‘You’ll need to. Matt’s not the best on wild rides. I’ll need a coaster companion. He can go on the kids’ rides with Alfie.’
She agrees immediately, clapping her hands excitedly like a five-year-old. I just hope Matt is as keen as we are.
Several shots later, the DJ announces the final song of the evening. Sarah drags herself to her feet again, kicking off her shoes, while I wince in exhaustion.
She frowns, one hand on her hip, the other stretched out towards me. ‘I’m not doing the last dance alone – on your feet, soldier!’
I begrudgingly agree and she hauls me up, just as ‘Knocks Me Off My Feet’ by Stevie Wonder starts playing. Sarah looks faintly embarrassed – clearly, she wasn’t betting on a slower number. I smile, hoping it reaches my eyes, and take her hand, pulling her in close for the obligatory rock back and forth of untrained dancers. After a moment of awkwardness, her head eventually settles against my chest and I feel myself struggling to swallow, hoping she can’t hear me gulp. Why does her hair smell so goddamn amazing? It takes all of my self-restraint to resist burying my face in her curls. I wonder if she can feel how fast my heart is beating. Just then, as I’m gazing at the top of her head, she looks up at me and, suddenly, our lips are just centimetres apart. When she meets my eyes, I spring back like I’ve been scalded, afraid that if I stay touching her for a second longer that I won’t be able to resist kissing her.
I cough uncomfortably. ‘Sorry, just gotta go to the men’s room. Grab your shoes, yeah? I’ll call us an Uber when I get back.’ I literally flee.
Having retreated to the men’s room to gather my composure again, I let my face fall against the cold wall tiles, gross bathroom germs be damned. I cannot keep getting myself into these situations with Sarah. It’s physically fucking painful.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘I hate you,’ Matt says, his hands gripping the overhead restraint of the roller-coaster. ‘I absolutely fucking hate you.’
Matt’s initial enthusiasm about spending my birthday at Thorpe Park seems to have dissipated somewhat.
‘You don’t have to go on anything too wild,’ I’d informed him. ‘Just fancied doing something a bit different this year, you know. Instead of just getting another hangover.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ he’d replied, looking distinctly green. ‘I’ll go on anything. Faster the better.’
‘But when we went to Blackpool, you almost cried when—’
‘Mate, that was six years ago. I had food poisoning. I was just feeling emotional that I’d been coaxed into going to bloody Blackpool. Nothing to do with the rides.’
On the train ride here, he’d excitedly told an eager Alfie about the attractions the little man would be tall enough to go on, along with tales from yonder years of when his own dad would take him to the rides at the local cattle show fair.
‘High on the big wheel, wellies on, great view of the countryside. Good times.’
Sometimes I think Matt missed his calling as a farmer.
‘I thought you said he hated rides?’ Sarah had whispered, while Matt and Alfie watched YouTube videos from previous theme park visitors. ‘He seems totally up for it.’
‘Maybe I misjudged him,’ I replied, knowing full well that I hadn’t. Ninety per cent of this was bravado for Sarah and Alfie’s benefit and probably ten per cent was amnesia from the trauma suffered on the Big One at Blackpool Pleasure Beach.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know,’ I inform him, albeit redundantly, since we’re now locked in and ready to go. ‘I said I’d go on by myself.’
‘What, and look like a pussy in front of Alfie and Sarah? No chance.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘I blame you for this. Actually, not just for this. . .’
I tell Matt to relax and try to enjoy it as the last safety checks are done, giving Sarah and Alfie a quick wave as they look on. Alfie looks irritated that he hasn’t quite reached the four-foot-three minimum height requirement but watches keenly as the ride hisses into action.
The initial force by which the coaster rockets off surprises even me, but Matt’s loud yelp makes me laugh more than it should. The momentum carries us past greenery and through a small tunnel before facing a steep hill which we slowly climb, giving me a chance to glance over at Matt, who now has his eyes firmly closed and is either cursing or praying under his breath.
‘Dude, you’re missing the view.’
‘Shut the hell up.’
‘I thought you liked views?’
‘I swear if I die, I will haunt the fuck out of you.’
As we finally reach the top, a fearless few in front raise their arms and we hurtle down, arses leaving seats and stomachs dropping, eventually culminating in a particularly impressive high-pitched scream from Matt. After several loops and corkscrews, we come to a halt and Matt finally opens his eyes.
