by Holly Bourne
“You,” Kyle called over the table, “are quite drunk.”
“Not another one,” I said. “Lottie’s bad enough.”
That was a point. Where was Lottie? I hadn’t seen her in ages, and Lottie is not the sort of person you can miss at parties. I decided to go on a hunt for her. I also needed to check my house wasn’t getting wrecked.
Dancing had started in the living room. In my beer pongingness, some twat guy had taken over my playlist and now heavy house music burst from the speakers. I hated it, but the lads pogoing around the sofas didn’t seem to share my sentiment. The hallway was lined with people holding the red plastic cups Kyle had insisted on and catching up on each other’s gossip.
“So, in Sheffield, there’s this one club night where, like, drinks are only eighty pence.”
“That’s nothing. In my halls in Leeds, you can get a quadruple vodka and Coke for a pound. I saw them cleaning the toilets with the vodka at one point though…”
That was one thing I’d noticed since people had started returning to our hometown this Christmas – everyone was in a constant competition over who was at the best uni. And that was nothing to the competition between the people who had gone to uni and the people who’d stayed home for whatever reason. I couldn’t pretend that those who had gone off hadn’t come back… smugger. Acting like they were all worldly just because they’d stolen a traffic cone while dressed as a smurf. Maybe it just didn’t rub off on me because I wasn’t at uni yet – art people always have to do foundation years to build their portfolio. Or maybe it was because I was about to put an entire ocean between me and home, rather than just a section of the M1. Whatever. It didn’t really bother me, apart from the fact Lottie had appeared to buy into it – constantly droning on about London.
Lottie…
Where the heck had she gone?
Everyone – predictably – had stamped over the passive-aggressive piece of string I’d hung across the top of the stairs, asking them to stay on the ground floor. I spotted Jane, who was dressed all differently, chatting to a very drunk Sylvia and said hi.
“You seen Lottie?”
They both shook their heads. “Though, have you heard?” Jane asked. “She has her own COLUMN at her student newspaper. She’s only a fresher. The other students must HATE her.”
That thought hadn’t occurred to me about Lottie and her column, though I guess it made sense. She’d not mentioned much about it during the odd times we’d talked.
“I’d better keep looking.” I was suddenly worried about her.
My parents’ room had been taken over by the most elaborate poker game I’d ever seen. They’d emptied out Craig’s Monopoly board to use the paper money as chips. It was all men, of course – as poker always seems to attract just-the-ladz-just-the-ladz. Predictably Will, Lottie’s boyfriend, was sitting there – with a sizeable stack of orange five-hundred pound notes in front of him.
“Will,” I called and he looked up, mildly annoyed to have his concentration interrupted. Although, sometimes, really, if I’m being honest, that was just what Will’s face looked like. An air of superiority, which, unfortunately, his personality didn’t do much to contradict.
“All right, Amber?” He did smile, which was something. “Good party.”
“Thanks. Though I really don’t want anyone to have sex in the bedrooms if I can possibly help it. Have you seen Lottie?”
“Ha, I’ve killed two birds for you there.” Will looked briefly down at his cards. “She was really drunk for some reason, so I put her to sleep in your room. Keeping the bed sex-free.”
He smiled again but I scowled. “You’ve just left her there?” It came out more accusingly than I thought it would.
“Relax. She’s in the recovery position and everything. She’ll sleep it off. Probably be up again before midnight, wanting to do it all over again.”
What? She was that drunk? And alone? Yes, I hadn’t checked on her until now but that’s because I thought she was with Will. Why had he just left her? I mean, okay, it’s annoying when your boyfriend or girlfriend gets too wasted at a party, but that doesn’t mean you just leave them…does it?
“I’ll go check she’s okay,” I said pointedly.
Will’s attention was already back on the game. “Who’s big blind?” he said, rather than goodbye, and I nudged the door open, biting my lip in annoyance. I walked down the landing, delighted to find that no one was copulating in Craig’s bedroom either – just a bunch of band people sitting in a corner, singing along to Joel and his acoustic guitar. It was still weird to see him without Jane. I’d got so used to them coming as a pair. By the blackish circles under Joel’s eyes, and the sad way in which he sang “Wonderwall”, I figured he felt the same. He nodded hello and I nodded back, before turning to find Lottie.
She was fast asleep like Goldilocks, all tucked up, and looking half her age. I perched by her side, checking her vitals – breathing, okay, no sick all over my duvet, okay. Will had indeed put her in the recovery position, if I remembered it correctly from camp. She was safe, but it felt…sad to me that she’d just been left upstairs.
Lottie was not the sort of person who got left upstairs.
I spent a few minutes just looking at her, watching her sleep, all childlike and quiet and innocent. Her haircut was still a shock. Not that it didn’t suit her – she was so pretty she could hack half of it off and look incredible. But it was blunt and new and she didn’t ask Evie or me before getting it cut, which isn’t what normally happens.
I suddenly felt desperately sad. What had happened to us? Why had we let change do this to us? I missed her so much right then. I missed her laugh. I missed her overdramatic monologues. I missed the way she always, always cared what was going on with me. I missed us… Lottie, Evie and me. All together. Always there for each other. Always honest with each other. Always.
