by Anna Bloom
“She seems pretty sensible to me.” Matthew took a sip of his pint. There wasn’t a thing he did that wasn’t sexy. Even drinking. I wanted to crawl into his lap and curl up and purr my contentment.
“You’ve only seen her three times and you’ve been lucky enough to be granted best behaviour.” I shook my head. “Just this the other week she got suspended for graffitiing the walls of the school with ‘Boys are Wankers'. I used my fingers to air quote.
“To be honest, Ron, at that age they are.”
“I think it’s this triangle she’s got going on with Annabelle and that boy.”
“That boy?” He smirked over the edge of his glass and I dropped my head into my hands.
“I sound like my mother. I’m doomed.”
“Who sounds like their mother?” Matthew and I both startled at the voice next to our table.
“Ange?”
She pulled out a chair. Her cheeks were pink, but she held her body straight. “Did you think I’d miss my goddaughter’s birthday? I went to the house, but she said you were here.”
“But…” I glanced at Matthew whose lips pressed into a firm line.
“Oh, stop sucking lemons, Matthew. I’m sorry, okay? I know I’ve cocked up, but I’m sorry.” She stared at him.
Matthew let out a small sigh and I tried to think of anything I could say to my best friend.
Coming up blank, and not wanting to unleash a can of ‘awkward worms’ in the middle of the pub, I asked, “What was happening at the house?”
Matthew’s stare on my face became a little more direct.
“Oh nothing. Lots of giggling—that’s how I knew you weren’t there.” Matthew tutted and she turned her darting gaze onto him. “Shall we clear the air so Matthew can stop tutting and huffing like a bull in a ring?”
“Ange, it’s not that straightforward. You lied, a lot.”
Her bright red lips puckered together, but she lifted her hands, palms up. “Okay. If Matthew here can tell us one hundred percent that if I’d told him you were interested in him he’d have acted on it, I’ll leave you two alone and walk out the door now.”
“Ange! Come on. Don’t be so dramatic.” I stared at her, my heart thumping a little too fast. She wasn’t for real, was she?
“No, I mean it. If I’m the bad guy, let’s have it all out. Matthew?” She turned for him. “If I’d told you back at uni that Ronnie was wildly and depressingly in love with you, would you have done anything about it?”
“Ange! You don’t know what was going on. It’s not that straightforward. There were other things going on in the background. His dad wasn’t well, it was a difficult time.”
Ange shook her head at me slowly. “You are so blind when it comes to him.”
“Angela.” His shout made me jump five inches out of my seat and I ducked my head down when other drinkers in cosy corners glanced over at us. “That’s enough. But fine, we accept your apology.”
I’m sorry. We what?
She sniggered. “We now are we?”
“Ange, please. Can’t you be happy for me, for us? It’s taken us so long to get here.”
“Oh, my friend, I am happy for you, very much so. I just hope it lasts. You’ve already had one man make you miserable.” I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up. “Oh, don’t act so surprised. All this guilt you carry around, feeling so awful that you’ve been in love with Matthew all these years. Do you think Paul didn’t know that? I can assure you he did.”
“Angela, please?” I reached my hand for her. “Please don’t be like this; don’t be bitter.”
“No, Ronnie. You don’t be like this. All these years we’ve been together, been the very best of friends and you act like I don’t know what’s going on with you.”
“You’re just like my mother. You ignore my problems like they're a joke.”
“No! Ronnie. You ignore your problems. You always have and you leave everyone else in the dark while you do it. You are just like your mother. The sooner you see that the better.”
“I do see it,” I whispered. “I do.” I cleared my throat. “But the other day you said that you’d been the only one there for me, but I see now that wasn’t true. Matthew has always been there for me too. He even came after Paul died and you sent him away.”
“Because he’s going to break your heart, Ronnie. Worse than Paul ever did.”
“That’s not true. I made Paul that way by telling him about Matthew.”
