other bright ideas.

The voice of my old track coach roared in my head, yelling at me to get my hands out of my pockets and swing my arms like a pendulum; telling me I’d need to create extra momentum and to use my arms to drive my legs, that and be thankful my favourite Schuhs had only a small heel, which shouldn’t compromise my balance and stride length too much.

A flicker of hope sparked to life when I saw bright lights three hundred metres or so away—I was right—but then I noticed that the footsteps behind me were getting louder, closing down the distance with each stride. It was as if they knew they were running out of time. An attack of nerves brought bile to the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down. It was now or never.

Go!

Another spike of adrenaline hit and I launched myself into a full-on sprint, trying to stay in control and not run like a maniac, waving my arms in the air like a pathetic damsel in distress. I gained only a second or two’s advantage before they started running as well, but it could be enough. My hair flew out behind me as the wind bit at my face, clawing at my lungs from the inside, but my years of training kicked in and I pumped my arms as hard and fast as I could, forcing my legs to match. I opened out my stride pattern, trying to trick my body into thinking it was just another session on the track.

Less than a hundred metres to go, and the lights were getting brighter, but the goons had reached full speed now, too. It was going to be close, too close to call. I was running the race of my life and I couldn’t afford to lose.

Twenty metres … the muscles in my arms and legs were on fire.

Ten metres … the fire spread to my lungs, ready to give up.

Five metres … a hand grabbed my shoulder but I shrugged it off and dodged its grip.

One metre … I ran full pelt towards the door to the takeaway and prayed that it opened.

Both of my feet were off the ground when my outstretched palms hit the glazed door. It burst open with such force, I half expected it to smash, or come off in my hands, wrenched away from its hinges. A loud shriek met my sudden arrival and the lady behind the counter leaped to her feet with a look of pure shock over her face. I carried on sailing through the air, my body in flight, as the floor got alarmingly close.

Then it all got really weird, as though I’d hit a switch to turn everything into slow motion, with my senses on high alert, taking in every sight and sound. I swore I heard laughter from outside, and the sound of a car pulling up, but then the door slammed shut behind me, creating a draught strong enough to scatter paper flyers and menus all over the floor. What a pity there weren’t enough of them to cushion my fall.

My heels connected first, and pain shot up through my ankle and into my shin. For all the traction my footwear gave me, I might as well have stood on a bar of soap. Annoyingly, I’d toyed with the idea of wearing my Converse but decided to go with fashion over comfort in the end. Never again. Out of control, my momentum sent me careening into the counter; my knee took the brunt of the impact, but then I was tumbling backwards.

Instinctively, I reached my hands out behind me to break my fall.

Bright idea, Lena—not!

They landed on the menus and slid backwards and away from me in opposite directions. Spread-eagled and shoulders jarred, I howled in agony. With no way to stop myself, my backside hit the ground first.

Closely followed by the back of my head.

I think I blacked out.

When I opened my eyes there were two people standing over me, making me feel tiny, staring back at the two giants. The lady from behind the counter, and a man who had appeared as if from nowhere, were both looking at me with concerned expressions.

‘Are you OK?’ the lady asked. ‘Can you move?’

Good question.

Can I?

Nothing immediately screamed ‘I am broken’, so I gingerly wiggled the toes on my right foot. Then my left. So far, so good. I tried my fingers. Everything seemed to be working as it should, so I tried turning my head a little to the left—no flashing lights, no attack of the woozies—then back to the right. It would be a miracle if I wasn’t black and blue by morning, but I didn’t think I’d done any serious damage.

Wow!

‘I …’ My throat felt as if I’d swallowed the razors the band had been using and my voice cracked. I coughed to clear the blockage, trying not to wince and jar anything else. ‘I think so.’

‘What the devil were you doing, barging in here like that?’ the man asked, raising his hands into the air and leaving them up there.

‘Chased … two men,’ I blurted, incapable of stringing more than a couple of words together. ‘Had to … get away.’

‘What? Chased?’ The man’s legs disappeared from view, heading in the same direction I’d just launched myself from, and the bell above the door tinkled.

A blast of cold air rolled over my prone body—he’d opened the door—and here I was, lying down and feeling incredibly vulnerable. Everything hurt, but I ignored the throbbing pain and dragged myself up to a sitting position, then turned around, resting my back against the counter. If this was some crazy old Tom and Jerry episode, there would be birds or stars spinning around my head, rather than the entire room whirling in front of my eyes. Motion sickness kicked in big time, despite the fact that I’d barely moved, and I wasn’t going to try again any time soon, given that there was no way I could stand until the room stopped pitching and rotating.

