My Best Friend's Life

by Shari Low

  She screamed as she jumped back, missing the worst of the torrent but feeling the pain as some of the water splashed onto her. Mitch shot up, grabbed her, spun her round and wrenched the zip down on her sweatshirt before instinctively tearing the soaked fabric from her body, so panicked that he honestly, hand on heart, didn’t notice that she wasn’t wearing a bra and was therefore displaying her assets in all their remarkably pert glory.

  At least, not at first.

  Because, like the very worst scene in the very worst soap opera about the unluckiest woman in man-made fibres, that was the very moment that the door swung open, and there, in front of her, was the man she’d been waiting to see for what seemed like months. She took in his beautifully cut suit, his impeccably groomed hair and his five-hundred-quid shoes. She chose to ignore his homicidal expression, the two astonished blonde women standing behind him, and the fact that she was standing in a puddle.

  Half-naked. Two inches away from an Irish bloke clutching a pink velour sweatshirt.

  ‘Felix!’

  He was standing in front of her, top lip curling in anger, having obviously put two and two together and got a severe dose of the hump.

  ‘I won’t ask if you missed me then,’ he said with the kind of accompanying cackle that the really bad guys always emit in horror movies right before they decapitate their next victim.

  ‘But, but…!’ She didn’t even know where to begin.

  ‘Save it, love,’ he sneered, turning to leave. Suddenly, he stopped, turned back, and then looked her up and down.

  ‘You know, I’ve just realised something. You look great…’

  Roxy’s spirits momentarily soared.

  ‘…but to be honest, after the other night I actually think Ginny has better tits.’

  Farnham Hills, the alley behind the youth club, May 1994

  ‘Okay, okay, it’s my turn,’ slurred Roxy. ‘What do you want, truth or dare?’

  Ginny took a huge slug from the bottle of Diamond White. She couldn’t believe the man in the off-licence had allowed Roxy to buy it. But then, he hadn’t stopped staring at her boobs for long enough to check her face and realise that there was no way she was eighteen. She did look at least sixteen, though–a whole two years older than she actually was and about four years older than Ginny looked. It wasn’t fair–how come Roxy had got all the premature development genes?

  As always, their outfits were matching but the effect was totally different. Ginny was wearing a black cropped vest top, black Lycra leggings, pink leg-warmers and flat suede boots. With her ironing-board chest, boyish figure and her mass of frizz pulled back into a low pony tail, she looked like she was about to go and audition for an under-twelves’ tap dancing class. Roxy was wearing the same outfit, but with her 32C chest, waist-length black curls and hourglass torso she looked like Madonna’s more controversial little sister–Jailbait Ciccone.

  Ginny swallowed the sweet, fizzy liquid and tried not to retch. She hated the stuff but Roxy got really annoyed if she refused to join in. She inhaled deeply, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.

  ‘Truth,’ she eventually replied.

  Roxy thought for a few minutes. ‘If you could kiss any boy at the disco tonight, who would it be?’

  Ginny flushed so brightly she could double as a disco light. She hated these questions. Fourteen and she’d never kissed a boy, whereas Roxy had snogged every decent-looking guy in the school. Except…except…

  ‘Josh Tressor,’ Ginny finally admitted bashfully.

  Roxy giggled, an unfortunate move as she had a mouthful of cider. Some of it escaped and sprayed Ginny’s hair. Great. Like she needed more reasons for her mane to frizz.

  ‘Yeah, you and every other female with a pulse–me included,’ said Roxy. ‘God, he’s so gorgeous–I had a dream once that I lost my virginity to him and it was so incredible. He had a donger the size of…’

  ‘Roxy! Shut up!!!’

  Roxy roared with laughter. ‘Okay, okay, but it was huge! And should he ever want my virginity I’d definitely make it available. Oh, I wish!’ she paused, savouring the thought, then snapped out of it. ‘Anyway, I didn’t know you fancied him too. You should tell him. Definitely. I’ll tell him for you.’

