Chapter 3
Ember
“Did you guys fancy going to the silent disco at the Students Union tonight? I’ve always wanted to go to one!,” my flatmate Poppy asks us all eagerly.
In the last 3 hours, I’ve somehow managed to completely settle myself into my new home. Granted, it was really difficult saying goodbye to Allegra, she stepped up to the plate massively when Dad passed away. She’s supported Mum and me over the past 2 years not just emotionally, but also financially. After Dad’s passing, Mum became a proud woman and would rather eat her left arm before accepting any financial help from anyone. Although all of Dad’s earnings were left to us in his will, we still had a significant number of debts to pay on top of a mortgage, so Mum ended up using the majority of it for that, leaving next to nothing for leisure. I think she wanted to prove to herself that she could be independent and support me on her own. However, Allegra caught on quickly that we were struggling more than Mum let on and that there was a real chance I wasn’t going to be able to afford to go to university. It was then that she decided to pay a huge chunk of her savings towards my degree. Mum was fuming at first and continuously tried to talk Allegra out of it, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Your dad would have been so proud of you for pursuing your dreams Ember and if you think for even one minute that I’m going to sit back and watch you throw it away because of affordability when I can help, you can think again young lady.”
She was just one of the most amazing people I’d ever met, the epitome of a strong woman and I was so grateful for everything she did for me. I cried like an absolute baby when she walked out of the door a mere 3 hours ago, but it was as if something ignited inside of me as soon as she left, this is my time now. I can do whatever I want. I could pull all-nighters and binge Netflix, I could eat cake for breakfast, I could dance around the kitchen nake- yeah okay, I probably wouldn’t do that in fear of my flatmates having a coronary, but you get what I mean. Independence is honestly the sweetness I’ve been desperate to taste.
“I’m down,” I reply.
“For sure!,” chirps my other flatmate, Amy.
Ryan and Toby, the only men in the flat, both nod.
Considering we’ve all known each other less than 3 hours, I feel that we’ve already got a rapport going. Amy, the flat Scot with flaming red curls and a constellation of freckles to match, (think Merida from Brave), kindly baked us all brownies as a housewarming gift.
“Oo, how many grams are in these then?” Toby, the flat Londoner, asks.
“Oh,” Amy beams, “400 grams of sugar, roughly about 1-2 cups!”
Confusion etches across his face, “Er no- like how many grams, you know, of weed?”
The flat Londoner is also the flat stoner, cool. Always good to know these things.
Amy visibly gasps, “They’re not pot brownies!”
His lip curls slightly upwards into a smirk, “shame.”
In fairness, those brownies were amazing. My other flatmate Poppy, on the other hand, brought 5 bottles of Pinot Grigio as her housewarming gift, one per flatmate and if that’s anything to go by, damn, I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful friendship. After all, you know what they say, the best way to a woman’s heart is through their liver. Poppy’s already assured everyone that we’re all going to go hard during pre-drinks tonight before heading out to the SU, I admire her already in all her Irish alcohol-loving glory.
The funny thing we’ve all established since getting to know one another is that we all make up a different country in the United Kingdom. Amy’s from Scotland, Poppy’s from Ireland, I’m from Wales and Toby and Ryan are from England. Ryan found it so ironic that he’s now sworn to refer to us as members of the ‘The Union Jack Pack.’
“You can count me firmly out of that pack,” Amy pipes up, “I don’t care what anyone says, Scotland is not part of the UK. We didn’t fight for independence for nothing.”
Toby lets out a gruff laugh as he brings up a quick Google search displaying in bold: ‘Scotland is a part of the United Kingdom (UK) and occupies the northern third of Great Britain.’
“Read it and weep babe,” he grins, flipping his phone over to show her. “And anyway, didn’t you say earlier that your family moved from Edinburgh to Bedfordshire when you were a kid? You literally live in England now.”
Amy shoots him daggers now, “Oh piss off…and don’t call me babe.” I think it’s safe to say that we’ve found the token frenemies of the flat.
