Burn Me Like the Sun

The only person who flipped a bigger shit than Valenti when the photos started hitting the blogs that Saturday afternoon was my mother.

My relationship with my mum was nothing short of complicated. While we texted every so often, maybe a few times a year, it was never anything more than How are classes? and What’s Cooper been up to? and sometimes I love you. I was the only person between the three of us – my father and Cooper and me – to actually talk to her. Ever since I became a full-fledged adult, moved out of the house, and started uni, there hadn’t been any more reason for my dad to keep in contact with my mum since they no longer shared a responsibility. Cooper was still angry with her, he’d always been, so he didn’t even have her number to begin with. He even went to lengths to ensure that I’d never give his to the woman he now bitterly called Ruth.

Honestly, I didn’t blame him at all. These days, I felt more comfortable myself calling her Ruth instead of Mum.

She texted me on Saturday while I was still hanging out at Liam’s, a message that took up three separate texts just for my mobile to receive them.

Hi, honey. It’s your mum. I hope you didn’t get a new mobile and lose my number! LOL Your auntie Cordelia linked me to an article about one of those One Direction blokes a couple of hours ago and said you were in it! I read it and as far as the press is gathering it looks like you’ve got a new boyfriend! He’s cute. ;D Whenever you get a chance, I’d love to chat. I’m off tomorrow so you can ring me then. Kisses!!!

To any other person, this was as normal as it could get. Coming from my mother, who was just about as talkative as a suspect in the middle of a game of good cop/bad cop, it was the furthest from normal. In fact, it was the most she’d said to me all year.

I swallowed back the frightened lump in my throat when I saw the text at Liam’s and forced myself to forget about it until the next day when Valenti picked up Fran and me for a brunch we were catering in Rosehill.

Val shoved a magazine in my lap the second I jumped into the passenger seat next to him. I was jittery and excited for the sunny day ahead. Any other day, I’d slink to the back row and slump onto one of the milk crates and pray that we wouldn’t get into a car wreck, but the fact that there was less of a chance of Val skidding over the wet roads make me actually giddy to drive to work.

“What the hell, duckie?” He side-eyed me, one of his eyebrows quirked as Fran stumbled over my lap and into the back, her face glued to her iPhone.

I grappled at the magazine after Fran plopped onto a milk crate, staring at the page from The Sun to which Val had folded it open. An entire two pages were covered with a blurry photo taken at a sharp angle from above of Louis and me clambering past a gaggle of photographers. One of Louis’s hands was cinched around my waist and the other was reaching for my own as he led me to Dadrian’s blacked-out SUV. Despite the shoddy quality of the shot, I could still see that damn smile of his and the wrinkles around his eyes. I was practically scowling in comparison, my mouth in a grim line as I stared at the ground. A suggestive, painfully punned headline was written across the bottom of the photo in an obnoxious, red font.

One Direction’s Louis Tomlinson finds a new “Mary Jane”

And then, smacked underneath in a smaller font:

(but she’s smokin’ in a whole different way!)

The rest of the article wasn’t that better either, and I tossed the magazine on the floor once they started comparing me to his socialite ex, Vic. In the least, they still didn’t know who I was, but I knew it was only a matter of time before they’d find out. It wasn’t like I was a shut-in at university, and any of my childhood friends from Newcastle wouldn’t be all that tight-lipped if a reporter waved a wad of cash under their noses.

Speaking of which, it wasn’t entirely impossible for my father or Cooper to learn about my less than enthusiastic entrée into A-list society like my mum had. Cooper had a “friend that’s a girl” the last time I’d heard, who more than likely had a third eye focused on One Direction like most girls her age. I also had a step-uncle who had teenaged kids of his own, so it wasn’t like my family was living under a rock.

I just didn’t want my dad to find out, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I’d be lucky if he got wind of everything after all of this Louis and me dating nonsense blew over, before the magazines started calling him up for more information about everything and everyone else in my life. It was highly unlikely, as I was sure every gossip blogger in the Untied Kingdom was getting closer by the second to figuring out who I was, but that didn’t stop me from saying a little prayer in my head right there in Val’s van as I glowered at the magazine I’d flung to the floor.

Whenever he’d find out, though, my dad would have plenty to say, being the protective father he was. I just hoped it would take him a while to notice.

“So?” I shot Val a challenging look, mimicking his perked eyebrow.

“Is it true?” he asked skeptically, reaching for a cigarette from behind his ear. “I mean, the whole thing about you two shagging. Not the weed.”

