Lobsters (13 page)

This was exactly how I imagined I would look on the night I lost my virginity – like a safety-conscious Clint Eastwood.

As I cycled the short distance to where Erin was staying, I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I was more than a little bit drunk. At one point, I turned a corner at full speed and nearly swerved into a blackberry bush.

After a few minutes cycling, the house by the windmill emerged ghost-like out of the darkness. It was huge; not really a
house, more a mansion.

I rode straight past the front door – noticing that all the lights in the main house were out – and dumped my bike by a tree near the back window. I left the helmet and poncho there too – no one was going to nick them in Sark. Although, I doubt anyone would have nicked them in London either.

I knocked on the window. There was no answer and after about thirty seconds I decided to just leave. It surprised me how relieved I felt as I turned to go – I could say that I had given it my best shot, but nothing happened. Oh well. Better luck next time.

And then suddenly …

‘Hey, British Boy!'

Erin swept back the curtain, hoisted up the window and kissed me roughly on the cheek as she helped me into the living room. It was the size of the entire ground floor of my gran's house.

‘You didn't have to use the window, in the end. You could have come through the front door. My mum and Martin are out for dinner.'

She was holding a glass of clear liquid that her behaviour suggested was alcoholic.

This was confirmed seconds later when she poured me one. Just vodka – no mixer. My head felt heavy as I took a swig.

We settled down on the sofa and started talking. Or, rather, Erin started talking. And once Erin started talking, it was quite difficult to get her to stop. I stayed mute, nodding and sipping my vodka, while she confidently held court on everything from music (‘If I had to describe a beautiful field of tulips to a blind
person I would just play them ‘Fix You' by Coldplay') to what she thought of the Kardashian sisters (‘Whores, every one of them').

As she talked, I began to feel more and more nervous. Not just about the potentially impending sexual stuff, but also about the creeping suspicion beginning to solidify in my mind that Erin was actually a bit of an idiot. That's the problem with hot girls – their other-worldly attractiveness can often blind you to the fact that they're also quite irritating.

For instance, when I asked her why she didn't get on with her mum and step-dad, she just threw her head back and sighed and said, ‘Listen, Sam, I'm just a fucked-up chick trying to find my feet in this crazy old world.'

That's what she
actually
said. Like a shit character in a shit film.

After a twenty-minute monologue about what she wanted to do with her life (‘Become a kind of cross between Lady Gaga and Hillary Clinton'), she finally asked me a question. Although, admittedly, it was a question about her.

‘So, how many guys do you think I've been with, Sam?'

Despite my inexperience, I knew this was dangerous ground. If I said zero I'd be implying she was ugly. If I said four or five hundred, I'd be implying she was a Kardashian sister.

‘Er, I reckon … ten?'

She threw her head back again and screeched with laughter.

‘Oh my god! You're so cute!'

She took another swig of vodka.

‘Yeah. Let's just say ten, then,' she said, grinning broadly. ‘Ten's a nice round number. What about you? How many girls
have you fucked?'

I gulped down my mouthful of vodka. This could also be tricky. Telling her I was a virgin would almost certainly end in her laughing hysterically before asking me to leave. And possibly even patting me on the head as I walked out. I decided my best bet was to go vague.

I exhaled loudly and laughed. ‘God, how many girls have I been with? It's difficult to keep track, Erin, to be honest.'

‘Really?' she smiled. ‘That many, huh?'

This wasn't good either. If she thought I'd shagged more women than I could keep count of, she'd be expecting a half decent performance in bed, rather than what would actually probably happen – three minutes of confused thrusting and then a long, relieved hug.

‘So, come on then,' she said, shuffling closer to me on the sofa. ‘How about a rough estimate?'

I decided I had better rein it in a bit. I made a face as if I was doing a large and complex sum in my head. ‘Probably … two. Maybe three.'

There was a pause. Erin narrowed her eyes.

‘Two, maybe three?'

‘Yep.'

‘And that's difficult to keep track of?'

‘Yep.'

‘Why?'

‘Because,' I said, making the word last as long as possible as I wasn't entirely sure which words would follow it. ‘Because … I've just got a really bad memory.'

She didn't look convinced. But then, to be fair, it wasn't a convincing answer.

‘Yeah,' I continued, ‘my cousin whacked me round the head with a camping stove when I was nine. Haven't really been able to remember anything properly since then.'

Clearly, if there was
one
other male on this island between the ages of sixteen and forty, Erin would have politely shown me to the door. Since there wasn't, however, she just smiled and took another swig of vodka.

‘Right. So, in a week's time, you won't even remember if we fucked?'

I gulped. This was the first time she had explicitly made it clear that fucking was on the table. Not literally. I
hoped
it wouldn't happen on the table, anyway. I'd be nervous enough in a bed.

