The Mess Of Me:Chapter 21.

21

 

Oh dear God, dear World, he is!  What the fuck does he fucking want?

I am angry now.  I easily switch to anger when I’ve been drinking. I can be overloaded with happiness one moment, and seething with rage the next. It can really switch that quickly. I sit back on my arse and hug my knees and scowl at him.  “You can stop watching me be sick now,” I tell him.  Travis smiles at me awkwardly.  He is on his knees, and sits back on his feet.

“Joe dropped his drink.”

“What?”

“He dropped his drink, that’s why he didn’t follow you.”

“Oh.”  I blow out my breath and look back at my vomit, steaming away in the flowerbeds.  “You didn’t have to come.  I’m quite capable of being sick on my own actually.”

“Wasn’t sure you would make it out here okay.”

“Why do you fucking care all of a sudden?” I shout at him then.  It takes him by surprise.  Good.  He can get up and fuck right off and stop messing with my head like this.  He closes his mouth and looks away from me.

“Sorry,” he says then.  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.  I’ll leave you alone, if you’re sure you’ll be okay.”

“Why don’t you answer the question?”

“Hey?”

“The question! Why do you care all of a sudden?  I’ve known you my whole life Travis.  Why all the attention suddenly?”

“Um.”  That is all he can say.  Um.  He scratches his nose.  Then he searches his pockets for a cigarette and finds one.

“You’re giving me the creeps,” I tell him, staring back at my sick.  “That’s all.”

“Well sorry.” Travis lights his cigarette and smiles at me.  I want him to stop smiling at me.  “That cocktail was toxic by the way.”

“What?”

“She put fucking double in yours mate.  She topped it way up.”

“Did she?” I stare at him in confusion.  “Why would she?”

“I don’t know,” Travis shrugs at me, and puffs on his cigarette. “Maybe she wanted you out of the way?”

“What?”  I just stare at him.  I am sobering up now I have spewed, but I am still horribly confused by my entire life.

“Think she has the hots for Leon,” Travis shrugs again.  I roll my eyes at him, as if this is old news to me.

“Think she has the hots for all three of you,” I tell him.  “But I don’t care.  I feel better now anyway.  Time for another drink.”

“How about some food?”

“No thanks.”

“Come on.  Let me get you something.  It’ll soak up the booze.”

“You sound like her.”  I groan, getting slowly to my feet.  Travis stands up beside me and places his hand gently on my shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Yes thank you.” I am lying.  I am not okay.  I am feeling better, but I am still extremely drunk.  I suddenly start to make my way waveringly over to the garden bench.  Travis follows me hesitantly.  “Thought you were going back in?”

“Just need a little sit down first,” I tell him, and plonk myself down on the bench with a huge sigh.  “A bit more fresh air.” I wave my hand at him.  “Go on, you go.  I’m fine now.  Go and enjoy the party.”

Travis looks at me, and then looks at the house.  It is heaving and throbbing with people and music.  Why wouldn’t he want to be a part of that? I watch his shoulders drop slightly, and then he says.  “I’ll be back in a minute.”  He turns and goes into the house.  I nod at his back, saying nothing, but inside I am thinking ‘yeah right’, and I am also relieved.  I am on my own now.  I breathe in huge mouthfuls of fresh night air, and rest my head in my hand for a moment.  I recall the day, which seems like years ago now, when Joe and me sat out here watching Tommy play on Marianne’s swing set.  We had no idea where she was, and Leon wanted his drugs back.  I remember how for a moment or two it had felt like our entire world had crashed down around us.  And then I had started to laugh.

I am having a little giggle to myself at the memory when suddenly Travis reappears.  I groan inwardly at his persistence, and curse him for being so stupidly handsome.  And I remind myself that even if I did once have a teeny weeny crush on him, that was just on his looks, not his personality.  No way.  He passes me a pint of water and a packet of crisps and parks himself on the bench beside me.  I just look at him quizzically.  “You’ll feel better,” he says with a nod.

“Why do you keep doing this, when I’m drunk at parties?” I ask him then, my drunken state making me far more brazen than I would be otherwise.  When I am sober I think so many things that I keep to myself, or write on my wall.  I am glaring at him with an inviting smile.  He smiles back.  He shrugs at me.

“I don’t get the chance in normal life.  You’re always with Joe.”

“Oh.”  I look away and drink the water for a moment.  I even open the crisps and consider eating some.  I recall Joe suddenly kissing me on his bed that day after Mick had trashed his music, and it is on the tip of my tongue to just blurt it out.  To see what Travis’ reaction would be.  But I bite down on the urge.  I eat some crisps and drink some water, and we sit in silence until I look back at him and say; “You never bothered with me when I was fat, did you?  You didn’t like me then.  How superficial is that?”

Travis looks momentarily stunned and amused.  “I just never noticed you, that’s all,” he says in reply.  “You were just Joe’s friend.  You were both just these annoying little kids.”  He grins a wide grin that reminds me of Joe, and looks me up and down for a moment.  “Now suddenly you are all grown up.”

“So let me get this straight,” I say, dropping my eyes to my pint of water.  I run my index finger around the plastic rim.  “If I did let you kiss me, the only time it would ever happen would be when we’re drunk at parties?”

“No of course not,” Travis says more urgently, sitting forward, pushing his face towards mine.  “The only problem we would have is Joe.  It’s like he thinks he owns you or something.”  I look at him, and suddenly he leans in and goes for the kiss.  I duck away giggling, and he frowns.  “What?”

“You can’t really want to kiss me when I’ve just thrown up!”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s fucking disgusting!” I insist, keeping back from him.  “Look at the bloody state of me!”

“Why are you always so hard on yourself?  I said I don’t care.”

I stand up then, with my water and my crisps.  “I’m going to go and brush my teeth,” I look down at him and announce.  “I bet that when I get back you’ll be gone.”

I don’t give him a chance to reply.  I storm away across the grass and into the house.  I feel giddy with excitement, disbelief and alcohol.  I slide through the crowd, not looking for anyone, just minding my own crazy business. I run up the stairs to the bathroom, and luckily no one is in it.  I lock the door behind me and take five minutes to sort myself out.  I find a pack of spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet and brush my teeth.  I splash cold water onto my face and neck and run my fingers through my hair.  I check my clothes for splatters of vomit, and there are none.

I leave the bathroom, feeling oddly womanlike and conniving, and slip back downstairs.  It is only as I slide through the kitchen crowd that I spot Marianne with Leon in the corner.  She is sat on his lap, her face turned to his, her black hair hanging down over one shoulder.  I wonder where Joe is, but can’t see him anywhere.  I run back outside, half expecting Travis to be gone, but he is not.  He is still sat there patiently.  I make a mental decision to use him just as I am convinced he is using me.  Fuck it.  You are only sixteen once.  Who cares?  It’s not going to matter, is it?

I drop down onto the bench and Travis immediately moves closer to me, and stares into my eyes, biting down on his lower lip.  I shiver.  “Better?” he whispers.  I nod.  And then it happens.  He slides his hands onto either side of my face, holding it like it is made of china.  I feel my entire body tremble.  I have broken out in goose     pimples everywhere.  He closes his eyes and presses his lips onto mine.  I give in to him.  It is the gentlest, softest kiss I could ever have imagined.

As we kiss, I wonder helplessly if this is what being a woman is really like.  If this is what being attractive is really like.  Beautiful, stolen kisses.  Discoveries.  I melt into his arms, and feel alive, like I am made of electricity.  A part of me keeps expecting Joe to show up and interrupt us, for some horribly awkward scene to unfold, but he doesn’t.

We pull away from the kiss at the same time, which is a relief.  I feel stunned and wide open, utterly vulnerable, but I find myself resting my cheek on his shoulder and closing my eyes, waiting for him to say something.  I feel him breathing next to me.  I feel like I am in a fucking movie, or something.

