Apples (2 page)

I thought for a second if I put my school uniform in the basket or not, but I wasn’t bothered. I hated school. I got my breath back, put my hands on my hips, then went looking in the cupboards but I couldn’t drink any of his shirts or overalls either. I was getting desperate, keeping my eyes peeled for bottletops or ring-pulls but there was nothing left to do really. I straightened the floral sheets. You could still hear the Beatles enjoying themselves in the room next door, and I thought what fucking knobhead couldn’t even get merry on a Friday night. I daydreamed all the kids at school indulging in a massive multicolour orgy and me not invited. I was frustrated – I checked every one of my dad’s socks for a can of Carling. His drawers were full of shit, and I leaned right into them, the lightbulb glinting off dingy polyester and money and the odd journal. Most of them were old Boro programmes, but delving in a bit deeper that was when I found the magazine called
Razzle
. It looked sick – the girl on the front was permed to the max, with her teeny tits popping out of this Day-Glo top or whatever it was. Later on in the book, she was naked and all bent over like she’d dropped something. I skimmed through it on my lap, chock-a-block with eighties girls in crap skirts and knickers, some of them getting off with each other but mostly just hanging out in their bedrooms. I didn’t know whether to stiffen up or shrivel up – the fanny parts did look kind of mangled. Some were brown and dropping out, others were like pink seafood. I couldn’t believe the girls at Brackenhoe were like that between the legs – I always imagined your minge to be a sort of innocent V-shape like how you draw them at school. The ones in
Razzle
were sewer rats. In the past I used to cut out girls’ heads from magazines and pencil them in filthy poses, but I always did have artists’ block when it came to the special little details. Waking up, I suddenly got very aware of perusing a porno in my parents’ room, so I chucked it back in the drawer and limped out to the landing. I sat back on my bed and thought about what I’d learned. At 10:13 I put on the White Album, but I couldn’t concentrate on the music with all those flowers in my head. I drifted in and out of a funny sleep. I wasn’t even bothered about not drinking, my head was in a jumble anyway. When Disc One finished I had to shut the lid seven times or else the world would end. I didn’t have to shut my eyes seven times; I was too tired. I dreamt of a day playing something like ‘Happiness is a Warm Gun’ or ‘Helter Skelter’ to a girl, but they probably wouldn’t get it. I dreamt of a night with loads of mangled fannies instead.

The Hard made his willy soft. We stayed in bed til about eight or nine, our heads clanging like we had buckets on them. I put back on the CK knickers and went into the bathroom. You could tell he wanted me to come back to bed, but I was shattered and in the morning touching was always a bit sickly. My head was fried. I got myself freshened up, then he walked me to the bus-stop and I had to kiss him bye but I wasn’t fussed if he phoned me. We had sweet breath like a dustbin lorry. The sex was okay, but you could tell we were wrecked because we couldn’t get it in and he kept losing his erection and I woke up with a bit of a sore throat. He didn’t appreciate the poppers.

I was pretty nervous about getting IDed in the Empire, but all you had to do was poke out your 32Cs and get through the doors. The excitement! It was still early and I was pissed offof the Reef and those shots bought for us in Bar Zantia. Gracie was tugging on my sparkly top as we queued up, and I felt seriously low on energy as I paid the girl with the sad face on the counter. I needed food, but instead we got Aftershocks at the bar since it was pretty empty. We got eyeballed by the packs of wolves, dumb wankers – Gracie was lapping it up, but the boys were mostly losers and all they ever did was try and grapple you into bed. I liked it really, but we’d only just walked in the door and I didn’t want a night of running away from stinkers. We had the shots then went for shelter in the ladies; Rachel gave her red cheerleader jacket to the cloakroom and the other girls waited about with her. We were a motley crew – I grimaced in the mirror, throwing a bit of powder on and the Urban Decay even though I didn’t like using it up. You could see my eyes dropping – the adrenalin was going, but it was dead fake energy like popping a pill when you’ve got a cold. I picked out a bit of black sludge, then dragged Gracie outside again because there was no more time to mope around.

We dancing in a bit? Debbie shouted at me, and you had to because the house music was so loud. I nodded, a bit zombified, watching Rachel getting hitted on. I didn’t realise she’d come out in the gold porno top, and I laughed to myself because she always took guys for a total ride. She ended up with two watermelon Breezers, then fucked off to the dancefloor with us lot. It was emptyish round the stage, but that’s what you got for setting off too early – we’d only been to Zantia and the Ex, and in winter it feels a lot later than it really is. The love-heart on my arm said 10:16, and it seemed to be spinning slower than normal.

