by Emlyn Rees
Amy looks at me aghast. ‘But I want to dry my hair properly.’
‘This is Leisure Heaven, for Christ’s sake. No one is going to see your hair,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, it’s not negotiable. I’m in charge and I say we’re hitting the bars and then the disco.’
I take another slug. ‘Anyone want some, before I finish it off?’
‘I will,’ says Amy, holding out her glass.
‘Whose is this shampoo?’ asks Susie from the shower.
‘Mine,’ I reply.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Aren’t we going to see what the boys are doing?’ asks Lorna.
‘Amy?’ I say, swinging my hand out so that she can lay down the terms of our deal for all to hear.
‘I think it should just be girls tonight,’ she says, nervously looking at me.
I smile expansively and take another swig of wine and feel it bum down.
‘Absolutely correct,’ I say. ‘Tonight is the hen night and we’re going to make it a good one.’
I clinks glasses with Amy. ‘Come on, hurry up. You’re wasting valuable drinking time.’
‘Are you all right?’ she asks, but I ignore her and barge out.
Susie
Saturday, 22.00
‘Can’t you put on a bit of Abba?’ I yell at the DJ. ‘“Dancing Queen”, or something?’
He ignores me, holding his earphone whilst head-banging to the music. Welt I call it music in the loosest sense of the word. It was fine when we got here, but for the last hour he’s been playing this techno rubbish, which has never been my cup of tea. I’m all for some good clubbing anthems, but this is just noise. I glance over the dance floor, which is full of sweaty, grubby teenagers. We must be at least ten years older than everyone else in here.
‘Oil’ I bellow.
‘What?’ he shouts, putting up his finger to make me wait as he puts on another musical travesty. Eventually he comes over.
‘What?’ he repeats, through chewing gums.
‘Can’t you put on something we can dance to? Only we’re on a hen night and we want to boogie?’ I waggle my hips to demonstrate. ‘You know? Songs? Remember them?’ He looks for a moment as if he’s going to gob on me.
‘Go somewhere else then!’ he protests. I turn away feeling unbearably old. Doesn’t he know who he’s talking to? I’ve been to more parties than he’s had hot dinners. Cheeky blighter.
‘No luck?’ shouts Lorna, when I shove my way through the kid dies back to the table.
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em!’ I shrug, waving to Amy on the dance floor. Despite the dreadful music, she’s in full swing, waving her veil above her head and waving at us to come over. Behind her a group of lads are eyeing up her legs. One of them, with a barely formed bum-fluff moustache, comes forward and pushes in to her. He makes lewd gestures before undoing his trousers behind her.
I march over and give him a good shove.
‘She’s asking for it,’ he bluffs, agitated at being humiliated in front of his mates. He ruffles up as if he wants to fight me.
‘Not from you, she isn’t. Now hop it!’ I shout.
Jenny laughs. ‘I’m old enough to be his mother!’
Amy turns round and notices what’s going on. ‘Cradle-snatching again, Sooze?’ she laughs.
‘It’s my job,’ I smile, feeling like a bouncer.
‘Come on, let’s get a drink,’ shouts Amy above the din.
H has already been queuing for ten minutes when we join her at the bar.
I take over and we push our way to the front and elbow our way up against the bar. H is clearly on a mission. She orders flaming Drambuies for starters and then two tequila chasers.
‘Stop!’ giggles Amy, slapping her chest. ‘I can’t do any more.’
‘Lightweight,’ teases H. ‘Get some more in, Susie,’ she orders, before flouncing off with Amy.
The barmaid is obviously off her tits. (Not that she has any.)
‘You paying for those, or what?’ she says.
I look back to the table, after H.
But she paid. Didn’t she?
‘Can’t you put it on a tab?’ I panic.
‘No. Not in here.’
I’m so dizzy with the tequila, that I don’t argue and hand over the last of my cash, despite the fact that I’ve bought most of the rounds so far. I manage to scrape together enough for a few more beers and tuck them under my arms.
‘Show us yer tits!’ says one of the youths as I squeeze past him.
