And Your Girl Can Sing

Chapter 80: Untitled

Grab some tea and a biscuit y'all, this is a longish chapter! I hope you enjoy!

I felt like Pattie Boyd.

    Yes, and Danny was George Harrison, and we were driving in his Toyota to school. It was the last day before summer term ended and we students had scored a free dress day—I had chosen to don a vintage dress over a turtleneck with sheer stockings and knee high boots. I felt awkward when I tugged on the outfit I had been planing for a while and looked into the mirror, but when Danny came to pick me up the look in his eyes when he saw me told me I was all right. I grabbed my satchel from the counter and hit him gently with it as he whistled, taking in my sixties inspired outfit. Danny was growing his hair out. It reached the top of his ears now and I liked it.

    "It's the trend, you know," I told him.

    "I'm doing it for you, you know," he told me back with a cheeky smile, brushing his hair back with his hand, doing an awful mock impersonation of Harry Styles.

    Back in the car, which smelled like cinnamon due to his air freshener, we blasted a Cream CD and Danny seemed nervous, which he never seemed, his left hand on the wheel, not looking at me. I brushed it off, looking at London going by outside. In her own mad mind she's in love with you... with you, Clapton sang. Now whatcha gonna do? Danny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

    "You all right, Dan?" I asked him, curious, as we pulled into the school parking lot.

    "Cora, I need to talk to you," he suddenly said, looking straight at me, his brown eyes serious.

    "What is it?" I asked, a prickle of warning rising up my spine. I tugged at the sleeves of my turtleneck, the car seeming to be hotter than normal. Strange brew, Clapton sang on. Kill what's inside of you.

    Danny turned down the volume. "Listen, Cora, d'ya remember that football match with the lads I went to yesterday—"

    There was a rattle of the door. I turned around—June.

    "One moment," I signaled to her. "Go on," I told Danny as I turned around.

    "Listen to me, Cora, the lad's a cheat and a liar!" she yelled through the window, her knuckles brushing away the snow on the car window as she fought for my attention. I froze for a moment, looking between her and Danny. "Is this true, Danny?" I asked him quietly.

    "I was just going to tell you when she interrupted—"

    "Don't listen to him! He'll think up some excuse—"

    Danny rolled down the window and tossed out an insult. "Fuck off, June!"

    There was a silence, punctuated only by Clapton's voice, now singing Layla. Danny snapped off the whole device with shaking hands and looked at me. "Please, hear me out. Please. Better to hear it from me than someone else," he pleaded in a low voice.

    I turned towards June. "Let me hear him out."

    Someone walking to her car yelled, "Don't blame June for trying, love, after you hear what he's done." Danny rolled up the window, nearly taking my nose off. "Explain, Danny," I said quietly, my fingers twisting in my lap, feeling dread rise up in me like bile. "Now."

    And so he did, he explained how they got drunk at one of the parties after his football match Sunday night and the boys were all talking and laughing and he had had five beers and a couple of shots and they got him to talk about that night when we went to the party and we left and yes, we did go to a hotel. They were all round him like a king, waiting to hear the next part of the story, because where else did an overnight stay at a hotel lead? Clarke was practically bowing before him, yelling about how he was getting a shag and the drinks spoke for him and at that point in the car with me Danny looked so, so ashamed he didn't want to speak. I sat there, barely feeling the car under me, barely feeling my hands, so still, only looking at Danny in his striped shirt he was so excited to wear today. He went on. Yes, he told them he shagged me. But I didn't want to, he said, suddenly leaning his head against the dashboard. Oh, god, it was the beers.