Seventeen Years Ago
Fifteen weeks pregnant.
I pull down the dress and try to smooth the black stretchy fabric across the small but noticeable bump in my middle. My hair and make-up are done, but I don’t feel good.
‘Are you OK?’ Reeni’s wearing the little rope bracelet I’d bought for her the other day.
‘I don’t know if I like it now.’ I stand sideways on to the mirror and study my reflection. ‘What do you think?’
Reeni screws up her nose. ‘It’s not what I thought you’d go for.’ She points towards my chest. ‘It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.’
I try to pull up the neckline, but all it does is raise the hem.
‘Come here.’
Reeni comes towards me waving her hand and I think she’s going to help with my cleavage, but instead she reaches around to the back of my neck.
‘You’ve left the label on.’
I shirk my head away. ‘No. I’ve left it on purpose. I thought I’d take it back after the party. It cost a fortune and I’m never going to wear it again.’
‘Good idea, although …’ she fiddles with the label, ‘… it’s attached with a tiny safety pin. We can take it off and put it back later.’
‘Doh.’ I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand.
Reeni takes a step back, label in hand, to take in my whole outfit.
‘I look shit, don’t I?’ I’m really pissed off I let Shannon talk me into this bloody dress. What the hell was I thinking?
Reeni goes to her wardrobe and flicks through the hangers.
‘What about wearing this over the top of it.’ She’s holding up her sleeveless black shirt with lace panelling across the shoulders.
‘We could pair it with that wide belt I was wearing the other day or knot it at the bottom. What do you think?’
‘Great idea,’ I say, reaching for the shirt. Anything that makes me feel less exposed is a win at the moment.
I put it on and Reeni walks around me pulling my clothes this way and that until she’s happy. She swings me around to face the full-length mirror stuck to the back of her bedroom door.
‘What do you think?’
I give a tentative smile. ‘I look OK, don’t I?’
‘I think you look fab.’ She squeezes my shoulders. ‘Are you still sure you want to go? You could stay here instead, you know.’
Twenty-four hours ago I was desperate to go. Now it’s here I’m not so sure, but the thought of being talked about for not turning up when Shannon went out of her way to help me spurs me on. And if Jackson is going out with his mates as if nothing is different, why shouldn’t I?
‘I’m all dressed up now. I’ll show my face and not stay long. I’ll be back here before you know it. Are you sure you won’t come?’
Reeni shakes her head. ‘I can’t think of anything worse. Sorry.’
Thankfully Shannon only lives about ten minutes’ walk away from Reeni because if I had to walk any further in these platform shoes, I don’t think I’d have made it. I knock on her door and fidget with the length of my clingy dress.
‘You came,’ screeches Shannon and she flings her arms around me as if I’m long-lost family.
‘Come in. We’ve the place to ourselves. Drinks are in the kitchen, music and everyone’s in there.’ She points to the left as we walk down the hallway.
I look into the lounge as we pass it. It has groups of girls all holding red plastic cups dotted about the room.
The furniture has been pushed back leaving a space in the centre and there’s music coming from speakers in the corner.
I carry on walking and follow Shannon into the kitchen.
Three girls I don’t recognise leave the room as we enter.
One mutters hello while eyeing me up and the other two just stare.
The kitchen is tiny, like my own at home, and crammed full of stuff.
There’s barely any countertop visible as it’s covered in several cereal packets, a half-eaten loaf and a toastie maker among other things.
There’s a radio blaring from the windowsill and a stack of plastic cups balancing precariously on a pile of read newspapers and magazines.
Shannon reaches for the cups and takes two off the stack.
‘I’m having vodka and Coke or there’s rum punch that Taz made. What do you want?’
‘Oh.’ I think back to the midwife’s stern reeling off of all the things I shouldn’t be doing. Drinking alcohol was one of them. I glance down at the knot of my shirt covering my tummy. What the hell, one won’t hurt. ‘I’ll have a punch.’
‘Punch it is then.’
‘What’s in it?’ I say, peering at the large plastic mixing bowl in the sink filled with pinkish orange liquid and four floating quarters of an orange.
‘Fruit and shit.’
I take the filled plastic cup. It looks like a soft drink so it can’t be as potent as a vodka and Coke. The liquid is dripping down the side from the clumsy filling technique and I lick my fingers. It’s fruity and sweet but tart at the same time, and it tastes quite nice.
A song starts up in the other room and the beat clashes with the music coming from the radio.
