by Liz Kessler
“Ha, ha,” I say, trying to smile. “I get it.”
But Cat hasn’t finished. “‘Dylan’s broken up with his girlfriend for me,’ ‘Dylan turned up to see me out of the blue,’ ‘Dylan’s got yellow undies, green socks and —’”
“OK, enough! I said I get it.” I jump up from the bed and turn the music off. Why can’t she ever be serious about things that matter to me? “Why are you being like this?”
“Oh, come on, Ash, can’t you take a bit of gentle teasing?”
Good question. Can’t I? Maybe on this occasion I just wanted her to be serious. For once. Is that too much to ask of your best friend? “Since when is insulting me and my boyfriend ‘gentle teasing’?” I ask.
Cat stares at me. “Since always, mate. That’s me. You’ve known me long enough. You ought to know what I’m like by now.”
She’s right. I don’t know why I’m getting so angry. Maybe because of the atmosphere in this house. Maybe because of all the stuff I’m not talking about. Maybe because I’ve worked myself up so much about Friday. Or maybe because it would just be nice if she could do something other than joke around for once. Either way, she’s wound me up and my insides are coiled tight.
“You’re right,” I say before I can stop myself. “I should know you by now. And to be honest with you, I don’t even know why I thought I could talk to you in the first place.”
Cat pulls herself up from the bed, her voice harsher to match mine. “Well, if that’s how you feel, then why the hell did you?”
“Good question. Maybe because I thought you were my friend. My best friend. Isn’t that what best friends are meant to do? Listen to each other, help each other out with problems, basically be there for each other?”
Cat looks at me for a moment, as if she’s weighing something up in her mind. “Yeah, well, if you thought about other people half as much as you think about yourself, they might want to listen to you. And if you opened your eyes and looked around for two seconds, you might realize you’ve actually got more important things to worry about than your own relationship!”
We’re practically shouting now, and I try to lower my voice. I don’t want Mum to hear all this. “I know that! Don’t you think I know that?”
“I don’t know what you know,” Cat says. “We don’t seem to talk properly anymore. Has it crossed your mind that you might be the one who’s not been much of a best friend lately? You cancel arrangements, you don’t ring when you say you will. All you care about is yourself and your new boyfriend. If you’ve had enough of me, that’s fine because, to be honest, I’ve had enough of you too!”
The shock of her words instantly deflates my anger and my eyes start to sting. Is it true? Have I been that bad? I try to stop her as she grabs her jacket. “Cat, this is ridiculous.”
“No, you’re the one who’s ridiculous. And you’re boring. When you’re not going on about Dylan, you’re staying in reading books or planning lessons with your new friends. To be perfectly honest, I’m bored of you, and I’m bored of your petty problems.”
“Cat, it’s not petty. I need your advice.” I’m openly crying now. “It’s Dylan. He wants to sleep with me and I don’t know what to do.”
We catch each other’s eyes in the silence. Cat sucks in her cheeks. “Well, you want to know what I think?”
“What?” I hold my breath.
“I think you should sort out your own problems. Screw him if you want. And screw you too.”
Then she grabs the door handle and throws the door open so hard it hits the wall. For a second I think it’s going to come off its hinges.
“Cat!” I call across the landing.
“Forget it, Ash. I’ve had enough.”
Mum’s in the hall as Cat reaches the bottom of the stairs.
“Thanks for the offer, Mrs. Walker, but I can’t stay for dinner after all.”
Mum doesn’t say anything. She just watches from the hall as Cat calmly opens the front door and leaves.
I run back into my room and look out the window. Surely she’s not just going to go like that? We’ve had loads of arguments over the years, me and Cat. I know she can fly off the handle at times, and I can be just as bad, but we’ve never argued like this before. It’s always been over something stupid, like she’s broken my straightener or I won’t share my chips with her. But this is different. I can’t even work out how it started. Why is she so angry with me?
Salty tears stream into my mouth and I wipe my nose on my sleeve as I watch her walk to the end of the road and around the corner, out of sight. She doesn’t even look back.
