by Jean Ure
“Oh, go away,” said Mum. “You’ve disappointed me.”
I didn’t dare admit to Millie next day that I’d nearly caved in. All it would have taken was for Mum to come out of the bathroom and hug me and say, “Oh, darling, that would make me so happy!” And there I’d be, not going to the party. But Mum had been too cross. I had let her down. I had let the whole family down. It was the biggest crime you could commit.
I really hated being in Mum’s bad books. I found it difficult to match Millie’s enthusiasm when she wanted to joke about all the boys we’d meet, and discuss what we were going to wear, and whether I should go back to her place afterwards and spend the night.
“Cos maybe your dad won’t want to come and pick you up, if he’s in the middle of dinner?”
I agreed that he probably wouldn’t. The party was due to finish at nine, and we never left La Cigale till at least half past ten.
Millie said, “Great! It’s time we had another sleepover.”
She was full of plans. Her dad would pick us up afterwards, and if I liked they could call and collect me beforehand.
“Then we could go together! That would be fun, wouldn’t it?”
I agreed that it would, but she must have detected a slight note of doubt in my voice.
“You’re having second thoughts!” she cried.
“I’m not,” I said, “honestly.”
“You are,” wailed Millie. “Oh, Peachy, please, please don’t let them talk you out of it! Promise me you won’t!”
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise.
It is so easy to make promises. So difficult, sometimes, to keep them. I wavered, back and forth. One minute I was defiant: I would go to the party! The next, I felt that I just couldn’t bear it any longer; I would do anything to make Mum happy!
It was Gran, as so often, who came to my rescue. I’d heard Mum talking to her on the telephone and guessed from the tone of her voice she was telling her all about me and my selfish behaviour. I so didn’t want to accidentally catch what she was saying that I ran upstairs and shut myself in my room. When Mum called up to me, “Peachy, do you want a word with your gran?” I was reluctant to go back down. I dreaded the thought that now Gran was going to be cross with me as well.
I said, “Lo, Gran.”
“What’s all this I hear?” said Gran, and my heart just sank. “You’ve been invited to a party? Someone in your class?”
I went, “Mm.”
“Excellent! I know your mum isn’t pleased with you, but I do hope you’re going to go?”
I think my mouth must have dropped open, cos I couldn’t get any words out. Gran was encouraging me?
“Don’t let them make you feel guilty. You go, and enjoy yourself! They all have fun, doing their own thing. Now it’s your turn.”
“But Mum thinks I’m being selfish,” I said.
“Not before time, either.”
“But it’s Dad’s birthday!”
“So what?” said Gran. “He’s not a child. You’ll be there for his big bash! That’s what really matters to him. Having you all there, showing you off to his friends. Not singing some silly dirge in the middle of a restaurant, which I might say is very bad manners. Not everyone wants to hear the McBrides in full flood! Furthermore – ” Gran said this bit rather tartly – “I don’t seem to recall all this anguish when your sister wasn’t there for his actual birthday.”
“But she was in Switzerland,” I bleated. I kind of felt duty bound to stick up for Mum. “I’m only going to a party!”
There was a pause, then Gran said, “When was the last time you went to one?”
“Dunno.” I wrapped one leg round the other and stood there like a stork.
“Some months ago,” said Gran, “as I recall. So this is every bit as important to you as going to Switzerland was to your sister. Maybe even more. I know it’s not easy for you, sweetheart, but you must stand up for yourself, otherwise that family of yours will just overwhelm you.”
I sighed and unwrapped my leg. “That’s what Millie says.”
“In that case,” said Gran, “you just make sure you listen to her. And you can tell her I said so!”
Since speaking to Gran, Mum wasn’t anywhere near as cross with me as she had been. She even suggested, the Saturday before we broke up from school, that maybe I should buy myself something special to wear to the party.
“Why don’t you pop down to Gina’s?” she said.
Gina is one of Mum’s friends from school. She has a shop in the indoor market where she sells everything from bangles and bracelets to floaty skirts and sequinned tops, along with jeans and jackets, and belts and beads, and scarves and sandals, and just about whatever else you might want.
“Go down there this morning,” said Mum, “and find something you like. Just make sure it’s pretty!”
If I had been Charlie, I would have rolled my eyes. Charlie isn’t into pretty: she is into style. Sometimes it is style that Mum approves of; sometimes it isn’t. She absolutely hated it when Charlie went through a phase of nineties grunge and started wearing shredded shorts and big boots and a top that looked like it had been knitted out of barbed wire. She has never needed to worry about me, cos to be honest I am not hugely fashion conscious. I do care about clothes, but I wouldn’t ever be bold enough to go round in some of the gear that Charlie wears, even if it is the height of fashion. Charlie is one of those massively confident people that can get away with shredded shorts and barbed wire. Me, I am more a fading-into-the-background sort of person.
Mum asked me if I’d rather she went with me to Gina’s, but I said no, I’d give Millie a ring and see if she would like to come.
“Good idea,” said Mum.
