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Next I go and check out the pictures he posted of the beach. There are a tonne of haphazard shots of the group sunbathing. One in particular makes me laugh; it shows the three girls, but Kara is the only one who realises the shot is being taken. She’s pulled off her sunglasses, and her face is distorted into an unflattering scowl. Robert has managed to capture her in such a way as to make her look ugly. She’s even bent forward in annoyance, making it appear as though she has a tiny pot belly, and most likely the very reason why Robert has put it up. He can be such a dick.
There are already a handful of comments on it from about an hour ago.
Kara Wallace 19:07: Take this down now, Robert!
Robert Phillips 19:10: Why ever would I do that? It’s a stunning photograph.
I can’t help it; I snort in laughter at this.
Kara Wallace 19:13: If you don’t take it down I’m uploading every single drunken photo I have of you and linking them to all our friends. I might even make a slide show on YouTube.
Robert Phillips 19:14: I don’t remember those being taken, you camera rapist! But be my guest. I’m a legendary drunk.
Kara Wallace 19:14: Ugh, I hate you.
Robert Phillips 19:18: Okay, where are these pictures? I’m waiting. I think they might be a figment of your imagination.
Kara Wallace 19:20: Just take it down, Robert.
Robert Phillips 19:21: Why? Afraid Gary Fitzsimmons is going to see it?
Oh, my God, he’s devious. He’s linked Gary into the conversation so that the next time he logs on, he’ll get a notification about it.
Kara Wallace 19.22: Fine, leave it up. I’ll get you back for this.
Robert “likes” her comment but doesn’t write anything back. He can be so odd sometimes. After this there are couple of pictures of Victor and Jacob making funny faces into the camera and another few of Sasha and Alistair playing Frisbee. Then I get to the ones with me in them. There are three of me alone from different angles, one where I’m sitting on the towel, my eyelashes shading my eyes, another where I’m smiling at something behind the camera, and a final one where I’m lying down, but the focus is more on my body than my face. I feel hot and embarrassed just looking at it.
The last picture in the whole album is the one he took of the two of us together. His arm is around me, and he’s got a big, inviting smile on his face. I’m looking away from the camera, slightly uncomfortable, my pale cheeks tinged with red. I spend more time than would be considered healthy studying this shot, mesmerised by how happy Robert appears in it. Then I notice a new notification, bringing me back to the comment he made on my profile picture about making it his screensaver.
Robert Phillips 20:31: It’s already done. x.
I don’t write anything back to him, because I can tell he’d only enjoy it. He clearly relished goading Kara about taking down the unflattering picture of her. Sometimes it’s best to do nothing at all where social networking is concerned. People play a lot of games on these sites – and I’m not talking about Farmville.
It did seem like Robert and I broke new ground during the little moment we shared in the back seat of his car, but I still don’t entirely trust him. As they say, old habits die hard. It’s difficult to reconcile the boy he was with the man he is today. There are still some aspects of his personality that have remained intact, but then there are other more mature characteristics in him that I haven’t seen before.
The next day he and Sasha are up early to go visit their dad and have dinner at his place. Sasha asks me along, but I decline, wanting the house to myself for a while. I’m still in my PJs, eating some chopped-up pineapple from a bowl in the living room, when they’re getting ready to leave. Robert comes in and sits on the arm of the sofa while Sasha’s upstairs trying to find her car keys.
“You saw the photos I put up?” he asks, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I also saw the one Kara wanted you to take down. I think you should do it, Rob. If she’s got body-image issues, then having that picture up could be bad for her. She’s not even fat, of course, but I know what girls are like. The tiniest scrap of flab, and they think they’re a monster.”
“Fine. I’ll take it down later,” he accedes, his eyes piercing me. A moment of silence elapses.
“You can take down the ones of me, too,” I add, breaking the quiet.
“Why?” he asks, his mouth tilting in curiosity.
“They’re just so…so, I don’t know. I don’t like them.”
“I think ‘intimate’ is the word you’re looking for. They make it look like I’m into you.”
“Exactly. So take them down.”
“But I am into you.”
I want to kill the blush that colours my cheeks. “You’re into toying with me. You’re not into me as a person.”
His amusement dies, and his expression turns hard.
“I’m so into you as a person, Lana, I might as well be living under your skin.”
I stare at him and there’s nothing but absolute seriousness on his face.
At this Sasha comes running down the stairs, jangling her car keys and announcing, “Found them! Come on, Rob, you know Dad will pull a strop if we’re late.”
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “I’m right behind you.”
And with that he’s gone.
Oh, my God. Did he really just say that? It’s a good thing I’ll have the place to myself for a few hours, because I’m in serious need of some alone time. I feel like practicing my singing to let off some steam, release my bottled-up emotions. There’s something about pouring your guts out through a song that can be quite freeing.
I finish off my pineapple, still shaky after Robert’s declaration, and go upstairs to throw on some clothes. My heart is a confused muddle. Opening up the wardrobe I’d unpacked all of my stuff into, I rummage around at the bottom where I stashed my wooden box and drumstick.