A couple of minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door. It’s Mum. She doesn’t say anything, just sits down on the bed next to me and puts her arms around me. I don’t want to talk about it, and she doesn’t ask. It’s as if she understands me. For once. She holds me in her arms while I cry.
“Do you want to eat, love?” Mum kisses me on my forehead.
I shrug.
“I’ll keep it warm for you. You just let me know if you want it, or if you need anything else, all right?”
I nod. Who is this woman? And where has my mum gone?
She leaves the room, closing the door gently behind her, and I spend the rest of the evening lying on my bed staring at the maroon flowers entwined together on my walls. What’s happening to my life? Everything seems to be going wrong, and I can’t seem to work out how to make it right.
And I still don’t know what I’m going to do about Friday.
“Brilliant, this, isn’t it?” Robyn shouts, beer sploshing out of her glass while she semi-dances, semi-sways over to me. At least someone’s having fun. This is the first time I’ve been in Dylan’s house and we’ve barely exchanged two sentences yet.
“Be with you in a minute,” he said, dashing upstairs the second he let us in. “I left Mum and Dad’s bedroom door open and I just heard a noise up there. Better check it out.”
The next time I saw him, he was dragging some lad with puke all over his T-shirt into an armchair before disappearing again.
I look around the room. It’s quite big. The house has two stories with three bedrooms upstairs and one big room on the first floor. There’s a fireplace with a mantel above it filled with pictures of Dylan at various stages of childhood, some with his parents (presumably) smiling proudly beside him.
The room is divided by an archway. In the back half, a group of lads are sitting at the table, opening cans of beer and raiding the fridge. I spot Luke and call him over.
“Hey, girls,” he says, grinning. “Where’s Cat?”
“Oh, hi, Luke, nice to see you too. I’m fine, thank you!” I snap before I can stop myself. I’m not sure why — either it’s because I don’t like the fact that I have no idea where Cat is, or maybe it’s because I’m stressed about what might or might not be happening tonight. “Sorry,” I add quickly.
Luke puts an arm around my shoulders. “Come on, mate. It’s a party. Let your hair down. Where’s your boyfriend anyway?”
“Good question.”
This whole evening was supposed to be about Dylan and me, and I’ve hardly seen him. I shuffle away from Luke before I can snap at him again. I’m probably best just going home. I grab my bag and start to walk away — although half of me is praying that someone will stop me before I get to the door. The evening might be a washout, but I haven’t got any better plans.
“You can’t go!” A panic-stricken Robyn grabs my arm. “I don’t know anyone except you.”
“You know Luke.”
She blushes again. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Surely everyone knows Luke’s only got eyes for Cat? Or maybe not. I catch him looking at Robyn. Maybe she’s just what he needs to break the Cat habit.
“Hardly,” Robyn says, interrupting my thoughts. “And anyway, I want to hang out with you. Please.”
I give in, relieved, and she drags me back for a dance. Luke joins us on the dance floor: the three-foot-square space between t
he sofas in the front part of the room. He passes me a can of lager.
Robyn and I are soon doing a girl-band-style dance routine when Dylan sidles up behind me.
“You look gorgeous,” he whispers.
“There you are!” I reply as I turn around to kiss him.
He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “Why don’t we go upstairs for a bit?”
A lightning streak goes through my body. Fear? Excitement? This is it. We’re actually going to do it. Am I ready? Do I want to?
He takes my hand, and I follow him up the stairs.
As we stand in his bedroom in the silence, I can hear grunting noises coming from the room next door. Dylan and I look at each other and laugh. Then he lies down on the bed and straightens the duvet next to him.
I sit down by his side. “Look, I haven’t . . .”
“Don’t worry.” He shuts me up by kissing me, and I start to relax. Before long he’s got my top off and is fiddling with my bra. It’s undone in a second.
“You’ve clearly done this before,” I say.
He laughs and I feel uncomfortable, exposed. I grab my blouse and hold it up against me.
