Helen
I thought I’d feel better for making a video. But I didn’t. I was churning and sick and sad inside, and I cried my way through getting ready for the ball and tried to hide it, tried to pretend it was just excitement. Mum seemed to buy it, at least.
We’d had the afternoon off school to get ready a special sixth form privilege – and I hadn’t seen Mr Roberts all day. It hadn’t stopped me thinking about him.
I messaged Lizzie.
What time is Scottie picking you up?
Lizzie: He’s not.
He’s not??
Lizzie: No. We’re not one of ‘those’ couples. We don’t do the traditional thing.
Traditional thing? It’s a ball, Lizzie, not an engagement. :p
Lizzie: I’m meeting him there.
I let it go and focused on my outfit. The shoes Mum had ordered online fit perfectly. They were princessy enough to make Katie happy, just the slightest sprinkling of jewels and a delicate little heel that added a couple of inches. Mum curled my hair and painted my toenails, and I put on just a tiny little bit of makeup to make my skin glow.
And then I was ready.
Even Dad looked lost for words. “You look… really good, Helen.” “Thanks, Dad.”
“When did you get all grown up…?”
I wish I was all grown up. “…he’d better appreciate it.” My stomach turned. “Yeah.”
And then he was here. Only he was the wrong he. In fairness to him, Harry Sawbridge polished up well. His suit was fitted and his hair was slick and his eyes looked big and dark and pretty hot. Only I didn’t want him.
He yabbered on all the way to the Three Friars, and high-fived about a million people that I disliked on the way in, and then I was tossed around a sea of bodies in big gowns, and everywhere I looked they were staring at me, and laughing. They were all laughing. Finally, I found myself an anchor. Or rather, an anchor found me.
Lizzie grabbed me by the waist, spun me around her, and she looked great, in one of those 50s swing dresses in purple polka dot and a big ostrich feather in her hair.
“Have you seen him?” she whispered and she was smiling. “Seen who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Rampant Roberts. My God, he polishes up alright, Hels, even if I do say so myself.” My knees felt like they’d go from under me. “Where?”
She turned me in the direction of the bar and peered between bodies, angling me to follow her eye line. And then I saw him.
He was standing with Miss Monkton, smiling politely as she whispered in his ear. And he was beautiful.
He had his glasses on, in that geeky way that I love so much, and his hair was still a mass of eccentric curls, but he was so smart, in a jet black suit with a black tie, and a crisp white shirt… I’d never seen him like this. I’d never seen him so polished and magnificent.
“Hot, isn’t he?” Lizzie giggled. I couldn’t even speak.
He looked at me, turning his head in slow motion, and I felt the moment his eyes met mine. The world stopped, just like that.
Everything stopped. And he swallowed. And my cheeks burned. And the whole world seemed to lurch and wobble.
And then he looked away. He looked away as if it was nothing. As if I was nothing.
I don’t know why it hurt so badly, I don’t know why him turning his attention back to what Miss Monkton was saying caused me so much pain, but it felt like someone had ripped me in half and tossed my stomach on the dancefloor. I could feel it there beneath the clumsy feet. Feel them trampling all over me.
I stumbled my way to the bar and Lizzie was there before me. She forced her way through and I shouted for a double, a double anything, I didn’t even care.
“I’d have got that for you,” Harry announced as we cleared the throng, and it was all I could do to smile.
He led me about the place like a prized show pony and I hated it. His hand felt clammy and icky and his fingers didn’t fit mine, and I hated it. I didn’t want to be there with him at all, and I hated it. But seeing Mr Roberts laughing with Miss Monkton was what I hated most of all.
She was touching him, her fingers wrapped around his elbow, and she was too close, pressed into his side as she laughed.
And it was horrible. I wanted to know how he smelled, how his suit felt, how his voice sounded over the dance tracks. I wanted to know how it felt to stand at his side in public, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Harry fetched me a fresh drink, and another after that, and Lizzie handed me her little hip flask filled with vodka while she followed Scottie around the dancefloor.
I went to the toilet to drink some down, and died inside as I walked into Sarah Jennings’ bitch brigade. They flashed me looks full of scorn and they laughed.
“Ooh, get Helen Palmer in her fancy gown.” “Shame about the tits, Helen.”
“See how horny Harry finds a training bra.”
I burned up and dashed into a cubicle. “You still got your crush, Helen?” “Still a little stalker freak, Helen?”
“Look on the bright side, Helen, you know what they say about Roberts… maybe you could pretend to be a boy for him.” “Yeah, you could be a little boy!”
“Helen with her baby breasts, he’ll love that.”
I wasn’t going to cry for those bitches. I counted down the seconds until they laughed and disappeared, and downed the rest of the vodka in one.
There was more than I expected, and it burned my throat, but I was way past caring.
