by Juno Dawson
‘Thank you so much!’ I gave her a warm hug, which she reciprocated.
‘It’s OK,’ she replied, monosyllabic as ever.
‘Can I make a toast?’ Daisy asked and we agreed she definitely should. ‘I wanted to say that this has been the best year. Yes, I know I just got out of hospital and that’s pretty crummy, but when things were really bad I thought about all of you lot. When I did, I pictured you, like I was sucking your life force or something. Polly, I thought about your strength; Beasley, I thought of your hugs; Nico, I thought of how wise you are; Alice, I thought of your calm; Freya, I thought about your cleverness; Alex, I thought of how confident you are. Toria, when I thought about you, I thought about your hope – you always have so much hope.’ I’d never thought about it, but I supposed she was right. ‘And look! It worked! I’m so excited about being here and I really love you guys. So to you and you and you and you and you and you and you!’
We all toasted. ‘Here’s to us,’ Polly said. ‘And Merry ******* Christmas one and all.’
While the others watched A Muppet Christmas Carol, Nico and I slipped away. It probably wasn’t nearly as subtle as we intended and I definitely caught Polly watching us go. I couldn’t read her expression: it wasn’t jealousy, it wasn’t anger, it wasn’t sadness … it was indifference, and that was even worse.
I closed Polly’s bedroom door behind me, leaving the child version of me standing on the landing. I felt the same way I had felt going into my Year 11 exams – terrified and resigned. I was back on the roller coaster and we were chugging up the first hill; there was no getting off now. Keep your hands inside the carriage at all times. This was fine. This was momentous and it was going to be great, I told myself. ‘I made a playlist,’ Nico said, plugging his iPhone into Polly’s dock.
‘Oh good idea.’ The fact that Nico had spent some time planning tonight meant a lot.
‘Are you nervous?’ Nico asked, rubbing his hands on his jeans. ‘It’s OK, if you are. I think if you talk about being nervous you always feel less nervous.’
‘I am. I really am.’ The mulled wine had taken the edge off, but it was taking everything I had to not physically shake.
‘Good. Me too. I really don’t wanna screw this up. Let’s see how it goes. We don’t have to …’
‘I want to,’ I said, edging nearer to him. Our bodies met in the middle of the room. ‘I really do. It’s only because it’s new.’
‘Well, we’ll go nice and slow. If it all gets too much … just say. You know I’m not going anywhere, right? There’s always later. We can do it some other time.’ It felt like he was trying to talk us both out of it. But I’d gone too far.
‘OK. Well, let’s see.’ I kissed him, my heart beating stupidly fast. It couldn’t be healthy. This was it. I was doing it. Never again would I be a virgin. No one would ever, ever be able to say, ‘Toria Grand died a virgin spinster.’
I pulled Nico’s jumper over his head, messing up his hair. It only made him cuter. In the muted light from Polly’s lamp, I got a good look at him. Obviously, we’d had a good grope before that point, but as only weirdos make out with their eyes open, I’d never stopped to actually just look at him. His body was hard and defined, more so than I’d been expecting. There was soft, dark hair all the way from his chest to the rim of his jeans. I liked it.
He looked exposed so I pulled my own jumper off so we matched. I presented myself to him. He took my hand and we moved onto the bed. Having made the decision to do it, I felt more in control and I was fine.
Once we got going, I definitely didn’t want to stop. I’m sorry but I’m not going to do a full-length florid description of what happened next. His touch was not like silk and I didn’t see fireworks. I’m also not going to say what he did and what went where – you can probably figure that out for yourself.
What I will say is Nico looked after me and we took our time. It turns out sex feels nice. It was so weird. I didn’t know my body could feel like that. It also turns out that boys like it when you do things to their bits. Like, anything. Apparently there isn’t much of a skill to it. I showed him where to touch me and he got the message pretty quickly. He put his own condom on – I’m glad I didn’t have to do that bit; it looked fiddly.
He slipped out of me a couple of times and kept apologising, which I thought was quite sweet although unnecessary. Once he hit his stride he didn’t last too long, for which I was secretly quite grateful. He shuddered and groaned and I was oddly proud at the effect I was having.
