Free Flight by Isabel Ashdown

the thick handle of a green carrier bag. Now, Wren holds the blouse up, smoothing the silk fabric against her torso, wondering if she might wear it some time again, perhaps in the spring?
    ‘Ha!’ she scoffs, embarrassed by her folly, and slings the orange shirt on top of the handbag and the growing junk pile. Standing abruptly, she slams shut the lid of the wooden trunk and sets off to the kitchen to fix the dogs their supper.
     
    Rob was by nature awkward around girls – overly courteous , Wren and Laura would often tell him. If he liked someone, he found it almost impossible to let them know, being inclined to avert his gaze almost entirely, snatching furtive glances only when he thought their attention was diverted. Wren knew this to be the case; she was for the most part the object of his glances, and she did her best to hide her awareness of this fact. By the time they had been living together in Victoria Terrace for several months Laura had already tried and failed countless times to set him up with college friends of hers, and she and Wren had been all but ready to give up on the mission and leave him to work it out for himself.
    In June, as the second year at college came to an end, Laura talked Wren and Rob into travelling with her to Stonehenge for the midsummer festival, promising them itwould be a trip to remember. ‘Be there or be square,’ she warned Rob, prodding the two fingertips of her peace sign against his chest. ‘Hippy,’ Rob replied, but he agreed all the same and spent several days in the run-up fretting about what to wear so as to not stand out. A preppy polo shirt definitely wouldn’t cut it, and ironed jeans were a definite no-no. ‘Think chilling out – think dressing down.’ Rob seemed none the wiser.
    Laura and Wren managed to borrow a family tent from one of their lecturers – mildewed and unused for years – and a set of portable trolley wheels with which to cart it, along with a carrier bag of provisions, to the train station at Kingston where they had arranged to meet Rob after his last tutorial. They planned to take the train as far as Longcross, before getting off and taking their chances hitching the rest of the way from the side of the M3. When Wren and Laura arrived at the train station after a wobbly and exhausting walk with the tent trolley from Victoria Terrace, Rob was already there in starched beige shorts and a new black T-shirt… and he had a girl with him.
    Laura halted the trolley at a distance, and stooped to adjust the bungee cords that held the tent in place. ‘Who’s he with?’ she hissed at Wren.
    Wren leant in and pretended to help, taking a brief peek in Rob’s direction, summing up his body language, and hers, trying to establish if she recognised the girl or not. She was petite, carefully dressed in neat yellow shorts and a pink tie-waist top, and her ash-coloured hair was long and poker-straight. ‘She’s kind of familiar, but I don’t know her – perhaps she’s on his course?’
    Laura stood upright and hoisted her rucksack higher up her shoulders, taking hold of the trolley handle to continuealong the path. ‘Look at him!’ She brought her hand to her face and pretended to scratch her nose, obscuring her mouth as she spoke. ‘He’s got his hand round her waist!’
    Wren noticed the floral beach bag at the girl’s feet and, as the girl smiled up at Rob, irritation rippled in the shadows of Wren’s mind. ‘That’s a big bag,’ she muttered to Laura. ‘Is she coming with us?’
    ‘Fuck it, I hope not.’ As she reached Rob and the girl, Laura threw her arms around him and planted a noisy kiss on his lips. ‘Rob!’ she sang, grinning back at Wren as she released the rucksack from her shoulders, dropping it to the pavement with a thud.
    ‘Hi,’ Wren said, raising an awkward little wave. As ever, her manners kicked in, uneasy as she was at the girl’s discomfort. ‘I’m Wren – this is Laura.’
    The girl looked relieved.