All attention centred on the wide-open doorway, including mine.

A slow prickle of terror crept down my spine and traced a path to my stomach. Had I not already wanted to be sick, my nerves would have done the job, no problem. I really didn’t want to think about what could have happened had the goons caught me: I’d have far bigger issues than a few bruises and bout of nausea to contend with, that was for sure. But what if I’d been wrong about the car picking them up again? What if the men were still out there, waiting for me?

‘Gone,’ the man said from outside. He stepped back inside and closed the door behind him, looking at me intently. ‘Are you sure?’

Yeah right, like I’d make it up just so I could come crashing through their door and nigh on kill myself for no reason. It was how I got my kicks on a Friday night, obviously, who didn’t? I bit down on my tongue and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. What was one more pain when everything else hurt, anyway?

‘They must have carried on running, then,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody out there now.’

Thank goodness for that!

‘You should not be out walking alone this late at night, miss,’ the lady said. She squatted down beside me, her tone half reprimand and half concern, reminding me of my mum.

‘N-no. Didn’t mean to. S-s-stranded,’ I stuttered. Crap, I’d only bitten my tongue, and not even that hard, so what was going on with the rest of my mouth? ‘C-could I b-borrow your phone p-p-please?’

The lady nodded. Her knees cracked as she returned to standing and she passed through the open section of counter right beside me, then returned with a cordless phone in her outstretched arm, holding it at my eye level. Heat scorched my shoulder as I reached up to take it. I held onto it tightly, as if it were my only lifeline, and I stared at it, my mind alarmingly blank.

One of the downsides of having a mobile phone was that I’d got lazy, no longer bothering to memorise phone numbers any more. They were just there, stored in my contacts. To be fair, I can’t remember the last time I had to physically dial a number—even the phone at home had a built-in phone book. Speaking of which, even my own home number was foggy, and I wasn’t usually that stupid, but it wouldn’t be any good to me anyway: Mum and Dad would still be at the Wheatsheaf, and they rarely got home before two o’clock in the morning on quiz night.

The only other number I usually knew off by heart was Gemma’s home number, after years of calling it, which would have been great if I didn’t already know she was hanging out with Ben tonight. She talked about going to the late showing at the cinema, so I’d be amazed if she was home already, but I didn’t stand a chance of reaching anybody else. Trying had to be better than doing nothing, I supposed. I certainly couldn’t sit on the shop floor all night, so I punched in the number.

At least that was the plan, but I misdialled a couple of times, thanks to my trembling fingers, and had to start over each time before I finally got it right and pressed the green button. The dial tone buzzed in my ear, closely followed by a series of bleeps and then a clunk as my call was connected. It rang at the other end; once, twice, three times … Come on, pick up, please. But by the fifth ring my heart was doing the drumming thing inside my ribcage again and I moved my finger to hover over the red button, ready to end the call.

Now what do I do?

‘Hello?’ came a sleepy male voice.

‘Umm … h-hi,’ I don’t how I managed it, especially as I’d already pressed the button halfway down, but I moved my finger away and the line miraculously stayed connected. ‘Is G-gemma th-there p-p-please?’ I stammered, no idea who I was talking to.

‘No, who is this?’

Ah, the voice belonged to Jake, Gemma’s brother; older than we were by a few years, but he was nice, and he hardly ever teased us. He was also the least likely to freak out, which was a huge bonus.

‘H-hi J-Jake.’ If my mouth didn’t start functioning properly soon, I was going to scream. ‘It’s L-l-Lena.’

‘Lena? You sound really weird. I didn’t even recognise you. Gemma isn’t back from Ben’s yet, but she’ll have her mobile on her. Or have you tried that already?’ Jake must have heard the catch in my throat because he didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘Lena, what’s wrong?’

‘I n-need her to p-pick me up.’

‘Will I do?’ Jake asked softly. ‘Where are you? I don’t recognise the number.’

My lip wobbled and my eyes brimmed with tears. Even my elbow was shaking under the strain, and it dawned on me that I was clinging onto my self-control by only the thinnest of threads. A strange chattering sound distracted me from answering, I realised it was my teeth only when violent jerks and shudders seized control over my arms and legs. The handset slipped from my fingers, impossible to hold onto, and landed in my lap, where it bounced and jumped before scuttling to the floor.