“You okay?” he asks me finally, so I pull back and that is when the reality slaps me in the face; when I sit back and look at him.  He stares back at me expectantly, and I think oh my god, you are Joe’s brother.  I have known you my entire life.  You’ve never been anything more than an annoying twat until now.  I want to laugh, but that would be awful.  I glance nervously towards the house, suddenly convinced that I will say Joe’s betrayed face staring back at me from the French doors.  But I can’t see him anywhere.

“I think I better find Marianne and make sure she is okay,” I tell Travis, looking back at him shyly.  He nods at me.

“Okay, good idea.  I wouldn’t trust Leon, if I were you either.”

I frown at him.  “Or you!”

Travis laughs.  “Oh.  Yeah, right.”

I slide off the bench and get to my feet before things can go any further.  I feel the strong desire to get away from him and find Marianne to talk to.  I feel the strong desire for another drink.  “Think I’ll get another drink,” I say then, so it does not sound so much like I am abandoning him.  “Do you want anything?”

“I’m coming,” Travis says with a sigh, hauling himself to his feet.  We walk towards the house, and just before we reach the conservatory, Travis stops me with a hand on my shoulder.  I look at his hand and then look up at him.  “You’re not only beautiful and funny,” he leans towards me and whispers next to my cheek, “but you’re a fucking good kisser too.”  He kisses me once on the cheek, and goes on into the house.  I stand and stare in bewilderment and pure joy, and watch him go.  He has his hands in his pockets, which makes me think of Joe again.  He slips easily through the crowd, and disappears.  Well, I think, that is that then.

I do not see Travis again for the rest of the night.  For all I know, he walked from one end of the house to the other and left through the front door, right after he kissed my cheek.  I decide to look for Marianne.  I need to speak to her.  The party has descended into drunken chaos by the looks of it.  People are drunk and falling over, or huddled in corners kissing people they never thought they would.  I feel my cheeks growing warmer by the second as I try not to think of the kiss with Travis, and push my way through people to search for Marianne.  I am getting quite desperate to find her.  I really, really need to speak to her.

In the kitchen I find a legless Ryan leaning all over Josh.  It looks like they have drunk nearly all of Marianne’s punch by themselves.  I wonder how long I have been gone.  “Where’s Marianne?” I ask them, looking around for a fresh drink.  There is a can of unopened cider on the kitchen table, so I grab it, and when no one nearby protests, I open it and drink a mouthful.

“She went off with Joe’s brother,” Ryan tells me, trying like hell not to fall off the stool he is balanced on.  I stare at him intently.

“What, Leon?  Where did they go?”

“No idea,” he shrugs back at me.  “But they were snogging the faces of each other for a fair while down here!”

I am quite stunned.  “Really?  Were they?”  I nearly go into a rant about how gross and out of order that is in so many ways, but then I remember what has just happened between me and Travis outside, and I shut my mouth up.  I sit with Josh and Ryan for a while, digesting all of the information, and drinking my stolen cider.  “So where’s Joe?” I ask, just as he walks into the room.  “Oh.”

He slides in with his back to the counter, cider in hand and vacant look on his face.  I think of Travis, and I feel sick.  I feel so many things that I almost cannot take it, and seriously consider running back outside under the pretence of needing to vomit again, just to be alone. Just to take it all in, because right now World, I feel a bit like I am going fucking crazy. I look at him, and then I can’t look at him, so I look away, but then I need to look at him, just to work out what the hell is going on.  Jesus fucking Christ, what am I doing to myself?  “You all right, you freak?” he bumps me with his shoulder and asks me, grinning.  I grin back.

“Oh yeah.”

“Been sick?”

“Just a bit.”

“Loser.”

“Fuck you.”

“Lightweight.”

I punch him in the arm and he groans in mock pain.  “You can’t even punch properly anymore, you’re too fucking skinny!”

“Oh shut up twat face.”

“You’re too weak,” he laughs, and I think he has that lovely happy sloppy drunk look on his face, and his body is all loose and silly as he picks up my arm and tries to make me punch myself.  “Look, look! There’s no strength in that!” He holds my fist and wiggles it around.  “What is that?  What is it for?  You pathetic little specimen!”

“I could kick your skinny arse any day of the week,” I retort, pulling my hand out of his.  Josh and Ryan start to laugh.

“Come on then!” Josh tells me.  “Show us what you’re made of!”

“She’s not made of anything, look,” Joe picks up my arm and waves it about stupidly, while giggling like an idiot.  “She’s fading away!”

“Stop it,” I pull my arm away from him, and he picks up his cider and drinks it, grinning broadly.  “Where has Leon gone with my friend, by the way?”

“What?” he lowers his drink.  “I don’t know.  What do you mean?”

I nod at Josh and Ryan.  “They said Leon and Marianne were snogging.  Then disappeared somewhere.”

“Oh.” Joe closes his mouth and looks confused for a moment.  Josh and Ryan are nodding at him.  They seem to have lost the ability to speak.

“Just a bit worried,” I add, watching Joe closely.  “I don’t want him taking advantage of her.”

At this statement, Ryan and Josh swap amazed, wide-eyed looks and then snort loudly with laughter.  I look at them indignantly, and then at Joe.  He looks just as confused as I feel.  “Something funny?” he asks them.

“It’s just I wouldn’t worry about him taking advantage of her,” Josh tells us, wiping his eyes with his hand, his shoulders still shaking with laughter.  “That’s all.”

“Man, that is funny,” Ryan sighs beside him.

“You’re idiots,” I tell them both.  They just laugh at me.  I look back at Joe and poke him in the ribs.  “Think we should find her.”

“Oh god, do we have to?” he groans, closing his eyes and wiping his hand slowly down his face.

“Yes, we have to.  Just to check on her.”

“Oh I don’t want to.  You go.  She’s your weird friend, you go. I’m having fun here.”

“Joe,” I say firmly, taking his arm in both of my hands and pulling him away from the counter.  “I am not confronting your evil brother on my own.  Come on.  Don’t be a wuss all of your life.”

“But I am a wuss,” he protests, as I drag him away.  “That’s what I am!  I like it! I like being a wuss!  Let me just be a wuss please!”

“Come on, stupid.  She might need us.”

“She doesn’t need anyone!” Joe laughs, as we reach the large hallway.  “She’ll be fine!”

“Not with Leon she won’t,” I tell him, although I can’t really explain why I think this.  Maybe they are all right, I wonder, as we check the downstairs rooms for her.  Maybe she is okay with Leon.

“God I really don’t want to do this,” Joe groans again, as I start to head up the stairs, pulling him with me.  “Leon won’t like it.”

“It’s not about him.  I just want to see she is okay, that’s it.  You don’t even have to say a word.”

“But he’ll be pissed off.  He’ll be pissed off anyway.  I really don’t want to piss him off, Lou.”

“Oh stop being such a baby,” I snap at him on the landing, as I try to think where to look and what to do.  “I’m here to protect you aren’t I?”

“He wouldn’t not smack you just because you’re a girl!”  Joe cries out at me in exasperation at the top of the stairs.  He is still smiling slightly, but I can tell he is worked up too.  He is still happy drunk, but bordering on the paranoid drunk.  I sigh and walk over to Marianne’s closed bedroom door.  Joe stands behind me, huffing and puffing with his arms crossed.  I tap on the door nervously.

“Just going to check she is okay,” I repeat again, glancing back at Joe.  He rolls his eyes at me angrily.

“Tried to warn you,” he says softly, just as the door is opened.  I am face to face with Leon, and Joe was right, he does look pissed off.  This is alarming enough, but even more alarming is the fact he has no top on.  I find myself swallowing anxiously, and trying not to let my eyes wander down to his naked chest.

“Hello?” he snaps at me in a typically unfriendly voice.

“Is Marianne with you?” I ask him, trying to peer around him into her room.  “It’s just that I can’t seem to find her anywhere.”

“She’s in here.” He raises his eyebrows at me and closes the door an inch.  I push my face forward.

“Can you tell her I need to speak to her please?”

“What the fuck?”

