Unbecoming

by Jenny Downham

Mary ate quickly, as if she hadn’t eaten for days, sighing with pleasure at each new mouthful. She got chocolate everywhere – her chin, her cardigan, all over the table. When she stirred sugar into her coffee (three lumps!) she got froth all over the back of her hand and simply wiped it down her skirt.

  People didn’t do brave things. Not people Katie knew anyway. Dad was a coward who lied about having a girlfriend. Mary was a coward who gave up her baby. Mum worried about almost everything and Katie – well, it was clear she’d also inherited the cowardly gene because she should have apologized differently – louder, or for longer or more eloquently.

  Chris was the only brave one – he had to be. No choice.

  ‘Lovely,’ Mary declared, pushing the plate away and turning her face contentedly to the sun. ‘I could eat that all over again.’

  ‘Why did you abandon your baby?’ Katie asked her.

  Mary opened one eye and frowned, as if the question stirred something deep inside. ‘Did I?’

  ‘Yeah, you left her with your sister and then you disappeared.’

  ‘They told me to, didn’t they?’

  ‘Not your fault, then?’

  Katie knew she was being mean, chucking Simona’s words at Mary to stop the pain in her own chest. But she was on a roll.

  ‘Mum was nine when you showed up again. Why did you do that to her?’

  ‘Was it really that long?’

  ‘She thought Pat was her mum. Imagine the shock when you turned up out of the blue and announced yourself.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not what happened.’

  Mary looked so confused that Katie felt instantly sorry and offered her the teacake to make up for it. Mary’s delight in sweet things was spectacularly distracting as usual, but Katie felt wretched.

  She got the book out again, turned it upside down and started a new page at the back. Under the header Katie’s stories, she wrote:

  Never come to this café again!

  Make sure all future trips are OUT OF TOWN!!

  Stop being weird.

  Stop being a coward.

  Stop being neurotic.

  She wrote in small explosions of violence across the page: Get Esme back. Get some new clothes. Get a boyfriend. Knock ALL the boys dead at the party tomorrow. Risk your heart and make things HAPPEN!!

  Sixteen

  Long-Lash mascara, Vamp lipstick, Pure Sheen foundation and Secret Shimmer eyes. It was just Katie inside, but outside you’d never know it. She looked utterly different as she smiled at herself in the mirror. She’d left her hair loose and it shone red-gold at her, complementing the colours in the dress perfectly – forest green, vivid emerald, charcoal black and every shade between – all shifting when the light caught them.

  ‘For your party,’ Mary had said when she pulled it from its carrier bag and handed it over. ‘Go capture some hearts.’

  When Mary had insisted on bringing her ‘kissing dress’ from the house, Katie had thought it’d be some old moth-eaten thing. She’d never imagined it to be vintage silk. Or that Mary would let her wear it. Or that it would fit like a glove.

  Maybe it had transforming qualities. Maybe it would give Katie the confidence to chat and flirt and drink and dance like a normal person? She might become extrovert by proxy. It should definitely be possible to bewitch boys in a dress like this.

  A rap at the door. ‘Taxi’s here!’

  There was nothing Mum could do to stop it happening now. Katie gave herself one last smile in the mirror.

  ‘That dress suits you,’ Mum said. ‘I haven’t seen it before.’

  Katie wanted to say, It was Mary’s, but if she said that, Mum would think it didn’t suit her any more, so she just nodded. And then she remembered Mum had been witness to Mary’s hunt for it at the house and so this was probably a test.

  ‘Mary brought it back with her. I think it’s the one Pat made from all that silk.’

  ‘And she doesn’t mind you wearing it out tonight? It must be quite precious to her.’

  ‘It’s precious to me too.’

  Mum flicked her a glance. ‘Funny how you two get along.’

  Katie shuffled her feet. She felt guilty and it was crazy, because shouldn’t Mum be glad they got along? You’d think she’d be grateful. Relieved, even.

  Mum rummaged for taxi money in her handbag. ‘Can you give me the address where you’ll be?’

  ‘I’ll text when I get there.’

