Diary of a Crush: Sealed With a Kiss (9 page)

‘Firstly, stop scratching, Edie,’ Poppy said angrily. ‘And secondly, we are going to rock. We don’t need the approval of snotty London people and we look…’

‘Dylan!’ Atsuko moaned. ‘Turn up the radio, we can still hear Poppy.’

Of course that sent Poppy into a mammoth sulk, Dylan was already sulking, Grace and Jack were, well being Grace and Jack, me, Atsuko and Poppy were manic and Jesse was oblivious to it all.

Weirdly, the gig didn’t suck too much. But what happened afterwards did.

We decided to stay to see the other bands even though Dylan was muttering under his breath and clenching his jaw a lot. Clench, unclench. Clench, unclench. It was like a metronome stuck in his cheek. I decided to let him get on with it and wandered off to chat to the guitarist in the other support band who’d been wanting to have a tedious muso conversation about effects pedals. Boys, eh? All of a sudden I felt a hand wedge itself under my armpit and pull me away.

‘Dylan!’ I hissed. ‘Get off!’ I tried digging my heels in but Dylan had obviously got in touch with his inner caveman and was having none of it.

‘We’re going, I’m bored and I’m not staying here to watch people hit on my girlfriend,’ Dylan snarled, dragging me vanwards while the others straggled along behind.

Dylan ignored me all the way back to Manchester but ended up having to stay over because he’d left his keys at home. We lay in bed, not talking or touching and I couldn’t help but wonder if Dylan was bored and this whole London thing was just an excuse to dump me.

I scratched my arm and turned over.

‘Edie, you awake?’ Dylan said, rolling over and switching on the lamp.

I shielded my eyes. ‘Well I am now.’

‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m bad and I’m moody and you don’t deserve it,’ he murmured.

I felt icy fingers of fear trace a path down my back.

‘Are you about to split up with me?’ I hiccuped.

Dylan sat up and looked at me incredulously. ‘Of course not! Come here.’

He pulled me towards him and wrapped me up in his arms. ‘It’s just I know I should be making the most of the next few months but it’s hard. I feel like you’re slipping away from me.’

‘I’m so not!’ I insisted. ‘I’m still here and even when I’m not, I will be. Hang on, that didn’t come out right.’

I felt Dylan chuckle. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘It’s just we seem to be having arguments all the time lately.’ I sat up and heard Dylan mutter as one of my elbows accidentally jabbed him. ‘Are you getting bored with me?’

Dylan shifted so he was curled around me, his head on my tummy. ‘You’re never boring,’ he said feelingly. ‘Never. I just wish sometimes that we could stay the same forever. Like I could pause us so we’re just stuck in the moment because when I look ahead there’s all this change.’

‘I know. But if we love each other, we should be able to make it, you know? You do still love me, right?’

‘God, you know I do. Never loved anyone like I love you. You’re my sunshine girl,’ he whispered fiercely and I felt something tight suddenly give way in my chest. Like, I’d been holding my breath for too long and all of a sudden I could exhale. Sometimes Dylan knows exactly the right thing to say.

‘Yeah, well I love you too,’ I mumbled far more prosaically. ‘Though you’ve been behaving like a bit of a jerk lately.’

I twisted away from him so I could get at a particularly itchy spot on my ankle.

‘Will you stop scratching that flaming rash if I promise to stop being such an idiot?’ Dylan asked me.

‘I don’t know,’ I mock pouted. ‘It really itches.’

‘Maybe I could help you with that?’ Dylan said with a mock leer and when I squealed and made like I was going to get as far away from him as humanly possible, he pounced on me.

I think the coolest thing is just about to happen. Just going to meet D and some art boy mates of his who are on this exchange from the US and we shall see!

Yay! Instead of forking out vast sums of money to hire a car and then fork out even more vast sums of money for every mile that we do in it, we’re getting a car for nothing! Nought pence! Nada! Nix!

It’s a little bit complicated but one of the American art boys, Lewis, has this little sister who’s going to university in New Mexico this autumn and they need someone to drive his other brother’s car from New York to LA where the family lives. And it looks like it’s going to be us.