“It’s urgent,” I plead, as the darkness spreads across his face.  “It’s life and death.  I’ll be so quick.  I just need to talk to her.”

“Not now, okay?” Leon tries to close the door, but I am too quick and get the entire left side of my body in the way of the door.  He looks at me like he would like to kill me, and then flicks his hard eyes to Joe.  “Fucks sake!” he yells.  Joe steps forward.

“Just want to see she is okay,” he explains softly to his brother.

“Marianne!” I call out then.  “Can I talk to you quickly?”

“Look fuck off right?” Leon hisses then, his breath reeking of beer as it smothers my face.  “I’m not kidding.”

“Why won’t you let us speak to her?” I ask him.  “Just let us speak to her and we’ll fucking go!”

“She’s busy,” he snarls, holding onto the door as I try to press through it.  “And I am getting seriously fucked off now.  Come here!” He says this to Joe, beckoning him forward with a curled finger.

“We only want to check she is okay,” Joe says, not moving.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t she be?”

“Because she’s with you, you fucking bully!” I shout into his face.  “Because we don’t trust you!  Because you’re probably some kind of maniac and she is my fucking friend!”

Leon points at Joe.  “Get this bitch out of my face right now or I’m gonna’ lay you out,” he says to him.  I feel Joe slide his hand around my elbow.

“Come on,” he says to me.

“No, no way.  I won’t be bullied by this prick.  Lay me out!” I glare up into his hard-set face.  “If you want to punch someone, why don’t you try me?  Then Marianne will see what you’re really like.  Or why don’t you stop being such a fucking dick for once in your life, and just let us speak to her?”  I am angrier than I thought possible.  He does not scare me.  I am drunk though.  This is what happens when you drink.  You get ridiculously aggressive and sure of yourself, when ordinarily you would just not bother.  I punch the door with my fist, wishing it was his face, wishing he would just let us see her, I mean, what the hell is wrong with him.  I am starting to think he has fucking raped or killed her or something!

Leon calls my bluff then.  He doesn’t punch me, but he does shove me hard.  I nearly land on my arse, but Joe is there to stop me.  Now that he has moved me on, Leon closes the bedroom door behind him and claims his space the way he always does.  He looks like a bear poised to attack.  “Get her out of here,” he says this softly to Joe, who looks like he is about to shit himself.

“Come on,” Joe says to me again.  “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“How can you say that?” I stare at him and cry.  “When he acts like that?  I want to know what the hell he’s done to her in there!”

Joe looks worriedly back at Leon, and tightens his grip on my elbow. “Forget about it, let’s just go.” He doesn’t even look drunk anymore, just miserable and scared, and this angers me even more.  I pull my elbow out of his hand and flick my hair out of my face and glare viciously at Leon. It is like years fall through me then, years of fearing and loathing him, years of seeing the way he treats Joe. It all falls through me and builds me back up brick by brick.

“Let me speak to my friend,” I demand through clenched teeth.  My fists are curled tightly at my sides.  I don’t recall ever feeling this enraged before.  It is the sheer arrogance of him.  The sheer stubborn stupidity that he exists in, day after day.  Can’t he see that if he just let me speak to her, I would leave them to it?

“You’re always interfering aren’t you?” Leon sneers at me, one side of his mouth pulling upwards slightly.  His eyes move to Joe. “Can’t you keep your girlfriend under control?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Joe sighs, with a roll of his eyes.  He crosses his arms and shakes his head at me.  “Come on.”

“No,” I say again.  “This is fucking ridiculous.  What has he got to hide?  Just let me speak to her and I’ll go.  How hard is that to understand?  What is the problem?”

“I don’t like being told what to do by bossy little bitches, that’s what the problem is,” Leon informs me calmly, as I seethe in front of him.  I take a step towards Marianne’s door and he moves to block me.

“Fucking idiot!” I shout at him, incensed with frustration. “You just enjoy being a total prick, don’t you?  Your whole life!  A total and utter prick!”

“Okay,” he says then, his voice reasonable.  “Let’s put it this way, you fucked up little cunt.  You shut up and go back downstairs and carry on necking your Alco pops like a good girl, or for every second that you remain in my eyesight shouting the odds, I’m going to give your boyfriend here a good smack.”  He raises his eyebrows and smiles at me triumphantly.  He even laughs.  “What do you think about that?”

I swallow hard.  I do not want to let him beat me.  I have to speak to Marianne.  I just have to.  I narrow my eyes at him and look him up at down.  “I think you are the biggest tosser in the world.  I think you are a dumb, mindless thug.  I think you are an ungrateful shitbag of a brother, and I think I am going to speak to my friend!” I take another step towards the door.  Leon grabs Joe by the shirt, yanks him forward and cuffs him around the head.  I stop.

“Ow!” Joe complains, with both hands on the back of his head.  I blow my angry breath out through my teeth.  I think, I have seen worse.  That was a classic clip round the ear.  A basic reprimand I have seen Lorraine and Mick administer a million times over the years.  Joe is okay.  I duck around Leon suddenly, taking him by surprise, and reach Marianne’s door.  I don’t look back when I hear the sound of Leon slamming his brother back into the wall behind, or the noise Joe makes when all the breath has been punched out of his guts.  I swallow again and wrench open the door and go inside her bedroom.

She is sat at her dressing table, wearing little more than her silky black dressing gown.  The gown is tied loosely at the waist, exposing one breast, and her entire right leg, all the way up to the thigh.  I can see the dozens of tiny scars that stand out across her creamy skin.  She looks up at me in alarm, and at first I see guilt and fear etched across her face, but then her face relaxes, and she just smiles.  She is chopping up lines of white powder across her desk with her own special razor blade.  How fitting.  I let the door close softly.  I can hear the thumps and thuds of Leon punishing Joe on the landing, and a chant has started up of  ‘fight, fight, fight, fight!’

I just stare at her.  I am drunk and angry, and she is drunk and reckless, and I shake my head, at her, and at the white powder she is playing with like a child with matches.

“So that’s why he didn’t want to let me in,” I say to her softly, my shoulders dropping.  Marianne throws her head back and laughs, and then looks back down at the powder and continues to chop it up, organising it deftly into neat, white lines.

“I told him you wouldn’t exactly care,” she laughs and shrugs.

“Well then you don’t know me at all,” I tell her, my voice emotionless.  “And it looks like I don’t know you at all either.”

“Well isn’t that the truth about everyone?” she answers, looking back at me with a wide and hungry smile, her eyes shining with delight.

“Maybe it is.”

“Oh it is,” she laughs.  “It really is.  You want some?”

“No chance,” I say bitterly, looking at her in disgust.  “I wouldn’t touch that shit if you paid me.  You have no idea the shit Joe and me have gone through because of that crap.  We’re both sick of it.”

“No one forced you,” she says easily.  “No one put a gun to your head.  Everyone makes their own choices for their own reasons Lou.”

“Yeah, and Leon is beating the crap out of Joe right now out there, because of you!” I say this angrily, but also guiltily, and I know I have to go.  “I’ll talk to you later,” I tell her, my hand on the doorknob.  “You’re obviously completely fine.  I don’t know why I even bothered worrying.”

“Because you are a good friend Lou,” Marianne tells me in a sunny voice, her eyes on the desk.  She does not look up as I leave the room and close the door behind me.  On the landing, there is a crowd of kids watching and cheering as Leon and Joe roll around on the floor together.  I wade through, telling them all to get the fuck out of the way, and I reach in to the blur of fists and red faces and grab Joe by the arm.  The fight breaks up as Leon gets to his feet, grinning and panting.  Joe stays on the floor, and drops his head into the space between his knees.  I look up at Leon with all the fury and disgust I can muster.  I am glad to see his bottom lip is bleeding.

“Go on go back to her you fucking bastard,” I hiss at him from the floor.  “Go back and leave us alone if you want us to keep your secrets for you!”