  ‘What if you forget?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Well, make sure you ask to see the driver’s ID.’ She handed over twenty pounds, then stood in the lounge doorway watching Katie put on her jacket. ‘You are just going to a party, aren’t you?’

  ‘Where else would I be going?’

  Mum looked shifty and sad all at the same time. ‘I don’t know.’

  Katie went into the lounge to say goodbye to Chris and Mary. They were watching the Nature channel. A monkey was breaking the windows of a house with a stick. He was wearing trousers and a T-shirt.

  ‘He doesn’t like living there,’ Chris said without looking up. ‘He wants to go back where he came from.’

  Mary cheered as the monkey chased a woman across a car park. ‘Run, girl, run!’

  Katie leaned down to kiss her goodbye. ‘I’m off to a party.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘I’m wearing your dress.’

  Mary waved her out of the way of the TV. ‘Good luck with that!’

  At the door Mum looked doubtful. In her opinion the world was teaming with muggers and rapists and drunkards and plain old-fashioned psychos with cleavers and scissors and knives. ‘Please be careful, Katie.’

  ‘I’ll dodge all the bullets – promise.’

  ‘Don’t laugh. It’s a dangerous world.’

  ‘It’s a party, Mum. It’s supposed to be fun.’

  Fear definitely travelled down generations. But tonight Katie was going to shrug it off. She took the lift (even though Mum would worry in case the cable broke, or the doors got stuck, or someone got in with a blade and a wicked grin) and at the bottom, she waved up the stairwell. Something unfolded in her stomach, like a fist unclenching as she eased the main door open …

  It’s 1952 and your father thinks you’re asleep. You’ve feigned a cold and gone to bed early, made up some story about feeling unwell, even gone without tea to consolidate the plan. Downstairs, your sister writes her diary and imagines the man you will marry, the children you will have, the house you will keep and all the lovely things your husband will buy for you. You don’t have time for this. You’re climbing out of your bedroom window and tiptoeing across the grass with your shoes in your hand. You’re wild. You don’t want any of those things, thank you very much. Pat can dream them into existence for herself, not for you.

  There’s a big band, fifteen musicians and hundreds of people dancing. You jitterbug. You jive. You know all the steps to all the dances and you move beautifully with the music. You don’t even know the names of your dance partners, but that doesn’t matter because it’s exciting and hot and you swirl about and get breathless and then the music stops and you go back to your friends and wait for the next tune.

  The world belongs to you. You can absolutely get away with anything …

  Katie smiled. Here she was, over sixty years later, with the very same silk brushing her legs as she walked. No strappy dance shoes, but the heels on her boots made a satisfying clatter, like she was announcing herself as she walked the last few metres to the house.

  The party had spilled outside and kids on the front lawn stood about in groups, smoking. Girls had their arms wrapped about themselves to keep warm. They shivered and stamped their feet like horses. A couple of girls looked up as Katie walked past. She didn’t know them but she waved anyway.

  Through the door and into a hallway. She peered into a lounge. Some boys were in there watching a football match on TV with the sound off. Music pumped out of a speaker in the corner. One of the boys w
as leaning with his back against the window. He looked Katie up and down.

  Down some stairs and into a kitchen. It was big with wooden floors and had a marble island in the centre where bottles of beer were lined up in rows. Beyond the island, a door led out to a garden. Through the glass, Katie could see a crowd of lads standing out there looking awkward, gripping beer to their chests like they were waiting for something to begin.

  It crossed Katie’s mind that she was at the wrong party – no Esme, no girls from school, just a bunch of strangers and a pile of booze. She hadn’t seen a single person she knew.

  Go! said a voice in her head. Run. No one will know you were here and no one will miss you. You can buy chocolate on the way home.

  She gripped the edge of the counter and breathed, trying to push away the rush of fear.

  Over sixty years ago Mary held the shortest edge of silk under her chin, letting the length of it tumble to her ankles. ‘There’s magic in it, look. I reckon it’ll make two dresses!’

