Gemini Rising (11 page)

‘Do you want to wear my black vest top with that?’

‘Oh my God, Elyse – that outfit looks amazing!’

In fact, it looks
so
amazing that I’d probably hate Elyse if she weren’t so cool about everything – offering to lend me all her clothes, doing my make-up like a professional, constantly topping up all our Diet Cokes with slugs of vodka from the massive bottle she smuggled in with her — thanks to Gareth Next Door, of course. It’s not her fault that guys who look like Jago want to go out with her – I mean, it’s not like she even said yes.

‘Anyone need another top-up?’ she asks, swigging straight from the bottle and making a face. ‘Hey, turn it up – I love this song, one of Trouble Every Day’s finest!’

‘Yeah, I’ll have some more.’ Nathalie holds out her empty glass.

My eyes automatically swivel towards the closed bedroom door, but I resolutely look away. I’m seventeen, after all, and my mum and Pete are all the way downstairs. Anyway, I’m sure they wouldn’t really mind – even if they’ve warned me in the past to stick to beer or wine and a maximum of three drinks when I’m out, my mum’s always knocking back the gin so she’s hardly one to talk.

At least Nathalie seems comparatively comfortable, as we’re at my house for once. I try to tell myself that’s one less thing for me to worry about, even if she isn’t behaving quite like herself.

‘Elyse?’ she calls out. ‘I’ll wear that black dress if you’re not going to…’

‘Really? Well, OK, if you want.’

Nathalie huddles in the corner with her back to the room as she takes off her own pretty smock dress and wriggles into the tight black material, then turns around looking pleased with herself.

‘Wow, you actually look hot,’ even Shimmi concedes.

‘We all do,’ Elyse agrees, not looking. ‘Let’s get in front of the mirror and take some photos.’

We pose, arms around each other, and snap away on our phones until we all eventually collapse laughing, unable to suck our cheeks in any longer.

‘OK, are we ready? Let’s bolt!’

Elyse leads the way, even at my house.

‘Hang on a sec.’ Nathalie ducks back and grabs her drink, downing it in one. Then, just for good measure, she polishes off mine as well.

‘Easy, tiger,’ Elyse smirks. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’

Elyse hauls her hefty handbag over her shoulder and Nathalie runs after her along with Mel. Before she can follow and I miss my chance, I grab Shimmi’s arm and pull her back for a second.

‘Shimmi, do you think—?’

‘I know exactly what you’re going to ask me, and the answer is “no”. I do not think we should be worrying about Nathalie.’

‘Yeah, but—’

‘I know, I know. With her
history
and all. But what can we do? We’re not her babysitters. Let’s just see how it goes, OK?’

‘OK…’

Shimmi gives me a shove, and we both go scrambling down the stairs, past my family, and out into the night.

Elyse was obviously right that The Attic is The Place to go. The queue stretches around the corner and the music – which, distorted and from this distance, sounds quite good – is audible from out here.

We take our places at the end of the line, pushing past the hordes of slightly scary-looking people. In spite of my promise to Elyse, I find my eyes scanning the crowd hopefully – but it’s a mass of unrecognisable gothy girls and punked-up boys, all a bit older than us.

‘Elyse,’ I hiss. ‘Are you absolutely sure we’ll get in?’

‘Of course we will. I’ve got this watertight fake ID that Gareth got me. Works like a charm every time.’

‘But the rest of us don’t have anything. And I look like I’m twelve.’

‘Don’t worry – as long as one of us has it, we’ll all be fine. That’s how it works. Trust me.’

We shuffle along the pavement so slowly we’re hardly moving, but eventually we find ourselves near the front. All I can see inside is a doorway blocked by a massive security guard. As I’m pushed forward, I suddenly don’t want to go in there at all. I’m not even too disappointed when the bouncer stops us.

‘Hold up. Not so fast.’

‘I’ve got ID!’ Elyse protests.

‘And I couldn’t care less.’ The bouncer points at Nathalie. ‘She’s drunk.’ Then at me. ‘She’s under age. Get out of here. All of you.’

As Elyse opens her mouth to start an argument, Mel and I each wordlessly take one of her arms and propel her back out onto the street.

‘You’ll be sorry,’ is all she has the chance to mutter, with a dark look.

‘And I’m not drunk!’ Nathalie shouts once we’re safely out of reach.

I silence her with a glare, and move away to try to put some physical distance between the two of us – I really don’t want us to be lumped in together as the two losers who couldn’t get in.

