Passion Flower

by Jean Ure

  A few days later, we had a postcard from her.

  I pored over it, reading and re-reading it. Mum was happy. Yeah! She was enjoying herself. Good! She sent her love. Lots of love. That meant she wasn’t mad at us any more. But she still didn’t say she was missing us, or was looking forward to having us back. It really was a bit worrying.

  As well as a card from Mum, I had one from Vix, who had gone on a camping holiday to France with her mum and her little brother.

  It was now almost a month since Zed had gone to Switzerland. I’d been counting the days, secretly marking them off on the wall of the toilet, down low where it couldn’t be seen. I did it like people in prison do, if they are in solitary confinement:

  1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5/

  I couldn’t tick them off on the calendar, or the Afterthought would have noticed. I didn’t want her making any of her silly remarks.

  I knew the exact day when Zed would be back. I spent the whole of it in a state of jitters, waiting for him to ring. He didn’t! I thought perhaps he was suffering from jet lag (from Switzerland?) or that he hadn’t arrived home until late. He would ring tomorrow! Maybe. Or maybe not. I couldn’t help drooping, just a little. I knew that Vix was bitter, on account of her bad experience, but a month is a terribly long time! I didn’t really think, probably, that Zed would remember me. I mean, there wasn’t any reason why he should, it is not as if I am anything special. I know I am quite prettyish and look mature for my age, but a boy like Zed could get any girl he wanted. He could get rich girls, cool girls, girls who really were sixteen. Not just pretending!

  These were the things I told myself, to stop from being disappointed. If I had bumped into Paige or any of the others I might even have been brave enough to ask them, “Is Zed back yet?” But I hadn’t seen any of them since the day the Afterthought gave us such a fright. We hadn’t really been out all that much, which was partly because it had been raining rather a lot, and partly because we didn’t have any money. Dad had peeled some notes off his wad and given them to us, but we had spent all that and now Dad said he was “a bit skint” until something else turned up. In other words, he didn’t have any money, either! I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to all the rest of the wad, but I didn’t like to ask in case he thought I was nagging. (Which was what he used to accuse Mum of doing.)

  Now that she had her kitten, the Afterthought didn’t mind staying in. Sometimes Dad was home, but most often it was just me and the Afterthought by ourselves. When we weren’t playing with Titch, I helped the Afterthought do things with her shells. She was sorting them into different shapes and sizes, and then painting them with nail polish in all different colours. I’m not sure what she was doing it for, but it kept her happy. I didn’t really mind. At least we were friends again.

  It was the day after Zed was due back, when we were in the middle of shell painting, when my mobile rang. It rang and rang, and I couldn’t find it! I was racing round the room in total panic, trying to trace the sound, when the Afterthought calmly picked up a cushion, and there it was. I shrieked, “Gimme, gimme!” but she danced away, out of reach, behind the sofa. In this very posh voice she said, “This is the Rose residence. How may I help you?” And then she pulled a face and said, “It’s W.”

  I said, “What?”

  “W,” said the Afterthought. “P. Q. Zed. The alphabet person. Your beloved… it’s all right! I’ve pressed the secrecy button, he can’t hear.”

  I snatched the phone from her and dashed into the bedroom. Cool. I had to be cool.

  “Hi,” I drawled, doing my best to sound like Paige and Frankie.

  Zed said, “Hi, Passion!” Was he laughing! I went hot all over. Don’t say that stupid child hadn’t pressed the secrecy button after all! “Have you missed me?”

  I knew Vix would tell me to say no, but I’d gone and said yes before I could stop myself. Zed said, “Good! I wanted you to. Hey, listen! There’s a party on Saturday. Feel like coming?”

  Vix would have been so cross with me! I forgot all about cool. I even think I might have gushed. Yuck! I can’t stand people who gush. But being invited to a party by this totally gorgeous male! I couldn’t wait to write a postcard…

  Before I could do that, however, I had to ask Dad whether it was OK for me to go. I knew if it had been Mum the answer would have been a big firm NO. She would have reminded me that I was only fourteen – just fourteen. She would have pointed out that I didn’t really know Zed properly. She would have said that in any case he was too old for me. (She only liked me to go out with boys my own age. Anything over fifteen and she freaked.) Mum would also have wanted to know where the party was at, and if I’d said “Haywards Heath” that would have been it. The final nail in the coffin. No way!

