FLO
"You look fine. Hurry up."
I look at my reflection. I do not look fine.
"I look better with it up."
"No you don't. Wear it down. Up makes your chin look big."
Ouch. I never wear my hair down, she knows that.
"And anyway, I'm wearing my hair up today, so you can't." Sally spins around and pounds for the door, leaving me to stare back at myself in the mirror and rebelliously yank my limp, dark brown hair into a ponytail. Hurting my fingers with the elastic band and wincing as hairs are plucked from my skull. When it's up, all I can see is chin.
Brilliant! In under three minutes she's managed to inspire a brand-new insecurity. My fat chin is now right up there with the big nose she informed me of when we were ten. If there was an exam this year in making me feel paranoid, she would get an A+.
I leave the toilets, hair down, and chase her up the corridor. She barges her way into the classroom with all the menace of a headmistress in the making. No one wears the green school uniform quite like Sally, her shirt neatly tucked in all the way around and her thick green skirt exactly at the regulation length, just at the knee. Her tie-real, unlike my fake one on an elastic band-is in the perfect knot, her light brown hair gathered on top of her head like a dog poo. She moves forward like she's on rails, her nose in its usual tilted position, her eyes searching for something to tell off, her aura oozing imminent battle. I walk alongside her, my big nose leading the way like an arrow losing speed. All summer I have told myself that this year will be different, but I'm only one morning into a new school year and my "best friend" has me quivering in my knee-length socks.
"Why do we have to sit right at the front?" I ask nervously.
"Flo, you do this every year. I get us to school as early as I can so we can get the best desks in the classroom, and you just moan, AND you always make me late. We only just about made it before anyone else because you were faffing so much."
"Sorry. I had to give Abi her breakfast."
"Why doesn't your mum do that? It's her child," Sally says, proving she's never listened to a word I've said.
"Because Mum and Julian were in the living room talking about Dad." I dump my rucksack onto my new desk. "Did I tell you he moved out?"
"Julian moved out? Why?" She wobbles the chair that's at her desk and swaps it for one that doesn't wobble in the row behind.
"No, Dad has moved out," I say, getting annoyed but trying not to show it.
"Flo, are you going to go on about your dad being depressed again? It really brings me down."
"He moved out, and I miss him."
"It's all you talk about," says Sally.
I start to arrange my desk.
"Haven't you even got a new pencil case this year?" Sally asks, moving the conversation on.
"This one is OK," I say quietly.
"OK, OK, OK. Everything is always just 'OK.' It's so boring. Who wants to be 'OK'?"
I sit for a moment and think about what she said. It doesn't take me long to realize that I, quite genuinely, just want to be OK.
RENéE
Nana rips open the curtains and stands over us, mumbling something along the lines of "New term, new start." I throw my hands over my eyes to try to ignore the morning, but she is determined that this will be her first and final visit to our bedroom before school.
"I'm in the bathroom first," barks Nell as her skinny silhouette stalks past the end of my bed. She'll be in there for ages as usual, but I can wait. My hunger is already forcing me to get up.
Pop is sitting at the kitchen table wearing a white undershirt, gulping hot tea like it's a glass of water and fixing the sole of one of Nana's shoes. He is making grunting noises.
"Morning, Pop. Want some bacon?" I ask.
"I don't eat during the day," he replies, not looking up.
I already knew that. He's never eaten during the day. Mum told me it was about control. That he sets himself challenges to remind himself who is boss. If you ask me, he doesn't need to skip meals to show anyone who is boss. With a temper like his, no one is in any doubt who makes the rules in this house.
"Make sure you make enough for your little sister, Renée. Don't be selfish."
I loaf over to the fridge, peel four slices of value bacon from the massive pile in the packet and dangle them in front of me as I walk over to the stove. I know full well that making breakfast for Nell is a total waste of time. She will just throw it up later.
"I want an egg as well. No, I want two eggs, and bacon, and three slices of toast, and Coco Pops," she says when she comes downstairs. She shovels food into her mouth like she hasn't eaten for weeks. Nana and Pop tell her she's a good girl, but I find it hard to watch.
After washing up my plate and the cups that were left in the sink, I kiss Nana. She's holding her fixed shoe that's just two short walks away from failing her for the fiftieth and final time. I head up to the bathroom.
"You washed your plate, Renée?" Pop shouts after me.
I bite my tongue.
