by Stella Duffy
THIRTY
The girl looked up as the door slammed shut. She was sitting alone. In the late morning light, with cigarette smoke soft-focusing her oval face, Saz thought she looked more than pretty, Becky looked like the fifties movie star she didn’t yet know she could be. She hoped someone would get her a photo of Vivien Leigh or a young Elizabeth Taylor before too long, before the too-obvious French manicure and American-trash clothes became a habit and she lost all chance of the beauty she could still turn into. If only there was a role model for verging-on-the-edge-of-womanhood. If only the only role models weren’t forty-year-old women pretending to be eighteen-year-old girls.
Saz asked for a coffee, waited while it was poured, then sat down in front of the child-woman and pushed forward the ripped piece of paper, a black and white photo of a school group. She pointed at one of the girls. “Do you recognise her? It’s an old photo, but I need you to look carefully. Do you know her?”
Becky didn’t deign to look down. “Hi, how are you? Lovely to see you again. How nice of you to agree to meet me at such short notice, really lucky you could make it.”
“The woman, Becky. Do you know her?”
“Becky raised her eyebrows, smiled, looked down at the photo, the smile fell into a frown. It was evidently not the face she’d expected to see, she opened her mouth to speak and then, thinking better of it, took a drag on her cigarette. She blew smoke directly into Saz’s face – if not quite the looks, she certainly had the old-style star action – and traced her built-up fingernail around the curve of the face looking up at her.
“Why?”
“I want to know if you know her. If Daniel knows her.”
“Do you know her?”
“We went to school with her.”
“So he does too. Problem solved. Anything else?”
“I mean now. I want to know if he knows her now.”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
“Because I don’t think he’ll tell me the truth.”
Becky paused, “And I will?”
“You might. If you were upset with him enough.”
“Why would I be upset with him?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because he was your teacher and he’s been taking the piss. Because he was having an affair with someone else all this time. Because you were hoping for more from him than just the occasional shag?”
Becky didn’t even flinch, put out her half-smoked cigarette and reached for another, flicking her enamelled lighter with a practised stroke. “How much?”
“So you do know her?”
“I might do. It’s hard to tell.”
“I know it’s an old photo, and she’s probably changed loads, but have a look. Do you know her?”
“How much?” Becky said.
“Fifty quid.”
“Hundred.”
“Sixty.”
“No. One hundred. I mean it.”
Saz looked at the girl and decided she did. She reached into her bag and pulled out a roll of cash. She counted off some notes, put the others away again.
Becky took the proffered cash, eyed the rest that went back in the bag, clearly pissed off she hadn’t tried harder. “All right. The woman in the photo? She was at school with you lot?”
“This is a photo from then, yes.”
Becky picked up the torn paper and stared at it, eyes squinting. She shook her head. “I don’t know really. Honest I don’t.”
“A hundred quid for `I don’t know’?”
“She looks a little bit like this woman who used to hang around our college.”
“You’re sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. But I think … well, she looks a bit like her. I saw her a few times, most of us did. Only she wasn’t around when we came back after the last holidays, they moved her out over the break I think.”
“What was she like?”
“Like a nutter, why else would you hang around the school gates?”
Saz didn’t know, didn’t want to. “Did she look sick?”
“No, not really. Just old. Like you.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Older than you actually. She looked older than you.”
Becky didn’t notice that her words had mattered. “Anything else?”
Saz waited, wondered if it was fair, if she was using Becky – maybe not as badly, but certainly with as little concern for the girl’s feelings – just as Daniel had. And then, as she was starting to feel sorry for the girl, Becky swept another supercilious glance across Saz’s face and down her body, taking in the clothes, the careful makeup, the gorgeous boots – the sharp heels a conscious attempt to add a mask of status – and grinned in slow comprehension. Becky still believed herself to be in charge. And if she believed it, she probably was. Saz realised that while she didn’t especially want to hurt Becky, she wasn’t all that worried about it either.
“Did you know Daniel was seeing another woman? Someone he cares about from a long time ago?”
It wasn’t the question Becky was expecting, nor was it one she wanted to answer. But admitting her discomfort would have meant yielding power to Saz and Becky had no intention of doing that. “Yeah, actually, I did. How do you know?”
“Something she said when I met her the other day, the way she talked about him. Like she’d seen him way more recently than I had.”
“That’s it? Some female intuition crap?”
Saz smiled. “Yeah. And the fact that she’s still using the same hiding place she used as a kid.”
Becky wasn’t fazed – or she wasn’t showing it to Saz anyway. “So? It doesn’t matter, Daniel can fuck who he likes. We both can. We agreed on that.”
“And are you?”
“What?”
“Fucking other people?”
“None of your business.”
“So you’re not, but he is.” Saz nodded. “Wow, you girls were so lucky to have all that girl-power shit, weren’t you? It really made a difference.”
“Yeah, right. And your burn-your-bra stuff was so fucking hot.”
“I’m not that old.”
Becky glared at her. “You are to me. Anyway, Daniel’s got stuff he needs to sort out, about relationships and all.”