I snorted deliriously, throwing back my head against my seat. “I would’ve told you,” I admitted. “I mean, if we were. We’re not,” I quickly corrected, pointing a finger at him. “We’re definitely not.”

Fran scoffed. “You’re well on your way with how you both undress each other with just your fucking eyes,” she countered, giving me a pointed look over the top of her mobile.

Hot blood pooled under my cheeks, and I twisted in my seat to face her. Of course I found Louis attractive – so did millions of other people – but I wasn’t undressing him with my eyes!

“You’re off your knocker, I swear, mate.” I grunted, shaking my head. “You’re… you’re blind, Fran. You’re bloody blind.”

She finally set down her mobile into her lap, her eyes wide and innocent. “You clearly haven’t seen the way he looks at you.”

“Oh, god. If you’re insinuating that I can’t bear to stay mates with Louis, then I suggest you schedule a stop at a therapist’s while you’re getting your eyes checked,” I grumbled, turning back around in my seat and folding my arms over my chest. “It’s not like I’m fighting some hidden urge to shag his brains out!”

“You know, you’re both single. Why not down a couple shots and have a nice snog?” She shrugged. “You’ve nothing to lose.”

“No way in hell, Fran.” I scoffed, casting a pointed look at her over my shoulder. She tried to bite back a laugh, but let a giggle sputter from between her teeth. “You should take your own advice. You and Harry Styles are both single, remember?”

Val’s eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped to his lap. Fran shot him a blithe smile when he looked at her reflection in his rearview mirror.

“Harry Styles?” Valenti nearly squealed. He rounded on me, then, his eyebrows shooting up. “You girls have been fucking hanging out with fucking Harry Styles and you didn’t tell me? What the fuck, duckie?”

“What, didn’t you read it in that trashy article?”

He leaned sideways over the edge of his seat and scrambled for the paper, his eyes just barely focused on the road. I smacked his shoulder, my nerves spilling over with the sight of him practically laying on the ground as he scrunched the magazine between his fingers.

“Aye, you fuckin’ sod, you’re gonna get us all killed!” I shrieked.

He shrugged off my blows as he flattened the paper in his lap. He clicked his tongue at the photo that stared back at him, glancing at the road every couple of seconds as he slowed at a red light. I smacked his shoulder one final time, earning a quiet yelp. “And getting into a wreck wouldn’t even be worth it,” he sighed. “You weren’t even mentioned, Fran.”

“What?” she screeched. She reached over Val’s seat, nearly ripping the newspaper to shreds as she nabbed at it.

She opened it up on her lap, her eyes shooting back and forth as she scanned the brazen article. Her head snapped back up and she aimed a hefty stink eye straight at Val. “Shit-faced git.”

Valenti watched her in his rearview mirror, a grin pulling at his cheeks under his stubble. “I like making you squirm.”

“You make every girl on the face of this planet squirm, you twat.”

He barked out a laugh, finally returning all of his focus to the road as the car in front of us moved forward.

“I’m barely even mentioned, if that! ‘Unidentified red head and friend’?” Fran read out loud, glaring at the article like it had personally offended her. “‘And friend’ my arse. Okay, for one, these are not the eyebrows of an ‘and friend,’ yeah?” she claimed, pointing to her carefully shaped eyebrows, of which I’d always been jealous (going through my formative years without a mother sort of put a damper on my knowledge in the beauty department). She scoffed, flipping over the page to scan the rest of the article on the back of the photo.

“Should I ring up The Sun and let them know?”

Fran trilled a fake laugh, glancing at me as she flipped back to the photo of Louis and me. “That’s right funny, love. Maybe while you’re at it, you can tell them you and Lewis aren’t shagging yet, but you’re well on your way.”

“Oi, if you’re wanting to show up at this brunch with the bruise the size of an apple on your face, you’re well on your way,” I warned, throwing up a quick V.

“Alright, alright. Never mind then.” She leaned forward, gripping my arm rest as she pointed a finger at me. Her next words came out so fast that I had a hard time keeping up. “But when I find Louis in the kitchen one morning making tea with nothing but a towel covering his glorious ‘One Thing,’ I’m going out and buying myself a blow horn and I’m gonna announce to every person in the street that my best mate finally got a piece of that arse she’s been drooling over for however long it takes for you two to finally suck it up and take the chance and give in.”

I smirked, locking eyes with Fran as I told Val, “We’re gonna have to make a stop at the nearest mental ward, because I think Fran’s finally let all that math get to her head.”