And it was … liberating. Totally naked, all tangled up with each other. It wasn’t pretty, but it was really hot. I loved feeling his skin all over mine. Everywhere tickled, everywhere felt good. I’d never spent any time thinking what it would feel like to have a guy lick my hip, but it was electric. I loved the taste of salty sweat on his neck. I’ll be honest, it did hurt, but, once I got over the shock, I loved having him inside me. It felt right, if a little sore.
Possibly even better than the sex bit was the after-sex bit. Exhausted, and on the biggest adrenaline comedown of my life, I fell straight into a powerfully deep contented sleep with my head on his damp chest, the rise and fall like a lullaby. That really was heaven.
Chapter Ten
Christmas
Before you start thinking this is a Coming Of Age story, I’d like to point out that once I’d gleefully cast off the miasma of my virginity precisely NOTHING changed. It was, I’ll admit, a bit of a relief but I didn’t feel like ‘a woman’ – I didn’t start wearing trouser suits or using ‘bronzer’. I still don’t know what that does. In fact, as Christmas came around I saw less of my friends and reverted to a stroppy adolescent state instead.
This is going to sound insane but now that I had friends I actually liked, school was preferable to being at home. Christmas actively removed me from them, dragging me Up North for ‘family time’. I wanted to die. We had to stay with my Auntie Minna and Uncle Sarwat: awful people who were the very definition of money not buying class – the sort of people who tell you exactly how much things cost as they recount stories. ‘Oh it was beautiful, but you’ll never guess how much it set us back … go on … GUESS.’
Even worse were my cousins. Naveen is a fat dope-fiend who can do no wrong in his parents’ eyes while Anjali looks like a human Bratz doll and has roughly the same IQ. They thought I was a freak and for the first time I was proud of the fact. I spent most of the stay trying to weird them out on purpose: talking to my split ends and pretending to go into demonic trances – chanting fake Latin under my breath. You want freak, I thought, I’ll give you freak. I also managed to convince Anj that I’d seen a little ghost boy in Victorian clothing squatting in the cupboard under the stairs. I was especially chuffed with that one.
Up North, you have to make your own fun.
Christmas morning at Grandma’s was equally depressing. She’s not entirely on board with us doing Christmas in the first place, but as long as we also make a fuss for Diwali, she lets it slide. I swear time with your family contains extra hours to normal days – it dragged forever. At present-giving time, I was given an Ice Age box set. ‘Well, you like cartoons,’ Mum explained, and I could have cried. ANIME IS NOT CARTOONS.
It actually made me feel really guilty. Not only did my parents no longer know me at all, but I’d estimate they’d pissed over a hundred quid up the wall on stuff I’d never use. What a waste. I guess it’s partly my fault for not communicating clearly enough and I should be grateful I know … poor kids in orphanages and all that.
After the obscenely huge, sprout-filled banquet dinner, Dad suggested a game of Monopoly before Doctor Who. Nav always cheats and Dad always catches him and it devolves into tears and recriminations every year so I opted out. I decided to do the altruistic thing and go and help Mum and Auntie Minna in the kitchen.
I stopped outside the kitchen door, which stood ajar. I could hear sniffling, sobbing. It was Mum. I pressed myself into the alcove housing a ceramic lion to spy. ‘
I’m being so silly,’ Mum said. I wondered if she’d reached the tipping point with the Chablis and the port. ‘I feel like I’m all by myself down there, you know what I mean?’
‘You’ll settle in,’ Minna told her, trying to be soothing. ‘Give it a bit more time.’
‘I am in that house all by myself all day long. I never bloody see Eric and Vicky’s always out with her friends.’ That was a mighty tit-punch of guilt right there.
‘Well, how’s the job hunt going?’ I could hear Minna loading plates into the dishwasher as she spoke.
‘There’s nothing. Absolutely sod all. I just … I just hate it, Min.’
‘Well … well, what are you going to do about it?’