…or so I’d thought.
And now I was going away and I hadn’t even told them yet.
I wasn’t sure how she was sleeping through the heavy bass shaking the floor from the room below. I couldn’t stay with her though, I needed to keep an eye on the party. I’d go get Evie, put her on watch, then maybe ask Jane if she’d help too.
Will was right in that I doubted she’d be out of it for long.
Lottie was never not the life and soul of any party.
Before now anyway…
I touched her cheek, the sadness spreading through my veins like an IV drip of regret, and then stood up to get Evie.
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
“CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG CHUG.”
Well, this was definitely helping get my mind off things.
I downed my drink, to a chorus of cheers. And they say peer pressure can make young people drink… I aimed at the table again, not squinting, because I’ve learned from many an action movie that squinting actually makes your aim worse, and threw the ping-pong ball. It bounced directly into one of Amber’s cups.
Everyone erupted. I erupted. I leaped in the air in triumph. I felt very very proud of myself, and excited, and slightly tipsy, and very pleased that I could throw a ping-pong ball and, well, maybe a teeny bit more than tipsy, but good, I felt good, I felt GREAT as Amber poured her drink down her face and everyone announced me the winner and I cheered and yelled and forgot about everything and then…
…then my phone went again.
And my euphoria rose up out of me like a helium balloon and drifted through the open kitchen window.
BAD THOUGHT
Why won’t he stop sending messages? It’s so unfair that he won’t stop sending messages.
WORSE THOUGHT
If he wasn’t ill, this sort of behaviour would be considered abusive…
I shook my head, my hand itching for the phone, but also not wanting to read what it said. Knowing it would make my tummy hurt, make my heart ache, make my conscience feel conflicted.
I no longer felt tipsy or great – I just felt guilty and sa
d.
Amber went in search of Lottie, who we hadn’t seen in ages.
Not just at the party, but at all really.
I was getting used to not having her in my life, but it wasn’t something I was happy about. It felt like one of my limbs had been amputated. Lottie’s checking-out had impacted my friendship with Amber too – even though we were both still here, in this town. She was angry at Lottie, I was more worried. Lottie was always the elephant in the room whenever we met up. And I couldn’t believe, with everything going on with Oli, that my Spinster Club girls weren’t really there. That things felt so strained I couldn’t trust them enough to tell them about Oli. Not really. There was a wall where there never used to be even a line. There was a silence when there never used to be a held tongue.
I wasn’t mad at just Lottie. I was mad at all of us. I was mad that we’d let this happen to us. When I needed us so much…
BAD THOUGHT
They don’t need you.
I ducked out of the kitchen, holding a pint glass of water to get my mind straight. The living room was a no-go, stupid house music blasting out of it. None of us had ever listened to house music before. It must be something someone had got into at uni – another person shedding their skin, coming home only to gloat about how much they’d changed. I leaned against a wall and got out my phone. Again.
And did a smile, though it was gritted.
This one wasn’t as bad as the others. All it said was:
Have a good night. I love you x x
Which would’ve been sweet, except he’d already sent so many messages that night. And, also, the downside of dating someone with anxiety when you have anxiety yourself is that you can see them coming a mile off.
This was a manipulative message. I would know. I’d sent many myself in the past. This was a carefully-thought-through, look-how-innocent-it-is message that, on the surface, you cannot complain about at all. But I knew Oli’s brain. This message didn’t just mean, HaveagoodnightIloveyou. No.
What the message also meant
Please don’t forget about me on your good night.
Please reply otherwise I’ll freak out.
I love you, but I hate myself and this message is coming out of that.
I am likely to have sent this while spiralling into a complete vat of despair but I’ve tried really hard to make this message sound really normal and natural so you won’t know how much I’m spiralling right now but I’m actually quite desperate which is why I’m sending the message so please please reply, so I can feel loved, so I can know that you love me enough to see through this.
I sagged into the wall, the music making my back vibrate. I wasn’t supposed to message back. His new therapist had told me as much. My own therapist had told me as much. Oli knew as much.
But who doesn’t reply to a message like that?
I sighed and wrote back.
I love you too.
Which was true. It was, it really was. I loved Oli. I’d waited so long for Oli. He’d waited so long for me. He was the purest soul I’d ever met. So much so that he made me use phrases like “purest soul”. And yet…and yet…
BAD THOUGHT
He is ruining your life right now.
BAD THOUGHT
And you worked so hard for this life, Evie. You worked *so* hard for this life.
My phone went again and I felt like screaming.
Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to message you so much x
I’d held my phone up, ready to chuck it against the wall in frustration when I heard…
“Evie?”
“Jane?”
“Hello, stranger.” She started walking down the stairs, nudging people out the way. We hugged when she reached the bottom – one of those floppy, awkward hugs when you both tap out straight away.
“Jane!” I yelled to be heard over the bass. “How are you? You look so different!”