I couldn’t look up into his face. Couldn’t see the questions there.
“Can we leave it, please,” Matthew said, curt and crisp.
My phone rang in my bag and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until I looked at the screen and saw Hannah’s name flashing with ominous persistence. I turned to Ange. “You were at the house? Everything was okay?”
“Yeah, loud, lots of laughing, but it was still standing and there wasn’t smoke billowing out of the windows.” I categorised this quickly on Ange’s ‘Successful Party Scale’ and then shrugged.
“Just answer the phone. What’s the worst that can have happened?”
What’s the worst that can have happened? It could flop, her friends could all decide to leave and go somewhere better, cooler; that boy, Jackson could have made her cry and she’d hit him in the nuts…
I dragged in a breath and Matthew held his hand out for the phone. Ange’s mouth fell open and she stared him down like they both stood on opposing sides of no mans’ land.
“Here?” Matthew gestured again.
“It’s okay.” My chest refused to allow air into my lungs. “I’m used to dealing with things by myself.”
He smiled, the most adorable little upturn of his mouth. “You forget I’m here.”
Ange made a gagging noise but zipped it when levelled with my killer glare.
“No really, it’s fine.”
I stabbed at the screen with my index finger and answered. Listened. Listened some more. Then with the reflexes of a cat I straightened from my chair and grabbed my bag. “We'll be there in five.”
My we was a loose descriptor for our table of discomfort.
“What’s going on?” Matthew shot from his seat, Ange not far behind.
“If it’s a boy,” she said, "I will break his kneecaps."
“Annabelle and another girl are drunk and locked in the bathroom and apparently there are people there that Hannah doesn’t know. Sixth formers or something.”
Ange nodded, calculating the facts. “Cool party.”
“Okay, you can’t stay if you aren’t helpful.”
“Sweetheart, no one cleans up sick like I do.”
I pursed my lips. She had a fair point.
“Okay. But I still haven’t forgiven you.”
She ejected a laugh with too much force into the air. “Maybe I haven’t forgiven you.”
The music pounded from the house; the bricks were almost vibrating. Mrs Eccles from next door shook her head at me as we walked up the path. Great, that would be another bunch of roses tomorrow.
“Okay.” Matthew held my elbow. “I’ll deal with the older kids and get them out. You two sort out the drunk girls.”
I stared in horror at the house. This was not a few friends over for a Saturday night. What the hell would Ma say?
“Uh, okay.” I eyed the front door. I mean no one could make me go in there. I didn’t want to be the grown up anymore.
“Ronnie?”
I stared at Matthew, not really focusing on his face. “She’s gone too far this time.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “It’s okay, we can sort it all out. There’s no need for this to be a big thing.”
“This is my fault though; she doesn’t respect me.”
“Ronnie, it’s fine.” Leaning in, he planted a kiss on my head. “Don’t overreact, you’re an amazing mum.”
I laughed but it twisted and knotted.
He reached into my pocket and grabbed out the keys. “Angela? We will need to ring parents an
d get them to come and pick up their kids.”
“Oh God.” I shrivelled up into my coat. “I’m going to have to tell parents that their underage kids got drunk in my house while I left them all unsupervised to go out with my new boyfriend.”
Acid clawed up my throat. Ange stepped forward and got straight in my face. “Stop it. It’s just a party. All children do this. You did, didn’t you, when you were growing up?”
My expression answered for me.
“Oh yes, of course, your mother.” She grinned. “Well, I assure you this is all quite normal. Although, I have to say I’m surprised. I read an article in the paper the other day that said youngsters today weren’t into recreational substances the way that we were.”
“Recreational substances?” I squeaked.
“Oh yes, I read that too,” Matthew said.
Were they going to have a full-on chat about a scrap of journalism while teenagers did God knows what in my house?
Pulling up those big girl panties, relishing the familiar snap of the elastic as it bolstered my resolve, I grabbed my keys out of Matthew's hand and marched for the shiny red door.
