Vintage

by Maxine Linnell

  “I know, you’re an alien. I knew it. You don’t belong in this family at all.” He still doesn’t sound very interested.

  “It’s not quite like that. I’m not Marilyn.”

  His eyes swivel over to me. Take a look. Then go back to the TV.

  “I used to be – I am – called Holly, and I come from the twenty-first century.”

  He folds his arms.

  “You’re always telling fibs. I’ll tell Mum.”

  I give up. Nobody listens. But nobody.

  “That’s better. Have you had any lunch?”

  Holly’s mum stood back and looked at the kitchen. It didn’t look much better to Marilyn. It still looked like her own life was exposed behind this life, Holly’s life. She wanted to cover everything up again, forget it had ever existed.

  “I had something at the caff – I mean, at the coffee shop.”

  She hadn’t, but looking at all this food put her off.

  “I might have one of these soups,” Holly’s mum said, picking one out of the rubbish bin. “It’s only a few months out of date. You go off now, thanks for your help. It’s like old times when you were little, you always helped me in the kitchen. It’s been lovely doing this job with you, chatting away.” She suddenly looked a little suspicious. “Is there anything you want?”

  Marilyn knew she had to ask the question, but didn’t know what kind of reaction she would get. “I’m out tonight.”

  Holly’s mother straightened up. “Where are you going? Who with?”

  “Kyle. We’re going to the club.”

  “What time will you be back?”

  Marilyn took a deep breath, but Holly’s mother talked on. “I don’t want you out all night. And you’ll have to watch your drink. Don’t let anyone get near it. You know about the things they can slip into drinks. One of my clients, she got pregnant after she’d been drugged. Only seventeen. Terrible mess.”

  “I’m not going to get pregnant.” Marilyn didn’t want to show how shocked she was that Holly’s mum didn’t want her out all night – which meant as long as she got home before morning it must be okay. This was unbelievable.

  “And your phone, you must watch that. How are you getting there?”

  “We’ll go on the bus.” She didn’t know, but Holly’s mother seemed to need to know every move she made, even though she didn’t mind how late Holly was home.

  “And back? You can’t be out on the streets till late, it’s not safe. You’ll have to get a taxi. I’ll give you some money for the taxi, okay?”

  She got some notes out of her purse and gave them to Marilyn. It looked like a huge amount of money, but Marilyn wasn’t arguing.

  “Tell Kyle to look after you. He’s a lovely boy.”

  “I’ll be back – about two. Maybe.”

  “Two? That’s late. But I suppose if you promise Kyle will be with you the whole evening. And you’ll text me every hour…”

  “Every hour?” This mother was a strange mixture of wanting to protect her and letting her do things her own mother would never allow. There was no need to worry. It was only a club they were going to, even if it did start late. There would be adults there to make sure everyone behaved.

  “Yes, or I’ll spend the whole evening worrying.”

  “Are you going out?”

  “Yes,” the mother said, looking down at a broken nail on her hand. “I’ll be going out for a meal, with Mike.”

  “Who’s Mike?”

  “He’s a new one – I’ve talked to him on the phone a few times, and he asked me out tonight. We’re having an Indian.”

  This brought up a strange image in Marilyn’smind of Holly’s mother in a cowboy film.

  “Then you’ll have to be careful too.”

  “I’ve got my panic alarm, you should have one of those, I’ll get you one. We’ve got loads at work. And we’re meeting in a neutral place. He doesn’t know where I live. He’s an architect, so he should be okay.”

  What made architects safe and other men dangerous? What was this woman doing, going out with a complete stranger? Marilyn had only been out to eat twice, and she’d rather have her mother’s cooking. She didn’t like being fussed over by a waiter. “Hope you have a good time.”

  She looked up. “Is there something wrong?”

  Marilyn could feel the mum looking at her properly, for the first time. She was sure she was going to find out that she was an imposter, not Holly. Surely her own mother would see.

  “Come on, I always know when you want something. You’re being so nice to me.”

  “No, no really. Everything’s fine. I was just…”

  “Trying to seem interested. I know. I was young once.” She laughed.