Leon just turns slowly on his heels, broad and arrogant and full of himself as always.  He laughs, and his wide shoulders shake with it as he heads back to Marianne.  The crowd breaks up too.  Slouched shoulders disappear down the stairs, murmuring and chuckling.  I sit on the floor and put my arm around Joe.

“I’m really sorry,” I tell him quietly.  “I had to see she was okay.”

Joe snorts a little laugh through his nose and lifts his head to look at me.  His nose is bleeding, and there are two little tracks of red running down into his mouth.  I look into his eyes then, and I want to grab his poor face with both of my hands, just the way Travis did with mine.  I want to hold his face as if I am holding china.  I want to press my lips onto his and taste his blood.  “And was she?” he asks me, and I can see the genuine concern in his eyes and my heart lurches against my chest and smashes into tiny little pieces yet again.  I wonder how many times I can go through the same endless confusing emotions and urges.  I wonder helplessly if I will ever make any sense of it.  I lift a finger and use it to gently push back his hair, which is covering his eyes.  I watch him smile.

“She’s sat at the desk,” I sigh.  “Cutting up lines of coke.  That’s why he wanted to keep us out.”

The realisation hits Joe, and I can see he is as surprised as me.  “Oh,” he says slowly.  “That’s why.”

“I know,” I say, and drop my arm away from his shoulders.  “How stupid are we?”

“Pretty fucking stupid.”

“Pretty fucking drunk.”

“Me too.  Oh fuck man…” Joe rubs the heel of one hand into his eye, and then slides it around to the back of his head where he rubs it back and forth.  “My head really hurts.”

“Need more booze?”

“That might help, yeah.”

“He’s a fucking bastard, that cunt.” I shake my head at the closed bedroom door.  “For so many reasons.  I could write out at least one hundred reasons why he is a fucking bastard cunt.”  Joe looks at me and laughs.  I nod at him.  “Latest editions to the list being him seducing a sixteen year old girl and plying her with illegal drugs.”

“Well I don’t think she needing much seducing,” Joe says, still rubbing slowly at his head.  “You didn’t see her all over him like a rash.”

“Do you know that really surprises me?” I ask, looking at him.  “I just never saw her like that before, you know?  All sexy and seductive.  I never thought she was like that.”

“I don’t think we know her very well.”

“No, we don’t, you’re right.  I’ve been thinking that a lot lately.”  I get up then and hold my hand out to Joe.  He takes it and climbs awkwardly to his feet.  He looks wrecked and knackered and yawns widely.  “Let’s leave them to it then,” I shrug at the closed bedroom door.  “She obviously knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah, come on, fuck ‘em,” he agrees and heads for the stairs. “They deserve each other.”

20

 

Dear World, Friday is here! Marianne insists I get ready for the party at her house.  I have no choice.  I take over the minimal make-up that I own, and the two outfits that I can’t decide between.  When I get there, Marianne’s parents have already left for their weekend away.  I gaze around at the big empty house, feeling lost and confused, as Marianne takes me from room to room, showing off the decorations and the food all laid out.  As promised she has locked the rooms she wants to keep intact, but there is still plenty of space for the guests to mill about and mingle.  Marianne is breathlessly pretty in a simple black dress and sparkly cardigan.  I wonder if the cardigan is to disguise her cuts, but I do not ask.  I let her bask in her glory.  I actually feel proud on her behalf.  She has certainly gone to a lot of effort.

She ushers me upstairs to help get me ready.  “Are you okay?” she asks me more than once.  “You seem totally out of it Lou.”

“Just tired,” I keep telling her, while the image of Joe practically hanging from the bridge remains imprinted in my minds eye.  Marianne looks at my clothes and tells me to go for the dress.  I am unsure.

“You look stunning for fucks sake,” she tells me firmly, gripping me by the arm and staring daggers into my eyes.  “Show off all your hard work, Lou.  Let all the kids from school see how amazing you look.”  I stare into her eyes and just want to cry, but I have no idea, no idea why at all.  She lets my arm go and drapes the dress carefully over my knees.  “Come on woman.  Do it.  Then I’m going to do your hair and makeup.”

“Because it matters what girls look like?” I ask her weakly, recalling our conversation with Joe in the summerhouse that day.  Marianne meets my gaze and smiles vividly.

“Exactly,” she triumphs, her eyes glittering.  “Now come on.  Do it.”

A short while later I am wearing a dress, and Marianne has straightened my hair to within an inch of its life.  She kneels before me and painstakingly applies layers of mascara and eyeliner to my eyes.  “You have the most amazing eyelashes I have ever seen,” she says as she does it. “People pay to have lashes this long and dark, and you have them naturally.”

“From my mum,” I shrug apologetically.  “Sara’s are the same.”

“They look amazing now,” she tells me and holds the mirror up to my face so I can see what she has transformed me into.  I was always such a tomboy before I think, as I stare at the girl in the mirror.  I swallow.  She enchants me.  She is not someone I recognise.  She is not me.

“Thanks,” I tell Marianne, pushing the mirror away.  “How about a drink to steady the nerves?”

“What are you nervous about?” she frowns at me, getting up and walking to her large desk, where an unopened bottle of wine stands.

“I meant you,” I lie.  Marianne laughs.

“I’m not nervous!  Why would I be nervous?”  She opens the bottle and fills two glasses.

“I don’t know.  You’re not ever nervous, about anything?”

“You have to care about stuff to get nervous,” she says flippantly, thrusting a full glass towards me.  I take it and consider her careless statement.

“Okay.”

“We need some food now too,” she says then, as if she has just remembered this is important.  I try not to let my blind panic show.  “Before the party starts,” she explains, heading for the door.  “You know, to line our stomachs!”

“What food?” I ask, my mouth like sandpaper.

“Toast is best,” she assures me. “Otherwise you’ll be on the floor after the first few drinks, don’t you know that?  Have some toast, then you’ll be able to drink more.”

“If you’re sure,” I say hesitantly, and drink my wine.  Marianne stops and grins back at me just before she goes through the door.

“Don’t freak out about it,” she says.  “You’ll only throw it up again later.”

“Oh,” I say, lowering my glass and staring at her intently.  “Oh yeah, I suppose.”

After another glass of wine I am feeling more relaxed.  Marianne has put some music on; she’s gone for some sort of generic chart compilation, just to be on the safe side.  Josh and Ryan arrive first.  They make a beeline for the drinks Marianne has displayed on the kitchen counter.  “You’ve thought of everything!” Josh tells her, as he makes himself a whiskey and coke.  I watch from the doorway, drink in hand, wondering if Josh has ever tried whiskey and coke before, and if Marianne’s dad is going to notice.  What does strike me is the free and easy way Marianne has with them.  I’d had no idea they were all so close.  I had always thought of Josh and Ryan and Joe’s friends, more than mine.  They were there, you know, at school and at people’s houses, but they weren’t people I called up by myself to meet up with, or vice versa.  I watch them all and feel a stab of jealousy and confusion.  I lift my glass to my lips and drink steadily.  I feel like something is unfolding around me slowly, but I have no idea what, or why.  I can only watch Marianne, the star of the show, and wonder how I never noticed it in her before.  I had always thought her strange.  Confident and spiky in her own way, but I had never had her down for a social butterfly.

She plays the perfect hostess for the first hour of the party, as more and more people drift in.  The doorbell seems to be ringing endlessly.  Marianne floats around, serving drinks, embracing people she barely knows, and pointing them in the direction of the party nibbles.  Everyone looks so grown up and glamorous, I think, as I watch from the sidelines.  It has only been a matter of weeks since we saw people from school, but somehow it feels like months, and it seems like everyone has changed in some way.  I don’t look at myself this way, until the stick insects, Christine and Stacey spot me and come over.  Christine holds her hands up and flaps them about excitedly, while Stacey sort of circles me, in this threatening sort of way, eyeing me up and down, smiling greedily.  “Oh my god!’ they both squeal at exactly the same time.  I just smile awkwardly.

“Hi guys.”

