The Girl in the Corner

by Amanda Prowse

  Kill me now . . .

  ‘Where is that bloody bus? I am actually going to die if it doesn’t come in the next five minutes!’ Dolly threw her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘Yep,’ Rae agreed with one word, while desperately trying to think of something interesting to say.

  ‘Plus I swear, Rae, if I don’t get to spend time with Vinnie I am actually going to kill myself,’ Dolly announced.

  Death, Rae noticed, seemed to be a bit of preoccupation with her new friend. She watched as Dolly took her slender packet of ten Marlboro Lights from her coat pocket and tapped one from the packet into her palm, lighting it with a nifty single strike of a match that must have taken some practice. Dolly took a long, deep lug on the cigarette and handed it to Rae, who hated smoking, hated cigarettes, hated everything about them: the smell, the taste and not least the terrible rasping burn it left at the back of her throat and in her lungs. She took it coolly between her fingers and sucked on it, hoping she hadn’t sogged up the filter – a cardinal sin, apparently. Unable to take the smoke down and speak, like Dolly – a natural when it came to inhaling the noxious cloud – Rae held it in her mouth, trying not to gag; turning her head casually, as if she were looking out for the bus, she slowly blew it out in a plume above her head. She felt cool and she felt older, both things very much on the wish list of this sixteen-year-old girl whose parents were way too involved.

  ‘Why don’t you just tell your brother you like Vinnie and get him to ask if he likes you?’

  ‘Are you actually mental?’ Dolly looked at her aghast and Rae felt the flutter of rejection in her stomach. She didn’t want to get things wrong, not in front of Dolly. ‘That’s crazy talk! If I told Howard I liked Vinnie, he would not only take the piss out of me, like, forever, but he’d also tell Vinnie, and the one way to scare a boy off is to tell him that you like him.’

  ‘So how will he ever know, if you don’t tell him or can’t say?’ It was a genuine question.

  Rae watched as Dolly placed the cigarette between her scarlet lips and took another long drag, throwing her mane of Titian hair back in laughter. ‘You crack me up, Rae. You are hilare!’

  This, another word to be stored away, was apparently short for ‘hilarious’. Rae smiled. It felt good to be hilare.

  ‘He’ll know, don’t you worry. At least, he will if I can ever get him to Majorca! The sight of these puppies in a bikini and he’ll be all mine.’ She cupped her breasts over her T-shirt and the two girls howled. ‘I mean come on, Rae, I might not have the face of Madonna, but I have immense bosoms.’

  Rae shook her head in mock disapproval.

  ‘What?’ Dolly stared at her. ‘A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!’

  Rae stared at the twin humps sitting snugly inside her friend’s V-necked T-shirt and had to admit her bosoms were indeed immense. She hunched her shoulders forward, trying to create some kind of cleavage, but it was impossible; hers were . . . deflated.

  ‘Bus!’ Dolly called out and stamped her cigarette into the pavement with the pointed toe of her grey suede slouch boots. ‘Right, double dare.’

  ‘No! No! I don’t want a double dare!’ Rae caught her breath.

  ‘Yes!’ Dolly screamed. ‘You have to say to the bus driver, “I want to have sex with your brother!”’

  ‘No way. I’m not saying that!’ Rae felt a blush rise on her cheeks. Her voice had gone up an octave or two.

  ‘Come on, it’s a dare! It’s being brave and putting something out into the universe and good things will come back to you, like getting to go to Majorca!’

  Rae failed to see the connection. ‘I . . . I can’t! Oh my God, Dolly! I can’t! No way!’ She placed her hands over her face, as if she might be able to hide from the challenge.

  ‘Yes, you can! Come on, it’ll be hilare!’

  ‘No! No way! It won’t be hilare!’ She shook her head and fished in her pocket for her bus pass. ‘I would actually die. You do it!’ Rae felt brave, throwing the gauntlet back to her friend.

  Dolly shrugged and hitched her khaki ex-army satchel over her shoulder, waiting on the kerb for the bus doors to wheeze open. She held up her bus pass and looked the elderly driver in the eye. ‘Iwanttohavesexwithyourbrother, thank you!’

  The first words, strung together and mumbled, were barely decipherable, but the ‘thank you’ was loud and clear.

