19 Evie

19

My date with Liam is messing with my head. It's all I can think about. What am I going to wear? What will we talk about? He goes to university. I work in an animal shelter. He can rebuild a car. I can't change a tyre.

I'm not going to sleep with him. And if he tries to kiss me, I'll knee him in the balls. What if he asks for my permission? What if he smells nice? What if he doesn't want to kiss me? What if he finds me repulsive?

I can't decide what I want. Is being normal an ambition? My therapist Veejay says she's never met a normal person. We're all weird in our own ways.

I'm standing in front of my wardrobe, examining my range of shitty choices. I'm looking for something casual, but cool and sexy, but not trampy or desperate. I have ripped jeans, which look OK. I add a polka-dot top. Ugh! Next I try a linen popover shirt. Tuck it in. Pull it out. Roll up the sleeves. Roll them down. No.

Twenty minutes later, I've exhausted my wardrobe and my bed is a small mound of discarded clothes. Finally, I settle on a white blouse, ripped jeans and Cyrus's old denim jacket, which is too small for him and too big for me. The jacket is decorated with cloth patches from the cities he's visited. It makes me feel like I'm a world traveller. I hope Liam doesn't ask me questions about Berlin or Amsterdam or Prague.

I'm looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The trick with make-up is to make it look like I haven't made an effort. Cyrus says I use too much eyeshadow and eyeliner, and that my eyes are beautiful, but I don't believe him. I try a different combination of colours, using make-up wipes to remove the evidence then start again.

Suddenly, I notice the time. I'm late. I hurry along Parkside and turn into Bramcote Lane, but slow down because I don't want to get sweaty.

The pub is ahead of me. I'm half an hour late. What if Liam doesn't wait?

Normally, I'd pause outside and take a breath, maybe sneak a look through the window, but this time I push through the doors into a wall of noise and bodies. The place is heaving. I'm not tall enough to see over heads. I'm at armpit level. The deodorant zone.

I don't like crowded places, which is a phobia but I can't remember which one.

Something about the noise and closeness of people overstimulates my brain and makes me anxious.

‘There you are,' says Liam, materialising in front of me. He's carrying a tray of drinks. ‘Follow me. I'll introduce you to the gang.'

Gang?

I want to escape, but he's waiting for me. I trail along, following him through the bar into a garden, which is cooler, but just as crowded. There are tables and umbrellas and children and dogs.

‘I thought you'd bailed on me,' says Liam, shouting over his shoulder. The tray wobbles. Beer spills.

We reach a table under a tree where four people are waiting. Three boys and a girl.

‘This is Evie,' says Liam, who proceeds to tell me everyone's name, but I don't remember all of them. A couple of them smile. The others exchange looks that I can't read. I raise my hand in a little wave and put on my best fake smile.

Liam is distributing pints and something that might be a cocktail. There are empty glasses on the table. How long have they been here?

‘What can I get you?' he asks.

‘What?'

‘A drink.'

‘Oh, water.'

‘You want water?'

‘I mean, a Coke.'

‘Anything in it?'

‘Ice.'

He laughs. I feel my cheeks colour.

‘Back in a tick,' he says.

I want to grab his hand and stop him leaving, but he's gone. I turn back to the others. They're staring at me. My heart hammers. I look for somewhere to sit. There's space on one of the benches.

‘That's where Liam is sitting,' says the girl, Georgia, who slides sideways, closing the gap. She's wearing tiny denim shorts that show the bottom of her arse cheeks and a sleeveless body suit cut high, exposing flesh from her hips to the bottom of her ribs. She's about my age. Pretty. Pouty.

Next to her is a bearded black guy wearing a red bandana around his head and a line of studs in the cartilage of his ears. Opposite are two boys, who look like twins, with identical faux hawk haircuts with blond highlights. One of them has a packet of cigarettes rolled into the sleeve of his T-shirt. The other has a tattoo of a tiger on his forearm.