“Lou Carling! Is that really you?” Christine, the taller stick insect places her perfectly manicured hand gently on my shoulder, as if to steady herself, as if she is about to keel over or something.

“You look amazing!” Stacey echoes her, hands on her chest, mouth open, eyes wide.  I nod at them, and want to kill them.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, it’s really me.”

“Oh my god!” Christine cries again.  It’s like she is close to orgasm or something, I can barely stand it.  “You look amazing! Doesn’t she look amazing Stace?  I just can’t believe it!”

“You look so amazing,” Stacey is still running her pale blue eyes up and down my body, which makes me feel queasy to be honest.  I am not used to this, and wonder if I will ever feel comfortable with it.  “How much weight did you lose?  How the fuck did you do it Lou?  You have to tell us!”

Yes, I think, glancing away for a moment, searching for help with my eyes, because you two really need to lose weight, don’t you?  I shrug at them politely and try to fight the urge to claw their eyes out with my fingernails.  “Oh you know,” I tell them pleasantly.  “Healthy diet and exercise basically.”

“Fuckinghell, you look stunning, you really do,” Christine flicks her long blonde hair back over one shoulder.  She is wearing a tiny skirt and a bustier style top, which kind of make her look like a hooker.  I smile politely.  “You lost loads of weight last term, but this, this is unbelievable!”

“Thanks,” I shrug, and drink more wine.

“And your hair!” Stacey cries suddenly, pointing at my newly straightened locks, with a look of childlike happiness on her freckled face.  I would like to feel touched that I have made them both so ridiculously happy, but the only thing I am feeling is pure pent up rage.  I wonder if now is the time to remind them of how vile they were to me in years eight and nine?  When I was supposedly part of their little click?  When I tried to be?  When I tried so hard to please them, to be like them, that it kept me awake at night, that it tied my stomach in knots before school, never knowing if today they would be kind to me or cruel to me.  I look at their admiring faces and wonder if they have really forgotten?  Stacey reaches out and strokes my hair, and I feel like slapping her hand away, and then slapping her face.

“You look so beautiful,” Christine tells me assuringly, and the look on her face suggests to me that she is trying to convince me of this.  Let me know I have passed a test, or something.  That I am all right now, in her book at least.  I scratch at my neck, and stare past them, wondering where the hell Marianne is.

“This party is fucking brilliant!” says Stacey, gazing around at the kitchen, which is now pretty full.  “It’s so nice to see everyone!”

“So nice of Marianne to do this,” Christine leans towards me, speaking to me as if we are suddenly great friends again.  “This house is amazing.”

“It is amazing,” I murmur, and want to go and find a big fat thesaurus and shove it in her slightly too wide mouth.  “It’s all amazing,” I say again, look back at her and smile.

“She looks great too!” Stacey says suddenly, as if this fact amazes her too, that Marianne could look hot.  “She looks amazing!”

“I always thought her a total freak,” Christine leans in again and says. Stacey nods emphatically in agreement.

“Total freak at school.”

“But not now?” I ponder.  “Not here?  Here she is amazing?”

They look at each other, a flicker of confusion passing over their bland Barbie doll faces.  “Totally amazing!” Stacey says suddenly, looking relieved.  I smile at her pityingly.

“Well let’s just hope she is still amazing, when school starts,” I say to them, moving away from where they have trapped me against the counter.  “Let’s hope she doesn’t go back to being a total freak hey?  I’ve got to get another drink.”  I walk away from them, in search of alcohol.  What I would really like to search for is a blunt knife.

I am pouring myself a vodka and coke when Marianne suddenly bumps into the side of me.  She immediately giggles, and bends over her knees, pointing at the puddle on the floor where she has spilled her drink.  I frown at her curiously.  “Are you drunk Marianne?”

Marianne straightens up, throws her skinny arm around my shoulders and wags her empty glass at me.  She is drunk all right.  Drunker than I have ever seen her, anyway.  “I might just be, a little tiny bit!” she laughs, and pulls me closer with her arm.  “I’m going to get myself some food now,” she confides in me, “to soak up the booze.  And I’m going to have a big pint of water too!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes! Oh yes.  That’s what you ought to do.  You can slow it down a bit.  That’s my plan.”

“How much have you had anyway?”

“Oh a few, a few!” she giggles against me and waves her glass about.  I start to expect her to drop it at any moment and cover our feet with glass.  “How about you?  Have you had a few?  Lou?” She instantly creases over again, bent double in laughter at herself.  “That rhymes, that rhymes!”

“Yes it does,” I nod at her patiently, looking over her head.  “And guess what?  It looks like your guests of honour have just arrived.”

“What?”  Marianne jerks herself up violently, and stares around, dramatically flicking her silky hair back out of her face.  I nod towards the hallway, where just above the group of people milling there, we can see Leon’s head.  Marianne gasps, and then hides herself behind me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh like I said,” she says quickly, “food, water, all that.” She scampers off, and I shake my head, utterly bemused.  I look back towards the hallway, and see Joe pushing through the crowd toward me, with his brothers just behind him.  Joe is looking excited but incredulous, staring around at the masses of people, and the extremely successful party our strange little friend has pulled off.  He is holding a huge bottle of cider and thumps it down on the counter beside me.  I look about, but there is no sign of Marianne now.  “Good to see you,” I tell him with a sigh.  He nods.  He has no idea.  I glance at Leon and Travis, who are both clutching their own booze.  They look like they have made an effort at least.  Freshly shaven and wearing clean shirts.

“Where’s the party girl then?” Leon enquires, spreading his feet apart, setting his shoulders, and claiming his space, as if anyone here would dare consider entering it anyway.  Travis leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle and smiling at me pleasantly.

“Who knows?” I shrug, picking up my own drink.  “She was here a minute ago.” I lift my eyebrows at Joe. “Right little socialite she is these days you know.”

Joe snorts.  “Really?”

“Well let’s get these open,” Leon says, dropping his six pack of Carlsberg next to Joe’s cider, and yanking one free of the plastic wrapping.

“This house is fucking huge,” Travis comments, looking at me.  I nod at him.

“You should see the garden.”

“Really?”

“It’s got a summerhouse,” Joe tells him.  Leon rests his back against the counter next to Travis, folds one arm across his thick middle, and raises his can of beer to his mouth.

“Some people,” he rolls his eyes.  “They don’t know they’re fucking born.”

I am not sure what this really means, but it is one of those sayings I’ve heard my parents say a million times.  Whenever someone they know gets a bigger TV, or a new car, or moves to a better house.  Apparently they don’t know they’re born.

“Lucky bastards,” Travis says, with a lazy grin.  He scans the room then, nodding and frowning in turn at the people he can see.  “Loads here though.”

“I’ve just spotted the food,” Joe says to me, nudging me with his elbow. “Shall we head over there?”

“I’m not really hungry,” I shrug.  “Josh and Ryan are here somewhere.”

“Are you okay Carling?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” I snap at him.  “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Sorry,” grins Joe.  “You just seem weird, that’s all.”

“You would seem weird if you had to spend an entire afternoon being primped and prepared by Marianne!” I hiss at him.  “And then be accosted by the stick insects, having fucking orgasms about how amazing I look!”

Joe snorts again.  He has poured himself a huge pint of cider and has the plastic glass in one hand, and his other hand in the pockets of his jeans.  He is wearing a Radiohead t-shirt.  “Calm down woman,” he says to me, grinning.  “Don’t let the vipers get to you.  They’re just jealous.  You have a personality as well as looks!” He looks me up and down then, and raises his pint at me.  “You do look hot, by the way.  I was scared to react, because I know what you’re like.  Thought you’d kick me in the balls or something!”

Travis leans forward then, over Joe’s shoulder.  “You do look gorgeous Lou,” he says to me sounding scarily sincere.  I just stare at him blankly.  “You really do.”

“All grown up, all of a sudden,” Leon comments, with what passes for a smile on his face clearly visible behind the rim of his beer can.  I shake my head slightly, wanting it all to stop.

