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.

18

 

Dear World, it is far easier than I imagined sneaking out at night! Ha! Makes me wish I had tried it before!  I had been getting worked up about creaking stairs, and shimmying down drainpipes and the like.  But in the end, all I do is come out of my room, creep quietly down the stairs and go out of the front door.  Mum and Les are still up.  I can hear the TV on in the lounge, and the door is shut.  Brilliant.  Easy.

I walk quickly down the road, past the shops and on to Joe’s house.  He is already there and waiting for me on the corner of his road.  He looks pleased to see me, and a huge grin envelopes his face.  We link arms automatically and you know, I just feel good again, despite what we are doing. The nerves and the tension are gone from my belly. My face just wants to smile.  “Well that was piss easy!” I tell him with a giggle.  I feel wired.  I feel alive, and brimming with fear and excitement.  He looks at me, still grinning.

“Told you. Piece of piss.  Parents are too wrapped up in their own lives to notice half the stuff that goes on.”

“Everything okay at your end when you went home?” I check.  He grimaces.

“I copped it from Leon.  He was majorly pissed off after babysitting the brats all day.”

“He can’t fucking complain!” I argue, amazed at his audacity. “You’re doing this aren’t you?”

“I know.  I did remind him of that before he could lay me out.  Seemed to work.”

“Stupid arsehole.”

“Fucking dick brain.”

I laugh at him. “Useless twat faced moron.”

“Vile cunt.”

We carry on like this for a few minutes, before it occurs to me to ask where the hell we are going.  “Just the bridge,” Joe says, his arm still through mine, and his hands in his pockets.

“The bridge to school?” I ask, and he nods.  Our estate Herton, is separated by a dual carriageway from the Somerley estate, where our school is.  Somerley is next to Redford, and the kids from all three estates go to Somerley secondary.  We have to cross the pedestrian bridge over the carriageway to get to school each day. “Why there?” I wonder.

“Just easy,” he shrugs.  “It’s not near anyone’s houses, or shops.  Police aren’t likely to spot you up there, are they?”

“I suppose not. Bit creepy though.”

“Oh this guy is okay,” Joe reassures me as we walk on through the night. “He’s like Leon’s age, or whatever. A real stoner.  Bit stupid actually. It won’t be scary I promise you.”

“Hey,” I dig him in the ribs. “I came to protect you remember?” Joe laughs.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.  My bodyguard right?”

“That’s it.  I’m coming every time from now on.”

“Really?  Why?”

“Why not?” I reply.  “Who cares?”

“My thoughts exactly,” says Joe, with a nod.

Five minutes later we start climbing up the steps to the bridge.  I squint into the darkness and can just make up the figure of a man, loitering up there already.  I know Joe said he was okay, but I can’t help looking down at the road beneath us as we climb higher, and imagining how easy it would be for a psycho drug user to hurl us to our deaths.  I swallow and cling to Joe’s arm, and up we go.  The cars roar by in the darkness under us.  We approach the man casually.  I try not to look at him.  I try to look unconcerned and bored; as if this is the kind of thing I do every day.

“All right mate?” the guy calls out in a gruff voice, as we get closer.  “Brought a friend?”  I look at Joe in fear.  He seems relaxed.

“My bodyguard,” he says, and the guy laughs out loud.

“Oh right yeah! I get you!”

We stop in front of him, and it is all done very quickly and politely.  Joe hands over a small taped up package, and the guy, who I can just make out, has long blonde hair under his hood, hands Joe a note, and that is it.  “See you later man,” the guy says, and slopes off towards the other end of the bridge.  Joe pockets the money, turns around, and back we go.  I look up at him and feel a weird, unexpected surge of pride.

“Well that was easy.”

“Told you. That’s it.”

“You are kind of cool, you know.”

“What?” Joe looks at me, wide eyed with disbelief.  “What did you say Carling?  Was that a compliment?”

I lean into him and punch him in the arm.  I want to tell him I love him, you know, as a friend, like girls tell each other all the time, but I can’t really do that, when he’s a boy can I?  It would sound wrong.  “You’re just cool,” I say instead. “The way you deal with everything.  I’m proud of you.  I like you being you.”

“Oh okay,” Joe smiles at me and laughs as we walk along.  “Whatever that means!”  I want to tell him it means that I can only really be myself around him.  That I feel different around everyone else, like I have to watch what I say, and think about what I do.  Not with him.  I’m just me.  He’s just him.  Why can’t it be that easy with other people?  “Anyway,” he says then, breaking into my thoughts.  “Thanks for coming.  It was nice to have the company.”

“No problem.  I want to be the first to listen to you when you get this fucking drum kit, you know.”

“Deal.”

