Any Jewels?

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.