“Oh shut up, all of you,” I say in disgust and finish my drink.  They are bloody laughing.  At me.  I could kill them, but then I start to laugh too.  I laugh back, and loosen up a little, and then I get the coldest feeling, tingling across my skin, and when I look back over my shoulder, Marianne is staring right back at me.  From across the room.  They have not noticed her, but she is there.  So tiny, and so dark, maybe she has been creeping in and out of the crowd the whole time.  Maybe she has heard everything.  I swallow down a smile.  I turn back to Joe, and his brothers.  Joe has filled my glass up for me.

“Let’s get fucking wasted Carling,” he says to me then.  “To make up for last night.  You with me?”

I feel somehow naughty and brave, as I let the smile slide across my face, and flick back my straight, glossy locks, and let my mischievous gaze sneak quickly to Travis, and then back to Joe, as I hold up my glass.  Joe chinks his against mine.  “Fucking right I’m with you,” I tell them, and that is that.  I am drinking with the boys.

After that it all starts to get a bit messy.

We drink steadily.  We converse with the crowd.  Josh and Ryan join us.  Marianne keeps her distance.  I am shorter than all of them, so I end up hopping onto the side, so that I can hear them better above the music.  Before I know it I am pretty fucking wasted, and brimming with that obnoxious self-love that only drinking indulgently can bring on.  I feel wonderful, I feel beautiful, and I feel funny.  I feel I am all of these things, as I perch on the side, with all three handsome Lawrenson brothers surrounding me.  Joe is leaning heavily against me.  Every now and again he places his hand on my leg.  It is fine.  We are just friends, and all that.  Like fucking brother and sister remember?  So I take no notice, and I flick back my glossy hair, and laugh out loud at everything they are saying, and I do a fine job of hiding the strange and forceful desire that burns inside me every time he does it.

For the next hour and a half I only spot Marianne in the distance, through the crowd.  I try in vain to call out to her every now and again, to get her over.  But she either cannot hear me, or is pretending not to. Every time I spot her, she is making the rounds, playing the hostess to perfection.  I am proud of her really.  Good on her.  It is a fucking great party.

I find myself laughing with Joe when he retells the guy on the bridge story to Leon and Travis.  Now that I am drunk, it does not seem horrible at all, only funny and wild, and a tale to tell for years to come.  “Back over there tomorrow,” I hear Leon say to Joe after this, and I see a look go over Joe’s face that tells me he is not so sure.  I reel myself in then.  I am so so drunk, but I saw that look.  He doesn’t want to do it anymore, and I know it.  I find myself slinging my arm protectively around his shoulders and resting my head against him.  I hold my glass up to my cheek. It is cold, and I am so hot.  I breathe in and out slowly.  I am suddenly almost incapable of speaking.  So I loll into him, and just watch them, and listen to them.

I watch the easy rapport that passes between Travis and Leon.  They are on the same wavelength, I realise.  They have an obvious mutual respect that Joe by default of being the youngest, does not receive.  Not that they are cruel to him tonight.  They are at his friend’s party after all.  But as I watch them I become aware that they really only see him as a little kid.  Someone to boss around.  Someone to get doing what they want.  I watch them, and I wonder if they love him at all.  If they know him, like I know him.  I wonder so many things World, and it’s worse when you’re drunk isn’t it? Everything crashes through me like a runaway train. Feelings colliding with thoughts, my mood wrenching one way and then the other. My heart trembling within me.

My eyes meet with Travis’ more than once.  In fact, nearly every time I look at him, he is already looking at me.  Talking to Leon, and looking at me.  I still don’t get it.  I’m nothing special.  Surely he could have any girl he wanted?  But in my drunken state I get off on it hugely.  I look back at him, daring him.  I wait for him to make his move, determined to prove Joe wrong.

I am totally hammered by the time Marianne finally decides to join us.  In contrast, she suddenly seems refreshingly sober.  She squeezes sweetly in-between all the boys, asking them if they need a refill, or any food.  “This is Marianne,” I jerk my head away from Joe’s shoulder and announce, with an accompanying hiccup.  “This is her fucking party!” I say this too loud, and Marianne frowns at me smilingly.  I point my glass straight at Leon, who I deem to be the villain in everything.  “So you better give her some fucking respect right?”

They all crack up laughing, even Leon.  Marianne slips in between him and me and looks up at him with a quizzical expression, that lets him know she knows nothing about his reputation.  Except, of course she does.  She has a glass of wine held delicately between her fingers.  She still looks immaculate, and I can see Leon’s eyes giving her the once over.  I drop my other arm around her and give Leon the evil eye.  “Best party ever Marianne!” I tell her, pulling her close.  She smiles at me patiently.  She looks at me as if I am three years old.

“Oh dear Lou, how much have you had now?” she says with a laugh, rolling her eyes at Joe.

“Not enough actually,” I say defiantly, shoving my empty glass at her.  “What else you got for me Sholing?”

“Ooh how about I make some cocktails?” she says suddenly, looking instantly back up at Leon.  “Are you boys up for that?”

“Fucking right,” Leon nods at her, a faint grin pulling at his lips.  He nods at his empties, lined up along the counter.  “Just finished all my beers.”

“Right then!” Marianne puts down her glass and claps her hands.  “Give me a minute.  We need a load of stuff.”

She scoots around the counter, grabbing bottles and glasses and plonking them next to us.  She then pulls open one of the lower kitchen cupboards and drags out a huge glass bowl.  “Do you want something tried and tested?” she asks us breathlessly.  “Or something completely experimental?”

“Experimental!” I say loudly, before anyone else can speak.  “Just chuck in a load of stuff, and we won’t look! We promise!”

“Are you sure?” Marianne looks over her shoulder at the rest of them.  They all nod back or shrug.

“You might want some water first,” Joe whispers in my ear then.  I look him in the eye accusingly.  I realise that I simultaneously want to punch him in the face and kiss him.  I don’t know what is wrong with me.  I let his sweet face warm my heart and smile at him lovingly.

“It’s okay my sweet. I am going to just have one cocktail and then go outside and vomit spectacularly okay?”

“Okay,” he laughs, crossing his arms.  “If you think that is wise.”

“I think that is very wise.  One cocktail first. Then I will go.”

“You really feel sick?”

“I think I really feel sick.  But one cocktail first.”

“Okay,” Joe laughs.  “If you are sure mate.  I will come out and hold your hair for you.  Wouldn’t want you getting carrot chunks in your new do, would we?”

“No we would not.  We certainly would not.”

“You’re well and truly hammered.”

“I am.”

I can feel someone nudging me then, and when I turn in their direction, I find it is Marianne pushing a glass of red liquid into my hands.  I frown down at it, and lift it to my nose to smell it.  “What’s this?”  I ask and for some reason they all laugh at this.  “What?”

“Mystery cocktail you idiot!” laughs Marianne, passing them out. “It was your idea!”

“Oh yeah.  Let’s give it a whirl then.”

I only manage to drink half of it before I experience the undeniable and forceful urge to vomit.  I slip ungraciously to the floor, dragging Joe with me, and find myself bumping straight into Travis, who spills his drink and stares at me.

“Need fresh air, excuse me!” I mutter and push past him.  I feel Joe pull free from my grasp, and it occurs to me to turn back, beg him to come, like he promised to, but I can’t hang about.  If I turn back I am going to throw up in their faces.  So I plough on, pushing urgently through the people, ignoring the school friends who call my name and try to talk to me.  I head for the conservatory, and that is where I feel a rough hand close around my bare arm, and I think thank fuck, it’s Joe, he will hold my hair for me after all.  I let myself be pulled into his side, and he helps me get out of the French doors and into the blissful fresh air of the back garden.

It is only once I am out there, that I realise in foggy confusion that it is not Joe.  Joe is smaller.  It is Travis holding me up.  It is Travis helping me walk.  I kind of pull away from him, feeling stupid and embarrassed and angry all at once.  I head for the flowerbeds and kneel down.  “Leave me alone, you don’t want to see this!” I call out, waving my hand at him, before I hurl my guts up in Mrs. Sholings flowers.

