What's a Girl Gotta Do? (20 page)

“MEGAN!” I ran at her, with my arms open. Slamming into her for a hug.

We all got in a line to walk.

Walking is hard.

My entire mouth tasted of slightly-off cherries.

“She needs some water when we get there,” Amber was saying.

“You can bring the horse to water, but you can't make it drink!” I yelled, laughing at myself, slapping my thigh, which is actually quite hard, to be honest, if you're standing up and walking at the same time.

We were at the pub now. It was bright. It was noisy. It was packed.

We squeezed through people to get to the back room. Oli had hired the back room. That was SO Oli. He was so organized like that.

“I hope he's okay,” Evie whispered to me, forgetting that, yes, well, I was probably too drunk to be confided in right now. “I mean, Lottie, he didn't leave the house for a year. A year! Now look at this. I'm so proud of him!”

And there was such love there. In her voice. It was subtle and soft, but, oh, the love. It oozed out of her and it was so pure that I welled up. Because I'd never been in love, not really. I'd been in lust a lot. But love…the way Evie was talking…I wanted it. I wanted to feel like that…

I was clasping her face. She didn't seem that happy about it. I was doing it anyway.

“Evie, schonestly, you gots to schtell him how you sfeel.” Why was my voice coming out like that? That's not how my voice usually came out.

Evie's clamped-in face stared up at me. “Oh God, Lottie. Let's get you some crisps.”

“I like crisps.”

I liked the idea of crisps so much that I let go of her face.

She looked waaaay more grateful than she should. I wasn't clamping it that hard. Just a minor clamp.

People were greeting us – Jane, Joel, Ethan – God, Ethan was funny. Oli was making a beeline for us. Not us, Evie. Amber was at my side. Megan was saying something. But I kept just saying, “Crisps crisps crisps, let's all get some crisps.”

The bar was so crowded – three deep. I couldn't wait that long for crisps.

“AMBER, I CAN'T WAIT THAT LONG FOR CRISPS.”

She was sighing. Looking worried. Looking annoyed.

“How are you so wasted? What is going on? I leave you in my room for ten minutes…”

The crowd moved forward. Was there a band playing? The music was loud. So many people. So many people in the way of my crisps.

And then a smell. A good smell.

Expensive aftershave smell.

The sort of expensive that means you can also afford lots of camera equipment.

Will. Will's face. Saying hello. Talking to Amber rather than me.

“What's wrong with her?” he was saying, looking concerned. His eyebrows all up behind his glasses.

God, I liked his glasses.

“Will,” Amber was saying. “Your feminist is broken.”

thirty-two

He took me to a tiny room behind the bar.

He bought salt and vinegar crisps.

Everyone knows they're the best crisps.

“This is ridiculous,” I kept saying, crisps in my mouth. “I'm not drunk. I just really need some crisps.”

“Lottie, you do realize it's not even eight o'clock?”

“You're lying. It's way too dark to not be later than that.”

“It's winter, Lottie. The sun sets at, like, five.”

This wasn't a room – more a cupboard. There was even a mop. And boxes upon boxes of crisps – all stacked on top of each other.

Light came blasting into our cupboard, with the large silhouette of Amber. This made me greatly happy.

“AMBER,” I yelled across the tiny room. “I'VE FOUND THE CRISPS!”

“Holy Jesus, she is beyond wasted,” Amber replied, not to me, but to Will. She then dropped to her knees to study me. “Lotts? How much cherry brandy did you have?”

I did? Cherry?

Oh yes. Ouch. It burned. But in a nice way.

“MORE THAN YOU.” This was hilarious. I started laughing.

Cherry. Cherries were hilarious.

Will and Amber were looking at each other.

“I think she needs to go home,” Amber said, biting her lip.

What? No?

“Agreed. But it's only, like, eight.”

“Lottie?” They both turned to me. “We think you need to go home.”

“No YOU need to go home.” I tried to stand up, but my centre of gravity shifted and I found myself sprawled on the ground, everything hurting.

“My ankle! It hurts.”

More muttering above me. “I would take her. But Megan's ex-boyfriend has just turned up. He wasn't supposed to be here and she's burst into tears and run into the loo…” That was Amber talking…about Megan. Max was here? Max wasn't supposed to be here?

Megan!

I tried to stand.

“I can help her!” I fell over again. “Let me talk to her, I can help her!”

