by Nia Lucas
Giving Nath directions as he starts the car, Justin grabs my hand and squeezes.
He whispers, “It was good meeting you Lonely Lorna, you made it a top night”, he smiles at me but this seems unlikely. I spent a lot of it baffled, silently following people through crowds and dancing like a loon. I can't imagine I added much to the evening frankly.
Justin's whispering again,“Listen, I need your number and we'll sort out a plan, love. I think I can get you to Mission y’know”, he grins in the dark.
I nod like I'm punch drunk, “OK”, you got a pen?”
He rummages around in the back of the car and finds a biro which I use to shakily write my number on the back of his hand. Street lamps light up my handiwork and it looks as if I've made it legible. I'm belatedly aware that Leon is watching us, his eyebrows drawn in a frown as I explain to Justin that I have to be at work in four hours time.
Shay turns around from the front seat, “Shit Little Red, tha's rough”, he yawns, “Wha’ job you got?”.
I roll my eyes, “I'm a waitress in a cafe on Saturdays. It's crap money”. I stop before, “but it's the only job I could get as a fifteen-year-old” slips out.
In adjusting my position in the seat to lean more into Justin, I accidentally brush my fingers against Leon's knuckles. Physically jolting from the sensation, I turn to say 'sorry' but stop when I see that he is staring down at me. Neither of us moves our hand as he holds my gaze, his eyes wide. My fingers remain sitting atop his knuckles at an awkward angle and I can feel his pulse under the tips of my fingers. Even in my sleep-deprived near-coma, I feel hyper alert to the feel of those small patches of his skin against mine and my body feels like one big pulse. I can't hold his gaze because it's too intense.
A blush floods my face and I turn towards Justin's shoulder. Still, Leon doesn't move.. I feel his eyes on me but I can't look at him, I'm scared that if I do, he'll be sneering at me. When his hand eventually shifts from under mine, its loss saddens me. He moves it slowly though, two of his fingers returning briefly to feather across the back of my hand. It’s intense. He says nothing and looks away, turning his head towards the window. In a much less suave move, I jerk my arm and reach my little finger to stroke his retreating hand, desperation adding more pressure than I intended. I swear I hear him take a sharp breath in.
This is the first direct exchange between Leon and I and it leaves me with no clue what it means, as my heart races. He does not look away from the window for the rest of the journey, allowing me to sneak peeks at him unobserved. His hands, now some distance from mine, are clenched. It makes him look like he's ready, at a moments notice, to pack somebody a punch. His black hair is a sea of twists which cover his whole head. The tips of the twists are pretty defined but as you get closer to his scalp, the definition is lost in a cloud of soft Afro chaos. His sharp cheekbones, full lips and incredible long eyelashes are like no boys I’ve ever known.
The urge to hold Leon's hand is so strong that I have to shift position to sit upright, close to Justin for the rest of the journey, to prevent myself from doing something stupid.
“Right love, turn off here?”, Nath sounds a bit weary in the front as we pull into my town.
I nod, “Yeah, that's great thanks so much for this Nath”, my voice cracks a bit.
Justin leans into me and whispers, “Lorna, look, you gotta sort out better gear for Mission, 'kay?”, he's nodding at my outfit with his eyebrows through his hairline. Jesus, what in the name of God will I wear?
My eyes dart to the dashboard clock which reads 5.08am. It's twenty minutes to Han's house, it's freezing cold, my bloody coat is in Gary's car and I'm wearing a dress made of thin silver lycra. I am so screwed.
Nath pulls the car into the lay-by and Justin reaches for the door handle, shifting his slim frame out of the car. As I follow, I turn my head towards Leon who's watching from the other end of the back seat. I quirk my lips into a very tentative smile but he just stares, expressionless.
It's ridiculously cold outside and as Justin pulls me in for a bony hug, I’m grateful for his brief body heat, “I'll ring you Lonely Lorna. This was cool!”, Justin's smiling at me kindly.
Nath shouts through Shay's now open window, “Lorna if Justin's got your digits, he'll let you know about Mission”, I nod dumbly at him, not the first clue how any of this is going to pan out.