  Mary’s father clinked his knife against the jam pot. He didn’t want his youngest going to parties. She had too much fire and he could see trouble ahead. But if Mary was scared of him, you’d never know it.

  Katie could feel a boy looking at her. He was leaning against the microwave, just staring. His gaze was like a light on the side of her face.

  ‘You go to my school,’ he said.

  She didn’t deny it.

  ‘You do A level physics.’

  That was true, although she didn’t recall ever seeing this boy before. She tilted her chin and smiled at him.

  ‘I’m in the opposite tutor group from you,’ he said, smiling back. ‘It’s like I’m from another universe, but honestly, I do know you.’

  ‘I believe you.’ She walked over and stood in front of him. ‘So, who else do you know?’

  He looked about, slowly taking in the room. ‘Surprisingly few people.’

  ‘Well, that’s OK,’ she said, leaning in, ‘because now you know me.’

  He laughed. ‘I guess.’

  This was flirting. She’d stirred something in him and she’d done it on purpose. Ha! It would look cool if Esme came down those stairs behind her and found her chatting confidently to this boy.

  ‘You want a beer?’ she said. Because that would give her something to do – to go and get that for him.

  ‘They’re not actually free,’ he said. ‘You’re supposed to put money in the box. Mel went to the cash and carry and bought them.’

  Katie didn’t know who Mel was.

  ‘She’s not trying to make a profit,’ the boy said, ‘but I guess she’d like her investment back.’

  Katie shrugged and went to the counter and took one. She didn’t put any money in the box.

  ‘We can share it,’ she told him. ‘And maybe that means we don’t have to pay.’ She popped the beer open on the edge of the microwave door.

  He was impressed, she could tell. ‘So, who do you know?’ he said.

  ‘I’m a gate-crasher. I saw the lights, smelled the drugs, thought why not?’

  It was easy. Nothing could be easier. It was like a game and you made the rules up as you went along. The dress rippled like water and the boy laughed at all her jokes. The boy thought she was amazing. It was as if she gave him secret signals with everything she said. She ran her fingers through her hair and smiled a lot and asked him loads of questions and looked really interested in all his answers. He totally fell for it. He was like a puppy and she was holding out her hand and feeding him.

  But then Amy walked down the stairs and straight through the back door into the garden and that meant Esme was probably out there already. Why hadn’t Katie thought of that? She should’ve checked. It should’ve been the first thing she’d done.

  ‘Sorry,’ she told the boy. ‘I have to go.’

  He looked a bit surprised.

  ‘I’ll come back,’ she told him, although she didn’t know if that was true.

  There was a bench outside the kitchen door and Esme and Amy were sitting on it. Maybe flirting with the boy had made her brave because Katie walked straight up to them. ‘Hello, you two.’

  Amy said, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘I was invited.’

  Amy shook her head in disbelief, then whispered something in Esme’s ear before standing up and stalking off down the garden path.

  Esme looked awkward. And did she move a fraction away as Katie sat down next to her?

  ‘So, how have you been?’ Katie said.

  ‘Fine. You saw me the other day.’

  ‘Not for long though.’

  Esme frowned, but didn’t say anything. She had her hair tied up high above her head. She’d stuck her trademark Chinese paintbrushes in to keep it there. Katie knew she kept them in an oval-shaped dish on the dressing table next to her bed. The dish was cream and pink with a cracked glaze and she kept hair slides and bands in it too.

  Katie was trembling. She hoped Esme didn’t notice. ‘I’m sorry about what happened at your house, Es. I’m sorry if it freaked you out.’

  ‘Can we not talk about it, please?’

  ‘It freaked me out too.’

  ‘I really really don’t want to have this conversation.’

  ‘I miss you,’ Katie said. ‘I hate how you blank me. I hate how I text you loads and you never reply. I thought we were friends.’

  ‘My friends don’t jump me.’

  ‘I didn’t. You know I didn’t. Why are you telling everyone that?’

  They stared at each other. Esme’s eyes glittered with something and it wasn’t good. ‘Just drop it, Katie, OK? We’re at a party. Talk about something else.’

  ‘All right,’ Katie said. ‘What shall we talk about?’

