My heart sank. He was the person I least wanted to see. I recognised his tall silhouette as he pushed open the glass door to the general store where I worked each Saturday.
Brad Jackson meant trouble.
I felt under the counter for the panic button, letting my fingers hover over it, ready to summon my supervisor from the back office.
I hesitated.
Brad swaggered past me with the air of the eighteen-year-old who owns the world. He glanced over his shoulder to where I was standing behind the till. There was a flash of recognition in his deep blue eyes. Was that a smile breaking across his face?
"Oh hi Claire," he called. "Be with you in a minute."
I managed a curt nod. I could hardly wait.
"OK," I mumbled disinterestedly.
I watched on the CCTV monitor as he made his way down the aisles to the toiletries section. I had a fair idea what he'd be buying. They all did it - all the cool guys from school - they'd swank up to the counter and slam down a box of condoms with that ridiculous smug smile plastered all over their faces. Sometimes their partners would be with them too; the girls would stare coldly, judgmentally at me, making sure I knew.
Brad was coming up the aisle towards the counter now. I saw him pause in front of the alcohol section and grab a bottle of rum. He turned and smiled. I looked away, pretending to count the books of postage stamps.
"Didn't realise you worked here," he said, advancing towards me.
His voice was friendlier than I was expecting. It was a surprise he was speaking to me at all - normally he'd blank me completely.
He slid the bottle across to me and put a pack of razor blades down on the counter.
"I normally work in the mornings," I said. "Swapped shifts as a favour," I added tersely.
"I'll have to come in earlier," he replied with an insincere smile.
"Next week's my last week," I explained as I scanned the barcodes. "Dad didn't want me working when exams are on."
I looked up at him.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"Packet of Grafton Lights please," he responded.
I gave a disapproving look and turned to the cabinet behind me, instinctively picking the right cigarettes.
"What time d'ya finish?" he asked.
"Eight," I replied.
Why was I telling him that?
"Doing anything later?" he asked as casually as he could.
I shook my head.
"Just going home and crashing in front of the telly," I responded.
Brad pulled a dejected face and stuck out his bottom lip.
"I see you've got plans," I indicated the bottle of rum.
"Not seeing Peter?" he asked, arching his eyebrow and ignoring my previous comment.
I was getting a little irritated at his questioning.
I shook my head.
"Peter's in Cambridge," I replied. "On a maths training camp."
"Oh," he replied. He paused for a second or so then leaned into the counter. "Are you, um...?"
He gestured with his hands to ask if we were finally a couple.
"That's none of your business," I snapped.
Brad took a step back and held both hands up. He knew damn well Peter and I weren't together. He gave another of his stupid leery grins.
The subtotal flashed up on the display. I pointed to the little green numbers.
"You paying by card?" I asked.
Brad reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet.
"I hear you're working for Mum again this summer," he said.
"Yeah," I said, "should be good fun."
He tapped his Dad's credit card against the reader. There was a beep as the transaction went through.
"Cool. I'm gonna do some stuff for her too. We might get to work together."
My heart sank.
"Really?" I said - I could hear a little anger in my voice. Really? "After last time?"
Brad gave an embarrassed snigger and waved his hand dismissively.
"Hey," he said, "everyone deserves a second chance - even me Claire."
'Third or fourth chance more like,' I thought.
"The new you obviously hasn't given up smoking yet," I snapped, a little more harshly than I'd intended.
Brad looked a little hurt.
"Give me time," he said softly. "Give me time."
-
Jen Jackson was everything her son was not - kind, caring and a joy to work for. Ten years ago, she'd been made redundant by her firm in the city at the same time as getting a divorce from Brad's philandering father. Most others would have taken the double whammy of bad news pretty hard, but not Jen. She'd decided her new life as a single woman also meant a complete career change and trained as a professional photographer. Most of the year her income ticked over doing corporate events and the odd journalism assignment, but in the summer months her diary was swelled with bookings for weddings - and that's where I came in.
Jen had one of those personalities that every professional photographer needs. She was technically brilliant, of course, but she had the knack for making nervous brides relax, cajoling groomsmen into a semblance of order and herding large groups of lightly drunk guests into the frame. My job was as her assistant, helping her to set up and take down, to run the odd message to the best man and the catering team, but also to take some of those candid shots that somehow complete the story of a wedding - the embracing old friends who haven't seen each other in years, the maiden aunts cooing over the newborn and the adventurous kids slipping away from their parents to explore the hotel grounds.
Jen's photography business had worked well with Brad when he was younger - he'd be with his Dad at weekends, which left her free to work various events. But as her son had grown into his teenage years, life at home had become increasingly difficult.
