Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,97
and me were getting on great until you went and ruined everything.”
“But I didn’t mean to,” I said weakly.
Of course, Stan and Greg hadn’t been very happy with me, either. As soon as Malcolm and Ken left the cloakroom, Stan commanded me to put the top on the whiskey bottle and hide it, saying, “I don’t fucking care where you put it—up your bloody arse, for all I mind. But if I get the blame from the fucking vicar, you’ll be getting the blame from me.” Almost tripping over myself, I’d scrambled to find somewhere to stow the bottle. The only real place to hide anything in the otherwise bare cloakroom was among the coats hanging all around the wall, and I’d shoved it into my own coat pocket and then pulled the other coats over it to hide it from view in time for Reverend Mullins’s entry. Not that I needed to be afraid, since Reverend Mullins’s idea of discipline was to subject us to a cheery little pep talk about how turning to God would provide us with far more solace than could ever be found in alcohol and how, though smoking might seem “cool” to us teenagers, it really wasn’t “cool with Jesus.” He delivered his lecture to a chorus of scornful snorts and barely suppressed giggles, and, upon suggesting that we might want to attend the Christmas Day service, by Stan’s bellowed, derisive laughter. At this, the vicar seemed finally to understand that he needed to take a firmer hand and concluded his chat by telling us, “If I hear so much as a whisper of trouble tonight, I’ll have the police down here as fast as you can say ‘Jack Robinson,’ and your parents on the phone within five minutes of that.”
Fortunately for me, the vicar had prattled on for so long that by the time he was finished, everyone seemed to have forgotten that it was my apparent clumsiness that had saddled us with this lecture. Spirits deflated by the prospect of having the local constabulary swoop down on them, Stan, Greg, and the rest of the boys drifted sulkily out of the cloakroom into the main hall.
“I’m sorry, Trace,” I said, pressing my hand against her arm. “But, really, don’t you think things went a bit too far with Ken? I mean, he really could’ve got hurt.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Jesse, don’t be so bloody stupid. I mean, what kind of idiot cares about pudgy-faced little Ken? Never mind that ugly pervert Malcolm Clements. Me and Greg were getting on really good in there. Didn’t you see? And then you had to go and spoil it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, terrified of the anger that showed in Tracey’s face. “I didn’t mean to.” I tugged against her sleeve and looked at her imploringly, but she simply pressed her eyes into burning slits and turned away.
For most of the evening, Tracey and the Debbies ignored me. When they got up to dance with all the other girls, I wasn’t invited. When Tracey went to buy pop and crisps, she asked the Debbies what they wanted but didn’t even look my way. While the four of them huddled together to chat, not only was I not included but, from the way the Debbies kept snickering in my direction, I got the distinct impression they were talking about me.
This was it, I realized. I had fallen from grace. I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. If I’d only stood by and done nothing, Tracey wouldn’t be angry at me. She was right—why should I care about Kevin or Malcolm? They weren’t the people I wanted to be my friends. I could see them now, across the dance floor, in their pathetic little group. Dizzy and Malcolm dancing together, as mismatched and comical as Laurel and Hardy—Dizzy gyrating around in her big velvet sack while Malcolm, head thrown back and eyes half closed, pranced about like a pixie. From the sidelines, his eyes still swollen from crying, Kevin watched them enthralled. Everyone else thought they looked ridiculous. Being laughed at like that, being made the butt of everybody’s jokes, was awful; it was the worst thing I could imagine. Except, I thought as I watched Malcolm spinning round and round, what if you really didn’t care? What if you were somehow able to let the mocking slide off you? What if it made no difference to you at all? For a moment, I felt the possibility touch