The nice Indian lady crouched down beside me and picked it up, putting it to her ear. ‘One second please,’ she said to Jake, before looking at the man and saying something in a language I didn’t understand. Everything was getting a bit disjointed, so she could have been saying the alphabet, or counting from one to ten, and I’m not sure I’d have understood any better. He nodded and disappeared out the back as the lady started talking to Jake again. Again, her words went over my head, but I was mesmerised as this stranger talked to my best friend’s brother on the phone.

Don’t ask me why, I couldn’t explain it if I tried, but it was suddenly the funniest thing I’d ever seen. Giggles bubbled up inside my chest, then came bursting out of my mouth, right at the same time as water started pouring from my eyes. Tears cascaded over my cheeks and ran down my chin before dripping into my lap leaving little dark spots in the denim where they landed, spreading out like ink in blotting paper.

A door opened and closed somewhere behind the counter, and the man reappeared with a blanket in his hands. His eyes widened when he saw me, and he shot an alarmed look at the lady, but she just gave him a pointed nod. Who could blame him? I’d be pretty freaked by me too given the circumstances. He edged closer and I leaned forward enough for him to drape the blanket around my shoulders.

When I say ‘leaned forward’ it was actually more of a flop, and then I started to keel over until his firm hands gripped my shoulders. I could smell spices, curry powder maybe, and I swear I could smell poppadoms. My belly agreed and roared at him, determined to embarrass me even more, but he ignored it and eased me back up against the counter before releasing me slowly, making sure I wasn’t about to wind up on the floor again.

Some part of me was disappointed to miss out on the chance of doing a killer impression of a huge caterpillar emerging from a cocoon, or maybe a beetle flat on its back and trying to right itself. How funny would that have looked?

My laugh took on a crazy tone and I figured this had to be what ‘delirious’ felt like. I was being held prisoner, trapped inside my own body and I had no control whatsoever. I knew the hysterical cackling was coming from me, interspersed with hysterical sobbing too, yet there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. Instead, I snuggled deeper into the soft, warm blanket, and drew it tightly around me. Safely propped up, I felt my eyelids droop, and it was a struggle to force them back open. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d cried myself to sleep, but it would have been the first time I’d done it sitting upright chuckling at random thoughts while shivering hard enough to rattle my bones.

‘No, you must stay awake,’ the lady said, the lower half of her body stepping back into view. I hadn’t actually noticed she’d left, nor that she’d finished speaking to Jake, so she must have gone in the backroom to talk to him or something.

‘W-w-why?’

She squatted down next to me again and pressed a mug of something hot into my hands. I managed to spill half of it down my chin before she’d even fully let go. The hot liquid ran down my neck and soaked into my top—not that it mattered: my jeans were already soaking wet from my crying and my tears showed no sign of letting up.

‘You bumped your head and I think you might have concussion.’ She wrapped her hands over mine, still clinging onto the mug, then held it to my lips. Tipping it carefully, she poured some of the contents into my mouth a drop at a time while the man, her husband I guess—and the chef too, since he was wearing chef whites and a food-splattered apron—busied himself gathering up the scattered flyers and menus, arranging them in neat little piles. ‘Your friend will be here soon,’ she added.

My friend? Did she mean Jake?

Omigod, no way.

Would I class Jake as a friend? He’d always just kind of been there.

I let her carry on feeding me with the hot sweet tea while I thought about it some more, but then the bell above the door did its little tinkly thing again. We all jumped—I think I screamed, too—and the mug crashed onto the floor with the dregs seeping into the seat my jeans. Wind whipped through the open doorway and scattered the tidied piles everywhere again.

Goosebumps erupted over my skin, although I don’t think that had much to do with the cold draft, because my had heart stopped, too. What if the two men had come back for me? What if it was some kind of test to see if I recognised one or both of them? The sickening thing was, they could probably pass me in the street on the way into work tomorrow and I’d be none the wiser. Then where would my oh-so-precious virginity get me?

Hayden suddenly didn’t seem such a bad candidate any more. I wouldn’t be in this mess at all if I’d just gone back to the after-show party with them. At least sex with him wouldn’t have been against my will. All out of adrenaline and too sleepy to move, I drew my legs up to my chest and made myself as small as I could. I pulled the blanket over my head and hid, my shakes finding another gear to shift into until it hurt to even breathe.

Chapter Five
RESCUE

An arm slipped around my shoulders, giving me a shot of courage to risk a peek from beneath the blanket, only to find the chef standing directly in front of me, shielding me from view. All I could see of the new arrival was a pair of legs in dark-grey sweats—or lounge-pants as my dad called them—and scuffed once-white trainers. The figure came further into the room, and my self-appointed sentinels blocked his path as if they were doing some dodgy dance.