◆◆◆
I stare at myself in the mirror. You know for once; I’m actually feeling myself. I’ve got on my little black number, tight, strapless, and just skimming my upper thighs, paired with fishnets and black leather knee-high boots. It’s very much giving season 1 Buffy, (not Patrick Starr in that one episode of SpongeBob, I promise). I’ve also opted for a smoky eye and unleashed the beast of wild brown curls out of my messy bun. I think Mum would genuinely pass out if she could see me. I’m not aiming to pull anyone tonight; I just want to feel confident in myself and kickstart freshers with a bang, I need this. Some generic dance music begins to blast down the corridor and I take that as my cue that pre-drinks is about to begin. So, quickly brushing a swipe of nude matte lipstick across my lips, I head for the kitchen.
“Twit-Twoo, there she is! Give us a twirl then,” an already tipsy Poppy shouts over the music as I make my entrance, she must have started on the wine whilst she was getting ready.
I let out a laugh and awkwardly twirled on the spot. Ryan and Toby are already chugging some sort of weird concoction that I’m 99% sure isn’t fit for human consumption as Amy walks in.
“Wow, Ember, you look gorgeous!” she says brightly. She’s a sweetheart.
Toby smirks up at her, “Looking good little Miss UK,”
“Fuck off, would you?,” she claps back.
Okay, sweetheart with an angry streak. I make a mental note not to get on the wrong side of her.
“Right, it’s time to get some drinks down you, you stone cold sober gals! Drinking game time!”
I wish I had as much enthusiasm as tipsy Poppy, the world would be a much better place.
She ushers us all around the large breakfast bar in the kitchen and explains the rules of the game. Everyone knows that song by the Police from the 80’s, ‘Roxanne’. Essentially, every time Sting sings the word ‘Roxanne,’ you have to take a generous swig of your drink and turn around in a circle, you know, just to ensure that the alcohol fully sloshes around in your stomach and makes your liver light up like a Christmas tree. I’m sure my dad would be spinning in his grave if he knew just how I was listening to one of his favourite bands, getting blackout pissed.
Did you know that Sting sang Roxanne 26 times in that song….26 times. No neither did I. I quickly realised after about the 10th time he said it, and after about my 10th shot of vodka, (yep, I failed. I mixed wine and vodka, RIP my head in the morning), that the room was spinning. My arms and legs felt limp as the alcohol ran deep through my veins and it wasn’t until I began slurring and stuttering over every word that I knew I was in trouble. After about an hour of Pre’s, Poppy and Amy, who were equally as screwed as I was, stood on either side of me and each hooked an arm as the boys trailed behind.
“Let’s go and get the bus!” I scream. However, it came out more as, “lesgooogetBUS!,” luckily, we all had a mutual understanding of the drunken spiel.
We somehow made it in one piece to campus, considering we were all packed like a tin of sardines on the bus. The bus parks up and we all stumble up the long stretch of path leading up to the Student’s Union. The large stone building is overflowing with students, it’s a squeeze to even get through the door. When we eventually manage to get in and pick up our headphones, the room is dimmed with neon strobe lights blazing around the room. It’s such a weird experience, it’s practically silent, besides the constant drunken buzzing in my ears, yet the room is still loud with the pure electricity of everyone dancing like no one’s watching. I put on my headphones and connect them to the first song on my phone that comes up on shuffle, the instrumental violins start winding in my ears and I let out a belly laugh as I realise that I’m going to have to figure out how to move my noodle arms and legs to ‘Come on Eileen’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. Relinking my arms with Poppy and Amy, none the wiser to what they’re listening to, and as if we all share some sort of psychic link, we all start busting out into the can-can. We all giggle in unison whilst dramatically kicking and flaring our legs up into the air and as I close my eyes and let the alcohol flow further into my bloodstream I can’t help thinking, and it might just be the alcohol talking, I think I might just love it here.