“Have you?” I ask.
“What?”
“Done it before?”
“Well, yeah, but not with anyone as gorgeous as you.” He kisses my shoulder.
“How many?”
“How many times or how many girls?”
This is getting worse. “How many girls?”
Dylan looks down and is quiet for a moment. “Four, OK? No, sorry, five. Five, that’s it.”
“Five?” I repeat quietly.
“I am two years older than you. Look, I really like you. I don’t just do it with anyone. I’ve got to really fancy them. And I fancy you like mad.”
I don’t reply and he moves away. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on girls.”
“I do want to,” I say. At least I think I do. No, I’m sure. I move closer to him.
Dylan smiles. “Good. So do I,” he says softly and leans over me. He kisses me really gently and slowly strokes my body. I feel myself relaxing again.
We’ve soon got our clothes off, and I don’t look at him; I’m too embarrassed about my nakedness. And, yeah, OK, a bit nervous about what’s about to happen — but I don’t want him to see that. So instead, I pull him closer and kiss him a bit harder.
After a while, he moves away a little and looks at me. I know what he’s asking, and I give him a quick nod.
Slowly, he pulls himself up and gets on top of me. Within moments, he’s inside me. It feels good. At first. Then he pushes himself further into me and it hurts a little. He stops for a second and looks up. “You OK?”
I nod again. Then I shut my eyes and reach out to kiss him and we carry on. It’s definitely hurting now. Not so much that I want him to stop. Not just yet. For a second, I think of that stupid quiz program that Dad loves — Mastermind — and that thing the guy says, “I’ve started so I’ll finish.” I kind of feel like that, and the thought nearly makes me laugh.
Dylan doesn’t notice. He’s holding himself up on one hand and has the other one on my shoulder. It looks as though he’s doing press-ups. I glance at his face. He isn’t looking at me; he seems in a world of his own now. He’s got his head stretched up and his eyes closed, straining and grunting and pushing harder and faster all the time. My legs are starting to hurt from being so wide apart, and I’m beginning to feel sore inside. OK, I think I’m done now. I hope he’ll finish soon.
A couple of minutes later he suddenly jerks and lets out a loud groan, then flops back down on top of me. He’s heavy on my body. I wriggle a bit and he moves himself over to lie beside me.
“You were brilliant,” he murmurs and kisses me on the cheek. What does he mean? I haven’t done much. Just been there. I don’t answer, and when I next look over, his eyes are closed.
A few minutes later he opens his eyes and grins at me.
I smile back a bit woodenly. Then a thought bursts into my head.
“No!” I’m upright.
“What? What is it?” Dylan sits up too.
“Condoms! We didn’t use a condom.”
“Aren’t you on the pill?”
“Of course I’m not on the pill! I’ve never done it before! Why would I be on the pill?” How could we have been so stupid? “What if I’m pregnant now?” I ask, my voice coming out in a squeak.
He touches my arm. “I’m sure you’re not pregnant.”
I pull my arm away. “What makes you so sure?” I snap. I know I’m being unreasonable but I can’t help myself.
“I don’t know. I just —”
“What about AIDS?” I say quietly. “Or chlamydia or something?”
He laughs. “I haven’t got AIDS! Or chlamydia.”
“You think it’s funny, do you?”
“Ash, I didn’t . . .” His voice trails away. “I’m sorry. What d’you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Nothing.”
We sit in silence for a bit. Our clothes lie on the floor, twisted and inside out. My stomach twists with them. I don’t know what to say to him. I want him to hold me, but I’m not going to ask. And he’s not likely to want to now.
As the darkness of the room closes silently around me, I can hear the music downstairs; it feels like another world.
Dylan reaches out to touch my arm. “Do you want to get up?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“Come on, Ash, don’t be like that. Please. You’re making me feel awful.” He leans over to kiss me and I turn my face away. “What have I done?”
I shake my head. What has he done? What has he taken away from me? What have I given him? I don’t want to be horrible — I just can’t look at him.