  ‘You’re very welcome, dear!’ The driver smiled, delighted by her manners.

  Rae felt the laughter explode from her. With one part nerves and two parts amusement, she shook with tears in her eyes as she held up her bus pass. The driver looked at her quizzically as she scooted past and ran up the stairs to join her friend on the back seat of the top deck.

  ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you just did that!’ She collapsed into the seat and the two girls bent double, with their heads touching the back of the seat in front, laughing so hard they could barely catch a breath. The more they laughed, the funnier it became.

  ‘Stop!’ Dolly yelled, punching her friend on the arm. ‘I am going to wet myself!’

  ‘Me too! I’m going to wet myself!’ Rae gripped her stomach, trying to think of sad things to stem the hysteria that held her fast.

  Over the next three weeks the friends fell into a comfortable routine, and now at the end of another giggle-filled college day they tripped across the pavement laughing, as they did at most things, because nearly everything in their world seemed hilare and it took no more than one word or a particular expression loaded with secret meaning to set them off. They lived wrapped in a giddy bubble of closeness that gave purpose to even the most boring of days and meant that Rae went to bed with a fizz of anticipation in her gut at the prospect of seeing Dolly the very next morning.

  Being so very softly spoken herself, Rae thought it probably the plan of the universe to match her up with the very loud Dolly, meaning that the noise they collectively put out into the world was about level. Her mum often commented that she could hear her friend squealing from the moment they got off the bus and all the way to the front door. And Rae liked it, the way they as a duo punched a hole in the quiet, making her mark, she felt, for the first time ever. Part of a team, a twosome.

  Best mates.

  They walked closely in step, each with a pair of headphones plugged into a Walkman and listening to Black singing ‘Wonderful Life’ on repeat.

  ‘I have decided I want you to meet my brother,’ Dolly announced, her tone suggesting it was a rare privilege.

  ‘Who? Howard?’ Dolly had mentioned him the day they’d met.

  ‘Yes, Howard! Well, it wouldn’t be my other brother, Paul, would it? He’s old and married.’

  Rae shook her head, certain her friend hadn’t mentioned Paul. ‘I couldn’t; I’d be too shy.’ She pulled her friend’s arm and looked at the pavement, embarrassed by the idea of meeting the wonderful Howard, whose many qualities Dolly regularly extolled.

  Howard is so funny!

  Howard is really good-looking!

  Howard has met Simply Red, Bryan Adams and the woman who cuts Annie Lennox’s hair!

  Dolly made his life as the manager in their parents’ Surrey restaurant sound very glamorous, a world away from roast dinners at Rae’s nan’s.

  ‘Well, you need to get over the shy, because he is sniffing around Lisa Hopkirk, who is good-looking but dumb; like, really dumb. She is very hair-flicky and she laughs all the time; like, all the time, this little giggle that drives you nuts. I swear you could say, “Oh look, Lisa, your house is on fire!” and she’d do that bloody laugh! Or, “Oh, Lisa, your tits have fallen off!” Hee-hee-hee-hee-hoo-hoo-hoo!’

  Dolly’s description made Rae laugh and gave a new sense of urgency to the plan. She might be shy, but she didn’t want the hair-flicking, giggling Lisa Hopkirk getting in there first.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve already told him all about you.’ Dolly smirked.

  ‘You have not! Oh my God!’ Rae gasped, horrified and delighted in equal mea
sure. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said you were quiet, pretty and nice and that you were my best mate!’

  This description was enough to make her heart swell. ‘I’m not pretty.’

  ‘You are! Dumbkopf!’ Dolly rolled her eyes. ‘You are beautiful.’

  Rae smiled at her friend. ‘What did Howard say when you told him that?’ Dolly had her interest.

  ‘He said he should probably take you out for a drink and I said he definitely should.’

  ‘God, Dolly, you can’t go making arrangements for me without checking first! Supposing I don’t want to go out for a drink with your brother? Or supposing I do go out for a drink with him and he is just disappointed and things get messed up and he doesn’t like me or I don’t like him? Then it would make things weird between you and me. I would hate that.’ Rae felt herself getting flustered, knowing that would be the very worst thing. This friendship was as precious as it was all-consuming.