“You really believe that?”
“She came a long time before me.”
“Yeah. And they have history, a shared past. It’s a stronger base for a shared future, don’t you think?”
Becky did think and she didn’t want to, she looked away to the counter, signalled for another cappuccino. “Dunno.”
“Oh, come on, you’re many things, Becky, some of them probably quite brilliant if you’d only give yourself a chance … ”
“Whatever. I can get plenty of patronising at school, I don’t need you doing it too.”
Saz smiled, the girl was right, and it was all the permission she needed to be as hard as she wanted. “Fair enough. Truth is, I think you’re useful to his ego, something for now, while he can’t quite have the woman he really wants. That’s what I think.”
“You think a fuck of a lot. Why do you need me to agree with you?”
“Because I admit you probably know Daniel better than I do these days. I know he’s been lying. I think part of what he’s been lying about is this woman in the photo, and the other lie is about Andrea, the woman he’s been having an affair with. He might like you well enough, playing with you probably makes him feel young and clever, and I reckon he doesn’t normally feel either of those very often.”
“Daniel’s work was really successful.”
“That’s right. Was. Once. He’s not exactly a filmmaker now, is he? He might need you, Becky, to make him feel good, but it’s Andrea he really wants. Don’t you think?”
Becky stirred the froth into her coffee. “I don’t know. None of this is news to me. He says he’s been in love with this Andrea since you guys were at school. He told me all about her, it’s not a secret.”
“It is to her husband
.”
They smiled at each other then, the realisation that perhaps Daniel and Andrea were well suited after all.
Becky poked at the old torn page from the school magazine. “What’s it got to do with the bag lady? She’s not Andrea, is she?”
“Definitely not. But I wondered if you’d ever seen her with Daniel, maybe he mentioned speaking to her? Or anything about her?”
“You don’t want to ask him yourself?”
“No, I don’t. Not yet.”
Becky stared at her coffee, spoon circling, not answering.
“Come on, Becky, another twenty quid and you tell me, yes? It’s easy money. And I don’t really think you owe him any favours.”
Becky held out her hand and Saz passed over the twenty.
“All right. Yeah, it was quite sweet actually. They found her in one of the Portakabins. They were going to call the cops and get her moved out, but Daniel talked to her. Said he reckoned he could help her.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. A while ago, after the Easter break. He didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone else didn’t even care about her. Daniel was the only one who talked to her, he helped her.”
“How?”
“Helped her find a place to stay, I think, talked to Social Services. You know how that lot always think teachers are so fucking sussed and responsible. It’s weird.”
Saz had to agree. “Yeah, it is.”
“I don’t get it. What’s the problem with him helping her?”
“I’m guessing Daniel’s been doing more than just helping her,” Saz said.
“He’s shagging her too? Oh, piss off!”
“No, I don’t mean that. Just … there’s been some stuff going on.”
Becky scratched again at the edge of the photo, and stood up. “Whatever. I don’t care. Daniel and I are over now anyway.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. I did. Pay for my coffee, yeah?”
Saz watched the girl walk out of the café, and wondered if Becky had any skills for heartbreak yet. And if it was ever possible not to blame the messenger. By the time the door closed behind her, Becky’s phone was flipped open to text. But Saz wasn’t worried she would call Daniel. Not yet, maybe never again. Like so many lovers before her, Becky had been able to cope with the existence of the other woman as long as she didn’t have to admit to anyone else where Daniel’s real affection lay. Now that it had been spoken aloud, made true in the telling, it was a very different matter. She got up to pay the bill. Apparently Becky’s tab was for fifteen coffees, six croissants, and eight full breakfasts.
THIRTY-ONE
Janine walked towards them, head held high, shoulders back, arms loose at her sides. Walked carefully, confidently, like she was fine about walking, about being there. She’d got out of bed early this morning. Dressed especially for today, made herself look right, look like them. Like she belonged.
Janine Marsden was scared. But then she was always scared. This wasn’t any different to every day every time every walk to school. She was a scared person, always had been always would be according to her mum, unless she did something about it, took a stand, but even then, maybe she shouldn’t push it. Her mum didn’t like to push anything. But Janine had made up her mind, and today would be different. She’d thought about it all night, twisting her aching body in the hot sheets, rubbing her crying eyes until the tears-red was impossible to differentiate from the rubbed raw. And she’d wondered if it might be possible to change. Now, after this had happened. She tried to talk to her brother about it, before breakfast, as he stood at the bathroom door, but that was no good, all he ever said was you’ll only make things worse, it will be better when we grow up, adults are nicer, they try harder. For now just stay out of their way, they only want you to pay attention to them. Ignore them and they’ll go away. But she couldn’t ignore them anymore and they hadn’t gone away and now here she was, walking up the street towards the school gates, fists screwed up, serrated finger-nails grazing her sweaty palms.