‘Look,’ I address the group, ‘I’m really sorry. If it wasn’t for me – and Nathalie – the rest of you would have been fine.’

To my surprise, Elyse bursts out laughing.

‘I didn’t think we’d get in anyway. I’ve never tried using fake ID before, and it looks pretty shit. But someone had to make us all have a go, right? Don’t worry about it – I’ve always got a Plan B.’

Elyse’s Plan B turned out to consist of us traipsing aimlessly through town. It isn’t much fun, and I’m starting to get cold and tired.

I told my mum that we were going to another gig at the Arts Centre; this felt like a half-truth at the time, but now it seems to have drifted into the territory of ‘whopping great lie’. I duck my head down as we pass anywhere that my mum’s friends might be – Pizza Express; that wine bar that used to be a bank; the Electric Picturehouse, which shows about two different films a month, and one of them is usually
Amélie
.

On the other hand, as we pass The Crown I am torn between dread at being spotted, and half hoping that an Alice or Amie or similar might see us doing something vaguely cool, or at least age-appropriate, on a Saturday night for once. I dawdle behind the others, and can’t help having a curious look around at the crowded outdoor smoking area. Just as I think I’m safe, I freeze as I catch Lexy White’s eye. She’s shivering in a sequinned dress, alcopop in one hand and Marlboro Light in the other. The others have gone on ahead of me, but I’m the only one she’s spotted and now I’m stuck. She leans over the pub garden wall to address me. ‘Hadn’t you better run along after your freaky mates?’ she slurs. ‘Elyse Johansson and the bitches of Eastwick?’

Not exactly original, but I am mortified to see that she’s with Josh, as well as Amie and the rest of the A Group. Josh is clearly hoping that the ground will swallow him whole – he won’t even look at me. In fact, to my surprise, Amie is the only one who intervenes.

‘Oh, leave her alone,’ she says, pushing Lexy out of the way and glaring at Josh. ‘Are you all right, Sorana?’

‘Oh, yeah – great,’ I lie. ‘I’d better catch up with the others. We’re on our way to The Attic.’

‘Come on!’ Elyse shouts from down the street.

As I turn to go, Amie speaks quietly so that the others can’t hear: ‘You’re going the wrong way for The Attic. Remember what I said, if you need to talk… Be careful, OK?’

‘Let’s go! Come on, Sorana.’

I don’t know what she’s on about, and I run after the others before Elyse gets too pissed off. I’m out of breath by the time I catch up – they seem to have gone a long way without me.

‘Where the hell have you been?’

‘Never mind that –
where
the hell are you taking us?’

We’ve gone way beyond the end of the brightly lit high street, and to the edge of a grotty bit of public wasteland. She carries on through the muddy darkness and we have no choice but to follow. When we come to a haphazard stop, I realise that we are on the edge of the river – well, a dirty backwater filled with rubbish, anyway. We are far from the lovely riverside walk where the twins live. There is a footpath that’s lit by dimly buzzing sodium lights from under the nearby bridge, and an old bench perched on the mucky edge of it all. Brilliant. Salubrious.

Elyse leaps onto the bench and starts busily decanting the bottles that have been clanking about at the bottom of her cavernous studded-leather bag, while simultaneously lighting a cigarette with a shiny black lighter. It’s all brand new to me. A few drinks inside the house is one thing, but I’ve never been the sort of girl who sits on a park bench being offered an old Diet Coke bottle, its contents a suspiciously light brown because it’s been mixed with half a bottle of vodka. Getting drunk round at the twins’ house was fun, but I feel weirdly vulnerable out here in the open, in public. I have to remind myself that I’m supposed to be having fun. This feels further than ever from going to a gig at the Arts Centre.

‘Do you dare me to jump over the stream?’ Elyse asks me, out of nowhere.

I’m about to answer no way, that it looks manky and dangerous, and probably wouldn’t be any fun anyway, when she takes a running jump. She flies quite high into the air, screaming as she does it, so that it looks for a second as though she’s going to make it clear to the other side.

Then, she lands awkwardly and staggers backwards, unable to stop herself before one foot sinks into all the mud and debris on the edge. She has that heavy sort of army boots on, but the ankle of her black skinny jeans is definitely wet. And dirty. Anyone else would look like a total loser if they’d just done that, but Elyse simply doesn’t care.

She shrieks with laughter and prepares for another mad leap back. This time, she makes it, but then finds that she can’t stop. Careening wildly past us, ploughing into Shimmi until she knocks her off her high heels, she crashes headfirst into a wall a few metres beyond us.

