Wonder Women

by Fiore, Rosie

‘Perfect.’

  With years of practice, Mel knew how to infuriate Serena when they watched television. She’d just sit there and ask really stupid mum questions until Serena had had enough and stormed off to her room. She started as soon as the show came on. ‘Now, who’s that? Is he the same one we saw in the other show? The one about the school?’ Then she tried, ‘Is he married to the blonde one or the skinny dark one? I can never tell these pretty American girls apart.’ And finally, ‘Why is that funny? I can’t bear those American laugh tracks.’

  But to her surprise, Serena answered all her questions and sat quite quietly on the sofa. She picked at her dinner, but for once didn’t complain about Mel’s cooking. It was more as if she just wasn’t hungry. She seemed very subdued. She wasn’t often vibrant or chatty any more with Mel, but this seemed different … as if she was sad rather than sulky.

  Mel finished her dinner and held out a hand for Serena’s plate.

  ‘Are you done?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Sorry. It’s nice, I’m just not very hungry. Mel nearly fell off her chair. Serena had been polite! Something must be wrong. Why today? Normally she barely saw her in the evenings, and now, today, when Mel was desperate to get to her computer, Serena was moping on the sofa. She’d try being extra chummy. That would surely get Serena to flee to her bedroom. She took the plates through to the kitchen, and dug around in the freezer. She came up with an ice-cream lolly and carried it through to the living room.

  ‘Maybe this will cheer you up,’ she said, and handed Serena the chocolate ice cream. Then she sat beside her daughter on the sofa and grabbed the throw off the back of the sofa to spread over both of them.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Serena in a small voice. She pulled the throw up to her chin, and sat nibbling at her ice cream in tiny bites. Mel knew she should ask what was wrong, but in all likelihood, Serena would either say, ‘Nothing,’ or would yell at her for being nosy. Mel kept sitting beside her on the sofa, itching to get moving, but eventually the restlessness got the better of her. She jumped up and headed for the kitchen, where she washed up noisily. Then she thumped back into the living room. ‘Are you going to be long in here?’ she asked briskly. ‘Only I want to hoover.’

  ‘Hoover?’ said Serena blankly. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock, and I just have so much to do over the next few days. I need to get these things done.’

  ‘Okay …’ said Serena rather dubiously. She clicked the television off and, wrapping the throw around her shoulders like a superhero cloak, shuffled off to her room. Mel felt a pang. Maybe Serena had wanted to talk. Maybe she’d been about to open up, and she, Mel, had missed an opportunity. But she’d gone too far down the path she was on. She had to see what was going on with Triggah and the party – see the whole thing through.

  Damn. Now she would actually have to hoover. She dragged the machine out from the kitchen cupboard with a clatter, and ran it over the living room carpet in the most cursory of ways before she pushed it back into the kitchen, not bothering to put it away properly, and switched on her PC. Oddly enough, there was no music coming from Serena’s room.

  She ran a Google search and easily found the Urban Dictionary website Jo had mentioned. She began by looking up some of the words she had seen in the discussions on the party page. She had been right that ‘draw’ was a term for marijuana. And NOS, it seemed was Nitrous Oxide – laughing gas – which the kids inhaled for a brief euphoric high. It wasn’t illegal, but another Internet search suggested that it probably wasn’t entirely safe either.

  Finally, she typed ‘peng’ into the search box. Multiple definitions came up, but the first one was: ‘Fit, sexy, good-looking, hot, fuckable’. Well, that cleared that up. Serena’s boyfriend was trawling around on Facebook telling other women he thought they were hot. Classy. Maybe his behaviour was the reason for Serena’s subdued mood that evening. The question was, what should she – as Lauren – do about it? It was probably best to just ignore it. She shouldn’t respond. But as she sat at her computer, she got more and more angry. Whatever she might think of Triggah, Serena had picked him and had invested her heart in him, and it seemed he was a slug. But just how much of a slug was he? She couldn’t resist prodding him slightly to see just how slimy he would turn out to be. She hit ‘Reply’ and spent some time trying to come up with a response that would not give her away as a fake. Eventually she opted for, ‘Havnt u got a gfriend?’ That should be pretty safe. She hit ‘Send’. He must have been online, because he replied pretty much immediately. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Not relly. You goin Alexs free house Sat?’