D has to fax over his driving licence and passport to their dad but it seems like they were going to pay this company to drive the car anyway. It doesn’t hurt that they’ve been letting Lewis kip on the lads’ sofa for a week after his girlfriend kicked him out. And it simples things up so much. Like, now we know that we have to start in New York and finish in LA. It’s only the bit in the middle that’s the problem.

Plus, we’re saving a stack of cash.

D and I had Sunday lunch with my oldsters today. It’s getting to be a regular occurrence. I think Mum has a bit of a crush on D, which is actually too ewww to dwell on. She lets him call her Alice and everything.

We took round our guidebooks and the draft of the itinerary for Dad to have a look at, which so was not a good idea.

When I told him that we were borrowing a car, he sniffed and said, ‘Oh dear.’

And when I tried to explain that I’d planned out our route ten times, he brought up the thorny topic of the D grade I got for my Geography GCSE and then repeated, ‘Oh, once again, dear.’ Being a considerate kind of girl, I left him and Dylan to it. Mum and I curled up on the sofa and watched
West Side Story
because men they do the boring map stuff and women they watch the musicals and sniffle in the sad parts.

Eventually Dad and Dylan appeared with a new draft of the itinerary, which apparently is far more logical and time-sensitive than the one we had done. Whatever!

Mum muttered something about maybe getting me a credit card for emergencies but I think she regretted it when I sat bolt upright and squealed!

‘Can it be a gold card? Or, oooh, a platinum card? Will it have my name on it? What’s going to be my credit limit?’

‘I said maybe,’ and the colour had drained out of her face as I subsided back on to the cushions.

‘Was it the squealing that made you change your mind?’ I asked but she just patted my hand.

Dylan and I were looking for a new thrill and now we’ve found it. Bingo! Cheap drinks, chunky felt-tips and the opportunity to win cash prizes. Plus we are the hottest, youngest and prettiest people in the place by about fifty years. What more could a girl want?

We haven’t told anyone else, it’s our guilty secret that once a week we like to spend serious down time among grannies wearing velour leisure suits.

So there we are sidling out of the Mecca, planning to blow our winnings on a Chinese when who do we see but Grace and Jack coming towards us.

‘What are you doing here?’ Grace and I both asked each other guiltily.

‘Oh Edie needed the loo so we popped in to the bingo hall,’ said Dylan blithely. He’s a shameless liar. It’s one of the things I do so love about him.

‘So what
are
you two doing together?’ I asked again. ‘In this lonely, none-of-us-ever-come-here part of town.’

‘We bumped into each other…’

‘Somebody at college is having a party.’

I smirked. ‘Do you want a minute to get your stories straight?’

But Dylan took pity and dragged me off when it became obvious that Grace and Jack weren’t going to spill.

‘Stop tormenting them,’ he admonished me as we tucked into our crispy aromatic duck and egg fried rice.
 

I pulled a face. ‘I’m not. I just want them to admit that they like each other and, I don’t know, engage in a mild PDA.’
 

Dylan rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath about meddling and how no good could come of it.
 

I think Grace and Jack are stalking me. I was in the music shop picking up some new strings when I bumped into Jack eyeing up guitars he couldn’t possibly afford. He looked at me nervously and tried to hide behind a speaker stack.

‘It’s OK, Dylan’s told me off,’ I said. ‘I’m not even going to mention
her
name.’
 

At the non-mention of Grace’s name, Jack went all glassy eyed and asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee.
 

It took him two hours and five cappuccinos to finally spit out that he fancied Grace but wasn’t sure how she felt about him and I’d worked that out thirty seconds in. He looked at me expectantly.
 

‘Be bold,’ I cried boldly. ‘Stop pussyfooting about and let her know. Dylan and I wasted two years faffing about.’
 

Yes, it’s very easy to be a relationship guru when you’ve been through what I have.
 

Then later on Dylan and I were taking advantage of a Poppy and Shona-free flat to get horizontal on the sofa when the doorbell rang. We carried on kissing furiously and grabbing at each other’s clothes but someone was leaning on the flaming bell. It was Grace.
 

‘I’m so confused,’ she managed to bite out before plonking herself down between the pair of us.
 

