‘Are you all right?’ she asked, hovering awkwardly with her arms crossed.
Emily nodded, wiping her face with a fistful of tissue. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine,’ Gwenhwyfar disputed.
‘Well, I am fine. So why don’t you just leave me alone?’ Emily bit, rubbing the mascara staining her cheeks. Tempted, Gwenhwyfar looked to the door.
‘Let me guess—Charlotte?’ Emily looked up, surprised. Gwenhwyfar expelled a sigh. ‘What did she do?’
‘It doesn’t matter what she did, all that matters is she’s vile. Hattie too. And Rhea and Rebecca.’ She wiped her eyes again, twisting the tissue into a small brush. ‘They’re all vile.’
‘I could have told you that.’
‘As if you can say anything, after what you said about me.’
‘What did I say?’ she demanded.
‘You said I was ugly.’
‘No I didn’t,’ she objected, but Emily was insistent.
‘Yes you did. How can you not remember?’
‘I never said anything of the sort!’
‘You’re such a liar! Charlotte told me. You even called me fat. So don’t you talk to me about bitching, because you are one.’
Resisting the pull of a fresh argument, Gwenhwyfar uncrossed her arms. ‘I never said you were fat. I never said you were ugly either,’ she replied, shortly. ‘Charlotte was obviously lying. Don’t you remember? She hates me. That’s why she was always avoiding us when we were friends, and that’s why she told you I said those things. So you’d hate me, too.’ She shook her head. ‘What does it matter? It doesn’t change anything. Even if you did go to that protest, you still—’
‘That was Charlotte’s idea,’ Emily said quickly, her eyes drying. ‘I only went along with it because of what you said about me—’
‘—What Charlotte told you I said about you,’ Gwenhwyfar corrected.
‘Whatever.’ Emily shrugged, and stared down at the dirty basins. ‘Look, I know it was out of order. I had no idea it would go so far.’ She glanced at her momentarily through reddened eyes. ‘It just happened. I’m sorry about that, really.’
‘You already apologised,’ Gwenhwyfar said curtly. She ought to leave, to let Emily wallow in the consequences of her ill-directed actions, but she didn’t. ‘And what about Arthur?’
Emily sniffed again, pinching wet mascara off of her lashes with her fingers. ‘What about him?’
‘You told him that Ellie kissed Lancelot. Why would you do such a thing?’
‘But she did kiss Lancelot,’ Emily contended. ‘Hattie saw them together. And I didn’t tell Arthur, Charlotte did. So I don’t see what the problem is.’
‘The problem is that Charlotte told him,’ she huffed. ‘Haven’t you figured it out yet? Ellie never did anything with Lance. He says so, she said so, and so do his friends. It’s only Arthur who still thinks she did.’
‘So it’s not true, then?’
‘Its about as true as anything Charlotte’s ever said about you,’ Gwenhwyfar quipped.
‘It’s horrible,’ Emily begun. ‘She’s been spreading all kinds of nasty rumours. She practically had an orgasm when she found out Bedivere said I was a crap kisser.’
‘He never said that,’ Gwenhwyfar lied, hoping to spare Bedivere some grief. ‘I made it up. Sorry.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ Emily admitted, and Gwenhwyfar thought she heard relief in her words. ‘I should never have listened to Charlotte.’
‘It’s not your fault she’s a liar.’ Swinging her bag around her shoulder, Gwenhwyfar fished out her make-up wipes. ‘Here, use these.’ Emily took one and handed the packet back. ‘Keep them,’ Gwenhwyfar insisted. ‘There’s only three left.’
‘Are you sure?’ She nodded. Emily clutched them gratefully. ‘Thanks.’
‘Will you be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ She scraped the wipes over her face, dirtying them with orange and black before tossing them into the bin.
‘I’m going to the canteen. You can come and sit with us, if you like. With me and Vi?’
She couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed when Emily shook her head. She wouldn’t have to explain the situation to her friends, yes; but at the same time she realised that Emily was still loyal to Charlotte, and that she would quickly return to her.
‘I’m OK,’ Emily said, fishing through her make-up bag. ‘I’m going to stay here for a bit. But I’ll… I’ll see you around?’
Gwenhwyfar nodded. ‘You know where to find me.’
