Let's Pretend by Laura Vaughan

Author:Laura Vaughan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books

CHAPTER FOUR

I needed to get out of that insane asylum. I needed untainted air and space and silence. Another minute among those people and I would combust.

I grabbed my bag and forced my way back through the party and out the main entrance of the house. The driveway was jammed with luxury cars; more vehicles were parked haphazardly on the grass surrounds. I started walking down the drive, fast and hard, needing the reassurance of hearing my footsteps on the tarmac. Slap, slap, slap.

A dark figure suddenly straightened up in the shadows by the side of the drive. My insides lurched. But it was the boy-bander I’d stumbled into earlier. He’d been rummaging in the front of his car, which was parked on the slope.

‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Didn’t meant to startle you. I was just getting my charger … Hey! It’s you again. You know, you really don’t seem OK.’

I stared back blankly. ‘It’s been a bad night.’

‘Has it? I’m sorry. I know who you are. You’re Lucie. Lily, I mean. Lily Thane. You and Adam used to date.’

I did a half-shrug of acknowledgement and started to move on.

‘No, wait. Please wait. I’m only saying this cos I’m wasted, but Snow Angels used to be my all-time favourite film. Seriously. It wasn’t just a Christmas thing for me. I’d drive my parents nuts because I’d watch it all year round. I was, like, obsessed.’

Eurgh. A fan-boy. I squinted at him. ‘What are you, twelve?’

He gave a happy laugh. ‘I’m twenty-one! I’m an actor too. That’s how I know Adam. Well, I don’t really know Adam. We worked on this fashion campaign a while back, and then …’

On he burbled. His name was Tig, and he looked just Adam’s type: fair, slim, pouty. But straight, given the hopeful way he was appraising me.

‘Can you give me a lift?’

Tig flung out his arms. ‘Where to, milady?’

Good point. It was midnight and I was stranded in a salt marsh. ‘There must be a hotel somewhere. Or a B & B.’

‘There’s only one local hotel. A bunch of us are staying there – Adam said the house wasn’t really equipped for sleepovers.’

I thought of the bare echoing rooms and that ridiculous iron chair. ‘No.’

‘It’s just down the road. I think there’s supposed to be a shuttle bus?’ He looked around doubtfully, then belched. ‘I mean, I’m delighted to be your chauffeur, but to be honest, my fine motor skills are fuuucked.’

‘Give me the keys,’ I said brusquely. I felt bruised all over, inside and out, but I was also as sober as I’d ever been in my life.

We squeezed into the car, a beaten-up Toyota, and I – slightly nervously – pulled into the drive. When we reached the gates at the bottom, I saw there was now someone on sentry duty. He had got out of his little cabin to have words with a driver waiting to be let through. ‘Cool ride,’ said Tig. It was. A vintage 1970s Porsche 911S in hunter green.

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