by Carys Jones
‘Sure.’
Tilly could hardly wait to head upstairs and try on her dress. She wanted to stop doing her homework there and then but she knew how disappointed her parents would be if her school work didn’t improve. She was doing her best to make up for the detention she’d got at the start of term.
She was just finishing typing up a short essay about Henry VIII’s wives for her history class when the kitchen door opened, bringing with it the pleasant scent of freshly cooked chips.
‘Tilly, can you set the table?’ her father called. Tilly instantly ceased typing and got up to oblige. She’d quickly learned that when her dad was on early shifts his mood was much more volatile. The last thing she wanted was to give him cause to get mad at her.
‘Yep.’ Tilly headed to the sideboard which was older than she was to grab the faded yellow placemats.
‘Where’s your mum?’ Clive asked, still lingering in the doorway, his eyes roaming across the empty table.
‘She went upstairs for a lie down.’
Her father’s grip tightened against the door. For a panicked moment, Tilly feared he was going to be mad. She braced herself for a tidal wave of angry words to wash over her but instead he returned to the heat of the kitchen.
Tilly’s mother didn’t come down for dinner, which seemed to contribute to her father’s darkening mood.
‘I’m wearing my princess dress on Saturday,’ Tilly proudly told her sisters. Perhaps it was the taste of the chips or the prospect of dressing up like an actual princess but Tilly was in a decidedly good mood.
‘Huh?’ Monica frowned, a chip between her fingertips.
‘On Saturday, I’m wearing my new princess dress.’
‘Oh God, Saturday.’ Maria rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Don’t remind us.’
‘Yeah, thanks, squirt.’ Monica dropped her chip back on to her plate. ‘The last thing we wanted to think about was that suck-fest.’
‘Watch your mouth!’ Their father’s stern words rained down over them like a hail of bullets. Both Monica and Maria flinched.
‘Saturday’s party is important to your mother!’ he insisted, the veins on his neck beginning to throb with worrying intensity.
Tilly felt her mouth drop open but she was wise enough not to speak. Her mother had said that it had been Dad’s decision to throw the party.
‘I want all three of you on your best behaviour!’ Clive continued, glancing between each of them.
Tilly could feel her face growing hot. She’d only ever been excited about the party, why was her Dad grouping her in with his anger towards her sisters? It didn’t seem fair.
‘Dad, we’re sorry.’ Monica lowered her head to her plate to look at the pile of chips resting beside a half-eaten piece of battered fish.
‘You know what this party means to your mother.’ He was pointing at Monica with his fork, brandishing it like a weapon.
‘Yes. I know.’
‘Dad, we’ll behave. Promise.’ Maria added, sounding unusually sincere.
‘Good.’ Clive leaned back in his chair, seemingly appeased. Tilly continued to eat and waited for the dust to settle before speaking again.
‘Did you hear Sons of Cherry are going on tour?’ she asked her sisters, hoping they’d nod approvingly and maybe suggest they all go together.
‘Everyone heard,’ Monica replied quietly, casting a wary glance in their father’s direction.
‘Are you going to go?’ Tilly wondered.
‘Yeah,’ Monica gave a stiff laugh, ‘we’ve got front row seats.’
‘Really?’ Tilly could only imagine how jealous Kate would be if she knew.
‘Jeez, squirt.’ Maria was rolling her eyes. Thankfully, their father was too preoccupied with staring into space to pay any attention.
‘You seriously need to grow up,’ Monica said sternly.
Tilly flinched and leaned back in her chair, wondering what she’d done wrong.
Spinning around in the centre of her room, Tilly savoured how the light sparkled off her dress. It was bright blue and looked as though it had been dipped in ice. Wearing it made Tilly feel magical. She excitedly skipped across the landing to her mother’s room, keen to show off.
‘Mum, Mum, look!’ Tilly called out as she walked in, not pausing to knock. She slowed when she noticed that the curtains were drawn. Approaching the bed, she could make out the shadow of her mother curled up on her side.
‘Mum?’
‘Oh, Tilly.’ Ivy stretched and, with some effort, sat up. ‘Did I miss dinner?’