Emily turned back to the mirror, pulled out her foundation, and began to reapply the mask that would hide all evidence of her tears.
* * *
That evening Gwenhwyfar was looking for something to wear.
‘Gwen? What about this?’
Her mother came into her bedroom holding up a dated dress. Eve pressed the gold fabric to herself, looking down at the loud garment before holding it out for her daughter. ‘What do you think? Something like this would look wonderful on you.’
Gwenhwyfar looked at the offending item. ‘Mam, it’s got feathers.’
‘So?’ Eve surveyed the dress again. ‘What’s wrong with feathers?’ Gwenhwyfar dove back into her closet, hunting around the bottom for shoes. ‘You’ll stand out in it. Besides, this was all the rage when I was younger. It’s alternative.’
‘It’s ancient,’ Gwenhwyfar remarked.
‘No, it’s vintage,’ disputed Eve. ‘Come on, just look at it for a moment. This dress, those shoes, with your hair up in a bun? To accentuate your cheekbones?’
‘Isn’t it a bit long?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Eve replied, stretching the hem out.
‘I don’t think it’s going to fit me.’
‘We could have it taken up.’
‘By Saturday?’
Eve shrugged. ‘There’s bound to be someone in town who can sort this out. Why don’t you try it on and see how much needs doing to it?’
Gwenhwyfar deliberated for a moment, kneeling in a pile of her own clothes. ‘Put it on the bed with the others. I’ll try it in a bit,’ she relented. ‘But I was looking for something a little… smarter. You know, cleaner. More sophisticated?’ She pulled three shoeboxes out and threw them across the floor.
Eve tossed the garment onto the bed. There were already three other options strewn across it.
‘How about these?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, pulling out a pair of glittery five-inch heels.
‘I thought you wanted something sophisticated?’ Eve said, joining her on the floor.
‘They’d work with jeans and a black top,’ Gwenhwyfar debated.
‘Oh no, you don’t want to be in jeans. You want the people there to notice you. You shouldn’t wear black, either. Isn’t it in a club? You’ll just blend in, in black. You need something brighter.’
‘Brighter than these?’
‘Do you want those bookers looking at your feet? Forget about the shoes for a moment.’ Eve pulled the platforms off her and put them to one side. ‘How about green? You always look fabulous in green. What happened to that dress I bought you for Christmas? You could wear that.’
‘It’s practically a gown. I don’t want to overdo it.’
Eve stood up and started to hunt through the wardrobe. She found it quickly. Gwenhwyfar went to sit on her bed.
‘But it’s gorgeous,’ Eve enthused. ‘It goes so well with your eyes. Why not try it?’
Gwenhwyfar caught the hanger as it was thrown to her. She put it with the others and began to undress. ‘Won’t I get cold?’
‘You’ll be inside. You’ll be too warm if you wear much else.’ She pulled another dress out. ‘How about we go for red? People always get noticed in red. But then, that’s too obvious.’
‘It’s not like anything’s going to come of this. It’s just a party.’
‘A models’ party,’ Eve corrected, her eyes gleaming. ‘Besides, what harm is there in looking good? You’re much
prettier than that Viola girl. Those photos you had taken for your fourteenth birthday, for example. Any one of those is ten times better than anything on that website you showed me.’ She pulled out another dress and put the other one back. ‘What’s the agency called again?’
‘Quantum Models.’ Gwenhwyfar slipped into the flowing silk and turned to face the mirror, observing herself in the green.
‘If Viola can be a model, then you can too.’ Eve threw her another dress. Gwenhwyfar missed it.
‘I’m too short to be a model,’ she disputed.
‘That Gisela Wolf girl is only five foot seven, and she’s the face of Excellence.’
‘Mam!’
‘What? You can wear heels.’ She smiled at her. ‘See? You look lovely in green. We should try something purple, too.’
‘No, not purple,’ she objected. ‘Viola always wears purple.’
Gwenhwyfar took off the green dress and changed into the next outfit waiting for her. She gazed at her reflection, wondering. She knew she was too short, but the idea of joining Viola on Quantum’s books was a seductive one.
