The Bad Girls' Club

The Bad Girls’ Club

Kathryn O
’Halloran

Copyright Kathryn O
’Halloran 2012

All rights reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

I
’d like to thank Anita O’Halloran for her feedback and editing. I’d also like to thank Alison Goodman.

This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.

Cover design by Scarlett Rugers

The Bad Girls
’ Club started by accident. I hadn’t even planned on going to my cousin’s wedding. Hell no. After Jeremy practically jilted me at the altar, the last place I wanted to be was at someone’s damn wedding with their happy married face smiling at me. Especially when that happy face belonged to Poppy.

Once, years ago, I
’d worshipped Poppy. Not only was she older than me, she always seemed a few steps ahead. Just when I’d gotten my bedroom to a perfect pink and frilly replica of hers, she’d painted her room a ‘Marilyn Manson’ black. She was into Pokemon while I was still into Tamegotchi. And I was still listening to the Backstreet Boys when she decided she was into actual boys.

Whenever we
’d visit, I’d follow her around copying her way of talking, her hairstyle, her makeup. I’d run to the kitchen to fetch her cans of Coke or to the shop for snack foods. I’d ‘loan’ her my favourite possessions just to stay in her good books.

A happy Poppy let me tag along with her. I
’d loll on her bed while she dragged things out of her wardrobe – designer jeans and surfie skirts and, one time, a Hello Kitty backpack.

‘
Want it?’ she’d ask and throw it at me. ‘It’s yours. I’m
so
over it.’

She
’d tell me about the boys she liked and the dumb things her friends did and her adventures that left me gasping. At the end of the day, I’d scoop up my bootie and head home vowing to be more like her.

But, when Poppy was mad, she
’d call me The Brat and yell at me to get my ugly, ratty face out of her way.

I hadn
’t expected her to turn up to my 18th birthday party but Mum insisted I send her a token invite.

The party had taken weeks to organise and I
’d been determined it would be perfect. I’d had a colour coded chart – green for music-related things, pink for food, yellow for guests and invitations and blue for everything else. I made mix tapes and ten different types of dip. I blew up balloons until my lungs almost exploded. I mean, just because I was on a strict budget, things didn’t have to look cheap.

On the night, I relaxed knowing nothing could possibly go wrong.

And it started off fabulously too – everyone complimented me on the food, the house looked swish and Brett Buckley kept giving me the kind of looks I’d spent every Maths class dreaming about. Then, in the middle of Penny, Denise and I belting out the chorus of
Wannabe
using our Bacardi Breezer bottles as microphones, I realised the room had gone silent. Everyone stared at the doorway and, in the doorway, stood Poppy.

She wore a skirt so short you could see the tops of her thigh high stockings. The lights glittered off the crystal ring in her belly button. She tossed her head and walked into the room.

‘Poppy,’ I screamed and ran to greet her. Everyone would be so impressed by my cool older cousin. I offered her a Breezer but she pulled a bottle of Absolut out of her backpack.

‘
Happy birthday, Beth,’ she said, pouring herself a drink and raising her glass. ‘Nice outfit. Very
sweet
.’ Denise and Jenny giggled and I swung around, staring daggers at them. They ignored me, crowding around Poppy to ask her where she got the fabulous earrings and did it hurt having her belly button pierced. Soon, even they were edged out by the boys gathering around.

Before I could say any more, Mum dragged me off to the front room to make polite to the family. After the last aunty told me that she remembered when I was so high and hadn
’t I changed, I escaped back into the lounge.

Someone had turned the lights out and put some doof music on the stereo. In the middle of the avocado dip lay a pile of cigarette butts. I turned on one of the lights and froze at what I saw.

In the corner, Poppy danced with Brett. Not just danced. Her hands ran up his back, over his shoulders, through his hair. And, even worse, his hands were all over her, creeping under the edge of her slutty skirt.

None of this had been on my colour-coded chart.

Penny ran over to me.

‘
Beth, I tried to stop her…’ She tried to drag me away.

‘
It’s OK. I’m sure when I tell her that I like Brett, she’ll back off.’

I mean, how was Poppy supposed to know he was off limits? It
’s not like she was psychic. I took a deep breath and walked across the room. I grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her off him.

‘
Umm… Poppy, we need to talk.’

She rolled her eyes but followed me to the driveway.

‘I really like Brett.’

She tossed her head.
‘Yeah, he’s really cute.’ She looked back over at him and winked.

‘
No, I mean, I
really
like him. And I think he likes me so…’

‘
Oh, you want me to keep my hands off him.’

I smiled and nodded. I knew she
’d understand.

‘
As if.’ She laughed. ‘He’s the cutest boy here. You can’t expect me to hang out with a bunch of farm boys.’

‘
But… but…’

‘
Boohoo, Beth. Why don’t you grow up? As if he cares about you. I mean, look at you.’ Poppy laughed. ‘My old clothes, my old hairstyle, my old face. Who’d want the cheap copy when they can have the real thing?’