Bacardi Breezer Person tried to hang out with us for a couple of dances, swishing about Rachel like a floppy dick, then he got the hint and slinked off someplace else. In a way you felt bad about blowing men’s wages, but at least they had the money and you weren’t really forcing them. Rachel smiled an eensy bit, then went to me, Here have one of these. I know you’re skint and that …

I didn’t even like watermelons. I clenched the bottle, then spotted Dan Williams in the opposite corner and I had to go over. He was cute as anything in a new whitey shirt, and I tried to chat him up but he wasn’t receptive to that sort of thing. Rachel liked him too, and I wondered how long her promise to stay off boys was going to last. She appeared at my elbow in two seconds flat. So we bantered for a while, not really knowing what each other was saying, and I couldn’t really get rid of Rach because I was drinking her drink. Dan was sexy, but he also seemed to care about you and loads of times we walked home together and went on adventures. Over there, it looked like Jenni and the Dyslexic had got the hump and they stormed up the ledge to the bar, trailing Grace since she was easily taken into stuff. Debbie had this boyfriend from North Ormesby called Brandon (coloured, of course), but Jenni always got jealous of me and Rachel knocking around with stud-muffins. Jenni wasn’t the prettiest bush in the garden; she tended to settle for absolute monsters or worm her way into mine and the girls’ sexy rejects. The last lad she’d been with was a twenty-year-old care-worker with a hare lip.

I stammered around on the dancefloor, then erupted into full-blown dancing as the place filled up. The drinks were starting to feel quite whirly, and I managed to drag Rachel off Danny boy and get her for a boogie – she was just about to perk her tits up in the gold top. We kissed him goodbye very competitively.

Where are the others? Rachel yelped, getting about as excited as me as she finished off her Bacardi. I pointed to the balcony where those three were intentionally looking sour-faced, probably booing and hissing while we span each other round and round. But I didn’t want them being sad on a Friday night. In the end I grabbed Rachel’s hand and we had to go collect them – we were too mature for any stupid attitude like that. We fell up the stairs.

What youse doing?

Jenni just looked at me, but she was pleased we trekked up. I was blistering in new heels, but the girls were worth it. Jenni had an overbite and one boob bigger than the other, and I always figured that’s why we fell out so much – sometimes it was over boys, sometimes it was over outfits and doing things at breaktimes, but she’d been jealous of me since Beechwood Juniors. I was sheer perfection. But it turned out the girls weren’t even that cross with us – Jenni had poppers in her bag and they were all getting whacked- out while me and Rachel were dancing. I took it off them – me, Debbie and Brandon often had laughs in that sex shop down Boro, giggling at the horse sex and fetish videos then getting the Turkish guy to score us nitrate. He always had the real gayboy types like Hard and Liquid Gold, but that made it funnier and we tended to sniff them on the way back to Brandon’s, him driving while me and Deb floated in zero gravity.

Woo, I said, getting a hot flush as the bottle kicked in. For a second I forgot we were in the Empire – everything got a bit vibrant and I laughed in the girls’ faces. Before you knew it the rush was over, and I passed the poppers back to Jenni all shaky. We spent the next twenty minutes enjoying it Hard on the balcony, keeping very surreptitious sniffing it up. I got the bottle back from Rach, nearly dropping the dinky lid as I came up again. It was like a half-minute of joy and glazing over then back to normal. The third time, I couldn’t stop touching the banister with the wood sensation going through me, and I knew I was staring into space with a dossed grin on my face but I was enjoying myself. We were killing ourselves. Then our heads started throbbing, and we decided to go downstairs to laugh at the lights. I ended up with the poppers in my handbag, weaving my way around all the lovely people.

Time felt like a rollercoaster, a really fun one. You could tell we were all yearning for the poppers again but me and my girls formed a circle somewhere on the stage, and we danced like angels coming down from heaven. If only we’d scored some ecstasy – poppers were amazing and disappointing. We were all up and down but it was so funny – Rach and Debbie stomped on needlepoints and Gracie nearly boinged out of the white dress. It was heating up, and I started to feel sweaty as loads of men gathered around again. Occasionally I said sorry when I bumped bums into someone else, but it always happened to be a horny lad who tried to grope me straight after. For a breather we kept going to the loo for more Hard, me and Debbie taking it up really fast then charging back to the dancefloor in the hope it lasted. All we ended up doing was smiling in everyone’s way.

This is Ben; he used to babysit us, Gracie said to me when we got back. At first I thought she’d pulled the fine specimen – he was older than us, with a scruffy sort of haircut and a very nice jawline. He was quite the honeypot.