‘Oh darling, you look lovely!’ Eve gushed, smiling at her proudly. ‘I think that’s definitely a strong option—we should make another pile.’ She threw the new dress in her hands onto the ones on the bed, and then pushed them all to one side. Gwenhwyfar played with her hair, searching for the best way to wear it. Her mother appeared behind her and batted her hands away. She started to fashion her hair into a high bun.
‘You know, if your father had his way you wouldn’t be going to this party. He’s a bit nervous after that whole Hector thing.’
‘Still?’ Gwenhwyfar asked.
‘You will be careful, won’t you? You must ring us if anything happens.’
Gwenhwyfar winced as her mother twisted and pulled at what was now a ponytail. ‘It’ll be fine, we won’t be there long. We’re getting the last train back. I’ll text you.’ She hesitated a moment, and drew in a calming breath. ‘Have you spoken to Dad yet?’
Her mother fell silent, and concentrated on her hair.
‘Mam?’
‘I spoke to him,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘We talked about it all, everything. You were right: it was just something for work. The florists was for his boss’ wife, and the jewellers… well, he said I’d find out about that at Christmas.’
‘That’s good.’ Gwenhwyfar didn’t know that there had been a weight pressing upon her until it lifted. ‘Didn’t I say it was nothing?’
‘You were right; of course you were right. Your father still doesn’t know that you know. I think it’s best if you just forget about it, if you can.’ She stepped back from her handiwork. Gwenhwyfar admired the makeshift up-do in the mirror. ‘Something like that, but bigger,’ Eve advised.
‘Are you sure it’s not too harsh?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, tilting her face to observe it from each angle.
‘No.’ Eve caught her head with her hands, and turned it face-on to the mirror. ‘It’s perfect.’
Gwenhwyfar smiled. She was right, it was. Eve went to pick up her next outfit, and held it out in extended arms as Gwenhwyfar peeled away the chiffon dress and dropped it to the floor.
* * *
The club hosting the modelling party was one of those exclusive venues that housed celebrities and sold bottles of champagne for thousands, not hundreds. Models, however, got to drink for free, and though the priciest vintages were off limits, Viola supplied Gwenhwyfar well. She felt like a dwarf amongst all these giants, despite the five-inch heels adding to her height. Though Viola gushed about a certain model being the face of Kolburn or the fittest guy to walk the earth, Gwenhwyfar found most to be too perfect, like mannequins, and in comparing them to Arthur, pitched Arthur, and even Lancelot, higher.
It turned out that other than her booker Viola knew no one, and so for most of the evening they were pulled to and fro and introduced to various clients. Later, when it was the next New Faces’ turn to be presented, Viola and Gwenhwyfar sought refuge in a corner to forage through their freebies.
‘I’ve never tried this stuff before,’ Viola said, as she unscrewed one of the mascaras. ‘It’s so expensive.’
‘My mam always wears it. I remember stealing it from her dresser when I was five. She was furious.’ Gwenhwyfar giggled, and Viola did too. She sipped at her fruit punch through a thin straw, high on the sugar. ‘How long have we got?’
‘About an hour,’ Viola responded, glancing at her phone. ‘We won’t miss much. All the important people leave before then, anyway,’ she shouted. For a meet and greet, the noise was insufferable.
‘So how are things with you and Tom?’
‘Good,’ Viola said, after some consideration. ‘How about with you and Arthur?’
‘They’re OK.’ Gwenhwyfar’s mind drifted to the issue with Lancelot, and she wondered why it still plagued her. ‘Better, now we’re official.’
‘Have you stayed over at his yet?’ Viola probed. When Gwenhwyfar shook her head, she frowned.
‘It’s not like we’ve been going out long,’ Gwenhwyfar reasoned. ‘Besides, he lives with his grandmother. It’d be a bit weird if I did stay the night.’
‘I suppose. But you want to, right?’
She nodded. Viola seemed to find this fascinating.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I?’ She stirred the ice around in her drink. ‘I like him. And he’s nice. He hasn’t pressured me into anything yet; he’s not that sort of guy. He’s really mature, you know? Unlike most boys his age.’
For a moment Viola seemed to think this was a dig at her boyfriend.
‘You know, like Hector?’ Gwenhwyfar corrected herself, and Viola’s frown faded.
