Vintage (11 page)

Marilyn swung her legs off the bed and rubbed her face with her hands. The headache had begun to fade. She decided to take a look at Holly's clothes, to see what she might wear to the club.

The wardrobe was stuffed so full that the door wouldn't close, and there were heaps of clothes on the chair by the window too. Under the bed were piles of dusty shoes. She couldn't believe it, so many shoes, in the wardrobe, under the bed, everywhere. This family must be very rich.

There was a towel in the corner. She picked it up. It was thick and soft and fluffy, with a grey stain down it. It was still damp, damp from where Holly had dropped it – she must have. It was so strange, holding that towel. She could smell a kind of scent on it, musky and strong. She folded it up neatly so the stain wouldn't show and put it on the bed, smoothing it with her hand.

She picked up some of the clothes on the chair. There were tops that looked short enough for a nine-year-old to wear, a skirt that looked like the pelmet on their front room curtains, trousers made out of a hard black-grey fabric that looked like nobody would be able to breathe if they managed to get them on, a huge black leather belt with big silver studs, more and more stuff that was totally unlike anything Marilyn had ever seen before.

Then she looked in the wardrobe. More of the same. Nothing looked home made. How could Holly afford all this? But some things looked almost familiar – a dress in white with black spots, gathered round the waist and flaring out in the skirt. Marilyn had something almost like it when she was younger, only it had rainbow stripes. And it was longer.

She caught sight of herself in the long mirror on the wall. Why not? Why shouldn't she try Holly's clothes on, see how she looked? She was used to trying to be invisible so she wouldn't be laughed at, or even noticed. But this place was different, and she looked different too, her shoulders less slouched, her eyes brighter, her hair long, in a strange style with different lengths, and black.

She began with the clothes that seemed safe enough – a long purple skirt and a tight long black top with a low neck and long sleeves. That looked okay, but when she put the studded black belt on top it looked better somehow. She tried out the belt tight round her waist, and then as it was so long, dropped it round her hips. She swung her hips in the mirror and the skirt danced. She smiled, she almost laughed out loud.

Then she took off the skirt and top and belt, and tried on some strange stretchy white shorts, and a tight blue top with little sleeves. The socks she'd put on earlier made her look like a wrestler, and she found the pink pair of canvas boots with white laces and added them. It was so funny, posing in the mirror in fancy dress, that she got carried away. She jumped when there was a knock at the door.

“Wait a minute, I'm just getting changed!” she said, beginning to struggle with the clothes.

“Come on, you're safe with me. Zero interest in female body. Let me in!”

It was Kyle. She opened the door. Kyle was holding out a bottle.

“Great, are you wearing that tonight?”

Now she laughed out loud. Wearing this? To a club? With the vicar?

“You're having me on,” she said, turning to the open wardrobe.

But maybe this club would be different. Why shouldn't it be? Everything else was different.

“No, that's a fantastic look, go on.” Kyle headed for Holly's makeup table and put the bottle down.

Kyle had the strangest trousers on she'd ever seen. They were black, as tight as the ones she'd found of Holly's, and so short in the waist that she couldn't see how they were staying up, unless gravity had changed as well as time. The studded belt, like Holly's, had no purpose. Then there was a red stretchy top and a jacket that looked far too small. But he looked great, so much better than the boys she knew in those sports jackets and shiny trousers. They looked like younger, spottier versions of their fathers.

Marilyn was more concerned about what Saleem might think. She didn't somehow think he'd like the shorts. But Kyle didn't seem bothered by them.

She headed back to the wardrobe, trying not to look at Kyle putting black mascara on his eyelashes.

Sheila comes over at 6.30. I'm pleased to see her. Crazy. She's glued her hair together somehow. Smells funny. Bright blue eye shadow. Tiny heels. Dress. I can't begin to describe it. Terrible. She seems happy enough with it all. I'm half way pulling the stockings on. Fix them to the belt. Pink rubber bits – very pervy. Never wear them myself. Got the dress on. Posh. Like I'm going to an interview. Can't imagine what this club's like. Can't be like the club I know. Kyle will be getting ready. With Marilyn? What will she be making of him?

I miss him. Badly.

“Which shoes are you going to wear?”

I've only got two pairs. Funny. Beginning to think as if I'm Marilyn. Like her shoes are mine. I put on the sandals. They'll have to do. Mum says I should put myself in someone else's shoes. Specially hers. So now I am. Only Mum can't see.

“Let's do your makeup – come on, I'll do it, take your glasses off.”

I sit. Let Sheila put stuff on my face. Bright blue eyeshadow. Red lipstick. Act like it's all fine.

“Your eyes are a bit red.” Doesn't ask if I've been crying. Or if anything's wrong. Some friend.

I leave the house and find Marilyn's bike out at the back. It's still light. Forgotten the glasses. Can't see. Feel an idiot getting on the bike in all this stuff. Wobble down the hill into the wind. Dress climbs up my legs. Sheila's hair stays glued. Mine is all over the place.