Millie and me had never been shopping together before and clothes were not something we ever really talked about. I’d kind of assumed that Millie wasn’t all that interested, but the minute we arrived at Gina’s she took over, firmly telling me that “That wouldn’t suit you” or “That’s the wrong colour” or even, when I hopefully pulled out a puffy skirt with bright orange poppies on an emerald green background, “It’s OK, but it’s just not you.”
Humbly I asked her what was me.
“I’ll know when I see it,” said Millie. “Keep looking!”
Seconds later, she gave a triumphant cry. “Here!” She was waving a pair of skinny jeans at me. Black, with silver studs. “Peachy, you’ve got to have them! They’re beautiful!”
They were beautiful, but they weren’t my size.
“I’d never get into them,” I wailed.
“Hang on, I might have some more out the back,” said Gina. “Let me go and see.”
“Oh, I do hope she has!” Millie was holding the jeans up against herself, in front of one of the long mirrors. “They’re absolutely perfect!”
“Yes, if you’re size zero,” I said. Millie is practically size zero. Mum says she is like a sparrow. “Why don’t you try them on? Then I can see what they look like.”
“OK!”
It was all the invitation she needed. I knew she was dying to see if they fitted her. I gave her a push and she dived happily through the curtain into one of the tiny changing rooms. I crammed in with her.
“Look! See?” She twisted and turned in front of the mirror. “They’d really suit you!”
“They really suit you,” I said.
“How are we doing?” Gina’s head appeared round the edge of the curtain. “Here you go! Try these for size.”
Oh, they were a perfect fit! I twisted and turned, trying to see myself from every angle.
“Was I right, or was I right?” Millie gestured at my image in the mirror. “God, I’d die for a pair of jeans like these!”
“So get them,” I said. “We’ll both get them! Then we can toss who wears them to the party.”
Millie looked doubtful.
“Why not?” I said. I glanced at the price tag. “Your mum wouldn’t mind, would she? They’re not that expensive.�
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Millie pulled a face. “No, but the Diddy People have just had to have new shoes, and all the bills start coming in at this time of year.”
They did? I had no idea. I wasn’t even sure what bills she was talking about. But I did know that even if he was the cream of the cream, Millie’s dad didn’t earn anywhere near as much as my dad did, shouting at people on the radio.
“So, you gonna get them?” said Millie.
“Yes!” I suddenly decided: I was going to get them. I picked up both pairs and marched back across the shop.
“How were they?” said Gina.
I said, “Fine! I’d like this pair, please.”
I laid them on the counter.
“This pair?” said Gina. “But they’re the sm—”
“I know,” I said quickly. “They’re the ones I want.”
Gina seemed doubtful. “Are you sure?” she said.
I nodded. I did so hope she wasn’t going to warn me that they’d be too tight even if I did manage to wriggle my way into them.
“Well, if they don’t quite fit,” she said, handing me the bag, “you know you can always bring them back.”
“Why does she think they wouldn’t fit?” said Millie, as we left the market. “You’ve already tried them on.”
“So’ve you,” I said. “Here!” I thrust the bag at her. “They’re yours.”
“Mine?” Millie’s face turned slowly crimson. I do believe it was the first time I had ever seen her blush. Even the tips of her ears were bright scarlet. “Peachy,” she said, “you can’t!”
I said, “Why not?”
“Because you – you just can’t!”
“I can do whatever I like,” I said.
“But what about your mum?”
“What about her?”
“She gave you the money to get something for you!”
“I don’t need anything,” I said. I wasn’t being noble; it was quite true. I had a whole wardrobe full of stuff. “Look, just take them!” I said. “Don’t be so… so…” I couldn’t think of the word. “So ungracious.”
She didn’t say anything to that. Just stood there, frowning and chewing at her lip.
“We are supposed to be friends,” I reminded her. “Friends do this sort of thing.”
“But, Peachy,” she said, “I really c—”
“Just take them!” I roared.
I could tell she was tempted. She’d really fallen in love with those jeans! I could see the struggle going on inside her. And then, miserably, she pushed the bag back at me.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“So what am I supposed to do with them?” I said. “They’re far too small for me!”
“She said you could take them back.”
“Why should I take them back? I bought them for you. But if you don’t want them – ” I yanked them out of the bag – “I’ll go and rub them in the gutter and make them all muddy, then they’ll be no good to anyone!”
Millie put a finger to her mouth and began to tear rather wildly at a dry bit of skin. She’d make herself bleed if she wasn’t careful, going at it like that.
“I will,” I said. “I mean it!”
For one horrible moment I thought she was going to let me do it.
“You could probably have them dry-cleaned,” I said, “but Gina’s not going to take them back. And I certainly can’t wear them. Maybe I’ll just let them drop—” I held them up, between finger and thumb. We’d had a lot of rain just lately and there were still puddles everywhere. Dirty puddles. Oily puddles. “D’you want me to?” I said.
“No!” Millie gave a shriek and lunged at me. “You’ll ruin them!”
“That’s the idea,” I said.
“Oh, please,” begged Millie. “Please, Peachy! Don’t be silly.”
“Well, don’t you,” I said. I put the jeans back in the bag and held it out to her. Quite meekly, she took it.
“I don’t know what to say,” she mumbled.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I said. “I told you, we’re friends. It’s what friends do.”