They were ignoring me. “Jane's looking after her at the moment, but things are…complicated…I need to be with her…could you…would you mind?”

“I can take her home.”

NO – not Will. Not him walking me home. I didn't want to go home. I'd just got to the party! But then…then…bed…lovely bed with no one looking at me and judging me and waiting for me to slip up and thinking I'm crazy and taking the piss out of me and saying I'm an attention seeker…and…yeah…home…that would do nicely.

I heard Amber hesitate. “She's very drunk. You won't…”

Another pause. By this point, I'd managed to get up onto all fours, and was now teetering on the brink of standing up.

“I won't what?” Will said, his voice super pissed off. “Take advantage? Is that what you're hinting at? For fuck's sake! Who do you think I am?”

“I'm sorry, but I don't know you very well.”

“Not all boys are effing rapists. God, you girls! Give us some credit. And you wonder why I don't take your side.”

I carefully stood up straight. I was up! Uppity up!

“VOILA!” I announced, breaking their argument. What was it about anyway? I couldn't remember. I stood up for – oooh, let's say three seconds, and then, like the leaning tower of Pizza, I fell to the floor again.

“You're okay taking her then? Sorry. For what I said. It's just, well…look at her…I'm worried.”

“I'LL BE FINE JUST HERE,” I was yelling.

“She's a funny drunk,” Amber was saying. “She'll be okay. You'll have plenty of time to come back afterwards.”

I was being lifted now, and the strong scent of Will's aftershave overwhelmed me. His arms felt strong, lifting me onto my feet like I was a rag doll.

“You all right, Lottie? I'm going to take you home.”

Vaguely remember walking back through the pub.

Vaguely remember saying, “Thank you so much for coming, thank you thank you, it means the world to have you here,” to people as I passed.

Maybe there were looks. I can't remember.

I was used to looks by now.

Vaguely remember, through the crowd, seeing Evie and Oli. They stood, their noses almost touching, both smiling slowly at one another. It was like someone had taken a photo of them, and everything around them had gone hazy.

They were so in love.

Something had happened.

And I felt just this incredible warmth in my belly with happiness for her, mixed with a terrible sadness for myself that I wasn't touching noses with someone…and I also felt suddenly very ill indeed and the back of my throat tasted like sour cherry…

Outside. I was outside now.

God, it was cold.

Will guided me, leading me off the road and back onto the pavement. I didn't feel ashamed, I was having quite a good time actually. I hadn't seen one incident of sexism…

Hang on…

Will was walking me home.

That was sexist. Damnit! Would it never just go away?

I stopped in my tracks, making him collide with me.

“You can't walk me home.” I crossed my arms around myself, stumbling as he wasn't holding me up any more.

“What? What are you talking about? Come on.”

“No.” I stood stubbornly, like a donkey. And no one can move a donkey once they've decided they want to stay put awhile. “It's against the rules.”

“What rules?”

I couldn't really make out his face, everything was too blurry. Half of it was orange from the streetlight and it reminded me of the other night, in the car park, how we'd kissed.

It had been a good kiss.

But there was no time for that.

“The project,” I said. “This is sexist!” Half-arsed fuzzy thoughts belly-flopped into my hazy brain. “I mean, why is it safe for men to walk around in the dark, but not women? It's a way of controlling us! Of keeping us indoors, of hiding us away. We're told we always need to get home safe, we're told not to walk alone, we're told not to make ourselves vulnerable… We're always so scared of being attacked, being raped – when really, we're statistically much more likely to get raped in our own houses so it's all a FACADE. YOU CAN'T CONTROL ME!” Not sure why I was suddenly yelling, but I was. “I have to walk home alone. It's in the rules.”

Will shook his head.

“Screw the rules, Lottie. You're wasted. I'm taking you home. It's nothing to do with you being a girl, it's all to do with you being twatted. You can give the project a rest for tonight anyway.”

Tears sprang up in my throat. “But I can't,” I whimpered. “That's the whole point.”

Will wasn't moving, and I wasn't going to slip up. Nah ah. No-sir-ee mister. I was COMMITTED to this. I would be INFALLIBLE. I…I…I know…I'll do a runner.

And suddenly I was running, past Will, past the row of shops that was our mediocre town…run run run…all alone…all independent…I was sticking to this project…I'm not sexist…I can get home by myself…oww my ankle…keep going…God, it's quite scary doing this, isn't it? I hope I don't get murdered…hang on…no…that's just the patriarchy talking…but jeez it's dark and…and…

“Lottie, wait up, you pain in the arse!”

