Life of the Party

by Gillian Philip

  ‘Quit patronising me,’ I hissed. ‘I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t walk all that way on your own. I’m coming with you.’

  ‘You are not. Stay with your pal Calum.’

  ‘Never mind Calum. There’s no way you can walk.’ She sounded genuinely anxious. ‘It’s too far and it’ll be dark soon. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘See? You’re doing it again. I am fine. I don’t need you, right?’

  I was really losing my temper now. After all, she was as good as calling me a useless drunk. Funny coming from her, when she could tank it back with the best of them. Who was she to pass judgement on Rob Yeadon, anyway? Maybe she was jealous. Maybe she even fancied him herself.

  You know, even at that moment I knew I was being irrational. Trouble was, I didn’t care. I was speaking my mind. It was a mind of my own, and I was proud of it.

  ‘I can look after myself!’ I yelled, turning on my heel.

  ‘Chloe, what do you think you –’

  Hadn’t I made myself clear enough, or what?

  ‘Don’t follow me!’ I screamed. ‘I’m fed up with you, okay? I don’t need you, and I don’t want your company. Is that getting through yet?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she called bitterly after me, ‘that’s got through. Get over yourself, Chloe!’

  I was already blinking back tears as I stormed off towards the main road, but she went and made it a lot worse. I heard her footsteps running after me, then she stopped and called, a bit more gently, ‘Be careful, kiddo. Okay? See you tomorrow.’

  Kiddo. Kiddo. That just about summed her up. Treating me like her baby sister instead of her best friend. Furiously I rubbed tears off my face. I was doing my best to stay angry, but it really was a long way home. I was walking off the edge of the alcohol, and the late evening air hurt my brain, and I was starting to realise how badly I’d overreacted.

  However hard I tried to remember why I’d got so angry, I just couldn’t. Yet it had seemed really important at the time and it had been so clear. Steph used me and patronised me. Didn’t she? Yes. No. Yes. I tried not to think. I tried to use all my energy staying furious.

  Trouble was, I was using up so much of it sobbing and snivelling.

  It was getting dark, and it was a lot colder now. I wasn’t wearing a jacket, just a thin camisole top and a useless little fashion-scarf. My feet hurt along with the rest of me. Cars swept past, and I told myself I was only imagining that some of the drivers slowed and stared as they went by. When I limped to the outskirts of town I just about fainted with relief, till I remembered I still had a couple of miles to walk home.

  At least by the time I got there I was too footsore and miserable to worry any more about my disastrous evening. Though it was after midnight, I knew Mum was awake – I could see the light under her door, hear the rustle of the magazine she was pretending to read – but I didn’t go in to say goodnight. I didn’t want any more explanations or apologies about her and my useless dad, I didn’t want her ‘your-problems-are-all-our-fault’ routine. I was my own person and I could make my own mistakes without any help from her.

  Like tonight.

  I crawled into bed with my make-up still on, and fell asleep straight away. Three hours later I woke up with a throbbing head and a sore swollen throat from all that crying, but I took a couple of paracetamol and a pint of water, and told myself I’d make it up with Steph in the morning. I’d make it up to Steph. She was my best friend. I knew she’d forgive me and that almost made me feel worse.

  I felt so awful – not just my head and my stomach, either – I was afraid I’d never get back to sleep. But I did.

  THREE

  Boy, did I ever get back to sleep. Even though it was summer and the sun rose ridiculously early, I knew as soon as I woke that I’d overslept. Groaning, I rolled onto my side and fumbled for my phone. I knocked a few things flying before I managed to grab it – the table was in chaos since last night, with an upturned water glass and a collapsed pile of books – but eventually I managed to focus on the blurred time display.

  I swore.

  For a moment, I rolled on to my back, thinking: That’s okay, it’s Saturday, then.

  No, it wasn’t. I swore again and tumbled out of bed.

  What was Mum thinking of? Was this her way of getting me into trouble at school, so the teachers would deal with me and she wouldn’t have to? Yeah, that would be like her.

