by Maria Farrer
“Nice shoes,” someone says to someone.
“Nice shorts.”
“Nice nail varnish.”
Conversations begin and fizzle out. More drinks are poured. There are various bottles on the bench-top and I slip off to get mine to add to the collection.
“What’s this?” says a girl, pouncing on my bottle and wrinkling her nose. “Looks like orange squash.” She laughs, shakes her head slightly and hands it to Kelly.
“Is it squash?” asks Kelly disbelievingly as she unscrews the lid. “I meant bring alcohol.”
“Lame,” mumbles one of the others.
Kelly holds it under her nose and sniffs. “Whoa! OK.” She takes a swig, makes a face. “What is it? Vodka? Shit – you might’ve warned me it was neat.”
The others giggle as Kelly splutters. “Can’t be neat, Kell,” says Zoe, “vodka’s not that colour.”
“Shut up. You try it if you think it’s so funny.” She holds it out to Zoe, who takes a huge swig before passing it on. They hand the bottle to me. I pause for a heartbeat then take a long swig and immediately regret it. It starts me coughing and makes my eyes water.
“Easy does it,” says Zoe, taking the bottle back. She has another gulp without any obvious side effects.
The vodka earns me a few points – a sort of gap opens in the cosy circle and I’m allowed into it. Conversation starts to flow more easily: chat about people I don’t know, places I haven’t been, things that have happened at their school. I try to laugh in the right places, try to look interested.
A big group of boys arrives with boxes of beer. I see Zoe plucking at the back of her shorts with her fingers and I’m not sure if she’s trying to make them longer or draw attention to her bum. The vodka has started to kick in and it makes me giggle.
“How did you get that here without your parents noticing?” Kelly asks them as they dump the beer on the side and help themselves.
“Who said anything about parents? That’s what older brothers are for.”
I tense up, immediately. I don’t mean to but I can’t help it.
“It’s all right if you’ve got an older brother,” says Zoe. “Mine’s only seven, and he’s a right pain. I caught him in my room the other day looking at my Facebook. I nearly killed him, I can tell you. I’m getting a lock on my door if he carries on like that.”
I don’t know if it’s the day, the vodka or the mention of locked doors – or maybe a combination of all three – but I want to scream at her; tell her she’s lucky to have a brother at all. I want to ask her how she’d feel if she got home tonight to find he was dead. I fight to keep my mouth shut and Kelly must see something in my face because she’s beside me and pushing me across the room.
“Let’s go and put some music on,” she says.
“It’s OK,” I say.
“Clearly it’s not.” Kelly sounds quite aggressive.
“Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she says with a sigh. “I know what day it is and I’m sure you’re sad. But now you’re here, you may as well enjoy yourself.”
That takes me by surprise – that she’s remembered the date of Liam’s death.
“I didn’t think you’d come if I’m honest, but I thought the least I could do was ask.”
I nod and force a smile. So she invited me expecting me to turn her down and now she’s stuck with me. Perhaps I should leave now.
“Thought it might take your mind off things,” she continues, as she plays around with the music.
“Yeah – well thanks for inviting me. It’s nice to see you.” I try to sound genuine. “Is anyone else coming that I know?”
“Doubt it. That’s why I said to bring a friend. My friends have all changed. It’s cool where I’m at school now.”
“Simon may come along later. It’s his sister’s birthday so he’s not sure. Do you remember him?”
She frowns as she scrolls through her playlists. “Kind of.” With the iPod back on the docking station, Kelly turns up the volume and music thuds through the room. Someone waves at her from near the door and Kelly’s face brightens. She waves back, tells me to have fun, and makes her escape, leaving me like a spare part.
I stare around. There’s no one I know. Groups stand drinking, smoking, laughing. The brief warmth of the vodka has vanished, replaced by the cold knowledge that I shouldn’t be here. Why did Kelly bother to ask me? I try joining in with a few groups but they blank me. One guy starts talking to me and offers to get me a drink but doesn’t come back. I text Simon.
How long until you get here?
He replies. No idea. That bad?
I’m determined not to sound like a loser. It’s OK.
It’s hard to look comfortable when you’re standing on your own at a party. I wander back to the kitchen in the hope that it might be better in there. It isn’t, so I follow Mum’s example and pour a slug of orange vodka into a plastic cup and find some lemonade to mix it with. I sip it steadily, the rawness biting at my throat. I pour another one and knock it back in one go. It’s packed in here now, and the temperature and noise seem to rise with every passing moment. Some guy comes up and helps himself to a mugful of Mum’s mixture and raises his cup. Automatically, I knock my plastic cup against his and the drink spills. I laugh and pour some more. Soon after a girl cosies up to him and kisses him and tries to drag him away. He shrugs and rolls his eyes at me, then follows like a lamb. The room is getting hotter. Halfway through my fourth – or is it my fifth? – I start to feel queasy. I put down my cup and push my way through the crowd, mumbling apologies as I hit people’s elbows and spill their drinks. A trail of swear words follows me. I almost cry with relief when I find the toilet and see that it’s empty.
