The Love of My Afterlife(31)
Ugh. If this were a real newspaper, I would light it on fire. But it’s just the internet, so instead I give the screen the middle finger and a hard stare. How are Gen and Ryan still managing to scam people? They want to give back to the causes that mean something to them? They only ever cared about how they could best humiliate me for cachet with the other pupils. Kids who never actually liked them but were too scared to do anything about their reign of terror over me.
I click the link to Gen’s Instagram page. She looks shiny and happy in every picture, surrounded by her friends and admittedly very cute children. She’s having days out in the country, visiting literary festivals, going horse riding with Ryan. Her house, which was slightly run-down when we were kids, now has underfloor heating and a set of Le Creuset pans.
A small, faraway place inside my heart feels happy that my nerdy little pal from the neighbourhood got everything she ever wanted. It is immediately taken over by a swell of rage at the unfairness that Gen and Ryan have all of this when I have…
Exactly what I wanted.
Right?
* * *
The relentless heat means that I take my third shower of the day at 6:15 p.m. and get dressed in a light sleeveless cotton shirt and baggy white trousers. I add some concealer to my now slightly sunburned face and a few coats of waterproof mascara to my lashes. I can’t bring myself to remove my braids, but I do take a butterfly hairpin that belonged to my mum and clip my already dampening fringe to one side.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see that Cooper is wearing another black linen shirt, but this time with some pale jeans instead of black ones. He doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve made any effort at all, which makes me feel slightly embarrassed about the butterfly hair clip. Instead, he hands me a paper bag that I recognise as coming from Meyer’s Pharmacy.
I peek inside and see two pillboxes. One is for Canesten. Also in there is a leaflet about thrush. On the back of the leaflet, there’s a scribble of words written in blue ink.
Dear Delphie,
I saw you were having some difficulties with your vulval area earlier today while you were walking by the shop. My first instinct was thrush so I have included a medicine that will knock it out right now. I will dock the cost amount from your wage. If you are having any burning while peeing I would suggest booking in with the GP as you may have something that needs a prescription like cystitis or a UTI.
Hope you continue to have a good week off work.
With all best wishes,
Leanne (from Meyer’s Pharmacy)
My cheeks go hot. I shove the note back in the paper bag and then the whole thing into my tote.
I side-eye Cooper.
“Did you look in the pharmacy bag?”
“Of course I didn’t look in your pharmacy bag.”
“Did you read the note?”
“Delphie, your medical concerns couldn’t be of less interest to me.” He glances down at the serious black leather watch strapped onto his wrist. “We ought to go or we’ll be late.”
I lean back and narrow my eyes, examining his face for some indication that he’s lying. Finding none, I nod slowly.
“Okay, good. Let’s get this over with.”
17
Cooper’s car is messier than one would expect for someone with such a stick up his bottom. There are piles of papers and books in the back seat, empty Bic biros and water bottles scattered in the footwell. Cooper is so massive that I’m kind of squished to the side of the car, my face almost sticking out of the open window like a dog.
Cooper’s parents live in North London, and as we set off, it becomes clear that neither one of us is keen to initiate a chat. Instead, I lean forward and press the dial for the radio. It’s pre-programmed to a station called Jazz Noir because of course it is.
Cooper immediately flicks it off.
I flick it back on.
He flicks it back off.
We both reach for the button at the same time, our fingers brushing. I tut and snatch my hand back like I’ve been burned. He clears his throat.
When his hands are safely back on the steering wheel and out of the way of my hands, I press play on the old CD deck, snorting when I realise that the song that was just playing on the radio is also playing on the CD.
“Not much of an eclectic taste in music then?” I say breezily.
“Eclectic music taste is what people who don’t understand music describe themselves as having.”
“Oh, sorry, Rolling Stone magazine.”
I start rifling through a stack of CDs on a little shelf above the stereo, but Cooper blocks me with his arm.
“We have to establish some exposition.”
Jesus. Who on earth talks like that?
“My parents are Amy and Malcolm. They are very nice and very nosy. I…well, I told them that we met three weeks ago at a…” He murmurs the end of the sentence, and I don’t quite catch it.
“What was that?”
“A Charlie Parker tribute concert.”
“Sorry, say again, I couldn’t hear.”
“You heard perfectly well.”
I feel a little flicker of delight at his discomfort but remain innocent of face.
“They won’t expect us to know everything about each other because we’ve only been…dating…for a few weeks. But let’s get the basics established so that there are no major errors.”