by Nina Manning
‘You need to hang these centrally.’ I walked over to the large mirror. ‘Maybe here in the middle.’ I demonstrated by holding up the bunting. ‘Then the same with those banners, maybe across the doorways. I used to…’ I stopped myself, but not before three faces were locked on me with raw interest. ‘What I would probably do,’ I righted myself, ‘is stick some of these on the walls, at an angle.’ I grabbed some of the smaller happy birthday signs and held one diagonally against the wall.
‘With the balloons.’ I turned round to face them. ‘Bunches of threes scooped into corners, make sure there’s a good wad of balloons at the front door and on the side gate. People like that.’
‘Brilliant. Thanks, Regi. Karen bought so much, I just felt overwhelmed once she got it back,’ Mini said, and she came and stood next to me and gave my arm a small squeeze. I looked at Mini and smiled, remembering what these kind gestures meant from a friend and how I had always been the one to throw my arms around everyone. I found myself reaching over with my other hand and placing it momentarily on Mini’s.
‘Well, you sound like you know what you’re talking about anyway,’ Steve said, and I heard a brightness to his tone that I hadn’t heard before. I locked eyes with him for a second, trying to gauge his intent. Why did he remind me so much of someone I was trying so hard to forget?
I turned to go to the kitchen, but took a step back and grabbed a bag of balloons and a banner.
‘I’ll stick some of these in the summerhouse.’
I opened the door to the summerhouse and found the warm afternoon had turned it into a sauna as I was greeted by a waft of hot air. I stood and looked around at what I had created, and I felt a swell of pride. The same swell of pride I had felt when all three girls had oohed and ahhed at how beautiful it looked and what an eye for interiors I had. Even Karen, who had become so awkward around me.
I blew up three balloons and stuck them to the front door. I Blu-Tacked a banner above it, then stood back to admire my handy work. I looked once again inside the summerhouse and I realised with all the commotion in the clothes store I had forgotten to pick up the table. I looked at the time on my phone and saw that it was getting on for five o’clock. It was too late to rush back for it now.
I was drawn back into the warmth of the summerhouse, and I sunk into the new chair and drank in the warm afternoon sun. I found myself thinking about Will, wondering if I should have invited him. Perhaps having him here would give me some support? He had shown interest when I had mentioned the party. But then I thought about the horrors of the clothes shop that afternoon, and I shuddered at the memory. I would get through this. I needed to do it, to thrust myself amongst people and try to start leading a normal life, one that wasn’t filled with dread and fear.
People started arriving from 6 p.m. I was upstairs getting ready, which these days didn’t involve a lot of effort. I changed into the new shirt, which now already held bad memories of the store where I bought it, but I tried to push that image from my head. I opened and shut the window six times, brushed my teeth for a full thirty-four seconds, then I ripped off yesterday’s sheets and threw them in the corner. I had already brought up the fresh sheets, and so I went about making the flat sheet as taut as possible with nice, neat hospital corners. I then went about lining the pillows up so that they sat perfectly and placed two cushions neatly next to one another. I could hear voices travelling up the stairs and into my room. Finally, when I knew I couldn’t stay in the bedroom any more, I went to the door, unlocked and locked it six times, then I headed downstairs.
There was a crowd forming in the kitchen, and music was playing from a docking station. A few people I had never met before were standing next to the fridge. Mini was standing in her pink figure-hugging mini dress, pouring orangey-looking drinks from a dispenser. She looked up as I entered.
‘Oh, Regi, come and try some of my punch. I probably over did it on the rum – let me know what you think?’ She giggled and handed me a glass. ‘You look lovely. Cute shirt.’
I took a drink and thanked her. Yes, she had overdone it on the rum, but luckily rum was… had been… one of my favourite spirits.