‘Sit here,' says the smoker, sliding sideways, creating a space between himself and tiger boy. I don't want to be trapped between them, but I step over the bench and sit down, tucking my hands under my thighs.

Georgia lifts her sunglasses onto her forehead. ‘So, Edie, how do you know Liam?'

‘It's Evie,' I say.

She pouts. ‘How do you know Liam?'

‘He lives near me.'

‘You're neighbours.'

‘Sort of.'

‘I haven't seen you around before,' says tiger boy. ‘Where did you grow up?'

‘All over the place.'

‘You at university?'

‘No. I work at an animal shelter.'

‘Are you studying to be a vet?' asks Georgia.

‘No.'

‘What do you do at the shelter?'

‘I feed the dogs and clean their cages—'

‘You pick up shit.'

‘I arrange the adoptions,' I say, wanting to scratch her eyes out. ‘And I look after the puppies.'

‘I love puppies,' says tiger boy.

Georgia wrinkles her nose as though she can smell me from across the rough wooden table.

‘Where did you go to school?' asks the bandana guy.

‘Nottingham College.'

‘Really? Didn't you go there, Georgia?'

‘I don't remember you,' she says, her top lip curling.

‘I only did a couple of subjects.'

There is silence. It's as though we've run out of small talk.

Liam returns. He hands me a Coke and takes a seat next to Georgia, who is sitting close to him, staking out her territory like a stray dog. I take a sip and enjoy the sugar hit. Liam downs half his pint in a few gulps. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

Thankfully, the conversation switches to something else. They're talking about university and some band that I've never heard of, which is coming to the campus. Tiger boy mentions Glastonbury and they swap stories about camping at the festival and what bands ‘killed'. He tells a lie about hooking up with a girl the others seem to know. Georgia talks about going to the Mad Cool festival in Spain and seeing Metallica and Imagine Dragons.

‘What sort of music do you like?' asks Liam.

It takes me a moment to realise that he's talking to me. My mind goes blank. I can't think of a single band, let alone a song. Instead, I repeat the bands that Georgia just named.

‘How original,' she says.

‘Anything indie?' asks Liam.

‘Yeah.'

‘Have you heard of the Pigeon Detectives?'

‘No.'

‘They're ancient,' says the smoker.

‘Liam is in a band,' says Georgia.

‘I used to be,' he says.

‘I thought you were getting back together,' she says. ‘You said I could be a backing singer.'

‘If the others agree,' says Liam.

He's lying. He doesn't think she can sing.

Georgia has pressed her thigh against his leg. I feel myself growing jealous, even though I don't want to care. My cheeks are hot. I hold my glass against my face, enjoying the cold, but I worry about sweat rings under my arms, or worse my boobs. The others are discussing some show on Netflix I haven't seen. The dappled shade from the trees is falling across Liam's face. He's beautiful and he knows it.

‘I have to go,' I blurt.

‘But you've only just got here,' he says.

‘I have something on.'

‘Now?'

He follows me through the pub, trying to convince me to stay. We're on the pavement outside. He asks for my phone number. I remember the first three numbers and then nothing.

‘Give me your phone,' he says.

He takes it from me and holds it up to my face to open the screen, before typing a message to himself, which pings on his phone. ‘I'll call you,' he says.

Then he kisses me. I let him. His lips are soft. His hand is on my waist. He draws away and I tell myself to breathe. I touch my lips with my fingers.

‘Sorry about Georgia, she can be a bitch sometimes.'

‘Have you slept with her?'

‘No.'

He's not lying.

‘She wants to sleep with you.'

‘I'm on her list,' he says. ‘Was that a terrible thing to say?'

‘Yes, but I believe you.'

I turn away and begin walking. I want to look back over my shoulder, but I'm too embarrassed. Why would Liam be interested in me? Georgia is prettier and cleverer and will sleep with him. Liam thinks I'm normal. Somebody should warn him.

I turn back. He's still there.

‘I don't think you should call me,' I say.

‘Why not?'

‘I'm not worth the trouble.'