‘No, no. Don't be silly. Of course I will. I'll … I'll make sure to set a reminder on my phone.'

Erin smiled. She was now clearly beyond caring about my obvious social ineptitude. She was drunk, I was drunk. I was
really
drunk. She poured us both another vodka.

‘Sorry,' I said, sipping it. ‘I don't usually come across as this much of a dick.'

‘Come on!' she laughed. ‘It's fine. You're funny. You're my only source of fun on this island, you realize that, don't you, Sam? You want me to have fun, right?'

She shuffled closer to me on the sofa and put her hand on my knee. Oh god. Oh god, god, god.

‘How long are your mum and step-dad out for?' I asked.

‘Don't worry,' she purred, as her hand crept up on to my thigh. ‘They'll be gone for hours. They won't bother us.'

Then she kissed me. Actually, ‘kissed' makes it sound like a romantic experience. What actually happened was that her tongue probed the depths of my mouth with enough force to remove my tonsils.

I started to feel a bit sick. For some reason an image of Hannah at Stella's party popped into my head. When we were in that bathroom together, I didn't feel sick or nervous at all. It was like I was with a friend. But a friend I really wanted to kiss.

This didn't feel anything like that.

Erin unzipped my fly and slid her hand inside the gap in my boxers. She was now literally touching my cock. She squeezed it, hard. I felt a sudden surge of excitement pulse through it. Oh please god, no. Let me at least last a couple of minutes.

She squeezed it again. Suddenly, I was right on the brink. One more squeeze and, well … the night was over.

Instinctively, I recoiled.

‘Erm, sorry …'

Erin furrowed her brow. Clearly, no man had ever recoiled from her before. She didn't look happy about it.

‘What's wrong?'

I took a deep breath. The tingling excitement between my legs seemed to have died away. I decided it was just a combination of nerves and alcohol. I shuffled back across the sofa towards her. I was OK. I felt good. I had it under control. A weird calm came over me. I had been to the brink of sexual inadequacy and I had survived. I was about to become a man. This was it.

‘Everything's fine,' I whispered, craning in for a kiss. ‘Let's do it.'

Erin smiled and wrapped her fingers around my cock again. And that's when I came. All over her hand. And her sleeve. And the arm of the sofa.

Time stood still. For a few seconds, we both stayed frozen in our positions – me with my arms around Erin's neck, reaching in for a kiss, Erin with her hand on my cock, her mouth hanging open in shock. Only her eyes moved, flicking madly back and forth between my face and my penis, as if trying to process what had just happened.

Finally, she let out a squeal of disgust.

‘Ewww!'

She jumped up and ran to the kitchen.

‘Ew! Ew! Ew!'

I heard her turn on the taps and frantically scrub her hands.

‘EWWWWW!'

I stared blankly at the ceiling while I listened to the running water and the loud, horrified ‘EWWW's. My head was swimming. Humiliation had swallowed me and spat me back out again.

I realized what had just happened was phenomenally embarrassing, but I also realized that Erin didn't know anyone I knew and, as a result, no one would ever have to find out about it. It was a bit like falling off a tightrope and remembering, in midair, that there's a safety net below you. Strangely reassuring. I was even considering asking Erin if we could have another go. I was going back to London in about fifteen hours – what was the
worst that could happen?

I heard her turn the tap off. She stomped back into the room, rubbing her hands frantically. She spotted the sticky stain on the arm of the sofa and let out a little scream of dismay.

‘Oh my god! Do you even know how much this sofa is worth?'

‘How much?'

‘I don't know! But it's a lot! And it's going to be a lot less now that it's got your cum all over it!'

‘I'm sorry … I didn't mean for that to happen.'

‘Oh really? Ejaculating on sofas isn't usually part of your seduction technique?'

‘Not usually, no.'

She sat down in a chair opposite the sofa and shook her head.

‘Look, sorry, I think you should go, Sam.'

I nodded. She yanked the window open and I clambered out towards my bike, my virginity intact and my pride in pieces on the floor.

8

Hannah

He opened his mouth slightly to kiss me again and I closed my eyes. I knew if I didn't stop it then, I never would.

‘Pax.'

I wanted to tell him that I couldn't because of Stella. But was it even because of her? Pax kissing me didn't really feel like I thought it would. It was a movie star kiss, and he looked like a movie star, but maybe it was a bit
too
cinematic. I felt like we were both acting it or something. Like it looked really hot, but didn't actually feel it. And Stella did seem to really like him. More than Charlie, more than I've seen her like anyone. And yeah, she does some shitty, self-involved things but she wouldn't get off with someone I had said I really liked.

Deep down I know it's not Stella's fault about Sam. She doesn't know he is Toilet Boy. It's not her fault that he wanted her and not me.

