Game Girls by Judy Waite Read Free Book Online Page A

will help her
save more petrol. Maybe it will. Courtney
hasn't a clue. She's not going to ask Dad if he'll
let her learn to drive.
    Pushing back into the rain, Courtney runs.
    Her shoes make a stabbed clicking that she
thinks must be waking the whole street up.
They'll be at their windows, tutting and shaking
their heads. That Courtney Benton-Gray, out all
hours, running about like a common yob waking
up the whole street. And her dad a councillor too.
Respectable people, or so you'd have thought.
That's teenagers for you. Not enough discipline
these days.
    Minutes later she is at her gate, a stitch in
her side, her breath tearing out of her.
    And then she realises that not only has she
left her mobile and her Easi Shop uniform at
Alix's – her key is there too. She would never
never never risk ringing the door bell. She'll
have to sleep in Mum's car.
    Slipping off her shoes, she tiptoes round the
side, her bare soles stinging on the hard gravel.
The garage key is under the stone, where it
always is, and she opens the side door carefully,
edging past the silent broom and the
lawnmower and the cupboard stacked with
tins of super gloss paint.
    Sliding into the back seat she curls up,
shivering.
    Rain batters the garage roof.
    Mum's car smells of clean shampooed seats
and air freshener.
    Mum, who is probably sleeping, and who
has no idea that Courtney is out here in the
cold.
    And now the image of Fern comes back to
her. Fern always holding hands with her mum
in the playground, every morning for the whole
seven years they were at primary school. Fern
out walking, sandwiched between her mum
and her dad on a Saturday afternoon.
    Fern just now, safe in a car, rattling past
through the puddles.
    And Courtney starts to cry.
     
    * * *
     
    It's 2 am and she's in bed but Fern has never
been so awake.
    It is as if she's floating, the evening glowing
– almost magical – in her mind.
    She can still feel the warmth of his arm
around her shoulders.
    She has a hope she is almost afraid of
shaping; a dream that he will ring her
tomorrow. He might ask Alix for her number.
She doesn't believe that he will – not really – and
she knows she shouldn't be wanting it. She
should just take tonight and fold it in bubble
wrap and tuck it away in the back of the
wardrobe where it will always be safe. Every
now and then she could get it out and look at it.
    Please please please ask Alix.
    He came to the door with her when Mum
rang the bell.
    Gave her a hug.
    His lips brushed her hair.
    HIS LIPS BRUSHED HER HAIR.
    There was nothing else. There had been
nothing else.
    Mum stood in the rain watching them both,
and Fern nodded a hurried goodbye, then
followed her down the path to the car.
    'Thanks for your company,' he called, as she
climbed inside. 'You've been great.' The words
dazzled her. Sparkled her.
    A sudden gust of confidence made her wind
down the window, her hand waving into the
darkness as they drove off. The rain blew in,
peppering the dashboard. Mum glanced
sideways. 'Fern!'
    She'd wound up the handle and stared
ahead, the windscreen wipers swishing a slow
frustrating rhythm. She wished she could have
stayed with him longer; afforded a taxi; had the
sort of parents who'd let her make her own
way home.
    'Who was that anyway?' Mum said. The car
hit puddles. Slowed for lights. Tutted its
indicators at junctions.
    'Alix's brother. Aaron.'
    'He's older than Alix, isn't he?'
    'Yes.'
    'Is he . . . is he anything like her? In
personality, I mean?'
    'I don't know. I don't know him properly.'
    'Alix isn't like you. She's a bit more –
worldly. I just wondered if he was like that
too.'
    'I don't know. I just told you. I don't know
him properly.'
    Mum didn't say anything else but the silence
brimmed with warnings unspoken. Don't run
down the stairs. Always look both ways before
you cross the road. Don't do anything silly.
    Now, still awake, it's 2.15 am. The night
spirals on. No night has ever been this long.
Where is his university? Sunderland?