Forfeit (Original Edit)

Chapter Three

For six and a bit months, I'd tortured myself for even considering having fun, but the day after Xander asked me out, I searched online for a kick-ass dress. A bad day loomed and before then, I deserved a night out.

The little black dress I found certainly kicked ass. Strapless and sequined, I'd had to have it despite the obscene price tag - even Clara didn't know the real amount. With Louboutin heels, a Prada handbag and simple silver jewellery, the effect was VIP clubbing. Since I'd spent the last three years in jeans and Converse trainers, I barely recognised myself in the mirror. Tonio would've hated it.

'Jesus Christ.' Clara stared at me. 'You look fabulous. You two will so end up in bed again.'

'No, we won't,' I said, adding yet another layer of mascara. 'We're just friends.'

'Whatever. Why else would he take you to this party? Because you're so much fun? You spend fifty percent of your time crying. Twenty-two year-old boys answer to the beck and call of their dicks.'

She had a point. Why was he taking me out?

'It's not money, is it?' Clara asked.

'I have thought about it but he must do okay himself. His car's a six month-old, top of the range Golf GTI and his cottage will be worth half a million. Did I tell you he inherited it from his grandpa? It's adorable. Leaded windows, oak beams but a money pit renovation-wise. And his family must be loaded since they own the OBB empire. Did you know there are eleven bars around the country?'

Clara crossed her arms. 'So he fancies you then.'

Why would Xander fancy me? Okay, I have pulled him and a Hollywood movie star so clearly, I'm no horse, but there are way hotter girls out there, model-like girls who'd fall over their endless legs to get to him. I'm five foot four if asked but five foot two if my hair's flattened. And I'm so not a model.

'He does not fancy me and he knows I'd say no.'

'You keep telling yourself that. I know you, Daisy. You'll get drunk, screw him then spend another month wallowing in guilt.'

'It's better to regret something you've done than something you haven't.' I muttered my motto, adding a grim smile. Clara opened her mouth to speak but I shot her a death glare. 'If you mention Ryan, I'll throttle you.'

'Just keep thinking about how you'll feel tomorrow.'

I held up a three finger salute. 'Brownie's honour.'

   

But what did the kick-ass little black dress get from Mr Golding? He leaned against the doorframe and shrugged, saying, 'You'll do'. There wasn't even a cheeky wink. Thankfully he was too busy staring outside to notice my brief, disappointed pout.

'Daze, whose is the car?'

'The very sexy Audi TT?' We looked out at the shiny black, eight week-old car. 'Mine. Like it?'

'Christ, yes. It's the RS. Yet again, I'm surprised, Fitzgerald. But why not a convertible?'

'Too obvious. The coupé has ten times more class.'

'I agree.' He gave me a hopeful smile. 'Can I take it for a test drive?'

'We can take it tonight, if you like.' I held up my half-empty wine glass. 'You'll have to drive though.'

His face reminded me of when I was nine and Mum took me to a shoe shop. She foolishly said I could have whichever shoes I liked but forgot to say, pair of. Important lessons were learned in contract law and the art of negotiating.

'Fitzgerald, I've just fallen in love with you.'

Twenty minutes later, my face looked like my mum's in the shoe shop. What had I done? Clearly, the boy could drive but after the first two minutes, I worried less about him denting my precious car and more about him denting my precious skull. He'd overtake too close to bends, rarely brake for corners and by the time we turned onto a private drive, passing through huge wrought iron gates, I was clutching my seat in terror. He hadn't stopped smiling the whole, horrific drive.

But before I had chance to chastise him, we drove over the crest of a hill and I knew exactly how Elizabeth felt when she saw Pemberley. The vast mansion sat in immaculate parkland taking up a chunk of lake frontage, and Xander's promise of Pacha didn't disappoint. A queue of eager guests bobbed along to the tunes spilling out of the main doors while they waited for burly security guys to check their tickets.

'This is a birthday party? Whose?' I asked.

'James Dowson-Gunn.'

I squealed. 'India Dowson-Gunn's brother? How on earth do you know him?'

'He's my best friend. I went to school with him and his younger brother, Marcus. We spent a lot of time in detention.'

'Will India be there?' Please say, yes.

'No idea. She's doesn't always get on with James.'

