‘And I said, “Well I think they’re just trying to stop the home closing –” but then I suddenly panicked because I thought maybe the old people hadn’t even been told and I’d just put my foot in it. But it was OK because she said, “What for? Let them close the old dump. I’m sick of it. They’re moving us to Glenferns, right by the beach it is. I can’t wait. Wish they’d get on with it actually.”
‘And I said, “Really? But Pippa said … said everyone was really upset …” And we both looked out to where Pippa was posing for the camera. And by this time, one of the care-home nurse ladies had come over, and she laughed and said, “Did she now? And what would she know about it? She’s only been here once.”
‘And I said, “Really?” again, because in that assembly Pippa was making out like she basically worked there, wasn’t she? But the nurse woman just nodded and we all looked out at Pippa and Ana and the others, and then the old lady said – get this – she said, “Bunch of tossers, the lot of them.”’
I couldn’t stop myself laughing at this point. It was all too perfect. Even Bert cracked a small smile.
‘It’s awful, isn’t it? But oh, Birdy, that’s not the worst of it. Once that one old lady had wheeled herself away, I turned to the nurse and said, “Do you think I could speak to Edna?” I mean, I was thinking just because that one woman was happy about moving, it didn’t mean they all were, did it? But the nurse said, “Edna who?” And so I described her, and said about the husband, George, and Jimmy, the son in the motorbike crash. And the nurse said, “Nope. Doesn’t sound like anyone here. I’ve been here five years and we’ve never had an Edna.”
‘I was pretty confused by this point, so I went outside to ask Pippa. When I managed to get her away from the journalist and ask her where Edna was and who she was and all that, Pippa just gave me a rather pitying look and said, “Alberta, Edna was a persona. A representation. There’s no actual Edna, obviously,” and then she just turned away from me again. Can you believe that?’
I could believe it, actually.
‘So what did you do then?’ I asked.
‘Well, I left,’ Bert said, looking down sadly. ‘What was the point? It was all a sham.’
Bert looked so dejected that I took her hand and squeezed it, but the truth was, I couldn’t have been more delighted.
15
It was a couple of weeks before the Christmas holidays when Bert and I got drunk for the first time. I wasn’t used to getting drunk really, not least because I was never invited to the parties or ‘gatherings’ down the field which seemed to be when all the people in my year did it, but also because I’d had a bad experience the first time it’d happened and so I hadn’t touched alcohol since then.
That first time had come about quite unexpectedly, one warm evening at the beginning of Year Nine. I’d been heading home from school late but in no particular rush to get there and I’d decided to go the long way round, through the cemetery and then the park. As I took the path that ran along the railing that enclosed the kiddie bit with the swings and see-saw and all that, I heard a shout.
‘Frankenstein!’
I looked up, surprised, because I hadn’t heard that nickname for nearly a year by this point.
It was some boys from my year – Matt Pereira and Gary Chester – along with another boy and two girls who I didn’t recognise as being from our school at all.
I put my head down and carried on walking.
‘Oi, Frances!’ Matt called. ‘Come over here and say hello.’
I paused for a minute but then carried on walking.
‘Oi!’ he shouted again.
‘Leave her alone, Matt,’ one of the girls said. ‘Don’t be a bell-end.’
‘What?’ Matt said, pretending to look wounded. ‘It’s all right, I know her. She’s my mate. Oi, Frances,’ he called again. ‘Come here and tell them you’re my mate.’
I still don’t know why I did it really, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it was because he called me his mate. I knew he was messing around, but even so, there was something about hearing him say that, just hearing those words. Seductive, I suppose. I’d known Matt a long time I thought, he’d never been nice to me as such, but then he’d never really been not nice either. It was the same with all of the popular ones at school really – they had their victims, the people they’d hassle, but I wasn’t one of them. Not with any regularity. I suppose I just wasn’t on anyone’s radar. Maybe he was my mate, I told myself. In a way. I found myself sauntering over there.