I'm expecting to head into town. But Sheila's riding the other way. Past the coffee shop. Round the corner. Keep going for a while. I'm getting puffed. No traffic. Great. We even ride next to each other. Laughing and calling out. I'm enjoying it. Who'd believe that? Kyle wouldn't. He'd crack his head open laughing. Wonder what the guy over the road would think. Has Marilyn met him yet? What could she be doing? She must be there. Must be. In my life.

Sheila turns in. Shack with a tin roof. I fall off the bike. This isn't a club. It's a little church. With a cross and everything and another building behind it. Sheila gets off her bike. Leaves it leaning against the wall. I lean my bike next to hers.

“Aren't you going to lock it up?” I ask, as Sheila turns towards the door.

“Who's going to steal it?”

There's a queue of people about our age. Mainly girls. Only about six boys, looking totally uncomfortable. Tweed jackets. Creased trousers. Shirts.Ties. Dorks, all of them. Standing separate from the girls. Like they'd rather be anywhere but here.

I know what they mean.

The vicar comes out. I know he's the vicar. Dog collar and black shirt. Spreading out over a huge stomach. Neck spills out over the collar. He rubs his hands.

“Hello, everyone, good to see you. Now, tonight we're going to have records to dance to, and there will be lots of competitions and prizes, so I hope all you earlybirds will come in and help clear the chairs so we can begin.”

He must be joking.

Marilyn ended up wearing the long purple skirt, but Kyle persuaded her into a tight black corset to go with it. There were thin black straps over her shoulders. She'd never worn anything like this. Never seen anything like it.

She found a black shiny jacket. She hoped it wouldn't be so hot in the club that she'd have to take it off. She stuffed her mobile into the pocket. She liked the pink boots, and Kyle approved, so at least she'd be able to walk.

Kyle picked up the bottle, opened it and had a long swig. He wiped the top and passed it to her. Marilyn wasn't used to drinking. Her father let her have a sip of brown ale every now and then. She tipped up the bottle and nearly choked as the strong sweet liquid slopped into her mouth. She laughed and gave it back to Kyle. A warm glow spread through her body, from her shoulders to her toes.

She went over to the mirror, where Kyle had spread out all the makeup and dribbled it on the table. It was beyond her imagining that a boy could wear makeup. She noticed a photo pushed under the mirror frame – a picture of Kyle's face close to a girl's face. They were both grinning, looking wildly happy, showing off their straight white teeth. She liked the look of the girl, she seemed like someone who had a good time with her friends. She looked like the kind of girl who didn't like Marilyn, who wouldn't even notice who she was. She felt a stab of envy.

Then she realised it was Holly. This was the girl she had replaced. And that meant that she, Marilyn, had loads of friends and a brilliant life.

She began on the makeup. It was spectacular, some black stuff on her eyelids, the mascara on her eyelashes, thick gloopy lipstick and sparkly stuff over her shoulders.

“Anyone would think you were after someone,” said Kyle, leaning against the wardrobe and watching her.

“Me? No, just after having a good time.”

But Marilyn was thinking of Saleem, wondering if she'd be here long enough to get to know him better.

This couldn't be permanent after all. She couldn't be that lucky. She'd have to give Holly her life back. It wasn't fair on her.

“Where's your mobile – you haven't lost it, have you? How crazy can you be?”

“No, it's here somewhere.” Marilyn scrabbled through the piles of clothes on the bed, and found the mobile underneath. She slipped it into her jacket pocket.

“It must be about ten – we could head off to town and see what's going on.”

Marilyn tried to look casual.

“Yeah, I'll have to ask my mum…”

“She was going out when I got here – looking like she'd had a makeover.”

Marilyn remembered Holly's mum had a date with the strange architect. It was the first time she'd ever gone out in the evening without her mother giving her a string of orders and warnings not to get back after ten. Strange to close the house door, leaving it empty, as dusk fell. Strange not to have a dad there, reading his paper, tutting and grunting. Strange to walk down towards the town with a boy, without worrying about what the neighbours might think. There didn't seem to be any neighbours, or if there were, she'd not seen them.

Strange to be linking arms with Kyle, strange to be thinking about Saleem, strange to see the buildings on the road, some transformed, some completely new, some a dingier version of the ones she knew so well she hardly saw them. Strange to see the long line of cars and lorries inching their way down the main road, a never-ending queue. Strange to be her, to be Marilyn in Holly's body, out of place, out of time. Strange to be free.

It was like winning the pools.

The vicar's standing at a small table. With a cashbox.

“It's two bob to get in, for the drinks and crisps. And the caretaker, of course, Bert will be here soon. Mrs Bassett has kindly come along to add a woman's touch, look after you girls and everything.”

Mrs Bassett comes out of the kitchen. Wipes her hands on a flowery apron. Like Marilyn's mum. Smells of old tea and cigarette smoke. Gross. The whole hall smells of cigarette smoke, with a hint of overcooked cabbage somewhere.