Black Rabbit Summer by Kevin Brooks Page B

for a second and shook my head.
    ‘Pete?’ I heard her say.
    When I opened my eyes again, her face was back to normal.
    ‘Shit,’ I said, turning to Pauly. ‘What the hell’s in that joint?’
    ‘Uh?’
    ‘The joint… what is it?’
    He grinned dozily at me, swaying slightly. ‘The joint?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘It’s the juice,’ he said.
    ‘What?’
    ‘The juju juice,’ he slurred, widening his eyes and taking another swig of tequila.
    ‘He’s out of it already,’ Nic said to me.
    ‘Yeah…’ I looked at her. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
    ‘I’m feeling fine,’ she said, putting her hand on my leg and smiling at me. ‘How are you feeling?’
    My head kind of whirled for a moment, and I could feel tiny pinpricks where her hand was touching my leg. ‘I’m feeling pretty good, actually,’ I said. ‘Kind of… what’s the word?’
    ‘Warm?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Hot?’
    ‘Velvety,’ I said.
    ‘ Velvety? ’
    I smiled at her. ‘Yeah.’
    ‘What does velvety feel like?’
    ‘I don’t know… like velvet.’
    We started laughing then, giggling away like overexcited kids. Nicole was laughing so much that she lost control and doubled over, clutching her belly, and as her head rolled briefly againstmy thigh, I felt the weirdest sensation tingling up and down my leg. It was like… God knows. Like gossamer threads brushing against my skin.
    ‘What’s she doing down there, Boland?’ Pauly called out. ‘I mean, come on … get a room, for Christ’s sake!’
    Nicole sat up quickly and glared at him. ‘Why do you always have to be such a twat, Pauly?’
    He grinned at her. ‘Someone’s gotta do it.’
    ‘Yeah, and you’re the expert.’
    Pauly winked at Eric. ‘Your sister thinks I’m a twat.’
    Eric said nothing, just sat there puffing languidly on a cigarette.
    Pauly blinked drunkenly at him. ‘You with anyone tonight?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Are you with anyone?’
    ‘Like who?’
    ‘I don’t know… anyone…’
    Eric just stared at him.
    Pauly blinked again. He had a strange expression on his face – kind of trancey, a bit spaced out – and he didn’t seem to notice that Eric was getting annoyed with him. As Eric shook his head and turned away, Pauly carried on looking at him, grinning like a kid with a secret.
    After a moment, he said, ‘You know Stella’s going to be there tonight, don’t you?’
    Eric froze.
    Pauly grinned.
    Eric turned slowly and looked at him. ‘What did you say?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Pauly grinned again. ‘Stella Ross… she’s going to be at the fair –’
    ‘Who told you that?’ Eric said quietly.
    Pauly shrugged. ‘I don’t know… someone… can’t remember. I just heard it somewhere…’
    He was looking really out of it now – blinking all the time, his head wobbling from side to side, his eyes glazed. I watched him as he looked down at the ground, staring at nothing, and just for a moment he seemed incredibly sad. But then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he looked up again, the sadness had gone, and his grin was as manic as ever.
    ‘Stella Ross, eh?’ he leered at Eric. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve bothered downloading her pictures?’
    Stella Ross was something of a local celebrity. Her father, Justin Ross, used to be the drummer in a band called Secret Saucer. They were one of those hippy groups that were really big in the early seventies – long hair, long songs, drum solos, dry ice… that kind of thing. By the time they split up – sometime in the eighties, I think – they’d sold about a trillion records and they were all living in big country mansions with recording studios in their basements and Ferraris parked in their driveways. That’s what Dad told me, anyway. He also told me that Justin Ross used to be a ‘hellraiser’ – taking drugs, smashing up hotel rooms – but about fifteen years ago he’d ‘seen the light’ (these are all Dad’s words, by the way, not mine), and he’d sold all his Ferraris and