by Liz Tipping
I took the dress round to Verity’s on the way back. Verity was trying to simultaneously manage her hysteria while keeping a small child balanced on her lap as she performed her nit-ectomys.
“But, Verity, just look at it. It’s bloody hideous,” I said holding up the dress for her to see it in all its glory.
“Nice buttons,” she said as she dragged the nit comb through the hair of the child sat on her lap. “What do you think of Auntie Cara’s lovely new dress then, Melissa? Is it nice?” she said to the girl.
“NO!” shouted Melissa and folded her arms and pouted.
“Exactly. Thank you, Melissa. She said it would suit me, for heaven’s sake. In what parallel universe would this suit anyone? Imagine if I turned up wearing this.”
“So you are definitely going to this school reunion debacle then?”
“Yes, we are both going to go there with our heads held high. I googled Daniel as well.” I’d now talked myself back into going.
“Oh, Cara, but it was years ago. You don’t even know what Dan is going to look like now. He might be a complete and utter mess. How do you know if he’s married or anything? He might be in a mental hospital. He probably he is.”
“Mummy, what’s a mental hospital?” said Melissa.
“It’s where Auntie Cara’s imaginary boyfriend lives, sweetie, and possibly where mummy is going to go and live if she finds any more of these nits.”
Verity made me laugh so much. I felt a pang of sadness when I thought about not seeing her if I moved away.
“He’s not a mess or married.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I found him on Facebook.”
“Oh my God. You’ve been Facebook-stalking him?” asked Verity removing the first child, placing her to her left, picking another child up from her right and beginning the process again. “Tell me you didn’t add him as a friend.”
“No! I haven’t.” Not that I wasn’t thinking about it. I was going to but I couldn’t choose a profile picture I was happy with. Plus, a quick look through my status updates made me recoil in horror and realise how boring I was. It was basically a running commentary about things I liked on ITVBe and things I didn’t like on BBC3 and mainly waffling on about films. “I need to get a nice dress and I want to be interesting,” I said.
“Got you, you little…” she said examining the comb. “What did you say?”
“I want him to think I am interesting.”
“You are interesting. He’s probably not interesting at all.”
“But in a Molly Ringwald way. I just always thought she was so cool, and I want to like art and music and wear strange clothes so everyone looks at me and thinks I’m interesting.” One of the children climbed up on my lap and gave me a hug, which was sweet, but I moved back slightly so as not to contract head lice.
“Come on, kids, get your stuff. Your dad will be here soon,” Verity said herding the children along.
The kids ran upstairs excitedly shouting about their daddy coming when Jay’s BMW rolled up onto the drive.
Verity winced and wrung her hands as he approached. She took a brief look in the mirror and brushed her hair out of the way and tried to smooth her clothes.
“Oh God, look at the state of me!”
“Christ, you’re not bothered about what he thinks are you?” I was worried that she was trying to impress him.
“No,” she said. “But I would have preferred it if I’d have had chance to wipe this baked-bean stain off my top and maybe washed the nit lotion off my hands.”
She sighed as he approached the door. Verity opened it and started passing him the kids’ bags and he waved a dismissive hand at her.
“About this weekend, Vee. I’m a bit stuck, got a lot on.”
I could see Verity was seething but she didn’t want to upset the kids so she spoke quietly and calmly. She leant on the door frame and folded her arms. “Do you know when the last time you had them for a weekend was?”
“I can’t help it, Vee, it’s unavoidable. My hands are tied. You know I want to help you out; you know how pressured my job is.”
Verity blew out slowly and straightened up.
“It’s not about whether you want to help me out, it’s whether you can spare any time at all to see your own kids.”
“Well, obviously I do,” he said. “It’s just…” He ran his hands through his hair, looking exasperated. He was such a dick.
“Don’t even bother,” she said, turning away from him.
The children excitedly nearly knocked me over as they ran past shouting “Daddy” at Jay and he bent down to pick them up.
“Hey, kids,” he said picking them up. “Daddy has to work so you can’t come over to Daddy’s today. But I’ve got something for you.” He took two twenty-pound notes out of his wallet and handed them one by one to the kids after he had put them down.
He rubbed the smallest on his head who looked as though he were going to burst into tears.
“Come on then, kids, say goodbye to Daddy,” said Verity. She was blinking back tears of anger and her voice cracked slightly.
When he left, Verity tried to hide her fury as she packed the disappointed children off to bed, and I tidied up the millions of toys they had been playing with. She came back downstairs and grabbed the wine from the fridge.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I basically get to hang out with fun little people all the time. But when I don’t get any support from that tosser, it’s kind of exhausting, you know? Anyway, let’s have wine! I’m not going to give him another moment’s thought. Look at this bloody mess.” She picked up the last of the Lego pieces. “You know, I think I’m the basket case. Sometimes, I think it would be quite nice to meet someone, but then I wonder how it would all fit in with my life. I wonder how things would have turned out if I hadn’t ended up with Jay. I wouldn’t be picking up Lego now, that’s for sure.”
Verity placed her wine and dinner down on the coffee table, took a DVD out of the case and loaded it into the player, before returning to the sofa. “And now I can’t go out with you tonight because of that wanker.”
