help.â
Olivia nods and stares into the corner of the room. âThatâs good.â
Nicola feels like her throat is clogged up with cotton wool, but she knows she has to say it. Say the words which sheâd do anything never to have to speak.
She coughs.
She fiddles with the duvet cover. One that sheâs never seen before.
Itâs hard to breathe.
âIâm sorry, Livvy.â They come out croaky. She wonders if she might cry. There are certainly tears blocking up behind her eyes and her nose and her mouth.
Nothing. Just a nod. Looking closely, she can see grey smudges under Oliviaâs eyes. She looks scrawny and drawn, hunched up by the radiator.
âIâm really sorry to have screwed you over like I did.â
Olivia nods again, gazing into the distance behind Nicolaâs left shoulder. âI wondered â¦â
A sob surprises Nicola. It comes from her throat. âIt was the most stupid thing I ever did. I donât know what I was thinking.â
Olivia still doesnât look at her but her voice is suddenly direct. The words are strong.
âHe said it was only the once. But Iâve been thinking about it. Iâve been thinking about it a lot. And Iâm not that sure any more. Can you tell me? Can you tell me how many times you had sex with my boyfriend?â
All of a sudden the tears escape. They stream from Nicolaâs eyes, sliding over the contours of her cheeks and chin, dripping on her jeans, making dark, unhappy stains. She brushes them away but still they come. Her nose drips and she can taste the salt, even though her lips are clamped shut. Her throat feels wide and hot.
She stops brushing the tears. There doesnât seem any point as they just keep coming. Sheâs not cried like this for a long, long time and it seems like there is a monthâs worth of mucus fighting to escape. The tears drip on to the back of her hand. Strands of her hair become damp and wavy around her sodden skin.
Olivia waits by the radiator, her face strangely impassive. Nicola knows that she is waiting for the answer.
A minute creeps by. A minute of tears and moisture and guilt. Oliviaâs fingers weave slowly together. Nicolaâs get wetter.
How could she have been so stupid? How could she have done the only thing she could have done to jeopardize a friendship which meant the world? And how can she explain the thrill of it? Nothing like that ever happens to her. Nothing.
Sheâd been at Joe Petersonâs party, having a breather in a bedroom. Sheâs always liked to walk around other peopleâs houses. Getting an idea of how they live. Itâs probably because her own house is so quiet. So boring. So she wandered upstairs into Joeâs bedroom, full of football trophies and posters; perched herself on his boy-smelling bed and looked around. She felt particularly fat that night. Her jeans seemed tight on her waist and she pictured the unpleasant layer of white fat spilling over the denim underneath her tunic.
And then Jonty turned up. Thinking about it now, sheâs sure he followed her up the stairs. She canât be sure because he didnât say very much, but even now she can feel the electric current fizzing between them in that room.
He stood, legs wide apart, planted in the centre of the bedroom, his head to one side. âI just â¦â he uttered, before moving forward to kiss her. Suddenly she didnât think about her fat any more, suddenly it didnât seem to matter. All she felt was this boy kissing her and kissing her like nothing else seemed to be an issue. The kiss moved from her lips to her neck; from her neck to beneath her clothes.
And there sheâd lain, bewildered and excited, unpeeled and shocked.
Kissing Oliviaâs boyfriend on Joe Petersonâs bed.
Jonty wasnât saying anything, but he was doing a hell of a lot.
When it was finished heâd lain on top of her for just a couple of
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