Fran only shrugged and settled back into her seat, folding up The Sun and throwing it back onto the dingy van floor.

“Say, Val, where did you want to go to get dinner after today?” I asked after a moment. “I mean, if we don’t get into a car wreck in the next five minutes.”

He took a long drag of his cigarette before stubbing out the remains on the tile glued to the dashboard. “Can’t,” he muttered, flicking the cigarette out his cracked window. “I’m scraping by this month.”

Fran whistled lowly. “Why’s that?”

“My flatmate moved out. Gotta find another.” He sucked on his teeth, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, duckie. C’est la vie.”

“Well, if you’re ever feeling lonely, you can always come over for dinner,” I offered. I looked back at Fran, who was back to playing with her mobile. “I wouldn’t mind cooking for you some time.”

He glanced at me again, looking surprised. “Wow. You’re really taking our friendship to a whole new level now, aren’t you? What’s next, friendship bracelets and a weekly movie night? It’d be a right laugh if we tried braiding each other’s hair.”

I only reached over and flicked his ear in response.

|||

“Okay, seriously, every chance you’ve gotten, you’ve had your mobile out. Did Harry show you his after you gladly showed him yours?”

“I don’t remember grilling you like a kebab when you were knee-deep in Louis’s texts.”

I bit my lip and nudged Fran’s shoulder as I pushed our serving trays along the table. I glanced at Val as he filled them up with crab cakes, his hands flying faster than doves on a wedding day.

“Who’s been messaging you?” I asked quietly, glancing at Morgan as she leaned against a table behind us, her arms crossed. She narrowed her eyes when she caught me watching her over my shoulder and spun around, flouncing back to the other end of the kitchen to grab a new tray of pork. I quietly breathed a sigh of relief, as I’d been feeling the weight of her stare all day.

“Liam, actually,” she whispered back, her chin ducked.

I gave a low whistle. “I hope Harry isn’t jealous.”

“Oi, I wish.” She slipped her mobile back into her pocket before I could even steal a glance at the screen, shooting me a cheeky smile. “You mustn’t worry, love. It’s not like he’s taking your place any time soon. We’re just chatting.”

I smiled suggestively. “Well, you know what they say about chatting.”

She fixed me with a pointed look, her lips pursed. “No, I actually don’t. And if you’re going to say what I just know you’re going to say, then you and Louis should’ve already had a nice romp by now.”

I gaped and smacked Fran square on her shoulder. “You’re a right laugh sometimes, mate.”

She giggled. “Okay, seriously, though. I’ve been meaning to ask you something. About Louis.”

I handed Fran her tray before I grabbed my own and shot Val a fleeting smile that he was too busy to even notice.

“Ask me what?” I urged, following Fran to the other table where Morgan and Sydney were having Peter pile their serving trays with pork loin.

Fran eyed the two newbies next to us hesitantly, giving me an apologetic look as she discretely jerked her chin in their direction.

In the past few weeks, ever since Louis made his grand entrance in the kitchen and nearly got me sacked, almost everyone at work had either ignored the fact that I had somehow made acquaintances with a 5’8” paparazzi magnet or full-on accosted me with questions and awkward, invasive comments. Morgan and Sydney, two of the handful of soon-to-be uni students and summer recruits, stood on opposite ends of the spectrum.

While Morgan was distant and had a nearly constant penchant for pursing her lips at Fran and me like we were a couple of lemon drops that had been forced down her throat, Sydney, the fit little brunette that Val fancied, was the most upfront of anyone we had the utter pleasure of working with. She’d asked Fran and me on separate occasions whether either of us were shagging anyone in One Direction, but she was always only met with blank stares and bitten-back laughs. Sydney had been wearing me down asking such things as what Louis’s hair looked like when he got up in the mornings (not that I knew) or if Harry’s lips were really as pink as they were in pictures (not that I’d ever tell). Though I could admire such an upfront attitude most days, when it came from someone as, well, charmingly malignant as Sydney, it put Fran and me and even Valenti on edge.

I had to wait until we were packing up leftovers back into the van at the end of the brunch with Valenti for Fran to finally ask me what she’d been holding back all afternoon. Margaret had made constant contraband sweeps since then, and Fran was nearly vibrating with the itch to check her phone. Piled on with having to wait for the right moment to ask me whatever she wanted to without being eavesdropped, she was damn near bursting at the seams after she helped me load in one final tray of stuffed eggs.

“Do you trust him?”