I sit there for some time.  It feels like ages.  Travis held my hair out the way when I was sick, and then let it go once I had stopped.  So I sit there, and wipe my mouth, and breathe in the cold air, and feel my head start to clear, and I stare at my sick, and hope to god he has gone.  When I turn around, I hope to god he is not there.

19

 

Dear World, well the rest of the week is a shitter.  I only get through it by thinking about Friday.  About me and Joe, Marianne, alcohol and a huge fucking party.  My mum watches everything that I eat, and clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes every time I go out of the door for a jog.  “Don’t get any skinnier,” she warns me time and time again, as if it is somehow up to her how thin or fat I am.  “Size ten is small enough.  You don’t want to be any thinner than that.”  I don’t know what to say to her half the time.  How does she know what I want to be?  Why does it matter to her? I just want to be healthy for gods sake.

The strange thing is, I have reached my target weight, my target dress size, and all that.  This is where I am meant to be, this is who I wanted to be.  But somehow it doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.  Instead I feel restless, and on edge.  I feel like I can’t relax, or take my eye of the scales, or the fat will find its way back to me.  Insane and laughable, I know, but I can’t seem to help it.  I am starting to panic about every little thing I eat.  I am starting to worry if my runs are long enough to cancel out what I have consumed.  I am starting to view all meals with suspicion and caution.  It is getting harder and harder to satisfy my mother, without panicking myself into a right old state.  Instead of feeling happy, I am wound up and tense.  I am verging on an argument with almost everyone.  I feel a kind of anger and frustration spinning around inside of me that I just cannot pinpoint or understand.  The only time I feel good, the only time I feel truly at ease and free, is when I am running.  I feel like I am running away from it all World, that’s how it feels, but you know what? I’m not really am I? I’m just running in circles.

Food is increasingly disgusting to me.  Especially the remnants of it.  The leftovers.  The smears and crusts on last night’s dinner plates.  It’s just vile.  It gets to the point when I can barely stand going into the kitchen, in case I see an unwashed plate, or a cereal bowl filled with uneaten brown mush.  Ugh, it’s awful.  That’s when you realise what you have really eaten, when you see the remnants of it like that.  The way tomato sauce darkens and hardens, and you have to scrape it off the plate.  It makes my stomach turn over.  Takeaways are even worse.  I won’t go near these anyway, but mum and Les designate Friday as their takeaway night, and Saturday mornings now reek of stagnant curry, or cold fish and chips.  I can barely stomach the hallway, let alone the kitchen, where I can see the stained plastic containers, and the plate all the leftovers have been shovelled onto.  Looks like a plate full of worms and maggots.  It makes me heave.

I feel like I am going privately insane.  I start to scrawl longer and longer ramblings on my wall, none of which make any sense.  They just serve to express the way I am feeling.  I write about food I have eaten and how it has looked, smelt and tasted to me.  I don’t know why I do this World, or what purpose it serves. I feel alone and scared when I think about how much I used to love chocolate as a child, and how much it horrifies me now.  I bury my head in my arms and sob more than once that week, I can tell you.  The misery of it, the panic and the fear, the self-loathing, it makes me want to punch myself in the face.  It makes me want to smash my fist into the wall, just so I can feel something else for a change.  More and more I think of Marianne, and her razor blade, and wonder what it is she is escaping from when she does it to herself.

Joe is busy with the brats, the dog from hell, and housework.  He is looking forward to letting loose on Friday as much as me, so he does it all for them, he keeps his head down and gets on with it.  He goes back to being their servant, their whipping boy, and their good middle child who never complains nor gives them reason to worry.  I seethe on his behalf.  I cannot wait until Friday night.  I feel like it will somehow be ours.  We will get ours.  Whatever the fuck that means.

Marianne sails through the week on a cloud of excitement.  She buys more food, more decorations, more everything.  She spends hours going through all of our CD collections, trying to decide on an order of play for the night.  She even half considers hiring a DJ, just to get it right, but I remind her that there is no way her neighbours would not complain about this.  I find myself at her house almost every day that week, just watching her, just taking her in, trying to work her out.  I have a lot on my mind, so I don’t say much, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  She just swans about and chatters constantly, and rings lists of people to check and recheck that they are still coming.  She helps me decide what to wear, and we spend one bizarre afternoon trying to straighten our hair with her new hair straighteners.  It seems insane.  It is like ironing your hair, for fucks sake.  Your hair gets so hot it scalds you to touch it.  But I must admit, it makes me look totally and utterly different.  For some reason, I almost smile at my reflection in the mirror when she has finished experimenting.  My hair looks longer, thinner, straighter and glossier.  It looks blonder.  I struggle to recognise myself, and even this makes me want to fucking cry.  Where did I go, I wonder, where did I go?

Thursday night I receive a phone call from Joe.  “Got to make a delivery tonight,” he hisses down the phone at me.  “Are you up for it?”

“Why not?” I sigh back at him.  “Usual place, usual time?”

“Yep.  Thanks Carling.”

After the phone call, I find myself lying on my back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, while my hands caress my hip bones, my stomach, my ribs.  It has an almost hypnotic effect on me.  I go through what I have eaten today, like a list in my head.  Breakfast, coffee and an apple, and a flapjack that I took from the tin to please mum, but then fed to Gremlin when she went out to hang out the washing.  Lunch, mum was at work so I just had a yoghurt, a coffee, and two mints.  Dinner, mum cooked Les’s favourite shepherds pie.  I joined them, but sulked.  I pushed my food around, and I dropped bits under the table for the dog.  I ate about half, then felt grotesque, and came up to my room for a cry.  I punched my pillows and pretended they were my mum’s face, for making me eat that much shit.

Now I feel calm, stroking my fingers across my pelvic bone.  I close my eyes and try to see the old me in my head.  The chubby one.  The chunky one.  The one who liked her food.  Oh she loves her food, mum used to say proudly to relatives.  Never have any trouble feeding her; she’s not fussy at all, no.  You’re bigger boned than your sister, people used to say.  You’ve got puppy fat.  You’ll grow taller and stretch out.  You’ve just developed earlier. It’s puppy fat.  You’re just a different build than your sister.  Last Christmas, Maria’s oldest son James, looking at me like I was a piece of shit on his shoe and saying; is that arse all yours, or have you borrowed someone else’s?  Fuck them, I think now.  Fuck them all. I clench my teeth.  It serves me well to remember these things.

That night I meet Joe and we head to the bridge.  “Someone you know?” I ask him as usual.  He looks unsure.

“It’s the one who got funny.”

I shoot a dark look at him.  “What?”

Joe looks troubled and embarrassed, and has difficulty meeting my gaze. “Well I think it is,” he shrugs.  “I kind of forgot his name.”

“Oh Joe,” I say, slipping my arm through his, and automatically looking around me, into the darkness.  “Is this a good idea?  What if it is the same one?  What if he gets funny again?”

“I’m not handing anything over until he gives the money,” Joe replies, nodding his head at me, as if trying to convince himself.  “That’s what Leon said.  Make them pay first.  Any one of them could take the stuff and leg it.”

“Oh God, I’m worried,” I tell him, helplessly.  “I don’t think we should do it.”

“I can’t back out,” Joe shakes his head.  “But you don’t have to come.  Or you can wait at the bottom of the steps?”

“I can’t let you go up there alone,” I argue.  “Oh Christ Joe, are you sure about this?  Are you really sure this will be okay?”

“It’s okay,” he tells me.  “It will be okay.”

I have no choice but to believe in him.  We keep our arms linked; we keep close together, and start to head up the steps.  Joe is peering into the darkness, trying to distinguish the figure we can just make out up on the bridge.  I can see it is a bloke, a bit on the weighty side, and taller than Joe.  He is smoking a cigarette and walking across the bridge towards us.  “That him?” I whisper to Joe.