“But I haven’t even said thank you!”
I didn’t want her to say thank you. She said it anyway.
“Thank you, Peachy, thank you, thank you!”
It was really embarrassing.
“Shut up,” I said. I gave her a little shove. “I got them so you could look cool. All those boys that are going to be there…?”
“Nudge nudge, wink wink,” said Millie.
“No, but seriously,” I said.
“Seriously,” said Millie. “What are you going to wear?”
“Dunno,” I said. “Haven’t thought about it. You could come back with me, if you like, and help me find something?”
That cheered her up. I was hoping she wouldn’t feel so bad once she saw all the stuff I had in my wardrobe. I’d always kept it from her before. It made me feel guilty, me having so much and Millie having so little, not to mention starving children and people living on the streets.
“It’s not right, is it?” I said, as I pulled open my wardrobe door.
Millie’s jaw didn’t exactly drop, but I could see she was shocked.
“I keep telling Mum I don’t need any more clothes! I mean, some of them I’ve hardly ever worn. But she just keeps getting them.”
It is Mum’s firm belief that when it comes to clothes you can never have too many. I was always arriving home from school to find the dining room table covered in skirts and tops, and shoes and trousers, with Mum, giggling, a little shamefaced, and explaining how Gina had just had the new season’s fashions come in. She would urge us to “Try them on, see what you think!”
She never brought stuff home for Coop or Fergus; just for me and Flora. Well, and for Charlie too, in the early days, but then Charlie had grown bold and started rebelling and saying she wouldn’t be seen dead in anything so hideous, and Mum had sadly given up. I couldn’t help wondering if it was time I started to rebel.
“Nobody should have all these clothes,” I said. “Right?”
“It is kind of… obscene,” agreed Millie.
I looked at her doubtfully. Obscene? Didn’t that mean, like, porno, or something? She does use the strangest words.
“Do you think I should give some of it to Oxfam?” I said.
“It might make you feel better,” said Millie.
“But would it do any good?”
“Wouldn’t hurt.”
“Let’s do it!” I said. I reached in and began frantically unhooking hangers and chucking stuff on to the bed. “Let’s go through it all and decide what I don’t need.”
By the time we’d finished we had a whole great pile of clothes waiting to be put into a black sack and taken down the road to the Oxfam shop.
“There!” I sank back on to my heels. “What do you think?”
Millie said, “Yes.”
What did she mean, yes? She ought to be sounding more enthusiastic than that! I’d just cleared out half my wardrobe.
“You are going to check with your mum,” she said, “aren’t you?”
“Oh, she won’t mind,” I said. “She’s always giving stuff away.”
Millie said, “Hmm.”
“Honestly,” I said. “She buys stuff one day and gives it away the next. And look at all that lot! – I’ve still got loads left.”
“So what are you going to wear?”
“You choose,” I said.
“OK!”
Millie scrambled to her feet and sprang across to the wardrobe. After swishing hangers to and fro, and taking things out and holding them up and solemnly inspecting them, she settled for a top and a pair of trousers (both from Gina’s) and insisted that I put them on so she could see how I looked.
She nodded approvingly. “Yes! That’ll do. Makes you look nice and tall and slim.”
“Ready for all those yummy boys we’re going to meet.”
I said it in a jokey kind of way, but the fact was w
e were both getting a bit obsessed by the thought of boys.
“Do you really reckon there’ll be any?” I said.
“You bet! I asked the Mouse. I told her that was the only reason we were going.”
“You didn’t!?”
“Course I didn’t!” Millie gave a happy cackle of laughter. “I just asked her if she’d really invited any and she said yes. She said there’s going to be at least six. Ten of us and six of them. Maybe more if she can get them.”
I said, “More?”
“More would be better,” said Millie.
“But where does she get them all from?” How could anyone at an all-girls school manage to know six boys? Real boys?
Millie said, “Well, three of them are cousins. One’s her brother. One’s a friend of her brother. And one lives next door. Then maybe people might bring some with them, like if they have brothers or something… like you could bring yours, if you wanted.”
“Coop?” I said, startled. “He wouldn’t want to come.”
“You mean, you wouldn’t want him to!”
It had never occurred to me. But anyway, he couldn’t. “He’ll be at Dad’s birthday dinner,” I said.
“Oh!” Millie fanned herself. “What a relief!”
She was teasing me, I knew. She’d said just the other day that now my big secret was out I didn’t have to keep my family hidden any more.
“I s’pose he’ll be there at your birthday party?” she said.
Had she really turned a bit pink, or was I imagining it?
“Don’t know if I’ll have one,” I said.
“You’d better!” said Millie.
Really, she was becoming dreadfully bossy. I sprang up, scattering clothes in all directions.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” I said.
Coop and the twins were in the kitchen. No Mum. I asked Coop where she was.
“Dunno.” He was busy helping himself to biscuits. “Taking Charlie somewhere.”
I said, “Oh.” And then, remembering my manners, “Millie, this is my brother Coop.”
“And I’m Peachy’s friend Millie,” said Millie.
Coop said, “Yeah. Hi.”
“And we’re the twins,” said Fergus.