I shut the door against the noise and lean my head against the cool of the wall. Air. Give me air. There’s a tiny window high above the toilet. I clamber, unsteadily, on to the seat and fiddle with the catch. It opens a little but there’s some kind of security lock to prevent it being opened too far. I put my nose as close to the gap as possible and gulp in breaths. Slowly, the feeling of nausea and panic begins to subside, then I sit down and hang my head between my knees. My bag is heavy round my shoulders and I slip it off and put it on the floor. This is horrible. I try to work out what I’m going to do next. My only hope is Simon.
There’s a loud banging on the door. “Get on with it can’t you? What’re you doing in there?”
The panic rises again and I get up quickly and flush even though I haven’t even opened the toilet seat. The hammering goes on and there’s more than one voice now. My face feels flushed as I ease open the door just a crack. Two girls eyeball me.
“About bloody time,” one of them says and wrenches the door open, pushing past me to get in before shoving me out. A few people look in my direction and I feel worse than ever.
Stuff it. I’m getting out of here. I head towards the front door and feel around for my phone to ring Gran. My hand touches my shirt and my hip. Where’s my bag? For a horrible moment I think it’s been stolen, then realize I’ve left it in the toilet. Why did I take it off in the first place?
I push my way back across the room, fighting my way through elbows and backs – not caring what anyone thinks this time. I try the handle of the toilet but it’s locked, so I press my ear against the door. I can hear movement and giggling. I suppose I should be glad the same girls are still in there.
I wait. After a while I knock gently. Then louder.
“Go away!”
“I just need my bag.”
“What bag would that be?” More giggling.
“Please, just hand it out. It’s beside the toilet.”
“Not any more it isn’t.”
There’s a breathless silence and I stare hopelessly at the door.
“Come on,” I say.
“Didn’t your m
ummy ever tell you to take care of your things?”
Tears prick at my eyes and I give the door a sharp kick. A stream of swear words comes from inside. Angry, I swear back at them – empty threats.
I lean hard against the door, trying to force it open, but it’s never going to work.
“I’m going to get Kelly,” I shout at the door.
“Who’s she?”
I fumble my way back into the living room, my sight blurred by tears. Kelly’s nowhere to be seen. I ask a few people, but the most I get is a shrug. I force myself to think straight, to work out some kind of plan, but my head is about to explode and me with it. I don’t know what to do. No one here is going to help me. If Kelly reckons her new friends are cool, she’s wrong. I hate them all.
Someone touches me on the shoulder, fingers gently squeezing. Simon! About bloody time. Relief floods through me as I turn round.
It’s not Simon.
“Hi, Amber. Kelly said you were going to be here.” His eyes are a more piercing blue than I remember; his stare so intense that, for a moment, I can’t find any words.
“Tyler?”
“Glad you remember me.”
Remember him? Seeing him again detonates a minefield of memories. Tyler and Liam running, Tyler and Liam round at our place, Tyler at the hospital after Liam died. Kelly appears at his shoulder. “I thought we’d agreed you’d stay out of this,” she says angrily into his ear.
“Don’t worry, I’m not sticking around,” he says. “Just catching up with Amber.”
Kelly looks at me and frowns. “You OK, Amber?”
“Yeah, fine,” I say brightly.
“Five minutes,” she says to Tyler, “then I don’t want to see you anywhere near this house.”
Kelly gets swallowed back into the party and I look questioningly at Tyler.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” he says, “but Kelly’s parties are always trouble so I thought I should come and do a quick check. To be honest, I’d say this’d be a good time for you and me to get out of here.”
“But why?”
“One of the neighbours will call the cops before long.” He speaks quietly but urgently. “You’re better off sticking with me.” He looks around nervously.
“I can’t leave. Two girls have got my bag in the toilet. It’s got my phone in it – and money.”
Tyler swears under his breath. “Wait for me by the front door,” he says.
I’m so grateful to know someone and I can’t wait to leave. I’m even more grateful when he reappears with my bag in his hand.
“How did you do that?”
He shrugs. “Did you bring anything else?”
“Yeah.” What did I bring? “My overnight bag – somewhere at the bottom of that pile – it’s the green one.”
“Best not to leave anything lying around in here, for future reference,” he says.
He throws bags aside as he unearths my green bag and the old sleeping bag.
“Come on,” he says. “Time to go.”
I’m swept along in Tyler’s mission to get out of the place. I don’t want to be stuck here if there’s going to be trouble. He pushes me out of the door, and we hurry away from the house towards a battered grey car. Tyler throws my bag and kit in the back seat and I get in.
For a minute, I close my eyes and sink against the passenger seat.
“Looks like I arrived in the nick of time,” he says, starting the car. “Are you feeling all right? You’re not going to throw up or anything?”
I shake my head. My pulse is racing and everything feels a bit strange, but I’m OK. I register the weirdness of what’s happening. I’m in a car with Tyler Dawson.
“Where are we going?” I say.
Tyler shrugs.
“Whose car?”
“Mine – while Dad’s banged up.”