'Bugger. I'd love to meet her.'

Three years older than me, India Dowson-Gunn had been my idol throughout my teenage years. She got pregnant at fifteen and magazines claimed the father was a rock star but India never revealed who. Her Cheltenham Ladies College antics seemed a zillion miles from my very ordinary life so I'd begged my parents to send me to boarding school - they refused, thwarting my efforts to be India Dowson-Gunn.

'Daze?' Xander took a deep breath. 'I think we need to get something sorted out, about why I asked you to this party. I do think about more than the beck and call-'

'Ohmigod, when did you talk to Clara?' Mortified, I shrank into my seat. This kind of chat should be reserved for your deathbed or when you're extremely drunk in the ladies' loo, not when you're almost sober and trapped in a bloody car. 'I can't believe she said that to you.'

'It's okay. I understand. She's over-protective and wanted me to explain myself. Look, do you remember how you took the piss about how it must be hell avoiding all those women? Well, if I'm with you, they'll stay away.' After he parked in a reserved space near the house, Xander took another deep breath. 'And you could do with some fun but I'm not trying to get you into bed, Fitzgerald.'

Oh. Appalled with myself for again being disappointed, I pasted on a faux-smile as he helped me out of the car.

'Not that I'd say no,' he said, giving me a good coat of looking at. 'You look fucking amazing.'

I didn't bother to stifle my grin. 'That's better than, you'll do.'

With an embarrassed laugh, he kissed the top of my head and we wandered up the steps to the main doors, ignoring the queue.

'Are we VIP?' I asked, trying to look terribly cool.

'No, we're V-VIP.' He took hold of my hand and nodded to the doormen who let us in without even checking a guest list, let alone a ticket.

Inside, a DJ from Radio One stood behind decks halfway up the main staircase while a couple of hundred twenty-somethings danced with their arms raised in adoration. I smiled, hiding my desire to join them, but dutifully followed Xander to the other side of the ridiculously large house. Even burlier security guys opened French doors for us and we stepped out onto a terrace where waitresses circulated with trays of cocktails in the evening sunshine.

'You're in luck.' Xander pointed to our right.

India Dowson-Gunn, in a slip of white silk, leaned against a life-size granite lion as she chatted with a guy who had to be her brother, James. The offspring of a Greek supermodel and an English furniture billionaire, they looked like twins with their coal black curls, perfect roman noses and black olive eyes, but where she radiated a relaxed, ethereal glow, he came across as demonic and thoroughly bored.

'OMG,' I whispered.

'Do you have to look so awed?' Xander said, trying not to laugh. 'You were married to a movie star and lived in Hollywood. Why on earth are you star stuck by India Dowson-Gunn?'

'Because she's the coolest person ever.' I pulled myself together. 'And, FYI, I never lived in Hollywood.'

When Xander introduced me, James barely acknowledged my existence as he started cutting lines of coke on a low glass table but, to my utter delight, India kissed my cheeks, telling me how lovely it was to meet me, finally. Finally?

'Hello, Daisy,' said a female voice behind me.

I turned to see the only person I've ever hated.

Tabitha bloody Doyle.

I'd never held a grudge, but for this posh, second-rate actress I made an exception. Last year, she tried it on with my husband yet here she was, her arms out, offering a hug, her freckled face and emerald eyes a picture of concern. I remained rooted to the spot, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of accepting her hug, but the melodramatic tart didn't give up. She strode over and threw her arms around me.

'Oh Daisy, I'm devastated about Tonio but what must you be going through?' Her upper-class vowels were sharper than a diamond on glass.

'Acting lessons are coming along well. You should get an Oscar for that little performance.' I almost smiled when her face fell and her eyes flickered away.

'I deserve that.' Taking my arm, she led me away from the others. 'I'm sorry about last year. I was going through a bad patch. I feel awful.'

And? What did she want, forgiving?

She glanced nervously between her hands and me. 'I was pretty messed up. Can you forgive me?'

That's exactly what she was after. Was she for real?

'It's a lot to ask,' I said. 'This is my bad patch. I'm pretty messed up. You made a very public pass at my husband on his birthday. You totally screwed up Tonio's last birthday, Tabitha. His last birthday. You've got some bloody nerve.'