They soon took to the dance floor and spent the rest of their hour doing their best to attract attention from the too-perfect males milling arrogantly around the club. Once they’d given an exaggerated goodbye to Viola’s booker, they left the venue, the cold night air pressing on their alcohol-numbed skin. The streets were not quiet. Gwenhwyfar leant into Viola as they walked together, each one grasping the other for support.
‘God, we’re going to miss our train, aren’t we?’ Gwenhwyfar said as their heels beat along the tarmac. They crossed to the opposite pavement, hurrying past the parked cars.
‘I wish we could have stayed for longer,’ Viola lamented. ‘The face of Kolburn was definitely checking me out.’
‘It was a pretty cool party. Thanks for letting me tag along. I know you could have taken Tom.’
‘Are you kidding? He’d have spent the whole night keeping me in a corner, glaring at the guys while he drooled over the girls.’ She laughed. ‘Besides, he hates dancing. I always have to bully him into it and then he throws me around as if I’m some rag doll. Does Arthur dance?’
‘You know, I have no idea.’ They shouldered past a group of women and hurried on round a corner. ‘It’s not like I’ve ever had the chance to find out.’
The explosion was deafening. Punched in the back, Gwenhwyfar hit the ground and lay there in shock. Red cinders rained down on the street like confetti. Thick dust came aglow with a strange, orange light. One scream sounded, and then another. Soon a chorus of terror erupted in the streets.
As she tried to move she became aware of the blood on her arms, but a testing shift revealed the grazes to be superficial. Viola lay motionless, her head oozing a ruby stripe from beneath her hair. Gwenhwyfar hacked a cough as a sharp breath drew in brick dust. She gagged, and spat out the irritant.
‘Vi—!’ She tried to rouse her. Nothing. Looking around in panic, Gwenhwyfar forced herself to her feet. Squinting through the fog, she coughed again. A shrill noise was ringing in her ears.
A man rushed past her, sprinting away from the disaster zone. Car alarms squealed. Gwenhwyfar hobbled to the street corner to find her path blocked by rubble. Suddenly the air was hot. Flames belched out of an angry hole in the terraced buildings opposite. Sirens wailed closer. Tremb
ling, she returned to Viola and checked for her pulse. She panicked when she felt nothing, but quickly realised she had been looking in the wrong place.
Paramedics found them. They were hurried to the back of an ambulance. Given a blanket and oxygen for shock, she watched as someone roused Viola, checked her for signs of concussion and then cleaned and inspected the wound on her head. Many people tried to leave the scene, but movement was restricted. It was in the nearest Accident and Emergency when Gwenhwyfar finally checked her mobile. She had thirty-seven missed calls.
It was well past one. With Viola lying on a cot in silence beside her, Gwenhwyfar scrolled through her phone. Two thirds of the missed calls were from home and the rest were all from Arthur. She settled on relieving the panic of her parents first.
It was her mother who answered, her distress level palpable. ‘Gwen! Oh God, Gwen, where are you? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ She glanced sideways to Viola, who was also checking her phone.
‘We saw there was an explosion on the news. You weren’t near it, were you? Why aren’t you home?’
‘We missed our train. We’re in Accident and Emergency. We’re OK, but Viola hit her head and I scraped my knees.’
‘You’re hurt?’ Eve said, her voice flooding with panic. Her father was shouting something in the background.
‘Just my knees and my arms—I’m fine, really. I don’t want you to freak or anything, but the explosion was on the street of the party. It knocked us over.’
There was a long interlude where a number of questions and sounds of horror muffled the receiver. Frowning, Gwenhwyfar struggled to make sense of her parents’ demands. Her father commandeered the phone, and she heard a relieved sob from her mother in the background.
‘Gwen, listen to me. Where are you? The trains are all down: there have been a number of explosions and they’ve shut the Tube. I’m going to drive up and get you—you’ll need me there to sort out the insurance. Have you been seen yet?’
‘They took a quick look at the blast. There’s a nurse going round tending to minor injuries.’ She couldn’t quite stand the sight of the more serious cases being wheeled through. Many had limbs missing, or horrible angular shapes protruding from their chest cavities. ‘How many explosions…?’ The strength she had shown for her mother wavered with her father. His voice always unravelled her.
The Future King: Logres Page 35