‘OK … umm … hi,’ said a confused, and slightly bemused-sounding voice. A voice I instantly recognised with its low, gentle lilt with just a hint of steely determination. ‘I’m here to collect Lena. Where is she, please?’

The lady must have felt me relax and asked, ‘Are you Jake?’

‘Yes, I am,’ Jake replied, sounding scarily grown-up. ‘And you must be the lady I spoke to before?’

‘Very good,’ she said.

Her words worked as effectively as ‘open sesame’ and my guard stepped aside. Jake peered around him, trying to seek me out, searching left and right before zooming in on the huddle that was me on the floor. Still half hidden beneath the blanket, I hadn’t really given any thought to what I must look like from the outside until that particular moment. It must have been proper car-crash viewing judging from Jake’s reaction. His face took on an Oh My God expression, complete with dropping jaw, unable to tear his wide-eyed gaze off me.

‘What the fu— I mean, what happened to you? Have you been …?’ His voice tailed off. I couldn’t let him carry on thinking the worst and just about managed to shake my head. ‘Thank God for that.’

An intoxicating mix of relief and embarrassment proved more than enough to set off my giggle sobs all over again. Jake joined us on the floor, sitting beside me so I was now sandwiched between him and the nice lady, whose name I still didn’t know. Together they helped me to drag the blanket back from over my head, my muscles protesting at the movement.

For the next few minutes, the only sound was my … I didn’t really know what to call it but ‘hysterics’ probably worked best. Nobody said anything, leaving me to get on with it, get it out of my system, I guess. When my fit of whatever-the-hell-they-were finally finished, the lady got up and moved away, leaving a chill down the entire left side of my body.

‘You are our guests,’ she said, looking down at me and Jake. ‘Please stay as long as you require.’ Jake and I watched as she crossed the shop floor, flipping the sign over on the door to read CLOSED. She released the latch with a satisfying clunk, locking us all in, then turned back to face us. ‘We will be out back, but please call for us if you need anything.’

‘Thank you,’ replied Jake on my behalf when I said nothing, and then it was just the two of us.

His arm replaced hers around my shoulders and I leaned into him, my head resting against him as he reached his other arm across the front to hold me in place. We sat like that for a while, in complete silence, his head resting gently against the top of mine. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothed me, his chest rising and falling with each breath, and I began to relax. So much so, a deep sigh escaped my lungs.

‘Hey, no going to sleep, d’you hear?’

A grunt was the best response I could muster. It was all well and good being told not to go to sleep, but not so easy to put into practice when I felt as if I’d gone ten rounds with Nicola Adams and Amir Khan.

‘I could get used to this mute version, you know. Just think how much quieter the house would be, especially if it rubs off on Gemma, too.’

‘Hmph!’ I tried to shrug his arm off and sit up under my own steam, but my snappy retort turned into more of a hiss and I collapsed back onto him.

‘Christ, Lena! Are you hurt?’

Too busy biting back a yelp and in no fit state to try moving anything else, I just about tilted my head to look up at him and blinked twice.

‘Where?’ Jake had flicked into efficient first-aider mode, so I knew he’d seen the flash of panic in my eyes, which were now filling up with yet more tears. ‘Or should I be asking you what doesn’t hurt?’

Despite the aches and pains, the corners of my mouth turned upwards for the first time in forever. OK, slight exaggeration, but it could be ten-thirty or midnight for all I knew—I’d lost all track of time.

Jake grinned in return. ‘At least your smile isn’t broken, but can I check the rest of you? Make sure there’s nothing serious before I try and move you?’

He took my lack of grunt as a green light, and propped me back up against the counter in order to take up position in front of me. For someone with such large hands, he had a surprisingly light touch as he reached first for my right leg, then my left, until they were both extended. Starting with my right foot, he eased off my shoe and began a very thorough examination, noting every wince and sharp intake of breath as if cataloguing them.

Next was my upper body, and I wasn’t altogether sure how I felt about that. I just had to keep reminding myself that it was only Jake. It worked though, I didn’t resist when he brought me back against his warm, hoody-covered chest. He lifted the blanket off me altogether and let it fall to the floor, then examined my shoulders and back. When he reached my head, I’d slipped into some kind of daze-like trance, a bit like the time mum had let me go with her for a massage.

‘Aside from a possible sprained ankle and the whopping great bump on the back of your head, I can’t find any major damage.’ Jake’s voice woke me up again, and brought me back to my painful reality. ‘You’re going to be covered in bruises for a while, though,’ he said, leaning me back against the counter. ‘Do you want to try walking? Standing, even?’