There’s a horrible silence. Elyse is crumpled against the hard brick surface, her hands clutched to her head, and Shimmi is struggling to her feet, mud clearly all over the back of her dress even in the dark.

Gradually, a familiar cackling noise begins to emanate from Elyse’s direction. We realise that she’s laughing manically, and we nervously start to join in. She staggers back towards us with a zombie walk, making a play of it, like she’s been knocked half unconscious – and I think it’s all a joke, until she gets close enough for me to see the blood pouring from her forehead. There’s a deep cut between her eyes, oozing blood like a ruby-red third eye.

‘Rock ‘n’ roll!’ she screams, and swigs straight from the vodka bottle.

We’re all on edge, giggling nervously, but soon Elyse seems to go back to normal. We talk about Trouble Every Day and other bands we like, boys from bands, starting our own band one day, all the usual stuff.

‘So, what did your mate Amie want?’ Elyse asks me suddenly. ‘I saw you talking to her.’

‘Nothing!’ I exclaim. ‘Lexy was drunk and acting like an idiot. Amie was being OK, actually.’

‘You don’t know what she’s really like,’ Elyse says darkly. ‘Don’t be sucked in like I was – she’s an evil bitch.’

‘God, I’m hardly going to become new best friends with her – you know that. Now, where’s that vodka gone?’

Although I am keen to change the subject, I would like to know what really happened between Amie and Elyse. Up until now, I had thought Amie was just stirring, but tonight she seemed genuinely concerned.

The vodka’s running low when Elyse reaches into her top jacket pocket and, so casually at first I think it’s chewing gum, offers a few pills around on the palm of her hand.

‘See, I told you creepy Gareth Next Door can get us anything we want!’ she crows, knocking back two of them.

Melanie takes one; so does Shimmi, without even asking what they are.

‘No, thanks,’ I say, scuffing one Converse in the mud. ‘I don’t really feel like it at the moment.’

Nathalie reaches out a hand towards Elyse’s. I seize her arm before she can reach the pill.

‘I really need to go to the toilet,’ I say, improvising on the spot. ‘Nats, will you come with me to find one? I think maybe I saw some on our way here.’

‘There are public ones on the other side of the bridge, just go straight under it,’ Elyse calls back helpfully. ‘Never say I don’t take you to all the best places!’

Left with little choice, Nathalie and I head through the darkness towards the bridge. On the other side, I can see the outline of the public toilets, lit up in that blue fluorescent light – and I can also see the outline of a couple of men loitering outside. Nathalie and I hang about just out of sight of the other girls, but we don’t go any further than we have to.

‘What’s going on with you?’ I come straight out and ask her.

‘I don’t know what you mean!’ she shrieks. ‘I’m having fun, hanging out with your amazing friends, being awesome. Isn’t that what you wanted?’

‘No. You don’t have to do this.’

‘Really? Don’t I?’ Nathalie’s voice becomes low and dangerous. ‘Well, thanks a lot, Sorana. I just can’t fucking win with you, can I?’

I haven’t seen this side of Nathalie for a long time, and I’d hoped never to again. We stare at each other for a moment, and I’m not sure if she is going to cry or hit me. Instead, she turns on her heel and storms off.

‘Nathalie, wait!’

‘Leave me alone.’

Luckily, Nathalie’s slightly unsteady on her feet so it’s not hard to catch up despite her determined pace. I’m so preoccupied with trying to keep up with her and sort this out, it’s a minute before I hear the noise behind us. Nathalie may not want to talk to me, but I slowly realise I’m going to have to say something to her. Then, before I have the chance, someone else beats me to it.

‘All right, girls?’ comes a mocking, male voice from behind us – almost at our heels, nearer than I thought.

I grab Nathalie’s arm and hook it through mine, propelling her along at a furious clip. She’s clearly not happy, but she lets me hold onto her stiff arm without putting up too much of a fight. Luckily, the men behind us seem more preoccupied with harassing us from a distance rather than actually catching up with us. When we come out on the other side of the bridge, they don’t follow and instead stay hanging about inside the tunnel.

I can still hear them laughing and shouting, but now the other girls are within sight and the world suddenly doesn’t seem quite as scary.

‘Um, don’t look now,’ I say with relish, trying my best to put a brave face on it, ‘but these two gross old men just followed me and Nathalie back from the toilets, shouting stuff at us – they’re still hanging around under the bridge.’