I was thrust back to a happy time, with someone I thought I loved, who I thought loved me, by my side. I took another long sip and tried to drown the memories as I could feel the strength of the alcohol do its thing. I thought about putting the glass down; I could just pretend for the rest of the evening, fill my glass with lemonade and let people think I was drinking vodka. I knew that was the sensible choice to make because although the swell of the alcohol in my body was giving me the lift I needed right now, tomorrow would be a different story. But Mini filled my glass up again, and somehow it kept finding its way to my lips as I stood in the kitchen trying to wash away the uncomfortable sensation of mixing with strangers.
Mini moved us all into the lounge to show off her handy work and there were a few whoops of glee from her young friends who were clearly taken with her artistic skills. She threw me a coy glance and I sent her a wink back. She had managed to do a great job with the decorations. Big, thick streamers hung from each side of the large mirror whilst bunting adorned the centre. Balloons sat in threes, as I suggested, on lampshades, over the doorway, on coffee-table legs and against chair legs whilst the small, shiny happy birthday banners were splattered diagonally. In the corner, someone had set up a strip of disco lights and a plug-in disco ball. There was a fold-up table with a set of decks on it. I realised things hadn’t changed very much since I was this age. Young people of every generation have generally done things the same. A party is a party so long as there are lights, decorations, booze and guests.
By 9 p.m., the house was heaving. I had no idea that between them, Sophia, Mini and Karen had so many friends. I guessed I was looking at friends of friends, acquaintances, bums-on-seats, anything to fill the house and make it feel like a real party. Which it did. I had moved between rooms for what had felt like hours, always finding myself with a drink in hand, occasionally engaging in stunted conversations only for them to be drowned out by the booming music or a rowdy guest. I seemed to lose all sense of what was going on. It suddenly felt so late. I was standing in the hallway when I realised I was more drunk than I had intended to get. I looked at the doorway to the lounge and began to sway along to the music. It was a song I recognised. I slowly staggered into the room, where it was packed from wall to wall with bodies drinking, laughing, dancing. I accidentally fell against a body and looked up and saw a young guy. I apologised profusely, only to see a snarl on the face of the girl I presumed was his girlfriend. I held my hands up in surrender and carried on past them. I managed to do one lap of the lounge, then found myself back in the hallway, where people were huddled or gathered on the stairs. I headed through into the kitchen; every counter and space was filled with bottles and cans and open packets of crisps and dips. I noticed how no one had bothered to even place anything in a bowl.
‘How uncouth,’ I muttered to myself.
I took down a couple of ramekins from the cupboard above my head and filled one with some roasted peanuts and the other with salty pretzel-type things. I then put the empty packets in the bin even though the whole kitchen was a write-off. I wondered who would take on the brunt of the cleaning the next day and I already suspected it would be me. But it was fine, I would need the distraction. I found a plastic cup and filled it with water from the tap. I pushed my way past a few huddled bodies and found my way to the back door and headed to the summerhouse. A group of gaggling girls and one lad had already found their way out here. I noticed one of them was smoking. I looked at my newly purchased furniture.
‘I’m afraid there’s no smoking in here,’ I said before I had a chance to prepare which tone of voice I was going to use. Judging by the looks on their faces, I realised I must have used my least warming voice. One girl gave me such a foul look then stood up and pushed past me whilst the other muttered something about me sounding like her school headmaster. The lad took a
moment longer to leave, but before he did, he flashed me an embarrassed smile.
I fell onto the sofa and laid my head against the fabric.
‘Enjoying a moment of solitude?’ A voice arrived in the room. For a moment I thought it was the lad who had just left, but when I opened my eyes, I saw Steve standing in front of me. I squinted a little as I tried to get him to come into focus.
‘I see you’ve had a couple of drinks. It’s nice to see you enjoying yourself.’ Through my drunkenness, his voice bore even more of a repellent quality, and I wondered what exactly it was that Karen saw in him. He sat down on the chair. I laid my head back against the sofa again, but I kept my eyes open. We sat in silence for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes, or even seconds.
