Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles (21 page)

‘Leaving already?’ said William harshly as I sidled out.

I didn’t even answer.

Back at home Cyril had gone to bed and Marie was asleep with her head on Jack’s lap. He was watching some detective drama. Or trying to. You could hear the bass line of next-door’s music through the walls, along with the noise of people in the street.

Jack raised his eyebrows when he saw me. ‘Home already, Cinders?’ he said.

I gave him a hug, being careful not to disturb Marie, and told him I’d come to get a couple of ashtrays. He said I looked flushed. I was probably just still angry with William. But I said, so he wouldn’t worry, ‘Too much dancing!’

‘By the way, your mum out anywhere nice?’ he said.

Normally, as you know, I tell him to mind his own beeswax, but an idea struck me then, out of the blue. Jack may not be perfect, but he loves Mother, that’s obvious, and at least he doesn’t go jogging in satin shorts. From the start I’ve been determined that she shouldn’t end up with him – I told Julie so, didn’t I? – but desperate times mean desperate measures.

‘No,’ I said. ‘She’s out with our creepy landlord. You know, that weedy Mr Spence? She needs saving, Jack…’

And, leaving that thought with him, I collected the two ashtrays I could find and went back to Delilah’s.

I’d only been gone ten minutes, but something had changed. William was being barged at the door by a group of boys from Year Eleven in fur-lined parkas. A girl with scraped-back hair and hoop earrings was screeching in the middle of them, ‘We’re invited! I’ve got an invitation.’ She thrust something under his nose and after that they burst past him, like water surging through a dam. I followed.

There were more bodies in the house. The hall was full. A picture had fallen off the wall and was on the floor, leaning against the skirting board with the glass across it cracked. Someone had been sick on the carpet on the stairs; a bunch of loo roll had been stuffed on to the mess, but you could smell it. Shoes had stamped tread-shaped puke stains all the way up to the landing. The front room was heaving – people were dancing and jostling. I saw Joseph Milton right in the middle of them. The music was very, very loud. It wasn’t coming from Sam’s brother’s iPod – both Sam’s brother and the iPod had vanished – but from a large portable stereo, pumping out bass. I was holding the two pathetic ashtrays in my hands, so I put them on the mantelpiece. It was like arriving with a couple of lifebelts half an hour after the
Titanic’s
gone down. Ash, spilt beer cans, splattered Delilah Bite everywhere.

In the kitchen I found Sam leaning into the sink.

‘You all right?’ I yelled to get her attention. When she turned her face to me it was bleary, her mouth spit-tied. She made a sound and then retched. I pushed past the girls shrieking at each other behind her, and reached her just as she vomited. ‘OK, OK,’ I said, pulling her hair back. ‘There you go. Oh. Gosh. There you go.’

‘Ughghhh,’ she said.

There was still washing-up in the sink – a couple of mugs and plates – so I had to retrieve them before getting the sick down the drain. I used the wrong end of the washing-up brush. It was mainly Delilah Bite, with bits of apple in it. It could have been worse.

I went upstairs to see if I could get some towels from the bathroom, but even after I’d scrambled over the group on the floor, I found I couldn’t get in. The door was locked. Suspicious ‘sounds’ emanated from inside. OK. Back through the legs. Back downstairs. When I reached the kitchen, Sam was leaning against the sink, facing out now, which was a good sign. Her face was very pale. ‘Have you got a coat?’ I said.

She managed to tell me she had a jacket under the stairs, which I found and struggled her into. Then I led her into the garden and put her on the wooden recliner – what Marcus calls his ‘steamer chair’ – for some fresh air while I got help.

‘Delilah?’ I said. ‘Do you know where she is?’

Sam’s head was lolling. Her eyes were half closed. ‘Quiet room,’ she mumbled.

Of course.

I wended my way back through the kitchen, to the section of the house dedicated to those who wanted ‘a bit of time out’. The door was ajar and I pushed it open. At first I couldn’t see anything. The only light was the strip showing under the double doors to the front room. My eyes got accustomed to the dark. All the furniture in the house seemed to be in here, and on each piece, and on the floor in-between, there were entangled couples.

‘Delilah!’ I hissed. ‘Are you in here?’ Nobody stirred. ‘Delilah!’ I put more urgency into my voice. No reaction. ‘Delilah! Sam is dying. Can you come and help?’

