Read Online Out of Towners by Dan Tunstall - Free Book Online

the prom. Fifty metres further, another flight of steps, and we’re on the beach.
    It feels amazing. Unreal. This sort of thing doesn’t happen. Not to me, anyway. The whole place is dead. The lights from the seafront are casting crazy shadows as we run off in all different directions, screaming, scattering stones about, spinning in circles before joining together again and flopping down, panting and exhausted.
    Gemma takes one of the vodka bottles out of her bag. She passes it round and we all take a swig. Then we sit in silence, staring out into the darkness across the Channel.

six
    â€œTell you what we need to do,” Dylan says, after we’ve been sitting for a while. “Build a fire.”
    He’s not wrong. The night is mild, and there’s no more than a gentle breeze blowing, but we’re all shivering. The fact is, I didn’t think this through. We’re sitting on a beach at one in the morning in T-shirts. About ten minutes ago, a fox trotted past. It stopped to look at us and I swear I saw it shake its head.
    Robbie snorts.
    â€œHow you going to start a fire then? Knock flints together?”
    Gemma rummages in her bag again. She brings out a box of matches, shaking them like a single maraca.
    â€œThought these might come in handy,” she says.
    George puts his arm round her shoulders.
    â€œThat’s my girl,” he says.
    Gemma giggles.
    I look at George and chuckle to myself. He’s turning into a bit of a smooth operator. It might have something to do with the amount of booze he’s necked tonight.
    I unwrap my arms from round my knees.
    â€œBetter get some things to burn then,” I say.
    I get to my feet and lead the way down to the strand line, picking through the stuff left behind by the last high tide. Chunks of driftwood, fragments of yellow planks, broken pallets, bits of cork, netting, fishing wire, polystyrene. Anything flammable, we’re having. Further up, we find some newspapers and fish and chip wrappers. The beach wasn’t busy yesterday, but there’s a lot of litter.
    It doesn’t take long to get a decent pile. While we keep foraging, Dylan tears up a newspaper and scrunches it into balls. Then he starts laying some of the bits and pieces we’ve gathered on the top. You can tell he was in the Cubs.
    Pretty soon it’s lighting-up time. We sit in a ring around Dylan’s pyre. Dylan takes the box of matches from Gemma and strikes one, his face lit by a yellow glare. I’m hoping his cheap polyester Letchford shirt doesn’t spontaneously combust. He cups the match in his hands and shoves it into the newspaper, moving it about, trying to spark it into life. To begin with there’s only smoke, but then the first flames start licking their way through the wood and plastic.
    Dylan looks up. He’s beaming. We all cheer. Gemma passes the vodka round again, and then we sit back and watch the fire burn. It takes quite a while for it to get going. Everything’s damp, hissing and spitting. There’s an acrid smell in the air. From time to time moths flutter by to investigate, circling warily. One or two get too close and end up barbecued.
    When the fire’s crackling away nicely, I glance across at Steph. She’s talking to Robbie, but I’m not so bothered this time. It doesn’t feel like such a threat. Gemma and George are laughing quietly. They look good together. She’s like a female version of him. Dylan’s showing Nikita something on his phone. I glance at Steph again. This time she sees me looking and smiles. Not for the first time tonight, my heart leaps. I shuffle across the stones to sit next to her.
    â€œHopefully the fire should warm us up,” I say. It’s a bit of a dumb comment, but Steph’s not put off.
    â€œYeah. And even if it doesn’t, it’s nice to watch isn’t it? The flames make beautiful shapes.”
    â€œMmm,” I say. “I love