Jan is with Lucy at the beach hut.
It feels rude to say no
to the slim bottles of beer on offer,
so by 7.00 p.m.
I am staggering home,
totally ratted,
Lucy managing both to keep me up
and use me
as a crutch.
Jan snickers
behind her hand
about lightweights,
like she isn’t wasted herself.
At Marla’s back gate
Lucy says, seeming surprised,
It’s a house.
My stepmum’s mum,
my stepmum’s mum’s,
I slur, blinking slowly.
Lucy says,
Has she got any booze?
Has she got any jewels?
My nan’s loaded, Jan adds.
Tomorrow, I say.
I’d have to ask first.
Lucy leans in and hugs me,
her grasp heavy, hard, unexpected.
I hiccup and hold on to
the gatepost
to stop myself from
sliding
on to
the ground.
Come over to mine on Saturday.
Hopefully my parents won’t be home.
I can give you that phone, Lucy says.
I can’t stay to say thank you.
I might be sick.
And then I am.
In Marla’s grass,
while Lucy stumbles away,
trailed by her friend,
their laughter
hollow.