They were all lounging around the roundabout. Gary was lying on it, pushing himself gently back and forward with his foot. The others were sitting on the ground nearby. Matt was leaning back on his elbows, his legs hanging apart. One of the girls was lying against him, slotted between his legs. Using him like a sort of human armchair.
‘What?’ I said, stopping in front of them.
‘Christ, it actually talks,’ Gary said, his head lolling a bit. That’s when I realised – they were drunk. There was a half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor next to one of the girls and Matt was surrounded by empty cider cans.
Matt clambered to his feet with some difficulty. He stood next to me, swaying slightly. Then he draped his arm over my shoulders and slurred, ‘Everyone, this is my mate, Frances.’ Behind us, Gary sniggered.
‘Hi, Frances,’ one of the girls said, looking up at me. She had a weird look in her eyes, like she found me sort of mesmerising. Drunk too, I supposed. ‘You wanna drink?’ She held the bottle out to me.
I shook my head and turned away, ready to head home now.
‘Oh, don’t go!’ the girl whined. ‘Stay. Have a drink!’
I hesitated for a moment, and then I don’t for the life of me know why, but I took the bottle from her and took a swig. It was rancid. Like what I’d imagine nail-polish remover to taste like, but I swallowed it down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
At first I thought I was going to vomit, but then it settled into my stomach and it didn’t feel too bad. Sort of burny, but in a good way. And then the girl cheered and Matt joined in. And so I smiled. There I was standing in the middle of the park holding a bottle of vodka with people cheering me and suddenly the whole scene struck me as so funny that I started laughing.
‘God, she’s pissed already,’ Gary said.
The girl laughed a tinkly little laugh then she said, ‘Have some more. Go on.’
I didn’t move, so she said it again. ‘Go on, Frances. Treat yourself.’
And then they all started chanting my name: ‘Frances, Frances, Frances.’
So I took another swig, and another and another. I got used to the taste and I started to like the feeling. So I had some more. And then, in no time at all, I’d finished the whole bottle. I flopped down on the grass next to Matt. There’s no rush to get home, I thought. I’ll just sit here. Watch the sun go down. Have a chat.
I remember one of the girls peering down at me like I was something in a Petri dish. ‘She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she?’ she said to Matt.
It was strange really – I didn’t even find it insulting. She just seemed so fascinated by me. I don’t remember minding or feeling silly or anything. It all just seemed so funny, at the time. Flattering, almost.
‘Yeah,’ Matt said, laughing. ‘A real nutjob.’
I don’t remember anything else. I suppose I’d thought they’d carry on talking to me but I don’t think they did. I don’t remember saying anything at all. I think I just sat there, just being. The sun was warm on my face and my head felt like it was inside a cloud.
It was dark when the policeman woke me up, and freezing cold.
‘Come on,’ he said to me in a weary voice. ‘Let’s get you home.’
I’d frozen at the sight of him, not sure if it was a dream or a kidnap attempt or what. He’d bent down and hauled me to my feet and steered me out of the park and into the road where his car was parked. He wrapped me in a blanket, and laid me on the back seat
. Then he drove me home.
When we got to the house he took me to the door. I realised that at some point I must’ve started crying because I could taste the salty tears dripping into my mouth. I don’t remember feeling very sad or anything though. I suppose it was all such a shock, finding myself outside in the dark with a huge chunk of time erased from my memory.
In the car, I’d been terrified that Nan was going to go crazy at me, maybe hit me even. I mean, it wasn’t like she’d hit me before, and actually, her sudden fits of temper were usually reserved for silly, petty things – leaving soap-bubble smears on the glasses when I was meant to be drying up, leaving the light on in my bedroom all day by mistake – but here I was, being driven home by a policeman, a drunken disgrace. I was all too aware that this must’ve been exactly what Bridget was like. Surely, I thought, surely I’m going to get it this time.