‘Yeah.’ Tilly was staring at her mother, trying to understand why she was in bed. She couldn’t possibly be tired; she slept in every morning.
‘Is that your dress?’ Her mother reached for Tilly’s hand and used it to spin her around. Tilly obliged, her worries quickly forgotten.
‘Don’t you love it, Mum?’
‘Yes,’ Ivy said tenderly. ‘You look just like a princess.’
‘See, I’ve even got the plait.’ Tilly tugged eagerly at her own hair.
‘So you do.’ Her mother was smiling and it cheered Tilly to see that it extended all the way to her eyes. ‘You have such beautiful hair, Tilly.’
‘Do you think?’ Tilly climbed up on to the bed so she was sat beside her mother. She fingered the end of her plait, gazing at her mousy, brown hair.
‘Of course,’ Ivy enthused.
‘Josephine straightens her hair so it looks like Monica’s and Maria’s. Should I straighten mine too?’
‘No.’ Her mother drew her close for a cuddle. ‘Your hair is beautiful just the way it is.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’ Tilly nuzzled close. Her mother smelt of soap and mint. ‘Do you know what you’re wearing yet?’
‘I don’t.’ She felt her mother shrug. ‘I’ll probably throw something on.’
‘I like your black dress with the bow.’ Tilly remembered the first time she’d seen her mother in the dress. Her parents had been heading out to a New Year’s Eve party and when her mother had swept into the lounge to say goodbye she’d looked every inch the movie star. Her body was more voluptuous, her hair thicker. She was still beautiful, but like a painting that had been left in the sun. The radiance was still there but it had been dulled by time.
‘I like that dress too,’ her mother said, giving her a squeeze.
‘You always look so beautiful in it,’ Tilly said dreamily.
‘Thank you, sweetheart. How’s school? Is it a bit better now?’
‘A bit.’ Tilly was actually being truthful.
‘See, I told you it would be.’
‘It still kind of sucks,’ Tilly admitted.
‘You shouldn’t talk like that.’ Her mother gave her a tighter squeeze. ‘It makes you sound like your sisters.’
‘Maybe I should sound more like them,’ Tilly sighed. ‘I mean, they are both really popular.’
‘There’s more to life than being popular.’
‘Like what?’
Her mother laughed lightly and leaned back, opening up the space between them.
‘Like being happy,’ she raised a thin hand to tuck away a loose strand of Tilly’s hair.
‘Popular people are happy.’
‘Do your sisters seem happy to you?’ her mother asked with a cheeky smile. ‘They seem moody all the time to me.’
Tilly laughed.
‘You need to promise that you won’t spend too much time worrying what others think of you.’ Her mother was staring intently at her and Tilly nodded numbly. It sounded like an impossible request.
‘I’m serious,’ Ivy continued, placing Tilly’s hands between her own. Despite being in bed, she was as cold as ice.
‘You’re a special person, Tilly. You see the good in the world. I’d hate for you to ever lose that.’
‘I thought I needed to grow up.’
‘I don’t know,’ her mother sighed. ‘Sometimes I think it’s so important for you to grow up, and other times I wish you could stay safe in your fa
ntasies forever.’
‘I should just be happy, right?’
‘Yes,’ her mother was smiling. ‘You should just be happy.’
He’s a Beast
The disco lights made Tilly’s dress sparkle as though she were the rarest of diamonds. The music booming from the DJ booth pounded in her ears as she spun around the dance floor. Even some of her aunts were up and gleefully shuffling around as the DJ played an old song from long before Tilly was born.
It was after ten and the party was in full swing. The small room that backed onto their local pub was packed to capacity. Everyone was full of cake and high spirits. Tilly had been complimented on her princess dress five times. She’d been counting as she gathered together the kind words, clutching them tight to her chest.
Even Monica and Maria were dancing after some coaxing from their grandmother. Their outfits showed too much leg, which earned some raised eyebrows from older members of the Johnson brood.
Tilly was giggling happily as she went over to her sisters.