‘Get lost,’ I reply.
‘Oooooooo! Keep your wig on, grandma.’
‘Where have these children come from?’ I ask, handing the beers out. Our table has been nicked, so we lurk by the wall and watch the teeny-boppers.
‘This music is terrible,’ says Amy. ‘I’ve tried, but I can’t dance any more.’
‘Then let’s drink, instead,’ shouts H.
Kate comes and stands next to me. ‘This is awful,’ she whispers. ‘Come on, let’s get some air.’
We wander outside, leaving the techno music behind us.
‘Welt that’s it,’ I say, sitting on a bench. ‘I’m officially old.’
‘No you’re not,’ says Kate, joining me.
‘I am. I used to be able to make a party out of anything, but this time I’m stumped.’
‘Amy seems to be enjoying herself.’
‘She isn’t. She’s just putting on a show.’
‘We can’t admit defeat just yet,’ says Kate.
‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘I hate all this pretending that we’re all having a great time, just for tradition’s sake, when all I really want to do is go and join the boys.’
I look at the flickering neon sign of the club, thinking of Stringer.
‘Do you?’
‘Yes,’ I wail, letting my exasperation out. ‘Oh shit, Kate,’ I groan.
‘What is it?’
‘The thing is . . . I’ve been trying so hard to change. I’ve been trying so hard not to be a slapper and to have a platonic relationship with this guy. But the truth is, I’ve just realized that I really fancy him. Like, really fancy him.’
‘Who?’
‘Stringer,’ I confess.
She shakes her head and looks confused, so I explain.
‘I had a bike ride and a picnic with him today and it was so great. But he doesn’t fancy me.’
‘I’m sure he does.’
‘I just don’t know what to do. I’m digging myself a deeper and deeper hole. And all I keep thinking is that Amy wants to be with Jack and I’m single and I want to be with Stringer and all this hen and stag stuff is, well, bollocks, quite frankly.’
She laughs.
‘And the worst thing is that I’m blowing my only opportunity to see Stringer and do something about my feelings, just for Amy’s sake. And I’m happy to do it, but it seems so stupid. She wouldn’t want this.’
‘Well, you’re the one who’s always saying if you want something, make it happen. Why don’t you talk to the girls?’ suggests Kate.
But half an hour later, when I confront H with the idea of bailing out, she’s not having any of it.
‘No way. This is Amy’s night and I don’t think it’s appropriate that we leave. Ask Amy, she’ll tell you the same thing,’ she slurs.
‘But . . .’
‘No,’ she says, looking nasty. ‘It’s final. None of us are leaving.’
‘Why do you have to be so controlling all the time?’ I ask.
‘Me? Controlling?’ says H. ‘That’s rich.’
This is it. I’ve had enough of her.
‘Oh shut up! You’ve been bossing us around all weekend.’
‘Bossing you around!’ she guffaws. ‘Bossing you around? One of us has to be responsible for Amy.’
‘So you’re responsible for Amy, now, are you? You’ve done nothing but put a dampener on things and behave like a spoilt brat since we got here.’
‘Uh-ho,’ coughs H, pretendin
g to be outraged. ‘I’m not the one going outside for little sulks. I’m not the one who’s refusing to have a good time.’
‘I’m the one who’s been making sure Amy’s having a good time,’ I retort, my voice steely.
Amy steps in between us. ‘What’s going on?’
H glares at me drunkenly, as she takes out some money and hands it to Amy. ‘Nothing. Go and get some drinks.’
‘You see,’ I accuse her. ‘You’re just a control freak.’
‘Susie?’ gasps Amy, looking alarmed, the money shaking in her hand.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t need you to flash your cash at me, Marchmont,’ I say, ripping it out of Amy’s hand and shoving it back at her.
‘Stop it,’ yells Amy. ‘Both of you.’
‘You’re so pathetic,’ sneers H at me. ‘You’re such a slapper that you can’t bear to be away from the boys for two seconds.’
‘At least I haven’t slept with any of them, like you have,’ I jibe back, but before H has the chance to retort, I try to calm things down a bit.