Shay, now awake but sloe-eyed from sleep and even more gorgeous, leans out of his window, “Nice one Little Red, see ya at Mission yeah?”, he smiles a sleepy smile at me.
I melt, “Yeah, see you Shay”, feeling flushed despite freezing my bollocks off and wanting to cry.
With a peck on the cheek, Justin jumps back in the car and slams the door. Nath-the-promoter, in a car containing my new Gay-Best-Friend and the two fittest lads I've ever met, pulls a noisy doughnut and speeds off back to the motorway, as tears mist my vision. I feel like I've just lost something really important and I have no clue what to do to get it back. Bereft, mourning something that I just can't articulate, I am too bloody cold and tired to process it all. Thanking every deity I know for the trainers I’m wearing, I start to run, the clanking of the loose change in my bra deafening out the sounds of my snotty sobs.
At Han's house I creep through the gate into her garden and lob a tennis ball from our secret stash at her window. A few heart-stopping seconds later, her curtains twitch and the window opens as familiar brunette hair swings out over the window sill.
Han’s pretty, delicate face is crumpled in a frown as she hisses, “LOR! God, where have you been? I’ve been so worried, this has got to be the...shit! Lor, why are you crying?”, without waiting for my response Han disappears from view.
Only seconds later the door opens at the side of the house and my lovely best mate, her brown eyes wide with worry, appears in her 'Forever Friends' flannel PJ's.
I weep in contrition, “Han, I'm so so sorry for being so fucking late but I need to get my clothes from your room and I need to get home for work now. I'm such a knobhead but I’m OK and I'll explain all this after work tonight, I promise”, I reach for her hand.
Han sighs, “Lor, I'm just glad you're OK. You scared the crap out of me when you didn't come back at four....jeez woman, you’ve gotta stop with this late-night pissing about all the time”, there’s a serious undertone to her scold and her blatant relief makes me feel guilty.
She gives me a squeezing hug and flies back inside. Seconds later, my bag comes out of her window and I scuttle across the patio to grab it. I strip and change in the darkness before pegging it up the road to my house. With recently acquired sneaky skills, I clamber up onto the flat porch roof and into my unlocked box-bedroom window without alerting anyone to my escapades.
Ninety minutes after getting home, I’m showered, dressed and feeling like living-death when Dad walks into the kitchen as my knackered body tries to remember how to chew toast.
He smiles wearily, “Good night with Hannah, love?”
I squirm and lie to him, some plausible nonsense about watching videos and he doesn't even question my honesty. The road to hell is lined with people like me. Mum comes down the stairs and I take that as my prompt to grab my bag and leg it to the bus stop for work, before she throws venom my way.
I used to wonder if everyone’s Mum was two completely different people, one at home and one outside home but then the years went on and I went to people’s houses for tea and I saw that the two-for-one offer was just mine to handle. Outside-the-house Linda Davies is a quiet, tight-lipped but respected person. Tall, reed thin with steel-grey eyes and poker straight dark hair, she is the ying to my bear-like, strawberry-blond Dad's yang. My diminutive stature, green eyes and crazy copper curls reflect nothing of my parents. Mum's Welsh-lilt words are soft in the world outside our house, complementing my Dad’s Scouse chuckles. She’s the receptionist at a Law firm, Dad’s a surveyor for the Council. They met in Cardiff where Mum grew up and I was born exactly six months after they married. I cannot even begin to picture my ti
ghtly strung, dedicated Catholic mother as a reckless, contraceptive-spurning, pre-marital-sex-having, twenty-year-old but those dates (and my healthy 7lb birthweight) speak for themselves. My brother Dan came only a year later.
Behind closed doors though, Linda Davies morphs into her second persona: The Queen of Acid. It drips from her words, it’s been scorching my skin for years. Dad becomes a tight lipped, selectively-deaf presence within the walls of our house. I assume it’s because he thinks I'm at fault, not entitled to his defence. I used to wish he'd stand up for me but now I just accept it's not happening. Han has a theory that Linda’s never forgiven me for, “turning out ginger”. Maybe that’s it. Whatever it was, it was big. I don’t have any memory of Linda’s touch aside from her brushing my thick, curly hair so brutally every morning that my scalp bled. The Infant School nit nurse thought I had eczema and I didn’t correct her. Linda’s never hugged me. It’s Dad that offered the hugs for cut knees, the kisses for praise.