I looked over my shoulder. Will was chasing me – his striped shirt flapping behind his skinny frame. He was faster than me. Less drunk.

I was very aware I was drunk.

“No no no no,” I yelled behind me. “You can't catch me…”

I was laughing, laughing as I ran…Will catching me up…but I didn't look back…

“Lottie, you're a total loon,” I heard him gasping.

Maybe I was. But I hadn't caved, and he didn't catch me up. Not completely. Eventually we found a rhythm. Me stumbling about, dropping things out of my bag, Will running five metres behind me, cursing under his breath and picking up all the debris I left in my wake. My purse…my phone…my special eyeliner…and soon it became a game – both of us gasping with laughter…

Will followed me all the way home.

thirty-three

Sleeeep.

Lovely sleep.

Lots of lovely sleep.

And it's so comfy here and dark and warm and nice nice snuggles. Yes, my pillow smells all stale and strange for some reason, but let's turn it over now and go back to sleep.

Sleeeep.

thirty-four

I woke to a sharp knocking at the door.

“Huh?” I lifted my head, all disorientated. Oick. That hurt. Why?

Hang on…

Last night. Hazy last night. It all came crashing back to me, like someone pouring an ice bucket of water over my head.

Ooooh, that would be quite nice right now actually. Ouch.

Another rap at the door. I tried to call “Come in”, but it came out like a groan.

“Lottie! We're coming in!”

It was Amber and Evie's voices. What were they doing here this early? I hadn't been that bad, had I?

I mean, yes, I'd had to leave a party before nine o'clock in the evening, but everyone has had to do that at one time or another.

The door opened and there stood my two best friends – looking surprisingly perky and yet quite worried at the same time. Amber held up a two-litre bottle of Coke – making her the best human being that's remotely possible.

“Lottie?” They peered at me, all grossed out. I hadn't even lifted my head from the pillow. I was just staring at them, all lying down in the smelly dark, like when Jane Eyre's mate dies at the beginning of the book. “Your mum sent us up. She didn't say you were still asleep.”

They stepped over the threshold and I tried to scrabble myself into an upright position, rubbing my eyes. Feeling sleepy and disorientated and, yes, well, bloody hungover too. My mouth made itself extra dry at the sight of the Coke.

“That better be for me.” I reached for it, like a frail old person who's been found lost in the bush. “What are you guys doing up so early?”

They shared another look of all meaningful meaning, then turned back to me.

“Umm, Lottie,” Evie said slowly. “It's gone one in the afternoon.”

What? How?

“It's not nice to tell lies, Evie,” I said to her.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Have you been asleep? Like, all this time? And I'm sorry, but can I open a window? No offence, but it stinks in here.”

I shook my head in bafflement as Evie desperately stepped on me through the duvet to get to my window. She threw the curtains back, letting in bright winter sunshine and I cowered back as my eyes adjusted. While Evie opened all my windows, Amber busied herself with going downstairs and getting three plastic cups for the precious Coke. When she came up, I'd finally managed to get myself upright, though I was still holding a hand up to my eyes to protect them from the sun. Evie had done a quick grossness sweep of my room – piling bits of my stuff into the corner, making the air clean – though I think it was more for her benefit than mine. I was counting the hours I must've been asleep. I was unconscious by, like, nine.

Nine, twelve hours until another nine…ten..eleven… twelve…one…SIXTEEN HOURS. I'd been asleep for sixteen hours! And it wasn't even like when I've been drunk before, and you wake up dying at 5 a.m., have to drink ten glasses of water, do an almighty pee, whimper and take aspirin for a few hours and only THEN go back to sleep.

Oooh, wee. I really needed a wee.

I rolled out of bed. Literally rolled, onto the carpet and then tried to push myself up from there. Which wasn't the smartest of ideas because the floor is lower than the bed was.

“Hang on,” I told my friends, who were staring at me like I was a circus freak. “I just need to wee and de-ming. Then you can tell me why you're here.”

Because I hadn't really thought why they might be here.

I peed, splashed water on my face, smelled my hairy armpit, winced, and decided to have a super-quick shower so Evie didn't relapse from the sheer grossness of me. Ten minutes later, I felt vaguely more normal – though still totally spaced out from all the sleep. I came back to my room with a towel wrapped around my head.