‘Are you enjoying the party, Regi?’ came Steve’s voice again after I had hoped more than anything that he was just going to disappear from the room and leave me to enjoy some sanctuary. I imagined myself falling asleep in here. I sat up and looked at Steve. His short hair looked even shorter today, as though he might have had it cut just for the occasion. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt, even though he was not very well built at all. I would even go as far as to say he was bordering on skinny, a look that perhaps hadn’t served him well in the army.
I knew Steve was drunk too. I could feel the air between us was charged.
‘How long have you and Karen been together now, Steve?’ I slurred.
He shook his head as he tried to think. ‘I’d say just over a month now. But I’m not very good at keeping count. That’s more you girls’ jobs, isn’t it?’
‘That’s a rather sexist comment to make.’ My voice came out small and rough, but not as offensive as I had anticipated.
‘Well, you think about that kind of stuff more than us. I’m sure Karen has put it in her diary or something. I don’t know. What about you, Regi, no man on the scene?’
I shook my head and leant back against the sofa again. ‘I’m very happy on my own, thank you.’
‘It’s good that you have made that decision and you are comfortable with it. There’s nothing worse than being with someone and knowing they aren’t quite for you.’
I glanced across at Steve, wondering why his words sounded weighted with sadness.
Steve caught my glance and held it. ‘It’s probably best to wait for the right one. Cos when you know, you just know, don’t you?’
It wasn’t even a question; it was a statement. I couldn’t gauge the connotation. I was too drunk and too tired. I suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, half lying back on the sofa. I realised this was the longest conversation I had had with Steve without anyone else in the room.
‘Hey,’ came a voice from the doorway and we looked away from one another and towards the door, to see Karen standing there sounding and looking breathless as she looked from Steve to me and back to Steve again. ‘Why are you two skulking around in here?’ I couldn’t deny there was a hint of paranoia to her tone.
I looked over at Steve and went to say that it was he who had followed me in here. Perhaps it was our brief conversation, or the sour look on Karen’s face, but something stopped me from saying anything.
As Karen moved closer she began interrogating Steve as to where he had been. My senses rose above Karen’s interrogation and past the open door, where I heard the distinct raised voices of the couple next door again. I stood and left the summerhouse, past the heightening tones of Karen’s voice and into the cooling night air. I edged my way towards the back of the garden, hoping to take a look over the fence, despite the man catching me earlier. The back fence only ran halfway along the garden until it was replaced by hedge. As I began to set up the stepladder, I saw a small gap in the foliage, as if an animal, a fox, perhaps, had made its way between the gardens. Did it lead through to next door? The alcohol still swirling through my veins gave me a little confidence to creep closer, to see where it would take me and if indeed that could be through to next door’s garden.
I crouched down and realised I could fit through it. Just. I peered to the right and I could see enough of a clearing, a small portal, to suggest it would indeed take me through to next door. Suddenly, I felt like Lucy in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and I had found this secret gateway to take me into another world.
‘Regi.’ Karen’s voice was loud and sharp behind me. ‘What are you doing?’ I quickly stood up and brushed the mud and grass from my jeans.
‘Are you being sick?’ she asked.
‘No, I…’ I stopped myself. Of course I wouldn’t say what I thought I had heard coming from next door. ‘I thought I saw a fox.’
She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘Are you sure you are feeling well?’
‘I think I’m going to, erm, go to bed.’ I turned to head back into the house.
‘It’s not even 10 p.m. yet?’ Karen said. ‘The party will be going on until dawn. I hope you have sleeping tablets?’ she called after me as I walked away.
‘I can sleep through anything,’ I said. I took a final glance backwards and saw Steve looking my way as Karen turned back to him to continue her ranting.
I made my way through the house and towards the stairs. I stumbled past bodies lounging on the steps and found my way into my bedroom. I locked and unlocked the door six times, ending on a lock. Then I stood listening to a low hum of chatter woven through the pounding sound of the bass from the DJ.