  When I said Haywards Heath to Dad he just said, “Oh, that’s all right! Twenty minutes on the train. No problem.”

  I almost jumped in the air and clapped my hands. Three cheers for Dad! Dad trusted me. That was the difference between him and Mum: Mum treated me like a child.

  “Don’t you want to know what time she’s going to be back?” said the Afterthought. She didn’t say it to be mean; more like she was actually trying to be helpful. Trying to remind Dad of his responsibilities.

  Dad said, “Yes! Absolutely right. What time are you going to be back?”

  I hesitated.

  “What time would your mother say?”

  Mum wouldn’t have let me go in the first place; but if she had let me go, she’d have told me to be back at some absurd sort of hour, like half-past nine.

  “How about midnight?” said Dad. “That sound about right? For a party?”

  The Afterthought looked at me, wide-eyed. I gulped and said, “Y-yes! Midnight sounds fine.”

  I couldn’t believe it! Midnight. I flew at Dad and kissed him.

  “That is just so brilliant!” I said.

  Dad looked pleased. “You’re welcome. Just have a good time.

  I intended to!

  I COULDN’T THINK what to wear for the party. It was obviously important. Very important! Not to say, crucial, if I wanted Zed to stay interested in me. But I’d only brought a few clothes with me, and now I didn’t have any money to buy more. I tried asking Dad, but he shook his head, regretfully, and said, “Sorry, kiddo! Funds are a bit short right now.”

  For several minutes I felt quite cross and resentful, wondering what had happened to the cheque that Mum had given us. I knew what had happened! Dad had gone and spent it. He had spent our money, just as he had spent Mum’s.

  But then I remembered how he had taken us on the pier that first day, and given us change for the machines, and how he had bought us our flip flops and paid for our tattoos and our T-shirts; and all the times he had taken us out to dinner, and the trips to Lewes and to Hastings, and the Afterthought’s kitten; and I reminded myself, also, that if it had been Mum who was in charge of us, I wouldn’t be going to the party anyway. So then I stopped being resentful and decided to make the best of things.

  The Afterthought helped me. Now that she had Titch, and was happy again, she was really eager to make up and be friends. We laid out all my clothes on the bed, trying to decide which were most suitable for a party. The Afterthought picked up my one and only dress, bright pink, with a halter top. Greatly loved by Mum! I was quite fond of it, too.

  “You think I should wear that?” I said.

  “It’s what makes you look prettiest,” said the Afterthought. “But it also makes you look young.”

  “Forget it!” I waved the dress back on to the bed. No way did I want to look young! “What about that?” I pointed to a top that I particularly liked as I thought it flattered me. “Could I wear that?”

  “Mm…” The Afterthought studied it, through half-closed eyes. “That would be OK.”

  “What shall I wear with it? Shorts?” No! Zed had already seen me in my shorts. “These!” A pair of Capris – well, that’s what the girl in the shop said they were. Trousers that ca
me to just below the knee. I’d seen Frankie wearing some a bit like them, so I knew they were OK. Frankie’s had been flowery. Mine were white, like the top, with red embroidery and red fringes. I held them up against me and gave a little twirl. “What do you think?”

  “Shorts are best for showing off your legs,” said the Afterthought. “But trousers are more sophisticated.”

  I settled for the trousers, with my flip-flops since my only sandals were too infantile for words, and as the Afterthought said, “You can’t wear trainers. Not if you’re going to be dancing.” She then had a brilliant idea for what she called “an assessory” (I didn’t tell her that the word was accessory. It didn’t seem fair, when she was trying so hard to help.) She suggested that I should use some of her bottles of nail polish to paint my nails all different colours.

  “Would that look good?” I said, doubtfully.