These days her acid words burn me, repeated so frequently that I could recite in my sleep the list of my failings and the depths of her shame that I am her daughter. I get the odd shove from her too, that lack of shits I give is starting to push her buttons more. Dan, the joint Gold on my people podium alongside Han, is now so tall that he towers over her. He calls me ‘Midget’ the cheeky sod but he also sees. He’s brilliant at diverting her. He and Han are my best people. My only people.
Sitting on the bus to work and trying not to fall asleep, I contemplate the fact that seeing Leon and Shay again is dependent on the survival of a scratchily inked phone number on the hand of a gregarious, elfin raver. Even an optimist wouldn't chance a gamble on those odds.
Monday 6th February 1995
On the bus to school, my body is still lethargic from the lack of sleep on Friday night. I genuinely don’t recall any part of my eight-hour shift or how I got to Han’s afterwards, my performance at work probably a waitressing career low point. My head lolled against the bus window in a semi-coma, I recall my Saturday night chat with Han.
Han’s delicate, pretty face had been scrunched up in concern for my latest poor choice as we’d sat in her bedroom, “Lor, you’re not seriously thinking about doing it, are you? I mean, how did this even happen? I didn’t even know you could dance. You were proper shit at the maypole at school and don’t start me on that Bobby Brown video obsession…”, with ninety minutes sleep in the previous thirty-six hours, I’d popped so many caffeine tablets at work to stay awake that I’d got the shakes and my vision was blurry making Han look like a sparkly brunette cloud, her features indistinguishable.
Han had thrown her hands in the air, “Bloody hell, I was worried that you'd shag Gary-the-Twat but actually, that might have been a better choice. This sounds WELL dodgy, you cannot go to Milton Keynes with a bunch of people you don't know Lor”. Han had held my hand and looked worried.
I'd shrugged, “Han, I have no idea if Justin will ever call me and even if he does, I do NOT look eighteen, I don't have the right clothes and those lads, they are just...”, I’d trailed off, shrugging.
Han had spotted my fakery and scowled, “Lor, you have GOT to promise me that you will forget about this. Seriously, the hassle is not worth it. Sneaky dates with lads you meet at the cafe are different from going to Milton-fucking-Keynes. Your mum would kill you, that woman would actually kill you”, Han was right, Mum would kill me, she's been looking for an excuse for sixteen years.
Han and I spent the next hour deliberating her massive crush on Chris Harris before I’d slipped into a sleep-deprived coma. I remember Chris being very sweet in Primary school but Han only gets to see him at the school bus stop in the morning but she lurves him. We're working up to her actually speaking to him. On the way back from Han’s, I’d stopped at the phone box to call Gary, who put up a bit of a fight for the romantic association that I was trying to end. He’d hung up on me, rendering the chance of me ever getting my coat back from his car less than nil.
As the bus pulls up outside school, the usual hassle and insults fly as I walk through the gates towards my first class of the day. This is not a safe or happy place for me. Nowhere is really.
Thursday 9th February 1995
With no call from Justin, the rave events are fading like a fever dream with reality re-established and drudgery continuing. Today when I got home I cooked the wrong tea apparently, with the wrong pans. Badly. I also didn’t hoover the way I should nor is that bathroom cleaned to her standards. I’m useless, I’m a waste of time and the top I’m wearing makes me look like the ‘loose little slut’ that I am. Dan shot me a sympathetic wince and came up with some crap about money for a school trip to distract her while I wash up. I'm just about done when the phone rings.
Answering it, there's hesitation at the other end, “Er, is that Lorna?”
The breath is sucked from my body as excitement sweeps through me, “Justin?”.
He laughs, “Lonely Lorna!! How are you love?”, and I fall giddily into a chat.
Justin chuckles, “Look love, Mission is the 18th of March, you up for it? Me and some of the crew can pick you up on the Saturday morning on the way”, Justin sounds like this is something he actually wants to do but reality bites,
“Justin, I honestly don't reckon that I can do it”, I'm whispering as I close my eyes in despair, “I don’t have the clothes, my Mum would kill me if she found out and how would I even get back?”, I shrug pointlessly down the phone.