‘Umm … I guess.’ Hallelujah! My mouth seemed to be working again, even if no other part of my body was willing to try. ‘Can I put my socks and shoes back on first?’

‘Not yet. I need to check out that ankle first.’

‘Right. Here goes, then.’ I planted my bare feet on the cold floor, forced to stifle a groan as I did the same with my hands, all the while trying not to grind my teeth or show too much discomfort.

‘Hey, wait, let me help.’ Jake leaped to his feet and reached for my hands. I placed them into his open palms, huge compared with mine, and his paint-spattered fingers closed around my wrists, ready to haul me upright. ‘On the count of three?’

‘OK.’ I even risked a slight nod.

Come on, I can do this, nothing to it, right?

By the time I tuned back into what Jake was saying, he was already on ‘two’ and then whoosh, I was soaring upwards and trying to balance on my own two feet. Badly. The air must have been thinner higher up, because I went all light-headed and swayed precariously. Jake let go of one of my hands to grasp my upper arm.

‘Whoa, steady there,’ he said, staring right into my eyes. ‘Maybe not, huh? You’re all floppy like a rag doll.’

Yep, he nailed it. That’s exactly what I felt like. ‘I’m just a bit dizzy, I’ve not moved for a while. Give me a sec.’

‘No, I don’t think so, Lena, you’re turning green.’

He dropped my hand and grabbed me directly beneath my armpits, with his long fingers spanning my shoulder blades and his thumbs hooked around the front. No no no … Of all the things to be worrying about, sweaty pits shouldn’t have even made it onto the list, maybe not even the reserve list, but right at that precise moment it was all I could think about. I mean, eww! A girl has to have some standards, right?

I silently prayed for my deodorant to be still working and chanced a peek at Jake’s face as he carried me like a child towards the chairs in the makeshift waiting area. He didn’t look particularly revolted as he lowered me carefully onto the seat, and he didn’t instantly let go of me as if I were some kind of freak or leper the second my butt hit the seat.

‘I’d better take you to A&E, get you checked out properly,’ he said, squatting down to be at my eye level before dropping his hands.

‘No, please,’ I blurted. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need a hot bath and a nice soft bed.’

Jake just looked at me, inspected me even, but his X-ray vision must have been faulty because he shook his head and let out an exasperated sigh. ‘OK,’ he said, raking his fingers through his hair for good measure. Crap, he really must be worried: he didn’t even attempt to turn my words into some kind of innuendo. ‘Do you feel up to speaking to the police?’

His words hit me like a bucket of cold water and I froze. At a loss for an answer that didn’t involve a lot of swearing and pleading, I swallowed deeply and stared back at him. It was fascinating how his dark eyebrows dipped in the middle, one slightly higher than the other, and the way his gaze pierced mine as if trying to do some kind of mind transfer.

‘You’ve got to report this, Lena, so they can look for the creeps that chased you.’

‘But I didn’t even get a good look at them,’ I wailed, appalled by the whiny pitch to my voice.

‘It doesn’t matter, the police can be the lookout for them at least.’

‘Jeez, Jake, when did you get so … so goddamn sensible?’

‘Right about the same time I thought of my little sister.’ He rose to his full height, clearly agitated, and took a couple of steps away from me. He bent at the waist to retrieve my socks and shoes from the floor, then turned back and fixed me with a haunted look. ‘She’s out there right now, and I know for a fact she can’t run anywhere near as fast as you.’

My stomach lurched and I sucked in a deep breath, blinking in quick succession as an echo of the earlier terror prickled over my skin again. He had a point. A damn good one too. Of course he’d be thinking of Gemma, why wasn’t I? Shock maybe, but I knew I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her.

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ My voice had lost its whine but it had lost its volume, too, coming out all timid and weak. ‘You’re absolutely right, I’ve got to do it.’

‘Yeah, you really have,’ he said, speaking much more softly and matching the gentleness of his actions as he replaced my socks.

‘My folks are gonna freak,’ I said, wishing I had something to hold onto. ‘They’re never going to let me out again when they find out. I don’t suppose I can call the police from your place instead?’

Jake didn’t say anything for a few painstaking moments and avoided my gaze. I found myself holding my breath even though it really hurt. ‘You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.’ Phew! ‘If your folks are the same as mine, they won’t be home for a while yet and I don’t think you should be on your own tonight. I’m sure Gemma will be up for an impromptu sleepover, and that way she could keep an eye on you, make sure you’re OK.’