I grunted as I shut the back of Val’s van, taking my time to think over my answer. I knew she was talking about Louis. She had to be if she’d waited this long until we were out of earshot from anyone other than Valenti to ask me.

“Not as much as I trust you.”

“You don’t trust anyone as much as me,” she shot back, planting her hands on her hips. She watched me as I slumped against the van, settling myself on the rear bumper. I squeezed my sore knees with my hands as I stared at my scuffed trainers.

“I don’t know, mate. Probably as much as Valenti.”

When I looked up after a moment, wary since I still hadn’t heard a snide remark escape Fran’s mouth (or any other sort of reaction for that matter), I was met with her wide chocolate eyes. Her jaw had gone slack, her lips forming a small O as she returned my gaze.

“I wasn’t expecting that.”

I shrugged. “Neither was I. But he hasn’t really, you know, given me a reason not to trust him. It’s not like he could do anything to make me not trust him, anyway.” I bit the inside of my cheek as I thought Louis over. He seemed sincere enough, but even though he didn’t hold much over me, there was still one thing he could do that would still tear me to shreds, no matter how much I’d like to deny it.

“He’s not ditching you any time soon, Blake.” I sucked my bottom lip against my teeth, letting my fingers tangle together. Fran sighed, shooting me a soft smile. “No matter how much simpler my life would be.”

“Don’t you mean boring?” Valenti said, wrapping an arm over Fran’s shoulders. She groaned and shrugged it off, softly elbowing him in the gut. “I’m sorry to say, but you making nice with One Direction is probably the most exciting thing to happen to our little group since Fran here dated that bloke that was, what, a second cousin of Prince Harry?”

“Fourth,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. “And the only kind of royal he was was a pain in my arse.”

“Good kisser, though,” Fran mumbled halfheartedly, shooting me a rueful look. I only groaned in disgust.

“Speaking of royal pains in my arse,” I announced, “Louis actually invited us over again. Thursday. After me morning lecture.” Val had slunk down on the bumper next to me, his knee bumping mine. “You in, Fran?”

“Gee, thanks for inviting me, duckie,” Valenti interrupted before Fran could say a word, crossing his arms over his chest as he pouted.

“Sod off, mate,” I chuckled, batting my hand at him. “We all know you’re too busy raking in the cash half the time to hang out.”

This was true, though. Val always had another job or two under his belt besides Veal on Wheels since we usually only catered events during the weekends.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got a date Thursday, anyway,” he bragged, puffing out his chest a little.

“With a real bird? No way,” I exclaimed, shaking my head in disbelief as I grinned. “Does the mental institution she’s escaped from know she’s made a break for it?”

“Duckie!” he groaned.

“You know, that tube sock you’ve nicknamed doesn’t count,” Fran gleefully teased.

“Oh, shut up, darling,” he crooned, shooting her a wan smile. “But seriously, I’ll definitely take you up on your next offer.”

“Oi, I haven’t even offered!” I contested, smirking all the same.

Valenti’s comeback was cut short when my mobile started ringing in my pocket, the sound shrill and loud enough that I spotted a couple of heads across the parking lot turn to look in my direction. I held my mobile up to Fran and Val like it was evidence of all the pain and suffering Louis had brought into my life.

“Speak of the devil, and he doth appear, gathering me all the attention that I despise.”

But when I flipped it open and saw the caller I.D., I was hit with a reminder that Louis couldn’t have been the only one giving me a ring on a Sunday afternoon.

I scrambled into the van, ignoring the confused looks Fran and Valenti had shot at me as I stared at my flip phone. I sunk into the nearest milk crate, not even caring that my arse would probably look like a waffle the second I got back up. I flipped my mobile back open and double checked the name right before I accepted the call. But if I’m being honest, I probably only waited so long to pick up in hopes that my mum would be slapped with my automated voicemail greeting. I would’ve rather foregone any sort of actual conversation with Ruth considering I hadn’t rang her in ages myself.

“I couldn’t wait,” she gushed the second I picked up. “I’ve been staring at my mobile all afternoon. You’re not busy right now, are you, my love?”

Fran dropped into the milk crate next to me, clutching her knees to her chest as she stared at me like I was her mother’s Sundays-only tea set being juggled by a clown on a unicycle. I hated that she sometimes took so much pity on me that it felt like she could only see me as an inevitable emotional wreck. She could probably hear my mum’s chipper, careful voice on the other end, a sharp difference from Louis’s squeaky, trilling words that came out so fast that they leaned against each other.

“No,” I croaked, “no, I’m not.”

