That Saturday night luck was on my side. My parents were going out for dinner and Mum was nagging Dad to get out of the bathroom. She wasn’t paying any attention to me. That meant I could be vague about my plans. I told them I was seeing my friends, and going on to a party, so could I take some booze with me?
“Whose party?” Mum shouted down from the bedroom.
“A boy at school. A friend of Lucy’s boyfriend, Brad.”
“She should be buying her own booze,” came Dad’s voice from behind the bathroom door.
“With what?” questioned my mother, for once sticking up for me. “Since we won’t let her get a Saturday job, she doesn’t have money of her own.”
“Thanks, Mum,” I shouted back.
I went to the drinks cupboard and saw an unopened half bottle of vodka. Perfect. I put it in my bag together with some miniature bottles of Greek spirit that had been there for ages. Then I scrawled a note and left it on the kitchen table saying I didn’t know what time I’d be in, but Lucy and I would share a taxi. I told Mum about the note, unlocked the front door and breathed in gallons of chilly, fresh air. Freedom.
Of course I was a bit nervous about meeting you in The Pickled Rat. There was a chance I wouldn’t get in, and then what? But otherwise I felt good. Now we’d broken up my problems there were on hold, almost non-existent. I was living for the moment. I loved being on my own, accountable to no one.
The bus dropped me off quite near The Pickled Rat. As I entered, the sour, beery smell hit me. It was quiet, nothing playing on the juke box, just some old punks over in a corner and a few couples. No sign of you. I checked my watch and decided not to worry. I was five minutes early.
Time goes slowly when you’re waiting. I stood near the door hoping no one would tell me to go. Every time someone came in a blast of cold air hit me. The barman looked at me curiously. I focused on the spirits behind the bar, the huge bottles of Teacher’s whisky, Gordon’s gin, Vladivar vodka and Bacardi suspended upside down. When Mac, Steve and the crowd came in I was relieved and looked for you among them, but you weren’t there.
My stomach felt hollow. I wasn’t sure what to do. At that stage I’d never spoken to Steve or Mac and was too shy to go up to them and ask where you were. I thought I’d hang on for you, maybe get myself a drink or something. I waited until they’d been served, and got myself a vodka and Slimline tonic. That was nearly half my money, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by stopping the order.
I sat in a table by a corner where I could see the door. I was glad I was served without any fuss. I decided that if you didn’t turn up soon, I would speak to your friends, but not immediately, not now.
Then some revolting old bloke in a suit with wispy, greasy hair came over, leering at me. He asked me if I was on my own, and I said I wasn’t, but I think he could tell I was lying. He said he owned a club across the road and if I liked I could get in free. I said I wasn’t interested. I got hot and bothered as he looked me up and down, his eyes resting on my boobs. I willed him to go away but I didn’t want to cause a fuss. I glanced over desperately to Mac and Steve, but they were all laughing at some joke. So I drained my vodka and left the pub.
I looked down the road. Still no you. This was all going wrong. Only the last thing I was going to do was go home. So I wandered up to the late-night chemist and spent ten minutes or so in there, looking at the make-up and hair dye. Then I went back to The Pickled Rat, not feeling too cheerful. Steve and Mac had gone, so had the creepy bloke, but you still weren’t there.
I left The Rat and stood outside on the street, watching people get off the bus opposite, in case you were on it. A girl stared at me. She was alone too. I thought she must be cold as her legs were bare and her coat ridiculously short. Then her gaze left me and she wandered along the road.
I wasn’t scared, being alone like that. There were lots of people on their way to the Odeon and it was only quarter to ten. I was just upset that you’d stood me up. I thought you’d liked me and that we had already started being friends. Part of me was still sure you’d turn up. Another part of me liked just standing there watching everyone. It was a kind of escapism. Because when you look at other people and think about them, you forget yourself.
