‘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?’
‘Downstairs toilet.’ She was pushed in the right direction. Gwenhwyfar strode as Arthur had done, driving angrily through the busy house. When she couldn’t locate a single bathroom, she tried to find Charlotte again. She had vanished. There was no sign of Hattie, either.
‘Gwen!’
She was pleased to see a familiar face. Bedivere hurried towards her, his hair a mess, his clothes dishevelled. His grin split from ear to ear and when he came to her he crushed her in a surprisingly firm hug.
‘Good to see you! Have you seen Arthur? I’ve got to tell him something!’
‘What?’
‘Huh?’
‘What have you got to tell him?’ she shouted.
He shook his head vigorously. ‘I can’t tell you! It’s a secret,’ he slurred. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘No,’ she responded, fighting to get her breath back. He smelt heavily of Emily’s perfume. ‘Not since he went to look for you. You might have just missed him.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you seen Hattie?’
‘Who?’
‘Hattie! You know, my friend.’ He shook his head. Emily appeared at the far end of the room. ‘Never mind!’ she called to him, and then he was off again, hunting for Arthur. Emily’s greeting was almost as ecstatic as Bedivere’s, but weaker in the hug department. Soon she too was shouting at her.
‘Gwen! I’ve been looking for you all over!’ Her hands latched tightly onto her shoulders. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Looking for Hattie! Have you seen her?’
Emily shook her head.
‘Charlotte just told me to go find her. She said she was upset about something?’
‘Upset?’ Emily repeated.
‘Yeah, and that I could find her in the downstairs loo?’
‘Gwen, there isn’t a loo downstairs!’ Emily revealed, smiling at her as one would a joke. ‘Charlotte’s tricking you. You know she’s got a problem with you. Look, I just spoke to Arthur, and he wants to meet you! He says he really likes you. He wants to talk to you upstairs where it’s not so loud.’
Her interest dispel
led her earlier suspicions completely. ‘He said that?’
‘Yep! Isn’t it amazing? Arthur and Gwen, just like I said!’ She squealed, and Gwenhwyfar squealed too. ‘It’s so cute! You have to go meet him. He wants to see you there at ten. That’s in like, three minutes. He’ll be in the spare room. Tom’s outside, so he won’t know. I have to go though—I need to keep Charlotte away. She’ll do anything to sabotage this.’
She was gone before Gwenhwyfar could register the full implications of what she had said. Arthur liked her. She felt euphoric. Quickly she checked the time on her phone. Three minutes? Why so precise? She was too intoxicated to care, examined her ghostly reflection in her pocket mirror and pinched the colour back into her cheeks. She had to go. She would be a fool not to.
Hector Browne
Gwenhwyfar’s head spun as she carefully lowered herself onto the bed.
She wasn’t aware of her inability to balance herself, only that the moments between her being downstairs and entering the spare room had been consumed by a void. She put her clutch beside her, steadying her breathing with her head between her legs. Inhaling upside down helped, and when she sat straight again she felt more human. Organising her hair for the umpteenth time, Gwenhwyfar observed the room around her. It was plainly decorated, nothing special. There were a few photo-frames dotted here and there, but apart from the picture of Tom, none of them were of anyone she recognised.
The opening and closing of the door drew her back to her senses. Something was wrong. ‘Who are you?’
‘Someone’s had a little too much,’ was the candid response. ‘You know who I am.’
‘No,’ she bit, though she knew him from somewhere. She stood, and for a moment her frosty exterior paused him. ‘Would you leave? I’m expecting someone.’
‘Yeah, I know. Charlotte said.’ He slunk closer. Gwenhwyfar moved away from the bed.
‘Charlotte?’ Quickly she looked to the door. ‘Hector, right?’
‘So you do know me,’ he smirked.
‘Yeah, I do. Now get out, I’m waiting for someone.’
