Popping the Cherry (16 page)

What could I say? Begging wasn’t out of the question but saying, ‘No, please, I really want you to’ wasn’t fair on either of us. Plus, it would reveal I had feelings for him. Feelings Jake didn’t reciprocate if he was already promising never to kiss me again. Saying thanks didn’t work, either though, so I opted for saying nothing and we sat in silence, just me, Jake, and the stars winking down at us and the sound of the occasional car going by.

It was nice, comfortable.

When my backside grew so numb I feared I’d be stuck there for ever, I thought about shouting for help, convinced Jake had fallen asleep, but then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

‘Can I have your number, too?’ he asked.

Too?

So he’d been watching my exchange with Nathan.

‘Sure.’ I took the phone and keyed my number into the contacts. I was just about to hit ‘save’ when the urge came over me to change the name I was stored under. ‘Is it OK if I send myself a text, so I’ve got your number as well?’

‘Go for it.’

‘Thanks.’ Short and sweet, I typed ‘Jake’ into the message body and hit send. ‘Here you go,’ I said, handing his phone back.

‘Thanks, Tink.’ He paused, then turned his head to look at me. ‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ he slurred. ‘And for sitting with the drunk bastard on the steps in the middle of the night, but I, er … I think I better go to bed now.’

‘OK, Jake. Goodnight.’

He lurched to his feet and managed to get his phone back in his pocket at the second attempt. I laughed out loud when he swayed and almost toppled backwards. Deciding gravity was against him, he leaned against the porch, then rubbed his eyes with his free hand. I guess it didn’t work because he then clenched his eyes shut then opened them wide and blinked so hard his entire face crumpled.

‘Umm … Tink?’ he said, his gaze abandoning the door and looking back at me.

‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t suppose you could get the door? I can see at least three steps and four handles and every single one of the fuckers is moving.’

When I couldn’t stop laughing, Jake looked all wounded, which only made me laugh even harder. I could have—and probably should have—just opened the door and gone inside by myself, leaving him to find his own way in, but I couldn’t do it. I got up off the step to stand beside him, then dragged his arm over my shoulder.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

Jake nodded and let go of the wall to lean against me instead, which had been my plan, but, Christ, he was heavy. It was a massive struggle, and we nearly both fell arse over tit, but we finally made it up the steps into the house, where Jake’s dad took pity on me and took over. Jake was led towards the kitchen and the smell of warm, buttered toast, and I dived straight for the stairs, ready for this crazy day to be over.

Gemma and I were the only ones up the next morning, everyone else sleeping off their sore head. They still hadn’t surfaced when she drove me home at midday on her way to see Ben, due back from his end-of-season rugby tour and probably in just as good a shape as Jake. I did the sociable thing and caught up with Mum and Dad over a brew and a cheese sandwich at the breakfast table, telling them all about the party—except for the Jake-kissing-me part—and then excused myself to go upstairs and do my homework.

Which was true, if homework was the secret code word for constantly checking my phone for messages and rereading old ones. The most recent one was the ‘Jake’ message I’d sent to myself. It went without saying that I’d added him to my contacts immediately. Just thinking about him made me smile. I wondered if he’d discovered my entry in his phone yet, or if he even remembered asking me for my number.

Unfortunately, willpower was not my friend and it killed me not to text him, to let him sleep off his hangover, so I went to the next message in my inbox instead. ‘Hey Lena, thanks for fab time tonight. Would you be free on Wednesday? I think we need to talk. Nate x.’

I’d read Nathan’s text at least six times now and still couldn’t decide what to make of it, whether it was good or bad, but I was leaning towards bad. So why had he agreed to go out with me again? It didn’t make sense. I flopped back onto my bed to think about it some more, but then my phone buzzed, alerting me to a new message: ‘Tink, huh? Took me ages to find, was looking under L or V. Hope I wasn’t too much of a dick, my headache is telling me I probably was. Sorry, Jake x.’

My smile was so wide, my cheeks ached within seconds. ‘Nah, we’re good,’ I wrote back. ‘And you apologised already so forget it x.’

‘That’s cool.’ Jake replied. ‘So how about those driving lessons? I can’t come today, obviously, I’m probably still over the limit, but could do tmrw? J x.’

Yes!

I fist-pumped the air but decided against screaming, and settled for jumping up and down on my bed. So he hadn’t forgotten or changed his mind about his offer.

