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 antic.i.p.ation 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..."

"... pa.s.sed 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 cl.u.s.ter 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-s.h.i.+rts 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 of eighty thousand and he's the first person I see in here? It feels less like coincidence and more like punishment. Still, the sight of him is a scab I can't resist picking and slowly, carefully, wary of the pain, I let myself look once more.

He's with Naj, who's hard to miss in his dayglo singlet. It's my bad luck that Naj chooses this exact moment to glance my way.

"KAZ!" Naj roars, disproportionately delighted to see me.

Tom looks as horrified as I feel. As he should.

My natural inclination is to smile, wave and walk purposefully in the opposite direction, but that seems weak somehow. Ruby would never be so feeble.

Inspired by the way she marched over to Goz and Travis last night, I plaster a grin on my face and walk over to join them, watching the colour drain from Tom's face with every step. My forcibly bright question about how they are prompts Naj into a monologue about his and Roly's "epic" night and the delights of a burger-van breakfast, but when I sneak a glance at Tom, he's turned ashen, as if he's incapable of emoting anything other than panic.

"So" Naj puts an arm round me "who are you most excited about seeing today, Kaz?"

This is awkward. Naj has never been this friendly before and I don't really want someone who smells of fried onions breathing this close to me, but it would be impolite to step away when he's holding out the programme for me to look at.

"Well, Gold'ntone, obviously." I point at the 9 p.m. slot on the main stage. "Maybe these guys. Ruby insists I should go and watch Grundiiz with her, but I'm not convinced. This girl's got a really great voice..."

I trail off as I realize that no one's paying any attention. Naj is looking at Tom, a mischievous slant to his smile, and Tom is looking over my shoulder. Glancing round, expecting to see Roly, I see something entirely different.

A girl. Waving. At us.

It's then that I notice the beads of sweat along Tom's hairline.

Seconds later the girl is ruffling Naj's hair. "Hey, Naj, and hey, you..."

She steps closer to Tom, her hand sliding up the bare skin of his arm under the sleeve of his T-s.h.i.+rt as she presses her lips to his cheek.

"Lauren." Tom smiles, but it's all wrong. Everything about this is all wrong. "This is Kaz. Kaz, this is Lauren."

I'm going to be sick.

RUBY.

Kaz is taking ages and I'm worried she's lost, which is impressive given that the stalls are about ten b.l.o.o.d.y paces from the entrance. I take my phone out from the safety-pin reinforced pocket of my shorts and give her a call.

"Where are you?"

"With Tom."

"What?" I genuinely do not understand what is happening.

"Come and join us!" Kaz does not sound normal.

"Are you all right?"

"You can meet Lauren."

"Who's Laur-"

Ah.

KAZ.

I should have used Ruby's phone call as a means of escape, but my feet appear to be rooted to the dirt beneath them.

Oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d. Oh G.o.d.

"So you're the famous Kaz?" Lauren looks at me as if I'm some kind of celebrity.

"Well, I'm Kaz." A little bit of bile comes up along with the words, but I swallow it back. "I'm not sure about the famous part."

Lauren laughs and nudges Tom. "This one talks about you quite a bit."

"No, I don't." Tom looks alarmed. "Not like that."

Lauren glances at him, confused. "Like what?"

"I don't know." Tom is sweating profusely now. He's never been good under pressure. "Like anything."

Naj laughs with his widow's peak and arched eyebrows he looks like the devil. All you'd need to do is draw a goatee and the transformation would be complete. I have never felt more like strangling anyone in my entire life.

Except possibly Tom.

RUBY.

Huh. So Tom has a type. Who knew? This Lauren is basically Kaz Mark II. They're the same height and skin tone she even has my best mate's charity-shop style.

But I'm not Tom and I don't give a s.h.i.+t what she looks like. Lauren is not the one I care about.

I take a big step into this little circle of h.e.l.l and loop my arm through Kaz's. "h.e.l.lo. Apparently I've come here to meet Lauren?"

"Hi..." Lauren holds up her hand in a hesitant wave. "That's me. And you are?"

"Ruby." I meet her gaze for a second. Lauren is as underwhelmed at meeting me as I am at meeting her.

"Nice to meet you." She tries a smile.

"Of course it is. I'm delightful." That was meant to be a joke, but Lauren looks less than delighted by me.

There's a pause in which everyone sort of avoids making eye contact whilst also looking for someone else to say something. It is the epitome of awkward.

"So..." I say, "let's never do this again. Goodbye." I do a weird circular wave with my free hand, like an utter t.w.a.t, and drag Kaz by the arm as she manages a rather quiet, "Bye."

As we turn away, I keep a firm hold on her and head straight for the toilets. If I know anything about my best friend, it's that she's trying really hard not to vom right now.

14 * BEAUTIFUL DAY

KAZ.

Ruby's always sending me links to interesting things she finds on the Internet. A large proportion of these are photos of a semi-naked Adam Wexler, tattoos she wants and cool ill.u.s.trations and animations she's come across, with the occasional Harry Potter GIF thrown in for good measure, but there's one that springs to mind right now. It's a series of photos of different pairs of girls, each picture showing the same thing: one holding back the other's hair as she crouches over a toilet bowl with the caption Friends.h.i.+p is...

What I wouldn't give for this to be a toilet bowl.

"It stinks in here," Ruby adds helpfully, the hand not holding my hair clamped over her nose and mouth, m.u.f.fling her words.

My response to her comment is to attempt yet another dry heave into the cesspool below.

"That's number six. New record," she says.

"I didn't know there was one," I whisper, my eyes still squeezed shut lest I catch sight of the things I can smell.

"There was. When you're a bit less retch-happy, I'll remind you when you set it."

I risk a breath that I instantly regret although I'm relieved to discover that it doesn't prompt a Mexican wave of the digestive tract. "Think I might be done."