Weeks and months of bringing herself to this moment, hoping to make a difference, force a change, and then yesterday afternoon, actually talking to Sally after all these years, friends again maybe, more now maybe, and finally it had seemed possible. But then there was last night. Well, anyway. That was done, the night had passed. Everything passes. And Janine promised herself she was going to sort it out. Work out why they were like this. She would ask them. Not just take it, not just behave as if she deserved it, but actually ask them. Ask the question she should have asked ages ago. She was going to talk like them. She had made a real effort to look like them, be like them. Janine had it figured, if she was like them – talking, walking, looking – then they would have to tell her, explain themselves. They’d have to answer the question: Why are you doing this to me?
One by one. Asking each one. The boy-man Will Gallagher, the one every girl in the school fancied. So did she, Janine did too, she admitted she was the same as them, same as all of them. Or maybe not. Maybe that kiss, those kisses with Sally, did mean something else. Mean what they’d been accusing her of all along. Then there was the other guy, Daniel, the tall thin one, the clever one, too clever. The youngest guy, Ewan or Evan or whatever his name was, Christ she wasn’t even sure she knew his name, but God knows they all knew hers. And the two girls. Andrea Browne. So totally hard, maybe she’d never get through there, but yes, OK, maybe even Andrea was worth trying, appealing to, getting an answer from. Janine was prepared to give them all a chance. More than they’d ever given her. And Sally. How nice she’d been yesterday afternoon, how nice it was yesterday afternoon. Not twenty-four hours ago. The hopes and the maybe and the touch. Too much touch, not that touch, no more touch. No more.
Sally goes on ahead, tells Janine she’s going to check it’s all OK, tells the others it’s now. Janine’s here, walking up the street. Janine rings the doorbell to Will Gallagher’s flat over the sweetshop. Sally comes running back down to answer it. Tells her it’s fine, come in, come on in. Everyone wants to see her. Janine follows her up the stairs and behind her back Sally reaches out a hand, a welcoming hand. Janine takes it, holds Sally’s soft hand and knows it will all be OK now. She’s holding Sally’s hand. They walk in the room together and Will Gallagher comes over first. He’s holding out a glass. Vodka and orange he says. Welcome he says. We’re so glad you could come.
Perhaps she’d got it wrong. How Sally had been in the afternoon. How they’d all been in the evening. Perhaps she just didn’t understand. She didn’t understand, would never understand, she wanted them to explain, to help her make sense of it. She’d left home happy enough, hopeful enough. Her mum was dozing in front of the telly and her dad wasn’t home from his extra shift yet and her little brother was upstairs listening to music or writing his crap lyrics or wanking. Or all three. Sometimes it seemed to Janine her little brother could probably do all three at once. Sally had promised she’d go and talk to the others, try and fix things, maybe she had. Maybe that was what Sally meant by fixing it. Maybe it was normal for them. Usual. It wasn’t normal for Janine. Janine didn’t understand normal any more.
They finish the first vodkas really fast. Andrea makes more, less orange juice this time. And then another round. A line of speed. Janine hasn’t taken drugs before. Didn’t know that they did, not for definite. She’s heard the rumours of course, but – like most of the kids in their year – she assumed it was a rumour Daniel Carver had started about himself. Lots of kids talk about dope, get stoned at weekends, but this is different. This is officially hard drugs. Don’t feel hard, feel fast. Better than vodka, better than the leaflets said, the ones they’d been given in third year. Just Say No. Janine says yes. They are being nice to her. Andrea talking to her. Andrea Browne listening to her. Janine isn’t used to drinking, unaccustomed to drugs. She doesn’t have a group to practise with like this lot. But Sally is still smiling and Daniel has changed the music to something he’s had sen
t over from America, some movie soundtrack his cousin wanted him to hear. Rare he says it is. Imported. Janine thinks it sounds harsh and weird, long lines of shouted lyrics she can’t make out and screeching guitar that sounds tuneless to her, a woman’s voice that is more off-key than on. But she doesn’t say so. Just nods, looks interested. Tries to look interested. She checks her watch, it’s getting late, an hour has passed without her even noticing, the music is louder, Will whispering to Daniel. Janine is worried about her dad, scared he’ll get home before she does. Worried she’ll get into trouble, but Sally says don’t worry, what’s getting in trouble with your dad, when everything else is going OK? Whispers, what do your mum and dad matter when these guys are being nice to you? They’re being nice to you. And Sally’s right. It’s all going OK. Until it isn’t.
She’d been thinking about it all night. No sleep, no sleep at all. Wondering how it happened and what she’d done to let it happen and why they would have done that anyway. Janine didn’t even think it was that weird when Will came over to where she was sitting on the sofa with Sally and started kissing her. Later she figured perhaps the vodka and the speed had played a part, but at the time it seemed to make sense. After all, Sally had kissed her. Shit, maybe it was what they all did. Maybe that was why they liked each other so much, maybe they just all fancied each other, did it with each other. Janine knew it was weird, wasn’t as if this sort of stuff happened on primetime TV. Not much anyway. But it was happening, then, to her, and she didn’t know any better. That’s what she’d have told her mum, if her mum had listened, if her mum had been awake when she back in last night. If her mum had had time to talk this morning before going to work.