  Well, that settled it. He was a vile little opportunist. She wanted to march straight into Serena’s room and say to her, ‘Your boyfriend is a disgusting little worm, did you know that?’ But of course she couldn’t. Firstly, Serena had no idea she knew of Triggah’s existence or his place in her life. And secondly, even if she could get around that, what would she say? ‘I know he’s a pig because he’s been hitting on my fictitious online persona, the one I use to spy on you’?

  In the morning, Serena seemed a little happier. Mel guessed that during the course of the previous night, she’d heard from Triggah. Either that, or she was just getting excited for the party that night. She hadn’t actually asked to go out yet, so Mel tried offering some alternatives. ‘Hey,’ she said when Serena sloped into the kitchen at around eleven, ‘that vampire film opened last night. How about we splash out on some VIP tickets and I’ll take us to Pizza-Express for dinner after?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Serena. ‘Coffee?’

  Mel switched on the kettle. ‘Or if you don’t feel like a film, we could go bowling. Or invite someone for dinner. Shall we see if Hamish wants to come?’

  Serena didn’t answer, just made herself a mug of instant with three sugars and sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Mel busied herself with kitchen tasks – packing away clean dishes, wiping surfaces, humming to herself. Pretending that this was a normal weekend and a normal conversation. But it seemed Serena wasn’t going to answer unless she pushed. Eventually she said, ‘So what do you think? Film? Dinner? Bowling? Dinner party?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Serena. ‘Sorry, I meant to tell you. Izzie’s having a sleepover. Loads of us are going.’

  Izzie and Serena had been friends since junior school. Not close friends, but always in roughly the same circle. It was one of those friendships that seemed more about competition and bitchiness than affection. Izzie was a brittle, insecure girl who looked as if she had something to prove. Her parents were very rich, but time-poor. They were always at work or out of the country, and they tended to throw money at Izzie and her younger sister to assuage their guilt. She wasn’t necessarily popular for herself, but the kids were not averse to spending time in her huge house with its pool table, home cinema and frequent lack of parental supervision.

  ‘Really?’ said Mel carefully. ‘You didn’t mention it before.’

  ‘We only decided yesterday.’

  ‘And will her parents be there? I know they’re away a lot.’

  ‘They are away, but there’s an au pair there to look after her little sister.’ Serena knew how to play the game. ‘You can meet her when you drop me off, if you like.’

  I bet I can, thought Mel. I also bet Izzie’s slipped her a few quid to keep her mouth shut about the girls going out for the night. She had met the au pairs at Izzie’s house before. They tended to be moody, disinterested Eastern European girls who saw the job as a stopgap. But without causing a major row and arousing Serena’s suspicions, there was no way she could put her foot down and say no. Serena had slept over at Izzie’s many times before.

  Mel was working at the shop from twelve until four, and she worried and fretted through her shift, but couldn’t come up with a feasible way to prevent Serena going. When she got back to the flat, Serena had packed a small rucksack, ostensibly with pyjamas, toiletries and clothes for the next day, but Mel was sure the bag ac
tually contained an outfit for the party. Together, they walked over to Izzie’s house. It was only a few blocks away, but in a more affluent part of the neighbourhood.

  Mel rang the bell, and an expensive, sonorous clang sounded inside the house. She heard someone coming down the stairs and the door was opened by a Slavic-looking girl who would probably go on to a successful career as a ramp model following her undistinguished stint as an au pair. ‘Yes,’ she said with sulky insolence.

  ‘Hi, Romana,’ said Serena quickly. ‘I’m here for the sleepover.’

  Romana shrugged and walked away. Izzie came bounding down the big staircase. ‘Serenie!’ she squealed. ‘You’re here! We’re going to have the best … sleepover ever!’

  If Mel had been harbouring any hopes that the girls were actually planning a slumber party, they were dashed then and there. Izzie was a terrible actress.

  Serena turned to her, her face guarded. ‘See, Mum? We’re fine. I’ll text you before I walk home tomorrow, okay?’ She was obviously desperate for Mel to go before Izzie let loose with any more unconvincing lies.

