Page 68 of Hot to Go

FIFTEEN

Suzie

‘YOU AREN’T GOING TO DIE!’ I shout through the door, frustrated, desperate and supremely confused. Because I think we were about to kiss. Me and Señor Shaw. And maybe do more. On our bunk bed. Possibly. Charlie smiles, his shoulders fall. With relief? He walks past me and opens the door.

‘Hola, Viraj. ¿Qué pasa?’ he asks. I walk over to a leather armchair and sit down, kicking off my shoes and socks and sitting in the path of the fan in the room, feeling the lukewarm breeze on my skin. There really is no aircon. It also looks like I’m going to have to make my bed. Cool down, Suzie. Now is not the time to get overexcited with kids outside and in a bunk bed. That frame doesn’t look sturdy enough. It might squeak. Stop imagining yourself having sex in it. Don’t look at him. It’s like trying not to look directly into the sun.

‘Sir, there’s a sign saying they don’t operate the aircon in the autumn and winter to save the planet. The planet? What about me, eh? I’m calling my mum,’ Viraj moans.

‘To tell her what? It’s too hot in Spain? You’ll survive, it gets cooler in the night. Think of the polar bears.’

‘So I can feel cold?’ he says, confused.

‘No. Because you’ll be saving them by not using the air conditioning. Just sleep with the fans on. You’ll be fine.’

‘I’m still calling my mum. What’s your room like? Do you have aircon?’ he says, peering round the door. He catches sight of me and then winks at Charlie. The boy winked. This is not a good idea. None of it. Because he is going to go now, tell all his mates and it will be all anyone can talk about. ‘Go away, Viraj. Go and find the ice machine in the communal kitchen.’

‘There’s an ice machine?’ he says, jogging away.

Charlie laughs, closing the door and then resting his head against it.

‘And so it starts…’

He turns to see me, sprawled in that chair, trying to keep cool. He stops, tentative, but then comes over and sits on the edge of the bunk bed opposite me, taking off his trainers and socks too and putting his feet on the cold tiles.

‘Water?’ I ask. He nods and I throw him a bottle that was on the side table. He catches it perfectly, opening it and taking a few sips. I watch the action of his throat swallowing, the sweat tousling his brown hair. He then turns to look at me.

‘Barcelona, two years ago. A kid managed to buy alcohol from a 7-Eleven and used his suitcase as a sick bowl. I had to buy him a brand-new wardrobe,’ he tells me.

I can play this game too. ‘Skiing in Les Arcs,’ I challenge him. ‘A group of boys set fire to a mattress and threw it out of a window.’

‘Ding ding ding,’ he says. ‘The lady wins this round.’

We both laugh and for a moment it feels strangely comforting to have something in common, beyond this weird energy that exists between us. The laughter fades and he leans forward, looking down at his hands.

‘I don’t quite know what’s happening here…’ he says, a little confused.

‘Neither do I,’ I reply.

‘We’re colleagues. We decided that much, right? We just sit across tables now and compare data.’ I smirk a little and he shakes his head at me. ‘Why do you think it worked in Mallorca and not in London?’ he asks me, earnestly.

I hold my bottle of water to my head. ‘Who knows? Maybe it was the role-play thing? Maybe it was because we could be different people.’

‘I was Carlos. Carlos would know how to decorate a classroom, and write things in notebooks, not Post-it notes plastered over his computer. Carlos is never late for things.’

‘Aurelie wouldn’t make her own Eiffel Tower for fun, she wouldn’t eat microwave pasta or wear slippers at work.’

‘We could role-play our way through the trip?’ he says, with a cheeky look in his eye.

‘Because, you know, the kids wouldn’t talk,’ I reply.

He laughs and I like seeing the shape of his eyes change. ‘Also, and no offence, but I found being Carlos…’

‘…bloody tiring?’ I say.

He laughs again but then leans back on the bed, smiling, watching me. ‘There’s something here, isn’t there?’

I nod.

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