“Still not sure,” Joe whispers back.  I look back at the bloke on the bridge.  He has that way of walking that makes me think he is trying to look hard.  That side-to-side swagger.  Leon does it.  All tough guys do it.  Mick does it too.  It’s a ‘don’t mess with me strut’, and I find it menacing and a bad omen.  He shows no sign of slowing down, as he comes upon us, and sucks the last drag from his cigarette before hurling the butt over the side of the bridge and onto the road below.  I look tentatively at Joe and see him swallowing nervously.  I think again to myself, why does he have to do this?  Why?  Why is he so hell-bent on putting himself through this? Is it really for the money, or is it all just to impress his brothers? The bloke stuffs his hands into the pockets of his dark tracksuit top.  He has a hooded top under it, and the hood pulled up over his head.  He instantly sticks his hand out to Joe, practically thrusts it aggressively into his face.  Joe moves back slightly.

“All right mate?” he asks.

“Yeah,” the man says quickly, irritably.  “Come on then,” he nods at his own hand, stuck out towards Joe.  Joe swallows.

“Money first mate,” I hear him say.  It all kicks off then.  It happens so fast I am shocked into a dumb stupor.  The man on the bridge kind of grunts a laugh at Joe, then seizes him by the front of his top, and shoves him back into the railing, pushing him back as far as he can go.  “Hey!” Joe calls out in surprise, but there is nothing he can do to free himself.  I am frozen to the spot in fear.  I watch the guy search Joe’s pockets quickly and expertly, and it becomes horribly obvious to me then that he knows exactly what he is doing, and has in fact planned it all.  “Oi!” Joe shouts again, and I see the guy shove something into his own pocket.  He then thumps Joe in the stomach and lets him fall.  He turns and walks away, without even looking at me.  I am stunned and horrified.  I watch him go.  Then I look back at Joe, slumped against the railing, grimacing and gripping hold of his belly.  “Fucks sake!” he is grunting at me.  I kneel down next to him.  I can feel tears in my eyes.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“We have to get the money!” he hisses, grabbing hold of the railing and hauling himself up to his feet.  I stand in front of him and hold him back.

“Joe no!”

“Lou, he didn’t give the money!”

“I know that, I fucking know that, and you are not going after him!”  I have one arm around his waist, and my other hand holding onto his arm.  If he decides to run after that psycho, he is going to have to drag me along with him.  He rubs his belly and pants in pain, and wipes his hair back from his forehead angrily.

“Fucks sake!” he cries again.  “Fucking bastard!”

“It was gonna’ happen sooner or later,” I tell him, and start to shove him back towards the steps.  “Let’s just get out of here, let’s go.  Let’s never fucking do this again!”

“Lou!”

“Joe, no! He could have fucking thrown you over!” I scream at him suddenly then, giving him a harder shove towards the steps.  “I thought he was going to throw you over!”

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Joe mutter, as he stumbles reluctantly down the first few steps.  I am in a panic.  I am looking back over my shoulder into the darkness, totally convinced that thug is going to come back and have another go.  I cannot get down those steps fast enough.  I just cling onto his arm and drag him along.  He looks properly pissed off, never mind scared like me, just really pissed off.

We reach the bottom step, and I start to breathe a little easier, but all the same, I have had enough of this shit.  I keep hold of Joe’s arm, and march us towards home, looking back over my shoulder every now and again.  I try to remember the guys face, in case I need to, but his hood, and the shadows mostly hid it. I can feel this awful, tight knot of dread in my stomach.  It is making me feel ill.  I keep looking at Joe, and maybe he is trying to save face, being male and everything, because he is just slouching along, hands in pockets, face dark.  “Fuck’s sake,” he says through his teeth as we round the corner to his road.

“Was it the same guy as before?” I ask him then.  He shrugs and nods at the same time.

“Guess he saw me coming, hey?”

“You didn’t stand a chance,” I sigh, trembling now.  “And I don’t even like to think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been there!”

“It’s all right,” he says then softly, and stops walking.  He turns to face me, and looks utterly bereft.  “What a pain in the arse.  What a stupid prick.”  I am not sure if he means the guy on the bridge, or him.  He rolls his eyes up to the night sky for a moment.  “Can’t believe he did that.”

I glance over to his house.  Leon’s car is parked out the front, and the headlights are gleaming.  Joe follows my gaze and releases a heavy sigh.  “Oh great.  Now this is going to be even more fun.”

“I’ll come with you,” I say quickly.  “I’ll tell him what happened.  It’s his own fucking fault! He should be doing his own dirty work!”

“Come on then,” Joe says and starts walking towards the car.  I squint into the glare of the headlights.  I cannot tell if Leon is alone or not.  As we near the car, the engine shuts off and the lights go out.  The driver’s door opens and Leon climbs out, lighting a cigarette.  He slams the door shut and nods at us as we approach.

“Hard night at it?” he asks, amiably enough for him.  Joe and I look at each other, and the knot of fear in my stomach tightens dramatically.  I almost feel that I cannot breathe.

“Shit,” Joe tells him, stopping next to the car.  I keep my arm linked through his, and watch Leon’s dark eyes flick down to me, then back to Joe’s face.  He sucks on his cigarette and breathes the smoke over his brother’s head.  He is waiting.  “Really shit,” Joe says then, biting his lip.

Leon does that thing where he spreads his legs, and squares up.  He is frowning at Joe, waiting.  “What?” he prompts when Joe is reluctant.

“That guy that was funny last time,” Joe tells him, hardly managing to meet his eyes.  “It was him, and he didn’t pay.  He robbed me.”

I watch Leon’s eyes grow wider, and his mouth tightens, his forehead creases.

“He nearly threw Joe over the bridge,” I speak up quickly, and Leon’s dark eyes switch to meet mine.  “He just grabbed him and punched him.”

“He took the stuff and ran,” Joe shrugs sheepishly.  Leon blows out his breath, shakes his head and narrows his eyes.

“You fucking prick,” he mumbles.  Joe makes a face and nods.

“Sorry.”

“That’s all right, I know who the bastard is.  I’ll go and pay him a visit.”

“He could have thrown him over if I wasn’t there,” I feel the need to point out angrily, glaring at Leon, who simply raises his eyebrows at me.

“Lucky you were there then.”

“You can’t blame Joe.”

“What’s with you two lately?” Leon asks, looking back at Joe and gesturing towards me with his cigarette.  A suggestion of a smile tugs at his lips.  “Why’s she always speaking for you?  Something we don’t know about, eh?”

Joe sighs and rolls his eyes and says nothing.  Leon looks back at me and smokes his cigarette.  “My friend Marianne is having a party tomorrow night,” I tell him then.  “For some reason, she wants you and Travis to come.”

“Really?  Okay.”

“I’ll tell her then,” I say stiffly, and I want to get away from him as quickly as possible.  I slip my arm out from Joe’s.  “You don’t have to walk me home,” I tell him, but he shakes his head at me.

“Don’t be stupid.  You haven’t stopped shaking.  Come on.” He steps around his brother, who is merely smiling at us, and takes my arm again.  We walk on, like that, and I feel the strange and enquiring weight of Leon’s eyes on our backs as we go.  I cannot speak.  I can barely breathe.  Everything is just too much sometimes.  Sometimes World, I think this life just makes a big churning mess of my stomach.  A big churning mess.  Just about sums it up, I think, and decide to write it on the wall when I get back.  I’ll draw a picture of me next to it.

“See you tomorrow night?” Joe asks me when I am at my house.  I nod at him silently, wondering if I am in shock or something.  Joe smiles at me tenderly then. “It will be a cool night,” he suggests, and I nod again.  “Don’t worry so much Carling,” he tells me then, as he turns to leave.  “You worry too much.  Everything always turns out all right, you know.  Always.”

I release a shuddering, near tears sigh, as I watch his back walking away.  Hands in pockets, shoulders down.  I wonder how the fuck he can say that, or believe that, after what just happened, but that is Joe.  That is Joe.