‘Thanks, I think,’ I said, forcing a smile when I actually wanted to hug him, but that took too much movement. ‘If she goes all mother hen on me, I’m holding you to blame, you know that, right?’

Jake hit me with a smirk, a definite glint in his eye. ‘Hey, I’m not making any promises. You know Gemma …’

‘Oh God …’ I said, feeling better by the second.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here and leave these nice people to close up and go home. My van’s just out front.’

‘Yeah, good idea.’

He raised his chin and projected his voice over my shoulder. ‘We’ll be off now,’ he called out, loud enough to make my ears throb.

The lady immediately bustled through the door, reminding me of my mum again.

‘I’m really sorry to put you to so much trouble,’ I said, my face warming as a blush crept into my cheeks.

‘Nonsense,’ she said, wafting a hand at me. ‘Our youngest daughter is not so much older than you. We were happy to help.’

I wanted to ask who her daughter was, but now didn’t seem like the right time to ask. ‘Thank you,’ I said instead. ‘Oh, and I’ll be phoning the police as soon as I get back.’

The lady smiled approvingly. ‘Good girl.’ Definitely a mum-tone, it wasn’t the slightest bit patronising the way she said it. ‘Let me get the door for you,’ she said, already on her way and making the bell do its tinkly thing again.

Jake took it as his cue to spring into action. He helped me back up to standing, then looped one arm around my shoulders for support. ‘Ready?’

Am I?

Butterflies took flight in my gut. The big bad world was waiting for me out there. No time like the present I suppose.

‘Ready,’ I bluffed, satisfied to hear my voice sounding far more confident than I was feeling. I still didn’t know how I was going to walk out of there, as in physically, without all the mental crap on top. Especially with no shoes on. The next thing I knew, Jake had hooked his other arm behind my knees and lifted me into the air so I lay cradled in his arms. He was strong, I had to hand it to him. He’d made it look easy too.

After some careful manoeuvring through the narrow doorway, we were back outside. I instantly slipped into red-alert mode, turning my head left and right to scan the area the best I could. Nothing. No cars parked up nearby, and the road was deserted, with only a single set of tail lights somewhere off in the distance. My brain tricked me into seeing things in the shadows that weren’t really there, turning me into a nervous wreck by the time we got to Jake’s van, parked exactly where he’d said it would be. If it hadn’t been for Jake and his steadying hold, I think I’d have turned around and run straight back to the takeaway.

‘Damn,’ Jake muttered, under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear and strained enough for me to tense in his arms. I think I might have whimpered too. ‘Sorry,’ he said, shooting me a sheepish look. ‘I’m just annoyed with myself. I forgot to take my keys out of my pocket to give to you to hold, so I’m going to have to put you down.’

‘Oh …’

‘Actually, scratch that, just hang onto my neck. It won’t take more than a second, OK?’

‘OK.’ I said, trying to get a good grip so I didn’t plummet to the ground, which looked quite a long way away from up at Jake’s chest height.

To help me out, he leaned me up against the side of the van, the chill coming off the cold metal making me shiver, as he fished in his jacket pocket. Orange lights flashed, reflecting off the shop windows as the doors unlocked with a mechanical whirring sound, closely followed by a clunk as Jake yanked on the handle to open the passenger door as wide as it would go.

He put his arm back around my shoulders and adjusted me so that I was in line with the seat, then gently lowered me into it. I looked over his shoulder towards the takeaway and saw the lady standing in the doorway, with my shoes in her hands, and she had been joined by the chef man, too.

‘Can you come back soon, let us know how you are getting on?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I will,’ I said, touched by the kindness of these two complete strangers, making a mental note to get them a card or something. Jake sprang back up to his full height and reached for the door. ‘Bye,’ I called out before the door completely closed. ‘And thanks again.’

Jake dashed around to the driver’s side, collecting my shoes along the way, but it was never going to be quick enough. I was on my own and it scared me. Blood rushed through my ears as my heart rate sped up, my throat tightening with each ragged breath. Ridiculous as it sounds, panic had started to build in my chest the moment he had become cut off from me, as if he was the source of my bravery, and it didn’t matter one bit that I could still see him through the glass.

Gemma would have come and got me if she’d been home, and she’d have done her best, but it would have been like the blind leading the blind. Plus, she’s even smaller than I, inheriting her mum’s delicate stature rather than her dad’s brawn, and now Jake’s too, I guess. He used to look a bit weedy when I first started hanging out with Gemma but he’d filled out loads in the last few years.