Biscuits had been acquired. Lottie and Evie sat cross-legged on my bed, sharing custard creams and Coke.

I smiled and went to sit with them. Amber handed me a glass of Coke and I took it thankfully, picking up a biscuit in my other hand.

“So?” I asked, spraying crumbs all over the bed. “What's up? Why are you here? Do we need to do FemSoc planning or something?”

They shared yet another look and then Amber put her half-eaten biscuit down and I knew something serious had happened.

My eyes widened – shit. What could it be? Was it Megan? I had weird rehashed half-memories from the night before. Amber saying something about Max turning up…was she okay?

“What? What is it?”

Evie answered. “Lottie, we're worried about you,” she said simply.

What? Why?

I closed my eyes to take in what she'd said.

They were worried about me.

THEY were worried about ME?

It was never that way around. I was the sorted one, the groovy one, the sunny one. I was never the one other people worried about. I was applying to Cambridge. I was going to change the world. I was always absolutely-fine-thank-you-very-much-how-are-you?

Evie launched in, filling the silence, “Don't take this the wrong way. It's just because we care. But, Lottie, you seem quite different this week, and we think this project must be catching up on you. And it would be weird if it didn't catch up on you – what with Teddy being the way he is, and all the stress you have about university, and Megan – we're all worried about Megan.”

“How was she last night?” I interrupted. I didn't like hearing what she was saying. I didn't like thinking it was me she was talking about.

I was Charlotte Thomas. I was a fighter. I was strong. I didn't take any shit…

Amber answered, her biscuit left discarded half-eaten on my duvet. “She's okay…well…as okay as you can be, considering what we think might've happened. She sort of lost it a bit last night when Max turned up… Their gig slot got changed so they dropped in to say hi to Oli. I thought it was going to be a major drama. But she just, like, vanished into the loos for ten minutes, crying hysterically. Then when she came back it was like nothing was wrong. She was totally fine the rest of the night…although she did majorly keep her distance from him.” Amber looked down at her biscuit. “You're right, by the way, about her. I think she needs to talk to someone. I just don't know who it needs to be. Like, we don't know her that well yet… But I think she lost a lot of friends in the break-up from Max, we might be all she has… We walked home together…”

It was Evie's turn to interrupt. “But we're not here to talk about that. Not right now. Lottie, we're here to talk about you. What's going on? Why did you get so wasted?”

I shrugged. “I'm fine. I just probably needed to eat more dinner beforehand or whatever.”

“Don't lie to us,” Evie scolded. “It's us, come on. What's going on with you?”

And the sympathy and honesty in their eyes made me wilt… I flopped back onto the bed – rerunning through the whole evening, which, admittedly, didn't take too long.

“I dunno what happened,” I said. “I guess I'm just…so tired. Of all the bad stuff I'm having to constantly monitor and call people out on, because I know everyone is just waiting for me to slip up. It's just, like, all merging into one, you know? Don't tell anyone, please don't tell anyone, but I feel like I care less, rather than care more. Does that make sense? Like, I'm not angry any more, I'm just knackered and can't be bothered.” A lone tear escaped my eye and slid down my cheek before I had time to wipe it away unseen. “And I'm fed up with everyone at college looking at me like I'm a pain in the arse, like I'm not fun any more – I'm just this angry shouty thing…” I trailed off. Feeling like the universe's biggest traitor to feminism everywhere. But also…also…so relieved to have said it that half of my tummy relaxed.

I looked up at Evie and Amber – waiting for the judgemental looks, the disappointed drop of their bottom lips.

But I'm stupid, because they're amazing, so of course they just looked worried and each took a hand.

Evie's eyes were all open and earnest. “Oh, Lottie! We were researching it online this morning, what's been going on with you. We think what you're feeling is an actual thing.”

“What do you mean, a thing?”

Amber nodded, her bushy hair thudding side to side. “There's a word for it. It's called Activism Burnout. You've just described all the symptoms.”

I tried to understand what they were saying… It sounds up myself, but it wasn't usually this way round with me and them. I was always the teacher… Now I felt broken and they were stepping up.

“So other people feel like this?” I asked slowly.

They both nodded. “Yes! There's even, like, special psychotherapists who are also campaigners who treat full-time activists to stop them going cuckoo,” Evie said.

“Do you really think I've gone cuckoo?” I gasped.