‘There’s nothing I can do is there? I don’t know.’ My eyes stung. I’d been so selfish and so immature. Immature to think that my dad uprooting us would only affect me – me pirouetting at the centre of my own jewellery-box universe. I had never stopped to even think what Mum had left behind: a job, her friends, her family.
I took it for granted that my parents would always be together. Not because I was stupid but because I thought they were about as happy as two people who’d been married for fifteen years could be. That they’d accepted their concurrent life sentences. She wouldn’t leave, would she?
A worse thought entered my head. Would that be such a bad thing? That little voice was pushed right to the back under a pile of mental junk mail. That was a terrible thing to think. For better or worse, they balanced each other out and I love them as a pair – they’re human salt and pepper shakers – one wouldn’t make sense without the other. If they split, Dad would basically become a hobo and god only knew how much Mum would drink if he wasn’t around to tut at her.
‘Just ignore me!’ Mum said. ‘I’ve had too much to drink.’ Well, that was certainly true. But it was another thing to worry about. Another inconvenient angst nugget to go with all the others. I’d taken my eye off the ball with that one – even the things I thought I had nailed down were starting to slide around the deck.
I tried to cheer up for the rest of the day. I didn’t let them know I’d heard the conversation in the kitchen but made the effort to be nicer to Mum. If nothing else, she deserved a stress-free Christmas, even if Doctor Who was the only highlight.
While I was away, of course, I texted everyone back home constantly – we’d set up a chat group and almost live-blogged our respective holidays. I took comfort in knowing Polly was inching ever-closer towards matricide, Beasley was fending off ‘When will you meet a nice girl?’ probes, and we all helped Daisy face what was by far the most challenging time of year. Nico had gone to Italy with his mum and sisters and the distance was torture.
It turns out sex is quite addictive. Now that I’d started I didn’t want to stop. If that sounds slutty, that’s your problem. As soon as we were both back in Brompton, Nico and I started a fun new game called ‘How And Where Can We Do More Sex?’ How the teen pregnancy rate is so high when parents seemingly never leave the house is anyone’s guess.
All I can say is I was hugely grateful for the evening yoga classes Sofia Mancini taught in the village hall. She did yoga, and so did we, in a manner of speaking. I was obsessed. Nico was my new toy and he didn’t seem to mind one little bit.
I think it stemmed from a perfectionist need I harboured to ‘get it right’. I wasn’t sure I’d had an orgasm yet during sex … something happened one time, a bit of a tingle, but I wanted to clarify. The more we did it, the less it felt like his penis was invading my body, and that could only be a good thing.
My friends, on the other hand, probably weren’t quite so thrilled. ‘I want to try everything,’ I told Daisy and Polly (hair now baby-boy blue) on New Year’s Eve. We were at the golf course. This was a thing. Every year for the last few years they’d broken in with bottles of booze and some sad fireworks. At the end of the party we’d clear everything up and leave the place untouched, like ghosts in the night. ‘I feel like I’ve got so much stuff to catch up on, you know what I mean? I want to make sure Nico’s happy.’
Polly half-heartedly smiled. ‘Well, I’m glad you broke the seal.’
‘Gross,’ Daisy added.
Nico slid his arm around me, materialising out of nowhere. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Nothing!’ we all said together and fell about laughing. It was freezing cold and we were all bundled up in coats, scarves and hats – only eyes peering out like woollen ninjas. We were hidden away on the pirate ship. I don’t know if CCTV was picking us up, but security guards hadn’t found us yet. I snuggled into Nico, huddling for warmth like a penguin.
We filled each other in on Christmas shenanigans. ‘My dad was so awesome,’ said Daisy, nestled in her faux fur and matching hat. ‘He told anyone who gave me a hard time about food they’d be out on their ears.’
‘Was it awful?’ I asked.
‘You know what, it wasn’t so very awful. I had a little bit of everything. It was nice. Who can be mad at trifle?’
We laughed. She looked so much healthier and I sensed we’d turned a corner on that episode. For now.
‘Well, I had a splendid time,’ Alex bragged. ‘I don’t want to be a total knob-end, but my Christmas present was waiting on the driveway …’
‘Roadkill?’ I asked and everyone laughed.