We walk on in comfortable silence together, arms linked.  Joe tries to give me some of the money when we get back to his, but I refuse.  I don’t need it.  He does.  He needs his bloody drum kit, doesn’t he?  We say goodbye and I head home, feeling better than I have in ages.

 

Dear World, it’s my mum doing her bloody tap tapping at the bedroom door that wakes me up the next morning.  I am rolled up in my duvet, warm and snug.  I do not want to move.  “What?” I call out to her.

“You mobile keeps going off! It’s Marianne! Did you leave it down here on purpose?”

“Oh Christ.” I close my eyes for a moment, and wonder why my guts clench at the thought of speaking to her.  “Okay coming.” I throw back the duvet, my feet hit and floor and I open the door.  Mum is on the landing, holding a cup of tea, and my mobile phone.

“I made you this.”

“Oh thanks.”

“Have some toast or something with me in a minute?” she asks hopefully, as she goes into the bathroom.  I nod at her and go downstairs with my phone in my hand.  I am starting to wish dad would kick off and give her some grief.  At least that would get her off my back for a while.  I go into the kitchen with the phone.

“Hiya?”

“Good morning Lou,” Marianne sounds as cheerful as ever.  “I don’t suppose you are off out for a jog yet are you?”

“Just got up,” I tell her, with a yawn.  “But probably soon I will, why?”

“Thought I could come with you?”

I am perplexed.  “Why?”

“For exercise,” she replies chirpily, “and for fun, and for company! I thought you might get lonely on your runs.  Or do you prefer to be alone?  Just say if you do, I won’t be offended.”  She has given me a chance to say no and get out of this, but I am too groggy and heavy headed to work it out.

“No it’s okay,” I tell her like an idiot.  “You can come.  Shall I meet you on the fields then?”

“Yes, what time?”

“What time is it now?”

“Ten fifteen.”

“Bloody hell.  Okay.  Say eleven fifteen then?”

“Brilliant!” she cries happily. “See you then!”

“Okay. Bye Marianne.”

I chuck the phone on the table and sit down  with my cup of tea.  Just then Les shuffles in, hiding behind his newspaper.  I wonder if he is ever going to have the guts to speak to me.  “Morning?” I say to him.  He lowers his paper hesitantly and looks at me as if he is surprised to see me, or hear me there. He tucks the paper under one arm and gets a cup down from the cupboard.

“Morning Lou,” he says, flicking back his hair.  “How are you today?”

“Wonderful,” I tell him dryly, and he smiles, and turns his back to make his tea.  What a great conversationalist he is! Incredible.  I am blown away by his social skills, and I’m a teenager for fucks sake!  What is his excuse? Luckily mum reappears then, or the silence would have become unbearable.  She starts making me toast.  Does she never go out anymore?

“What did Marianne want?” mum asks me.

“To come for a run with me.”

“Oh.  Right.” Mum is silent for a moment, while she scrapes margarine and marmite onto my toast for me.  She turns and places it in front of me, with this strange pinched look on her face.  She looks tired I think. “But she is so skinny!” she says then, clasping her hands together under her chin.  “She doesn’t need to lose weight either!”  Oh God, now she probably thinks we are in a strange pact or something, a twisted version of weight watchers.

“Mum, running is not just about losing weight.  It’s about keeping fit and healthy.  Keeping supple.”

“Oh,” she says unsurely.  “Okay.” I see her eyes flick down to my toast.  I shake my head.  I pick it up and eat the lot.  Every fucking crumb.  Just for her.  It’s okay, I tell myself as I chew it down.  I will do a longer run.  I will show Marianne what I am made of.  She has no idea what a fucking machine I am.

“Can you take Gremlin when you go for your run?”

“No mum.  It will kill him.  I’ll take him out after.”

 

An hour later I am on the field, doing my stretches as I wait for Marianne.  I see her walking slowly across the field towards me, and when she sees me she lifts one hand in an excited little wave.  I just don’t understand her.

“Ready?” I ask her when she gets to me.  I am thinking about that toast.  I can see it sat in my stomach, starting to digest.

“Oh yes, I’m ready,” she enthuses.  She is wearing a tight pair of immaculate black jogging trousers, and a tight fitting black vest top.  “Can we talk and run at the same time?” she asks, as I take off.  I nod at her.  She can talk if she wants to talk.  “How far do you normally go?”

“Two or three times around the entire field, depending on how I feel. Was aiming for four times today actually.”

“Ooh why?”

“Don’t know.  Just to push it.”

“Oh, I see. Hey guess what?”

“What?”

“I’ve sorted out a party! We are having a party!” I look at her sideways and frown.  She is bursting with this, I can just see.  She is extremely pleased with herself.

“Seriously?  Where?”

