Remix by Non Pratt Page B

clustered on the other side of the dead fire. “And I’m sorry. So sorry. I’m sober and using my indoor voice and” – she reaches out to lay her hands on my shoulders, tilting me towards her so I can see how earnest she is – “I get why you tried to protect me from Stu and that’s what I thought
I
was doing with Tom, only I’m sorry, because it’s not very protective to shout such mean stuff at you and a lot of it wasn’t really that true, except about his trousers, and if you want to be with Tom—” She stops as I start to shake, my eyes squeezed shut against the tears that are welling up. “Kaz? Are you all right? What’s wrong? Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
    I shake my head and a fragment of a teardrop flies from the corner of my eye. I don’t say anything, but I don’t need to. Ruby’s there already, her arms around me so that no one else will know I’m crying. Sniffing, dabbing at my nose with one of the napkins that Ruby’s shoved at me, I sit back up and face her.
    “You were right. Tom’s seeing someone else.”
    Ruby’s face is a battlefield of emotions – despair, triumph, sympathy, sadness – before she settles on the safest, the one she’s always latched on to because it’s the easiest to feel.
    Anger.
    “What a cockwomble!” Ruby gently punches her fist into her palm. “Want me to hurt him? I know how to make it look like an accident…”
RUBY
    At least she can laugh. That’s got to count for something. We hug again and when Kaz gives me a squeeze, she whispers her own apology.
    “Sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
    I squeeze her tight. “Don’t worry about it. No harm done, right? Unless you
want
me to cause harm? I was serious about hurting him.”
KAZ
    But Ruby could never cause Tom the kind of pain that he has caused me.

13 • DAMMIT
KAZ
    The others had already left camp when we emerged from our tent after sorting out supplies for the day ahead, then I end up losing Ruby in the queue for the arena. It’s easy to do with someone her size, and five years of this happening on a semi-regular basis has made me philosophical – it’s not as if she’ll have gone anywhere other than through the gate.
    Crowds of people are pressing in around me and I let myself drift through conversations that sound so much like the ones Ruby and I have been sharing all summer in anticipation of this weekend.
    “… never heard of those guys…”
    “… gutted I couldn’t catch them last time they toured…”
    “… you’ll have to go to that one on your own, no way am I missing Gold’ntone…”
    “… passed out when I stage-dived…”
    “… watched it on YouTube…”
    My phone goes as I’m channelled between gates.
    Where are you where you where are you??? This place is UH-MAY-ZING. Meet you in first set of stalls you see. They have MANY trays of silver studs
.
    She’s sent a photo, even though I’m about two minutes from seeing all these earrings in person. Ruby has a very specific fascination with stud earrings.
    Some of us queue with decorum. I’ll find you in five
, I reply.
    When I emerge from under the arch of the entrance, I see why Ruby was so excited. Off to the right, beyond the stalls Ruby’s (presumably) browsing, there’s an enormous yellow-and-blue striped tent, the roof pitched in peaks and curves like a fairy-tale palace. Directly ahead of me there’s a cluster of fairground rides, sun reflecting off the roof of the waltzers and a fresh-white Ferris wheel suspending cable-car clouds against the sky. These rides are no different from the ones on the pier at Clifton, but the festival setting gives them added glamour, although the music coming from them – a cacophany of pop tunes and sound effects – seems at odds with the crowd of people in band T-shirts and festival hats.
    I’m turning to look at the ping-pong tables over by the tent marked ALTERNATIVE when I catch sight of Tom.
    Seeing his profile hurts like a burn and I recoil from the shock. An arena