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‘I don’t know. You just seem …’
Off. Because I am. Trying to bury the shame of my flagrant disregard for the heart Lloyd wears on his sleeve, and the sting of him having no defence when I pointed out that my reputation was the only one at risk if people found out about us.
Will waits, giving me an uncertain look, concern knotting his brow, but I give him a playful shove with my shoulder and tell him, ‘I’m just having fun! Don’t be such a party pooper.’
I’m not having fun.
I want to go home, and bury myself in my duvet and sleep through the entire rest of the internship. I want to find Lloyd and tell him I’m sorry for icing him out and for kissing him – it’s not his fault I got caught up and forgot myself.
I want to tell him I’m sorry for being so prickly all the time and putting so many walls up; I didn’t even realize I did that. They must have been there for so long, maybe a consequence of never having close friends and Mum walking out on us, that they’ve become so much a part of me I don’t know how to take them back down and let him in. That I’m not even truly aware when Idolet him in, because he makes it so easy.
But after I snapped at him like that, I don’t think Lloyd will letmein so easily next time; he doesn’t owe me anything, not really.
For his part, you’d never know anything had happened. He’s mingling with different groups of Arrowmile employees, getting involved in games and cracking jokes. He laughs brightly, smiles broadly like nothing’s wrong, looks relaxed and casual as ever.
I fare worse and worse the harder I try to have fun. The booze makes my brain sluggish and my tongue heavy; it’s tricky to keep up with conversations, as hard as I try. There’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind that I should be sensible, sober up, that above all this is awork eventand I should be trying to impress people – but I tune it out, thinking that if that’s how I sound to Lloyd, no wonder he thinks I act coldly towards him. No wonder I’ve always had such a hard time making friends.
I drown it out with another drink.
But I’m not used to alcohol and even less used to any kind of partying, so it’s not too long before I have to step out for a break: my stomach is churning and I can’t trust myself not to throw up over the boules. I go inside to the toilets to close myself in a stall, sitting down with my head between my knees for a few minutes and focusing on my breathing, only emerging when I’m sure I’m not going to be sick.
I stumble out of the stall, unsteady.
‘Anna? Are you okay?’
Verity’s face swims in front of me. She’s in the queue for the toilets, but reaches for my arm. Her hand feels hot against my clammy skin.
‘She’sdrunk,’ says another voice from next to her. This one is snide and superior; Tasha’s smirk cuts a bright red line across her face where she’s reapplied her lipstick. ‘God, Anna, can’t you handle your drink?’
How pathetic,I think she says but then I decide I must have imagined it, because Verity doesn’t react, even to laugh.
‘I’m fine.’ I don’tsoundfine. My words all run into each other. Neither Verity nor Tasha seems very convinced, but I stand up straighter and say something like, ‘I should probably just get something to eat. I’ll be okay,’ and Verity nods and they let me leave.
Back outside, I head straight for an empty bench. The warm evening air is sticky and stifling, but there’s a cool breeze that fans over my skin and helps me feel less queasy.
I get my phone out to pretend to scroll, so that at least I look occupied rather than drunk. There’s yet another text from Mum – how would I fancy meeting up soon, maybe?Uh, not at all, thanks. She’d like to see me!Well, she should’ve thought about that thirteen years ago before cutting us out of her lives.
A body sits down next to me on the bench – so close and familiar I think it must be Lloyd; or maybe uncoordinated Will – but I’m hit by the smell of expensive cologne and after a split-second I realize that it’s Monty who’s sat beside me.
He drapes an arm across the back of the bench, behind my shoulders, and hands me a pint of water with a grin.
‘Thought you looked like you could do with this.’
‘You’re not wrong.’ I take a sip, the taste cool and grounding. I drink slowly, worried of unsettling my stomach further. I go back to scrolling aimlessly through my phone, surprised that Monty doesn’t leave.
‘You don’t have to stay,’ I tell him.
He shrugs, a gesture I feel as his shoulder moves against the back of mine. ‘S’okay. I needed a break, too. Kind of full-on, isn’t it? I can’t decide if I’m supposed to be networking or challenging Topher Fletcher to a game of beer pong. Makes me want to see what they do for their Christmas party,’ he goes on. ‘Now I betthat’sa riot. Bet they go all-out for it.’
‘I guess if this summer goes to plan, we’ll find out.’
‘Here’s hoping. Wonder who’ll make the cut. Present company excluded, obviously.’ He gestures at both of us, and I’m oddly flattered that Monty thinksI’ve got what it takes to get offered a permanent position when the internship ends. Looking around at the others, scattered in small groups around the lawn, he says, ‘Tough competition.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Be good to see a few friendly faces back next year though, won’t it?’
‘I don’t graduate next year,’ I blurt, brain too sluggish to stop me – but luckily, Monty misinterprets it.