Her ex-husband had remarried and pretty soon after had moved with his new wife and their young family to the south of France. As his dad became more distant, Brad had found his niche as the school troublemaker. He'd been pretty angelic when I'd first met him, aged eleven, but as hormones had surged, he'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, or more accurately the wrong crowd had fallen in with him. Swearing, smoking, shouting at teachers, the occasional violent outburst - he was the kind of kid who'd be in detention twice a week. He had that contempt for authority, born of one who knows that school is a conspiracy imposed on free teenage spirits. Frankly it was a miracle that he'd lasted for his A levels.
But the girls all loved him - with that tousled blond hair, his bright blue eyes, deep bass voice and tall masculine frame, he could have anyone he wanted - and frequently did. He'd bedded most of the virgins in the school and, if the graffiti in the bathroom was to be believed, they were more than satisfied with the service delivered.
'He's got the equipment and he knows how to use it!' one whore had scrawled. Others had written similar sentiments; it was no surprise he was so cocksure.
Despite his multitude of conquests, Brad hadn't really ever had a steady girlfriend - or at least I didn't think he'd had. True, there was a small posse of regular 'friends-with-benefits', but the dreary aspects of regular dating seemed to hold no attraction. He wasn't a man who could be tied down for any length of time.
Brad's plans to work for his mum in the summer troubled me. He'd helped her out at weddings twice before, with disastrous results each time. The first, when he was fourteen or so, he'd stolen (and quickly downed) two glasses of champagne and had spent the rest of the afternoon vomiting into one of the flowerbeds at the reception venue, while his mother flitted between him and the happy couple she was supposed to be photographing. The second time, he'd managed to seduce a bridesmaid on the dancefloor, and was just leading her upstairs to her hotel room, when his mum had caught him and dragged him away. Needless to say, the two escapades had merely added to Brad's notoriety and he'd dined out on the anecdotes for many weeks afterwards.
I pulled on my coat and headed out of the shop at the end of my shift. I hoped Brad had changed, that he was now a new man, but somehow I didn't believe it.
-
April turned into May and into June. I worked my final shift at the little general store and settled into my last term of secondary school. Exams started - they were neither easy nor hard, interesting or boring - they just happened.
Peter seemed different after he came back from Cambridge, a little more distant perhaps - I couldn't really put my finger on it. To my shame, I felt the jealousy flare within me as he regaled me with stories of his time at maths camp. He'd fitted in well with all the geeks and he seemed to have formed a strong friendship with one in particular. Everything was 'Alistair this, or Alistair that' - it got a bit tedious after a while.
My 'nearly boyfriend' was good looking in his own way - tall and skinny, with short, straight black hair. He was the unquestioned brainbox of our school - fiercely intellectual, who'd attack his homework with a dedication unmatched by any other student. It was no surprise that Cambridge wanted him to study maths with them and he'd managed to get a place on a team to represent the UK at some international competition. He'd be going to Bulgaria to compete as soon as our exams were over.
I think I'd always been keener on him than he was on me. Peter and I had been linked as a potential couple for a long as I could remember, but somehow we'd never quite got it together. Part of the problem was that all our friends wanted, even expected, something to happen; we'd spent a long time trying to find that spark that maybe hadn't ever been there.
Deep down I'd hoped for a gentle first relationship over the summer before starting university, but by the time that May ended, I'd realised that Peter and I would never be a couple. I was mostly OK with it, but I let a part of me feel a little sad that nothing would happen.
-
I'd just finished my penultimate exam on the second Thursday of June when my phone rang. It was Jen.
"Is this a good time to chat?" she asked after we'd exchanged the usual pleasantries.
I said I was happy to talk.
"I've had a bit of bad luck," she began.
I listened and let her continue.
"I've twisted my ankle. It's not hugely serious, but I need to rest it."
"Oh no, will you be OK for Kenya?" I asked. Jen had booked a once-in-a-lifetime safari trip for the final week of June - she'd always wanted to do some wildlife photography.
"It should be OK," she explained, "but the doctor says I need to rest it completely."
I murmured my sympathies.
"Anyway, I was booked to do a wedding on Saturday," she went on. "And I know you said you didn't want to do any work before your exams were over. But I just wondered if you'd be willing to cover it."
There was a pause as she let me consider.
My final exam was on the Wednesday afternoon and it seemed improbable that I'd need to do any crucial revision on the Saturday. I was fairly sure that Dad would be relaxed about it.
"Yeah OK," I said. "Am I doing it on my own?"
"Brad was going to do it with me," Jen explained. "Do you mind if he helps? I think it'll need the two of you; it's quite a big on - over two hundred people."