He laughed and lurched for her. She twisted her arm away as his fingers grabbed at her wrist. The repulsive mix of beer, solution and sweat caused her to back away as he encircled her small waist with his thick arm.
‘Get off me!’ She pushed at him, but he barely seemed to feel it, and then his cold lips pressed hard down upon her own. Shrinking backwards she hit the cabinet behind her, knocking the photo of Tom flat. Through the clatter of objects she heard the door open. Immediately Hector backed off. Arthur stood open-mouthed in the doorway.
‘Sorry—’ he stammered, eyes wide, ‘—I thought—I mean—’
‘Arthur!’ She pushed towards him, but her plea was rejected. His face contorted to an expression of pain and he slammed the door. He was gone.
‘Idiot!’ she expelled, gripped by sudden fury. ‘Why did you go and do that?’
Hector’s confusion transformed to humiliation as he realised his mistake. ‘Do what?’
Gwenhwyfar strode across the room and snatched up her clutch. ‘Kiss me! I didn’t want you to!’
He scowled at her. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
‘What?’
‘I said that’s not what I heard.’
‘Why would I want to kiss you? I don’t even know you.’
‘Do you think you’re too good for me? Is that it?’ He cut her off from the door.
Gwenhwyfar tugged her wrist away as he grasped for it. ‘No, of course not.’
‘I’ll bet you’ll go off and laugh to all your skanky friends about this, won’t you?’
‘What? No.’
‘Yes you will, you and Charlotte. This was a real funny joke, wasn’t it? Real funny.’
He grabbed at her angrily. She slapped his hands away and hit him in the face, kicking at him as he forced her down her onto the bed. The moment he had her pinned he paused, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with her. His vacillation cost him. A lamp smashed across the back of his head, shattering the hollow ceramic. Terror paralysed Gwenhwyfar as Hector slumped across her, but then large hands pulled him off and launched him across the room. For a moment she thought it was Arthur and was crippled with hysterical relief, but then a not-so-familiar face appeared, frowning with concern.
‘Is she all right?’ Viola joined Gavin, who stood beside the bed. She still had the broken lamp in one hand.
‘I’m not sure,’ the deep voice rumbled. ‘Maybe we should help her up.’
As the two faces floating above her distorted even more, Gwenhwyfar realised her face was wet with tears.
‘We should call the police,’ Viola muttered, concerned.
‘We can’t do that—not with all that alcohol downstairs. Everyone will get arrested,’ Gavin argued.
‘If they were interested in arresting teenagers they would have crashed the party already,’ Viola disputed, dropping the broken light to the floor. ‘Besides, there’s that protest on in London tonight. They have bigger things to worry about.’
‘You think they’ll just overlook the booze if we call them?’
‘We’ll just have to get rid of it all, then,’ Viola snapped, coordinating their movements to prop Gwenhwyfar up. She sat down and offered a supporting arm, into which Gwenhwyfar collapsed gratefully. She began to sob.
‘Maybe we should just call her parents?’ Gavin frowned.
‘Good idea,’ Viola agreed. ‘Get her phone—it’s on the floor. And get rid of Hector. I don’t want to look at him.’
Gavin looked down to the crumpled heap and prodded him with his foot. Hector groaned. ‘He doesn’t look too good. I think you hit him pretty hard, Vi.’
‘Well, then call his parents. Say he passed out or something. Here—’ She took the clutch from him and placed it in her lap. ‘I’ll deal with her parents. They’ll probably freak if a guy calls them up. You sort him out.’ She glanced at Hector with an obvious degree of disgust. ‘And tell Tom to shut this party down. It’s a disaster.’
Gavin hoisted Hector off the floor and dragged him out of the room. Composing herself, Gwenhwyfar pulled away from Viola, her eyes stinging. ‘Don’t say anything about this to anyone, will you?’
‘Gavin said he heard Charlotte tell Hector that you wanted to meet him here,’ she said, eying her sympathetically.