  “I am interested – I mean, I…”

  But the mother was off again on her own track.

  “I wish it wasn’t so dangerous out there for you girls. Not that it isn’t dangerous for boys too. When I grew up you could go out anywhere, nobody abducted children and I’d never heard of sexual abuse, or trafficking, or date rape.”

  Marilyn had never heard of sexual abuse either, or the other things. Holly had a great life, that was obvious, but why was it all so dangerous?

  “It’s a jungle out there. You look after yourself, Hol. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you and I was on my own.”

  So it was all about Holly’s mum. Marilyn wasn’t so surprised. Her mother and Holly’s weren’t so different after all.

  Marilyn went upstairs again, to Holly’s room. She didn’t know what else to do. She lay down on the bed and dozed off, dreaming of people attacking her and shutting her into cellars and sticking their tongues down her throat. She woke up at four with a bad headache and a desolate feeling in her stomach. Or was it Holly’s stomach? She couldn’t work any of this out. But then she thought of the evening ahead, and Kyle. And Saleem, only there was something about Saleem she wasn’t sure of.

  This was the adventure she’d been longing for all her life.

  I’ve been trying to send mind messages to Marilyn. She has to find the note I left for her in the kitchen. I fiddle with my mobile. Turn it off. Not much battery left. No good here anyway.

  Marilyn’s mum is at the bedroom door again. I hide the mobile. She stands in the doorway.

  “You’ll have to have a sandwich for your tea, I’m not cooking tonight. And if you’re going out, you’ll need to eat early. I’ll make you an egg one and leave it in the kitchen.”

  No need for a sandwich. I won’t be eating. Don’t think that would go down well here.

  “Your dad and I are going down town to do a bit of shopping. Not that he’ll do anything but grumble. I need to get him some new shoes.”

  How come you need to get him shoes? Doesn’t he have the brains to buy them for himself?

  “You’re looking a bit peaky. Don’t stay out late. You know you have to be back for ten.”

  Ten? Ten? Who does she think I am? Ah yes.

  “Right. See you.”

  She turns and goes. Shuts the door hard behind her.

  Marilyn, please, please, find the note. Please find it. Don’t do anything that will blow it for me. With the guy across the road. Please. I can’t believe this.

  I have a good sob in Marilyn’s pillow. Nobody comes in. I hear feet on the stairs. Whoever it is walks right past.

  Marilyn swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her face with her hands. The headache had begun to fade. She decided to take a look at Holly’s clothes, to see what she might wear to the club.

  The wardrobe was stuffed so full that the door wouldn’t close, and there were heaps of clothes on the chair by the window too. Under the bed were piles of dusty shoes. She couldn’t believe it, so many shoes, in the wardrobe, under the bed, everywhere. This family must be very rich.

  There was a towel in the corner. She picked it up. It was thick and soft and fluffy, with a grey stain down it. It was still damp, damp from where Holly had dropped it – she must have. It was so
strange, holding that towel. She could smell a kind of scent on it, musky and strong. She folded it up neatly so the stain wouldn’t show and put it on the bed, smoothing it with her hand.

  She picked up some of the clothes on the chair. There were tops that looked short enough for a nine-year-old to wear, a skirt that looked like the pelmet on their front room curtains, trousers made out of a hard black-grey fabric that looked like nobody would be able to breathe if they managed to get them on, a huge black leather belt with big silver studs, more and more stuff that was totally unlike anything Marilyn had ever seen before.

  Then she looked in the wardrobe. More of the same. Nothing looked home made. How could Holly afford all this? But some things looked almost familiar – a dress in white with black spots, gathered round the waist and flaring out in the skirt. Marilyn had something almost like it when she was younger, only it had rainbow stripes. And it was longer.

  She caught sight of herself in the long mirror on the wall. Why not? Why shouldn’t she try Holly’s clothes on, see how she looked? She was used to trying to be invisible so she wouldn’t be laughed at, or even noticed. But this place was different, and she looked different too, her shoulders less slouched, her eyes brighter, her hair long, in a strange style with different lengths, and black.