With the bathroom door closed I open Mum's makeup drawer. It's still just as she left it eight years ago. The smell of Chanel No. 5 comes wafting out. Her blusher brush still red at the tips, exactly the same color her cheeks used to be. I close my eyes and run it over my face. As the bristles tickle my nose, all the hairs on my arm stand up, and then a solid tear falls out of my eye and lands on my top lip. I don't know why some mornings I get a tear and some mornings I don't. Maybe it has something to do with my dreams. Last night I dreamed that Mum didn't really die, that she had just gotten in trouble with the police and had to go into hiding until they stopped looking for her. I woke in the night convinced it was true, then realized it couldn't be, as I was in bed in her old bedroom, the room that she died in. The last place I ever saw her.
I love Mum's drawer. The fact that no one has thrown anything from it away is proof that we're all clinging onto something. This evidence is comforting, as no one would ever say it out loud. I know the others look in it too, because sometimes I lay a hair over her makeup and by the end of the day it has always moved. The drawer is like an altar in a church. It's sacred. To get rid of Mum's drawer would be the final stage of letting her go. None of us is ready to do that.
"HURRY UP!!" yells Nell as she pounds on the door. I quickly brush my teeth and let her in. She snarls at me as I skim past her, giving me just enough time to slide through before the door is slammed shut.
Five minutes later, I am dressed. My school uniform at least reminds me that there is a life for me beyond this gray, depressed house. I run down the stairs, grab the sandwiches I made last night from the fridge, and leave.
The summer holidays have been long. I can't wait to get back to school.
My walk to school serves its purpose, as always. I like to call it my daily evolution. I leave the house with my head hanging and arrive at school with my chin up, ready to have some fun. It's like the picture in the science lab of the ape turning into man by gradually standing up over a series of drawings. I leave the house an ape; I arrive a human. OK, maybe ape is a bit dramatic, but I really don't feel like myself when I am at home.
My teachers say in my reports that they wish I put as much effort into my schoolwork as I do messing about, but I say balls to that. They also say I should learn to keep a lower profile, but balls to that as well. I bet no one ever tells Madonna she should keep a low profile, and if they did, she'd never listen.
As I walk up the path that takes me to the tennis courts and through the back gate, the concrete building of the school slumps in front of me. Tudor Falls is an ugly building with a lovely name, but I can't help smiling when I see it. School makes me happy in a funny kind of way. For eight hours every day I get to be myself. Well, a better version of myself than I am at home, anyway.
I run up to the entrance hall. The smell of polished wood coming from the assembly hall tickles my throat. As I walk over the freshly vacuumed carpet tiles, the bell rings out like a screaming teacher, reminding me that I'm late. I run past the headmistress's office and the staff room-which is already leaking out the smell of freshly puffed smoke-and toward Room Six, our new classroom. Running in the corridors at Tudor Falls School for Girls is highly illegal, but since everyone else is already where they're supposed to be I can get away with it. I slam through the swinging double fire doors that divide the corridor into two halves, but stop dead at the sound of a violent thud.
I creep back and peek through the glass. It's Miss Le Hurray, head of history. She's on the ground and rubbing her nose-the swinging doors had swung back and whacked her right in the face. I hover for a second. I should help her, but an order mark on the first day would be bad-four marks mean a detention. I watch her through the glass, looking for signs of brain damage. She rolls onto her side and brings herself up to standing, then reaches a hand to the back of her head where it hit the floor and gives it a rub. There's no blood. Assessment made, I continue to run. I have to get to class.
As I burst into Room Six I can see that everyone has already chosen who they'll sit next to for the year. Carla and Gem, my "best friends," are over by the windows at the back, sitting next to each other of course, both waving frantically at me but not bothering to get up. As usual I do my best to look like I don't care, already feeling the neglect that comes with being the third wheel to an indestructible duo. I can see that the only spare desk is in the second row back on the right-hand side of the room. It's miles away from Carla and Gem and next to Margaret Cooper, who I've sat next to for the last five years.
I'm habitually late at the beginning of term, and Margaret always saves me a place. I like her-she's funny-but we're not really friends. We mess around in class and partner up when we need to. I never phone her at night or hang around with her on the weekends. She is just the only other person in our year without a best friend. So when Carla and Gem get all possessive of each other and forget I even exist, I have Margaret. It's good to have a Margaret at school.
In Year 9 we did sometimes go round to each other's houses. One time her mum picked me up after netball club and we really stank so we had a shower. When I saw her naked I couldn't believe how much pubic hair she had. Mine was just a little tufty bit down the middle, but she had a massive bush. I sometimes wonder if Margaret ever thinks it's weird that I saw it, but out of everyone in the class she developed the earliest and she seems to be quite open about all that stuff. She had boobs when we were twelve, and I know she started her period ages ago because she always has loads of panty pads in her desk and doesn't try to hide them. I find that really weird. I've never told anyone about my period, even though I started more than a year ago. I get all my panty pads by sneaking into the sickroom during break times. The idea of buying them kills me.