  The Afterthought said it would be the height of fashion, she had seen it in a magazine, so I took her at her word and gave myself two nails blood red, one green, one gold, and a silver thumb!

  “See? I told you!” said the Afterthought. “That looks fab. And look, look!” She snatched up my silk flower, the one Dad had won on the pier, and thrust it at me. “You could put this in your hair!”

  It was strange, the Afterthought had absolutely no sense of style when it came to herself, but she could choose stuff for me OK.

  “What are you going to wear on top?” she said. “Your denim jacket?”

  It was all I had, and it was quite old and tatty, but the Afterthought said that denim was meant to be old and tatty. She said, “It would look really sad if it was new. Like you’d gone out and bought it specially.”

  Oh, wise Afterthought! I hugged her and said, “From now on, you will always be my fashion consultant.”

  I was meeting Zed and the others in the Bluebell Café, so Dad said he and the Afterthought would give me a lift down to the front.

  “It’s all right,” he said, “I won’t get out of the car and shame you. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be seen with a tatty old dad! Incidentally, you’re looking very chic, if I may say so.”

  I was glad Dad thought I looked chic. I just hoped Zed did, too!

  He was there in the café, with Paige and the other three. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered him! His hair was still blond, but now he had a deep golden tan to go with it.

  “Yo, Passion!” He reached out a hand to pull me down beside him. I did so want to be cool and elegant! Instead, to my shame, I went and tripped over the leg of someone’s chair and practically fell on top of him. Everybody thought it highly amusing, except for me. I, of course, turned bright red like a pillar box.

  “Somebody’s eager!” cried Nick.

  “Somebody happens to have missed me,” said Zed. “Isn’t that right, Passion?”

  “Don’t be so big-headed!” Paige aimed a smack at him with a menu. “Boys!” she said. “Think they’re God’s gift!”

  “We are,” said Zed. “What would you do without us?”

  “Get on very nicely, thank you,” said Paige.

  I felt that it was time to make a contribution, other than tripping over chair legs. Brightly I said, “What time does the party start?”

  “Any time,” said Frankie. “Just whenever we care to turn up.”

  “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” said Nick.

  “Why, anyway?” said Frankie. “Do you have to go to bed early?”

  She really didn’t like me. But Zed did! That was all that mattered.

  “So whose party is it?” I said, determined not to be squashed.

  “Yes! Whose party is it?” said Zed.

  “I don’t know,” said Chaz. “I thought you knew?”

  “I don’t know,” said Zed.

  “Well, somebody must! Whose party is it?”

  In bored tones, Frankie said, “It’s a friend of Gary Meldrum.”

  “Who’s Gary Meldrum?” said Zed.

  “I dunno,” said Chaz. “I thought you knew?”

  “I don’t know!” said Zed.

  “Oh, shut up!” said Paige. “You know perfectly well who he is. He was in Year 12. Don’t take any notice of them, Passion. They are quite stupid.”

  When we walked up to the station, Zed held my hand all the way. Paige and Chaz held hands, too, but I noticed that Nick and Frankie didn’t. That just made me think all over again that Frankie secretly fancied Zed and was jealous of me. I knew she was jealous of me because she actually tried to get rid of me! As we reached the station, she suddenly said, “Are you sure you’re old enough to come to this party?’

  “Of course she’s old enough!” said Zed. “What kind of question is that?”

  “She doesn’t look old enough to me,” said Frankie.

  Zed said, “How old are you, Passion?”

  I was so glad I hadn’t worn the pink dress! Boldly I said, “I’m sixteen. Just,” I added. I thought it made it sound more like the truth if I said “just” though I could tell from the way Frankie tossed her head that she didn’t believe me. Zed did. He told Frankie to stop behaving like a mother hen.

  “Come on, Pash! I’ll get your ticket.”

  I suppose, really, what with equality of the sexes and all that, I should have said that I would get my own, but I didn’t because I knew that Zed probably had loads more money than I did, and if I’d had to buy my own ticket it would have left me with about 2p in my purse. Which is always a bit scary.

