The Future King: Logres (5 page)

‘We had to move. Your father was going to lose his job. If he hadn’t
have been headhunted we would’ve had to sell up, anyway. We wouldn’t have ended
up in such a good neighbourhood. Do you want to be one of those kids living in
the slums?’

‘What happened to you and Dad being able to look after us?’

‘We can, Gwen, thanks to moving here. Without this job your father
has nothing.’

‘We must have savings,’ she contested.

‘If we do, they’re none of your business.’

‘How come he has to work so late all the time?’ she scowled. ‘I
thought this job meant fewer hours.’

They passed Logres, still open, although the classroom lights were
switched off for the night. On the sports field there were afterschool clubs
playing cricket and rugby, with some students still in their uniforms lingering
to watch the games.

‘It does,’ Eve insisted. ‘But it’s only his first week. Once he’s settled,
I’m sure we’ll see more of him.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Actually, now
that you’re back in school I was thinking of getting a job. Nothing big: just
something part time. What do you think?’

‘Would you still be home for after school?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘I think it’s great. What were you thinking of?’

Her mother shrugged. ‘Your aunt and uncle say they could do with some
help at their firm. I may not have worked since I had you, but I still know how
to be a secretary. If not, there’s always a craft shop in town looking for
extra help. Just something to do.’

‘Couldn’t you work from home? You could start your own business.’

‘I wouldn’t know what.’

They pulled into Emily’s street. Gwenhwyfar peered out of the window
in an effort to spot the right house number, which ended up being at the far
end of the road.

‘Beautiful houses,’ her mother observed, as she brought the car to a
halt. ‘We wanted to buy here, but nothing was on the market. Which one is it?’

‘That one, I think.’ Gwenhwyfar grabbed her bag. Her mother undid her
seatbelt and pulled the keys out of the ignition. ‘Mam, I can find it myself.’

‘I’d just like to say hello to Olivia. It won’t take a moment.’ She
opened the door and got out onto the empty street. Huffing, Gwenhwyfar
followed. The whole community had the feel of a holiday resort, and each
colossal building could have been its own hotel. Some of the long driveways
were gated and housed expensive cars. As they approached Emily’s front door the
property greeted them with an air of exclusivity.

They rang the doorbell. Olivia Rose welcomed them both politely and
invited them in, directing Gwenhwyfar to Emily’s bedroom where Emily, Charlotte
and Hattie were already waiting. Later, Eve called up the stairs to announce
she was going, and then they were all given pizza, hardly eating a few hurried
slices before rushing back upstairs to get dressed.

At first Gwenhwyfar was annoyed that, unlike Charlotte, she hadn’t
opted for a dress, but once ready she felt satisfied with her choice. The
emerald green sparkles of the scale-like fabric clung to her perfectly, and
dark jeans coupled with silver heels balanced out the fact it was backless. Her
make-up was light, but reminiscent of Viola’s dark, smoky eyes. When she returned
downstairs to find the others waiting, Charlotte’s jealousy was evident.

‘Ready?’ Emily stood, looking uncomfortable.

‘Yep!’ she exclaimed. It was obvious they had just been talking about
her, but refusing to dwell on the matter, Gwenhwyfar grabbed her coat and
strode towards the door.

It wasn’t a forgiving night. As they walked together, huddled in
their jackets, Gwenhwyfar found her gaze drifting upwards to a night sky
inferior to the one back home. They found Tom’s house with the door shut and
the curtains drawn, the low rumble of sub-bass faint but definite. A sudden wave
of heat washed over them as they came inside. Coats were heaped by a coat stand,
and loud music boomed from the first room to their left. The air was pungent
with deodorant and perfume.

‘Made it, then?’ Viola offered a smile that could have been
considered sarcastic. Surprised, Gwenhwyfar only stared. She looked like an
undiscovered supermodel.