“My house!  Like you said! My parents are away next weekend, from Friday until Monday.  They’ve said I can stay in the house, as long as you keep me company.” She flashes me a secretive smile.  “And if we behave ourselves too, of course.”

“Oh right.  I see.  Bloody hell.”

“So we have this week to organise it,” she goes on breathlessly.  So far she is doing a good job of keeping up with me, which is pissing me off.  “It’s got to be the best party ever.  It’s going to be amazing.”

“Brilliant,” I say.  “Can’t wait.”

We are on our second loop.  I don’t talk to her, because it gives me a stitch to speak.  She carries on though, nattering on about this party of hers, and whom she is going to invite, and what music they are going to have.  She seems to think Josh and Ryan can play their music for us.  Hmm.  I just smile and run.  I run faster.  God damn it, she is like a fucking robot.  Keeping up with me on her tiny little matchstick legs, chatting away, barely breaking a sweat.  Unbelievable.  On the third loop I really go for it.  I think of the stupid toast and I picture me as a size eight, and I run faster and faster.  I would normally collapse by now, when I am alone.  Three loops equals a forty minute run nearly.  But I keep going. “Round again?” Marianne questions.  I look at her long enough to see the sweat shining on her forehead.  She runs neatly, I think, little arms bent and pumping up and down, little legs hammering along.  Her black hair tied up in a high ponytail.

“See if we can,” I mutter, and press on.  Marianne keeps up with me.  At one point I swear she even tries to overtake me.  I don’t let her.  I keep up the pace; upping my speed every time I think she is getting ahead of me.  This is madness; I realise and grimace as I run.  We must look like lunatics.  Why are we doing this?

“Oh I give up, I give up!” she finally cries out, and stops running.  She leans down over her knees, hair hanging.  “Christ Carling! You’re trying to kill me!”

I run on a bit longer, then turn around and run back.  She has plonked herself down on the grass, and is panting heavily.  “Sorry,” I shrug at her.  She grins.

“Bit of a pro these days, aren’t you?” she says.  “Not like at school. You really hated P.E, didn’t you?”

I sit down next to her, red faced and sweating intensely.  “That’s different.”

“Can’t wait for this party,” she says, pushing her damp hair back from her face.  “How cool is it gonna’ be?”

“Your parents will go mad if the house gets wrecked.”

“It won’t get wrecked.  I’m gonna’ lock loads of the rooms.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll have the lounge and dining room, conservatory and garden.  That’s plenty.  Want to come to town with me and buy some decorations?”

I shrug.  “Could do.  Have to bring the dog though.  I told mum.”

“That’s okay.”

“How are you going to get booze?”

“Parents have loads,” she says.  “And don’t you think Leon and Travis would get us some if we paid them?”

“You’re going to invite them?” I ask her.

“Of course,” she laughs, looking me in the eye.  “Wouldn’t be a party without them, would it?”

Is she insane?  Is she?

I watch her curiously as she lies back on the grass and folds her arms behind her head.  “Need to make a list,” she says, eyes closed against the sun.  “List of food, you know, party nibbles and stuff, drinks.  Probably need paper plates and cups, because I’m gonna’ lock all mums away.”

“Good idea,” I say, and lay down next to her on my belly.  I pick a piece of grass and stick the end in my mouth for a chew. “What about big burly men to do the door?” I ask her, my tone serious.  She snaps open her eyes and frowns at me.

“Are you serious?”

“Depends who you’re inviting,” I shrug at her.  “Depends if things kick off. You saw what happened at Hogan’s party.”

“Yes, and we all know whose fault that was, don’t we?” she smiles at me, licking her lips, as her eyes narrow to slits.  I roll my eyes.

“Ha fucking ha.  I did nothing wrong.”

“I am only joking,” she giggles, touching my arm briefly.  “I won’t really need security will I?”

“Just call the police if things get out of hand,” I suggest.  “Or have a word in Leon’s ear if you’re so determined to invite him.”

“Oh yes I am,” Marianne rolls neatly onto her side, props herself up on one arm, and grins at me.  “Well you can, can’t you?  You can tell him, or get Joe to tell him.  They’ll all come won’t they?”

“I expect so,” I sigh.  “And I expect you will end up regretting it.”

“No chance,” Marianne shakes her head at me.  “Come on Lou, we need to get showered and changed and get shopping! So much to organise!”