  I banged the wardrobe door, flung a chair out of my way, making an unholy racket. It wasn’t as if I’d be disturbing anyone: Mum would have got herself to work. Selfish cow. Tears stung my eyes. I was really in trouble now and it was her fault. All her fault.

  Stumbling on something, I almost fell. My jeans, kicked off last night and left on the floor because I didn’t have the hand-eye coordination to fold them over the chair. With that, the whole debacle came back to me. The repulsive Kieran. The awful walk home: how had I managed that without getting mugged, raped or run over? What a Class A clown I was.

  And Steph. Falling out with Steph. This morning I could see – at least a little, through my stinging headache – how much I’d been in the wrong.

  That was it. Definitely. I was going to stop drinking.

  I was going to stop drinking so much, anyway. On weekdays. And I’d make my first one a lot later. I had it under control, I did, but it made me act stupid, and I wasn’t stupid.

  Very, very carefully I made my way downstairs, trying not to jar my brain and stomach with every step. This hangover was a whopper. I’d have a laugh with Steph about it. Yes, that was a good idea. She’d think it was funny and say I deserved it, and I’d agree, and exaggerate my agony a bit, and be all contrite. We’d be fine again in no time. Carefully, carefully down the stairs. I felt like Winnie-the-Pooh, like my head was bumping off every step.

  Another joke to tell Steph. I laughed silently, though even that made me feel queasy.

  I got the shock of my life – up to that moment, at least – when I shoved open the kitchen door. Mum hadn’t gone to work. She was sitting at the table, still in her dressing gown, hands clasped tightly round a mug of tea. Her head jerked up.

  As she goggled at me, horror-stricken, I realised she hadn’t heard me coming. Otherwise she might have done something about the tears streaking her face, and her swollen red eyes.

  I didn’t know where to start. ‘What’s the idea, Mum?’ Aggression seemed the safest policy. I hoped this wasn’t going to be the lecture she’d been trying to give me for months. I wasn’t in the mood right now. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up? Mum! I’m late!’

  She opened her mouth, but all she could do was bite her lip. Tears trickled out of her eyes again. I was mortified.

  ‘Chloe, it’s okay.’ Her voice was hoarse. ‘I’ve called the school. It’s fine.’

  ‘Mum.’ I glowered at her. ‘Why did you call them?’ It struck me. ‘Is it Dad again?’

  ‘No, it’s – no. No, Chloe, it’s not Dad. Ow!’ The mug must have burned her. She dropped it like a hot coal and put her scalded hands over her mouth. It broke in clean pieces, flooding the kitchen table with milky tea.

  I stared at the spreading puddle. I stared at Mum.

  Slowly she drew her hands down from her mouth. ‘Oh, Chloe,’ she said. ‘Oh, Chloe. Something’s happened.’

  And that’s when she gave me the real shock of my life.

  FOUR

  Clutching my plastic bag in one trembling hand, I shoved open the wrought iron gates. They creaked and groaned like something out of a bad scary movie. Not that movies frightened me any more: there were scarier things in the world than special effects. I wished I could tell Steph that. Steph used to shriek like a banshee at the gory bits. Steph loved scary movies.

  This place looked different without all the people, all the black cars. The lawns and beds were lovely and empty and soulless, a manicured municipal garden. Except for the regimented headstones, of course. Except for those.

&nbs
p; My heart thrashed. I desperately didn’t want to be seen. I still felt like some primitive life-form that hadn’t been long out of the swamp, and I didn’t think I was ever going to stop feeling that way.

  It had been two months now, and this was the first time I’d come here since the funeral. It took me a while to find the right row, and then a little longer to find the exact place, because there wasn’t a proper headstone yet. Maybe it wasn’t all that hard to find; maybe deep down I just didn’t want to. Maybe if I couldn’t find it, it wouldn’t be here, it would all have been some mad hallucination. Just a drink-fuelled nightmare.

  But no. There it was. There she was. There was my best friend, buried in cold earth. A drink-fuelled nightmare right enough.

  There was no one around, so I breathed a shaky sigh of relief and sat down cross-legged. Rummaging in my plastic bag I brought out a small potted chrysanthemum: £3.99 on special at the supermarket. Some of the leaves were a bit crushed, so I tweaked them ineffectually.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I told Steph. ‘It’s pretty rubbish.’