My hands were stuffed deep inside my coat pockets. I wiggled my toes so they wouldn’t get too cold. I read the titles of the films being screened at the Odeon and tried to decide which one I’d choose if I had to see one of them. I tried to see if I could read the films backwards. But how do you pronounce ‘eht’? ‘Et’? Or ‘e-h-t’ – are there rules? An ambulance with its siren blaring and lights flashing parted the traffic and swerved round the corner. I watched it as far as I could.
Another bus poured out passengers who had reached their destination. I walked towards them, a gush of warm air billowing round my feet as I passed a basement kitchen. I resolved to go back and stand there, but it turned out not to be necessary. Because there you were.
You saw me immediately and apologised. I could tell straight away something was wrong, and knew that I wasn’t the problem. Your face was tense and hard and your eyes wild. Your hair was messy and you’d slung on an old parka. Then you told me there was trouble at home.
“What trouble?” I asked.
“I just want to effing forget about it,” you said. I could relate to that.
“Shall we go back to the pub?”
You consulted your watch.
“No – we’ll go on to The Revolution.”
I’d never been to The Revolution. Last year at school it was the in place to go. That is, if you liked heavy metal. Last year, though, I was busy working for my GCSEs, ten of them. As well as Grade 6 on the oboe. There wasn’t much opportunity to go out, and anyway, I used to be a little scared of those sort of places. Like, people took drugs!
When we got there I realised I didn’t have enough money to get in, as it was a fiver. You didn’t seem to care and gave me the extra. Your face was still tight and you hadn’t really looked at me. Whatever it was that had bothered you had really got a grip.
We went through the foyer into the room where the music was coming from. I thought I recognised Korn playing. I saw a pile of coats and bags in one corner and I was surprised that people just left them there. But no one was dancing. I always thought it would be really wild, really manic in The Revolution, but there were just a lot of moshers sitting around on the floor. There were chairs and benches along a wall, but some of them were broken and tatty, the kind of old, wooden chairs you’d expect to see in a church hall. There was a DJ on the stage but even he looked bored. The floor was filthy and old plastic bottles rolled at my feet. The people in the club seemed quite young. I wasn’t sure what to do now. It was all a bit depressing. I guessed you were looking for your mates, but I couldn’t see them. The music was too loud for us to talk. Eventually you went to sit on one of the chairs. I sat by you, undoing my coat.
I thought about offering you some of the vodka I had with me, but I guessed we wouldn’t be allowed to drink it. I stole glances at you and saw your face was like thunder. I was at a complete loss. After a while I reached out and held your hand, just to reassure you someone else was there. I was glad that you gave my hand a small squeeze. I knew my gesture of support had been accepted.
I forget how long we sat there. Half an hour? Three quarters? Eventually you said, eff this, and I followed you out of the club. To be honest, I was glad to get out on to the street. The Revolution was a bit of a dump. You seemed to read my mind.
“It’s crap there now,” you said. “Full of kids and old rockers.”
“Do you wanna go somewhere else?”
“No cash,” you said. I felt guilty, then remembered my vodka. I opened my bag and showed you and your face held a glimmer of interest.
“I know where we can go,” you said. You took my hand and hurried me along the street. We left clubland and passed the garish yellow lighting of McDonalds. We turned left and climbed up a narrow street to the old railway station. You knew how to get round the back and we clambered over planks and crushed Coke cans and squeezed sideways through a break in the wall. Then we climbed some more through some weeds and stuff until we reached the place where the line used to run. Luckily the wind had dropped a little so we weren’t so cold. We sat down. Below us were all the roofs of the office buildings, the Odeon, street lights. I could imagine all the people beneath them, intent on their own business. We were alone and apart from it all. Down there all the people were doing their crazy stuff. Up here we were forgotten about. I took out the vodka, opened it, and passed it to you.
“You first,” you said, smiling at me. It was the first time you’d smiled that night. I took a large gulp. It was vile and brilliant all at once. I passed the bottle to you and you did the same. The distant hum of traffic. A rustle as a slight breeze bothered the branches on the nearby trees. You passed the bottle back to me. I welcomed the punch and lift of the alcohol. You snuggled up against me and I had a moment of pure contentment, of belonging.
“Thanks, Cat,” you said.