 

That afternoon is a strange one, World.  I meet Marianne again when we have both been home to shower and change.  She is adamant that we do not invite Joe on our shopping trip.  We are having ‘girly’ time apparently, whatever that is.  We catch the bus with Gremlin, and spend the rest of the day traipsing around town.  Marianne keeps her arm linked through mine the whole time, which I cannot help but find slightly unnerving.  I keep thinking back to when we were all stoned.  How her face changed when I told her Joe had kissed me.  How sarcastic she was after that, going on about my diet and stuff.  I can’t relax, as we shop.  I keep expecting her to change again, and come at me with her smiling sarcasm.  She doesn’t though.  She is like the best girlfriend I never had at school.  Friendly and attentive, excitable and genuine.  I would have really enjoyed it if I hadn’t been so on edge the whole time.  She buys paper plates and cups, tons of frozen pizzas and crisps and dips.  I wonder where she gets the money, but don’t ask.  I am just mystified by her as we shop.  She even buys plastic tablecloths, balloons and bunting for fucks sake.  I can see her having a career as a party organiser when she leaves school.  She would be great at it.  But I don’t like to tell her that the balloons and bunting will be totally lost on most of the people she is intent on inviting.  Bless her.  Let her discover that for herself.

 

Obviously it falls to me to invite Joe’s brothers.  I have to break the news to him first, of course, which I do later that evening, when we meet up for another walk across the bridge.  This time we have to go right across the other side, and knock on the door of the first block of flats on the Somerley estate.  A skinny girl in tiny shorts and a huge hooded jumper, opens the door smoking a cigarette.  She wears her hair in a high ponytail, and is plastered in makeup, but I have a horrible feeling she is actually about forty-five or something.  She has vicious eyes, so I hang back behind Joe as he passes over the package wordlessly.  She takes it, unwraps it, for fucks sake, right there in the doorway, sniffs it, and then stuffs it in the pocket of her jumper.  She looks Joe up and down, and for a terrible moment I fear she is just going to slam the door in his face and not give him the money.  “Bit young for this kind of shit, ain’t you love?” she asks him, as she presses the money into his waiting hand. “I got a boy your age.  I’d have a fit if he was doing what you’re up to.”

Joe just smiles and turns away.  “Night then,” he says to her as we leave.  I try to stifle my giggle until we are far from the flats.

“Oh but it’s okay for her to be taking that shit?” I ask him, laughing, as we head back to the bridge.  “Her poor kid!”

“She looks familiar,” Joe says with a shiver.  “Bet he goes to our school.”

“Fucking hell.  Hey at least our parents aren’t druggies Joe!” I am still giggling.

“There are many things they could be that are worse, I suppose,” he agrees, with a wry grin.  “We should look on the positive side. Hey, how is the infamous Les anyway? My mum keeps raving on about what a gentleman he is!”

I snort with barely contained laughter. “That is so ridiculous.  Typical of your mum.  Anyone who is not a stocky dwarf with a smashed in face is obviously a gentleman!” We both look at each other and laugh again.  “Oh he’s all right,” I shrug, when the hilarity has subsided.  We are crossing the bridge again.  “He just keeps to himself.  He’s like the fucking invisible man or something.  He has nothing to say.  No opinions or questions.  He just has the paper in front of his face the whole time.”

“Weird,” nods Joe, hands in pockets.  “But he’s nice to your mum and everything?”

“If you can call being an utter dullard nice, yeah.”

“At least he stays out your business. He’s not trying to tell you what to do or anything.”

“Oh no.  Think he’s scared of me actually.  Think teenagers freak him out, or something.  I should probably have some fun with him.  Start telling him all my intimate problems, or something.”

Joe digs me in the side with his elbow.  “What fucking intimate problems have you got Carling?” he demands.  I look at him in mock anger.

“Oh you mean besides being a secret drug dealer, and having a best friend who may very well be my worst enemy?”

Joe looks at me, open-mouthed.  “You better not mean me!”

“Course not dumb arse.  I mean Marianne.”

“Oh right.  Why?  What’s she done?”

“Oh nothing,” I sigh, looking down at the bridge as we cross back over to our side.  “She’s just hard to read sometimes.  I can never quite tell if she is taking the piss out of me, or not.  You know.”

“Well I think she’s a nutcase.  She gives me the creeps half the time.”

“She’s got some sort of crush on your brothers,” I tell him then, nudging him with my own elbow.  He frowns down at me in confusion.  I nod, giggling stupidly.

“You’re joking?”

“She’s having a party,” I tell him.  “On Friday night at her house, and it is her explicit instruction that I invite you, and you bring your brothers.  Her explicit instruction I tell you.”

Joe is frowning deeply at me, walking along with his hands deep inside his pockets, and shaking his head at me in disbelief.  “That’s insane,” he reasons.  “Why the hell does she want them at her party?  Is she mad?”

“She’s intrigued by them, apparently,” I tell him with a shrug. “Don’t ask me Joe, I have no idea what goes on in her mind.  I only know she’s having a party and she wants them there.”

