Miranda was in the sitting room watching the television with Travis. Two large wine glasses were on the coffee table in front of them.
‘Did you have a good evening?’ she asked, pressing the mute button on the remote control.
She had dressed up. She worked as a legal secretary for a small firm of solicitors in Perran, and always wore a neat, black suit to work. Before Travis, she used to come home from work and change straight into sweatpants and slippers. Tonight, though, she was wearing a red dress I’d never seen before.
‘Yes thanks. We went to the cinema.’
‘How did you get home?’
This was a question I knew to expect. Miranda’s approach to parenting consisted mainly of checking up on my transport arrangements and keeping me clear of wild parties.
‘Megan’s dad gave me a lift,’ I said, the lie rolling easily off my tongue. If I’d mentioned that a sixteen-year-old boy had driven me home, I would probably have been grounded until Christmas.
‘See if you can finish this,’ she said, passing me the newspaper.
I knew without looking that it was the crossword.
‘Have you eaten?’ Travis asked. ‘I cooked teriyaki duck with quinoa and rocket salad. The salad is all gone but there’s a little duck left if you want some.’
I glared at Travis. He knew very well that I was vegetarian. ‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, ‘but thanks for thinking of me.’
‘It’s tasty,’ he said. ‘And fatty. You look like you could use some more meat on your bones.’
‘I’d prefer to be skinny than eat a decomposing corpse.’
He curled his lip in a half-smile. ‘I wonder when you’ll outgrow your vegetarian phase and start enjoying some good food.’
‘I wonder when you’ll stop patronising me,’ I said, smiling back.
‘Travis is an amazing cook,’ said Miranda. ‘You really are missing out.’
Travis was a chef. Originally from California, he had been living in Perran for a few months now, planning to open a fish restaurant on the seafront. He had met Miranda when her firm did the conveyancing on the building.
‘I picked up some food for tomorrow,’ said Miranda. ‘Some courgettes, red peppers and button mushrooms in case you want to make some veggie kebabs.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Miranda.’
‘And I also picked up some soft drinks.’
She glanced at the empty wine glasses on the table. Before she started going out with Travis, she had never brought alcohol home. ‘Eden,’ she began, ‘can you promise me that you’ll be sensible at this beach party?’
I nodded. ‘I won’t be drinking, if that’s what you mean.’
She nodded slowly. ‘And how will you be getting there?’
‘I’m getting a lift with a friend.’
She frowned, a severe crease appearing between her eyebrows. ‘Which friend?’
‘Ryan Westland. He’s new at school. His sister’s driving us.’
Travis sat forward. ‘Westland? I’ve heard about them. Father’s a writer.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘He lives around here somewhere, doesn’t he?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘In the farmhouse down at the end of Trenoweth Lane.’
‘How old is his sister?’ asked Miranda.
‘Eighteen,’ I said, adding a year for insurance.
‘I suppose that’s OK.’ Miranda smiled and turned up the volume on the television. ‘See if you can finish the crossword,’ she said, nuzzling up to Travis.
Chapter 3
I pounded down the empty lanes of Penpol Cove, the cold air ripping into my throat and lungs until my chest felt raw. The first mile was always the worst. My limbs felt weak and rubbery, my breathing was laboured. Experience told me that if I could survive the first mile, I would soon get into the zone, find my stride and lose myself in the rhythm of my run.
My usual route took me through the village and then down the lane to Penpol Cove, past the farmhouse where Ryan Westland now lived. The thought of him seeing me run past his house was just too embarrassing to imagine. I shuddered at the thought and took the other route.
Images of him kept appearing in my head. His leather jacket slung on top of his school uniform. His messy brown hair. The picture he drew of me in art class. And then I could hear the sound of his voice, his unusual accent. I began to run across the cliff top. I turned up the music on my iPod and picked up the pace. I needed to push myself so hard that all I would be able to think about was breathing. I would not be a lemming. I would not, like almost every other girl in Year Eleven, spend my time daydreaming about Ryan Westland. It was pointless. Ryan Westland was gorgeous. He had about a hundred girls throwing themselves at him. And there was nothing especially interesting about me.
I pushed all thoughts from my mind. Breathe in, two three. Breathe out, two three. Just breathe. My thighs ached. My stomach grumbled. As I approached my house, I could feel myself reaching for those hidden reserves of energy, the sudden burst you get when the end is in sight. Breakfast.
By half one, I had tried on hundreds of different outfits. Finally, frustrated and irritable, I decided to wear my favourite jeans with the thin green sweater that Miranda said matched my eyes. I straightened my hair, applied some mascara and lipgloss and went downstairs to wait for Ryan.
A red car pulled up outside at one forty-five exactly. I fetched the cool bag from the kitchen and opened the door. Ryan was standing on the doorstep about to knock. He was dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt with a red flannel shirt on top and his black jacket and boots. He looked older than he did in his school uniform.
‘Hi,’ he said, smiling.
I felt myself blush. Why the hell couldn’t I be cool? ‘Hi.’
Ryan took the bag from me and put it in the boot while I locked the door.
‘Cassie, this is Eden,’ he said as I climbed into the back.
Cassie turned to look at me. She had long blonde ringlets that coiled over her shoulders and chest like a nest of albino snakes. ‘So you’re the girl from astronomy club?’
‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. She had me confused with someone else. Everything suddenly made sense. Ryan had told her that he was going to the beach to see a girl from astronomy club. That was why he had agreed to go with me. I wondered which of the girls he was interested in.
A slight frown formed between her eyebrows and she turned to Ryan. ‘You said . . .’
‘I know,’ Ryan interrupted. ‘Eden is a good friend of Connor.’
‘I see,’ she said. She turned the ignition, flipped on the radio and pulled on to the road to Perran. ‘And how long have you known Connor?’ The question sounded more like an interrogation than polite chit-chat.
‘Since we were both four. He’s one of my best friends.’
This seemed to satisfy her. I saw her check me out in the rear-view mirror and then she gave Ryan a look and turned the music up loud. I got the uncomfortable feeling that I was the object of a bet or a dare.
Cassie and Ryan didn’t speak to each other or to me until the car stopped in the car park at Perran Towans.
‘Behave yourself,’ she said to Ryan, as she switched off the engine.
He laughed. ‘Not a chance.’
She put a hand on his knee. ‘Call me when you want me to pick you up, OK?’
He put his hand on top of hers and removed it firmly. ‘Thanks, Cassie.’
Ryan opened the car door and climbed out. As I reached over to open my door, Cassie turned to look me up and down. I knew what she was thinking. Why is he going to a party with this girl? I was thinking, What kind of girl puts her hand on her brother’s knee?