Forget Me Never

tiny one? I bet you didn’t even change before coming out.’
    ‘Free country.’ I felt defensive; while people from school often laughed at my clothes, Reece never had. I was wearing my usual denim shorts, cardi and a sleeveless top I’d sewn patches of patterned material on to. Feeling self-conscious, I glanced away, fiddling with my necklace.
    Reece made a sighing noise. ‘I know you’re into the charity-shop thing, and that’s cool, but treating yourself to something wouldn’t hurt.’
    ‘When did you become Gok Wan?’ I snapped. ‘Like what, exactly?’
    Reece pointed at a shop across the road. One of the window models wore a yellow-green dress – quite short and very plain apart from black lace on the neckline.
    ‘You’d look all right in that,’ he said. Then, hastily, ‘Not that you don’t look nice the rest of the time. And not like I, y’know, actually care what you wear. Just saying it might make you feel good to have a few new things.
    ‘I couldn’t afford that shop,’ I said curtly. It made me feel funny when Reece mentioned how I looked . . . not bad funny, but I didn’t know how to react. ‘Let’s go, OK?’
    We didn’t really talk on the way to the house. I was still feeling weird about the clothes conversation, and Reece seemed a little embarrassed by it too. As soon as we arrived, though, things were back to normal. I knew Hampstead was a posh area, so I wasn’t surprised to find that the house was big – three storeys, with a fancy front, twirly railings and even a balcony. The gate to the back garden was open so we headed around the house and came out on to a patio. About forty people were standing chatting, a barbecue to one side. I breathed in the smell of charcoal and cooking meat – it always reminded me of summer. Reece’s eyes lit up when he saw the long buffet table, which was stacked with salads, dips, pastries, tarts and a variety of desserts.
    ‘This is a bit of all right!’
    A black dog raced in our direction and leaped up at us, rubbing his head against me. Almost bowled over by his enthusiasm, I backed away.
    ‘Hello, Reece!’ A man wearing braces and a checked shirt appeared. He took hold of the dog’s collar; this must be Mr McIntyre. ‘Glad you could make it. I see Mike’s been giving you a grand welcome.’
    I took me a moment to realize he was talking about the dog. What kind of a name for a dog was Mike ?
    McIntyre continued, ‘He’s an ex-racing greyhound – used to enter him at Walthamstow before it closed. Made me quite a bit of money, didn’t you, Mister Mike? He’s retired now.’
    ‘Is he normally this . . . friendly?’ Reece asked.
    McIntyre smiled. ‘Mike loves people – he’s very affectionate. But then most greyhounds are – they make fantastic pets, very docile and surprisingly lazy. But where are my manners? I’m pleased to see you’ve brought a friend with you.’
    Reece laughed a little nervously.
    I felt my cheeks colour – the way ‘friend’ had been said implied something else. ‘Er . . . this is Sophie. Soph, this is Mr McIntyre. Y’know, V-B’s head of research.’
    McIntyre asked us what we wanted to drink and fetched a couple of glasses. I sipped at my lemonade, half listening to Reece and McIntyre discussing greyhounds and cricket as I looked around. None of the people here looked familiar – but then they wouldn’t, would they? I’d never really talked to Dani’s colleagues apart from Cherie. Now we were here I wasn’t sure about this.
    ‘Hey.’ Reece brushed my arm. The warmth of his fingers made my skin tingle. ‘Graham Heffer’s here! He retired from Middlesex a couple of years ago. He was the guy that made a century when we went to Lord’s with my dad that time, remember?’
    I’d thought Reece might be exaggerating about real cricketers being here; evidently not. Suddenly we were back on familiar ground; I felt relieved. Reece’s cricket brain I could deal with. ‘What are we waiting for?’
    We helped ourselves from the barbecue and buffet and located Graham Heffer at the end of the garden.
    Reece took a deep breath. ‘I’m dying from an excess of cool right now. Be honest – have I gone really red? Am I going to make a prat of myself?’
    ‘You’ll live,’ I said. ‘Hey, I’ll join you in a sec. Going to pop to the bathroom. Hold my plate.’
    I made my way back to the house and found a toilet next to the kitchen. As I locked the door I heard a familiar voice outside and