‘Tmrw’s good for me. Thanks! x.’

‘No probs. I’ll be round about 5. Anyway, I’m going for one of Mum’s fry ups now so I’ll speak to you soon, J x.’

‘Enjoy! See you tmrw then if I don’t catch up with you beforehand. Can’t wait. x.’

I tossed my phone down beside me and stared at the ceiling, exhausted and out of breath.

It was no good, I just had to tell somebody, so I clambered off my bed and ran down the stairs. Nobody but Mum and Dad even knew about Jake’s offer, anyway, and I wasn’t ready to tell anybody else yet, just in case it proved to be a total disaster—a one-off, even—so there was definitely no point upsetting Gemma yet. And I was pretty sure she would be upset when she found out.

Despite my constant babble and getting Mum and Dad to test my knowledge of the Highway Code, the usual Sunday routine rolled on, including Mum’s roast. I got the rest of my homework finished with enough time left over to have a bubble bath and read some more of
Wuthering Heights
. I was debating switching my lamp off when another text came in. I’d automatically assumed it was Gemma, home from her day with Ben and wanting to talk about it, so my stomach fell through the mattress when I saw it was actually from Jake.

‘Hangover from hell gone. Finally. Get a good night’s sleep and I’ll see you tmrw, J x.’

I squealed traced my finger over the words like some crazed stalker, lingering on the ‘x’. Jeez, call a doctor, I needed help.

‘Great minds, I’m just going to bed now. Goodnight Jake x.’

My phone buzzed less than thirty seconds later: ‘G’night Tink. Sweet dreams x’

I sighed—something else to add to my list of random symptoms—then put my phone on silent and set it on my bedside unit before switching off the lamp.

Sweet dreams indeed!

College was a typical Monday, including the chicken salad, except that Flick shunned us at lunch to sit with Sean. They seemed to be spending a fair bit of time together, including Saturday night, it turned out, and they were getting on very well judging by the handholding. Things only got awkward when Flick asked me in front of the other girls what I was up to later.

Stupid me! I hadn’t considered I might be asked my plans, so I mumbled something about having a driving lesson, which was kind of the truth, and tried to make it sound dead boring and keep the huge incriminating grin off my face. Once I’d got home, I’d been too antsy to get on with my homework, so my books lay abandoned on my bed and I took up position at the window instead.

Jake showed up five minutes early, and somehow Dad got to the door before I did. Surely we weren’t going to get another surge of testosterone? Judging from Jake’s wet hair and the scent of citrusy shower gel, he’d finished work, gone home for a quick shower and then come straight over. When he asked to see my provisional licence and my car-insurance policy before we left, I couldn’t believe it. If he hadn’t accompanied it with the secret wink, I would have taken offence.

He knew what he was doing, though. He now had Dad singing his praises and happy to hand over his little girl into Jake’s care. I just had to keep my mouth shut, listen to the rules and nod in the right places. Then, finally, we were on our way. And, naturally, I stalled the car trying to reverse off the drive. Twice. Then I kangarooed down the road until I got used to the biting point in my own car as opposed to my instructor’s car. Jake remained calm and kept his expression neutral, and my nerves began to fade.

After five minutes, I got confident enough to tear my eyes off the road to take a peek at Jake. He looked huge sitting in the passenger seat of my little car, and he’d had to slide the seat right back to fit his legs in. Aside from giving me directions, he didn’t really talk, maybe not wanting to distract me, but the lack of conversation was actually pretty distracting. I wasn’t used to it.

‘Is it OK if we chat?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, of course.’ Jake said. ‘I wasn’t sure if you needed silence to concentrate.’

‘Nah, it makes me more nervous if anything.’

‘Fair dos. So what do you want to chat about?’ Jake pointed to the right, and I flicked the indicator on.

Mirror … signal … manoeuvre …

‘Um …’ Good question. ‘How about why you decided against going to college?’

‘Ah, that’s easy.’ Jake relaxed his arms by his side. ‘Ever since I was old enough to hold a paintbrush, I used to ask Dad if I could go to work with him. The answer always no, but then one day, when I was fifteen, he said yes and I did my first job. Pull up over there,’ he said, switching back into instructor mode and pointing to a gap on the left. ‘Behind the red car. Yep. Perfect. You might as well show me your three-point turn.’

