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Would the rainbows still appear on the special table?
There were more booths now, but she glimpsed her favourite one in the corner. She stepped closer. It was occupied. Maybe she could sit nearby until it became free?
As she took a seat at a table, the person at the booth stood. Was he leaving?
As he turned, her heart froze, and heat sped through her body like flames multiplying underneath her skin. Her stomach churned, and a tingle raced up her spine as she came face-to-face with the guy with beautiful green eyes and dimples when he smiled.
She gasped louder than she intended when he stepped closer to her table, instantly drawing his attention and stopping him in his stride.
“Lucie Smith?” he asked, his eyes wide and his voice shaky.
“Chris? Chris Jones?” she replied, trembling.
Chapter Three – Eight Years Earlier, Friday
“Who’s excited?” her mum called out from the front passenger seat of the immaculate Ford Focus. There were no marks or sweet wrappers. Everything was as pristine as when Lucie’s dad had bought the car eighteen months earlier.
“Can we have something else on the radio? I’m bored of classical, and I want to listen to Radio 1,” Emma shouted to the front.
“You’d rather listen to something vapid that will rot your brain?” their dad replied quickly from the driver’s seat. “I thought not,” he said without allowing her to answer. “Classical it is then.”
Emma rolled her eyes before her attention returned to her phone.
“One last weekend holiday and in a beautiful location,” their mum tried again. The faux joy that made their mum’s curls bounce up and down was too much. Emma had the sass of a fifteen-year-old but combined it with the intelligence to know when not to say anything hurtful.
“I’m excited, Mum,” Lucie replied to keep the disappointment from clouding over her mum’s face. It wasn’t going to be an awful weekend, but it wasn’t going to be the forty-eight hours of non-stop fun that their mum wanted them to believe it would be. Still, Lucie wanted her mum to smile. They were both trying their best. “We’re going to have a great time and lots of fun.”
Her dad huffed from the driver’s seat before adding, “It will be the last fun you’ll have for a while. You need to knuckle down this year, or you’ll never get into university to study law. You know how competitive it is, and your grades aren’t good enough.”
Lucie bit her tongue, determined not to cause any problems, but her dad continued his lecture regardless.
Her phone vibrated with a message. Emma nudged her in the ribs. She was always sending texts of what she wanted to say when Lucie was victim to one of their dad’s speeches. Emma was the only one other than their parents with her new number too.
Emma:Do you want me to tell him I’ve got a massive hangover from Dan’s party last night? It will change the subject from you quickly. And when are you going to tell him you want to study art and not law?
Lucie shook her head while pretending to flick her fringe out of her eyes so that Emma would get her meaning. They were nearly at the roadside restaurant, and it wasn’t worth a fight with their dad now. There were likely to be many more lectures that Emma could distract him from later.
“Don’t shake your head at me. Once you get to university, you’ll wish you’d listened to my wisdom,” her dad continued sternly.
“Oh my God. I haven’t told you about last night,” Emma moaned, lengthening all her words in mock-hangover exaggeration.
Their dad gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Don’t interrupt me, Emma.” His voice was rising quickly.
“But it went off. This guy dared me to drink—”
“There’s the restaurant. The Little Chef!” their mum exclaimed in an attempt to diffuse the escalating tension.
Lucie bit her tongue. Although it was probably a story Emma made up to exasperate their dad, she wanted to hear the ending. Lucie hadn’t been to any of the local parties. Emma would take her even though she wasn’t invited, but no one would want her there. Sometimes the kids from their school and the local boys’ school went, but other times, groups from the local comp schools would go along. They all knew each other in passing. Emma told her that most people considered it a night to get drunk and foolaround with someone random. For Emma, it was more about hanging with her mates and doing stupid stuff.
“You should have come to last night’s. It was a party for those going to university. I know you don’t go for a year, but you might have had fun,” Emma whispered but not quietly enough.
“No parties for Lucie. Not that she’d know what to do. She’d probably be in the corner doing her homework, and no one would talk to her anyway,” their dad muttered.
Emma undid her seatbelt dramatically with a roll of her eyes. The move showed the smiley faces and random drawings etched up her arms. The inkings often covered Emma’s arms after parties. Apparently it was her way of planning her future tattoos. Emma was three years off eighteen and going to university, not that she had any intention of going, but that wouldn’t prevent her from partying where and how she wanted. Lucie sighed despondently. She’d probably be too anxious around the popular kids and would end up telling everyone off for breaking the rules, and she’d never cover her arms with something that would last forever.
Their mum attempted to rouse the group as they got out of the car and walked through the car park to the Little Chef. “We will stop here for a short time, grab something to eat, and then head to the holiday village.” She clasped her hands tightly as she aimed a meek smile at their dad. It was her standard pose when attempting to placate him.
“What else happened at the party?” Lucie whispered to Emma.