“She’s asking for trouble,” he says then, looking back at the bridge and the steps as we approach them.  “One way or another.”

“It’s up to her.  I have tried to warn her.”

“Who else is she inviting?”

“Well us, and Josh and Ryan, and people from school I suppose.”

“Hmm.  Should be interesting. Okay, I’ll tell them. Count me in.  Definitely count me in.”

I nod okay, look forward to telling Marianne, and we go down the steps on the other side.  “This must be nearly over by now?” I ask Joe then, looking up at his face in the moonlight.  I have stopped growing, but he is getting taller.  He makes a face.

“They say so.”

“But what does that mean?  Like, how many more trips?”

“I don’t know Carling.  You don’t have to keep coming you know.”

“I like coming, stupid.”

“Well they say it’s nearly all gone.” He lifts and drops his shoulders before releasing a huge yawn.  “So it must be.  Then that is that.  Thank fuck.”

“Will you miss the money?”

“Nah.  I’ll get another job.”

“Will you miss them needing you?  Being nice to you?” I smile wickedly at Joe as he glares sideways at me.

“They don’t know how to be nice to anyone Carling,” he reminds me. “So don’t worry about that.”

“It’s not really their fault,” I tease him.  “They weren’t brought up properly.  They can’t help being total turds.  Blame your mother.”

“Oi.”

“Oi what?  It’s true! People are not born bad you know.  We all start off the same.  Innocent babies.”

Joe snorts at this.  “Mum says Leon was never innocent.  She says he had an evil glint in his eye when he was a baby.”

“I can believe that actually.  So anyway, what was all this crap you were saying before, about them being your real brothers and that?”

“Well they are,” Joe shrugs.  “They are my real brothers.  The others are half brothers.”

“So what though?”

“I just meant that if I had to choose one pair over another, I would choose my real brothers.”

“Even though they’ve always treated you like shit?” I ask incredulously, unable to understand how he could choose two thugs over two sweet little boys.

“Yeah but they’re my real brothers,” Joe says again, as if it is not getting through to me.  “They might be horrible, but they are my real brothers.”

“Yeah but Tommy and Will are just little kids,” I argue with him.  “They’re sweet, and innocent and all that.”

“No they are not!” Joe cries back vehemently.  “They’re just as vile Carling! Just because they are little does not make them sweet and innocent.  They’re conniving little shits!  You have no idea.  They’ll do anything to get us in shit, I’m telling you.”

“All right, calm down idiot,” I tell him, grinning, but I reach out and touch his arm as well.  “You don’t need to tell me.”

“Sometimes I think even mum would wish us older three away so she can just have her nice new family,” Joe says this sneeringly, and I feel awkward, and get the feeling he has thought about this a lot over the years.  “She says she can’t wait for us to move out, often enough.”

“She doesn’t mean it, you idiot,” I say, shoving my arm through his and leaning my head on his shoulder.  “She loves you really.  Come on, cheer up.  Think about this party on Friday!” I jog him and he looks down and rolls his eyes at me.

“Ah don’t even…that party is going to be a fucking nightmare.”

“It’s going to be hilarious Joe,” I tell him, resting my head back on his shoulder.  We are nearly home.  We have walked past his house, as he insists on walking me home first.  He is silent and subdued, his hair hanging down over his eyes, as we stop next to my front garden, and I pull my arm free from his.  For some reason then, I just cannot bear the sad look on his face, so I reach up; I go up on tiptoe, and plant a kiss on his cheek.  He looks instantly embarrassed and shocked, so I turn quickly, smiling, wondering what I have done.  “Night Joe,” I say, and he says nothing.  Just stands and watches me go in quietly through the front door.

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

Dear World, I think we all sleep for a while. Joe peels himself up from the floor around mid-day.  He looks a mess, I think, gazing at him from my deck chair.  His hair is getting too long, and it is all stuck up everywhere.  His eyes look a bit red, and his clothes are crumpled.  “Better go home then,” he mumbles dejectedly.  I am not capable of saying much in way of comfort.

“Probably a good idea,” I tell him instead. Marianne does not move from where she is lying on the floor, with her eyes closed, and her hands laced together on her stomach.  Her top is riding up enough to show us her belly button.  Joe yawns as he opens the door.

“You still gonna’ come meet me like you said?” he asks me, in a lower tone.  I nod at him in reply.

“You bet I am.  See you then.  Good luck.”

“Yeah.  Thanks.”

When he has gone, Marianne’s eyes snap open and fix on mine. “You’re going with him?” she asks, incredulously.  “You’re gonna’ help with the drug deals?”

“I’m just going with him,” I shrug irritably. “I don’t want him going alone.”

