Leaving London

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

It's prime holiday season, so when we've finally made it down to the beach, the place is practically swarming. Up on the boardwalk, there are huge crowds of teenagers holding fiery-blue slushy drinks, hundreds of tourists clasping expensive-looking cameras, and a bunch of locals looking bewildered in the crawling mass of people.
"Is it usually this busy?" Amy shouts over the bustling noises of crying gulls and music blasting from all the food stands.
"No. It will be the next few weeks, though!" I yell back, scooping up the miniature tubs of ice cream we decided to order to try and cool down. I pass the 'low fat frozen yoghurt' one to Amy, then hand out everyone else's choices: a blood orange sorbet, vanilla, and two mint chocolates, finally picking up the cookie dough flavoured one for myself.
"Mm...this is the best..." I hear Jake say, spooning a huge dollop of whipped cream into his mouth. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Amy testing some of Alfie's vanilla ice cream (I mean, come on, who orders plain vanilla when there's cookie dough flavour?), and passing his spoon back to him, as he wipes off a smidgen of sprinkles from her cheek, then takes a firm grasp of her hand. Gross.
I take a sharp detour to the right, cutting off their public displays of affection and swinging down adjacent to the wooden steps, down onto the beach.
Everyone else follows, sliding down under the banister to land on the crumbly, soft ground, where we all tear off our shoes and continue to stroll along the coastline. Jake nudges me in the arm a moment later.
"Do you think we should bring them all down here tomorrow for surfing or something?" He asks, "I'm sure Olli wouldn't mind..."
"Really?" I huff, "Yeah, okay, I guess. Why not scuba diving or banana boating though?" I fish around for ideas. I certainly don't want to be surfing again with Olli for a very long time!
"Guys, tomorrow we might do some water sports," Jake says loudly, projecting his voice so the whole group can hear him, "What do you think? Surfing? Or something else?" Wow, Jake. That really gave them a whole range of options.
"Surfing sounds good!" Eve pipes up, and everyone else mumbles away and nods in agreement.
"Well that's settled then! We'll probably need to go book a session." Jake says, flashing a victory smile in my direction. I trail along at the end of the group, praying I can just slip away unnoticed, because we're getting closer to the surf shack now, and if Olli sees me then the tension will be palpable and someone will notice and I'll have to explain and-
"Hey, Fearne," Olli smiles, "How are you?" I gulp, and I know my eyes must look crazed because I'm twisting about, checking if anyone else is in earshot, but thankfully they've all gone into the dark shadows of the hut.
"How come you're here? I thought you'd be in the hut," I ask, puzzled, "And, yeah, I've been better."
"I'm on the way to my shift now," He states, "Yeah same. Lara won't speak to me at all, but Mia wants to talk. I'm scheduled to meet her in about an hour actually, during my break."
"Oh," I say, crestfallen, "She wants to patch things up with you then. Wish I was as lucky."
"She'll come round, I bet. Don't worry about it Fearne. And I owe you a drink, to say how sorry I am."
"I highly doubt that. And no thanks, I don't think that's a very good idea." I bristle, stepping towards the hut, "Anyways, I'm still angry at you, for messing up my friendships with them!"
"Fearne, I said I'm sorry! Don't pretend like you didn't feel the same, don't lie that you didn't go along with the ki-"
"Fearne? Are you coming?" Alfie asks, and I spin around, to find him behind us, him arms crossed, "Oops, sorry, did I interrupt?" He regards the serious looks on both of our faces.
"No, no, I was just leaving. Did you sort out the lessons?" I ask, sidling over to him and linking my arm through the crook of his elbow, "Let's go!"
"Fearne, what are you doing?" He says quietly, confused.
"Sorry, but please just trust me. I'm trying to send a message over to surfer dude right there." I whisper, laughing.
"Right, okay," he chuckles, as we amble over to the hut, arms linked, "And yeah, they're booked for one."
I turn discreetly to see the look on Olli's face. He is practically smouldering, before I see him disappear into the surf shack.
"The others headed up to find a place to eat. They're waiting by the steps."
"Okay." I say, unhooking my arm from his, "Thanks for that by the way."
"No problem," He laughs, "Who is he? Your ex?"
"My friend's ex..." I say drily, "It's complicated."
Alfie shakes his head, failing to conceal his laughter, and I've elbowed him painfully about three times by the time we reach everyone else.
Kayla and I amble behind everyone else at a slow pace as we head up to Carluccio's for 'a spot of lunch' as Eve puts it.
"So who was that guy you were talking with? Looks like you're over Alfie." Kayla winks.
"He's called Olli. And no, he's not my boyfriend Kayla. I don't like him."
"He's way too hot for you anyways," She laughs mischievously, "Chill, Fearne! Only joking! Why don't you like him?" She scoffs.
"Well, basically..."
By the time we've reached the familiar glass doors of Carluccio's, I've already poured out the tale of events which have put me where I am now, including everything about what happened with Olli at the party.
"So...Olli is Lara's ex, and she hates you because-"
"No, Mia's. And yup, she hates me alright." I puff out a breath of warm air as we float inside to an air-conditioned booth and flump onto the leather pews. Kayla nods, as we switch the conversation topic. I don't particularly want my brother, or anyone else around the table for that matter, to hear about the disastrous mistakes I made which cost me two friendships.
Not long later, the waitress pops up, scribbling down our drinks and meal orders. I select a vegetable pasta bake and some fizzy water, watching absentmindedly as Amy faffs over the menu, ooh-ing and aah-ing over the choices and finally instructing rather bossily for two plates to come with Alfie's bolognaise so they can share the dish. The waitress obliges and scurries off into the kitchen, as Eve, Kayla and I engage in general chit-chat as we wait for the food to arrive.
