‘Socks without the feet?’ her dad said, looking utterly perplexed. ‘Whatever will they think of next?’
Bessie smiled at her brother. ‘Thanks, Philip, they’re mint.’
He tried to look cool but his big smile told her he was chuffed. She knew he would have spent a chunk of his wages from his Saturday job at the petrol station on them. These were the moments when he felt like the brother who used to play with her in the garden, the brother who helped build her secret den under the privet hedge, the brother who snuck her into the cinema to see Flashdance, and not the brother who ignored her, clearly irritated by her very presence.
‘You’ll have to write all your thank you’s, and I’ll post them for you. I’ve got a packet of notelets you can use.’
‘Thanks, Mum. I love my pressies.’ She was not about to let the dreaded thought of writing thank-you notes to her aged relatives spoil the moment.
The phone rang in the hallway.
‘No doubt that’ll be Nanny Pat to see if you like your book token. Don’t forget to ask how Tiki’s doing!’ Mum nodded towards the hallway, prompting as she always did, while ladling more of the pancake mix into the frying pan and swirling it around. Her dad let out a loud and unexpected blast on the harmonica and her mum jumped and yelped, dropping the pan on the stove. The thick batter sloshed out and dripped down the front of the oven, before pooling on the carpet tiles.
‘For the love of God, Eddie!’ she screeched, clutching at her chest with her one free hand and staring at the mess of her kitchen.
Bessie figured breakfast might be a little late. Running to the phone, she grabbed it, and before she had the chance to say hello, Michelle started singing.
‘Haa-appy birthday to yooooooooo!’
‘Thanks.’ She sat back on her favoured step, about a third of the way up, knitting the long, curly wire around her fingers.
‘So whaddya get for your birthday?’ her friend said, cutting to the chase.
‘Can’t remember. Not much,’ she lied. It had been Michelle’s birthday last month and she hadn’t received any gifts apart from the bubblegum-flavoured lip gloss Bessie had bought her. Her best friend’s family, she knew, had no spare money for presents. They had no spare money for anything much. To relay the long list of all the lovely bits and bobs now nestling in a pile on the table would seem a little mean.
‘Some Maltesers,’ she offered casually.
‘Save me some!’
‘I will,’ she promised.
Nothing was half as much fun if Bessie didn’t share it with Michelle. They had sayings, quotes and comments known only to the two of them and heavy with hidden meaning. For example, if something was lame or not up to scratch, they said it was a bit ‘Ronnie’, cruelly inspired by Ronald Booker, a boy in their year whose name, they figured, neither of them would recall when they looked at school photos in years to come. He was a walking underachiever, bland, vanilla, forgettable. If they liked a boy, however, and wanted to subtly announce this, they would say they were hungry and use his initials related to food, a basic code but one they thought was foolproof.
‘God, Michelle, I’m starving!’
‘Really? What do you fancy?’
‘Ooh, I’m thinking . . . Liquorice and Popcorn . . .’
Lawrence Paulson . . .
‘Ah, yes, liquorice and popcorn sounds good!’
It was almost like having their own language. They so loved each other’s company, they often laughed until they cried or needed a pee. The two events were not always mutually exclusive. And these fits of laughter could happen anywhere: in school, on the sofa, at the cinema, at the school carol concert – or even at an ice rink, where Bessie had collapsed on the grubby grey slush as Christmas skaters whizzed past her head and she, weak with laughter, lay crying and close to hysteria on the cold wet surface, powerless to stand, despite the shouts and moans of all of those whose path she blocked. She and Michelle made plans for all the things they would do when age and funds allowed: travel, live in a flat together (one with a balcony and a fantastic view), get their hair dyed professionally, and go out with and possibly marry different members of Duran Duran.
‘Results day!’ Michelle took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m freaking out a bit.’
‘I’m not,’ Bessie answered truthfully. ‘I mean, there’s not a lot we can do about it now, is there?’
‘I s’pose not. Plus, you’re smart. I worked a zillion times harder than you and I bet you still beat me.’
‘It’s not a competition,’ Bessie reasoned, although secretly she quite liked the idea of getting good grades and using her brains.
‘So you reckon you’re going to do it with Lawrence tonight?’ Michelle whispered.
‘I think so,’ Bessie whispered back, looking up the hallway to check her family were still safely gathered in the kitchen.
Michelle squealed.
‘Shhhh!’ Any overexcitement was sure to be investigated by at least one if not both sets of parents.
‘Oh my God! Are you scared?’
‘Not really.’ She spoke the truth because she wasn’t scared – she’d already had sex with Lawrence Paulson.
It was the only thing she hadn’t shared with her best friend, partly out of embarrassment and partly because at fifteen she knew there were some folks who would take umbrage and might get involved. And by ‘some folks’, she meant Michelle’s parents. It didn’t feel nice to have this secret from her mate. Not nice at all. In fact, she generally avoided the topic of Lawrence altogether, figuring this was easier than having to skirt around a lie.
She became aware of her brother’s footsteps, and then there he was in his pants with his arms folded over his chest, looking like some skinny irritating genie that had popped up without being beckoned.
‘Come on, Bessie! Carmen’s probably trying to get through!’
She found it impossible to fathom how anyone could find her dorky brother attractive, no matter how much she loved him. It was quite nice for her, though, as Carmen was head girl at their school and the fact that she was her brother’s girlfriend gave her a little status by association.
‘I’d better go, Michelle. Philip says Carmen’s probably trying to get through.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.’
‘Yep, see you in a little bit.’ Bessie hung up and slunk from the stairs.
‘What do you mean, “see you in a little bit”?’ Her brother looked perplexed and furious in equal measure.
‘It was Michelle – she’s coming over in a minute. And after we’ve got our results we’re going to hang out and get ready for tonight.’
‘So, what was so important that you had to hog the phone if you knew she was coming over to talk to you face to face in a matter of minutes?’ His voice had gone up a few registers.
‘Just stuff,’ she said softly. Like the fact that I’m planning to have sex – legal sex – with Lawrence Paulson tonight and she thinks I’m a virgin and therefore it’s a big deal . . .
‘God, you kids have no idea!’ He shook his head and she stared at him, knowing for a fact he had not had sex with Carmen, as she had heard them talking about it in the front garden through her open bedroom window. He had said he thought they were ready to get physical; she had said that in the eyes of God it would be better to wait until marriage for sex. He had said he’d ask God to put a blindfold on or if he’d mind turning away, just for a minute or two . . . and then Carmen had left a little abruptly.