She threw her head back in despair and let out an “Argghhhhh” which she then silenced with a glug of wine.
Verity had vowed that she wouldn’t go out with anyone at all unless she knew immediately that they were the right person. She had often said she could wait until the kids had left home before she dated again, by which time she reckoned she would be old and wrinkly and it would almost be time for her to be put in a home and she would be past caring. The truth was, I think she would quite like to meet somebody but after her marriage to Arsehole Jay had ended, she found it difficult to trust anyone.
“You definitely should come to the reunion. You need a moment too. Like in the films.”
Verity had had so much drama with that ex of hers. A night out at the party, getting dressed up would do her the world of good.
“What would you wear? I just need something to make me stand out. Something unusual. Something Molly Ringwald-esque.”
“If you are after strange clothes that dress of Pat’s is pretty strange. You’d definitely stand out if you wore that. It would be the embodiment of stand out. To be honest, there’s so much nylon in it, the static would probably cause you to combust and then everyone will definitely notice you.”
“I need a makeover. A Molly Ringwald makeover.”
“Okay, look, when I’ve got rid of these nits, and got these kids to bed, if you like I’ll dye your hair ginger and make you some kind of weird dress out of an old duvet and some old roof tiles or something.”
“Do you think I’d suit red hair?” I asked.
Verity tilted her head to the side. “I reckon it’s worth a go. What have you got to lose?”
“My hair might fall out.” I grabbed a chunk of my hair and held on to it protectively. “Aren’t the chemicals dangerous though? I don’t want my head to swell up and go into anaphylactic
shock.”
“That hardly ever happens,” she reassured me, in a particularly un-reassuring manner. “Besides, I’ve coloured your hair before, don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember. How could I forget?”
A disastrous experiment with Sun-In at school had put me off ever wanting to do anything different with my hair again.
“I think I’ll keep my own hair for now,” I said.
“And as for the art and music bit and the whole generally wanting to appear weird bit, you’ll have to go straight to Molly Ringwald.”
I sat upright. “What do you mean? Like, I should write to her or tweet her or something? Do you think she could become my guru?” I took out my phone and opened Twitter.
“No, not that Molly Ringwald. The other one who works in bingo hall.”
“Verity, you are a genius!”
After I made sure that Verity would be absolutely fine on her own and she insisted I went, I grabbed my coat and left.
Chapter Seven
“Stubbs!” I called to him from the other end of the bingo hall but then I realised he was calling the numbers out. I’d rushed down to the club so quickly I held on to the end of the stage while I got my breath back. I was absolutely certain Verity was on to something here.
“What’s up?” he mouthed to me after calling out “Two little ducks” to the ten or so customers who mumbled a very depressed quack quack. He narrowed his eyes, trying to work out why I was in the state I was.
“You know how you are Molly Ringwald?” I said moving over to join him.
“Shhh. The mic’s on. Erm, yeah, I think that was what we established.” He waved his hand over the microphone. “Three and one, thirty-one,” he called into the mic.
“And you know how you want to ask April Webster out and I haven’t got any hobbies apart from being obsessed with films and ITVBe and wine and I want to be cool like Molly Ringwald? Well, I’ve got an idea.”
“I see,” he said, when clearly he didn’t. He pulled another ball out of the machine and said, “Key of the door, twenty-one,” loudly before saying, “Go on then, let’s hear it.”
Stubbs would be a fine match for April. She would be unable to resist him. I would make sure of it. This plan was going to work perfectly. Stubbs could teach me how to be slightly weird and like unusual stuff like Andie in Pretty in Pink and I could coach him on how to be the perfect date for April. It was just the thing he needed to get his sparkle back. He just needed some training in the whole dating malarkey or even just the talking to women bit. I outlined my plan while Stubbs listened in between calling the bingo numbers.
“I dunno,” he said, stroking the stubble on his chin. “Four and two, forty-two.”
Someone shouted, “Line!” from below the stage and rushed up to confirm with Stubbs. He was distracted, which was perfect. Perfect timing to coerce him into my plan.
“But, Stubbs, you’d be perfect for it.” I was almost pleading. “You can make me cool and interesting and in return I can teach you all the other things.”
“Like what?” he said, pulling another ball from the machine.
There was another depressed murmur from the ladies.
“Like, I could teach you about womanly things.”
“Womanly things? Two fat ladies, eighty-eight.” Stubbs raised his eyebrows. “I could ask April out whenever I wanted.”
“I don’t reckon you could; you need me to help you,” I said, folding my arms. “And you can help me be like Molly Ringwald and teach me about weird stuff like why anyone would like The Smiths or Nirvana and then I can have my John Hughes–style school prom, just like I have always dreamed instead of that crappy Christmas disco at school. And you can too. It will be amazing. We can have our moments.”
“Ah jeez, Cara, it was years ago. What is it you want me to teach you anyway?”
“Oi!” shouted a lady from the front row and Stubbs, realising he hadn’t pulled a number out for a minute, quickly reacted and pulled out a number one. “All on its own,” he said into the mic and the bingo players grumbled.