If I thought this would distract Nathalie, I was wrong. I kind of hoped that the little scare we’ve just had would make her pull it together, but she’s more upset than I even realised. She certainly hasn’t sobered up at all.

‘Yeah, and I’m going home,’ she announces, slurring slightly and wrenching her arm out of my grasp. ‘I’ve tried to join in and I just can’t win whatever I do. Hope you all have fun. Hope you’re all happy to see the back of me – it’ll make life easier for everyone if I’m not around.’

She stumbles away and I’m all set to follow her, but Elyse grabs me hard and pulls me back.

‘Those men over there were bothering you? Right – I’m going to have a word with them.’

We can hear catcalling and whistling from the men. Nathalie’s gone off in the opposite direction, but at least she’s got such a stagger on that she won’t make it very far before I can catch up with her. Elyse strides right up to them, almost in their faces. We can’t hear what’s said, but we can see that whatever it is, it’s had the right effect. No longer aggressive, they look completely taken aback.

Elyse starts to walk back to us, but then she unexpectedly turns and launches her empty vodka bottle at them, with the same surprising heft that she used to hoof that hockey ball at Amie Bellairs. Everything seems to go extremely quiet as the glass bottle shatters at their feet with crystal clarity.

It’s a second before I realise they’re coming towards us, really chasing us this time. I grab Shimmi and pull her along on her stupid heels, Elyse and Melanie already tearing ahead of us. I look around wildly, but I can’t find Nathalie. I’m pulling and pulling, running and running, until my chest feels like it’s going to burst and I can’t see any more. We run and run and run.

When I wake up on Sunday morning, I feel like I might be dreaming. I find myself looking around the room to make sure this is really real, that I made it home safely – and relief floods my body. I’m at home and it’s a normal Sunday.

Fortunately, Mum still thinks I was at the Arts Centre last night. But, as my initial relief at still being alive has worn off, I feel a bit out of sorts all day – lying to my mum and falling out with Nathalie aren’t top of my list of fun activities by any means.

We are all stuffed full of roast chicken and watching some lame afternoon film that Daisy picked, when the phone rings.

‘Sorana! It’s your girlfriend!’

Pete thinks this is hilarious every single time – just because Shimmi and I talk on the phone at least once a night. He says he doesn’t know what we can possibly have to talk about after spending every day together at school. Clearly he has no clue.

‘Urgh, I wish he wouldn’t
say
that,’ she greets me.

‘I know – gross. So, how was your head this morning?’

‘I’ll live. I puked in the front garden when I got home. My dad was still at work and my mum was already asleep, so I think I got away with it. How’s you?’

‘Oh, you know. A few coffees and, um, an aspirin and I was fine.’

‘Hardcore. What a cool night, though. Totally worth it. But, seriously – can you
believe
Nathalie?’

‘I know…’ I’m kind of glad Shimmi’s brought it up first, because it’s pretty much all I can think about today. ‘I feel so bad, but you know what she’s—’

‘What a little bitch. I mean, really. It’s just too much this time. Ditching us like that, at the first sign of trouble? We could have been
killed
, Sorana, literally killed. And, as usual, Nathalie was too scared and selfish to think about anyone but herself. She just ran off and left us.’

‘Oh, Shim, I dunno…’

‘You know I’m right!’

‘Well… I know she
was
being quite annoying.’

‘It’s true and you know it.’

‘OK, whatever.’

We move on to discuss homework, TV and everything I ate for my Sunday lunch – Shim’s mum’s constantly putting her on a diet, so she always wants to hear about my mum’s amazing cooking in fine detail.

When we ring off, I wander back into the sitting room and try to concentrate on the TV. I feel a bit weird and mean. Shimmi often has this way of sounding so confident about things, she manages to convince me even when I half suspect she’s got it wrong. I didn’t exactly go along with what she said, but I’m not sure I spoke up enough for Nathalie, either. Besides, there’s no use me being angry with Nathalie, like Shimmi’s saying – as it feels weirdly like Nathalie’s the one pissed off with me. I sent her a text this morning, but she hasn’t replied.

Last night, after we had to run, we made it to the safety of the high street and huddled in the doorway of the Arts Centre to regroup. We were all OK, but we had no idea where Nathalie was, and she wasn’t answering her phone. I knew that she had a good head start on us and that she must have been long gone for home – probably in a taxi on her parents’ account – but I still don’t actually know if she got home OK and it’s bothering me. Especially when whoever attacked Lexy White is still on the loose.