  ‘DON’T YOU DARE!’ Ginny screeched, mortified at the very thought. It was one thing having a secret crush on someone, but she’d have to leave school, change her identity and emigrate to another country if he ever found out. Oh, she’d die!

  And anyway, she knew he’d never, ever look twice at her. Josh Tressor was by far the best-looking guy in the school: captain of the football team, top in athletics, smart, and so handsome he could get any girl he wanted. And Ginny knew with absolute certainty that he’d never want her. He was way, way out of her league–two years they’d been in the same chemistry class, sitting in the same group, and she’d bet her last Take That album that he didn’t even know her name. It was partly because she never spoke in class and partly because he was always occupied with the dual pastimes of class work and fending off the affections of the endless stream of girls who wanted to go out with him–one of them being Roxy.

  Still, she was allowed to dream…

  Roxy took a huge gulp of the cider and then passed it back to Ginny to finish, before pulling a packet of Juicy Fruit from her bag and opening a stick for each of them. ‘Right, come on then, let’s go. I’ve promised Jack Symms I’ll get off with him–he’s no Josh Tressor but his dad’s got a BMW and he’s promised to sneak the keys out so we can sit in it.’

  ‘Roxy, you promised you wouldn’t leave me on my own again!’

  ‘I won’t! I’ll wait until the end of the night before I even talk to him, honest!’

  And for once she was true to her word. For three hours they danced, laughed and made frequent trips to the toilet–courtesy of the diuretic effects of Diamond White. Ginny was returning from her twelfth pee of the evening just as she heard the last record start. Groan–she hated this bit. This was the slow dance, where all the guys picked the girl they fancied most and smooched for three long romantic minutes on the dance floor, trying to avoid letting Father Murphy spot that their pelvises were actually touching and that they were kissing with tongues. Ginny never, ever got picked.

  As she left the loos, she turned right and was walking towards the swing doors leading to the main hall when she heard voices coming from the fire-exit recess just ahead of her on the left-hand wall of the corridor.

  Oh crap, crap, crap, it was Josh Tressor and he was talking to…

  ‘Come on, Roxy, just one dance. I’ve been wanting to ask you for ages.’

  Ginny’s stomach flipped and her knees turned to Angel Delight. Typical. Totally typical. Okay, so Josh would never ask her out in this lifetime, but now Roxy would be his girlfriend and Ginny would have to listen to her drooling his praises night and day for the rest of their lives. It was just so, so pants! She leaned against the wall, frozen to the spot by her legs’ sudden refusal to cooperate. Urgh, now she’d hear them getting it together. In fact, if she knew Roxy then they were already kissing and Josh Tressor’s hand had been guided into her bra.

  ‘Josh…’ Roxy started to speak.

  Here we go, thought Ginny. This is the part where Roxy says yes and they boogie off into the sunset, leaving her, as usual, to help Father Murphy pack up his records and then pick up all the crisp packets and empty Coke cans.

  ‘I’d love to…’

  Ginny tutted, rolled her eyes and adopted the approximate expression of a bulldog chewing a wasp (thereby proving that some mannerisms originate in childhood). She was just about to head back to the toilets and seek refuge in a locked cubicle when she realised what Roxy was saying.

  ‘…but I can’t.’

  Ginny almost gasped out loud in astonishment. Like the entire female population of the school, Roxy had worshipped Josh for years, and yet now she was rejecting his advances. Just how much of that cider had she drunk?

  Josh’s voice conveyed his
surprise. ‘Why not? Come on, Rox.’

  ‘Look, I said no,’ Roxy replied firmly. ‘I really like you but…well, one of my friends does too and it wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘Who?’ Josh probed.

  ‘Can’t tell you or she’d kill me.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go out with any of your friends, Roxy; I want to go out with you.’

  Roxy sounded doleful. ‘Sorry, Josh, but I couldn’t do that to her–not even for you. Aaaagh, I bloody hate being nice.’

  Ginny’s eyes widened. Oh. My. God. Roxy had rejected the most amazing, totally cool boy in the school, a guy who was the best catch in the village–no, make that the whole world–because…because of her. It was incredible. And so, so lovely.