'I know.' She gnawed the edge of her thumbnail. 'But I thought we could do lunch, to talk.'

I stared in utter disbelief. Do bloody lunch? 'I don't know. It's not like we were ever friends.'

'Please give me a chance. I always thought you seemed pretty terrific, sweetie. To be honest, you make me green with envy.'

Tabitha Doyle was jealous of me? Okay, so the Hervé Léger dress showed off her fabulous figure but that was the only good thing she had going on. Her usually glossy auburn hair could've done with a wash three days ago and I'd seen better skin on a corpse. The girl needed a bloody good scrub with a wire brush. Throw in a crumbling pedestal at her feet and I felt wildly superior.

She tilted her head to one side, giving me a very calculating look. 'At least you have Xander to cheer you up.'

'He's a friend, that's all,' I said, tempted to slap the silly cow.

The calculating look disappeared behind a warm smile. 'Sorry. I'm teasing. Xander's one of the loveliest people I know. Please, let's do lunch.'

'Come on, Fitzgerald,' Xander interrupted. 'Time to dance.' He handed me a cocktail as we walked away. 'Are you okay?'

'Why is that silly bitch here?'

'She's not that bad.'

'She's a whore who tried to cop off with my husband.'

'Christ, sorry. I didn't know.'

'Have you known her long?'

'She's related to the DGs and went to school with India so she's always been around. Seriously, I know she'd stab herself in the back if it would help her career but she's harmless.'

I'd come back to the Lakes for a quiet life: walking, reading, soul-searching. How on earth had I ended up mixing with It girls, actresses and twenty-something playboys?

'You have some very odd friends,' I said.

'I know. You're one of them.'

'I'm not odd.' I swatted his arm.

'Says the twenty-six year-old Hollywood widow.'

Point taken.

   

Xander proved to be an excellent date - he was a wicked dancer, kept plying me with drinks and didn't look at another girl the whole time. Lost in the music, I forgot all about what I might regret tomorrow and when Xander offered me a chance for yet more escapism, I couldn't resist. The tiniest dabble of coke soon banished anything but concern for me, me, me.

We constantly met people Xander knew and, after he'd grimaced through every hug and air-kiss, he always introduced me as 'my new best friend, Daisy', which I adored. They were all friends from school or friends of friends from school. The guys either back slapped him with rugby team camaraderie, or gave him the briefest of frosty nods. The girls gazed longingly or pouted angrily. I wondered if the girls were 'Has-beens or 'Never-will-bes' and the frosty guys were the other-halves of the Has-beens.

'Alexander, who is this?' A pair of arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me back towards a tall male - another public school boy by the sound of him. 'Can I play with her?'

Xander shook his head, smiling and the arms dropped from me. 'This is Marcus, James' brother.' Aside from James, it was the only time that evening Xander appeared pleased to see someone. 'Daisy's my new best friend.'

'She can be mine.' Marcus blatantly eyed me up.

He'd clearly fallen out of the same advert as Xander so I treated Marcus to a blatant eyeing up too. With his thick, dark hair and Disaronno-brown eyes, he looked as Mediterranean as his siblings, but not at all like them. Was he really James and India's brother?

Marcus laughed. 'I'm their half-brother, different mothers. Don't ask.'

I blushed. How ridiculously transparent was I?

'James is looking for you,' Marcus said to Xander. 'He's gone to the boathouse, bored.' Marcus smiled at a pair of matching blondes in red mini-dresses dancing nearby, his interest in us already waning. 'Ciao,' he said to them. Was he actually Italian or simply full of ridiculous affectations?

Sadly, Marcus' message meant our dancing came to an abrupt end and Xander said we'd have to go see James. I sulked, acting like a ten year-old, as we dawdled across the lawn, holding hands and sharing a cigarette.

'How can James be bored? The music is beyond fabulous.'

'He hates parties.'

Perhaps James and I wouldn't be terribly good friends.

The boathouse, overhanging the edge of the lake, had been converted into a des-res. Open plan with acres of glass, smooth oak and shiny steel, its impeccable, contemporary styling screamed of overpriced architects and interior designers. There was a smaller, more exclusive party going on here with maybe fifty people milling around, most out on the floating deck. I spotted several actors from Coronation Street, two footballers and the lead singer of a boy band but, sadly, no India.