  ‘Okay, love,’ said Mel, fighting the urge to grab Serena’s hand and drag her out of there. ‘Have fun, girls.’

  At ten o’clock that night, she couldn’t take it any more. She had been pacing up and down the living room for an hour. What was going on? Where was Serena now? Was the party in full swing? She went into her room and changed into black jeans and a black polo neck and pulled on her black running shoes. All she needed was a black woolly hat and she’d be a cat burglar, she thought ruefully, looking at her reflection. She went to her PC and checked the location of the party … it was about half a mile away, closer to Izzie’s house than their flat, but still within easy walking distance.

  She took a detour to avoid crossing any possible routes Serena, Izzie and their friends might take, and ended up approaching the house from the other end of the road. If she hadn’t been sure which house it was, as soon as she was within a few hundred yards, there was no doubt. Music blared and pulsed and every window seemed to be open. She could see flashing lights in the living room and the front garden was full of teenagers smoking and talking and laughing in that heightened, super-loud way they affected when they were in a big group. Kids were flowing into the house at quite a rapid rate. She knew there was no way she could go in without immediately being spotted as an adult. She crossed the road, and saw that there was an alleyway almost directly opposite the house with a big overhanging tree. If she stepped into the passage and hung back in the shadow of the tree, she could watch the house undisturbed.

  There was no sign of Serena or Izzie, although there were an awful lot of young girls wearing very small dresses and very high heels. To Mel, they all looked far too young to be out at a party like this. People kept arriving and going in: in the first half an hour that Mel watched, she counted forty-odd people. Admittedly, it was hard to tell who was arriving for the first time, because people kept going in and out, standing in the garden to smoke, or just randomly wandering into the street and before going back into the party. They seemed incapable of standing still, as if they were scared that if they did, something more fun might be happening somewhere else.

  Mel was getting cold, and she was beginning to doubt the wisdom of her actions. She had no idea what was going on inside the house and no way of finding out: Serena might be shooting up heroin in there for all she knew. And what if she saw her spying? The damage that would do to their relationship was incalculable. Also, what if Serena rang the flat looking for her and she wasn’t there? Or went home for some reason? She decided that it made the most sense to head back to the flat, maybe send Serena a text saying something innocuous like, ‘Hope you’re having a nice time,’ and hope for the best. She was about to turn and go up the alleyway before doubling back along the parallel street to go home when she heard a commotion behind her. A boy burst out of the door of the house, closely followed by two girls. In an instant, she recognised the boy as Triggah (and a ratty little individual he was too, with an overlarge baseball cap and his trousers worn at gangster level, showing his boxers). The two girls were Serena and Izzie. Izzie immediately backed into the shadow of a house and stood sobbing, her arms clasped around her body. But Serena was screaming and raging. That was the noise Mel had heard … her own daughter screaming.

  ‘I can’t believe you!’ she screamed at Triggah. ‘You disgusting bastard! With my own friend! At a party with all my friends! I hate you!’

  ‘Yeah, well …’ said Triggah, who actually looked quite pleased with himself. Clearly he thought this made him seem like quite the stud. ‘Whatever,’ he finished proudly. Whatever it was Serena saw in this boy it clearly wasn’t his conversational skills. Serena was sobbing, a real body-shaking, heartbreaking cry. She kept screaming at Triggah, but Mel couldn’t hear what she was saying. Then Triggah said something to her and laughed, cruelly.

  Serena stared at him, horrified, and pushing past him, she ran down the path and away down the road. Mel could see her weaving and stumbling. She was obviously very drunk. Mel thought for a split second, then sprinted back down the alleyway, up the parallel road and around the corner. She had guessed right: Serena had turned towards home, and was half a block away, still running and lurching, half on the pavement and half in the road. Mel stepped into her daughter’s weaving path.

  ‘Serena!’ she called. ‘What’s going on?’ She hoped, in Serena’s drunken state, she’d assume their meeting was coincidental.

  ‘Mum!’ she gasped. Mel held her tight and Serena’s body shook and convulsed in her arms.