I was fine. Totally fine.

Evie – the experienced expert in the ins and outs of “going cuckoo” – very tactfully said, “We think you may be on the edge…which is why we've come round.”

“To tell you that you can stop,” Amber added. “That we will still be your friends and we will still love you if you decide enough is enough and calm this project down.”

My mouth fell open in utter horror. “Stop? No, I can't stop.”

“You can,” Evie said. “The world won't end. I promise you. I've been convinced the world would end many a time, but the world has this irritating habit of continuation…”

The thought of bowing out… No no no. My brain just rejected it straight away.

“No,” I said, very determinedly. “I'm not giving up. I'm in this for the long haul.”

“Even if it's impacting your mental health?” Amber asked.

It wasn't. Well, it was. But it wasn't.

“I'm fine,” I insisted. Which wasn't true but it wasn't untrue. If I couldn't last for two more weeks, what did that say about me? Especially about everything I wanted to do with my life, everything I needed to change. I could not be one of those people who break quickly. I couldn't, I couldn't. “Look, I know I'm not acting fine, and maybe I'm not TOTALLY fine – but who is? Yes, okay, so I'm tired and scared and angry, but at least I'm doing something about it. I was tired and scared and angry before I started this thing – that was why I started it. It's hard – it's been much harder than I thought, and I'm terrified that we're only halfway through – but I'll be fine. This is like my salvation, you know?” I smiled. “Caring too much is what's breaking me, but it's also what's mending me, if that makes any sense?”

Both of them were smiling – maybe I'd convinced them. Maybe I'd even convinced myself.

“Good,” Amber said. “But if you have a wobble like last night, ANY wobbles at all, you are to call us, okay? We are here for you…especially now…” She turned to Evie. “Shall we show her?” she asked.

I lurched forward. “Show me what?”

Evie nodded, a grim look on her face, though with hints of a smile underneath. Something was up – but what was it? Evie reached into her coat pocket and got out her phone.

“What is it?” I pressed.

“It's your video channel,” she said… She pulled up the channel homepage on her screen. “It's umm…taken off… I think the newspaper story has spread.”

She turned her phone to me and I took it with shaky hands. I blinked. I blinked again.

“Umm, girls?” I said. “Since when did this have over one hundred thousand views?”

Amber was wringing her hands. “Since yesterday. Have you turned on your phone yet? I think you'll have some missed calls. It's…well…this thing. It's all over the internet.”

I dived for my phone on my bedside table. The battery had gone, so I plugged it in, waiting for it to load. The moment I pushed the on button, it lit up like a pinball machine – buzzing crazily in my hands.

Missed call. Voicemail. Missed call. Message. Missed call.

“Guys, my phone is possessed.” I looked at it in horror.

“Yes, well, some of those missed calls are from us – asking how the hell you are,” Evie said. “Thanks for turning your phone off.”

“The battery died,” I answered, dialling my voicemail. “Who are all these from anyway?” I pressed #1 for loudspeaker and we all put our heads together to listen.

“Hi, is this Charlotte Thomas's number?” A sharp voice cut through the stifled air of my bedroom. “My name's Clare, I'm a reporter for
The Guardian
. It would be great if you could ring me when you get this message…”

“Oh my God!” I dropped my phone onto the duvet. “OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.” But I had no time to properly react before my phone clicked onto another message.

“Hello, Charlotte Thomas? This is Stanley calling from
The Mirror
. We would love to talk to your about your project, give me a call back on…”

“Hello? Charlotte? Jack here, from
The Sun
. Do give us a call back. We can pay you.”

“Hello? Charlotte Thomas? My name's Nora from the BBC…”

Evie, Amber and I just looked at each other – not saying anything – our eyes all bulgy.

“Have you looked on your Twitter?” Evie eventually said.

“No.” I grabbed my phone again and pulled it up. My notifications showed over a hundred messages. Never in my life had my notifications been even in double digits. I only ever really got replies from Evie and Lottie and the rest of FemSoc – usually with links to sleepy pandas or whatever. Apart from that one time when Caitlin Moran replied to me and we'd all run around Evie's bedroom screaming.

All of them were basically the same thing.

@LottieIsAlwaysRight Hey, can you follow me back please? I'm a reporter and would love to DM you about your project.

“Guys?” I looked up at my friends. “What's happening?”

Evie took my phone, staring at it like she'd never seen Twitter in her entire life.