  In the kitchen a big group had just arrived. They were pressing into the room, forcing the people already in there to squash nearer the back door. A couple of girls came out onto the step looking relieved. They smiled at Katie and Esme.

  ‘They’ve brought stuff for cocktails,’ one of the girls said.

  ‘But they want to charge a pound,’ said the other one.

  ‘Happy hour,’ Katie said, and both the girls laughed before walking off towards some chairs further down the garden.

  People were shouting out cocktail ingredients – exotic names wafted through the kitchen door. Everyone sounded like an expert.

  ‘I quite fancy getting drunk,’ Katie said.

  ‘Do you?’ Esme didn’t sound at all interested.

  ‘I’ve got ten pounds,’ Katie said. ‘Let’s get plastered.’

  Esme didn’t say anything.

  ‘Don’t you want to?’ Katie said.

  ‘Not really.’

  It had been easy to talk together once. They hadn’t even had to think about words. Now everything felt stilted and uncomfortable. Katie tried to dredge up something interesting or funny, some anecdote that would remind Esme why they used to be friends. Could she make herself sound heroic by telling Esme about looking after Mary? Could she make the claustrophobia of sleeping on the Z-bed amusing? Should she explain that Mary had the keys to the past, some kind of strange wonderland Katie wanted to explore? Or that she was trying to keep Mary’s stories safe for her in a memory book? Or perhaps she should change tack and tell Esme how Mary cried in the night, keening like an animal, a sound so primitive and lonely that there were no words for it. How in the morning no one mentioned it, so Katie didn’t know if Mum had heard or not.

  ‘I miss us,’ Katie said. ‘There’s so much you don’t know.’

  Esme was sitting on her hands and she suddenly leaned forwards like she was about to get up. ‘This is really awkward.’

  A moth fluttered past and they both watched it crash into the outside lamp a few times before flying off.

  ‘Awkward sitting here with you, I mean,’ Esme said. ‘When you came up to me at school, I thought …’ She looked confused. It felt like minutes as Katie watched her find the words. ‘Look, I
don’t want to give you hope, or anything.’

  ‘Hope?’

  Katie leaned back on the bench and breathed. It was the subject they’d just agreed to drop and Esme was bringing it up again.

  A flurry of people came out of the kitchen to smoke or take in the night air or whatever. They surged past, laughing and talking loudly and Esme turned her face brightly to them and smiled as if their presence was a relief.

  More people swilled in the opposite direction, back into the house. It was as if the garden had to maintain some kind of equilibrium. Esme shivered as she watched them go.

  ‘Are you cold?’ Katie said.

  ‘I was hot earlier,’ Esme said. ‘But it’s colder outside than you think.’

  Katie thought about offering her jacket, but knew it would be misinterpreted, so she didn’t. An image of Simona flashed into Katie’s head – she’d once seen her take her coat off and spread it on the grass for another girl to sit on.

  ‘I should just get on with it,’ Esme said, chattering her teeth together in an exaggerated way.

  ‘Get on with what?’

  ‘There’s something I need to say. I wasn’t going to, but Amy said I should.’

  Some things get listened to more than other things. Every vein in Katie’s body felt suddenly capable of hearing sound.

  ‘People have seen you hanging out at the café where Simona Williams works. Beth saw you one time and Amy saw you again yesterday.’

  Katie sat straighter on the bench. ‘Mary likes going there.’

  ‘Who’s Mary?’

  ‘My grandmother.’

  ‘You haven’t got a grandmother.’

  ‘I have. She just turned up.’

  Esme looked suspicious. ‘And you take her to the same place all the time?’

  How could Katie explain that she didn’t really have a choice because Mary gravitated there? This morning had been really awkward – avoiding eye contact with Simona, praying another waitress would serve them. Katie knew how it looked from the outside.

  ‘She refuses to go to anywhere else. It’s her favourite café.’

  ‘See, this just sounds like lies.’ Esme turned round to face her, ‘So, I’m guessing you’ve decided that’s what you are now. Someone like Simona Williams, I mean.’