Chapter 3: THEN - The Safe Room

I didn’t see Peter Harlow for a week, but I thought about him every so often. I thought about the way he called me pretty and how he sided with me over Honey. I replayed those moments when Mum and Honey were arguing over her outfit, or Dad was smoking a cigarette and tutting at the football.

During that week, Honey made up with Oliver, and they went to see The Bourne Ultimatum at Cineworld. She came home with her hair all mussed and her lips pinker than the shade of lipstick she left with. I wondered if they’d been having sex or just kissing. Then I wondered what sex felt like, even though I knew I was too young to try it.

I went shopping with Mum for new jeans and found out I’d gone up a size.

“Don’t worry, Amby,” Mum said, squeezing my shoulder, “it’s just your curves coming in now. You’ve got more hips, that’s all.”

But when I looked in the mirror in a pair of white cotton pants and a bralette, I couldn’t see anything.

Peter emerged one day when I was walking home from town. I’d met up with a couple of girls from school, Becca and Hannah, for coffee at Starbucks. I was in shorts and a vest top because it was hot again and I had my hair in pigtails. I thought I looked cute. No earrings, because I wasn’t allowed to get my ears pierced yet, but lashings of mascara and matte lipstick that made my lips the same shade as my face. Bronzer in all the wrong places completed the ensemble.

Then there came Peter’s blue BMW with music blasting from the stereo. Something loud with a thumping bassline that I’d never heard before. It was an old BMW, but to me it seemed fancy. Cars like that were a status symbol to kids on this estate, one that projected a fake lifestyle that I couldn’t understand at fifteen.

“If it isn’t little Amber Ellis,” he called out in a sing-song voice. One hand reduced the volume of the music as the car crawled along beside me. “Out without big sis today? Check you out. Looking fly, if I might say so.”

I blushed and shook my head. “I don’t do everything with Honey, you know.”

He stopped the car and placed a hand on his chest. “Oh, I know. Trust me. I had an older cousin that Mum always made me hang out with. So fucking annoying. It’s much more fun to just do shit on your own, you know?”

I nodded like I did know.

“Hop in.” He gestured with a flick of his head. “Come on, you must be sweaty as fuck. This baby has air con.” He tapped the dashboard.

I shrugged. It was Peter. I’d known him since I was little. What harm could it do?

When I got in, Peter turned the music volume back up and bobbed his head like he was at a concert. I giggled and copied him, lifting my knees up to rest against the glove box. I thought I was so cool. I remember wanting to capture it somehow and show it to Honey. Here I am, sis, accepted by someone genuinely cool who’s even older than you. Peter doesn’t care that I’m fifteen like you care all the time.

“Tell me about yourself, Amber,” he said. “What do you do for shits and giggles?”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t think of anything. What did I do? I went shopping with Mum, swam sometimes, listened to music.

“I guess I like music. That new Rihanna song is cool.”

He scoffed. “That’s not music. I’ll make you a mix and burn it on a CD.”

“Oh, okay,” I mumbled, feeling stupid.

“You got a mobile phone?”

I nodded.

“Cool, you can give me your number.”

“Sure.” I reached into my bag to find a pen and paper and wrote it down for him, and as he took it between his fingers, my heart skipped a beat, like I knew I was doing something wrong. Peter was nineteen. He was an adult. Maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.

But Honey had a boyfriend at my age. He went to her school, and they used to walk home holding hands. Deep down I think I understood the difference, but I was so sick of being treated like a little kid that I wanted this more than anything. He was gorgeous and maybe, just maybe, he thought I was pretty too. No one else ever told me I was pretty.

Peter grinned and shoved the bit of paper in his jeans pocket. “Trust me, you’ll love this CD. Maybe we can listen to it together sometime.”

I wondered what Mum would say if she heard Peter now. Would she tell me I wasn’t allowed to see him? Then I mentally slapped myself. I used to play with Peter as a little kid. I didn’t even know if he fancied me. He probably just felt sorry for me.

“What’s with the long face?” he said, laughing. “We’d just be hanging out listening to music. That sourpuss you have there makes me think you believe we’ll be going to an orgy or some shit.”

My cheeks burned with humiliation. I stammered, “N-no I… I didn’t think that.”

He leaned closer, barely keeping his eyes on the road. “It’s just music. Between friends. Get it?”

“Got it,” I replied, sensing that was the right thing to say.

Then he slapped my thigh a couple of times, below my shorts, directly onto my skin. “Good girl.”

The skin he touched felt hot and tingly. Had the smile faded from his expression, I would have been afraid, but he carried on grinning, and I guessed I was supposed to pretend that the slap didn’t hurt. He’d meant it as playful. I took it the wrong way.

“You’re a cool kid, Amber,” he said. “I can’t wait to make this CD for you.”