Alice stepped in. ‘A car. It’s so cool. Now we can go wherever we like.’
‘Once I pass the test,’ added Alex.
I internally willed him to fail the test. Of course, Alex’s new toy wasn’t a tin can on wheels like most seventeen-year-olds got, it was a brand-new Mini Cooper. I had come to realise that Alice and Alex were a brand. It was all for show, all about how they looked. I sometimes wondered if they even liked each other much. It’s like that old philosophy question about the falling tree in the rainforest: did Alice and Alex actually exist when no one was there to see them? (Answer: yes, because EVERY moment was available on Instagram.)
I was frozen and a little head-fuzzy from cava but something intrigued me. As we chatted and drank, Zoë sidled up closer and closer to Polly until they were almost entwined. OK, everyone was cold and everyone was huddling, but Zoë might as well sit on Polly’s knee and get it over and done with. I caught Nico’s eye with a quizzical look, but he just shrugged. Polly hadn’t said anything.
As soon as I could, a little before midnight as we set up the fireworks, I collared Polly. ‘Oi, Wolff, what’s going on with you and Zoë?’
She shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, come on, she was all over you.’
‘It was cold, Tor. We’re not all borderline ******* nymphomaniacs.’ She couldn’t disguise the zing of annoyance in her voice.
‘OK, chill out, it was only a question.’ I was no longer in awe or scared of Polly Wolff. We were just friends now.
‘Honestly, it was nothing. Been there, done that.’ She gave me a saucy grin.
‘Charming!’
‘Thirty seconds!’ Beasley yelled and we scurried over to where they’d set up the fireworks. Zoë took on the role of fireworks coordinator and the rest of us stood well back. I was arm in arm with Nico, seeing out the end of the year I’d started all alone, surrounded by people I loved. But New Year is about putting one year to bed and ushering in another. For the first time in ages, I couldn’t wait to find out what happened next.
‘Five, four, three, two … HAPPY NEW YEAR!’ We hugged and kissed and tripped over each other as the fireworks, as pathetic as they were, went off. They fizzed and whimpered in a litter of sad sparks and clouds of pungent gunpowder smoke. Their feebleness only made them funnier; we doubled up in laughter.
I can honestly, honestly say I don’t know if I’d ever been as happy as I was at that moment. You know what? It was better than sex, and I was now qualified to suggest so.
India
I am the I in India.
Yeah, I’ve watched a mango sun melt over the Taj Mahal
Like hot sauce on a
sundae.
Yeah, I’ve thrown back my head as powder pink exploded
Around me at Holi.
But I also ran the Paint Bomb Run in Boothroyd Park
For Breast Cancer Care, for Gran.
I am the I in India.
Yeah, I’ve tucked those samosas in like they were ready for bed
And ground cardamom till it’s dust.
Yeah, I’ve made papaya lassi and spinach dal
Without opening a jar.
But I’ve also baked an apple pie with fruit from the garden
With Ambrosia custard, the way Dad likes it.
I am the I in India.
Yeah, I’ve been wrapped like a mummy in a river of silk
Wrists like rattlesnakes.
Yeah, I’ve patiently waited for mehndi to make poetry of my hands
Worn a bindi when they weren’t hip.
But I also ripped a top in Primark and put it back on the rail
And wear Docs on my feet.
I am the I in India.
Chapter Eleven
Secret
Exams give me diarrhoea. I understand this is not a sexy admission, but it was definitely true of my Year 12 mocks, which were our gift from school on our return. The end of the holidays saw frantic revision sessions around Polly’s. For most people, group revision would be hanging out and watching TV, but Polly was a hybrid of interrogator and sweatshop mistress. We quizzed and tested each other until we could recite facts and figures, arguments and counterarguments and anticipate every possible combination of essay question.
Our preparedness didn’t stop the nerves from setting in. The morning of the first exam I had to take three, yes three, Imodium to be even able to leave the house. My mum said it was psychosomatic. I invited her to take a look at my poop.