To be honest, Gemma and I would probably still be stuck in the takeaway, and there’s no way I’d have felt as safe out in the open if it weren’t for Jake. A gust of wind swirled inside the van as he opened the driver’s door to get in. He turned his head to look at me but I couldn’t let him see me in the state I’d got into, so I looked away and reached for the seatbelt.

‘Hey, let me do that.’ His hand closed over the top of mine to stop me, then drew it back onto my lap, pausing there for a moment before letting go to grab my seatbelt.

As he reached across me, I caught a trace of his scent, something I’d never really registered before. Crazy when you consider I’d been practically draped over him since the minute he’d shown up, so I put it down to sharing the close confines of the van. I doubt I could put into words how grateful I was that he had been the one to answer my call.

‘Thanks, Jake,’ I murmured as his deft fingers clipped me in. After everything he’d done for me tonight, how could I not class him as a friend? ‘And I don’t just mean for helping me with the seatbelt.’

‘No problem, Lena,’ he said, drawing away from me to see to his own seatbelt, yet his scent lingered around me; part body wash and part deodorant as if he’d not long showered, and part musky odour that I now knew was unmistakably Jake. ‘I’d say “any time” but I’m hoping you don’t make a habit of needing to be rescued.’

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life, his hand accidentally brushing my knee as he reached for the gearstick. With one final wave to the Indian couple, he reversed onto the road and pulled away, leaving the takeaway behind as we made our way back to his place. Neither of us seemed to know what to say, so we travelled in relative silence, listening to the radio. I sighed with relief when I saw a little purple Corsa on the driveway.

Gemma had got home OK.

Speak of the devil, she came flying out of the front door before we’d even parked up. She wrenched the van door open the moment Jake cut the engine.

‘What the hell, Lena? What’s going on?’ If it was possible to sound relieved, ticked off and happy at the same time, then Gemma was a total pro. ‘I got back from Ben’s and found a cryptic note from Jake telling me he’d gone to fetch you.’

‘Go easy on her, Gemma,’ Jake said, unclipping both of our seatbelts. ‘Lena’s had a rough night.’

‘So why did she call you, not me?’

They continued their conversation as if I weren’t there, which suited me just fine. The journey had taken a lot out of me, and, although Jake had driven really gently around the bends, I ached all over.

‘She didn’t. I just happened to be here when the phone rang.’ Jake got out of the van and walked around the front to my side. ‘I take it you’re OK to have a guest tonight?’

‘Well, duh. Always! She practically lives here half the time, anyway.’ Back under the spotlight, Gemma eyed me up as if hoping to find the answers written on my body. Maybe they were: the bruises might be showing by now. ‘Umm … Lena, do you realise you have blood in your hair?’

‘What? No. Eww!’ Like an moron, I reached up to pat my head without thinking and suffered for it. ‘Ow!’

Gemma saw me wince, and watched me drop my arm limply back into my lap. ‘Can somebody please—’ she drew the word out so it sounded more like pleeeeeeaaaaaaaase ‘—tell me what the fuck is going on.’

‘Language, Gem—’

‘I will, I promise,’ I said, cutting off Jake’s reprimand while also trying to get my breathing back under control. ‘I really want to get the call to the police over with, too.’

‘The police?’ Gemma’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind her fringe. ‘C’mon, you’re killing me here.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. You’re sure you don’t mind me crashing with you tonight?’

‘Of course I don’t mind, but I hope you weren’t planning on going to sleep any time soon.’

Jake jumped in before I could reply. ‘I’m banking on it,’ he said, earning questioning looks from both me and Gemma, but he ignored us and bent down, sliding one arm beneath my knees, and the other around my back. ‘Do you think you can you hook your arm round my neck for me again?’

‘Again?’ Gemma asked. ‘What do you mean “again”?’

‘Like this?’ I asked, blanking Gemma out for the moment and linking my left arm around Jake.

‘Yeah, that’s perfect.’ He hoisted me out of the van and cradled me in his arms once more, making me feel like a rag doll all over again. ‘Could you grab Lena’s shoes and then close the door for me please, Gem?’

He set off towards the house without waiting for Gemma’s reply. Her face was a picture, though. She should think herself lucky my phone was dead, which meant no camera, or she’d have been a sure-fire hit on the Internet. It was only because I was still peeping at her over Jake’s shoulder that I saw it: that trace of something else, a certain tightness around her mouth and a barely-there narrowing of her eyes. She was not amused, looking as if she was ticked off at me, or maybe Jake.

