Sketch

18 - Emmy

Dedicated to Mscoopa!

The next time I try to chance a secret glance at Sam he's walking to his room.  I watch him go, eyes on his red t-shirt and jeans.  I want to call out to him, even if it's only to wish him a good night's sleep, but Vince's hand on my arm draws my attention away from Sam's retreating form.

"He's a moany bastard," Vince states, pointing with a sud covered hand to Sam's back. 

I'm not sure if Sam's heard but he doesn't look back at us.  When he's in his room I turn to Vince and shrug.

"Tandy said to give him time to warm up to me."

Vince laughs.  "She did, did she?  Well, Sam's a complicated soul.  He's very select with who he's friends with."  He leans closer to me, lowering his voice, and his breath blows against my cheek.  "He's got some serious trust issues."

I frown, a pang of sympathy rushing to the surface.  "Why?" I ask before I can stop myself.

Vince steps back from me, resting a hip against the counter.  "All to do with the last time..."  He pauses, glancing at Sam's closed bedroom door., before appearing to decide against explaining.  "Yeah.  It's complicated."

I feel completely frustrated.  What is this last time that everyone keeps on about? I'm itching to know, but as soon as I open my mouth to ask him, his phone goes off in his pocket.  He's quick to retrieve it and a smirk appears on his face as he looks at the caller I.D. 

He squeezes my shoulder before heading over to his room.  I vaguely hear him purring a name, I think it was Jasmine, before he disappears too, leaving me standing in the open planned living area by myself.

I unplug the sink and wait until all of the soap residue's been washed away before I walk to the sofa.  It's only half seven, way too early to be going to bed, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with myself.  It's not like my room is mine yet, so it feels odd going there just to sit.  I left most of my books and CDs at home, figuring I'd be too busy to need them, but now I wish I'd brought them all.

I take my phone out of my handbag, which is set on the coffee table, and toy with the idea of ringing home.  I want to leave it at least a couple of days until I speak to Mum, purely because if I ring after only a day she'll assume that something's wrong and insist that I go back to them.  I don't want to.  Being ignored isn't enough to make me run home.

I dial Tabs' number instead and she picks up on the third ring.

"Yo!" I say, beaming at my reflection in the mirror hung opposite.  "How's it going?"

Tabs squeals in what I assume is delight.  "Oh my God!  How are you?  Is it amazing?  I bet it's amazing."

"I'm fine," I reply, laughing.  "Saved up for your train fare yet?"

"I'm getting there," she says.  "I did some gardening for the man next door yesterday and he paid me a tenner."

"A tenner for picking weeds?" I say incredulously.  "You ripped him off!"

She giggles.  "No I didn't.  Besides, I think he just enjoyed the company."

I smile, thinking of Mr Jones.  He's old, in his eighties, and lives alone.  He's no bother at all.  I sometimes dropped him in some groceries on my way home from college.  He's much nicer than our old neighbours, whose dog almost savaged my hand off.

"But anyway," she says, excitement making her voice shrill.  I can picture her bouncing up and down on her bed.  "Is it amazing?"

I lounge on the sofa, my head resting on the arm, and tap my two front teeth with a finger, thinking.