At this, the couple in the far corner, beyond the sofa, came apart and Delilah emerged. She trod her way over. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes sleepy. The strap of her bra was hanging out of her top. ‘What you want?’ she slurred, frowning. I wondered how many Delilah Bites she’d had since I last saw her.

As I explained about Sam, a bloke in a checked short-sleeved shirt followed her across the room, sidled past me through the door and disappeared. ‘Dan!’ she called after him. ‘Daa-mn.’ She swayed as she swore and, though the word began with feeling, it sort of tapered out.

‘Not Dan Curtis again?’ I said.

She blew out like a horse. ‘Damn,’ she said again. Then, ‘Oooh, look, Darius! DARIUS!’ A guy in a skullcap was leaning, one foot against the wall in the hall. I swear she said, ‘Cooeee.’ A lazy sort of grin crossed his face and he raised his hand and nodded a greeting at her.

‘Anyway, she’s in the garden,’ I said. ‘How am I going to get her back to East Sheen? Where’s her brother?’

But it was hopeless. Delilah had hooked her bra strap back up and tottered off towards the bloke in the skullcap.

I stood looking after her for a moment. She had got there without falling over and was gesticulating and giggling up at him, circling her fingers across her bare shoulder, rotating her head to the music, swinging her hair. He leant back, immobile, watching her. Then, a sleeping cobra striking, I saw him grab her head and kiss her on the lips, one of his hands continuing to hold her by the head, the other dangling casually by his side.

I would have walked away then, but there was a small agitation at the door beyond them. William was trying to greet some people, but they’d pushed past him. He looked up after them, and for a second our eyes met over Delilah and the boy in the skullcap – and I saw the anguish in his expression – before I realized that the couple stalking in were Julie and Ade.

She came straight up when she saw me. ‘Connie!’ she said, and I could hear panic and misery. She wasn’t even dressed in Julie party gear. No combats or string vests or dog-collar bracelets. No glitter or wild hairdo. Just jeans, her towelling hoody and Alison’s leather jacket. She’d done her make-up in a rush too, and there were clogs of mascara under her eyes. Her mouth was in a grim line. She looked like she was trying hard not to cry. She glanced over her shoulder. Ade had gone into the front room. ‘Connie,’ she said again.

I put my arm round her and pulled her into the kitchen. She was gripping on to my hand. ‘What’s wrong?’ I said.

She looked over her shoulder again. ‘Not here.’ She gestured urgently to the back door. ‘Out there.’

Well, the steamer was taken – Sam had lolled completely to one side and it looked like she was asleep – but there was no one in the al fresco dining area. We sat on two of the chairs. You could look up at the house with all the lights on and music blaring; people moving across the windows. Julie crossed her arms on the table and buried her head in them. ‘Oh God, oh God.’

‘Are you OK?’ I said. ‘Are you hurt or something? Is it Ade?’

‘Yes.’

‘What happened?’

And then it all came out. How they’d met in the high street at lunchtime and had a fab couple of hours browsing. How they’d had a mocha and shared a sunburst muffin in Starbuck’s, and that had been great. How she’d wanted to go to the cinema, but he’d wanted to go back to her dad’s flat, but she’d persuaded him and how that had been cosy and snuggly, and how when the film had finished he’d said, ‘Can we go there now?’ And she’d agreed, thinking she’d make him some food and they could have a snog and a cuddle and get ready for the party,
after
which, they’d go back for the Big Moment. But then when they’d got to the flat… She broke off and lit a cigarette, her hands fumbling at the packet.

‘Did you have a row?’ I said.

‘No. Yes. Sort of’.

‘What, then?’

‘Well… as soon as we got through the door we started kissing and it was lovely and we were on the sofa and it was all fine, but then he started getting more insistent and doing things, you know, under my top and stuff. That was OK, but then he started pulling off my trousers and I said, ‘No, let’s wait.’ I wasn’t ready, do you know what I mean? Maybe I was nervous. I wanted it to be later. Night-time. I dunno why. I just did. That was what I had in my head. But he kept carrying on and saying things like, ‘Let’s do it now’ And then when I said no and sat up, he stalked off to the bathroom. So then I went to talk to him and then he started up again, about how we should do it now and I’d said I was ready for it and why was I backing down? And I didn’t know what to say, it had gone all wrong. I’d just wanted to wait until later. Do you understand? He said I’d gone all frigid on him, and I suppose I had.’

‘Poor you,’ I said.

