I mean, if they found out, that is …
I drink some more wine and peer into the living room through a gap in the crowd, this time looking for Fi. Normally bright and airy, the room is lit up by just a few candles tonight. But I soon spot Fi’s dyed red hair. She’s perched on the arm of the forest-green sofa, laughing at something, her head tilted towards the ceiling. When she finally stops laughing, she sees me too. Waves. She slides off the sofa and comes through to the kitchen.
‘You made it!’ she shouts over the music. ‘Yeah!’
She’s gorgeous, Fi. Like, seriously stunning. She’s wearing a plain white T-shirt, jeans with trainers and a black leather jacket. And she looks like a model. The feathery layers in her shiny, long hair frame her face. Her eyes are clear pale blue. Her skin is glowing. I can totally see why Akash liked her so much; they’d been going out for almost a year. Beautiful and totally cool. She holds out her arms and sways into me. I get a waft of vodka as we hug, or I hold her up, it’s hard to tell which.
She giggles. ‘You need to catch up!’
‘On it,’ I tell her, downing another glass of wine. My muscles relax as the warmth of the alcohol spreads beneath my skin. At the same time, a flutter of guilt crawls across my chest. It’s hard to believe I’d never even tasted alcohol until eight months ago and sometimes I still imagine the look of horror on Mum and Dad’s faces if they could see me. No drinking: that’s another rule of theirs. All these rules are not just because I’m fifteen – it’s also cultural stuff, family stuff – but Mum and Dad have become a lot stricter since everything that happened with Akash.
I try not to think about Mum and Dad now. I push the guilt away. Fi offers me more wine and I let her top up my cup. Akash never worried about my parents. And I mean look at me! I’m living my life. At a party. Having fun.
‘You curled your hair,’ Fi says. ‘Looks good! Top suits you too.’
‘Thanks, Fi,’ I say, feeling proud of myself now. I mean, I know me and Raheela aren’t exactly friends any more, but I imagine her standing here instead of me. Ha! No way could she do this. She’d be panicking more than I ever did, I reckon. I’ve come so far since the first time I came and hid in the corner.
Fi’s eyes light up. ‘Let’s dance!’ she shouts, grabbing my arms.
And I can’t help it – I dance with her right there in the kitchen. We could go into any room in the huge house, but no. Instead, we dance, surrounded by the kettle and microwave and oven, laughing as we sneak in some ridiculous dance moves. Around us, people join in. A couple of Fi’s older friends, who go to college, high-five us as they squeeze past to get drinks. Someone turns off the light and there’s cheering as the dancing moves into the living room.
When we finally stop to catch our breath, Fi digs a packet of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket. ‘To the garden!’ she commands, putting her arm round my shoulders.
I feel energized from the dancing. Light. Happy. A part of me wants to carry on, but fresh air also sounds good. ‘OK!’ I shout back, grabbing another bottle of wine. She always gets loads in for her parties – her parents are so cool. I tuck it under my arm and follow her out.
It’s quieter outside. The usual group of older boys are crowded near the shed at the back, laughing and smoking something stronger than cigarettes. Fi and I sit on the lawn, facing the house, surrounded by daffodils. The whole back wall is covered with Welsh dragon plaques. Fi’s parents are so devoted to Wales it makes me laugh, though they spend more time travelling the world than at home.
‘You got away OK?’ Fi asks, glancing at me.
I shrug. ‘Sure. It’s not even a big deal now.’
She grins. ‘You’re becoming sooo good at it! Like your brother.’
My skin prickles all over. Has she forgotten how bad he was at sneaking out? He was always getting caught. Not that he actually tried to sneak away though: he just went. At least my way isn’t upsetting anyone.
Fi must see that I’m irritated. She gently nudges me. ‘I just meant that he’d be impressed,’ she says.
I nod. He would. I know he would. ‘Yeah,’ I say, managing a smile.
And then Fi lights a cigarette. Smoke mingles with the air around us and I breathe in the smell. I breathe and breathe, focusing on the fairy lights dangling from the fence, twinkling against the darkness.
The first time I saw Akash smoking, I was ten and he was thirteen. It was the summer holidays. Hot. I’d been doing cartwheels on the lawn and I was standing next to the shed, brushing grass off my skirt, when I smelled cigarette smoke. I looked around, trying to figure out where the smell was coming from, and saw him peering back at me through the shed window. His eyes were wide as he pressed a finger to his lips. He was smirking a bit, that cheeky, lopsided smile of his. Understanding straight away, I nodded and cartwheeled all the way back to the house, our secret buzzing inside me. It was the first of so many.
Fi squeezes my arm and I jolt out of my daze. She blows out a smoke ring the size of a saucer. I gaze in awe as usual.
‘What you thinking?’ she asks. ‘About him?’
I look down at my lap. ‘Always.’
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I know.’
‘Have you … got any more clues?’ I look at her now. My heart’s racing from the hope, the possibility. Fi and I have been trying to figure out what happened to Akash ever since we became friends. We’ve spoken to everyone who knew him from school, all his friends, but no one saw him that night after Fi’s party. But someone must know something. And we’ve promised each other we won’t give up.
Fi shakes her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, Neens. You?’
I shake my head too.
Fi smiles at me sadly. ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but he’s the one who taught me how to do smoke rings …’ She blows out another one. It floats up into the air, a perfect circle, and then it spreads, disappears into the air.
There, and then gone.
‘Did he?’ I say. It doesn’t surprise me. ‘Yeah, he used to say they’re their own kind of art.’ I drink some more wine. And then I laugh. My brother could find art in anything. God, I miss that.
Fi nods enthusiastically. ‘Art. Yeah. That’s it! He said the exact same thing to me.’ She leans into me. Rests her head on my shoulder. I rest my head on hers. ‘Imagine what he could’ve done as an artist,’ she continues. ‘I mean, if your parents hadn’t held him back. You know?’
I pull away from Fi. Feel a bit sick. What she’s saying is true, but it doesn’t seem right coming from her somehow. ‘Yeah, I guess. But they always tried their best, you know? And he always did what he wanted anyway …’ I can’t believe I’m defending Mum and Dad.
Fi looks at me hard. ‘Sure … But all their rules, you know? Anyway, you can’t let that happen to you, Neens …’ She’s slurring a bit but her eyes are focused. Unflinching.
I peer at the freckles round Fi’s nose. ‘Yeah,’ I say. But it’s not as easy as she thinks. Since Akash left me, I’ve managed to get better at painting, but everything else has become harder.
Fi grabs my arm. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply. Her cigarette’s burning away now, just hanging there between her fingers like she’s forgotten about it. She’s totally wasted. I down more wine too.