Val peeked his head into the back, the middle of his brow curled like a spinning top. I glanced at him, and the second he took me in, his voice coming out fussed and quiet, I just knew I was pink in the face and probably well on my way to matching the copper shade of my own hair.

“If Louis’s having that effect on you, then I really need to take some notes,” Val whispered.

Fran shushed him and smacked his arm, and he brushed her away, going back to giving me a look that made his gruff, scruffy face look like the mug of a puppy dog.

“Your mum?” Fran mouthed.

I only nodded feebly, confirming what she already knew.

I didn’t know why I was losing my shit over my mum calling me. I mean, I grew up with her for the first part of my life, and she hadn’t really changed since then – except for the fact that she rarely spoke to me anymore. While she did check in after the incident with the school fight, and again during one summer when I was in sixth form, she never stuck around long enough for my liking, or at least as much as she could have while still living halfway across England. She was always cheery to the point of being annoying, especially if she was trying to ignore the problems in my life (which, to be fair, usually had something to do with her). Sometimes it was a sickly sweet when we talked, but most oft it annoyed me to no end.

But right now, considering it’d been a couple years since I last heard her voice, it was a gasp of relief that somehow still made me want to poke out my eyes with a heroin needle.

“So? Is it true?”

I shook my head. “No. We’re… we’re not dating.”

I could just imagine her eyes bugging out. “But you’ve been spending a lot of time together, yes? Your auntie Cordelia said that this wasn’t the first time you’ve been photographed together.”

“Most likely not. I mean, unless you don’t include the coffee incident.”

“Coffee incident?” Her voice became shrill and concerned, like I’d just admitted Louis and I killed someone and dumped the body into the Thames. “What coffee incident?”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, leaning over my lap and pressing my forehead into my knees. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” I clawed my fingers through my hair, just begging any higher power that would listen to make the call short.

I could hear Valenti shut the driver side door just seconds later. The van shook as he settled into his seat, and the engine sputtered to life, the stained navy carpet vibrating under my feet.

“Are you alright, Blake?” my mother asked quietly, her voice almost careful enough that I didn’t hear it at first. “The paparazzi aren’t getting to you, are they?”

“No, Mum,” I muttered, finally sitting up. Val was already driving towards the back gate, a cigarette between his lips. The leftovers rattled in the stack of trays behind me, and I only barely caught Fran’s worried expression before she reached over and wrapped an arm over my shoulders.

I wanted to shrug her off, as I never relished in physical comfort, but I let Fran embrace me anyway because I knew she meant it.

“What’s going on between you two? Louis isn’t, I don’t know, a bad person, now, is he? Should I be worried?”

“We’re just mates, Mum,” I muttered, dragging my hand over my face. I pinched the bridge of my nose, hoping I could pinch away the headache I knew was going to be waiting for me the second I hung up. “Just mates. And I… I don’t like the paparazzi either. I’ve been trying to throw them off, so you don’t need to worry yourself—”

“I always worry, Bambi.”

My stomach clenched up, and it took about half of my concentration not to yell at her over the phone. Like shit she always worried.

“It’s fine.” I clenched my jaw and licked my lips, counting to 20 by even numbers as I paused, hoping I could gather enough composure not to give away the sudden urge of anger I had towards Ruth. “I’m alreet.”

She laughed a little, but it sounded forced, like she was laughing to the tune of a pop song. “Alright,” she stressed, and I could just imagine her pursing her lips as she stopped to think. “I guess I just wanted to check in. I’ve missed you. I’ll keep texting you, okay? Maybe we can have a proper chat again in a week or so. I don’t want you to stress out so much, especially when midterms are just about the corner. I mean, they are coming up, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they’re coming up.” I sighed and let my eyes slip shut. There was a prickling pain at the corner of my head as a dull ache ricocheted in my skull. I should’ve guessed that working a brunch without a cup of coffee under my belt would kick my arse later on in the day. Forcing myself to have a conversation with my virtually estranged mother didn’t help much, either.

“I love you.” Her voice went up at the end, like she was waiting for me to return the sentiment, or as if she was actually wondering if she still truly loved me.

Of course, it’d been years since I said those same words. So I stuck with what I always said.

“Yeah. I’ll… I’ll talk to you later.”

And then I hung up, already aware of the disapproving look Fran was trying to hide from me. Her arm slung over my shoulders suddenly tightened, her way of compensating for how she never understood the jittery relationship I had with Ruth.

But I shook her arm off before Val finally pulled the van onto the street and slunk into traffic.