‘Spin me,’ she asked Monica, raising her voice to be heard over the music. Her sister rolled her eyes but smiled. Then she grabbed Tilly’s wrists and began to spin madly, dragging her little sister along. It was a game they always used to play at family parties. Monica would spin Tilly until the lights started to blur and the room began to tilt.
As they parted, Tilly was laughing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun with her sisters. Even her parents looked to be having a good time from where they were stood at the bar. For most of the evening they had been engaged in conversation with whoever had most recently walked through the door. But now her mother was throwing her head back and laughing heartily. She was wearing the black dress with the bow. It dipped too low at the back, revealing her shoulder blades protruding like vast mountain ranges.
Tilly stopped dancing and watched her mother laugh. There was something magnetic about the way she was caught in the moment, her eyes crinkled and her hand resting casually on her husband’s forearm. She was no longer just a mother; she was a beautiful woman at a party.
Tilly was still looking over as her father gestured towards the DJ booth. The music abruptly stopped and everyone glanced at one another uneasily.
‘Sorry to interrupt.’ Her father was walking towards the dance floor, leading his wife by the hand. ‘Ivy and I wanted to say a few words.’
Monica’s hands landed on Tilly’s shoulders as she drew her sister to the edge of the space.
‘First of all, thank you all for coming.’ Clive was raising his voice so everyone in the room could hear him. Chatter had ceased as every pair of eyes honed in on him. ‘Ivy and I are thrilled that so many of you could join us to celebrate our seventeenth anniversary.’
Someone sniffed loudly. Tilly grew up on to her tip toes to find the source of the sound. A few feet away she could see her grandmother sat at a table by the dance floor, a tissue pressed against her damp eyes.
‘Yes, it really is so wonderful to see everyone,’ Ivy gushed as she leaned against her husband.
‘We love you, Ivy!’ one of Tilly’s uncles shouted drunkenly.
‘I love you too.’ Tilly’s father was gazing adoringly into his wife’s eyes, which fluttered prettily, framed by mascara-coated lashes. She was arguably wearing too much make up, but Tilly’s sisters had insisted on helping their mother get ready.
‘Thank you for the best seventeen years of my life.’ Clive’s voice was quiet, his words meant only for his wife. The couple kissed and the room erupted with thunderous applause. Tilly enthusiastically clapped her hands. She felt like she was standing in a real life fairy tale, watching the King and Queen as they enjoyed their happily ever after.
Instead of leather miniskirts, her sisters wore floor length silk gowns in shades of purple and blue. The small, dimly lit room, which had been hired for the event, extended into the banquet hall of a vast stone castle. Candelabras hung from the ceiling and huge bouquets of flowers were scattered about the room, filling the air with a heady floral fragrance. Gone was the DJ booth, in its place an elegant string quartet who, upon the King’s order, commenced playing.
People came together, already knowing the steps to the dance. The soft tinkle of glasses placed upon trays and silver cutlery scraped against fine china provided a musical background. It was a perfect evening, one the residents of the Kingdom would talk about for years to come.
‘Come on, squirt.’ Maria was tugging her sister’s hand, her face pinched and impatient.
‘What?’ Tilly shook her head. She was back in the dim room, which continued to smell like stale cigarettes even though people had to go outside to smoke.
‘Aren’t you gonna dance?’ Maria was pulling Tilly towards the dance floor before she could protest. Strong, familiar chords were blaring out. The DJ was playing Sons of Cherry.
‘Did you request this?’ Tilly asked, eyes wide. She hadn’t dared request any songs. She thought that as this was her parents’ party the music should be songs that they liked. And they certainly weren’t fans of Sons of Cherry.
‘Of course!’ Maria nodded, laughing. ‘It’s about time they played some real music!’
Monica was already enthusiastically moving in the centre of the dance floor. The numbers had dwindled as the older family members had scurried off to their tables at the first sound of something unfamiliar.
But Gregg was up and dancing, wrapping his arms around a girl with bright red hair who Tilly didn’t recognise. She must have been his new girlfriend.
‘Come on!’ Maria urged, waving her arms about. Tilly tried to copy the movements though she doubted she looked as effortlessly cool as Maria did.
