“Look, no judgement. It can be difficult to get to know people, that’s all. And that’s where we can help, isn’t it?” she asked, looking at Ruby.
“Oh, yeah, we know loads of people. It’s English and American Studies you do, isn’t it?” Ruby was already texting some unknown person. “You’ll love Millie; she’s in your English class.” Her phone cheeped. “She’ll keep a look out for you tomorrow. She’s got silver hair. You can’t miss her.” I vaguely recalled a girl with silver hair who sat on the opposite side of the lecture hall. Within a few seconds, her phone cheeped again. “And that’s Mickey. He’s in your American Studies class. As camp as a field of tents but an absolute darling. He says he already knows who you are!” Wondering how he knew me when I had no idea who he was, I was amazed that Ruby was able to seemingly sort out my social issues so easily. If only my love-life could be so easily resolved.
I made my way to my room after a few more minutes of chat with the girls, feeling a little more positive. However, once I’d shut the door, the reality of what had happened with Garrett hit me. He wasn’t going to just let me walk away. Was he?
Lying in bed that night, I thought about how much life had changed. What was the decision that triggered it all? Was there a single catalyst? Moving to Brighton without Cass? Being friendly to Garrett? Not getting on my hands and knees, begging Jake to change his mind? There were no answers, just one certainty: I needed to be in control of the changes in my life.
I down the shot and take a long drink of my pint to relieve the burning in my throat. With no work tomorrow, I’m determined to make the most of alcohol’s memory-eliminating properties.
“God, how long is it since we did this?” Flynn grins and clinks his bottle on my glass. “I wish you’d come up to Birmingham sometimes and stay at mine. We’d have a bloody amazing time!” He knows the reason I can’t spend the night away from home, but I get why he wishes it was different. Our friendship has changed over the last few months; it was inevitable, really. Once he started going out with Cass, we spent less time together. Once I started seeing Neve that was even more the case. And, in many ways, he’s growing up, moving on. I doubt he will ever come back and live full-time in our small town. It’s just not exciting, not cosmopolitan enough for the man he’s becoming. Yeah, he’s still Flynn, but he’s a smoother, more confident version of the boy I grew up with.
His phone call last week was a case in point. I’d deliberately avoided contacting him since ending things with Neve. After all, I’d want the bollocks of the bloke who hurt Grace the way I hurt Neve. On a plate. After pulling them off with my bare hands. But not Flynn.
After telling me that he thought I’d done the wrong thing for both me and Neve, he said he didn’t want our friendship to end because of it. Somehow, he convinced me that I wasn’t the selfish bastard I believed myself to be and, by the end of it, things were okay between us.
Other than a muttered “She’s coping,” when I asked how she was, we have avoided discussing all things Neve tonight and there’s a semblance of normality about the evening. Neither of us is interested in the girls who are flaunting themselves around our table, supposedly en route to the loo, all short skirts and too much makeup. God, if only they knew what blokes really thought.
“What are you doing for your birthday?”
“Hadn’t really thought about it,” I replied. “I’m not that bothered, to be honest. I might treat Josh and Grace to an Indian, but that’ll be about it.”
“If you go at the weekend, me and Cass can come over, if you want. Or maybe we could go for a drink separately?”
“Sure, that’d be good, mate.” It would. Who else would I spend my twentieth birthday with otherwise? Mum? Her dickhead boyfriend?
As we take another drinking break from the conversation, I watch a couple at the bar. The bloke looks like a real twat, his shaved head and football shirt standing out amongst everyone else who is dressed like it’s a Friday night out. Which it is. The girl with him clearly got the Friday-night memo and is barely able to stand, thanks to her skyscraper heels and the numerous drinks she’s obviously consumed. The colour of her hair reminds me of Neve, and I can’t stop my brain thinking about the evenings we spent here. Drinking. Laughing. Kissing. I can almost taste her.
“Oi, are you looking at my girl?” The twat walks over to our table and I look around. Shit, he’s talking to me.
“What? No, mate, I was just staring into space, you know?” The girl in question joins her boyfriend and smiles at me and Flynn.
“Well, I think you were giving her the eye and I don’t fucking like it!” He has obviously downed more than a couple of drinks and there’s a definite edge of menace to his voice. “Don’t you fucking flirt with them, you stupid bitch,” he adds, yanking her by the arm.
“Hang on, mate,” Flynn says, standing up.