Oh, sweet shit. About fifteen rather large teenagers stood in the kitchen. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted from the direction of the lounge, and upstairs someone was banging on a door so hard I don’t know how it remained attached to the doorframe.
“Okay. Ange, with me. Matthew.” I pointed to the kitchen. “Those people shouldn’t be leaning against my mother’s cabinets.”
“Yes, boss.”
I placed my foot on the bottom stair, but then paused. “Make sure they can all get home though.”
He saluted me and turned for the kitchen and the last thing I could hear as Ange and I ran up the stairs was, “Right, what are you lot all doing in here?” Which stopped the chatter and laughter quicker than a fire alarm going off.
“Mum.” Hannah's face tracked with black streaks from her eyes down to her chin.
“What’s going on?” I grabbed her by the shoulders, just stopping myself from shaking the air out of her. Instead I went for a tight and supportive squeeze, encouraged by parenting books the world over.
“Annabelle is really drunk, Mum. She got cross because, uh, because…”
Automatically I glanced to the side where a pale-faced Jackson slumped against the wall of Hannah’s bedroom. “You. Out of there.” I turned back for Hannah. “It’s okay. You will be able to fix it, it’s just an argument.”
I met Ange’s eye and her skin paled from cream to alabaster.
Ignoring Hannah’s snivelling, I rapped on the bathroom door. “Annabelle, love, it’s Ronnie, Hannah’s mum. Can you open the door?”
My mental image conjured a barrage of bloody and desperate visual assaults. Fuck. “Okay.” I said to no one in particular when she didn’t answer my third call and loud knock on the door. “What has she actually drunk?”
Hannah stared at the floor.
“Han, I’m not telling you off right now, although I assure you we will be having a conversation. But I need to know. Are we taking a couple of alcopops or something more?”
“Vo—” She coughed to hide her words.
“Vodka?” My head swam a little as the blood drained out of my face. I’d be in Jewson, the Headmaster’s office, first thing Monday being hauled over coals—they’d be blistering hot.
“Matthew,” I hollered down the stairs. Despite the circumstances, my heart gave a somersault at the fact I got to shout his name anywhere at all.
One of the girls clustered near the bathroom door gave a jump and then snivelled. I didn’t recognise her, but that wasn’t saying much. Hannah never brought people home.
“Ange, could you take everyone downstairs and get them all some water and food?”
Hannah started to sob.
“Yes?” Matthew’s dark head popped around the bottom of the stairs.
“Can you bring up a spoon? We need this door open.”
The sound of a kitchen drawer opening and shutting filled the oppressive silence. Somewhere, Ma’s room maybe, a clock ticked. Tick, tock. Moving time onwards, pushing us from one moment into the next.
Ange hustled the huddle of drunk teenagers down the stairs.
The important thing right now was to not over-think anything.
Matthew sprung up the stairs, passing me the spoon, and I used the trick I’d utilised more times then I’d like to admit over the last few years to slide the spoon down the mechanism of the lock and manually twist it open.
Getting a new lock on the door after the first time Hannah locked herself in there was a blessing.
I held my breath. Please don’t let her have done something stupid.
In my head stupid was a long list of bloody images. Dark thoughts I’d danced with before.
Matthew rubbed my back, that small gesture he’d always made to spur me on, give me strength. Fuck, I’d missed that. I stood up straighter and pushed at the door, breathing a full sigh of relief
Annabelle curled in a ball on the tiled floor, her hair splayed to one side. After first checking for sick, blood, and discarded razor blades—active and very realistic imagination here—I crouched at her side. “Annabelle?”
“She likes to be called Ana, Mum.”
I glanced back at Hannah who was swiping her hands across her face, then my heart stopped. Knock me over, lay me flat out on the floor, I held my breath as Matthew lifted his hand and rubbed it against her back.
