Sketch

12 - Emmy

"Sam just takes a bit of warming up to."

The boys share a knowing look and I wonder what it means.  I bite down on my lip when I open my mouth to ask.  I don't need to make things anymore awkward than they already are.

I'm grateful that Vince and Ollie aren't leaving me to wallow in silence.  Vince turns the TV on and I stare at it, pretending to be interested in the football match that's on, but nothing can stop my gaze from moving to Sam's bedroom door.  I can't hear any shouting or arguing, but the rooms could be soundproofed for all I know.  I wouldn't be surprised in a building this expensive looking.  The kitchen worktops are granite and the carpet is plush and cream.  The walls are neutral, apart from the back wall housing two windows, which is a bright teal.  There are posters and photo prints of bands and I smile when I recognise a number of them.  At least I'll have something in common with the guys.  There's a drum kit in the corner too, and I know from the band's blog page that it's Vince's.

The lounge consists of two leather couches and a huge flat screen TV.  There's a blue rug on the floor and a coffee table that's cluttered with old magazines and two empty cups.  There's a pool table where the dining table should be.  The room's a 'L' shape, with four doors leading off of the wall opposite the kitchen. 

I hear someone curse under their breath and I turn to see Vince tossing the remote control for the TV up in the air again and again.  Ollie's peering at the TV with mild interest and when he spots me looking at him he smiles.  It's a sight I've already grown to like and I smile back at him.

"You'll like it here.  I promise."

My grin widens.  "You're making it sound like I'm going to be held here against my will."

Vince laughs, a deep guttural sound, and my gaze is drawn to him.  He's got his head thrown back and his eyes are closed.  It's a bit dramatic, but I'm just glad that he didn't take offense to my comment.  When he's finished chuckling he looks to me.  "And Sam said girls don't have a sense of humour."

I cock an eyebrow.  "He said that?"

"Sam says a lot of things."  Ollie looks in the direction of Sam's bedroom before lowering his voice.  Maybe there isn't sound-proofing.  "He acts like a big man, but he's soft really."  He winks with a 'don't tell him I said that' smile.

Should I be scared of him?

Ollie sighs.  "Look, it's not you he doesn't like.  It's the idea of a girl in the band."

They share a knowing look again and I definitely feel like an outsider. 

"You'll fit in soon enough," Vince says.  "When he's calmed down."

I nod and right on cue Tanya reappears from Sam's room.  I catch sight of blue walls and posters before the door shuts behind her.  She looks stressed, her eyes strained and her jaw tight.  I feel immediately at fault.  I shouldn't have spoken. 

Her gaze moves to me and her eyes soften.  "Give it time," she says.  "Let him adjust to the fact that you're here."

I nod again quickly as she heads to the front door.  She stoops to pick up her bag and I hear the sound of keys jingling. 

"I'll be over tomorrow evening."  She turns to Ollie.  "Call me if he hasn't stopped sulking.  And for Pete's sake, offer Emmy a drink or something."

Ollie smiles nervously and with a parting wave Tanya disappears into the hall.

"She seems nice," I say when she's gone.

Ollie nods as he gets up to head to the kitchen.  "She's ace.  I mean, it could have been Pierre in charge.  He's a bit of a slave driver."

I picture Pierre, with his big moustache and balding head, and I can so see him barking out orders. There's something ex-military about him, from his posture to his gruff appearance.  I definitely wouldn't want to mess with him.

"What do you fancy to drink?" Ollie asks, his head stuffed in the fridge.  I can only see his lanky legs which are covered in faded blue jeans.  "We've got orangeade, lemonade, cherryade?"

"Anything without an 'ade' in it?" I say.

Vince laughs again.  "Funny chick."

I hadn't meant to sound cheeky, but my jokes and comments seem to be the only things that are breaking the tension.  There's no denying that all of us keep glancing to Sam's bedroom door.  I can hear the hum of music when the sound coming from the TV dips in the ad breaks and I'm pretty sure it's coming from his room.  I try to figure out what he's listening to, leaning to my right, my ears strained.

"Probably something mopey and self-pitying."

I look to Vince with wide eyes.

"Sam's a moaner.  He likes to wallow in his sadness."  Vince is lounging on the sofa in such a casual but crafted sort of manner that it's like he's expecting someone to take his picture.  His black jeans look distressed with patches of grey and his grey t-shirt is covered in a graffiti pattern.  I'd love to be able to pull off the 'oh I just threw this on but don't I look good' look, because, even though Vince would love to hear me say it, he does look good.

I smile when I realise that Vince is exaggerating, but the song does sound sad.

"We've got tea and coffee, too," Ollie adds.

I offer him an apologetic look, having gotten distracted by Sam's music.  "Water will be fine."

Vince raises an eyebrow at me and scratches the light stubble on his jaw.  "You're not some hippy weirdo are you?  You know, veggie, organic."

I shake my head.  "I could eat a streak right now."

"We've got bacon," Ollie says, handing me a glass of water. 

I grin.  "I was only joking.  I'd be content with a bag of crisps."

"I'll have cheese and onion," Vince adds with a flutter of his eyelashes at Ollie.

"So I'm the only one having a bacon sarnie then?"  Ollie grins and I heave a long sigh.

"Well if you're going to all that effort, you might as well make me one."

Ollie launches a packet of crisps as Vince before setting to work grilling the bacon.  I get up to help, not wanting to make another bad impression – lazy and rude – but he dismisses me.

"Can't I have some bacon?" Vince asks.

Ollie shrugs, mock innocence in his expression. "I thought you wanted crisps?"

Vince sulks, chewing on his snack extra loudly - he could always eat like that though I doubt it by the way he keeps purposely glancing at Ollie -  before Ollie gives in and agrees to make enough for him too.

Fifteen minutes later I'm trying not to spill ketchup on the cream leather sofa as I enjoy my first meal in the flat.  It's crazy to think it, but I already feel at home.  Ollie and Vince have been nothing  but kind to me.  If you ignore the fact that Sam hasn't spoken to me yet, I reckon I'm doing alright.  Two out of three ain't bad.

Just as the thought surfaces in my head, and I'm stuffing my face with my bacon sandwich, Sam's bedroom doors opens and he steps into the lounge.  I'm not sure whether to look at him or not, so I lower my food and chew slowly, pretending to be enticed by the sport on the TV, but I want to look at him.  Only to see if he's looking at me though.

Our gazes meet and his brown irises look black against the whites of his eyes.  I offer him a smile but he shrugs me off and I sigh.