“He’s a big boy, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying,” she sits up then, and shrugs.  “You do baby him a bit, you know.” I just stare at her, wondering what the hell she means and where this is coming from?

“No I do not!”

“Okay, calm down,” she says, holding her hands up apologetically. “Don’t bite my head off. I just meant that he’s managed this far on his own, so why do you suddenly feel the need to go with him?”

“Because he nearly got his arse kicked by someone the other day.  I don’t want him to get hurt do I?”

“So what are you going to do? Protect him?” I glare at her angrily, trying to let her know she is pissing me off, but all she does is smile in that calm controlled way of hers, as if nothing touches her, nothing breaks through.

“Come too, if you want,” I say to her, wondering if this is what upsetting her.  She just wrinkles her nose at me.

“No thanks.  I’m not doing the dirty work for those idiots.”

“What’s your problem then?  What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing is.  Don’t be so touchy.  You are so unbelievably touchy.  Especially when it has anything to do with that family.  Do you want some lunch?” Marianne pushes herself up from the floor, and shakes back her dark hair.  I look up at her, and feel totally confused.

“No thanks,” I tell her.  “Just a coffee.”

She rests one hand on the door and smiles at me sweetly.  “Oh well done you. Still on the diet, eh?”

I bite my lip for a moment.  “Sorry,” I say then, looking at her carefully. “I probably am a bit touchy about Joe.  He kissed me yesterday.  On the lips.” I see it then.  I see it in her face, and there is not a damn thing she can do to hide it, though she tries fucking hard, I can tell you.  Her face changes.  Her face falls.  Her eyes harden.  It pisses her off.  Then she cracks a massive smile. And I wish I hadn’t said it.

“Well aren’t you the popular one?” she asks, opening the door. “First one brother, now the next?  Bet you’ve got your eye on Leon, really, though?”

“Don’t be disgusting,” I tell her. “I haven’t got my eye on any of them, least of all that moron.”

“Look, I’ll be back in a minute.  You can tell me all about it.” She goes out, closing the door with a gentle bang behind her.  I sit back, slightly triumphant, but also weakened.  She’s cleverer than me.  There is something about her, I think then.  Something that lets you know she could destroy you if she wanted to.

 

While she is gone, I sit in the deck chair and seethe with paranoid insecurities.  I feel like a dick for telling her about Joe kissing me.  I really wish I hadn’t said it like that now.  Why the hell did I do that World?  Say something that I immediately wished I hadn’t? What is wrong with me sometimes? I wish I hadn’t smoked the weed either.  That was stupid too.  Suddenly I feel horribly self-aware, almost transparent in my crapness.  Why did I say it like that?  Like a fucking brag?  Idiot.  What is wrong with me?  I sit there and wait for her to return, and fear what is running through her tidy little mind right now.  I see myself sat in the deck chair, a wasted, gibbering wreck of a person.  I tell myself that apart from Joe, who is a boy, I have no real friends.  I’ve never had any real friends who are girls! I realise this with a crushing pain in my belly.  Idiot.  Loser.  Freak.  Now I’ve gone and pissed off the one girl who could have been my friend. Christ World, what if she secretly hates me? What if she is really one of those, what do you call them? Frenemies, that’s it, that’s what they call them! I don’t think I could deal with that. I know I couldn’t.

 

I try to shake myself out of it, when Marianne returns with a bag of crisps, a mars bar and a massive salad sandwich.  She passes me a huge coffee silently, and kicks the door shut with her foot.  I take the coffee gratefully and wonder if she has spat in it.  She tucks herself up on the other chair with her feast of a lunch.  I look at it, my mouth dry.  I wonder helplessly if she is doing it on purpose.  Lucky bitch can eat whatever the hell she wants and never put on weight.  She doesn’t even have to exercise either.  She was born tiny and will always be tiny.  I sigh, and drop my head into one hand.  “You okay?” she asks me.  I nod and groan.  “Bit wasted?”  I nod again.  That’s for sure.

“Shouldn’t do it really,” I tell myself, speaking out loud.

“Sorry I said that, about you babying Joe.  You’ve known him your whole life.  I suppose it’s like looking out for a brother or something.”

I raise my eyes from my hand to look at her.  She is nibbling delicately at her sandwich.  “Mmm,” I say, half of me wanting to giggle for no reason whatsoever, half of me wanting to just cry.

“So,” she says, opening her crisps up.  The sharp smell of salt and vinegar hits my nose, and makes my tongue sweat.  “Tell me all about this kiss then.  The kiss from Joe, that is.  Not Travis.”

I can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or not.  Feigning fake interest.  I rub viciously at my temples with my hand.  I swear I can feel her bright eyes piercing right through me.  Just paranoid, I tell myself desperately. “Oh forget it,” I sigh. “I don’t even know why I mentioned it.”