  ‘Things wouldn’t be weird between us, no matter what happened – besides, I know you two are going to hit it off. But of course if you’d rather not . . .’ She let this trail.

  ‘I’m not saying that!’ Rae answered with haste. ‘I am not saying no; I am just saying you should check with me first.’

  ‘I am checking with you now, you wally!’

  ‘Well, okay then.’ She smiled.

  ‘So I’ll tell him yes?’ Dolly pushed.

  ‘If you like.’ Rae tried for nonchalant but both girls ended up squealing with excitement all the way up her mum and dad’s front path.

  Her mum opened the door and stood wiping her hands on a flannel dishcloth, sniffing the air. ‘Oh dear, I can smell cigarettes. Has someone been smoking?’

  ‘Someone probably has, yes,’ Dolly answered instantly, with a pleasant smile and a well-spoken manner that Rae could see left her mum wondering if the girl was being sweet or taking the mick. Her mum shot her a particular knowing look and Rae knew her friend’s behaviour would be discussed when Dolly had gone home. She was, however, thankful that her mum didn’t say anything now, in front of her, as that would be the worst, way too involved. The girls raced up to the sanctuary of Rae’s bedroom.

  ‘So, back to Howard.’ Dolly sat on the bed with her legs crossed and applied roll-on, strawberry-scented lip gloss from a bottle whose contents, once clear, were now decidedly murky, tinged with the residue of red lipstick. She continued with her matchmaking. ‘It would be so cool if you went out with him, and then me and you and Vinnie and Howard can go clubbing together or whatever. I will marry Vinnie and you can marry Howard and we will be best friends as well as sister-in-laws and we can have our kids close in age and they’ll be cousins and we will be one big happy family and it will be bloody brilliant! Then we can go to Majorca for sex whenever we want!’

  ‘Yes, but if we are all married, we won’t have to go to Majorca for sex. We will be able to have sex at home whenever we want to.’ Rae kept her voice down; even saying S. E. X. when her parents were on the floor below felt awkward.

  ‘Good point.’ Dolly nodded. ‘Seriously, though, you are going to love Howard – everyone does. He’s wonderful!’

  Rae felt like fireworks were going off in her stomach. She had yet to meet Howard, but the picture her glamorous friend painted more than excited her. It sounded like a wonderful, wonderful life, a million miles away from cement frogs and day trips to Boulogne.

  It wasn’t that Rae didn’t love her ordinary family and their modest suburban home – she did. But she knew she was never going to reach the dizzy heights of Debbie-Jo, who worked on a cruise ship that sailed the high seas. They tended not to mention the off-season, when her sister worked in Woolworths; she dated her floor manager, Lee, and the two would spend the evenings on the sofa looking at pictures of Debbie-Jo aboard the cruise ship in her sequins.

  Rae-Valentine knew she was different, one of life’s observers. She had spent her first sixteen years on the planet keeping most of her thoughts to herself, never being one to take centre stage, preferring the darker, quieter corner of any room. At least that was what everyone thought; but there were times when she wished she could be a bit more like Debbie-Jo.

  Her sister had, throughout their childhood, dressed in a leotard and footless tights with her hair in a side ponytail, singing into a tape recorder or practising her Oscar acceptance speeches in the mirror. Their dad would often have to shout at her to ‘move away from in front of the telly!’ Debbie-Jo would wail and explain, ‘But, Dad, I need to practise my thank yous!’ with a stamp of her foot. ‘Heaven help us!’ he would sigh, and turn his attention instead to his newspaper or simply cock his head and watch the inches of screen visible to the side of his eldest daughter, who with tears streaming down her face would begin – ‘I never expected this! Thank you! Thank you all so much!’ – with a thoughtful, loving gaze at the rolling pin in her hand, a rather skinny Oscar substitute, followed by a grand sweep of her arm around the room, followed by more tears. ‘I would like to thank my mum, my dad and my agent; my amazing boyfriend, David Cassidy . . .’ Rae-Valentine noticed she never made the list. It didn’t matter; Rae loved her regardless. In fact she loved her whole family very much. But Dolly’s family? They were a whole new kettle of fish.