  She began with the clothes that seemed safe enough – a long purple skirt and a tight long black top with a low neck and long sleeves. That looked okay, but when she put the studded black belt on top it looked better somehow. She tried out the belt tight round her waist, and then as it was so long, dropped it round her hips. She swung her hips in the mirror and the skirt danced. She smiled, she almost laughed out loud.

  Then she took off the skirt and top and belt, and tried on some strange stretchy white shorts, and a tight blue top with little sleeves. The socks she’d put on earlier made her look like a wrestler, and she found the pink pair of canvas boots with white laces and added them. It was so funny, posing in the mirror in fancy dress, that she got carried away. She jumped when there was a knock at the door.

  “Wait a minute, I’m just getting changed!” she said, beginning to struggle with the clothes.

  “Come on, you’re safe with me. Zero interest in female body. Let me in!”

  It was Kyle. She opened the door. Kyle was holding out a bottle.

  “Great, are you wearing that tonight?”

  Now she laughed out loud. Wearing this? To a club? With the vicar?

  “You’re having me on,” she said, turning to the open wardrobe.

  But maybe this club would be different. Why shouldn’t it be? Everything else was different.

  “No, that’s a fantastic look, go on.” Kyle headed for Holly’s makeup table and put the bottle down.

  Kyle had the strangest trousers on she’d ever seen. They were black, as tight as the ones she’d found of Holly’s, and so short in the waist that she couldn’t see how they were staying up, unless gravity had changed as well as time. The studded belt, like Holly’s, had no purpose. Then there was a red stretchy top and a jacket that looked far too small. But he looked great, so much better than the boys she knew in those sports jackets and shiny trousers. They looked like younger, spottier versions of their fathers.

  Marilyn was more concerned about what Saleem might think. She didn’t somehow think he’d like the shorts. But Kyle didn’t seem bothered by them.

  She headed back to the wardrobe, trying not to look at Kyle putting black mascara on his eyelashes.

  Sheila comes over at 6.30. I’m pleased to see her. Crazy. She’s glued her hair together somehow. Smells funny. Bright blue eye shadow. Tiny heels. Dress. I can’t begin to describe it. Terrible. She seems happy enough with it all. I’m half way pulling the stockings on. Fix them to the belt. Pink rubber bits – very pervy. Never wear them myself. Got the dress on. Posh. Like I’m going to an interview. Can’t imagine what this club’s like. Can’t be like the club I know. Kyle will be getting ready. With Marilyn? What will she be making of him?

  I miss him. Badly.

  “Which shoes are you going to wear?”

  I’ve only got two pairs. Funny. Beginning to think as if I’m Marilyn. Like her shoes are mine. I put on the sandals. They’ll have to do. Mum says I should put myself in someone else’s shoes. Specially hers. So now I am. Only Mum can’t see.

  “Let’s do your makeup – come on, I’ll do it, take your glasses off.”

  I sit. Let Sheila put stuff on my face. Bright blue eyeshadow. Red lipstick. Act like it’s all fine.

  “Your eyes are a bit red.” Doesn’t ask if I’ve been crying. Or if anything’s wrong. Some friend.

  I leave the house and find Marilyn’s bike out at the back. It’s still light. Forgotten the glasses. Can’t see. Feel an idiot getting on the bike in all this stuff. Wobble down the hill into the wind. Dress climbs up my legs. Sheila’s hair stays glued. Mine is all over the place.

  I’m expecting to head into town. But Sheila’s riding the other way. Past the coffee shop. Round the corner. Keep going for a while. I’m getting puffed. No traffic. Great. We even ride next to each other. Laughing and calling out. I’m enjoying it. Who’d believe that? Kyle wouldn’t. He’d crack his head open laughing. Wonder what the guy over the road would think. Has Marilyn met him yet? What could she be doing? She must be there. Must be. In my life.

  Sheila turns in. Shack with a tin roof. I fall off the bike. This isn’t a club. It’s a little church. With a cross and everything and another building behind it. Sheila gets off her bike. Leaves it leaning against the wall. I lean my bike next to hers.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it up?” I ask, as Sheila turns towards the door.