My lateness has caused another major balls-up in the seating arrangement. The only seats Margaret has been able to get for us are directly behind Flo Parrot and Sally Du Putron. Margaret Cooper I can handle, but sitting so close to Sally makes my skin itch.
Sally and I hate each other. We always have. It started when I came back to school after having a few days off after Mum died. She was so horrible. The headmistress had announced what happened in assembly so everyone knew to go easy on me when I came back to school, but Sally didn't get the hint. As soon as I walked into the classroom she came storming over to me and insisted I had made the whole thing up to get attention. After sobbing and convincing her that I had in fact lost my mum to a hideous disease that made her shrink to half her size and cough like an old man, she insisted that I tell her what a dead body looks like. Which I couldn't do, as I was taken out of the room before it happened. I wasn't even allowed to go to the funeral, but Sally didn't care about that.
You have to be a certain kind of person to know how to be that much of a bitch at seven years old. I honestly think that Sally Du Putron is pure evil. She isn't nice to anyone, especially her best friend Flo Parrot. Who, to be fair, must be a bit of a twat to put up with it.
FLO
I don't care where we sit-it doesn't matter to me at all-but Sally is militant as always, and I can't be bothered to fight. I just sit where she tells me and don't make a fuss.
God knows what people must think of me-some nervous, quiet drip with no opinion, probably. It wouldn't be far off from the truth. I should have stood up to Sally years ago, but she'd make my life hell if I did, and anyway, all I care about this year is passing my GCSE exams. Good results mean good A levels, and good A levels mean university, which means I can get off this island. Guernsey may be beautiful, but if you want to escape your life, being on an island seven miles long and four miles wide makes it very difficult.
At 8:35 A.M. our new teacher comes in. Sally has been arranging the stuff in her desk for about ten minutes, but now the lid is down, her back is straight, and she is doing her best "notice me" face.
"Good morning, girls. My name is Miss Anthony."
We all stand up.
"Goooood mooorrrrning, Miss Anthoooooonnnnnyyy."
I don't know why it has become normal for us to greet teachers in super slow motion like this, but we always do it.
She's pretty, which is a surprise. Up until now all female teachers at Tudor Falls School for Girls have pretty much had a hump and facial hair, but Miss Anthony is beautiful. She's about thirty, slim, and quite tall. Her hair is dark blonde and curly, shiny, and down to her shoulders. She has a white blouse tucked into a tight knee-length skirt and pointy shoes with a not-too-high heel. She looks gentle and kind, and she smells like rhubarb and custard candies. She's the most attractive teacher we've ever had at Tudor Falls. I like her instantly.
I can see Sally's brain ticking over. She's upset by Miss Anthony's prettiness and has obviously already decided not to trust her. Her eyes scan her from head to toe, clearly longing for a teacher with a hump who doesn't make her feel ugly. Which I hate to say, without the nicely organized hair and impeccable uniform composition, Sally kind of is.
RENéE
As Margaret and I sit and compare how corn beefy our legs are, a note hits me on the back of the head.
Renneeeeeeeeeeee
How was your summer? Can't believe we are back at school already, the holidays went so fast. We can't believe our exams are this year … Do you still think you won't bother doing any revision? We missed you and your funny little ways. Sorry we didn't see you, you know how it gets. Are you and Lawrence together now??
Friends Forever, Carla and Gem x
I turn around and make a silly face at them. They laugh. I've missed them too, but I'm upset they haven't saved me a place nearer to them and that they only phoned me once all summer to tell me what a great time they had on holiday together. I hardly went out for the whole six weeks because I had to work to pay back Paula Humphreys after I had a go on her moped at a party and rode it into a ditch. Her mum called Pop and insisted I pay the full cost of the bike back. He went nuts at me and didn't even care that it wasn't my fault because the driveway was really bumpy and it was pitch-black. It's not fair, because Carla's and Gem's mums give them loads of pocket money so they never have to work during the holidays. I bet they never have to get jobs.
Everything's just so nice for them, and that's pretty hard going, when I have to go home to Nana and Pop every night. Their mums, their dads, their brothers and sisters, they all just get on. I don't feel normal around them, and I know they think my family is weird. Especially since the time they came over and Pop yelled at them to shut the front door even though they were literally just saying good-bye. What is it about old people that means they feel the slightest draft from two rooms away? Carla and Gem both said it was fine, but it wasn't fine, and I know they'll never come to my house again after that. Why would they, when their dads crack jokes and their mums make amazing food? No wonder they never phone me. Pop scares everyone.