  Rae’s dad, Len, drove a Vauxhall Nova and worked for British Telecom. He was a man who lived cautiously with the central heating on a strict timer; his insurance/TV licence/car-tax renewals were red-ringed on the RNLI calendar on the kitchen wall and he refused to eat out in restaurants other than when on holiday, as it was ‘a bloody waste of money’. Her mum, Maureen, was less cautious, but lived quietly and in judgement of anyone whose life differed too much from her own – and not just in the big things. Rae had seen her look bemused at her own mother when she expressed a desire for mashed potatoes instead of roast one Sunday. It was as if Rae could read Maureen’s thoughts: Mash? On a Sunday? What on earth is the world coming to? It made Rae smile and made her sad; she didn’t want to see inside the mind of her mum, who thought spaghetti Bolognese was the pinnacle of sophistication and who, like her husband, felt a flare of panic if there was a diversion to their routine.

  Dolly’s family, by comparison, lived in a large sprawling house – with a swimming pool, no less! They owned three restaurants, an apartment in Majorca . . . It wasn’t only what they had, not only the stuff that impressed Rae; it was also how they lived. She had heard Dolly swear in front of her mum, Mitzy, saying ‘shit’, ‘arse’ and ‘arsehole’ on more than one occasion without her mum even raising an eyebrow. Why, this family, the Latimers, in comparison to her own, were rock stars – and Rae-Valentine, who didn’t have the confidence to cheek a bus driver let alone say ‘arsehole’ in front of her mum, wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.

  ‘We will need to plan when we have sex so our kids are the same age.’ Dolly broke Rae’s thoughts, drawing her back to the topic in hand. She pressed her lips together and smudged her lip gloss into place.

  Rae looked at her and wrinkled her nose, still a little unsure about the whole sex thing; kissing with tongues still felt like a big deal, never mind anything more.

  ‘Oh my God!’ Dolly yelled. ‘You will have to say “Iwanttohavesexwithyourbrother” for real!’

  And just like that, at the mention of that hilare afternoon on the bus, the two were reduced to giggling wrecks, with tear-smeared, foundation-streaked faces, as they bent double and laughed until they cried.

  TWO

  Rae smiled as she brushed her hair in front of the bedroom mirror, thinking of her best friend; wondering if she had a crystal ball or was – as Howard often suggested – a witch.

  It was hard to believe it was now 2014 and that that conversation on the bed in her tiny room was nearly thirty years ago, when sex was not in Rae’s world. Not that sex was in her world that much right now, but that was only because she was usually too tired. She sighed and placed her hand on her tummy, trying to calm the nerves that sloshed around in there alo
ng with the three cups of tea she had drunk that afternoon and the three shortbread biscuits that had accompanied them. She knew it was crazy to still feel so anxious about a family event, but crazy or not – and even after being a Latimer for all this time – the thought still fired a quiet ripple of nerves right through her.

  ‘Ooh, eggs for my recipe!’ Rae reached for a notepad sitting by the side of the bed and below the words

  Kettle descaler

  Soap dispensers for Barnet restaurant

  Mum’s knee support

  she wrote:

  Eggs for bacon, courgette and pecorino tart

  Rae loved lists. She couldn’t rest until the chore, item or recollection had been jotted down – otherwise it would swirl in her head, growing louder and louder. Lists were how she kept order and, not that she readily admitted it, crossing something off her list gave her just about as much pleasure as anything else.

  Two bouquets had been delivered earlier: one from each of the kids. They were among her very favourite things, flowers – second only to cooking in her cosy kitchen in terms of lifting her heart and her spirit. Her son George’s bouquet was quite extravagant and she suspected his lovely girlfriend Ruby had had more than a hand in it. She was pleased George had found someone nice and hoped it might last with this confident girl who looked at her son like he was sunshine; hard to tell, though, when they were so young. Not that age had mattered a jot to her and Howard; at sixteen Rae had held his hand and by eighteen she had waltzed up the aisle. Hannah’s bouquet was thoughtful – yellow roses, which her daughter knew to be her favourites.

  ‘Thank you, darling,’ she had said to Hannah on the phone. ‘They are just lovely!’

  ‘You’re welcome, Mum. I am sorry I won’t be seeing you today.’