I took a step back and looked at Pax. I couldn't read his face.

‘I just … I can't … This isn't … what I want.'

Which was sort of a lie. Looking up at him I wanted to kiss him again to see what it felt like. I mean, who could
not
want Pax. He nodded and smiled. I sort of wanted him to fight for it.
To not take the rejection. To kiss me again. But he just said ‘OK' and nodded.

As we walked up the main strip and into the bar where the others were, he talked just as easily as he had before, as if the moment had never happened.

I saw Stella and Tilly first. They were deep in some sort of intense conversation. My cheeks burned because I thought it was about me. Pax went and joined the boys at the bar and I walked over to the girls. I tried to look casual. Stella was straight in.

‘She's actually done it.'

If she had noticed I'd disappeared with Pax she didn't show it. I followed her gaze towards Grace, who was on the dance floor pulling James. I wasn't quite sure how to react. It wasn't exactly a surprise. I just felt sad, because Grace and Ollie are such a lovely couple, and this James thing would probably end up ruining it.

‘What should I do?' Stella looked at Tilly and me.

What did she mean? What response was she looking for?

‘I don't know,' said Tilly. ‘I feel awful for Ollie. He's going to buy her a charm bracelet before they go to uni. He told me.'

‘Ollie is my friend,' said Stella. ‘I'm going to have to tell him. He has a right to know.'

Typical fucking Stella, wanting to get straight in there.

Suddenly it all just bubbled up inside me. The fact that it hadn't even occurred to Stella to worry about me being with Pax. That she thinks she is way better than me, that a boy could never want me when she is around. The thought of her pulling Sam. The betrayal of her telling Freddie about my virginity.

She doesn't even like Ollie that much. But Stella always sounds right, even when she couldn't be more wrong. She got out her phone. I wanted to say something but then the boys came over and she put her phone away.

She told me again how hot she thought Pax was. She was pumped up with anticipation, dancing and drinking quickly. She smiled and hugged me. ‘All for one and one for all.'

And then she strode out on to the dance floor and I knew she would get him. Because she wanted him. By the end of the first song, they were pulling. All for one and one for all. Truth is, that isn't really Stella. She's more every girl for herself. I didn't want to watch them so I walked outside.

I found Casper sitting on the wall of the bar. I felt sorry for him. He just looked so alone and out of place, as if he was looking in on the world. I knew how he felt. I went and sat next to him.

‘Hey! It's a bit hectic in there, isn't it?'

He looked up from his phone. He was playing a game on it. Probably wanting to look busy, knowing otherwise he would just look weird. I've done that.

‘Yeah. I just needed to text my friend.'

I wanted to make him feel liked and part of things. We talked about exams and how they had gone. He didn't seem as shy as at dinner. He just didn't belong with those boys, or in Kavos. He looked like he should be drinking coffee in Paris or in the philosophy section of a library in New York. But he seemed like he knew he belonged somewhere and was OK with not belonging here. Maybe he just wanted to be alone and was fine with
that, I don't know.

I managed to get a few things out of him. He was staying with his gran in Devon, and she was the one who had bought him the ticket to Greece. I told him about my nan and how mental she is. I told him about her internet dating and he really laughed. We both did.

And then Pax and Stella tumbled out of the club. They came over and I suddenly felt embarrassed. As if sitting with Casper made me a loser. I didn't want to be on the outside of the group with Casper, I wanted to be on the inside with them. Stella gave Pax a look.

‘You two look
friendly …
'

Her eyes sparkled. She knew I would never fancy him. She was just being drunk and overdramatic and stupid. Casper went red. Pax was unreadable. He didn't even catch my eye.

‘Didn't mean to interrupt.' He caught Stella's hand. ‘We're just going for a walk,' he said and led her towards the beach,

She turned round and blew me a kiss. ‘See ya!'

Casper was silent. I just wanted to escape. I hated the fact Stella had brought up the idea that we might fancy each other when she knew full well that I didn't. I got up.

‘I need to go and find Tilly,' was all I said, and walked back inside.

I found Tilly and we decided to go. She was obviously sick of it all too. She went and told Grace and I could see the awkwardness between them. Walking out, I could see Casper in the corner of my eye. He smiled and waved. I could have walked over and asked him to join us, but I just waved back. My stomach lurched with guilt
because I could have made his evening better, but I didn't.

The next day things were awkward. We all sat by the pool eating breakfast, and even small talk between us all seemed strained.

‘I love that swimsuit,' I said, as a girl in a glamorous white one-piece strutted past. No one responded.

None of us mentioned Ollie, but none of us mentioned James either. Grace was obviously dying to talk about it but knew she was in the immoral corner. She was the one being judged today. She was the
bad person
. She wore the scarlet letter well and just ate her weird crisp bread toast and didn't say much. The way I had kind of blanked Casper was making me feel bad too. I wanted to find him and make it better.