Hey
Don't worry about it, I was busy anyway. Saw Lawrence loads. He told me he loved me a few weeks ago so it wasn't like I was on my own. See you at break time. x x x
Miss Anthony sends me into the corridor for passing notes in class. Not a great start to the new school year. A brand-new teacher has already pegged me as a troublemaker. I eat a Mars bar in the corridor as I wait for everyone to come out for assembly. School is just the same as ever.
FLO
Flo
I'll come to your house after school but let's sit in the living room with Julian instead of in the kitchen like we usually do. That reminds me-do you want me to steal Mum's Weight Watchers book for you? She's picking us up. Be ready when the bell goes.
Sal x
As soon as the bell rings, she's packing her bag and telling me to hurry up.
"Are you sure you want to come to my house? There's a weird atmosphere at home with Dad moving out. It's not exactly fun there right now," I say, hoping I'll put Sally off.
"Your dad moved out? Hurry up, Mum will be waiting," Sally says as she pushes me by the elbow out of the building.
Downstairs in the car park her mum is doing just that, waiting. In her big Mercedes, wearing her posh clothes and way too much makeup.
"You're taking us to Flo's, but I do want dinner later," says Sally aggressively.
"OK, dear," her mum replies, as dead behind the eyes as ever.
We get into the car-me shoved in the back surrounded by shopping bags and Sally in the front with her seat pushed all the way back.
"I've been in town all day," says Mrs. Du Putron. "I got everything but the red shoes, because they don't have them in your size. But they have my number and will call when they come in."
I think that sounds quite reasonable, seeing as it isn't Christmas or Sally's birthday, and her mum has spent the day traipsing around town buying random items of clothing that Sally had picked out for herself the weekend before. But Sally has other ideas.
"Can't you just do a simple thing?" she huffs. "I said if they don't have the red to get the blue with the platform in the six instead. They definitely had those because I put them aside. I'll just do it myself. Just drive, Mum."
As soon as we walk in the front door of my house, Sally's entire disposition changes. It happens every time. I call it the Julian Effect. Girls forget themselves around my brother. Sally's voice gets shrill. She goes all red and shiny and her words come out in the wrong order. The weirdest part of the Julian Effect is that Sally wants to get physically close to me. When he walks into the room she rubs against me like a cat and does weird things like holding one of my fingers in her hand while she twirls her hair with the other. If I sit down she sits on my knee, which always makes me uncomfortable.
"Did you like the summer holidays?" she blurts out as Julian comes into the kitchen.
"Did I like them?" he replies with a patronizing smirk.
Sally's mouth is so dry I can hear her lips move across her teeth. Her top lip is covered in tiny beads of sweat. I swear I can hear her heart beating. She swishes her tongue around her mouth, and just as she starts her question again he grabs a bottle of Sunny Delight, slams the fridge shut, and leaves the room. Within a second she is standing up, looking like she's just done a cross-country run.
"Why do you ALWAYS do that?"
"What? What did I do?" I ask.
"Embarrass me in front of Julian. He is going to think I am such a dick now because of you. Why didn't you say something?"
I walk over to the cupboard, cover a slice of white bread in thick peanut butter, and stuff as much of it in my mouth as I can. She stares at me with such disgust that I think she might actually be sick.
"Do you really want to be here?" I say, deliberately spitting food out of my mouth. "Mum will be home soon, and she'll probably be in one of her moods."
She grabs her bag and heads for the door. "This household is so fucked up."
The front door slams.
A minute's silence is bliss. I take small bites of the bread and chew them slowly, loving the sensation of my hunger disappearing and the silence in my ears. Then-bam-Mum bursts in, pulling my four-year-old sister behind her.
"Feed her, will you, I'm knackered," Mum says as she pulls a chair out from under the table and puts Abi on it.
I give Abi the rest of my bread, and she takes it like it's the most exciting thing she's ever seen. My mother glares at me with her usual contempt. I feel unaffected by it. The feeling is mutual. She pours herself a glass of water and goes upstairs. I don't see her again until the morning.
RENéE
By the end of the day it's like the summer holidays never happened, which isn't a bad thing. I know that fifteen is a perfectly acceptable age to get a job, but being stuck in a sweaty trailer on a building site doing admin and making endless cups of tea with a dirty kettle is not my idea of a good career move. It's so uninspiring to be spoken to like a moron by a load of men who stink of BO and eat fry-ups between meals. If you ask me, women should be kept away from building sites for the sake of evolution and the human race.