I’m about to say, again? but manage to stop myself.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“What? Sorry Dad’s in prison?” Tyler laughs through his nose, the air coming out in sharp puffs. “I don’t know why they bother to let him out – a couple of months then he’s caught stealing or dealing again and he’s back inside. Anyone would think he likes the place.”
I watch him as he drives. Something in my dulled senses tells me he cares more about his dad than he wants to let on.
“Does your mum know about the party?” I ask him.
“Sonia? She’s Kelly’s mum, not mine. I thought you knew that.”
I shake my head. “Where’s your mum then?”
“No idea.” There’s a nasty grinding as he shifts gear. “Sonia’s all right. We get on better now I’m not living there any more. It was all a bit intense after … well, you know. Sonia must be nuts going away and leaving Kelly by herself after what happened last time.”
“What did happen last time?”
“Exactly the same as what’ll happen this time, and it’s not pretty. I swear Kelly doesn’t even know half the people in the house. Anyway, it’s none of my business. As Kelly said, I wasn’t supposed to be there.”
“I don’t think I was either. I don’t know why she invited me; I don’t know any of her new friends.”
“Keep it that way. Anyway, it’s good to see you.”
I look at him shyly. It’s been a while since anyone – apart from Gran or Simon – has told me that it’s good to see me.
I clap my hand over my mouth. Simon! I’d better get hold of him. I’m pretty certain he isn’t coming, but still, I should text. I twist around in my seat and reach for my bag.
“Shit!” I stare into my bag.
Tyler looks at me. I twist again, then undo my belt and get on my knees in the front seat and stretch down to the floor at the back, groping in the dark for my phone. It’s awkward and now I do feel sick again.
“What’s the matter?” asks Tyler.
I sit back round and try to swallow down the nausea. I can feel him watching me.
“Sodding phone’s not in my bag. And I think I’m going to be sick.”
Tyler stops the car and I get out, lean against a lamp post and take a few deep breaths. Tyler searches the back of the car again – under seats, in the pockets. Nothing.
“Those cows must’ve taken it,” I groan. “Did they say anything? Didn’t you check?”
Tyler makes a guilty expression. “Look, I’m sorry. I just got them to give me your bag. Didn’t think you’d want me riffling through your personal stuff.”
“My money too,” I say, opening up my empty wallet. I flop back on to the seat, my arms limp at my sides. No money, no phone. Now what? Tyler does another quick search but I know there’s no point.
“Here, you can use my phone,” he says, handing me an old Nokia.
“Thanks,” I say. But I don’t know Simon’s number. I don’t even know Gran’s. I start to scroll down through names. There must be someone I know – someone who might be able to help get Simon’s number.
Tyler doesn’t have a huge contact list. I recognize a few of the names from school but no one who’d know Simon.
Ian … Kelly … Kyle … Laura … Liam. Liam?
A hundred thoughts run through my head – threads that I can’t quite catch. Liam? I can’t take my eyes off his name. I hold up the phone in view of Tyler. “Why have you still got this?”
“Different Liam,” he says, reaching for the phone, cool as anything. I jerk the phone out of his reach and press call. Liam’s voice. His message. Alive – here on the phone. Inside my ribs, someone has grabbed my heart and is squeezing it very, very hard.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” says Tyler. He leans over, calmly, and takes the phone.
I can’t speak. All I can do is look at Tyler. I force myself to study him as a way of controlling everything else going on in my head. He’s
skinny to the point of being bony and his body is all angles in the driver’s seat. His fair hair is shorter than I remember and badly cut. His features are the same, his cheekbones clearly defined and his jaw set rigid, as if he’s clenching his teeth.
“Why did you just lie to me?” I whisper.
“It wasn’t something you needed to hear. Especially not today.”
“Today? So you remembered the date then?”
“It’s hardly a date I’m going to forget.”
I watch him bite his lower lip and I fold my arms across my front, trying to wrap up my own emotions.
“I wasn’t going to go to the party,” I say. For some reason I feel the need to defend myself. “I wish I hadn’t now, but Gran said Liam would want me to go out and enjoy myself.”
“Enjoy yourself on the day he died? Why would Liam want that? He’d be gutted.”
My face flushes – part shame, part annoyance. How does he know what Liam would want? “You went to the party too,” I point out. I don’t see why there should be one rule for me and one for him.
“That was different,” he says. I wait for him to explain but he doesn’t. “What about your parents? I’m surprised they let you go.”
“They didn’t.”
Tyler pauses. “They’d hardly be thrilled to find out you were at our place. Not after all the shit your dad threw around about our family.”
I stare out the window. I should apologize to Tyler, but I don’t know what to say.
“So what are you going to tell them?” he asks.
“Nothing. They’re away.”
Tyler turns and looks at me, looks back at the road, then back at me.
“Away?” he asks quietly. “This weekend? Without you?” He hits the steering wheel with both hands. “That’s rough. They shouldn’t have left you – it’s not right.”
The force of Tyler’s reaction takes me by surprise and it scares me. Part of me is pleased that he’s taking my side. The other resents his intrusion, the criticism of my parents, the criticism of me for going to the party.
“Mum’s not well,” I say. “Dad thought she’d be better if she was out of the house, that’s all.”