Sat next to James, Tabitha, the wannabe husband stealer, patted the sofa, inviting me to join her. One day, I might give Tabitha a second chance but I didn't want to think about her tonight - I wanted to have fun. I looked away and spied a huge pile of still wrapped gifts.

'James, why haven't you opened your birthday presents?'

'It's not really his birthday,' Tabitha explained, 'that's on New Year's Day.'

'But who needs a party on New Year's Day?' James said, glancing around as Marcus arrived with the matching blondes. James scowled at them before turning to me. 'There'll be nothing of any interest. Why don't you open them, Daisy?'

That whole better to give than receive concept always struck me as nonsense and I strongly suspected opening someone else's gifts would still be better than giving. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I merrily tore open the gifts. The first was a rather foul painting but I came across concert tickets, DVDs, books, cufflinks and, rather oddly, a glass vase. Okay, it was pretty but why would a man want a vase?

'This one has a letter.' I held up a page of barely legible scrawl.

James, glaring at Marcus' blondes again, told me to read it out as it could be from some love sick bitch. Marcus jerked his head and the girls went out onto the floating deck.

'Happy?' Marcus sighed.

'They're fawning tarts,' James said. 'You can do so much better.'

'They're fun.' Marcus shrugged. 'You should try them.'

Did James hate women? I glanced at Xander, needing a little reassurance. After doing another couple of lines, he smiled and blew me a kiss. I was having such a good time, I sent him a cheeky wink then read the letter.

'Dear Jim. What do I give a spoiled, misogynistic bastard for his birthday? This isn't a very nice letter.' I looked at James, who smiled for the first time that I'd seen. 'I've decided it's time to part with an old favourite of mine. If you don't like it, the Teetotum gambling ball should fetch a few grand. The game is something my gaggle of bored young things invented back in the Eighties. We had bugger all sense and too much money but I'm sure your crowd would put us to shame. Charming. I've never got past Stage Two, never had the bottle, but others have. I'd be interested to hear how you get on. Yours etc. Uncle Seb.'

James leant forwards. 'Uncle Sebastian? Christ, no one's heard of him in years.'

He took the shoe box sized package and put it on the oak dining table. Carefully removing the paper, he revealed a wooden box. The only decoration was a small silver plaque inscribed with one word: FORFEIT.

Xander, Marcus, Tabitha and I peered over James' shoulder, intrigued to know what kind of game our counterparts had dreamed up a few decades ago. James took out an ivory ball the size of a peach, inspecting it with a fascinated frown. The Teetotum gambling ball was a handmade, many sided-dice; it looked ancient. Inside the box was a handwritten card and three smaller boxes, all wooden and each with a silver label:

Stage One: £100

Stage Two: £1,000

Stage Three: £10,000

'No wonder he never got past Stage Two.' Tabitha giggled.

James opened the card and read it aloud. 'Those who play must pay. Each player rolls the dice and takes the appropriately numbered dare card. Dares must be completed in secret until the results are revealed at the end of the stage:

Stage One: One Hour

Stage Two: One Month

Stage Three: One Year

The players then vote for the winner, the person they believe completed the best dare. The winner takes the pot.'

'It sounds fun,' Marcus said, smiling.

'No, it sounds insane. Ten grand to do a dare?' Xander wrapped an arm around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder. 'And seriously, dares? We're not thirteen.'

'Truth or Dare without the truth,' I said.

James rolled the Teetotum ball around in his hand. 'Who's playing?'

Who was he asking? Four, happy, sensible people? People who worked nine-to-five to earn their beer money? People with ISAs and mortgages? Or four self-indulgent twenty-somethings with too much money, bugger all sense and nothing better to do?

To my utter surprise, I was the first to say, 'I'm in.' Xander looked down at me, frowning, but I smiled back. For one night only, I wasn't Daisy Fitzgerald, ex-school teacher and ordinary girl from Cheshire - I was Daisy Fitzgerald, friend of the rich and the fabulous. I was India Dowson-Gunn.

'Okay, me too.' Xander kissed my head.

Marcus dropped a hundred pounds on the table. Mine and Xander's followed.

