Chapter 11

Adam and Cassie returned to their campus apartment an hour and a half before the movie was due to start. Adam wanted to have a shower and change his clothes—as did Chloë. Kim was in the kitchen talking to Eddie when they arrived.

“Hey, Ed. Good game?” Adam asked.

“Cracking. Finished four-three to Westmouth. You should come with me to the next game. It’s a cup match.”

“I’ll think about it. Hi, Kim. What are you doing here?”

“I came to see what you were up to. I’m all spent out after last night, so I thought we could start work on that assignment—if you want to.”

“Oh, I’d love to but I ... I sort of have a date.”

“Sort of? How can you sort of have a date? You either you do or you don’t.”

“Well ... I’m sort of not sure if it’s a date date or just two friends going to the cinema together.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Cassie. “Absolutely, it’s a date.”

“What? With you?” Kim looked and sounded surprised.

Cassie giggled. “No. Don’t be silly.”

Kim turned her frown back to Adam. “It’s not her, is it? Please tell me it’s not her.”

Adam nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“Oh, great! What was it? Her movie-star smile or her easy charm? No, don’t tell me—I don’t want to know.” She stomped out of the room and down the hallway to the door. Adam ran after her.

“Kim! Kim! Wait, will you.” He grabbed her arm and swung her around. “What’s up? I thought you said Chloë was all right.”

“Maybe I did. But that wasn’t permission to go out with her.” She glared at him.

“Permission? I didn’t realise I needed permission.”

Kim scowled.

“I thought we agreed there’d no jealousy between us?”

“Jealousy? You think I’m jealous? Shows how well you know me, doesn’t it? Besides, that was before you went off with her.” She shook her head. “Forget it. I’ll see you in lectures on Monday. Or will you be sitting down at the front with her?” She left, slamming the door as she went. Adam traipsed back into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about Kim,” Cassie said. “She’ll come around. In the meantime, you better go and get ready. You don’t want to keep Chloë waiting.”

“Chloë?” said Eddie, who’d been watching the whole thing with his mouth hanging open. “You’re going on a date with Chloë Fucking Goodman? Jesus, some people have all the fucking luck.”

“Yeah. All the luck. I’m going to have a shower.”

After showering and shaving, Adam pulled on his best pair of jeans and plain white shirt, then drove to Chloë’s in his fifteen-year-old Ford Fiesta. It wasn’t much of a car, but the engine was sound and the insurance was cheap. She was sitting on the wall that separated her front garden from the footpath. He pulled up beside her and she jumped up.

Chloë wore a short stonewashed denim skirt with a frayed hem and black blouse. She opened the car door and Adam watched as she climbed in. He thought he caught a glimpse of white under her skirt and looked away. He looked in his door mirror until he heard her shut the door then looked back at her. She leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“I bet the last time you went to the pictures you had better transportation than this,” he said as they set off.

“You could say that. Like I said, the only time I get to go to the cinema is for premières—and you have to arrive in a limo or the press thinks something must be up. I went to one last year in a stretch Hummer. That was bizarre, I can tell you.”

Adam chuckled. “What’s it like at première? It must be cool.”

“Not really. Half the people are more interested in getting their pictures in the papers than watching the pictures on the screen. And then there’s always a dreadful after-show party of some sort. I hate them.”

“Most people would give their right arm to go to one,” Adam said.

“Believe me—they’d only ever want to go to one.”

Chloë bought the tickets for the movie while Adam bought snacks for them to enjoy during the film. “I didn’t know what you’d want, so I got us a Coke each, some buttered popcorn and a bag of Malteasers.”

“What, no ice cream?”

“Sorry, I’m just a poor student.”

The movie was a couple of weeks old and had been moved to one of the multiplex’s smaller screens. Chloë said she preferred it to the giant screens she normally saw films on in the West End. She thought it was more intimate. They sat at the back and tucked into their snacks during the adverts and trailers.

“Hey,” said Chloë as one trailer started. “Look, it’s Reunion.”

The trailer focused on Mark Watson and Lisa Mitchell, but Chloë did appear briefly. She cringed and hid behind her popcorn when she was on screen.

“That looks quite good,” Adam said.

“I’ve already told you that.”

“I know. But now I’ve seen it for myself.”

The popcorn was almost gone by the time the movie started. They were both absorbed in the cinematic experience. Twenty minutes in, a tense moment on-screen resulted in Chloë holding on tightly to Adam’s hand. She didn’t let go after the hero had survived the car crash. She smiled at him and winked. He smiled back and squeezed her hand.

Adam watched Chloë as much as he watched the movie. She was wrapped up in the action—her face a mix of emotions. She must have sensed him watching her because she turned her head towards him and smiled again. She squeezed his hand tighter than ever, then scooted down in her seat and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hand moved from his and rested on his leg. Adam wanted to do the same, but he dared not. Her skirt was so short that he would have no choice but to put his hand on her soft, smooth skin. He dare not, dare he? He put his arm around her shoulder instead. He hugged her tightly and she purred like a contented kitten.

The film ended in traditional action-movie style—lots of guns, cars, explosions and very little plot or acting. The credits rolled and the house lights came up to allow the patrons to leave the room safely.