Hi, how’s it going, I said, trying to play it cool but staying up close and personal so Rachel or Jenni couldn’t get a look-in. They both had Bacardis (not sure if they were from Breezer Person again), crushed in one spot surrounded by boys’ heads. I stuck my dimples out, then accidentally-on-purpose touched Ben’s sides and he was saying, Are you having a good night? You look dead familiar. Are you same age as Grace?

Nah, I’m like eighteen, I said, and I lied. It’d probably put him off if I seemed like a little baby, or maybe it’d turn him on but he didn’t seem the type. I was only fifteen. He bared loads of teeth and told me he was twenty-two, which was partly scary but when we started dancing together I felt so grown-up. I didn’t go in for the kill straight away – I kept a good distance from his lips even though our bodies were pushed right up, and I tried to feel for that thing in his jeans on my skirt but I couldn’t tell. He was a good dancer – we had a laugh spinning each other about and being daft, and I was glad Gracie had the other girls to boogie with so she didn’t feel isolated. I said something corny to Ben, then that thing happened where your faces hang for a bit in the air then drift together – it’s called a kiss. And you could tell from the dancing and tonguing he’d be ace in the sack. I figured I’d take him back – the poppers told me that. He kept coming in and out for snogs, but I kept the secret to myself.

Ben’s lips were strawberry bootlaces. I got the impression there hadn’t been much action in Ben’s life recently since he was so dirty with me, but he could’ve been wrecked and all that. Eventually he was quite the gentleman and got us both a drink. We squirmed through bodies bopping and I pecked my friend Ste’s cheek, asking him how he was quickly before me and Ben made it to the bar. He was okay I think. In the queue Benjamin asked me where I lived and what I did – I mentioned something about Beechwood and the name of a college. He worked for some firm in Middlesbrough, and it sounded a bit shit but at least he’d have money and good prospects. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do when I grew up – I did model for
Sugar
magazine once the year before, and I started to regret not saying I was a model. I tucked my fingers in his shirt and gazed at him buying us vodka and Cokes which came to about six pound. He was a keeper.

After the petrol Cokes I began to feel shit. All the colour fell off my face, and I didn’t know if the tight feeling inside was lack of food or poppers but it was quite obvious I’d had too much bevvy. And once you think that, there’s no going back. I tried my hardest to keep kissing Ben, feeling my tummy churn up all the shit and crap and my head felt like it was splitting. I couldn’t carry on dancing – I was a wobbly mess. I forced one more peck on his lips, then chickened out and said, I’m just nipping to the loo.

Then I stormed quickly as I could to the bathroom, pushing through bunches of lasses and getting all the brutal looks off them. They were jealous little bitches, but I was in a desperate state of affairs. I almost cried as I locked myself in the white cubicle, then nervously retched a few times before sicking all over the toilet. It was brownish, and I wasn’t sure why. I should’ve eaten something. I burped up a bit more spew, then tried to wipe off the rim and flush it. All my energy whirlpooled down the toilet, and all I wanted to do was fall asleep or pass out – I checked the love-heart and it said after one, but the girls always wanted to stay til three and I wasn’t sure I could take it. I chucked the cover down and sat for a while, deep breathing and trying to stop my head spinning. I knew from experience not to shut your eyes – when we used to go to Millennium in about Year Nine, once upon a time we got the all-inclusive drinks and I got thrown out for throwing up and passing out on the sofas. I wondered for a second who had to clean up the sick after a night out. I sighed on the bright tiles – my mam was wrong; you don’t automatically feel better after puking up. I rubbed wet out of my eyes, and just when I thought I’d forgotten about Mam’s cancer it came thundering back to haunt me. The night was a black hole – I hoped she wasn’t lonely. When I finally summoned the energy to get out of the cubicle, there was a bunch of girls complaining about the wait but I don’t think it was aimed at me. I put on more blush as two girls squeezed in my cube, and I started not to look too bad in the pocked mirror. I was suffering though, half wanting to go back and shag Ben and half wishing I’d stayed home with Mam. I was blowing my nose in the sink when I realised I needed to pee. My head was whizzing round, and it felt like someone was battering me with a blunt object. I waited cross- armed for another stall to empty, all cold with nothing in me whatsoever. Eventually a door opened and I took the girl’s place on the toilet – the seat had been completely hacked off; if I wasn’t in a state I would’ve put down paper but who really cares. I dropped my undies then dropped my head. I cried til I wiped. I got out the poppers again to cheer me up, but all they did was crack my head open and make me feel paranoid. I realised I’d been more than half an hour in the loo, and when I walked through the busy club everything seemed misty and back-to-front.