Page 14 of Fake Rocks
So, she dragged me along the King’s Road, stopping in several stores I recognised the names of but had never been able to afford to go in. The assistants stared at Saff, dressed as she was in the tightest black leather jeans, spiked heeled boots, a strategically slashed vibrant purple top you could see her bra through, and a black denim jacket. Her pink hair was freshly washed and hung, tousled around her shoulders. The whole effect was traffic stopping. She held up clothes for me and mostly I shook my head at her choices. We were in and out of the shops within minutes. I swear the assistants probably thought we were casing the place, like some kind of overdressed criminals.
“We don’t have to do designer though, do we?” I’d been looking at a t-shirt that cost over a hundred pounds, which was about the cost of my entire current wardrobe. “If I’m supposed to be the nice, normal, man-on-the-street getting you back on the straight and narrow, would I really be dressed head to toe in…” I checked the label inside Jonas’ jacket. “The Kooples?”
“Hmm. You could be right. We may need to tone it down. High street labels it is.”
There was a large store I usually bought my clothes in off the main street and I pulled her towards it. “We’re bound to find something here.”
Sure enough, it didn’t take me long at all to find a pair of dark blue distressed jeans, a couple of plain t-shirts and a grey sweater.
“Is that it?” Saff stared at the pile as I came out of the changing room.
“My uncle’s going to be bringing a load of stuff with him tomorrow. I only need a couple of bits for tonight, just so you don’t think you’re going out with Jonas.” The corner of my mouth quirked up.
“I thought you might need these too.” Saff’s grin replicated my own as she held up a couple of pairs of boxers, one with an eagle print and one with a deer print. “In case you get lucky.” She gave me a broad wink, running the tip of her tongue over her lips.
We got a couple more things to top off the outfit: a dark grey peacoat and a pair of black Chelsea boots. I would no longer look like Jonas, thankfully. Although I wasn’t sure I looked like myself either. New clothes, new start. As we approached the till, I felt very much like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. The assistant rang up the purchases and looked expectantly at me as she told us the final price. When Saff brandished a black credit card in her direction the assistant’s eyebrows shot up.
It was still light by the time we got outside, although there was still an hour or so before we were due to meet the others at the pub.
“Do you want to get a bite to eat?” I asked. “Then I can find somewhere to change into these.” I held up the bags.
“Great idea. There’s a burger place along the road here.”
Saff took my hand, which felt the most natural thing in the world, and we walked along the pavement in companionable silence until we reached the restaurant. We got a table by the window and the waiter came over with menus.
“Why don’t we order, then you can use the bathroom?” Saff grinned. “I can’t wait to see what you look like.”
I quickly browsed the menu and ordered the basic burger and fries. I didn’t want to get something with loads of fillings and risk getting guac or salsa on my new clothes. “Right. I’ll be back soon.”
The bathrooms were at the back of the restaurant and as I wound my way through the tables, I was sure I could feel Saff’s gaze follow my every move. Locking myself into the cubicle, I got out the clothes, ripped off the labels and started to get changed. Then I found the two pairs of boxers Saff suggested. Given I’d done the turn-the-boxers-inside-out-to-get-one-more-wear thing, fresh ones wouldn’t be a bad idea. Because if I did get lucky that evening, I didn’t want her seeing the skanky ones.
Saff’s bandmates Darren and Barney made me feel welcome when she first introduced us. At first, they seemed a little sceptical, when she said we’d met at uni, but soon moved on. It wasn’t long before we were all chatting like old friends.
The Duke was an old school pub, with sticky carpets and suspect stains on the stools and booths. We were near the stage—if you could call it that; it was basically an area cordoned off by chairs until the band were ready to play.
“What do you do?” Darren asked when we were crowded around the tiny table.
I risked a sideways glance at Saff, and she nodded imperceptibly. It seemed there were to be some elements of honesty in this fake relationship.
“I work with my uncle,” I said, as I took a casual sip of my beer. “He’s in building and property maintenance. Painting and decorating, that sort of thing.”
“Cool. Do you get to see a lot of rich people’s houses? Like Saff’s?” he joked.
I laughed. It was hard to answer his question as I’d been working with Uncle Col for two days and both of those had been spent at the Barnes’ residence. “Yeah, heaps,” I lied.
He waved his finger between Saff and me. “And you two? You met…?”
“At uni.”
“In a club.”
We spoke at the same time. Saff’s eyes widened in panic as we gave different answers, so I took control.
“What we meant was, we met in a club at uni.”
Darren’s eyebrows rose. “Really? I don’t remember you from uni.”
“Ah, well, we, um, lost touch pretty soon after we met. Only bumped into each other again a few days ago, rekindled our relationship, so to speak.” I blustered through, trying to make things sound believable.