‘Emily told me that Arthur wanted to meet me here,’ Gwenhwyfar cried. ‘I didn’t want to meet Hector. I never wanted to meet Hector.’
‘I know.’ Handing Gwenhwyfar her phone, Viola removed her arm from her shoulders. ‘Arthur will understand, once he knows. It’s not your fault Hector’s a drunken lout.’
‘You didn’t see the look on his face when he opened the door. He didn’t even let me explain… practically locked me in with that… that…’ A strangled burst of tears ended her words. Viola fished some tissues out of Gwenhwyfar’s clutch, and she took them, shaking.
‘It’s all right. Hector’s gone. You could get him into a lot of trouble for this.’ She offered a strained smile. ‘He’s been asking for it for ages.’
‘Why do you hang around with him anyway?’ Gwenhwyfar accused.
‘I don’t. He’s obsessed with being part of Tom’s entourage, and Tom’s too eager for one to tell him to get lost.’
Slowly, Gwenhwyfar felt herself calm down.
‘You can’t go home like this. How about we get you cleaned up? Then we can call your parents, go downstairs and show those bitches that their plan failed.’
Gwenhwyfar nodded, and Viola offered a serene smile. ‘Come on. The bathroom’s this way. We’ll worry about Arthur later.’
When Gwenhwyfar descended to the dwindling party, Emily, Hattie and Charlotte had already gone, even though she was supposed to be spending the night at the Rose household. Slowly, all evidence of the party was removed, until at long last the only indicator of the alcohol consumed lingered in the final few houseguests. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Gwenhwyfar stared down at her mobi
le, wondering what excuse she would use when she called her parents. It was past twelve and her father would be getting ready for bed.
‘You can still stay at mine,’ Viola offered again. ‘We can stop off at the garage to get you a toothbrush.’
‘No, it’s all right.’ Gwenhwyfar attempted a smile. ‘I think I’d rather just go home.’
There was sudden shouting. A breathless boy ran hollering through the house, his skin sweat-glazed, eyes wide.
‘Police!’ he yelled. ‘Police!’
The news brought an onslaught of wordless cries. Gwenhwyfar stood dumbstruck; watching as Tom rapidly waved the dwindled few out through the back door.
‘Go, go! Hurry up!’ He pushed the next one across the threshold as Viola blitzed the kitchen. A strong air freshener was fired around the premises while windows were flung open. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Cheeks were pinched and ice-cold water was rubbed into flushed faces. Someone stuffed the last of the illicit substance into a bin liner and ran with it out into the garden and beyond the back fence, the bag dripping as they went.
‘You should go, Gwen, before they get here,’ Viola advised. She pushed two small spray-bottles into her hands. ‘Here. Use the pink one for your mouth, the yellow one for your eyes. You don’t want your parents to know that you were drinking.’
‘Thanks.’ The music was switched off, the litter cleared away. It was almost like magic, seeing the evidence of the whole evening vanish before her eyes.
‘I’m going to head off too. I’ll walk you,’ Gavin declared. Suddenly he didn’t seem so intimidating. He was more like a large guard dog than anything else: her guard dog. Abruptly she realised that there was an unmistakable gentleness to his eyes. ‘We shouldn’t wait here.’
‘All right.’ She collected up her belongings. Her hands still trembled when Viola handed her coat to her. ‘Thanks, for what you did.’
Viola merely nodded. ‘See you Monday, Gwen. Don’t let any of this get to you.’
Soon Gwenhwyfar and Gavin were out in the cold, pulling on their coats as they hurried down the garden, through the fence and along an alleyway that led out onto the street. The sirens grew ever louder until, eventually, they stopped. As they paced Gwenhwyfar searched for the new house phone on her mobile. Gavin stood patiently to one side while she recounted some tale of not feeling well, the excuse a migraine. Angrily she stabbed the disconnect button with her thumb.
The Future King: Logres Page 6