Tabitha sulked. 'I don't have a bean on me. James, loan me?' He obliged and she picked up the Teetotum ball. 'Bagsy first go.'

She rolled a twelve. James handed her a dare card which she read and giggled. Okay, they couldn't be too bad then. I rolled the Teetotum ball, praying for a pleasant dare, and when it landed on twenty-four, I smiled. Twenty-four was a good number. I took the card out of the Forfeit box and read the dare. Oh bugger.

I walked away from the others and sat on the sofa, reading it again. Kiss a member of the opposite sex for five minutes. This was doable, absolutely doable, but who the hell was I going to kiss? The obvious answer was Xander.

He flopped onto the sofa next to me, smiling. 'What time is it, Fitzgerald?'

'Twenty to one,' I replied as he settled back and closed his eyes. Was his dare to go to sleep?

He'd not been even slightly flirtatious all night, but what if he got the wrong idea? Or got annoyed because I'd become one of the girls he ran to avoid? I couldn't ruin our new best friend relationship.

James? He was laughing with Marcus but turned, narrowing his eyes when he noticed me watching at him. Okay, he made me nervous but I could just walk over and kiss him. What if he really did hate women? He'd say piss off. That would be horrific. Not James.

So Marcus? He approached a pretty girl with a dark, elfin cut and whispered in her ear. Giggling, and without removing her top, she whipped off her bra and handed it to him. Marcus wandered back to James, dropping the bra and his dare card on the table. He and James laughed but Marcus didn't take his eyes off the dark-haired girl. Or her him. He'd pulled.

'If I die, I leave everything to my cat,' Tabitha said, pouring whisky into the ten shot glasses she'd lined up. She knocked back four before and turning a shade of green that clashed with her hair.

It had to be Xander but what if it all went wrong? Wasn't that was the point of a dare, to do something humiliating in front of your friends? God, I was acting like a twelve year-old over a stupid kiss-dare but I had to do it - I would not flake out in front of Tabitha bloody Doyle. Then I had a brilliant idea, how to make it a lot less messy - I'd cheat.

Buoyed up on champagne, coke and escapism, I sat astride a very surprised Xander. 'Help me?' I whispered and showed him the card.

He read it and nodded, trying not to laugh.

Tabitha sank number eight and turned white. She was so going to be sick. I smiled, feeling really rather evil.

With his eyebrows raised and a cheeky glint in his eye, Xander waited. It wasn't his dare; he wasn't making the first move. I stared into his brown eyes until James started singing Happy Birthday to Me with a surprisingly good voice. My lips barely brushed Xander's. He smiled and I checked my watch. Okay, five minutes, easy peasy.

It all started harmlessly - a little mechanical for the first minute or so but as Xander's hands moved up my back, off the sequined dress and onto bare skin, I shivered. Why did he always smell so divine? That bloody Bulgari aftershave suited him perfectly. I flashed back to the one-night-stand, to that first kiss, and pulled away, gazing at him, scared by the effect he had on me. But, when he brushed my hair back, smiling, I gave in to kissing the sexiest guy I'd ever met.

With my heart thumping in my ears and my fingers in his hair, I knew this was no dare. This was where I wanted to stay, forever. Oh God, his fingers were doing wicked things to my neck, sending tingles down my spine. Forget staying here - bed, right now. He was definitely as up for it as me. If we'd have been alone, we'd already be getting naked. Would I have to stop kissing him to drag him outside?

'... said they were just friends but that doesn't look like friends,' said a voice behind me. Marcus or James.

Memories of tequila body shots filled my head.

'I think it's her dare.'

A dare. It's just a stupid dare. He's doing it for your dare. Whatever, he wants me as much as I want him. He held me a little tighter, as if he knew what I was thinking and refused to let me go.

Oh God, I really want Xander. Who cares about anything else? What about tomorrow? No regrets? Brownie's honour? Clara's disapproving face popped into my head and I dragged my lips from Xander's.

Bugger. That went pretty wrong.

'Daze?' he whispered, lifting my chin.

I didn't want to look at him but I had to - he had the biggest frown. Was he cross or concerned? It didn't matter. Grabbing my bag and all the dignity I could muster, I ran as fast as my five hundred pound shoes would allow.

    

*** Author's Note ***

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