Justin sighs, “Look, I'll make sure that you get back OK and even Leon said something about giving you a lift, so there’s options. C'mon girl, Nath'll properly owe me if I get you there”.
Justin's desperation has peaked my curiosity, “Leon said that?”
Justin snorts, “Yeah, we were talking about you in the car and suddenly, from nowhere, he pipes up that he'd give you a lift if you needed it. Leon never talks, it shocked the shit out of me”, a rush of pure giddiness sweeps through me as Justin carries on, “Look Little Lorna, I'll ring you closer to it to sort the details. Just get some good gear to wear. You'll come, yeah?”.
I Pause. Consider. Weigh-it-up. “Yeah”, I breathe out down the phone.
Call ended, I squeal and dance around the kitchen with a wet tea towel as some sort of rhythmic gymnastic ribbon. Then I stop dead. Han. She’s going to kill me if I tell her, she’ll sensibly try and persuade me not to do it. My best plan is to keep this to myself. It won’t be hard, I’m good at keeping secrets.
I smile into my soap suds. Leon was talking about me
Chapter Two
Monday 13th February 1995
I woke in a sweaty-panic this first morning of half-term holidays about my lack of suitable clothes for Mission, prompting a solo shopping trip armed with cash from weeks of unspent wages. It’s weird to go shopping without Han but secrecy is key right now. The town's only Dancewear shop is hidden amongst sandwich bars and betting shops at the top end of town. I’ve never been in before but it’s the only place I can think of that might have whatever it is I need. Pushing through the bell-jangling door, I’m overwhelmed by a sea of lycra and sequins. My clueless browsing is abruptly halted however by the sound of some sort of cardboard box cataclysm from the store room at the back of the shop.
“Oh fuck this shit....cazzo”, an angry female voice shouts, followed by the sound of a foot connecting repeatedly with cardboard.
Eventually a girl emerges from what I presume is significant wreckage in the storeroom. Long black hair tied in a plait, olive skin, petite slim figure and dramatic eye makeup, she’s a bit older than me and she projects cool.
She arches an immaculate eyebrow at me, “Can I help you?”, transmitting annoyance, her London accent is strong.
I look down, mumbling, “I'm, er, wondered if you sold stuff for, er, working as a dancer at a rave?”
She swings round so fast that her thick plait lifts in the air, ‘You fucking serious?”, she's grinning at me, her eyebrows raised.
I smirk, rolling my eyes self consciously, “Yeah, it's a bit mental actually. I don't really know what I'm doing but I need to get some proper stuff and honestly, I don't have a clue”
I smile hopefully at her, “Can you help me?”.
Looking me up and down, she nods slowly, “Yeah, I reckon I can. So, where you working at ragazza?”, she pulls herself up to perch on the counter and I fiddle with a hanger on a nearby rack,
“I'm working at Mission in Milton Keynes next month, I met the promoter at a Rave and he offered me a job”
I'm jolted when she jumps down from the counter, grabbing my shoulders, shouting, “NO FUCKING WAY! I go there sometimes with my boy, maybe you can get us in, jump the queues yeah? I'm Rosa by the way. God, you are a fucking miracle landing in this shitty little shop, this is a good day cara!”, she's a bit giddy and I feel proud that I’ve caused this reaction
I smile, “I'm Lorna. If you can help me, that would be amazing”
Stilling momentarily, Rosa looks at me with a cocked eyebrow, “Hey, how old are you?”
I feign sudden interest in a piece of scrap paper on the counter, avoiding her gaze, “Ummmmm, it's my birthday this week, I'll be sixteen”.
She breathes out, “Jeeeesus”.
Sensing admiration I look up, smiling at her because this dark-eyed potty-mouth is potentially my salvation. She goes to the till and rummages around behind the counter before pulling what look like catalogues from the chaotic shelves.
She flicks through them before shouting, “Yup, this is it - you should get this, it’s the fucking bomb!”, she's pointing excitedly at an outfit in an advert for a dodgy looking 'clubwear' company.