The sound of a car door slamming and running footsteps over the gravel meant she soon caught up with us, making me wonder if she didn’t want to let me and Jake out of her sight. I’d expected Jake to put me down once we got inside the hallway of the house I consider to be my second home, but instead he held onto me, not even slightly out of breath. He carried me through to the sitting room at the back of the house, formerly their playroom, then set me down on the sofa.

Gemma immediately sat beside me and helped strip my coat off, dumping it on the floor next to her. She took hold of my hand, as Jake mumbled something about tea and blankets, then, the moment he was out of earshot, she pounced.

‘I’ve got just one question before he comes back.’ Uh-oh! Here it comes. ‘I know for a fact you went to a gig with Hayden tonight, so how come you ended up in Jake’s van? With him carrying you around like some sort of damsel in distress? Did Hayden do something? Did he hurt you?’

So much for ‘one question’. I flicked a glance at her expression to try to gauge her mood, but she looked her normal ‘best friend’ self again, presumably having got over what whatever her problem with me or Jake was.

‘Not really—well, not like that, anyway.’ I stared down at our joined hands. ‘He spent the entire night stoned out of his mind and turned into a right creep.’

‘Sounds like another lucky escape, huh?’

I froze, all except for the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms, which now stood on end. I tried to take a deep breath to calm myself down but it got stuck somewhere between my throat and my lungs, coming out in a strange grunting sound. Gemma looked panic-stricken. Her words had hit me hard, slapping away the last of my brave face, but she had no way of knowing the truth of what she was saying. She slipped off the sofa and knelt in front of me.

‘What is it?’ she asked, taking hold of my other hand as well, so she now held both of mine, her thumbs rubbing across the backs of my hands. ‘What did I say?’

‘It’s OK,’ I choked out. ‘You weren’t to know.’

‘Know what?’ The tone of her voice and the look in her eye pleaded with me to explain. There was a lump to rival Mount Everest in the back of my throat, but I tried my best.

‘Pete, the guy driving the van, was off his head and tried to kill us all. I made him stop the van so I could get out, but then …’ It was no good. I couldn’t say another word even if I’d wanted to, not with the onslaught of a coughing fit, but Gemma refused to be distracted by something as minor as me choking to death.

‘You got out and then …?’

Jake timed his return perfectly. ‘And that’s when two fuckers chased her and scared the goddamn shit out of her,’ he said, his tone filled with hate and aggression.

To hear him cursing as if he were back on the building site only made the whole ordeal even more shocking. Gemma and I exchanged matching glances, both of us stunned by the words that hung in the air. This from the guy who was always so determined to watch his language around us, constantly pulling us up on it if he heard us swearing. His knuckles had turned white around the mug he was carrying, gripping it so hard I was amazed it didn’t smash in his hand.

‘Oh, my God! Is that true?’ Gemma wailed as comprehension dawned, transforming her expression to one of horror.

She burst into life as if a rocket had been lit under her backside and flung herself at me, kind of like in those bodyguard movies, when there’s a shooter somewhere in the room, turning herself into a human shield. I had to clamp down hard on my tongue to stop from yelling at her as she smacked into several of my bruised bits, effectively tackling me and pinning me to the back of the sofa, but I could do nothing about the whimper that escaped.

Jake came to my rescue yet again. ‘Gem, could you get Lena’s phone charging and send a text to her mum, let them know she’s staying here tonight? Maybe make it sound like it’s come from Lena, though.’

‘Sure thing.’ Gemma clambered off me awkwardly and waited expectantly. ‘So where is it?’ she prompted.

‘Oh. It’s in my coat,’ I said, angling my head to where it had been dumped. ‘Left pocket, but I think it might be broken.’

Gemma shoved her hand into the pocket and withdrew my pride and joy. I couldn’t look. My phone was like an extension of me. Even if my folks took pity on me and replaced it, I’d lose all my contacts and photos and stuff.

‘No, it looks fine,’ she said. ‘Open your eyes, Lena, and see for yourself.’

I settled for opening just one, to see Gemma holding out the miraculously unscathed looking touch-screen phone. Great! Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for my purple, woollen blazer, which she still clutched in her other hand. I opened my other eye and stared, eyeing the patch of dried blood smeared over the back of it. Not so great.

Gemma saw my smile fade and followed my gaze. ‘Oh, no, your beautiful coat.’

Ignoring my body’s protests, I reached up to inspect my head, expecting to find a whopping great hole in it for there to be so much blood. I didn’t find one, though, just a matted clump of hair, a bump, and what felt like little more than a scratch.

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