Love Me Read Free

the bouncer and Dave scuttles into the club.
    â€˜Let’s go in,’ says Zed.
    â€˜Yeah, let’s,’ I say, wearing a smile faker than a six-pound note.

money.
    CAN’T BELIEVE IT was only three weeks ago that grown-up Zed and I were hanging almost daily. I’d appointed myself his guide and that was my excuse, but the truth is that within a week of being in the LDN he was already leading me down streets I’d never heard of. I went quickly from being a guide to a spy. I wanted to unpick the mystery of him, how he’d become as powerful and crisp as money.
    â€˜Those are hideous,’ I said, watching him handle a pair of black and gold Nikes.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜Those,’ I said louder, all gnarled up and couldn’t help it, ‘are so gaudy it’s ridiculous. You’d wear those?’
    One of the last places we hung out before he became so hard to reach was a trainer shop in the West End, bright-lit and teeming with youngsters. He was trying on a pair of the freshest available and the hem of his carefully cared-for jeans draped over the clean leather was an eyeful. My digital camera tickled me from inside my jacket pocket, whirring silently. My blue metal pet, my most expensive possession. I bought it as a little consolation prize for myself a year ago, a prize for non-achievement. But it doesn’t know that. It’s always full of
joie de vivre
, winking and blushing, and it has a thing for Zed almost as bad as I do. I could have sworn it shivered as I finally freed it from its case and snapped pics of his fingers, his feet and the perfect line-up at the nape of his neck.
    â€˜Maybe,’ he said, ignoring the clicker, ‘you should be focusing on your own footwear, sweetie.’
    â€˜My kicks are old, that’s all.
Those
ones are grotesque right out the box.’
    â€˜Old? The Chucks you got on must have been rescued from the Flood!’ He paused, looked at the Nikes. ‘But maybe you right about these. Damn.’
    Eventually he picked out a pair of all-grey sneaks that I had to admit were perfect.
Click, click.
The girl at the till flirted with him as she rang up his purchase, trying to entice him – unsuccessfully – with matching socks and leather protector. He gave her a credit card and I wondered idly if I’d ever qualify to even physically handle a credit card
application
without gloves on.
    Finally we walked back out into the muggy blueish day, the Saturday crush of Oxford Street. I had to struggle through all the tourists and budget fashionistas. For him, they moved. I asked if he was Moses and he laughed, oblivious to the women and men who cut eyes at me, coveting him. I suppose they weren’t to know that I didn’t have him either.
    We stopped and walked into the Plaza mall opposite Wardour Street, up to the top floor for eats. I got some fried chicken and chips, he got a sandwich, and we sat at one of those white tables that are probably identical in food courts all over the world.
    â€˜I can’t believe you spent that much,’ I said when we sat down. ‘You could probably have got about four pairs of brand-new Chucks for that price.’
    â€˜I
could
have,’ he replied, ‘but that’s your style, not mine.’
    â€˜What? Not high-end enough for you?’
    â€˜I didn’t say all o’ that. When you get so insecure?’
    â€˜Insecure?’ I sucked my teeth, felt like I’d been slapped. ‘You’re the one trying to look like a rap video and I’m the one who’s insecure? Please.’
    I ate some chicken.
    â€˜Yeah, well I know that compared to you I make a lot of effort. But that’s probably true of most people.’
    â€˜Asshole!’
    â€˜You brought it on yourself.’
    I gave him the look of death but my hand went to my thick, knotty hair before I could stop it, to the stretched neck of my second-favourite T-shirt.
    â€˜What’s