‘All I’m saying is that this place is shit. No one is enjoying themselves and we might as well go,’ I say, in a measured tone. ‘You want to go, don’t you, Amy?’
She looks between me and H. She looks utterly tom, but this time I’m not going to relent.
‘Amy?’ asks H, eyeballing her.
‘Well, I . . . This is a girls’ night out.’
‘Exactly,’ says H, poisonously. ‘But if you want to go, Susie, please don’t let us stop you.’
‘Sooze,’ begs Amy, gripping onto my arm. ‘Don’t go. Let’s stay and have a drink. There’s no point in arguing. Especially over me. I’m having a good time. Really I am.’
But H is glaring at me and for a moment I hate her. Really hate her. Amy might be too weak to stand up to her, but I’m not.
‘I’m sorry, Amy. I’ll see you later,’ I choke.
But as I shove my way past the cloakroom and the puking teenagers, I know I’ve lost. H has manipulated this in to a contest over who is the better friend. It’s pathetic and stupid, but I haven’t felt like this since I was at primary school.
The same as with Stringer.
Matt
Saturday, 22.45
I’m having a pretty tough time focusing. Skunk. Ug’s home-grown hydroponic treats. Strong as an elephant tranq. It’s knocked me sideways.
One thing at least: the stag weekend’s running smoothly. Jack succeeded in placating the others about the girls being here and even Jimmy’s relaxed. Just a shame I’m too far gone now to play any part in it. I look across the room at the others, all of whom seem impossibly animated. Jack’s holding court over at the table, presiding over a point of technicality in their drinking game. I see him laughing over something Damien’s whispered in his ear and, momentarily, I remember what it’s like to feel happy. But the feeling’s transitory. H fills my mind and the overwhelming pain of losing her sinks back in. And that is what’s happened, isn’t it? She’s gone. Out of my life and back in to her own. Or rather, I haven’t even lost her, I never even held her in the first place. Not apart from that one night which already seems dreamed, unreal. I see now, that like all my strategic planning that followed in its wake, it was an illusion. I was on to a loser right from the start because, as with Penny Brown, I was never the man H wanted.
I stare at the carpet and search the floor for any sign of a trapdoor. Straight to hell. I don’t care. The way I’m feeling right now, it couldn’t be any worse than here.
Susie
Saturday, 23.10
I fling my bike at the bottom of the path. The fresh air has sobered me up and now I just feel sorry for myself. This is all such a mess. I glance up at the boys’ apartment and can hear the party. All I want to do is see Stringer, but there’s no way I can go in there. Not now. Maybe I should just get my things and go home.
I’m fishing the key out of my pocket when I hear his voice.
‘Susie?’
I look up and see Stringer sitting on the doorstep to our chalet with his hands in his pockets. I’m so relieved to see him that I run towards him and fling my arms around him.
He holds me for a moment before pushing me away gently.
‘Hey, hey,’ he says. ‘What’s the matter?’
I shake my head. I hand him the key and he opens the door and turns the light on.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ I say, walking with him in to the sitting-room.
‘What’s happened?’
‘It was a disaster. I had a big row with H,’ I start. I want to go on, but now I’ve found him, there doesn’t seem much point.
‘Sit down. Calm down,’ he says.
I slump on to the sofa, wanting him to join me, but he sits on the chair, the table between us. ‘What happened?’
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s just drunk and being a bitch.’
‘Do you want a drink?’ he asks, looking round.
I nod and point at the kitchen counter. ‘There’s some tequila.’
He gets up, rinses out a glass and pours me some.
‘You have some, too,’ I say.
Stringer hesitates, then pours himself a splash. In the silence, I can hear the boys next door.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask.
He shakes his head and sighs. ‘Nothing much. It’s more or less a repeat of last night.’
‘Is that why you’re here?’
‘Fresh air and fresh company . . .’
‘I haven’t got any friends left. I want to go home.’
‘I’m here now,’ he says, soothingly.
And he is. But he’s not. He’s over there and I really want to hold him.