Outside the toilets, Scottie Davis was hanging out with Rachel Panter. His hand was on her ass and his lips were on her neck and I felt so sick at the sight that I stumbled backwards into the wall.
I dashed around the place, trying to find Lizzie, and eventually located her under the patio heater. She was smoking. Not the calm, chilled, give-me-a-cigarette type smoking. This was angry smoking. Stressed smoking. I-can’t-find-my-boyfriend type smoking.
I could hardly bring myself to tell her.
“It’s Scottie… I don’t know what to say… he’s, um… he’s…” “Fucking Rachel Panter, I know. It’s been going on ages.”
My jaw fell open. “You knew?”
“Yeah. We’re just… unconventional… I’m cool with it…”
She nearly convinced me. Nearly. But there was a tremble in her lip as she handed me her cigarette, and it gave the game away. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I thought you were solid.”
“Yeah, well.” That was the only explanation she gave me.
I sucked in smoke and pressed myself against the wall, into the shadows where nobody could see me, and as Mr Roberts and Miss Monkton stepped outside, Lizzie joined me in the darkness. We stood silently as they made their way from the main patio, over towards the gardens and away from the straggling revellers. My eyes followed them, and I hitched a breath at the realisation they were stopping just a few metres away.
“Kids,” Miss Monkton tutted. “This makes me feel so old.” “Quite,” Mr Roberts said, and lit her a cigarette.
The simple act of sharing set off fireworks of jealousy in my guts. “Oh to be young again,” she laughed. “Can you even imagine?” “I’m a bit past that,” he said.
“Oh, Mark, you’re really not that old…” “I’m old enough.”
“You’re in your prime.” She brushed his sleeve. “You look great.” “As do you.”
“Thank you.” And she giggled. She giggled at him. “I’ll expect Helen Palmer’s eyes will be popping out of her head this evening.”
I swear my heart stopped when I heard that. “I’d rather not talk about Helen,” he said.
“Oh no, I mean, it was only a joke. I know it’s only teenage silliness. She’s just a girl.”
And he didn’t argue. He didn’t argue with her. Didn’t say I wasn’t a silly girl, and didn’t say it was none of her business and didn’t stand up for me.
I knew the vodka had gone to my head but I didn’t care. I stepped from the shadows and into the light from the patio heater, and Miss Monkton’s face was a picture as she saw me there.
“Helen! I didn’t see you there…”
But I didn’t smile, and I didn’t laugh and I didn’t make conversation. I didn’t even look at Mr Roberts, hating the whole world that they were laughing at me, taking the piss out of me, making me out for a stupid joke, that my emotions were nothing but a stupid joke.
I wished I could have told the stupid cow. Told her how he’d touched me and looked at me, and made me feel special. Told her how I wasn’t just a stupid kid.
But I was a stupid kid. A stupid virgin. And if I wasn’t things could be different.
If I wasn’t.
I turned and hurried back inside.
Lizzie caught me up. “Hey! Steady up. What’s going on?”
“They were laughing at me,” I said, swaying around the place. “Laughing at me for being a stupid virgin!”
Lizzie looked confused, even I could see that. “They were?” I nodded. “They think it’s hilarious.”
“I didn’t hear that bit…”
“Everyone thinks I’m hilarious. I’m just a stupid joke. A laughing stock. A stupid kid. An outsider. A weirdo.” “You’re not!”
“I AM!”
But I didn’t want to be. I wanted to be the same as everyone else.
I saw Harry in the doorway, laughing with Tina Foxton, and I forced myself to be brave. I made a move for him, lunged into his arms and planted my lips on his, and he grunted in surprise and so did Tina, but then he found his footing, and opened his mouth and poked his tongue at mine, and it was slobbery and disgusting and tasted of cider but I didn’t care.
I kissed him for ages, until I was sure that the whole sixth form would have seen let alone Mr Roberts, and then I took his hand and put my drunken lips to his ear.
“Fuck me,” I whispered. “Fuck me, Harry. I want it.” “You do?” He looked unsure, taken aback.
“Now,” I said. “I want it now.”
I dragged him by his wrist, and he followed meekly behind, and when Lizzie saw me she fist pumped the air and wolf whistled and did a ‘GO, HELS!’ chant while we made our way into the gardens.
I hitched up my skirt, and propped myself on a picnic bench, and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything other than not being a stupid baby virgin anymore.
“You’re sure about this?” Harry asked, and I pulled him closer by his belt. And my fingers were fumbling, drunk and needy and I just wanted him in me, wanted it done.
“Fuck me,” I said again. “I’m on the pill.”
Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, and then he pressed his fingers between my legs, as though he was checking I was really real.
“Fucking hell, Helen Palmer,” he grinned. “I didn’t see this coming.” He dropped his pants.
***