Read Online The Girl Below by Bianca Zander - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bianca Zander
Ads: Link
I’d fade out too.
Someone bumped me from behind and spilled beer down my top, and I realized Alana’s colleagues were smiling at me in a keen way, undeterred by my sudden silence and oblivious to the gap between what I had been saying earlier and what I had been thinking.
“You should come with us,” one of them was saying. “Steve’s got a massive tent—big enough to sleep twelve people—and last year we got a wicked campsite near the main stage.”
“Yeah, mate, I’m still deaf,” said the other one, laughing. He pointed to my empty glass. “Fancy a refill?”
“Sure,” I said, and he went to the bar, leaving me alone with his friend, who was the shorter of the two. An awkward silence followed while I tried to think what to say.
“Reckon you’ll stay in London once the summer’s over?” he said.
“That was the plan,” I said. “I don’t have a return ticket.”
“Brilliant,” he said. “So you’ll be able to come to Glastonbury with us then?”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him that I couldn’t afford to go, even if I wanted to.
“Go on,” he said. “It’ll be such a laugh.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
I hadn’t seen Alana for what was beginning to seem like hours, and I looked around the bar for her, at the same time checking out who else was there. Fewer suits; more art school types; and one or two who looked like they were in bands, or wanted to be. My eye caught on a guy who looked Icelandic—pointed elfin features, blond hair—and just as I thought he was about to turn and look in my direction, someone passed in front of him and he vanished.
“If you like, I can get you a ticket when I get mine. It’s cheaper if you get in early.” His smile was too expectant, like he wanted me to do more than just go to Glastonbury with him, and when I registered his eagerness and what he was trying to communicate, something changed in me, a switch flipped, and I took an involuntary step away from him, as though repelled. “Thanks, but I’m not sure if I can go.”
“Where’s Chris got to with our beers?” he said, his face falling briefly before becoming jovial once more. “He must be getting them from a pub down the road.”
I laughed, but it didn’t quite come off sincerely. So the other one was Chris, and he must be Steve or Mike. He was still smiling at me, a big warm-hearted smile, and the longer he grinned, the more I started to feel like a cat with its hackles up, getting ready to swipe or bolt. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to hide the fact that he was the cause of my violent reaction. “But I need to go to the bathroom.”
I found Alana in the queue to the ladies’, her cheeks and lips restored to their schoolgirl rose by a few pints of beer.
“There you are!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I was by the bar, with your friends from work—right where you left me.”
If she noticed my sardonic tone, she ignored it. “I’m so glad you’re hitting it off with Chris and Mike,” she said. “They’re such top blokes.” She winked at me. “And single too.”
“I’m not looking for anyone,” I said. “I told you I was happy on my own.”
“Bollocks,” she said. “You were always so obsessed with boys. You haven’t changed that much—surely?”
“They’re not my type,” I said, wishing she’d change the subject.
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, a little archly. “I forgot about you and your types.” We had reached the front of the queue, and Alana ducked into a vacant stall. She locked the door and shouted through it, “What about Steve? You have to admit he’s a bit of all right!”
I didn’t think he was, but she wanted to hear otherwise. “Steve’s hot,” I said, shouting back. “And he obviously thinks the same thing about you.”
Over a flushing toilet, I heard her giggle—had she forgiven me?—then I went into a stall and when I came out she was gone. Fighting my way back, the
Someone bumped me from behind and spilled beer down my top, and I realized Alana’s colleagues were smiling at me in a keen way, undeterred by my sudden silence and oblivious to the gap between what I had been saying earlier and what I had been thinking.
“You should come with us,” one of them was saying. “Steve’s got a massive tent—big enough to sleep twelve people—and last year we got a wicked campsite near the main stage.”
“Yeah, mate, I’m still deaf,” said the other one, laughing. He pointed to my empty glass. “Fancy a refill?”
“Sure,” I said, and he went to the bar, leaving me alone with his friend, who was the shorter of the two. An awkward silence followed while I tried to think what to say.
“Reckon you’ll stay in London once the summer’s over?” he said.
“That was the plan,” I said. “I don’t have a return ticket.”
“Brilliant,” he said. “So you’ll be able to come to Glastonbury with us then?”
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him that I couldn’t afford to go, even if I wanted to.
“Go on,” he said. “It’ll be such a laugh.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
I hadn’t seen Alana for what was beginning to seem like hours, and I looked around the bar for her, at the same time checking out who else was there. Fewer suits; more art school types; and one or two who looked like they were in bands, or wanted to be. My eye caught on a guy who looked Icelandic—pointed elfin features, blond hair—and just as I thought he was about to turn and look in my direction, someone passed in front of him and he vanished.
“If you like, I can get you a ticket when I get mine. It’s cheaper if you get in early.” His smile was too expectant, like he wanted me to do more than just go to Glastonbury with him, and when I registered his eagerness and what he was trying to communicate, something changed in me, a switch flipped, and I took an involuntary step away from him, as though repelled. “Thanks, but I’m not sure if I can go.”
“Where’s Chris got to with our beers?” he said, his face falling briefly before becoming jovial once more. “He must be getting them from a pub down the road.”
I laughed, but it didn’t quite come off sincerely. So the other one was Chris, and he must be Steve or Mike. He was still smiling at me, a big warm-hearted smile, and the longer he grinned, the more I started to feel like a cat with its hackles up, getting ready to swipe or bolt. “Excuse me,” I said, trying to hide the fact that he was the cause of my violent reaction. “But I need to go to the bathroom.”
I found Alana in the queue to the ladies’, her cheeks and lips restored to their schoolgirl rose by a few pints of beer.
“There you are!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“I was by the bar, with your friends from work—right where you left me.”
If she noticed my sardonic tone, she ignored it. “I’m so glad you’re hitting it off with Chris and Mike,” she said. “They’re such top blokes.” She winked at me. “And single too.”
“I’m not looking for anyone,” I said. “I told you I was happy on my own.”
“Bollocks,” she said. “You were always so obsessed with boys. You haven’t changed that much—surely?”
“They’re not my type,” I said, wishing she’d change the subject.
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, a little archly. “I forgot about you and your types.” We had reached the front of the queue, and Alana ducked into a vacant stall. She locked the door and shouted through it, “What about Steve? You have to admit he’s a bit of all right!”
I didn’t think he was, but she wanted to hear otherwise. “Steve’s hot,” I said, shouting back. “And he obviously thinks the same thing about you.”
Over a flushing toilet, I heard her giggle—had she forgiven me?—then I went into a stall and when I came out she was gone. Fighting my way back, the
Similar Books