“Because you were dying to tell me, obviously! Bet you couldn’t wait to get the chance.” Again, I feel like she is angry with me, but I am not sure why.

“Well it was nothing.  Just a kiss.  He took me by surprise.  He wasn’t thinking straight.  He was upset because Mick stamped all over his CD’s.” I lift my shoulders in a weary, halfhearted shrug.

“Mick stamped on his CD’s?”

“Yeah. Long story.”

“So he got upset and tried to kiss you?” Marianne asks, holding a large crisp up to her lips, and then flicking her tongue at it.  I nod slowly.

“Stupid idiot,” I say, with a weak grin.  Marianne lashes the crisp with her tongue again.

“Well, maybe he actually likes you. Maybe both of them actually like you.” I just look at her.  I can’t work out the expression on her face, and it unnerves me, or am I just getting incredibly paranoid? I’m not going to tell her what Joe said about Travis, no fucking way.  I decide to change the subject. That seems the best plan.

“Well anyway, I’m going with him tonight.  Fuck it.  I’m fed up of being such a good girl the whole time.”

“Ooh listen to you!”

“Well, it’s true.  It’s always been the same.  Me and Joe have always been the quiet ones in our families, you know?  The rest cause all the drama and we just stay good and quiet.”  I take a sip of the scalding coffee.  She has made it good and strong, just the way I like it.  I try not to look at the half eaten sandwich on her plate.  I try not to remember what bread tastes like.

“Hey if you can’t rebel when you’re sixteen, when can you?” she asks.

“Exactly.”

“So what’s the plan?  How does it work?”

“I don’t know really.  I’m going to sneak out at eleven and meet Joe at the end of his road.  Don’t know after that.”

“You don’t know where you’re going?  Who you’re meeting?”

“He says it’s someone he’s met before, so it should be okay.”

“Christ,” grins Marianne, slowly licking another crisp.  “You are brave Lou.  I don’t think I would want to mix with people like that.”

“So who the hell did you get the weed off then?  You haven’t told us that.”

“Oh it was just Ryan, you idiot,” she laughs at me scornfully. “He always has weed, you know that.”

“Didn’t actually.  Didn’t know he always did.”

“He says it helps him be more creative,” Marianne shrugs. “You know, with the band or whatever.”

“Really should listen to them some time,” I murmur.

“You should,” she nods.  “They’re not too bad actually.”

“Since when have you seen them?”

“Oh I don’t know, just sometimes, you know when you two are busy.” She meets my eyes with a sunny smile, and again I can’t read her.  It’s her voice you see.  She generally says everything in the same sweet, calm voice, as if everything just sort of thrills and pleases her, as if everything is just great.  But her eyes give it away.  If you look at her eyes you can just about tell when she is being sarcastic, or ironic, or whatever.  “We need another party,” she tells me then.  “You need to sort that out.”

“Me?  How am I meant to?”

“Another one like the one Leon and Travis asked us to. That was the best night.  This holiday is getting dull.  We should be at parties every week!”

I shake my head at her, frowning.  “That was not the best night, that was a fucking horrible night.” Marianne giggles at this.  “Anyway, you’re the one with the big fuck off house, can’t you have one here?”

“Hmm,” Marianne touches her chin thoughtfully. “Maybe.  I’ll have a think.  It could be done, couldn’t it?”

“Don’t see why not.”

“And I could invite Leon and Travis.”

“Okay.  But why would you want to?”

“I told you before,” she laughs, finishing her crisps and screwing up the empty packet.  “They intrigue me! They all intrigue me.  Doesn’t anyone intrigue you Lou?”

“Yeah, you.”

“Really?” she throws back her head and laughs deliciously at this.  “Now that is funny! But true?”

“Course its true,” I tell her warily.  “You’re a fucking enigma.”

“I can never tell when you’re being serious you know.”

“I can’t with you either.”

“Oh well, maybe we will just intrigue each other then!”

“Yeah, maybe.  Look I better go actually.  Got to squeeze a jog in somewhere today.”  I get up from the chair, drink the last of my coffee and place the mug down on the floor.  Marianne is just silent for a moment, curled up in her chair, with her feet tucked under her, and her fingers stroking her chin.  In my wasted state I see her as some kind of evil genius, plotting extreme damage.

“Well off you go then,” she says sleepily.  “Can’t get in the way of Lou Carlings bid for the perfect body, can we now?” I just raise my eyebrows at her. “Have you got a new target weight in mind then?”

“No, just want to stay like this,” I say, trying not to sound as defensive as I feel. “I don’t want to put it all back on again, do I?”