Viola had one of those faces that could wear any hat and any
hairstyle, with a long swan-neck and a refined celestial nose. Her eyebrows
were thick and arched, and her cheekbones angled to a striking profile. For a
few moments Gwenhwyfar was overcome with jealousy, though it was mostly for
Viola’s slender height. She had to be no more than a few inches shorter than
Arthur. Her complexion was flawless, smooth and like bone china, and she wore
jeans with a dark corset, softened by waving hair.

‘Where are the toilets?’ Gwenhwyfar removed her coat. Viola took it
from her.

‘Upstairs. I’ll hang this in the closet. It’ll get stolen,
otherwise.’ She gave Gwenhwyfar a knowing smile; one that this time almost
seemed kind. Perhaps she felt guilty for being so horrible to her yesterday,
Gwenhwyfar mused, or perhaps she was going to throw her coat in the bin.
Whichever, Viola was gone without an insult. Gwenhwyfar then realised that the
others had abandoned her too. Stealing the opportunity, she hurried upstairs
with her clutch to preen herself.

She ran into Arthur and Bedivere when she came back down to join the
party. They were standing by the door in the hallway, eying their surroundings.
Bedivere had shed his coat onto the pile, and Arthur held his awkwardly, not
quite willing to part with it. Eventually he hung it on one of the pegs,
half-concealing it beneath the other coats.

Bedivere saw her first. ‘Gwen!’ he exclaimed. The formalities of
school suddenly crumbled as he moved in for a quick hug. ‘You been here long?’

She shook her head the moment she was released. ‘I only got here five
minutes ago. You?’

‘We just arrived,’ Arthur said, jumping in. He offered half a grin.
‘I’m surprised I could remember the way.’

‘You’ve been here before?’

‘Not since year seven.’

Bedivere searched beyond them both, keen to dive headfirst into the
throng. ‘So where’s Emily?’

‘I think she went to get a drink.’

‘Do you mind if I go look for her?’

Their silent shrugs were encouragement enough; and Bedivere was off,
hunting for the apple of his eye. Gwenhwyfar sent Arthur an encouraging smile.
‘That jumper looks good on you.’

He looked down as if to remind himself what he was wearing. ‘Thanks.
You look nice too.’

‘Want to get a drink?’

‘Sure.’

She turned to lead him after Bedivere, her heart thrumming like a
humming bird. The air thickened as they passed through the living room, and
though she recognised a few people from school most faces were new to her. They
found the drinks table in the kitchen, littered with empty cups and half-filled
bottles. A few names had already been emptied, cheap rum and another
unidentified spirit; and all that was left was known as “solution”, a potent
home-brew with the appearance of clouded lemonade. She mixed two cups with
cranberry juice, gave herself an undersized straw, and then handed one to
Arthur.

‘So what you been up to?’

‘Not much.’ He drank, apparently indifferent to the taste. To Gwenhwyfar
it tasted like cough syrup, and it burned down her throat. ‘Just had to sort a
few things out.’

‘Well, thanks for coming.’ She looked up at him and offered a
grateful smile. ‘It’s nice to have someone here that I know.’

‘I don’t think I’d have bothered, if you weren’t here,’ he confessed.
‘It wouldn’t have been much fun for me following Bedivere while he chases after
Emily all night.’

‘Well, he definitely likes her. Maybe he found her already?’

‘Does she even like him?’

‘She was going on about him a lot yesterday.’ Gwenhwyfar shrugged,
trying not to feel too guilty about the lie. ‘Why?’

‘I just thought she liked someone else, that’s all. One of Tom’s
friends.’

‘Who? Is he here?’

‘Probably not. He’s been suspended for two weeks. He slashed the tyres
of the principal’s car.’

‘He what? Why?’

‘I don’t know. He’s a complete idiot. He usually does that sort of
thing.’ Arthur leant against the kitchen counter. Gwenhwyfar joined him,
already feeling tipsy. She slid closer so that their sides were touching. ‘Did
you go to many parties back in Wales?’

‘A couple. Usually we could get the alcohol from our parents’ liquor
cabinets. Most of it was from the black market anyway, so they could hardly
ground us for it.’ She took another sip of solution, feeling more accustomed to
the taste. ‘My parents are pretty strict. I’m not allowed alcohol, even though
I’ve had wine before.’