“I dunno, just stuff about music and which bands are cool and all that stuff. You know, just make me cool. Sort of like you,” I said.
“Sort of like me?” He raised an eyebrow. “So you are saying I am cool then? Two and seven, twenty-seven.”
“Yeah, I suppose you are, in a very peculiar and geeky way,” I said.
“House!” shouted Betty.
“Okay then, let’s get you being arty.” He reached under the counter, pulled out a Tupperware box full of pieces of chalk. “You can start by doing the blackboard outside. Go and write ‘Happy Hour 7–9. Buy one get one free’ on it.”
I took the dusty chalk box from him. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Besides I’m crap at doing letters,” I protested.
“Come on,” he said. “A deal’s a deal.” He threw an old duster at me.
“Why are you having a happy hour anyway?” I asked.
“We need to get more customers in. And people love a buy one get one free.”
“You’d be better off having an Unhappy Hour. How about I write that? That’s loads better. Drinks are double the price but its buy one get one free.”
He shook his head at me.
“That is moronic,” he said.
“Trust me,” I said. “It will work. You’ll see.”
At the blackboard, I had a few attempts at fitting all the words on. It didn’t look at all arty, but Betty and her crew soon questioned me about what an Unhappy Hour was. They seemed quite taken with the idea and I watched them shuffle past me and go and excitedly order their Unhappy Hour drinks at the bar.
I bounded back over to Stubbs. “See?” I said.
“They were getting drinks anyway,” he said.
“Yes, but they wouldn’t have usually had two drinks each would they? You ought to pay me for that. See, I’m a genius.” I was a brain after all.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on up to the bar. We can talk about your stupid plan.”
Divvy was in the bar, soberish as it was midweek.
“Pint, mate?” said Stubbs.
“Go on twist my arm then,” said Divvy.
“Are you going to the school reunion, Div?” I asked.
He was about to reply when the door opened and in swaggered Verity’s ex, Jay, with one of his mates. He actually had his shirt open nearly halfway down to his waist. The only thing he was missing was a medallion.
“Stubbsy, mate,” he shouted. “What champagne you got?”
I heard Stubbs mutter, “You’re not my mate,” as he sauntered over to the bar. Jay pulled a fifty out of his wallet.
Stubbs answered him directly. “We don’t do champagne,” he said. “And we don’t take fifties.”
“Nah, course you don’t. What you drinking, Cara?” he said to me.
“I’m all right thanks,” I said. “I thought you were supposed to be working, anyway?”
“I wasn’t asking if you wanted a drink,” he said, bending down and invading my personal space by leaning too close to my face. “Just wanted to know what you were drinking.” He started laughing.
Jay’s idiot mates started laughing while Stubbs and Jay stared at each other. This town was full of idiots.
“Think I’ll probably just go,” said Jay, not breaking eye contact with Stubbs. “Came to get a ticket, but I reckon I’ll go and see April herself about it.”
“Yeah, you do that, Jay,” said Stubbs.
I was relieved when Jay turned and left. I felt so angry with him and the way he’d been treating Verity. He made me feel so uncomfortable, and Stubbs obviously picked up on this.
“You okay?” he said, bending down and looking into my eyes to check.
“Yeah.” I nodded. “He just gives me the creeps you know. He makes me so angry. He was meant to have the kids tonight. So me and Verity could go out.”
“The bloke’s a tosser,” said Divvy.
“You’
re not wrong there, mate,” said Stubbs.
Stubbs got me another drink and though I was shaken up by the incident, I always felt safe when Stubbs was around. It reminded me of school when he used to walk home with us and check I was okay. And now he had such a presence about him. He wasn’t the shy geeky boy who wouldn’t say boo to a goose any more. I realised how much I admired him. He always knew what to do and exactly the right things to say. Divvy put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, which was sweet.
“Don’t start overthinking this,” Stubbs said. “It’s nothing for you to worry about; don’t fret about it. Don’t pick this as a moment to stew over.”
It was as if he was reading my mind, always knowing what to say to me. We were all quiet for a few minutes and I decided I was going to go home.
Stubbs reluctantly agreed to help me channel my inner Molly Ringwald and I’d find out along the way what I liked. We made plans for the following day. I didn’t stay for another drink even though Stubbs tried to insist. I had to get back. I had work to do.
When I got in, I picked up the navy blue dress and held it up against myself in the mirror. I wondered if it was possible for Verity to make something with it à la Molly. I pinched it in at the waist and gathered it at the neck, draped it across my shoulders, but there was no denying it was awful, and there was no way I wanted to see Daniel Rose for the first time in years while wearing anything at all like this. It was a Crimplene monstrosity. I burst out laughing.
Wondering what on earth I could wear, I rifled through my wardrobe. I found I had twelve black dresses, all of them with virtually identical necklines. There were eight black cardigans. Rows of T-shirts and vests and skirts and trousers all in various shades of grey, white and black. I was still trying to make myself invisible.
I called Verity and told her what had happened earlier.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “But apologies on behalf of the father of my children for him being such a dick. What was he doing in the club anyway? Bit low budget for him isn’t it?”
“He said he was getting tickets for the ball.”