I waited for the pushback. Waited for the shrug, the swipe of the forearm that carved space quicker than the swipe of a Samurai sword. She shivered though and then curled into his chest. I met his gaze, my heart pumping hard. His eyes were wide, his face an open painting of shock splashed with bold strokes.
My heart wanted to cave and soar all at once.
“Ana, it’s Ronnie.” I forced my attention away from Hannah and Matthew. “I think she’s just asleep.” I touched her face, feeling her temperature. My medical knowledge was based solely on watching Emergency 999 shows with Ma. “I don’t think she’s unconscious. Her temperature seems okay. Let’s get her into bed.”
“Here.” Gently, Matthew separated Hannah from where she used him like a giant cotton covered wall and leant down to sweep up Annabelle from the floor. We all sighed a collective murmur of relief when she opened her eyes and gurgled unconnected words before falling back to sleep.
“Thank fuck.” I bent low and clasped my knees. “Imagine if we had to take her to hospital.” Straightening, I met Hannah’s terrified gaze. “You okay to sleep in with her? You’ll have to keep the door open just in case she takes a turn?”
“Mum, I’m so sorry. All these people, they just turned up.”
I held my hands for her, and she stepped in and welded herself to my chest. A flutter of pride bloomed inside me. She might be a teenager. Might be able to sneak vodka into parties, might be rude to me, might be a fucking nightmare, but she was mine.
“This way?” Matthew pointed to where Jackson had been lurking.
“Thanks.”
We trailed behind him, neither of us having anything to say. Downstairs, I could hear Ange banging around in Ma’s kitchen. Oh God, Ma… She would crucify me for this.
This stuff never happened on her watch.
“I’m sorry again, Mum.” Hannah wiped at her face and I gave her a helping hand, rubbing at the dried mascara tracks.
“Don’t worry. I'll call all the parents and apologise. We’ll need to get to the bottom of what happened.”
I’d rather take a bullet to the head then make those calls. Twice. Hannah didn’t need to know that though.
Matthew had put Annabelle on the bed and turned for us. “I can help.”
I cringed. “Thank you. But I think the calls have to come from me.”
He nodded slowly and the moment stretched into awkwardness until Hannah broke it. “Are you staying, Matthew?”
“Oh. No. I’ll go back to the hotel.”
Hannah stared between us. “I’d like it if you stayed. That way you can help Mum i-if something goes wrong with A-Ana,” she stuttered as she shivered.
Matthew turned to me; his eyes bright. “I can help.”
I swallowed hard and tried not to focus on a crease on his shirt. Three, two, one, make eye contact. “It’s not your problem though.”
Matthew laughed, loud enough it’s a miracle Annabelle didn’t rouse from her stupor. “That’s one of the stupidest things you’ve ever said.”
Hannah laughed, but I shot her down with a glare and she quickly zipped it up tight.
“I’ll get you some water and some crackers.”
She fell onto the bed, face first, settling next to her zonked out friend. I grabbed up her phone so I could try and get a contact number for Annabelle’s parents.
Matthew and I silently stepped out onto the hallway. “So you want to stay?” I asked. If I were him, I’d be running for the hills of freedom. Drunk teenage girls and breaking up a party don’t a perfect first date make. Nor does having your new girlfriend's psycho best friend turn up either.
“Yes, Ronnie.”
I sagged as my bones melted with a deep exhaustion. Matthew was going to stay the night in my childhood home, the one place I’d dreamed of him more than any other.
And he wanted to. Wanted to be here, helping, kind and courteous, giving and generous.
My heart would never survive this path we were on if I didn’t get to keep him forever.
I glanced back at Hannah, already asleep on her bed, her legs tangled in her duvet. Was there a chance that in the vortex of change we were all strewn in that we might all be able to get what we want?
In the kitchen I swiped a heavy hand at the work surface. It spread empty crisp packets and coke cans like hail across an empty playground.