Tilly was jumpy. She had taken sides last night with Stella and bitched about Grace. Grace could sense it, I thought. She directed her few comments at me.

Later on, we lay by the pool in our bikinis. Stella flirted with the rep and changed her bikini at lunch. She wanted to wear every single one she'd brought by the end of the holiday. Tilly and I went and got drinks and talked about neutral stuff – our families, uni, celebrities. We wanted to talk about how awkward things were but somehow we didn't know how.

As we walked back to the pool she said, ‘Where did you and Pax go last night before we got to the club?'

I didn't realize anyone had noticed.

‘We just fell behind. Talking about York and the course and stuff.'

She just left it. Everything she wanted to say was sort of hanging
there. I wanted to tell her. To boast that Pax had wanted me, but I knew it would change everything. It would be out there and impossible to take back.

Instead, we planned our outfits for the evening. We were meeting the boys again and I was sort of dreading it. It was only the third night and I already wanted to go home. I felt claustrophobic. The reality was dawning on me that apparently we weren't the four musketeers; we were just four girls who didn't seem able to be honest with each other at all. Are there groups of girls out there who can openly talk about how they cheated on their boyfriend or how they got off with a boy their best mate wants? Or is it always loaded small talk and snide comments?

Everything that was unsaid was tainting the memories of the last seven years. Our rooms plastered with millions of photographs, every weekend spent together since we were eleven, but in the end it just amounted to some sort of
Mean Girls
-style survival of the fittest.

We went back to the room and had a nap, and when I woke up Stella was in the bathroom. I could hear Tilly and Grace in the next room, playing
Hairspray
and singing along. They sounded happy. Less strained than earlier, anyway.

Me and Stella have always been friends who wee in front of each other so I swung my legs out of bed, strode across the room and opened the bathroom door. And there she was. Stood in front of the mirror, more brown than H&M girl and Pax put together.

And wearing the dress.
Her
dress.
My dress
.

I was so shocked I couldn't speak. She didn't turn around, just kept rummaging in her sponge bag before looking up at me in the mirror and giving me a really broad, fake smile. Neither of us spoke. I made myself walk across to the toilet and sit down. I couldn't even wee at first. I just looked at her. Neither of us acknowledged each other. There was silence.

The feathers on the bottom of the dress brushed against her thighs and her gold shoes looked perfect with it. She had piled her hair messily on top of her head. A few strands were left out, just resting gently on the gold sequins. I got up and stood next to her while I washed my hands. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion because of the silence between us. She looked even more perfect than usual. She hummed as she applied her eyeliner. If she felt nervous, it didn't show.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and got into bed. I rolled over and looked at the wall. My hands were shaking, I had no idea how the next few minutes would play out. I felt like doing something dramatic. Something that would change everything. I thought about ringing my nan and asking her to pay for me to come home. But she would just say I was being silly. I didn't know who was more in the wrong: me for buying the dress or Stella for taking it. I thought about saying I was ill so I didn't have to go out. But that would just mean staying in alone. I heard Stella putting her things in her handbag and zipping it up. She came back into the room and I felt her sit down on the edge of the bed.

‘Hey, are you OK with me borrowing your dress?' Her voice was all breezy, sugar-coated with mock concern. ‘We always
share clothes so I thought it would be cool.'

I carried on looking at the wall.

‘Yeah … course.' I tried to make my voice sound even but it came out quiet and false.

‘Cos if you want to wear it tonight, I can totally change?'

She was making sure that at no point this could be re-told to make her look like a bitch.

‘No, it really suits you.'

‘Cool, I'll see you at the bar in a bit.'

She left. And I just lay there. I drew my knees up and held them really tight. I could feel tears but I bit my lip as hard as I could and put the pillow over my head. She had looked so beautiful. It had suited her.

Eventually I got up and made myself get dressed. I had brought loads of dresses but I picked up the same one I'd worn the night before and shoved it on. Then I went downstairs and made myself smile through the photo shoot.

We met the boys on the strip, and as we were walking to the club I could see that Tilly was going to get with Harry. I walked the same stretch of road as I had with Pax, but this time I was watching Pax and Stella, Grace and James, and Tilly and Harry. Jordan and Casper were nowhere to be seen. I felt invisible. Tilly obviously noticed because she hung back and made Harry walk with me as well, which was even more humiliating. As we walked past the public toilets Stella yelled over her shoulder at me.

‘Hannah, you better get in there! Toilet Boy might be waiting for you.'

‘Fuck off, Stella.'

I shouted it without even thinking.

It cut the air and for a split second everyone was on the edge of it. Stella laughed. No one else did and for a moment there was just silence.