“Look, d’you want some time on your own?” he asks gently.
I nod. Of course I don’t.
“OK, if you’re sure . . .” He gets out of bed and starts putting on his clothes. “See you in a bit?” he asks from the doorway.
“I’ll be down soon,” I reply, and he closes the door behind him.
As the darkness continues to build around me, emptying me, I keep telling myself I’m not going to cry. After a while, I get dressed and go to find the bathroom. Staring at myself in the mirror, I wash my face. What I’ve done — does it show?
Dylan is at the bottom of the stairs when I come down; he puts his arms around me straightaway.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“No, I’m sorry. Are you OK?”
I nod and let him hold me for a bit. Then he takes my hand and we go back to join the party.
Robyn spots me and drags me away. “I’ve just been snogging Luke on the dance floor!” she says excitedly. “Where’ve you been?”
“I’ve been with Dylan. So where’s Luke now?”
“Over there, talking to Cat.” Cat! Oh, no. Robyn is so going to get hurt. Why does it feel like my fault?
“Gimme a sec,” I say.
I walk over to Cat and Luke. I haven’t seen her or heard from her since our argument. “Cat?” I say nervously.
She looks at me briefly, then deliberately turns her back and carries on talking to Luke. It feels like an actual slap across my face.
“Fine!” I say and swing away from her, almost bumping into Robyn, who’d followed me over. I’m suddenly tired — of all of it. “I’m going home,” I say to Robyn. As soon as the words are out, I realize how much I mean them. I desperately want to be tucked up, safe and warm, in my bed.
I leave Robyn and go to find Dylan. He’s getting a beer out of the fridge.
“I’ve got to go,” I tell him.
“Babe, really? Is it something I’ve done?” he asks. “You did want to — you know — didn’t you? Please tell me you did.”
“I did, honestly. It’s fine, you’ve done nothing wrong.” I force myself to smile. “It’s me. I’m just tired and I need to go
home.”
“Really?”
“I’ll see you soon, OK? Ring me tomorrow?”
“You sure you have to go?”
“Yeah, I’m knackered.” We both laugh at this, and his face relaxes, relieved.
He comes to the door. “Speak to you tomorrow, then,” he says, leaning over to give me a kiss. I start to walk away.
At the gate, I turn and look back at the house. Dylan’s inside, laughing with Luke. Is Dylan telling him what we did? No. He wouldn’t. He’s not like that.
I glance at the upstairs windows. The bedrooms are dark, the curtains drawn on the evening’s brief secrets.
Dad is still up when I get in. “Your mum’s in bed,” he tells me.
“OK.”
He turns to go into the living room but stops at the door. “Do you want a hot chocolate, love?”
My eyes fill with tears. He used to make me hot chocolate every night when I was little. I realize, yes, that is exactly what I want. “That’d be lovely, Dad, thanks.”
He smiles. “I’ll bring it up to you.”
As I sit in bed in my pajamas, drinking hot chocolate, I look around my room. I gaze at the flowery wallpaper where, if you stare hard enough, it isn’t flowers at all, but people and animals. There’s an old witch-type woman’s face and a monkey that turns into an elephant if you look at it from a different angle.
Then there’s the familiar maroon carpet. It used to be shaggy, but it’s worn almost bald in places now, with felt-tip stains in the corner from years ago that I’ve never managed to get rid of and a faded bit just by the bed where I was sick as a kid. Mum cleaned it up with bleach and accidentally dyed the carpet white. I was ill for a week. Mum and Dad took turns taking time off work to sit with me doing jigsaws and letting me tell them dreadful jokes. They always laughed, too. I can hardly imagine them laughing at anything now.
My bedroom. A collage of my life. It’s so . . . safe.
Finishing off my hot chocolate, I switch the light out and turn to the wall. Almost without realizing it, I start to cry. Gently at first, the tears rolling from the corners of my eyes and falling across the bridge of my nose onto the pillow. I hold my stomach, bury my face in the quilt, and sob until I fall asleep.
