Chapter Forty-Six
Where to begin? When I was thirteen? With a small pair of budding breasts and starting to notice the opposite sex?
Or perhaps fourteen? Yes, fourteen is the better starting point.
By this point I was taller than my girlfriends. I had hips and curves whereas my friends were late to the puberty party, their figures still boyish.
I was never confused about my gender. The only experimenting I did was with the cheap makeup bought with pocket money. I was blessed to never experience teenage spots or puppy fat. I had long blonde hair and legs like Bambi. Whenever out of school uniform, lorry drivers would honk their horns. Jack-the-lad brickies, high on scaffolding and testosterone, would wolf whistle.
I can remember my mother laughing on such occasions. She’d flick back her hair, believing the attention was for her. My father wasn’t fooled. He would stick his fingers up at the lorry drivers and swear at the lads leering from the scaffolding. He’d cry, “It’s a good thing you’re up there and not down here, or you’d need more than a hard hat to protect yourselves.”
London nightclubs were for celebrities. Locally, discos were for ordinary people. Such folks could be found in any pub pretending it was a trendy establishment. Obviously, you had to be eighteen to get in, but with a face full of makeup, a short dress and heels bought with my paper round money, entry wasn’t a problem.
I used to meet up with Marie, the only other girl in my class who – like me – could pass for eighteen.
We’d both tell our respective parents that we were going round to each other’s houses to study and have a sleepover. So, while Mum and Dad thought I was at Marie’s place labouring over algebra and, later, watching trash telly, instead we’d hole up at the local shopping precinct’s public loo. In front of a well-lit mirror, we’d transform ourselves. We might have been schoolgirls who loved to race their bicycles downhill, legs stuck out at an angle, but we’d also wanted to play grownups. And as any adult will attest, part of being a grownup is understanding the responsibility that goes with it.
I met Nicholas one Saturday evening. Marie and I had taken a bus into Brighton – my then hometown. Loud music had been pouring out of the pubs. One had stood out. It had drawn us like moths to a megawatt lightbulb.
An obligatory bouncer had given us the onceover. We’d felt empowered. Unlimited. Fourteen going on twenty-four. In other words, overconfident and horribly na?ve.
We’d walked in with no issue. And there, at the bar, had been a couple of lads. They’d looked our way. Nudged each other.
It transpired that Nicholas and Callum were mirror-images of Marie and me. They were fifteen to our fourteen. However, thanks to some Italian and Greek heritage, they’d both sported some hair on their chests. They’d displayed this fluff by undoing several buttons on their shirts. Their clothes – leather jackets and jeans – gave them a look that shouted sexy young men rather than teenage boys.
With a pint apiece already inside them, they were giving off a vibe. Self-assurance. Marie and I were totally fooled when Nicholas and Callum told us they were nineteen.
‘And how old are you?’ said Nicholas, catching hold of my hand.
‘Nearly twenty,’ I giggled, delighted at hoodwinking him.
‘What’s your tipple?’ he asked, as the barman approached.
‘Pernod and black,’ I said without hesitation.
I’d never tasted the drink, but had once overheard Marie’s older sister, Caitlin, saying that Pernod and black was the height of sophistication . As Caitlin was every teenage girl’s idol, I’d mentally filed away the info. I’d accepted the drink and instantly felt like an It Girl . Putting the glass to my lips, I’d nearly heaved.
‘To us,’ said Nicholas.
He’d clinked his glass against mine. I’d downed the disgusting drink like someone swallowing cough medicine.
But teenagers can’t hold their drink. Nor do they have a bottomless purse due to being schoolkids. They also have a lower boredom threshold than adults. So, still kidding each other that we were older than our years, we left the bright lights and headed to that other place where teen relationships progress. McDonald’s.