Bessie had collapsed on the grubby grey slush as Christmas skaters whizzed past her head and she, weak with laughter, lay crying and close to hysteria on the cold wet surface, powerless to stand, despite the shouts and moans of all of those whose path she blocked. She and Michelle made plans for all the things they would do when age and funds allowed: travel, live in a flat together (one with a balcony and a fantastic view), get their hair dyed professionally, and go out with and possibly marry different members of Duran Duran.
‘Results day!’ Michelle took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I couldn’t sleep last night. I’m freaking out a bit.’
‘I’m not,’ Bessie answered truthfully. ‘I mean, there’s not a lot we can do about it now, is there?’
‘I s’pose not. Plus, you’re smart. I worked a zillion times harder than you and I bet you still beat me.’
‘It’s not a competition,’ Bessie reasoned, although secretly she quite liked the idea of getting good grades and using her brains.
‘So you reckon you’re going to do it with Lawrence tonight?’ Michelle whispered.
‘I think so,’ Bessie whispered back, looking up the hallway to check her family were still safely gathered in the kitchen.
Michelle squealed.
‘Shhhh!’ Any overexcitement was sure to be investigated by at least one if not both sets of parents.
‘Oh my God! Are you scared?’
‘Not really.’ She spoke the truth because she wasn’t scared – she’d already had sex with Lawrence Paulson.
It was the only thing she hadn’t shared with her best friend, partly out of embarrassment and partly because at fifteen she knew there were some folks who would take umbrage and might get involved. And by ‘some folks’, she meant Michelle’s parents. It didn’t feel nice to have this secret from her mate. Not nice at all. In fact, she generally avoided the topic of Lawrence altogether, figuring this was easier than having to skirt around a lie.
She became aware of her brother’s footsteps, and then there he was in his pants with his arms folded over his chest, looking like some skinny irritating genie that had popped up without being beckoned.
‘Come on, Bessie! Carmen’s probably trying to get through!’
She found it impossible to fathom how anyone could find her dorky brother attractive, no matter how much she loved him. It was quite nice for her, though, as Carmen was head girl at their school and the fact that she was her brother’s girlfriend gave her a little status by association.
‘I’d better go, Michelle. Philip says Carmen’s probably trying to get through.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll see you in about twenty minutes.’
‘Yep, see you in a little bit.’ Bessie hung up and slunk from the stairs.
‘What do you mean, “see you in a little bit”?’ Her brother looked perplexed and furious in equal measure.
‘It was Michelle – she’s coming over in a minute. And after we’ve got our results we’re going to hang out and get ready for tonight.’
‘So, what was so important that you had to hog the phone if you knew she was coming over to talk to you face to face in a matter of minutes?’ His voice had gone up a few registers.
‘Just stuff,’ she said softly. Like the fact that I’m planning to have sex – legal sex – with Lawrence Paulson tonight and she thinks I’m a virgin and therefore it’s a big deal . . .
‘God, you kids have no idea!’ He shook his head and she stared at him, knowing for a fact he had not had sex with Carmen, as she had heard them talking about it in the front garden through her open bedroom window. He had said he thought they were ready to get physical; she had said that in the eyes of God it would be better to wait until marriage for sex. He had said he’d ask God to put a blindfold on or if he’d mind turning away, just for a minute or two . . . and then Carmen had left a little abruptly.
‘Be nice to your sister! It’s her birthday!’ their dad called.
Philip gave his sister a look of pure dislike.
‘Come on, pancakes are ready!’ her mum called.
Bessie slunk past her scowling brother and took a seat at the kitchen table. Her dad was eating a pallid and rather wrinkled pancake and winked at her, the corners of his mouth drawn down in distaste. She picked up her fork to tuck into the cool, greasy lump that sat on her plate, sloshed generously