But in the end, she didn’t do anything very much. She thanked the policeman and when he’d gone she stood in the hall, just looking at me, not saying anything at all. I kept waiting for it to come, for her to explode. But she didn’t. She didn’t even look angry really. Just confused. Sad and confused. In the end she said, ‘Your dinner’s on the side,’ and went back upstairs. I’d assumed Granddad was in bed but then he’d appeared at the top of the stairs. He’d just stood there for ages, looking down at me, and I stood at the bottom looking up. I wanted to say sorry or to explain myself but the words didn’t come. Eventually he shook his head, and said, ‘You’ve let her down, Frances. You’ve let your nan down.’
Anyway, this time getting drunk was totally different. It was indoors, it was with Bert and we did it in style – on real champagne.
When Bert told me her parents were going away for a Saturday night and asked me if I wanted to sleep over at her house, I thought it sounded like an amazing idea. ‘A bit of a girls’ night,’ she’d called it. A whole evening, just me and Bert. No having to worry about getting home. No being interrupted by lessons or by boys trying to chat her up. Just the two of us, hanging around, chatting and relaxing. But I also knew there would be no way Nan would let me stay out all night. In all the years I’d lived with Nan and Granddad, the only night I’d spent away from them was when I had my tonsils out when I was seven. Still, I was determined that I would get to go. It sounded too much fun to just turn down. I came up with a plan.
I knew that the only chance I had of Nan letting me stay out for a whole night was if the occasion was a) supervised and b) educational, so that’s precisely what I told her it was. I’d read an article once about how the Natural History Museum stages sleepovers for schools where whole classes are allowed to bring their sleeping bags and bed down at the feet of a brontosaurus. I knew there’d be no way our school would ever get to take part in that kind of thing – not unless they wanted to find someone trying to ride the triceratops, can of lager in one hand, cigarette in the other – but Nan didn’t need to know that. So, one lunchtime, I snuck up to the library and typed out a letter, complete with authentic-looking permission slip, and printed it off. I presented it to Nan that evening.
She frowned at it, moving it back and forth in front of her face until she found the distance from her eyes where she could focus well enough to read.
‘Sleeping?’ she said at last. ‘In a museum? I’ve never heard anything like it.’ She put the paper down on the kitchen table. ‘No, I don’t think so. And on a weekend! What a load of rubbish schools get up to these days. No, not for us, I don’t think.’
I felt myself panic. I’d just assumed she’d be fine with it, once she had an official school letter to back it up.
‘But, Nan,’ I said, following her out to the garden where she was starting to hang the washing on the line, ‘I have to go. It’s part of my course. My GCSE. I have to go for my project. I’ll lose marks otherwise.’
I could see the cogs going in Nan’s brain as she moved up and down the washing line, pegging up pants and socks at lightning speed. ‘We can’t pay,’ she said. ‘I can’t afford fancy trips like your mates. I’ve told you before.’
‘No, you don’t have to pay,’ I said quickly, daring to hope that victory might be in sight. ‘It’s free.’
Just then, there was a crash from the lounge. We both looked towards the window and saw that as Granddad had tried to take a book off the top shelf, a pile of photo albums had fallen down on him. He was standing in the debris, looking at his feet. ‘For God’s sake,’ Nan said, darting towards the back door. ‘I can’t leave him for two minutes.’
‘So I can go, then?’ I called after her.
‘Yes, yes. Fine.’
When the Saturday came round, I was worried that Nan might change her mind. I wasn’t sure whether to mention it early on to check or to just wait until the time came for me to leave. On the one hand I didn’t want to remind her and give her all day to stew about it in case she worked herself up into a frenzy and changed her mind about letting me go. On the other, I didn’t want to spring it on her in case she had forgotten and the surprise of it had the same effect. In the end though, I didn’t have to remind her. Nan came to find me in my room.
‘I’ve made you a sandwich,’ she said, placing a square, foil package on my desk.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks. But … I’m not going till after dinner.’
‘You might get peckish, I thought. In the night.’
I smiled up at her. ‘Thanks.’
Then she ran her finger along my bookshelf. ‘It’s filthy in here. Make sure you clean it before you go.’