Carla and Gem watch me have a fag at the end of the school lane, and I blow a couple of smoke rings to impress them. Their endless positivity still surprises me. How come they never have anything bad to talk about? They have perfect families, their mums and dads love each other, they don't fight with their brothers and sisters, and nothing ever seems to go wrong. One time, I was at Carla's house for a sleepover and her younger sister came in, kissed her good night, and said, "I love you." I waited for Carla to freak out, but she didn't. Apparently that is what happens every night. How weird is that?
Then, of course, they have each other.
Carla and Gem have never been lonely. They met at primary school when we were five and became inseparable. They're so close that over time even their mannerisms have become the same. Carla is blonde and Gem is brunette, they're both the same height and shape and they blend together like soup. Their clothes are cool, their bodies are perfect, and they're always happy. Well, unless one of them breaks up with a boy, but that sadness never lasts. They just get over it, together.
"I'm going to have a party in a few weeks," says Gem. "Mum and Dad are going to a charity dinner and said I can have people over. I'm going to invite all the boys from the year above. Will you bring your boyfriend to this one, Renée? Or will you not tell him about it so you can snog loads of other boys like you usually do?"
They fall into fits of giggles. I join in and let out a "Yeah, probably, but he isn't my boyfriend," then tell them I have to get home.
Home is around a fifteen-minute walk from school. I used to get lifts with Pop but when Nell decided to hate me the way that she does, I told them I'd rather walk. Luckily, Pop won't let Nell walk because he says she's too young. I'm not really sure how the one year between us makes that much difference in terms of a fifteen-minute walk, but I'm glad he won't let her because it means I get some time on my own. Kind of.
I see Lawrence sitting on the wall at the end of the school path. His big, blond curly hair will be gone by the end of the week when the teachers tell him to cut it off. The boys' school, Grange College, isn't as strict as Tudor Falls, but the boys are definitely not allowed hair like that. He looks a bit like a poodle.
As I walk toward him I wonder what our headmistress, Miss Grut, would do if she saw me sitting on a wall swinging my legs in my school uniform. She'd probably scream at me to get down and then give me a mark or a detention. My next thought is how strange it is that I'm walking toward Lawrence thinking about school punishments. I used to run toward him thinking about kissing.
Lawrence and I met at a party last New Year's Eve. We'd always known of each other, in the way that most people on Guernsey know of each other, but this was the first time we'd ever really spoken. I was trying to light a cigarette in the rain and doing such a bad job of it that the fag broke in half because it was so wet. He came over to me, threw his coat over both of our heads, lit a fag in his mouth, and told me to take it. Half an hour later we hadn't moved and were snogging, his coat on the floor.
When we went back inside, people were wishing each other a happy 1994. We'd missed midnight completely, which was annoying because it was the first year I'd been allowed to go to a party instead of watching the telly with Nana and Pop. But I couldn't really complain. Lawrence was lovely. He made me laugh all night, kissed me without trying to get his hand up my top, and even walked me home.
I've never particularly fancied Lawrence. His face has small features, and he's shorter than me. But from the day we met he's paid me more attention than anyone I know, and for that reason being around him is lovely. He really likes me. He listens to me and asks me questions about home. No one else ever does that. So the fact that I don't fancy him hasn't really been a problem. Until now.
"I've been waiting ages," he says as he jumps down off the wall.
"Sorry. Carla and Gem were in one of their chatty moods. Anyway, how was I supposed to know you'd be waiting for me?" I say, sounding intentionally uninterested.
"I wait for you every day. It's my thing. Fag?"
I take a cigarette out of the packet and go to put it in my mouth, but he grabs it from me and puts it into his to light it-another one of his "things."
"I missed you today," he says, giving me a fixed and intense glare. "I miss you every day."
"You see me every day, you muppet! Don't be silly."
"Did you miss me?"
I take a long, hard drag of my cigarette and stare back at him, my expression more sarcastic than his, which is so loving it makes me feel stupid. He's about to tell me he loves me again, I know it. I feel my insides tense up.
I drop my cigarette and press my face against his. I kiss him as hard as I can, as much of my tongue in his mouth as possible, as much pressure against his lips as I can manage without hurting him. I kiss him like this until I feel his words go back down his throat and disappear into his belly. When I am sure they have gone, I break away. I didn't enjoy it at all.
"Shall we go and get chips?" I ask, wiping my mouth.
His eyes are hungry, but not for chips. He thinks we're ready to have sex. I know that's what he thinks, even if he doesn't say it out loud. But I know I'll never want it with him. I don't want him to even try it. Why did he have to ruin everything?
"Yeah, sure. Chips, that sounds good."
We head toward Cod's Wallop in town. I can tell from the way he's walking that he has an erection, but I pretend not to notice.
"I'm starving. I'm having batter bits too."
"You eat like a man," he says.
I decide to take that as a compliment.
