‘Oh dear, Will! You’re still stuck in there?’
‘I think I’ve found a way out.’
‘Thank goodness. Listen, I’ve got some bad news. It sounds ridiculous, but Natasha says she’s employed a forensic specialist to analyse our cartoons. They’ve already got my handwriting sample … What on earth are you doing?’
The picture is shaking and Will is grunting like she’s lifting weights. I bring my face closer to the screen.
‘I’m pretty sure this window isn’t actually locked,’ Will says. ‘Some crappy painter has painted it to the frame. If I can … just –’
Will upends the phone onto a flat surface and the screen goes black. I hear another grunt and the sound of breaking glass, followed by Will screeching.
I hold the screen to my nose. ‘Will? Will! Are you all right?’
‘I think I’ve cut my arm.’
‘Oh my God!’
Finally her face fills the screen. She is breathing deeply, and I realise I am, too. ‘You’re still there,’ she says.
I nod. ‘Are – are you okay?’
‘There’s quite a lot of blood.’
I feel a pulse in my throat. ‘Will,’ I say as calmly as possible. ‘I’m going to come and pick you up. We need to get you to a doctor.’
Will runs a hand across her gleaming forehead. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s just a graze.’
‘I can see that’s not true,’ I say, suddenly breathless. ‘I’m leaving now.’
‘Really, Harriet, you don’t have to do that,’ Will says as I’m about to end the call. ‘I’ve got a handkerchief. I’ll put pressure on it to stop the flow –’
‘It’s not enough –’
‘And as soon as I get home I’ll get Mum to look at it. She’s a nurse.’
I hesitate. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Don’t worry.’ She smiles reassuringly.
‘I really think I should come. And I need to talk to you about this handwriting issue –’
Will interrupts me. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she says firmly. ‘I need you to stay there. Just make sure Nat stays within sight.’ The screen goes blank.
When I return to the booth, Natasha is halfway through her second beer. A fresh vodka and lemonade stands on my half of the table.
‘Feeling better?’
I wave a nonchalant hand, hoping she can’t see it shaking.
She rests her cheek on her palm and gazes at me quizzically. ‘Art Juice’s sister. Who would have thought?’
I’m getting tired of this refrain. ‘Why do you find it so surprising?’
Natasha laughs. ‘Are you kidding me? Because he’s awesome! He and the rest of The Sphere are musical genii. They’re pushing the boundaries of punk the whole time. You don’t exactly have a reputation for pushing boundaries, Harriet. All that blind faith you place in Rosemead …’ Seeing my expression, she peters out. ‘I’ll give you this. You’re not as bad as those evil twins you hang out with.’
‘You mean Millie and Beth?’
Natasha nods.
‘They’re not twins.’
‘They may as well be. They’re a pair of stuck-up, racist brats.’
I redden. ‘They’re not that bad.’
Natasha snorts. ‘They look down on anyone who isn’t as rich or as groomed as they are. They’re always calling in favours from their wealthy parents to get ahead. And you know Beth calls me “Ning Nong”, don’t you?’
I reach carefully for my drink. ‘That’s … not very nice.’
‘Have you ever said that to Beth?’
‘I …’ I shift in my chair.
Nat narrows her eyes. ‘Then you’re no better.’
I swallow. I’ve never thought of it that way before. I look at my lap. When I look up, Natasha is swilling her beer and studying me. She appears to take pity on me, because the next thing she says is: ‘Luckily for you, you have a hot brother.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, confused. ‘I don’t think I heard you properly. Did you just say you find Arthur attractive?’
‘Hoo yeah.’
This is astounding. ‘Even with that haircut?’
Natasha nods. ‘Especially with that haircut. It’s been a while since I looked twice at a guy, especially a younger guy, but he’s something, all right. He’s not single at the moment, by any chance?’
I have no idea what to say.
Natasha pushes her empty glass away. ‘Does my question surprise you?’ She looks amused.
‘Oh! It’s just that I didn’t realise you were, ah –’ I stammer.
‘You didn’t realise I was what?’
‘– single yourself.’
Natasha looks uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure if I am or not, to be honest.’
‘That sounds … complicated,’ I say carefully.
Natasha looks towards the window and back again. ‘You know when you’re with someone? And it’s fine? But not amazing? But you’re mates? And you don’t want to jeopardise the friendship by –’ she stops and shakes her head.
She’s talking about Will. She has to be. A heady beat starts up in my chest.
‘God, I shouldn’t be saying any of this. Forget I spoke.’ Natasha rubs her face. She slides out of the booth. ‘Your brother’s on in ten. You coming?’
‘I’ll, ah, just finish this drink.’
‘Suit yourself.’
I watch her stalk across the room.
A sudden urge overtakes me. I need to see Will. To see if she made it out of the newsroom okay. To tell her not to worry about Natasha. About anything to do with Natasha at all.
I wait until Natasha is out of sight, then send Will a quick text:
How are you? Do you need me to do anything? I can drive over right now. I have a first aid certificate! And do not worry about Natasha returning any time soon, she is deeply preoccupied. Let me know. H XXX
Her response is swift. Very swift.
All good. Speak later.
I stare, disappointed, at the text.
I put away my phone. I try to think steadily about Natasha’s comments. Perhaps it is not my place to relay this particular news to Will.
If only the two of them would talk to each other!
Like a lasagne fresh from the oven, I let the situation settle on the metaphorical bench top.
If Arthur likes Natasha as much as Natasha clearly likes Arthur, she could help mend Arthur’s heart. And that could resolve Will and Natasha’s delicate … situation …