‘But that’s not all. Because then he got all cool and put his jacket on and said he was going for a walk. And I didn’t want him to go, not like that, so I said it was OK and that we could do it now if that was what he really wanted. So finally he took his jacket back off and we went into Alison and Dad’s bedroom and got under the covers and it was weird because the bed smelt of them and I felt really shy. He must have got undressed, but I didn’t look at him, and then he was next to me and kissing me and, you know, Connie, I didn’t feel anything. Just cold and scared. And after a bit, with me not moving or anything, he turned away. And then we both got up and got dressed again in silence. And then we came here.’

‘Oh, Julie,’ I said. ‘Poor you. How horrible.’

‘I’m going to be a virgin forever.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ I said.

She laughed then and put her head back on the table, but with her chin up, the hand with the cigarette held away. ‘What a mess. I thought he was The One. I thought it was going to be…’

‘I know’

We sat there for a bit longer. I said a few things about how these things happen, and how if he’d really loved her he would have been more sensitive to her needs.

‘I wonder what Ade’s doing now?’ she said after a while.

‘Do you want to go and find him?’

‘Not really’

She seemed better now she’d told someone. She gave a comedy groan, which ended in a shiver.

‘Shall we go back in?’ I said.

‘Yeah.’ She stubbed out her cigarette on the table and threw it into the daffodils.

Sam stirred and made a sort of whimpering noise in her sleep. I had to do something about her. I had to begin to think about getting her home before she caught pneumonia. And then there was Delilah. Snogging her way round the party. And then William, manacled to the front door, in a bate. And the missing twelve-year-old and his iPod. I sighed. Little pockets of anxiety everywhere. And as usual Connie Pickles, the only one in control. Julie put her arm through mine. ‘Once more into the breach,’ I said as we entered the house.

Things seem to have exploded even further in there, like a can of Coke that’s been shaken before it’s opened. There was pogoing behind the Brie. You could see up the stairs that the doors between the front room and the ‘quiet’ room had been opened and loads of boys were jumping on the sofas and across the chairs. The music was even louder. Julie saw someone she knew and her face cheered up. I left her in what could be described as ‘animated conversation’, if you can be animated shouting at a thousand decibels.

In the hall there was a new development. Delilah wasn’t involved in tongue-relay any more. She was sitting on the stairs, leaning on the wall, between two boys. The one standing was the bloke in the skullcap; the other, sitting just above her, was Ade. She was rocking her head and singing. Ade saw me and started stroking her leg, starting at her ankle. She closed her eyes and he continued. The bloke in the skullcap was just watching.

It was disturbing – degrading – seeing her like that. I shouted out was she was all right, and she smiled at me and said, ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Then I gave Ade a look that should have vaporized him on the spot. What a bastard. Julie was still in the kitchen. I had to get back to make sure she stayed there.

The front door was half open and William was sitting outside on the step, swigging from a can of beer and smoking a roll-up. I tutted loudly, ‘William! What if the neighbours saw?’

‘You are the neighbours,’ he said, and gave a shout of laughter.

‘Can you come and help? Sam – Delilah’s friend – is in trouble. I’ve got to get her into bed or home or something. But I can’t lift her. And I’ve got to keep Julie out of the hall. Please.’

He carefully extinguished the end of his roll-up and put it in his pocket, then heaved himself to his feet. ‘Where do you want me?’

We sidled past the weird threesome on the stairs – Delilah and Ade (the
total
bastard) were kissing now; the bloke in the skullcap was still there, but looking bored – through the kitchen, where Julie was still safely chatting to her friend (‘Stay there!’ I said), and into the garden. I pointed to the comatose bundle that was Sam. William went over and poked her, trying, unsuccessfully, to wake her up.

‘I’ll have to carry her,’ he said, heaving her into his arms. She stirred. Her head lolled on to his shoulder. ‘OK. Here we go. Upstairs, I think, don’t you?’

Our little procession made it back into the kitchen, through the people in the hall – ‘Excuse me. Thank you. Sorry. Can you – There we go. OK. Sorry Thanks’ – up the stairs to the first floor, along the landing, and then up to Delilah’s bedroom in the attic. There were pots of make-up and powder all over her desk and items of clothing and shoes all over the floor. A hand mirror with ‘Delilah’ written in three-dimensional paint on the back was balanced on the window frame. William shifted Sam’s weight from his arms to his shoulders and managed to launch her over the bars of the platform bed on to the mattress beyond. I climbed the ladder and covered her with Delilah’s duvet.