  I put it down on her grave anyway, and pulled my cider bottle out of the bag.

  Guiltily I glanced around. If anybody saw me I’d be mortified. But there was no one, so I twisted the bottle open, holding it away as cider foamed up out of the neck. When it settled, I filled a plastic cup, then trickled it on to the turf that covered my friend.

  ‘There you go,’ I said. ‘I was reading about the Greeks. And they used to do this. And I thought you might like a drink.’ I didn’t feel as stupid talking out loud as I thought I would, so I tipped out another cupful for her. ‘So there you go. Kiddo.’

  That’s when I started to cry. I hadn’t meant to, it just happened. I’d cried before, of course, but not like this. I cried till I couldn’t breathe, I cried till my whole body was empty.

  I don’t know how long I went on, but by the end of it I had a raging thirst. I looked at the bottle, and I looked at Steph’s grave, and I looked at the bottle again.

  ‘It’s a bit early for me,’ I told her with a weak smile. I poured myself a half glass, though, because I really was thirsty. I took one mouthful.

  ‘Bit early for me too, but I’ll have a half,’ said Rob Yeadon.

  Trying to jump up, I almost fell over.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I barked, trying to rub my eyes without making them even more bloodshot and swollen. ‘You’ve got a nerve!’

  ‘Oh yeah. How have I got a nerve?’ His lip curled.

  I wanted to hit him in the face with the cider bottle.

  ‘You never even liked her. And she never liked you!’

  ‘Yeah? So what?’

  ‘So you shouldn’t be here.’ I called him something terrible. I told him where to go. Then a horrible thought struck me, turning my leaden stomach. ‘How long have you been here?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Just got here,’ he lied. ‘Minute ago.’

  It was nice of him to lie, instead of mocking me. So when he sat down at my side, I didn’t bite his head off, but poured him half a cup of cider instead.

  ‘Do they know what happened yet?’ he asked.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Doesn’t everyone? Kieran was hammered. The car left the road and hit a tree. They say he must have been doing seventy on the corner. He’s still in hospital.’

  Rob examined his drink.

  ‘It’s the wrong one that died, isn’t it?’

  That was what I kept thinking too, so I surprised myself when I said, ‘There’s never a right one to die, is there?’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  At least the stupid jerk Kieran was in hospital. At least he got hurt. Not very charitable of me, but the best I could do with my furious grief. And Calum and Jenna and Ricky weren’t badly hurt. At least he didn’t kill them too.

  What a lottery it was.

  ‘See, it’s my fault,’ I said. ‘Steph was all wrapped up in Calum, she didn’t know how much Kieran had been drinking. I should have realised. He was sitting right beside me. Three big bottles, nearly! Should have known I couldn’t get through all that by myself.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Rob, smiling slightly.

  I gave him a sharp look, then thought: Well. I deserved that.

  ‘She offered to walk me home,’ I went on. ‘I wouldn’t let her. I’d kind of fallen out with her.’ Fiercely I rubbed my eye.

  I’m fed up with you, okay? That’s what I’d yelled at her. I don’t need you. I don’t want your company.

  Well, I sure didn’t have it now. I rubbed my whole face with the palm of my hand. It was wet. I’d thought I’d dried up my tear ducts, but obviously not.

  ‘Listen,’ said Rob. ‘She got in the car all by herself.’

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘She knew he’d been drinking. How would she not know? Even if she didn’t know how much, she must have known he’d been drinking.’

  ‘I told her where to go,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t let her come with me.’

  ‘You’ve just told me where to go,’ pointed out Rob. ‘But if I fall down a hole on my way home it won’t really be your fault.’

  His logic infuriated me. Sniffing hard, I stared at the sky.

  ‘I still feel like a piece of dirt.’

  ‘Yeah, course. You will do.’

  Which, in a funny way, made me feel better. I was up to glowering at him again.

  ‘So why are you here?’ I said belligerently.

  Taking a mouthful of cider, he wrinkled his nose and poured out the rest. Then he pointed the empty cup at a headstone two rows away.