  Suddenly Roxy alighted from the recess, her back to Ginny, still talking to Josh. ‘I have to go, something to do. Don’t suppose you know if Jack brought the keys for his dad’s BMW?’

  Ginny couldn’t help but grin. That was Roxy: crazy, wild, shallow, and utterly superficial…and the best friend a girl could ever have.

  TEN

  Many Rivers to Cross

  Ginny. Day 11, Wednesday, 10.49 p.m.

  ‘I didn’t! Okay, I suppose technically I did, but I swear it’s not in the way you think. Roxy! Roxy! ROXY!!!!’

  Ginny realised that she was now shrieking like a banshee to the accompanying sound of a dialling tone. She quickly punched in Roxy’s mobile number–straight to answering machine. She speed-dialled her mother’s house–engaged.

  Jude came storming through into the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened? Are you okay? Is Roxy? What’s going on?’

  Amazing–the man was capable of grasping the severity of a situation, reacting to it at blinding speed and asking all the pertinent questions, yet he was, apparently, incapable of putting on a T-shirt.

  And it was even more disconcerting because he was so tall his nipples were in Ginny’s eye-line. For a brief moment she didn’t know whether to speak or take her mind off her crisis by latching on and hoping for the best. And she couldn’t believe she was having impure thoughts at a time like this.

  ‘I’m fine! No, I’m not. I’m not sure how, but Roxy somehow thinks that I slept with Felix and she’s gone into orbit. Oh my God, how could she think that? How? Why?’

  ‘What? It wasn’t your fault he ambushed you in the middle of the night. I’m just glad I’d left or it could have been one of those scenes that I’d have relived until I die.’

  He grabbed a bagel from the worktop and broke a bit off. ‘Phone her back, explain what happened and tell her she’s being ridiculous. I’ll speak to her too, if you want.’

  ‘I tried, but her mobile is off and the house phone is engaged. Shit, I have to go home and explain. Shit, I can’t, I’m on early shift tomorrow. Shit. Shit. How could she think that?’

  The astonishment and horror were very gradually being replaced by indignation and anger.

  ‘I mean, for God’s sake, we’ve been best friends our whole lives–how could she ever think that I’d do something like that to her? Does she give me no credit at all?’

  Her arms were on her hips now, ire in full flow.

  ‘She knows me much better than that! How could she!’

  ‘Ssshhh, ssshhh.’ Jude tried to diffuse the situation by wrapping his arms around her and shushing her into serenity.

  It was several moments before Ginny realised that she was nestled in the best set of pecs she’d ever fantasised about licking. Only Brad Pitt came close and even then Jude’s gained the edge because they didn’t come with the threat of certain death at the hands of Angelina Jolie.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t think taking on Goldie Gilmartin would be conducive to the retention of limbs either. Where was Goldie these days? She hadn’t seen her all week. Or Cheska, for that matter. Actually, if she was being totally honest, that might have been something to do with the fact that she’d been avoiding Jude too.

  Mortification often had that effect.

  Mortification arising from the last time he had charged into a room, ostensibly to her rescue, to find her sitting bolt upright in bed with her best friend’s ex-boyfriend dangling from her left mammary.

  ‘What the fu—?’ had been his initial take on the situation. Then, thankfully, Felix had regained the power of speech and in a flurry of apologies and explanations had climbed out of bed and pulled his clothes back on. He’d had the cheek to ask her to turn away to protect his modesty. Marvellous. The man had almost performed a gynaecological procedure on her and now he was making her look away to save his blushes.

  In the end, they’d all calmed down, sobered up and re-clothed enough to clarify the situation.

  ‘But why has she gone back to live at her mother’s house?’ Felix had asked, dumbfounded. ‘She always said that your life was like slow suffocation by boredom.’

  Ginny gave a rueful shrug. ‘She isn’t even here and yet still she manages to insult me. But to go back to your question, it may have something to do with her catching you–er…’

  She couldn’t say it. She might now work in a brothel. She might give the illusion of being cosmopolitan and worldly wise. She might be single. She might fantasise about lewd acts with unsuitable men. But she still couldn’t have an upfront discussion about sex.