We're just discussing plans for the rest of their visit (surfing, of course, visiting the secret cove I found a while ago, shopping, going to a theme park and a mini summer festival this Friday), when a steaming plate of pasta giving off a rich aroma of cheese and steamed vegetables is plonked on the table in front of me.
"Cheers, everyone!" Jake grins, raising his drink in his hand so we can all clink the glasses together. Amy swiftly dodges Kayla's glass, following with an icy sweeping glare, and aims straight for me, slightly too enthusiastically, sending sloshes of bubbling water slopping onto the wooden table.
"Oops, sorry, Fearne!" She sings, patronisation rolling off her tongue. I drag the unfolded napkin from my lap and smear it across the table, but it's too late, because my mood is already dampened.
"No worries." I say, trying to sound like I'm not bothered, but she doesn't notice, because she's too busy tucking into a spoonful of golden spaghetti, clinking forks with Olli and fighting over a slab of margherita-seasoned mince, all the while keeping an eye on me to make sure I'm watching all of it.
It's like a human version of Lady and the Tramp, and let me tell you something: Amy is definitely the Tramp, judging by the dense layer of makeup she's applied, along with the low-cut top, teeny, jagged-cut shorts and the chunky wedges adding several inches of fake height to her stature. The only thing missing is the fact that she's not got her lipsticked mouth clamped to the same strand of pasta as Alfie. Now I know, that sounds utterly out of order and haughty. But when I knew her, only a couple of months ago, she wasn't this fake, neither physically nor personality wise. The old Amy had long, mermaid hair, always braided in some sort of style she'd learnt from one of her Youtube marathons, along with a usual innocence which meant all the teachers liked her - and only occasionally would her feisty temper show. She'd always be wearing long floaty tops with jeans, and the only makeup she'd ever wear (excluding special occasions) would be a swipe of strawberry swirl lip gloss and a tiny flick of mascara.
The monster facing me now is someone completely different, and I hate to admit it but I really detest this new Amy, Alfie or no Alfie. By the time dessert rolls around, I've imagined vomiting at the sight of Amy fawning all over Alfie - she's practically squeezed herself onto his chair and is currently dabbing his lips with a napkin. Pretty much everyone else has averted their eyes, too busy selecting ice cream or crème brulee, but I watch, sickened. I stay at the table long enough to order my pudding, the first thing I see on the list, and then announce I need to use the bathroom and scrape back my chair.
"Mind if I come?" Amy asks, ditching Alfie's lap to stand up straight and tuck her handbag into the crook of her elbow.
"Sure! No problem at all." I say, voice drying a bit at the end, sarcasm lacing with the last few words. She pauses to ruffle Alfie's hair affectionately - why can't she just stop? She doesn't need to keep fondling him in public every five seconds to remind me that she won! That at the end of the day she got the guy and I didn't; instead I got a sprawling mess to sort out and a disaster following hot on its tail. She trails after me to the toilets, wedged sandals clomping noisily with every step, smiling winningly at the glances of attention she gets thrown. She looks as if she's about to say something as I swing open the door to the women's toilets, but I lock myself hastily into a cubicle and leave her mouth dangling open. By the time I go out to wash my hands, she's rooting around in her over-sized bag for something, and draws out a makeup bag, stuffed to the seams with lipsticks and mascaras and weird eyelash contraptions that I would never risk using on my lashes, too fearful of them being pulled out by these torture devices. She begins applying a layer of matte, heavy lipstick as I rinse my hands in cold water, and she pulls a wad of fresh tissue to stamp kiss stains onto, attempting to dim the thick red lips. Next, she tops up on her already-spidery mascara, and uses a fluffy brush to pat powder all over her face, the beige particles shimmering in the light.
"You know, you really don't have to put on that much makeup just for his benefit. You look fine without it." I point out, kind of hoping that she won't hear my remark over the rumbling sounds of the hand dryers.
"It's not for his benefit. Personally, I like to look pretty." She says snottily, zipping up the large bag.
"Amy, why are you doing this? Being like this? I understand things have changed, but-" I raise my voice an octave. I'm getting slightly fed up of everything going wrong right now. I want to get to the bottom of this and hopefully try and figure something out.
"Doing what? It wasn't my idea to come out here, nor would I be here if Alfie hadn't wanted to see Jake. Considering everything that Alfie told me, I wasn't keen to see you again." She puts across this information rather bluntly, turning to leave.
"What...what did he tell you exactly?" I ask slowly, brain drizzling to a halt. I can't remember ever saying anything to Alfie about Amy? Why would I even have been talking to him about my friends in the first place-oh. I remember now.
"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. And now that it's been brought to light, I wonder whether you'll actually bother apologising." She snaps, although the tone in her eyes has watered down by the time she turns to slam out of the door.
The mood is sort of dimmed when I return, (not that it was ever happy in the first place), and Amy's posture is guarded over a scoop of ice cream and a glass of lemon water.
"What happened?" Kayla questions in a hushed voice behind a curtain of hair, "Did she find out her ice cream's not low fat or something?" I give a half-hearted attempt at a chuckle as I spoon a dollop of whipped cream onto my utensil, but I can't stop thinking about what Amy was saying only a few minutes ago. About what Alfie had told her. I absent-mindedly pull out a crisp note to add to the pile of money sitting in the middle of the table to cover the order costs, and thread my feet back through the rungs of my sandals where I had kicked them off only a minute before. It's only when we're walking back through the weakened afternoon sun that the memory comes blasting back to me, and with a gulp of regret I remember exactly what was said that evening.