Read Online The Hope by James Lovegrove - Free Book Online Page A

when Angel watched her mother die, it was Gilette who held her and told her to cry. They ran and ran until they ran into puberty and then they tried to hold themselves together as the taunts came, chipping away at them maliciously. Didn’t they like boys? Were they scared of willies? What was wrong with them?
    In the end it was Gilette who took a boy along to one of their rendezvous. He was a spotted, greasy thing who swore a lot and kept cuddling Gilette and pawing her chest. Angel felt sick, not just at Ryan or Ron or whatever his stupid name was but at the casual ease with which Gilette had swept their childhood away. They did continue meeting but Gilette always managed to bring the conversation round to boys this, boys that. The strange things happening to Angel’s body at the time did not help, because it seemed to her that she was being twisted into swollen new shapes by the battle between Ought To and Want To, and that she was no longer her own mistress nor Gilette’s perfect lover.
    She still loved Gilette even now and envied the flamboyance with which she ensnared men and the flippancy which she shrugged them off, but she resented her too, blaming her (irrationally) for the loss of innocence. When she felt Gilette put a hand on her arm and saw Gilette’s face splashed with coloured light, she was torn between feeling she ought to cry and wanting to scratch her eyes out.
    “Are you OK?” asked Gilette and her concern was so pronounced it might have been genuine. Angel could only examine her feet and nod.
    “Bad crash, right?”
    Angel nodded again, feeling the tears come and sniffling them back.
    “Oh baby…” Gilette tried to hug her but Angel shrank away. “It’s not so bad. You want to eat?”
    Angel, weak and hungry, was close to breaking down, dangerously close to trusting Gilette, which was a luxury, like the drugs, she could not afford. She muttered that she was fine, thanks, don’t worry about her, but Gilette was warming to the role of Protector of Angels.
    “I’m going to get you something to eat. I don’t want any bullshit, Angel. We’re friends and friends look after themselves.”
    Angel wondered if Gilette had noticed the ambiguity of her last sentence but she kept her mouth shut instinctively. Swallowing your pride was one of the best ways to a full stomach. Before Gilette could do anything about food, however, Riot sauntered up, slipped his arms around Gilette’s waist from behind, kissed her soundly on both cheeks and began to make exaggerated humping noises. Angel winced as Gilette squealed in pleasure. Riot was one of the so-called hard men, the leader, so you didn’t tell him to fuck off however badly you wanted him to fuck off.
    “Riot, Riot, stop it!” Without much severity. “ Stop it!” Again, laughing.
    “Now this is a bottom that could take a lot of spunk!” Riot growled, before noticing Angel. “Who’s your friend, Gil?”
    You know bloody well who I am , thought Angel . Are you doing this on purpose?
    “Riot, Angel. Angel…” Gilette squealed again as he nuzzled her neck, not taking his eyes off Angel.
    “Pleased,” he said. When Angel did not reply, he murmured in Gilette’s ear (not so quietly that Angel could not catch it): “Come on, Gil. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
    To her credit, Gilette said she couldn’t leave Angel, but Riot insisted, so Gilette promised she would be back later. Angel asked her if she’d seen Push.
    “You don’t want to bother with him, Angel. Bad news. Find someone else. Riiiiot!” And she was dragged away giggling into the crowd.
    The music was depressingly loud. Angel let it roar over her like the sea she had drowned in on her trip the night before, and she was numb, and she was dead outside, so dead that she almost missed Push as he swanned by her (he had seen her but he had better things to spend his precious time on). It was, however, hard for him to ignore someone tugging on his arm. To the untrained eye,