“God no,” she agrees quickly.  “That would be awful.  And so many people do that, don’t they?  Pile it all right back on again as soon as they relax.”

“Well, not me.  No way.”

“Good for you.  You go for it.  You’re looking so amazing now.  Didn’t have all these boys after you before did you?” I stare at her. I bite my lip.  I feel hurt and anxious and I want to get the hell away from her, but she just smiles up at me, that sunny sarcastic smile.

 

I wander back home in a dreamlike state.  World, how can I explain that I feel hurt, somewhere inside me, but I don’t know why? For some reason this feeling makes me want to find my mum and crawl onto her lap. Then I get even more worked up and insecure in my own company, and that is not good.  I walk along, and I am sure I can feet the fat of my thighs rubbing together as I do.  That can’t be good.  I place a hand against my belly every now and again, picturing Marianne’s hard flat stomach in my mind.  I may have lost weight, but I am still all flabby and wobbly everywhere, how do you get rid of that?  Oh Christ.  I feel like shit.  I feel like I want to shrink down small so that no one can see me.

I push open the front door and pause immediately.  The kitchen door is closed.  The kitchen door is never closed, unless people are having private conversations in there, and true enough, I can hear the murmur of voices coming from the other side of the door.  Curiously, I close the front door quietly so that they don’t hear it.  I tiptoe towards the kitchen door.  I can hear my mum and my sister, which totally freaks me out and confuses me.  Is she back?  What the hell?  I reach out to open the door, but freeze when I hear my mum say; “she’s taking it too far now Sara.  Jogging every day.  Hardly eating at all.” Oh right.  Okay then.  It’s back to this again, is it?

“Okay, okay I’ll have a word with her about being sensible,” my sister agrees reluctantly.  I press the side of my face against the door and try not to breathe too loudly.  I am outraged, but also enthralled.  I have never, ever overheard a conversation about myself before now.  I would have a hard time believing that anyone talked about me ever, before this.  What would there be to say?

“What with the drugs and everything, I’m at my wits end!” my mum is exclaiming to my sister.  She does sound anxious; I’ll give her that.  Funnily enough, this does not make me feel guilty, which is odd, because it should do really shouldn’t it World? My mum is a good person, and I have caused her stress. For some reason though, I just feel vicious and smug and snarly. “Her and Joe seem to be running wild at the moment, or that’s what your dad thinks anyway.  I don’t know.  I don’t know what to say to her.”

I decide that is enough.  I don’t really want to hear anymore through the door about what a delinquent I suddenly appear to be.  I open the door and they both look up in surprise from the table.  “It’s okay,” I say.  “You can carry on.”

“Lou…” my mum says, her hand reaching across the table for me. “I am just worried about you. I thought Sara could help.”  I look coldly at my sister.

“Are you back then?”

“No, no, I’m still living with Rich.  Just came to see mum.”

“Oh,” I nod, and turn out of the room.  “Okay then.”  I head up the stairs, and become aware that someone is following me.  It is Sara.  She follows me into what used to be our bedroom, and closes the door behind her.

“Don’t worry about mum,” she says warmly, perching on the edge of my messy bed.  “She’s just being a huge drama queen as usual.  I’ve spent the last few hours convincing her that all is fine with Rich and me, and so now she’s turned her anxiety onto you.  Sorry.”

“What’s she even on about?” I complain, looking around the floor for my running clothes. “Bloody bollocks.  I eat loads!”

“You sure?  You’re definitely looking slimmer again.”

“Well fucking good!” I explode at her suddenly, facing her. “Who wants to be fucking fat their whole life?  Jesus Christ.  It’s got nothing to do with her at all.”

“Okay, okay,” my sister makes a face and holds up her hands.  “Calm down.  Don’t shoot the messenger.  I just said I’d make sure you were being sensible.”

“Oh God,” I groan, holding my hands over my eyes for a moment. “You lot are priceless. None of you gave a shit when I was too fat did you?  No one worried about that being healthy or sensible, which it wasn’t!”

“True,” Sara nods at me.  “Okay then.  Calm down.”

“Well it’s all right for you,” I tell her.  “You’ve left.  You don’t have to be surrounded by all this pointless shit all the time.”

“She says dad was okay about Les?”

“She says that.  Who knows?  Who cares?”

“Well, if you ask me, she’s just looking for trouble…”

“Sara do you mind?” I find my jogging trousers on the floor, pick them up and shake them off. “I’ve got to go for a run, before she tries to force feed me a fucking doughnut.  You can go and tell her I’m fine.”

“Okay, okay,” my sister says, getting up.  “Do you want to come by the flat and see me and Rich some time?  I gave mum the address and number.”

“Yep,” I say, not looking at her.  “Whatever.”