‘Prepare to be amazed,’ I said, feeling pretty cocky. It was my favourite manoeuvre and one I could do in my sleep. With no nerves left to affect me, I changed the direction of the car in a perfect, textbook move.

Jake smiled, his voice full of approval. ‘Nice one, Tink. Now head for the dual carriageway. Let’s see what this little car of yours can do.’ I pulled away like a pro, no more kangaroos in sight. ‘So, anyway, I was only labouring on a building site, dragging a wheelbarrow full of the rubble to a skip and emptying it, then taking it back again to be refilled, but I earned fifty quid that day,’ Jake continued. ‘Fifty quid. Just like that.’

‘Wow!’

‘Exactly. The next morning, Dad asked me if I wanted to go again. Well, I was already booted up, ready to go. I went back every day for the rest of the school holidays. It was bloody hard work but it had instant results and, by the end of the fortnight, I had a suntan, muscles I didn’t know I had, and I had four hundred quid in my back pocket. That was it. I was hooked.’

‘Cool, so that’s why you were never around in the holidays? I never put the two together for some reason. You were never covered in paint spots in those days,’ I said, changing down through the gears to make the next turn. ‘Did you start full-time straight from school, then?’

‘Yeah, before that, actually. As soon as study leave started, I was working back on the site, just taking time off to sit my actual exams. It’s all I ever wanted to do. What about you?’

Mirror … signal … manoeuvre …

It became my new mantra, repeating in my head to keep my concentration on the road, when what I really wanted to do was look at Jake, or simply pull over and spend our time together chatting. Instead, I checked my wing mirror, made a point of checking the blind spot over my shoulder, flicked on my indicator, then put my foot down and joined the dual carriageway.

‘Me?’ I shrugged, which I discovered wasn’t all that easy to do when driving, but I managed not to swerve. ‘I still haven’t got a clue what I want to do. It sucks.’ My knuckles turned white from my grip on the steering wheel, so I forced myself to relax. ‘Mum and Dad want me to follow them into law, but it doesn’t appeal in the slightest. They were a bit upset when I didn’t choose it as an A-level but they seem OK with it now.’

‘What did you choose then?’ Jake asked. I risked a glance and saw him watching the road.

‘English literature, that’s my favourite. And English langu—’

‘You see where this slip road joins us?’ He pointed ahead. ‘If there were cars coming down it, I’d move into the outside lane to give them chance to merge in. It’s not a rule or anything, just a courtesy thing.’

‘Oh, right, OK, thanks.’ I spotted the steady stream of cars, so checked my mirrors, signalled, then moved over a lane to let them out.

‘So you’re doing English lit and lang. Any others?’

‘Yeah, I’m doing French as well,’ I said, repeating the same manoeuvre to move back into the inside lane.

‘Really? That’s cool. I really sucked at languages. Couldn’t wait to drop Spanish when I left school. I didn’t even attempt French. So how would I say, “Take the next left” in French?’

‘“
Prenez la prochaine gauche
“,’ I said automatically. ‘Or you could say, “
Prenez la prochaine route à gauche
“, which means take the next road to the left.’

‘Now you’re just showing off,’ Jake said, sounding impressed. ‘You didn’t even have to think about it.’ I happily accepted his praise rather than tell him it was basic Year 7 stuff rather than Year 12. ‘So, er … hang on, then … let me have a go.’ He did a cough thing to clear his throat, then tried to repeat the sentence back to me.

‘Well done,’ I said, biting back a laugh. ‘I’ll have you speaking French in no time, although you might want to work on your accent.’

He laughed. ‘Go on, then, smarty-pants, say something else in French. Introduce yourself or something.’

‘OK …’ I darted my gaze to him and saw I had his full attention now. The road he wanted me to take was coming up, though, so I did the mirror-signal-manoeuvre thing and made the turn. ‘Hadn’t you better tell me where we’re going first, though?’

‘Just carry on to the end of the road, then go round the mini-roundabout and get back us on to the dual carriageway but going the other way,’ he said. ‘Now go on, this I’ve got to hear.’

‘Fine,’ I said, shooting him a smile, then looking back at the road. ‘
Bonjour, je m’appelle Valentina Bell, j’ai dix-sept ans, et je suis étudiante. Ça va?
’