She was spinning around and shaking her hips when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She half expected it to be her father wearing one of his sternest expressions, telling her she should be dancing in a more ladylike fashion. But when Tilly turned around the red-haired girl was looking at her.
‘Cute dress,’ she exclaimed in an accent which sounded vaguely Irish.
‘Thank you.’ Tilly gave a quick pirouette on the spot. As she spun the fabric fanned out and billowed around her legs.
‘I love it!’ The red-haired girl clasped a hand to her chest. ‘You’re, like, the cutest thing ever.’
‘George, this is my cousin, Tilly.’ Gregg stepped forward, one hand still draped around the redhead’s slim waist. ‘Tilly, this is Georgina.’
‘Hi,’ Tilly gushed. She couldn’t believe that someone so much more sophisticated than she was would like her dress so much. If Georgina was with Gregg then she was older than Monica and Maria – probably at university like he was.
‘You’re so sweet.’ Georgina reached out and placed a hand on Tilly’s shoulder. Her nails were painted jet black as though she’d dipped her fingers in ink. ‘I’m sorry about –’
Gregg sharply hoisted her away and whispered something into Georgina’s ear. When she looked back, her expression had changed. She looked troubled.
‘It’s an awesome dress,’ she smiled as Gregg edged her to another part of the dance floor.
Tilly watched them walk away, wondering what Gregg had whispered to his girlfriend. Had he said something mean about Tilly? That wasn’t like him. He’d always been so nice.
‘Hey, come on. You’re supposed to be dancing.’ Tilly was pulled towards the centre of the dance floor. Her sisters wedged her between them as they danced around, swaying their arms.
‘I can’t believe we’re meant to dance all night,’ Maria said above Tilly’s head.
‘Yeah, my feet are already killing me,’ Monica moaned. Tilly looked down and noticed the staggering height of her sister’s shoes. She was wearing black stilettos covered in bright pink spikes. They looked funky but threatening, much like Monica often did.
‘It was nice of Amy to lend you those shoes,’ Maria continued.
‘At first I thought it was,’ Monica said between breaths, ‘but now I think it migh
t be a punishment for what happened between me and Jake last year.’
This made Maria laugh.
‘Amy’s always been jealous.’
‘Too right. You know what, stuff it.’ Monica dramatically kicked off her shoes, sending them skittering across the polished floor and towards the table where their grandmother was sitting. The silver-haired lady lowered her crinkled face to look at the shoes as though they were from another planet.
‘That’s better,’ Monica sighed, now much closer to Tilly’s height. ‘I can’t keep wearing those shoes.’
‘Why does Dad want us to dance all night?’ Tilly asked. Both sisters ceased moving and looked at her in surprise, as if they’d momentarily forgotten she was there.
‘He just wants to make sure everyone is having a good time,’ Monica coolly explained.
Maria was nodding. Her tense expression was framed by her sleek hair, which had been straightened with militant precision.
Monica’s hair was fashioned in the same style. From behind, it would be impossible to tell the two sisters apart. Tilly didn’t look like she had swum out of the same gene pool. She was much shorter. Her hair was plaited down her back and her fresh-faced look had been created with only soap and water.
Monica and Maria both wore dark eyeliner, bright lipstick, and heaps of foundation. Their nails were freshly painted in dark shades and they smelt as though they’d fallen into a vat of perfume. They wore matching tight skirts but Monica was wearing a clingy Sons of Cherry T-shirt and Maria had on a modest black vest. As always, they were beautiful. Tilly doubted she’d ever look as amazing as them no matter how much makeup she wore or how tight her clothes were.
‘Dad wants the party to be great.’ Maria was lifting Tilly’s arms and manoeuvring her about. An up-tempo song was playing but not all of the guests had flocked to the dance floor.
‘We should request the Grease mega-mix or something to try and get everyone dancing,’ Monica shouted to her sister, who rolled her eyes in disgust.
‘I’ll do it!’ Tilly offered helpfully.
‘Go for it, squirt.’ Maria released her grip and Tilly skipped over to the DJ booth.