I fell onto the bed, glad that I had changed the sheets already. The alcohol had done its job; I could feel tiredness engulfing me. I hadn’t thought about Mrs Clean for a few hours but now I was alone with my own thoughts, she had crept into my mind again. I wondered what she was up to, how she had spent her Saturday evening. I had just about enough strength left in me to take a quick peek before I fell asleep. I opened the Instagram app. Along the top of my home page, I could see the small icon where her stories were. It was the same image Mrs Clean used for her profile; a photo of her hand in a pink Marigold. I clicked on it and found my way to an image of a perfectly made bed. The sheets were stretched to perfection, just the way I like to keep them.
After a few seconds, it disappeared. I clicked it again and examined the same image. I looked at how neatly she had made the bed, at how the cushions sat perfectly symmetrical, all six together, in two rows of three. It was very satisfying to look at. Then it was gone again. I pressed the icon again, this time I held my finger on the image, searching more quickly for moments of symmetry; the way she had taken the photo so the whole room was at an angle, a black-and-white photo on the wall just above the bed. My finger tired and slipped and the image disappeared.
I impatiently stabbed my finger at the screen again, and this time I took a moment to look at the texture of the wallpaper. It was a geometric abstract pattern. I looked at the image for a minute, trying to see a pattern emerge in the hexagons. Then there was something else, something that didn’t fit with the black and white and greyness of the room. My eyes were drawn to another colour in the corner of the image. A flash of red. I was sure of it. In my drunken state, my finger tired and I had to bring the image up again as the timer had run out. I clicked and this time I used the time to look straight at the corner of the photo where I could see something peeping out from the bottom of the bed. I leant into the photo and could just about make out a tiny red shoe.
Eventually, tiredness overtook and my hand dropped to the side, still gripping my phone. I closed my eyes and dreamt about hundreds of tiny pairs of shoes, all dancing to the beat that rose from beneath me.
14
Now
I woke up with a start; my was mouth dry, my phone was next to my hand. Why had I been dreaming so vividly of babies’ shoes? Then I remembered what I saw before I fell asleep. I tried to switch on my phone, but it was dead. I hadn’t put it on to charge, which was also part of my perfect evening routine, which I had managed to sabotage by drinking too much last night – something I had not meant to do.
I was glad I had managed t
o miss most of the evening’s events. I wondered, with dread, what the house would look like when I opened my bedroom door. I stood up and walked round to the bedside table, plugged in my phone and pressed the on button. I waited as the icon showed and the phone began to fire back to life. My home screen was back. I took myself straight to Instagram. Did I dream that image last night? I couldn’t have done. I specifically remember watching the same story over and over again, looking at the neatness of the room, feeling a sense of connection to Mrs Clean and to her house. It was because of that that I had noticed the shoes. There was definitely something that I had seen. But the story was gone.
I slumped to my door and opened and shut it six times to feed the monster that was growing rapidly this morning. Once in the corridor, I could see and smell the carnage of last night’s activities. I stepped over a beer can, then made my way slowly down the stairs past crisp packets, food debris and puddles of liquid, which I hoped was just alcohol and not where someone hadn’t made it to a bathroom in time. I headed straight to Mini’s room and knocked tentatively. She was the one who had introduced me to Instagram; she could tell me where to find the story I had been looking at last night.
There was no answer after my second knock. I was about to walk away when I heard Mini croak, ‘Yes…’
I opened the door and the smell of stale alcohol hit me. I could see Mini lying on her side on the bed, and there was a body on the other side of her, male, tall and gangly with a wiry-haired chest. Light from the hallway spilled across the bed and onto Mini’s face. She stirred, then slowly opened one eye. I stood holding my breath. As Mini registered my presence, she opened her other eye, sat up and squinted at me. She looked sheepishly across at the other side of the bed and then back at me.
‘Are you okay?’ she said in a loud whisper.