“Ha, do I?” She sounded delighted with the comment, like it was a compliment. I hardly recognized her. Gone was her pink hair. Gone were all her Joel-acquired piercings. Gone were her eyeliner and black nail polish. Gone were her band T-shirts. Instead she wore dark blue skinny jeans with wedge heels and this see-through but smart white blouse. She had just a hint of red lipstick on and a high ponytail, framed with wisps of hair and a big hairband. She looked about twenty-five.
“You really do. What happened?”
“Oh, nothing. I just grew up, I think. I’m having the most amazing time in Bristol, Evie. It’s soooo incredible there.”
Why was Jane talking like that? Her accent was all off, slightly more rah.
“And did I tell you I’ve got a new boyfriend? His name’s Harry and he’s super smart, Evie. He’s really into politics, he wants to be an MP.”
“He’ll have to fight Lottie off then.” I smiled the weird smile I always found myself wearing when I spoke to Jane, like I was an audience member and she was the show. If Jane was in a show, it would’ve been called The Chameleon because of how often she morphed personalities based on who had the most social collateral.
Jane’s face screwed up. “Does Lottie still think she can do that?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Woah, I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I was just asking. I mean, what happened last year, with the papers, and Teddy, you’d think it would’ve put her off. That’s all. I was telling Harry about that actually, and he said you’ve got to be careful with that sort of thing in a life of politics. Even though what Teddy did was totally, totally wrong, that story will come out if Lottie gets into politics seriously.”
“She is into politics seriously,” I interrupted. “She’s working for the WEP alongside her Philosophy, Politics and Economics degree, and has her own column in the UCL newspaper.” I could almost feel my eyes turn red with rage.
I realized then – I’d had it with Jane. I’d had it with people who ask how you are but only because you’ll ask how they are in return and then they’ll talk so much you may as well be a mirror instead of a person. She’d broken Joel’s heart when she’d dumped him. Over the phone, not even in person. They’d gone out for over two years and she’d just – whoosh – vanished to Bristol and told him it was over within two weeks. Oli and I had had to take him to the pub many times – I’d even seen him cry. We’d only just stopped him cutting off his prized ponytail “In tribute to her” one night when he was wasted.
“Oh,” Jane said. “Well, that’s cool for her, I guess.”
“Yep.”
There was an awkward silence while I waited for her to ask me how I was. Not that I would answer honestly of course, but still, just to be asked would be nice. But all Jane said was, “I can’t believe this year is ending, so much has happened, hasn’t it?”
And, even through my anger, I found myself nodding.
So much had happened.
New Year’s Eve was so weird. It was like birthdays in that it forced you to confront what you’d done with your silly little life and compare it to what you should’ve done. Was it enough? Did I do enough? Did I live enough?
It was bullshit. Because you never live enough. Not when it’s so easy to sabotage the opportunities of life.
It made you think back to previous New Year’s Eves…
Last year, Lottie’s project had just finished and we’d all been triumphant and excitable for weeks. Anna had another of her legendary house parties, inviting the whole college, and even put up a marquee in her garden. We’d drunk and laughed and cheered and hugged. When the countdown started, Oli pulled me around the corner of the house, his cheeks red with alcohol, his eyes piercingly happy, and he’d said “I love you” for the first time ever, just before midnight. It was happiness that I’d never felt before – the sort where you’re quite sure you could hoverboard or fly or whatever. We’d been kissing like the crazy people that we were when the others all crept up on us, jumping on Oli’s back, pulling us into a group hug.
So much has happened
in a year.
Now Oli doesn’t smile. Oli doesn’t drink. Oli doesn’t even leave his own house, let alone pull me around the corners of other ones.
Lottie isn’t here.
Amber is here but only in person – her brain has seemed checked out for a while now.
Happy New Year, I guess.
And, just as I was about to make an excuse to Jane so I could go cry somewhere, I heard Amber.
“Evie?” she called down the stairs. “I need your help.”
Evie was chatting to Jane at the bottom of the stairs, getting pretty pissed off by the looks of it. I wasn’t surprised. Their entire friendship existed only as long as Evie ignored the fact Jane was a self-obsessed A-to-the-Hole.
I called down, and the look of relief on Evie’s face suggested she was finally catching on to the whole Jane-is-a-twat factor.
“What is it?” Her voice hardly audible over the music.
“It’s Lottie, she’s passed out. Can you…?”
The most horrendous crash echoed throughout the house, followed by applause and everyone cheering.
“Oh God! What the hell was that?”
I ran downstairs, following the clapping noise. Evie fell into step with me as I dashed down the hallway, into the kitchen, where…where…
…the entire beer pong table was upside down.
Kyle stood there, with his arms up in the air, like he was frozen in time.
He found my face. “It was an accident!”
I blinked. I blinked again. There was liquid all over the kitchen floor. Beer liquid. Sticky beer liquid. Sylvia was holding a roll of kitchen towel and, when she saw me, she just dropped the whole thing onto the kitchen floor without unravelling it and it exploded into total drenched-ness, like a used tampon – doubling in size almost instantly.
“Kyle.” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the party’s air like a knife through something really easy to cut.