  ‘Oh,’ Serena said suddenly, apprehension in her voice. Fortunately Mel was thinking fast. She spun her daughter around and bent her at the waist, just as Serena started to vomit. She held Serena’s hair as she retched and cried. Once the vomiting had stopped, she looped an arm around Serena’s waist and together they walked home. Serena didn’t ask what Mel was doing there. She was too drunk, too distressed and too exhausted.

  In the early hours of the morning, Mel found herself sitting on the bathroom floor with her daughter’s head in her lap. Serena would doze for a while, then wake up crying, drag herself up to retch in the toilet for a while, then collapse back into Mel’s lap. She kept muttering and talking about Triggah. At one point, she fell into a restless sleep, her eyelids fluttering, then woke up and looked up into Mel’s eyes. ‘I can’t believe he did it, Mum,’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t believe it.’ Then she fell asleep again, but woke up a few minutes later, continuing the conversation as if there had been no break. ‘He said he loved me. Yesterday he said he loved me. And now he says I’m a frigid bitch.’

  Mel was cold and aching, but sitting on the floor, stroking her little girl’s head, holding her close and looking at the long sweep of wet lashes on her cheek, she felt choked with love. She had done the right thing. If she hadn’t been online, she would never have known about the party. The end had utterly justified the means. She had been there to catch Serena when she fell.

  20

  MEL THEN

  The patent leather shoes were squashing her toes so badly she wanted to cry. They were too small, but her mum had said she would have to manage. They had to wear smart shoes for the funeral, and these were the only decent pair Mel had. They had been bought for Christmas the year she turned seven, and that was more than a year ago now, and she had grown. She sat on the cold wooden pew and tried to pull her skirt down under her, but her mum put a hand on her leg to stop her fidgeting. She looked up at her mum, who was wearing a small black hat with a bit of netting to cover her eyes. She was very thin. She had spent months looking after Mel’s dad when he was ill and then working nights in the betting shop. Her lips, coated in very bright red lipstick, were thin and pressed together. She wasn’t crying. And Mel didn’t think she would cry. Dad’s illness had been so long, so painful and drawn out, that they’d all cried themselves out. Mel wasn’t going to cry either. She was relieved it was over … that her dad’s
terrible, rattling breathing that had echoed through the house day and night, had finally stopped. She felt bad that she was glad it was finished, and she was sure that it made her a terrible daughter.

  The whole neighbourhood had turned out for the funeral. Her dad had been a popular man before he got ill, and everyone was sorry that he was gone now. Mel had lived her whole short life in this grim little town in Shropshire. She knew every single person in the church. Everyone was there, from the lady who ran the corner shop, to the head teacher from Mel’s school and her mum’s workmates from the betting shop.

  Mel turned in her chair and peered over the back of the pew to see who else was there. There was her friend Matilda from school, with her mum and dad, and a group of big, awkward-looking men. She didn’t know their names, but she knew they were long-distance truck drivers like her dad had been. Her mum suddenly pinched her hard in the leg. ‘Face the front!’ she hissed furiously. Mel’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t want to face the front and have to look at the horrible polished box that had her dad in it. And the pinch had really hurt. But she knew her mum had done it because she was also upset and scared and this day was horrible. She was only eight, but she understood, so she faced the front and sat quietly.

  In the days that followed, people kept dropping by with things to eat and offers of help, but within a week or so, the visits had dried up and it was just Mel and her mum alone in the house. Mel could see her mum was struggling. It wasn’t just the loneliness. It was the lack of money, the bills that kept coming in, the problems with the house that she had no way of fixing. She seemed to be angry all the time. Mel tried to be as good as she could. Even though she was boisterous and outgoing by nature, she was always quiet at home, did her homework and helped out around the house. But she couldn’t help it that she grew out of her coat, or that there was a school trip to Ironbridge and she needed money for the coach, and she hadn’t meant to break the plate when she was washing up. But it seemed whatever she did her mum found annoying or difficult, and she was always sighing and saying, ‘Oh, Melanie,’ or shouting at her, or telling her to be quiet. She wished she knew what to do to help her mum, but it seemed to her that the only thing she could do that would really help would be to disappear and stop being a bother who kept costing so much money.