  ‘Banging someone else,’ Jude contributed to the silence.

  Ginny gestured a thanks to him for filling in the blanks.

  ‘Oh, come on, that was just a fling. It’s over. Roxy knew that would never last. A bloke has to have the odd dalliance, ain’t that right, mate?’ Felix addressed the question to Jude, who found it difficult to answer from his position midway between a rock and a hard place.

  Ten minutes later, Felix was out of the door, armed with Roxy’s mother’s number and address, the latter being given in case he found it preferable to soften Roxy up by sending gifts. Anything except flowers.

  After he’d gone, there was a brief instant of discomfort as Jude and Ginny stood facing each other in the hall. She’d checked Roxy’s Cartier Tank–5 a.m. ‘I’d better get to bed. Early rise in the morning.’ A whole week and she still hadn’t had a day off. Jennifer’s romance with the French chef had bypassed casual courting and occasional overnight stays and gone straight to a week-long love-in at The Langham.

  Ginny had been only too happy to cover for her, figuring that more work meant more money, busier days and less temptation.

  Jude had given her his trademark languid, easy smile and kissed her goodnight. On the cheek.

  They’d only had a few brief meetings as they passed each other in the hallway since then.

  Until now.

  Now he was holding her, shushing her, and all she could think of was that her best friend was devastated. Okay, that was a blatant lie. The old Ginny would have been consumed by desperation about her friend’s pain; the new Ginny was busily engaged in the lofty pursuit of surreptitiously, almost discernibly counting the grooves on a stripper’s six-pack.

  But in her defence there was part of her brain that was disturbingly puzzled by this latest twist in events.

  Almost as puzzled as she was about Darren’s behaviour.

  She’d called him a dozen times since he’d unceremoniously binned her and, like those initial few days when she’d come to London, he was refusing to answer the phone again. She’d stopped calling his mother’s house because she was sure that all those trips to the phone must be playing havoc with the old dear’s gallstones. Travelling home from work that night she’d decided that she wasn’t going to try to contact him again. Game over. If he wanted to be so childish and petty then that was up to him, but she wasn’t calling him again. So there.

  She would, however, call Roxy again in a minute–just as soon as she’d disentangled herself from Jude. Make that two minutes. Maybe three.

  Right on cue, he lifted his head from the top of hers, allowing her to look up into those sea-green eyes. He’d break off any minute now. She knew it. So s
he waited…and waited…and…

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Honestly.’

  The truth was that sometimes she thought this new life was fabulous, and other times she felt, well, like she’d do anything to be back at the library drinking tea and spending all morning chatting to Mitch. There was no denying Roxy’s world was more glam, more dramatic, sexier, and sure, it was a perpetual tornado of excitement, but sometimes it felt a little, well, hollow. And exhausting. She absolutely loved the girls at the Seismic but it seemed like they never really talked about anything other than the next party. She had the distinct feeling that she could work there for years, socialise with them on a daily basis, yet never really find out anything about them other than who they were sleeping with, where they shopped and where they were spending their next night out. There was definitely something to be said for zero stress and nothing to do all day except keep an eye on wayward teenagers and chat to people who had all the time in the world to chat back.

  The truth was that somewhere among the last couple of weeks of grooming demands, the sexual tension at home, the emotional tension with Darren and the witnessing of more naked body parts than an overworked porn star, she was starting to see that her old life did have some advantages. However, she put that thought to the furthest recesses of her mind for the time being, since her old life didn’t come with the added perk of being able to snuggle into the torso of a man who, despite the fact he originated from Hackney, had somehow been gifted the body of your common or garden Greek god–one who was still waiting for her reply.

  ‘I honestly have absolutely no idea. I seem to have stumbled into this crazy world where there’s a drama every five minutes, a crisis every ten, and loads of outrageous things happen in between. I’ve had more bizarre experiences in the last ten days than I’ve had in the rest of my life. Either the world’s gone mad or I have.’