‘If it’s any consolation, I’m your friend,’ he smiles.
I smile back and pick up the bottle. ‘Another one?’
Stringer
Saturday, 23.15
‘Go on, then,’ I say, pushing my glass across the table towards Susie. ‘If you can’t beat ’em . . .’
Susie obliges, filling my glass meniscus-high with tequila. We chink glasses and drink. She drains hers and slams it down on the table.
‘Come on, shandy boy,’ she taunts, noticing that I’ve only drunk half mine.
I do as she says and fight the urge to retch. ‘Sorry,’ I apologize, my face contorting in to a wince. ‘I haven’t drunk this stuff in a while.’
‘What, you not a big drinker?’ She looks surprised. ‘I’d have thought that was compulsory, hanging out with that bunch. Don’t want to mess up your body, is that it?’
‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ I mumble.
She slops more drink in to our glasses regardless. ‘Tell us about it, then,’ she suggests, then retracts, reading my face, ‘Only if you want, like . . .’
‘The Big A’ I say.
‘Eh?’
I feel my skin flushing. I’m not sure I want to get into this. But why not? I trust her. She’s not going to judge me. I’m sure of that. ‘Addiction,’ I say. ‘Coke. I used to have a problem. A habit. I used to have a habit. I had to have counselling.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her lips pursing. ‘I didn’t know. I mean, you hear about it – people getting messed up – but—’
‘But you’ve tried it and some of your mates have tried it, and some of your mates try it every day, and they seem fine . . .’ She laughs at my guessing what she was about to say. ‘But I didn’t cope,’ I explain. ‘I got bust up by it. Well and truly. It happens . . .’
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeats. ‘I—’
‘No,’ I interrupt, not wanting her to feel embarrassed, ‘it’s all right. I’m sorted out now. I sorted myself out. But the booze. Back at the beginning, when I was getting straight . . . I stayed off booze bingeing. It was too close. There was too much of a link. I still like to have a drink, but not to the point of losing it.’ I pick up my glass and look at it. I want to get pissed. I want to get pissed with her. I continue to stare at the glass. I’ve
moved on. I don’t feel scared of this. There is no link any more. I’m already free. I clear my throat. ‘But it’s over a year ago now and’ I nod in the direction of our apartment – ‘if I’ve survived Jimmy and Ug . . .’ I raise the glass and drink. ‘To you,’ I say. ‘To us. To getting pissed and having fun.’
Our eyes link and my gut plunges like an elevator. God, I want to sigh. Suddenly, there’s this deep breath inside me that I want to let loose. Everything is right about this moment, in the same way that everything has been right about this day. Susie’s eyes crinkle as she smiles. I wish I could kiss her. I want to kiss her. I want it to be like it is in the movies, where we smile and we kiss and we end up in bed. And then I want it to fade to black, safe in the knowledge that everything is going to be all right. All I want is to be normal and unafraid.
‘Smile,’ she says.
I do what she suggests, because being here with her I feel that everything is going to be all right. We’re going to smile and we’re going to laugh and we’re going to be friends.
And that’s going to have to be enough.
At this point, we both look to the window. Outside, there’s the distinct noise of a group of girls thundering out a drunken rendition of Oasis’s ‘Wonderwall’. There are no prizes for guessing who the choir members are.
Susie glances at me. ‘I can’t face that lot right now.’ She gets to her feet and picks up the tequila bottle. ‘Especially not H. I’m sharing a room with Amy. Let’s go there. They might leave us in peace.’
Susie
Saturday, 23.35
I wriggle backwards on the bed, flattening out the duvet between us, before taking my boots off. I fling them against the wall and cross my legs under me.
‘Sorry, my feet smell a bit.’
Stringer’s sitting on the edge of the bed and he glances towards me.
‘I doubt if they do as much as mine,’ he smiles.
‘Bet they do. Take your shoes off.’
He kicks them off. I pat the bed beside me and he comes and sits next to me on the duvet, his legs stretched out.
‘Look,’ I say, pointing at his toes. ‘Your second toe is longer than your big toe.’