‘Wine?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Yeah, from Bordeaux. My dad got it through work as some kind of
favour. I found it in their room.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘How did it taste?’

‘Terrible,’ she laughed. ‘It was disgusting. But then, I was eight
when I tried it.’

‘You know that’s illegal, Gwen,’ he teased.

‘And? What are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing! You’re just lucky. You’ll probably never see another bottle
like that again.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Have you ever had real
chocolate?’

Gwenhwyfar frowned at him. ‘Real chocolate…? What do you mean?’

‘I mean, not that horrible stuff that they
call
chocolate.
Real
chocolate. That’s actually made from the cocoa tree. These days they just use
artificial replacements. It’s not the same.’

‘Chocolate comes from a tree?’ Gwenhwyfar eyed him sceptically.
‘You’re joking.’

‘I’m not.’

‘So why do they make it artificially, then?’

‘The cocoa tree’s endangered, so it’s cheaper to use substitutes. Any
real chocolate goes straight to the rich like meat and wine, or like caviar and
truffles used to in the early twenty-first century. To the people who run things.’

‘Have you?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, mixing her drink with her straw. ‘Ever
had real chocolate?’

‘Once. My grandfather gave me a bar for my tenth birthday. It tasted
good. Strong, bitter. We still have some somewhere, I think. Not much, but my
grandmother says it’s worth its weight in gold.’

‘It sounds nice. The only other thing I tried was a cigarette, and
that was disgusting. It was worse than the wine. I don’t know why people smoked
them.’

‘Nicotine, of course. It’s a bit like alcohol—addictive and bad
for you.’

‘Well, it may be bad for you, but I’m having another one. You?’ She refilled
his cup before he could object, and then the walls rushed past them in a blurry
lurch as she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the living room, lured by the
loud music. The unexpected crowd forced her to stop suddenly. Arthur wrapped an
arm around her to prevent them both from falling.

‘Sorry!’ he exclaimed.

Laughing, Gwenhwyfar turned towards him, willing him closer with her
eyes. ‘At least we’re even now. I’ve bumped into you, and you’ve bumped into
me.’

Someone squeezed through the door and pushed past them. Arthur slid
closer. ‘You’re really pretty, Gwen,’ he breathed.

He was going to kiss her, she was sure of it. His expression darkened
with lust as she looked up at him, her eyes on his lips, her head tilting as
her drink slopped forgotten to the floor. Eagerly he stooped to catch her
half-open mouth.

Their lips never met. Arthur’s drink tipped all over Gwenhwyfar’s
jeans. She gasped, the soaked fabric sticking to her skin. Charlotte had barged
into them.

‘Oh my God!’ she said loudly. ‘I am so
sorry
.’

Arthur shook his hand and wiped it on his leg. Suddenly Charlotte was
trying to brush off his wet trousers, false concern on her otherwise gleeful
face.

‘Really I am. I
totally
wasn’t looking where I was going. I haven’t ruined your clothes, have I?’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Arthur responded stiffly, pushing Charlotte’s hands
away as they batted dangerously close to his crotch. He looked to Gwenhwyfar
apologetically. ‘Sorry, Gwen.’

‘Don’t be. It wasn’t
your
fault, Arthur.’ Gwenhwyfar’s eyes narrowed at Charlotte, who responded with a
thin smile. ‘Where’s Emily?’

‘Getting cosy with Bedivere.’

Arthur frowned. ‘What? Where?’

‘Upstairs. Why, want to join them?’

He left them without retaliation, striding off urgently through the house.
Gwenhwyfar moved to follow him but Charlotte caught hold of her arm. ‘Hattie’s
looking for you,’ she informed her haughtily. As she let go, white finger marks
lingered in her paling skin. ‘She says she needs your help. She’s upset about
something. She told me to come and get you.’

Gwenhwyfar resisted, eager to follow Arthur and see if he was all
right, but the concern suddenly present in Charlotte’s eyes forced her to
reconsider. ‘Fine, where is she?’