Dylan and I had to make concerned faces while Grace whinged on for several millennia about how miserable Jack was making her because he didn’t seem to be interested. I was close to jumping out of the window to get away from her when I heard Dylan inviting Grace to dinner.
 

‘I can’t take a repeat performance,’ I moaned once we finally got rid of her.
 

Dylan arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh Edie you have no faith in me,’ he said in a mock-hurt way. ‘We invite Jack too, fill their faces with food, dim the lights and stand well back. It won’t fail.’
 

And he says that I interfere?
 

Dylan’s cunning plan also involved sticking me with the cooking, so I decided to kick it old skool.

The fish fingers and mashed potato surprise might not have been up to Jamie Oliver’s standards but made everyone laugh. True, Grace and Jack didn’t actually talk to each other but they seemed pretty chilled. I couldn’t work out how they managed to make arrangements to hang out with each other outside bingo halls if they never actually spoke to each other or made eye contact. It was very strange. Dylan obviously thought it was too as he was staring at them like they were a particularly mesmerising art installation. Until I kicked him. Plan B couldn’t come a moment too soon.
 

‘Time for Twister!’ I insisted firmly once everyone had finished the strawberry Angel Delight.
 

Dylan groaned and I shot him a look that suggested there would be no smoochies if he didn’t look enthusiastic.
 

‘Great! Twister! My joy is now complete,’ he drawled with an entirely uninfectious lack of enthusiasm. ‘I think me and Edie will go first.’
 

Grace and Jack bonded bigtime as they manned the controls and told Dylan off for cheating and tickling me. They were all shouty and giggly and so cute together that if I hadn’t been full of fish fingers and Angel Delight I’d have eaten them all up.
 

I expected great things from their turn on the Twister mat but the minute they had to contort round each other, things got all stifled again. Grace was bending backwards with her leg stuck out and Jack was leaning over her when Dylan spun the wheel and ordered Jack to move his left leg to blue. But as he was trying to move it, he wobbled and he shook and finally he collapsed
…
 
on top of Grace.
 

It was so not of the good. They lay there for a second, tried to catch their breaths and then Grace’s fists drummed furiously on Jack’s back.
 

‘Get off me,’ she shrieked. Jack scrambled to his feet and was out of the front door before I had time to blink. And Grace raced to the bathroom and locked herself in.
 

Oh dear.
 

I’m giving up on this match-making thing. It’s really not worth the aggravation or slaving away over a hot stove for twenty minutes.
 

Dylan’s been asked to exhibit at this young artists’ exhibition thingy. It’s a mucho big deal. Apparently, he’s the first undergraduate to ever be asked to exhibit. I am so proud of him.

He’s decided that he wants to do all these photos of me and Poppy for the exhibition. I thought this would mean that Poppy and I could plaster ourselves in make-up and wear our most frou-frou frocks but Dylan keeps shoving his lens in our just-woken-up faces and encouraging us to do suicidal things like cycle towards him down steep hills on windy days.
 

Well, it makes him happy, the little freak.
 

Dylan came to our band rehearsal and instead of lugging amps around and generally making himself useful he made me forget chords as he spent half an hour trying to shoot my hand and the ‘I am a princess’ sticker on my guitar.

‘Can you move your hand faster?’ he shouted at me while I tried to master the rather difficult bridge (muso term for the linky bit between the chorus and the verse) in
Living In The 0161
.
 

‘Stop it,’ I hissed.
 

‘Oh, do that again,’ Dylan mumbled, adjusting his focus. ‘It looks good when you glare.’
 

‘Poppy!’
 

‘Don’t distract her, arsewipe. I know it’s pretty easy to do but don’t.’
 

Poppy draped her arm around my shoulders and gave Dylan one of her patented death stares while I smirked at him. Dylan was undeterred and clicked away. ‘Oh, that’s great. It’s very, y’know, girl gang.’
 

Then Poppy went really red and then really pale before taking Dylan’s neck in her patented Vulcan grip (all I know is it hurts) and frogmarched him off the premises while I heard Darby say to Atsuko, ‘Dylan’s turning into a total art geek.’