  ‘That’s my dad,’ he said.

  Blood rushed to my face. I knew his dad was dead; stupid of me. He’d been dead for a few years. Rob had been at a different primary from me, so I don’t know what had happened to his dad. Never liked to ask, never had the nerve. But I should have realised that’s why Rob was here. Not for Steph at all.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.

  ‘S’okay.’ He balanced his plastic cup on his fingertip, catching it when it fell. ‘Died of drink, y’know. Just like Steph.’

  I bristled.

  ‘Steph didn’t die of –’

  ‘Well, neither did Dad, really. He died of a number 22 bus. He was out on the lash with his mates and they were fooling around and he stepped back into the road and –’ He shrugged. ‘Well. Hit by the proverbial bus. How stupid is that?’

  I looked at my plastic cup of cider. How stupid is that? I hadn’t drunk any more of it and the urge had gone for the moment, so I trickled it back into the bottle and stuffed the bottle back in its bag. Not knowing what to say, I stared at Rob’s dad’s headstone. It was black marble with a curlicued border, and an etching of roses twined round a racing car.

  ‘That,’ I said, ‘is the ugliest headstone I’ve ever seen.’

  Which just goes to prove I’ve got a big mouth, even when I haven’t been drinking.

  All Rob said was, ‘Yeah. Hideous, isn’t it?’

  We sat in companionable silence for a while. The autumn sun was warm on the back of my neck and I felt a little more peaceful now. I think all that crying had helped. I wished Steph hadn’t got in the car with Kieran. I wished more than anything I’d been there to stop her.

  ‘Sorry I kept winding you up,’ said Rob, hurriedly and half under his breath.

  ‘Yeah, that’s okay,’ I said.

  ‘So do you want walking home?’ he asked. ‘Or are you going to tell me where to go?’

  I could have said I don’t need you or I don’t want your company. But look what happened last time.

  Besides, I didn’t want to say it. I still couldn’t stand him, and I decided he probably still despised me, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and he seemed to be trying hard to spare mine. I didn’t want to go out with him. Not right now. I wasn’t in a fit state to have a friend, and I probably didn’t deserve one. But I’d started to hope I might not feel that way forever.

&nb
sp; As I got to my feet I picked up my plastic bag. There was a wheelie bin right outside the cemetery gates, and this bottle would be flat before I felt like drinking it again.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and smiled at Rob. ‘You can walk me home.’

  More great reads in the SHADES 2.0 series:

  Witness by Anne Cassidy

  Shouting at the Stars by David Belbin

  Blitz by David Orme

  Virus by Mary Chapman

  Fighting Back by Helen Orme

  Hunter’s Moon by John Townsend

  Animal Lab by Malcolm Rose

  Tears of a Friend by Jo Cotterill

  Danger Money by Mary Chapman

  A Murder of Crows by Penny Bates

  Doing the Double by Alan Durant

  Mantrap by Tish Farrell

  Coming in to Land by Dennis Hamley

  Plague by David Orme

  Treachery by Night by Ann Ruffell

  Mind’s Eye by Gillian Philip

  Gateway from Hell by David Orme

  Four Degrees More by Malcolm Rose

  Who Cares? by Helen Orme

  Cry, Baby by Jill Atkins

  The Messenger by John Townsend

  Asteroid by Malcolm Rose

  Space Explorers by David Orme

  Hauntings by Mary Chapman

  The Scream by Penny Bates

  Rising Tide by Anne Rooney

  Stone Robbers by Tish Farrell

  Fire! by David Orme

  Invasion by Mary Chapman

  Copyright

  SHADES 2.0

  Life of the Party

  by Gillian Philip

  Published by Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Radley House, 8 St. Cross Road, Winchester, Hampshire SO23 9HX, UK

  www.ransom.co.uk

  ISBN 978 178127 463 7

  First published in 2008

  This updated edition published by Ransom Publishing 2013

  Copyright © 2013 Ransom Publishing Ltd.

  Text copyright © 2013 Gillian Philip

  Cover photograph copyright © Alen Popov

  A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.