  “Who’s going to steal it?”

  There’s a queue of people about our age. Mainly girls. Only about six boys, looking totally uncomfortable. Tweed jackets. Creased trousers. Shirts.Ties. Dorks, all of them. Standing separate from the girls. Like they’d rather be anywhere but here.

  I know what they mean.

  The vicar comes out. I know he’s the vicar. Dog collar and black shirt. Spreading out over a huge stomach. Neck spills out over the collar. He rubs his hands.

  “Hello, everyone, good to see you. Now, tonight we’re going to have records to dance to, and there will be lots of competitions and prizes, so I hope all you earlybirds will come in and help clear the chairs so we can begin.”

  He must be joking.

  Marilyn ended up wearing the long purple skirt, but Kyle persuaded her into a tight black corset to go with it. There were thin black straps over her shoulders. She’d never worn anything like this. Never seen anything like it.

  She found a black shiny jacket. She hoped it wouldn’t be so hot in the club that she’d have to take it off. She stuffed her mobile into the pocket. She liked the pink boots, and Kyle approved, so at least she’d be able to walk.

  Kyle picked up the bottle, opened it and had a long swig. He wiped the top and passed it to her. Marilyn wasn’t used to drinking. Her father let her have a sip of brown ale every now and then. She tipped up the bottle and nearly choked as the strong sweet liquid slopped into her mouth. She laughed and gave it back to Kyle. A warm glow spread through her body, from her shoulders to her toes.

  She went over to the mirror, where Kyle had spread out all the makeup and dribbled it on the table. It was beyond her imagining that a boy could wear makeup. She noticed a photo pushed under the mirror frame – a picture of Kyle’s face close to a girl’s face. They were both grinning, looking wildly happy, showing off their straight white teeth. She liked the look of the girl, she seemed like someone who had a good time with her friends. She looked like the kind of girl who didn’t like Marilyn, who wouldn’t even notice who she was. She felt a stab of envy.

  Then she realised it was Holly. This was the girl she had replaced. And that meant that she, Marilyn, had loads of friends and a brilliant life.

  She began on the makeup. It was spectacular, some black stuff on her eyelids, the mascara on
her eyelashes, thick gloopy lipstick and sparkly stuff over her shoulders.

  “Anyone would think you were after someone,” said Kyle, leaning against the wardrobe and watching her.

  “Me? No, just after having a good time.”

  But Marilyn was thinking of Saleem, wondering if she’d be here long enough to get to know him better.

  This couldn’t be permanent after all. She couldn’t be that lucky. She’d have to give Holly her life back. It wasn’t fair on her.

  “Where’s your mobile – you haven’t lost it, have you? How crazy can you be?”

  “No, it’s here somewhere.” Marilyn scrabbled through the piles of clothes on the bed, and found the mobile underneath. She slipped it into her jacket pocket.

  “It must be about ten – we could head off to town and see what’s going on.”

  Marilyn tried to look casual.

  “Yeah, I’ll have to ask my mum…”

  “She was going out when I got here – looking like she’d had a makeover.”

  Marilyn remembered Holly’s mum had a date with the strange architect. It was the first time she’d ever gone out in the evening without her mother giving her a string of orders and warnings not to get back after ten. Strange to close the house door, leaving it empty, as dusk fell. Strange not to have a dad there, reading his paper, tutting and grunting. Strange to walk down towards the town with a boy, without worrying about what the neighbours might think. There didn’t seem to be any neighbours, or if there were, she’d not seen them.

  Strange to be linking arms with Kyle, strange to be thinking about Saleem, strange to see the buildings on the road, some transformed, some completely new, some a dingier version of the ones she knew so well she hardly saw them. Strange to see the long line of cars and lorries inching their way down the main road, a never-ending queue. Strange to be her, to be Marilyn in Holly’s body, out of place, out of time. Strange to be free.

  It was like winning the pools.

  The vicar’s standing at a small table. With a cashbox.