  We got to the party at eight o’clock, but we only stayed for an hour because Zed and Chaz decided it was boring and wanted to move on. I didn’t find it boring! I thought it was fun. But it seemed there wasn’t enough happening. Zed said, “This is not where it’s at.”

  “So where shall we go?” said Frankie.

  Chaz said he knew of something in Croydon. “We could try that.”

  “Let’s do it!” said Zed.

  I was a bit alarmed as I didn’t know where Croydon was, but Zed assured me it was only a short train journey.

  “Are you certain that you want to come?” said Frankie.

  Zed said, “Of course she wants to come!”

  “You mean, you want her to come.”

  “It’s not a question of what I want,” said Zed.

  Paige said, “Oh, no? Since when?”

  “We ought to put her on the train back,” said Frankie.

  Honestly! The cheek of it. Like it was up to her to decide my life for me.

  “I’m coming,” I said. “I want to go to a party!”

  Frankie didn’t say any more; just shrugged her shoulders. I felt triumphant. I had won! Zed paid for my ticket again and we all got on a train for Croydon. The journey was longer than the one from Brighton to Haywards Heath had been, so that it was nearly ten o’clock when we arrived. I thought, “I’ll never be home by midnight!” but it was too late, now, to start worrying. It would have been altogether too babyish to have gone home.

  I never did find out whose party it was. I’m not sure any of the others knew, either, except perhaps Chaz, who was the one who had suggested it. It was held in someone’s flat, on the ground floor of a big old house, and by the time we turned up it had really got going. Lots of noise, lots of people, and music loud enough to blow your brain. Just the sort of party I would normally have loved! But right from the word go I had this feeling I had made a mistake. Frankie was right: I shouldn’t have come! For starters, everybody was heaps older than I was. There wasn’t a single person there who looked to be under eighteen. Most of them looked like they were in their twenties. It was difficult to find anything to drink that wasn’t alcoholic, and I just knew that people were smoking stuff they shouldn’t, and that some were doing worse than just smoking. I am not a prude! I am a very broad-minded sort of person. I believe that everybody should be allowed to do their own thing. But I didn’t feel I was ready for this!

  I didn’t think that Zed was ready for it, either, in spite of being seventeen and go
ing to a posh school. He started drinking almost immediately and just didn’t stop, and although he wasn’t drunk, exactly – at least, not falling-over sort of drunk – he became really silly so that I couldn’t get any sense out of him. I asked him when we were going to go home, and he said, “Who knows? Today, tomorrow? This time next week? Maybe never!”

  “It’s getting really late,” I said. “It’s nearly half-past eleven.”

  Zed said, “Shock horror! Half-past eleven… soon ‘twill be the witching hour! Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggety beasties, and things that go bump in the night! Have a drinkie. Make you feel better.”

  He held out his glass, but I pushed it away.

  “I think we ought to go,” I said.

  “Don’t want to go,” said Zed. “Having fun. Drink up and don’t be such a misery!”

  This time he actually tried to force the glass between my lips, and when I shoved it away it spilt all down his front. Zed said, “Look what you’ve done! What a waste of good booze. Now I shall have to go and get some more.”

  He went weaving off, across the room. I didn’t know whether to go after him or not. I didn’t know what to do! I was starting to feel quite frightened. How was I ever going to get home? I looked round for the others, but they didn’t seem to be there. Icy bullets went zapping down my spine. Suppose they had already left? I would be on my own with Zed! And Zed had gone silly, with too much drink. He wasn’t going to take me home. Why had I ever come???

  I’d come because I’d resented being pushed around by Frankie. Because I didn’t want Zed thinking I was just a little kid. And now I was frightened and wished I wasn’t here!

  I suddenly became aware that someone was looming over me. A tall skinny man with a straggly beard. I’d already noticed him across the room, looking at me.

  “Hallo!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  I felt sure there ought to be some witty kind of response to this question, but I couldn’t think of one. I couldn’t think of any kind of response. I was just, like, frozen.