‘Ooo. I love this one. Come in when you’re ready.’ And Shannon abandons me to go and dance.
I take a mouthful of punch. The acid hits my throat and burns as it goes down. I wonder how long I have to stay before I can get back to Reeni’s. I need more Dutch courage before facing everyone in the lounge and take another couple of gulps. It burns less this time as it slides down my throat.
I lean back against the countertop and knock a pile of folded washing sending boxer shorts, pjs, knickers and unmatched socks tumbling to the floor.
‘Crap,’ I say, and stoop to hurriedly pick everything back up.
Two girls come into the kitchen, they mumble hello then proceed to pour vodka and the local shop’s own brand cola into cups, giggling all the while. I take another sip of the pink liquid. It’s beginning to go down quite nicely now.
‘Are you coming?’ one of the girls ask, looking me up and down.
‘Be right there,’ I mutter, really hoping the heat I can feel in my face isn’t visible. I pour myself one more drink for good luck before following them.
The kitchen is flooded with harsh white light and in contrast the lounge is dim and poorly lit.
Someone has turned on a tiny disco ball and it’s spraying wishy-washy spots of multicoloured light around the room, and the only other light is coming from a lit lamp with a brown shade on the table at the far side of the settee.
The tip of a cigarette glows red as it’s lit from the group of three girls standing in the far corner by the window. I hear the midwife’s words again, but I can hardly go over and tell her to put it out. I mollify myself by the fact I’m not going to be staying long.
I’m sure the chat in the room stops as I make my way to the darkest corner, but it soon resumes, so maybe I’m imagining it.
The girl waves her fag in my direction as she says something to her friends, and they look over and laugh.
I take a large gulp of my drink. This was a hideous idea.
Reeni was right. So much for fitting in.
I drain my cup of punch, tipping my head back to get every last drop, and wince at the tart taste.
A girl I recognise from the year above me walks over carrying a jug of pink liquid. I stand a little taller and sway to the beat of the music blasting out of the speaker in the corner, trying to look like I’m enjoying myself.
‘Want some more?’ She waves the jug at me.
I thrust my cup forwards. One more won’t hurt, surely, and these cups are tiny. She fills my cup to the brim. I take a large gulp to stop the punch spilling over the edge.
‘Oo. Is this the dress?’ She looks me up and down and reaches for the hem, stretching it away from my legs before letting it ping back. ‘Very nice. Shannon said it would show off my figure. I was going to ask to try it on, but it’s way too big.’
Cheeky cow, but before I can voice my indignation Shannon comes bowling over.
I’m relieved that I’ll have a friend to talk to, instead of being stood in this corner on my own.
I take another mouthful of drink. It’s beginning to slide down easily and I’m sure it’s more fruit juice than alcohol because it just tastes fruity now.
‘You look amazing, Ellie. We had a great time shopping, didn’t we?’ Her voice is loud to combat the music.
I nod and I take another couple of mouthfuls of drink, draining my cup again.
‘Here, I’ll get you another one. Lush, isn’t it?’ Shannon grabs my cup and beetles off.
A tune starts up and a girl in an impossibly short electric-blue dress whoops and begins twirling in the middle of the room. Two others get up and join her and swing their arms and bodies around sexily to the music.
‘Do you like the punch? I made it myself,’ says Taz, pushing me in the ribs. She pushes her boobs out and shakes like a peacock. ‘Do you want to dance?’ She nods to a group of girls all from my English class.
‘I suppose so.’
I shuffle towards the girls on the makeshift dance floor. I can’t dance so close my eyes and begin swaying to the music in my uncoordinated fashion. It’s freeing and I forget all about being pregnant and fat and uncomfortable and let my arms fly around me to the beat.
‘Oi. This is yours.’
I open my eyes to Shannon thrusting a full plastic cup towards me.
I can’t dance holding a full cup, so I take a gulp and then look around me for somewhere to put it.
The room seems to swim a little as I try to find a table.
I can’t see any, so the safest thing is to drink the rest of the punch and then put the empty cup somewhere.
Taz sniggers and looks like she’s about to say something, but I swing away from her, head back, arms out, as another tune starts up filling the room.
It’s starting to feel nice to be at a party with everyone.
I sidestep and my platform shoe tips over sending me staggering sideways.
Bloody heels. I should have worn flats. Before I can think about whether I want another drink Taz has pushed one into my hand.
‘No, I think I’ve had enough,’ I say. My legs do feel a bit fuzzy.