I stared at her, trying to find something to remind me why I liked her, but there was nothing there – no sympathy, no friendship, nothing. I knew Poppy could be mean but I always thought she liked me.

I could see it all now. She didn’t care about me and she didn’t care about Brett. He was just like my Clinique Plum Wine lipstick and my purple skirt and my Derwent pencils. Poppy saw it. Poppy wanted it. Poppy took it.

It was about time Poppy realised her baby cousin had grown up. She wasn
’t going to walk all over me any more.

‘
You bitch!’ I screamed and ran at her. I wanted to kill her. Everything had been wonderful until she arrived. But she was too fast for me. I pushed her and she pushed back. Hard. I reeled across the room and fell into the food table. Food and plates crashed down around me. Watching through a French onion dip smeared face, I saw Poppy leave the party with Brett.

And that was just number one on my list of reasons why I didn
’t want to go to Poppy’s wedding. I hadn’t even looked at the invitation until Mum called. She got me at a bad moment.

I had 15 minutes to get to Zumba class, but Mum doesn
’t
do
quick. As she launched into one of her stories, I started making a list of things to pick up on the way home from the gym.

‘
… and then there’s Frankie, you remember him, he’s cousins with that girl you went to school with, you know, the one with the red hair that wore that
hideous
dress to the…’

shiitake mushrooms, steel cut oats, butternut pumpkin (organic)

‘… the truck driver reckons he didn’t see him so, of course, you can’t blame him but it really was unfortunate don’t you think? So your father said…’

low fat natural yoghurt, baby spinach leaves, vine ripened tomatoes

‘And then Sally, not the Sally that owned the hairdressers but the other Sally, she suggested…’

I fished the timetable out of my gym bag. If I missed Zumba, there was Pilates half an hour later. That would have to do. I
’d been reading in Cosmo all about how your body changes once you hit 30 – your butt drops and your boobs sag. No way could I afford to miss a night of gym; I only had two years of prime perkiness left.

I sat the phone on the kitchen bench and opened the fridge, getting myself a juice while Mum kept talking.

‘… I was really looking forward to it too – you know I don’t get much of a chance to go out nowadays – but, if you’re happy to go, at least that’ll be one thing I don’t have to worry about.’

‘
Yes, Mum.’ I picked up my pen.

sea salt, basil, balsamic vinegar

‘Oh good. Your father said you would be a bit touchy about it, but I knew you’d be fine.’

‘
Touchy? Touchy about what?’

‘
The wedding, Beth. Your father thought it was too soon after, well, that Jeremy. I told you from the first, he had a funny look about him, but you –’

I took a sip of my juice.
‘Wedding?’

‘
Poppy’s wedding. I’ve been telling you. Really, sometimes I think you don’t listen to me.’

I choked on my drink.
‘Of course I’m listening but why do I have to go? I don’t
do
weddings. We had a plan, remember. I’m somewhere important and exotic for work. And you had to drop hints about a new man in my life.’

Because anything was better than letting that bunch of vipers know I was sitting at home alone on a Saturday night. I didn
’t have many friends nowadays. Seems most of them were ‘Beth and Jeremy’ friends, not ‘Beth on her own’ friends.

‘
We can’t go. I just told you, Beth.’ Mum sighed. ‘It’s because of Frankie. He’s in intensive care you know and there are 300 head of cattle that won’t milk themselves. That useless sister of his hasn’t been near him. You would think she could do a bit more to help wouldn’t you? But, I’ve always said…’

‘
I’m not going.’

‘
But Beth…’

‘
No way. I can’t. I have nothing to wear. ‘

‘
You have some lovely dresses and your Auntie Jean would love to see you. It’s the least you can do. She bought one of those fancy coffee machines, those Italian ones, for you and Jeremy and now the shop won’t take it back.’

Bugger Auntie Jean and bugger Mum. Bugger Jeremy too; I always wanted a coffee machine.

‘Mum… no…’

‘
Come on, Beth. If you play your cards right Jean might give you the cappuccino machine for Chrissie. And it could be a good chance to meet someone nice.’

‘
Thanks, Mum. I bet you’d suggest a new puppy to someone whose dog ran away too. Especially if their dog ran away with the bitch from the Frost and Toss Smoothie Bar.’

‘
Now, now, Beth. There’s a lid for every pot, you know. But if you really don’t want to go, I’ll ring Jean and tell her none of us can make it.’

‘
Good.’ That suited me fine.

‘
Of course, they’ll think you’re jealous. But you don’t care about that, do you?’

I could just see it: all the aunts sitting around,
‘Poor Beth,’ they’d say and then sigh and roll their eyes. One of them, probably Aunty Mildred, would tsk and say, ‘still she could have made an effort. It’s just sour grapes, that’s what.’ Then they’d sigh and roll their eyes again.

Bugger them. I wasn
’t having aunties sighing and tsking and saying it was sour grapes. And someone had to go to that wedding. It was family.

‘
OK. I’ll go. But the reception only. And I’m not staying long,’ I said, adding one last line to the grocery list:

giant bottle of Stoli.