Seven-thirty couldn’t come soon enough. At exactly seven-thirty-one, I stood on the Fitzroy-Blacks’ doorstep and knocked three times with the big metal knocker.
Bert flung the door open almost at once. For a minute, I wondered if she’d been standing there, waiting for me. I sort of hoped she’d been looking forward to our evening together as much as I had. But I suppose that was wishful thinking. She got to do whatever she wanted every Saturday night. It wasn’t a novelty for her like it was for me.
Bert was wearing some loose pink trousers and a matching vest. Over the top she had a cotton robe-type jacket. Her hair was in a messy bun, with strands falling around her ears. She looked amazing. I thought of the fraying grey pyjamas in my bag. I decided I’d have to sleep in my clothes.
‘You’re here!’ She pulled the door open wide for me to step in.
She lifted my bag off my shoulder and chucked it at the bottom of the stairs, then she took my hand and pulled me down the hall to the kitchen.
‘I thought we could have a little Christmas party!’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. I was suddenly afraid I was going to find that she’d invited half of Year Ten to join us for a wild house party, and that they’d be there already, hiding in the kitchen. But it was OK. It was just two bottles in the middle of the kitchen table, dark green with gold tops.
‘Champagne?’ I asked, gazing at them.
‘Yep!’ Bert said, bounding over to the table. ‘The real deal. Fancy a glass?’
‘But …’ I said, ‘your parents … they’ll …’ For some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off the shiny foil wrapped around the necks.
‘Oh it’s fine,’ Bert said. ‘One of Mum’s customers brought them round when Mum and Dad had already gone. We’ll just drink one bottle and leave them the other. That way, if the customer says, “Did you enjoy the champagne?” Mum and Dad will still be able to say, “Yes, thank you, it was terribly kind.” The customer isn’t going to say, “Did you enjoy the TWO bottles of champagne?” is he? So we don’t need to worry – they’ll never know. Anyway, I’ve had wine with dinner heaps of times before so they’re fine with that sort of thing.’
I didn’t say anything but I don’t think Bert was waiting for my approval. She was already peeling the foil off one of the bottles. I jumped when the cork popped out and Bert giggled as she sloshed the foaming liquid into two elegant champagne flutes.
‘To the den?’ she asked.
I nodded. ‘To the den.’
Fifteen minutes later and we were squashed up together in the Egg – fast becoming my favourite place in the world. I’d already downed most of my glass. I’d got used to the sharp taste by now and I was enjoying the warm feeling in my belly and cheeks.
‘Have you ever had champagne before?’ Bert asked me.
I shook my head. That was the good thing about Bert. I didn’t worry that she’d laugh at me or turn her nose up at my inexperience. She never seemed to find anything odd.
‘Have you?’ I asked.
Bert nodded and took another sip. ‘A couple of times,’ she said with a modest shrug. ‘With my parents sometimes. Just a glass at New Year and whatnot.’ She giggled suddenly. ‘And …’ she said, shooting me a mischievous little grin, ‘and with Richard.’
I had to think for a minute to remember where I’d heard the name before. ‘Wasn’t he the one whose car you smashed up? Your parents’ friend?’
Bert nodded and giggled into her glass again.
‘I thought he was a plonker,’ I said. I drained the last of my drink and Bert topped me up. The foam flowed over the top and we squealed as it splashed onto our legs.
Bert didn’t say anything. She just looked into her glass and then smiled at me over the top. She giggled again and she shook her head. I wondered if she was drunk.
‘What?’ I asked, confused. ‘What’s funny?’
‘I can’t tell you,’ she said, miming an exaggerated zipping action across her lips.
Now I really was curious. ‘What? What can’t you tell me? Tell me what you can’t tell me!’ I poked her playfully with my toe.
‘Maybe after one more drink,’ she said.
I nodded and we made quick work of our second glass. As soon as she’d finished, I was on her again. ‘Go on then,’ I said. ‘Tell me.’
Bert topped up our glasses again, then she leant back into the cushions.
‘If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. No one from school.’
Birdy Page 8
