past me). She was totally talking about me. The other three girls stopped talking, put down their drinks and turned to stare at me. I felt like I was back in year nine, knocking on the common room door and asking the sixth formers if they wouldn’t mind awfully turning their stereo down because we couldn’t hear our recorders in the music room.
‘Oh, shit, Angie, I so totally forgot you were here,’ Craig said, once he’d realized everyone had stopped talking. ‘This is Marie, Lise, Jacqueline and Solène.’
The blonde raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. ‘Angela?’ she asked Craig. He nodded into his fresh beer.
‘Solène,’ she said smiling and holding out a hand, but still not standing up or getting the hell out of my boyfriend’s seat. ‘We are playing the festival. Please, this is your wine?’
I really, really wanted to hate her, but her smile actually seemed genuine and her heavily accented voice made me want to curl up with my head in her lap. I awkwardly accepted my own drink, still standing by Graham’s chair, trying to look casual, but actually bloody well waiting for him to get up and give it to me. He didn’t. Some bloody gentleman.
‘So, you’re in a band?’ I asked.
‘Oui,’ she replied. ‘Yes, we are called Stereo. We play with Stills many times before.’ The rest of the girls carried on laughing, the brunette kicking Craig under the table. Well, it certainly looked as though they had played together before.
‘Right.’ I nodded, not really knowing what else to say.
‘You are not in a band,’ Solène said. I wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a question or not. ‘You are a writer?’
‘Yes,’ I said, relieved that she seemed to know who I was. ‘A journalist.’
‘You write about the band?’ she smiled again. ‘About the festival?’
Oh. She thought I was a music journalist. Was that good?
‘Angela is here with Alex,’ Graham said. ‘She’s here with us.’
‘So you are not a writer?’ Solène looked confused. ‘You work for the band?’
‘No, I am a writer, I’m writing for Belle magazine in America,’ I explained, trying not to patronize her. I didn’t want her to think I was an idiot. ‘I am a writer, I’m just not writing about the festival.’
‘I am sorry, I do not understand,’ she frowned slightly, her tiny little, button nose wrinkling up, ‘you write about Alex for a fashion magazine?’
‘No.’ I tried to think of a simpler way to explain myself, feeling completely inadequate. Why didn’t I speak French? Why had I done history A level? No one cared about my knowledge of the Industrial Revolution right now. Or ever actually. And never in my life had I wanted another girl’s approval so badly. Solène was beautiful and in a band and so, so cool. I was willing to bet she could play guitar and everything. She was like a blonde Carla Bruni except without the dodgy, short presidential husband. Jenny would hate her.
Before I could start again, we were all interrupted by a knock on the window. It was Alex. He looked at me and then at the table before gesturing for me to come outside.
‘Sorry, won’t be a minute,’ I said, putting down my wine, picking up my bag and practically stumbling out of the café as fast as my jet-lagged legs would carry me.
‘Hey, sorry, I had to take a call,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me away from the café.
‘Right,’ I said, spinning around to look at the scene unfolding in the window. Craig was practically salivating over Marie while Graham was playing Lise and Jacqueline something from his iPod while they nodded intensely to the beat. Solène turned around in her chair, in Alex’s chair and waved to me. I waved back before Alex pulled me around the corner. ‘We’re leaving?’
He nodded and kept walking.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked, stopping in the middle of the street, holding him to a standstill. ‘What happened on the phone?’
‘Sorry, just band stuff. The record label want us to play tomorrow night and I’m just so tired.’ He draped both his arms over my shoulders and gave me a half smile. ‘I was hoping we’d be able to do something tomorrow night. There’s like, a million places I want to take you.’
‘It’ll be fine, we’ve got ages.’ I pushed up on to my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. I pulled back suddenly and stared at Alex. ‘Did you smoke?’
‘Does it count if I took a drag off someone else’s?’ he asked sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I was just kind of stressed. On the phone.’
I tried not to make a face. It was incredibly unsettling for me to feel physically sick from kissing him.
‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ I said, feeling a little bit weird. Was it strange that I didn’t know he used to smoke?
‘I don’t,’ he said, fiddling around in his pocket for chewing gum. ‘So there’s nothing to know.’
‘Good, because it’s rank,’ I said, taking his hand and squeezing it hard. ‘And you’re brushing your teeth before bed.’
‘Whatever turns you on,’ he said, squeezing mine back even harder.
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