“A little gift for my cameraman and engineers after working so hard today,” I say to the cashier, before slipping my purchases straight into my bag as soon as she has scanned them.
She is a little older than me. A potato-shaped woman, with well-worn skin and argumentative eyes, the kind that let you know with just one look how much they dislike you. Her blotchy face attempts a smile, and I see that she has a gap between her front teeth, big enough to slot a pound coin in.
“Have you seen your mother lately?” she asks, and I try to suppress a sigh. Everyone knows everything about everyone else in this town. Or thinks they do. It’s one of the many things I can’t stand about the place. The woman doesn’t wait for a reply. “She’s been found wandering the streets late at night a few times now, your mother. Lost in the dark, crying, not knowing where or who she is, wearing nothing but a nightdress. You’re lucky that husband of yours stepped in. She needs someone to look after her. Should be in a home if you ask me.”
“Thanks, but I didn’t,” I reply, handing her my credit card.
I’ve always been more sensitive about my failings as a daughter than my weakness for a drink. I look over my shoulder, to see if anyone else in the shop heard what she said, relieved to see that they all seem content to mind their own business. If only that were true of everyone. I still remember the first time I bought alcohol in this supermarket, all those years ago.
* * *
Rachel said I couldn’t have a birthday party without drinks. I was surprised that she still thought I should invite Helen—given how much trouble our clever friend had almost gotten us into—but it also made me happy. I thought that Rachel’s decision to forgive her was another example of her kindness. I think that’s what made me invite someone else along; it was meant to be my party after all, and I wanted to be kind too. It was also why I made friendship bracelets for everyone who was coming.
Rachel laughed when she saw them.
“Did you make them yourself?”
I nodded and she laughed again.
“Well, that’s very sweet, but we’re sixteen, not ten.” She put her hand on my shoulder, and shoved the bracelets in her pocket as though they were trash. It had taken me ages to make the gifts I couldn’t afford to buy. It was impossible to hide how much her words hurt, and she noticed. “I’m sorry. I like them, I really do, we’ll all wear them later, but first we need to buy some booze, and for that we are going to need some money. You can’t steal a bit from your mum, can you?” she asked.
Rachel could see that I was shocked by the suggestion, and seemed to think better of it. We’d stopped at her house on the way to mine, and I watched as she flung open her enormous wardrobe doors, before rummaging around inside. She turned, looking triumphant, rattling her yellow Children in Need bucket in my direction. It was the one she used to collect donations at school. She tipped it upside down onto her bed, before counting the coins that fell out.
“Forty-two pounds, eighty-eight pence,” she said.
“But that’s charity money.”
“And you’re a charity case, so what’s the problem? How did you think I was paying for all those little presents I gave you?”
I didn’t answer. I was too upset that she was admitting to stealing money from children who needed it far more than we did.
“Come on,” she said, taking my hand in hers.
I remember it was the first time I didn’t like holding it.
“Stop sulking; you’re less pretty when you frown,” she whispered, then kissed me on the cheek. “We’ll swing by the supermarket for booze on the way to your house, a drink or three will cheer you up.”
We walked there in silence.
I watched as Rachel put bottles of Diet 7 Up, tequila, and cheap white wine into her shopping basket, and wondered how we were going to buy it when we were both so clearly underage. I had a pain in my tummy as we approached the checkout; just the thought of my mother finding out was enough to make me feel physically sick. It felt like I kept letting her down.
But then I spotted Helen Wang. She had already turned sixteen, and had a job at the supermarket on Saturdays. She scanned the alcohol without calling for a manager, and Rachel hid it straight in her bag. No ID required. I was so glad that we were all still friends, despite the incident with the essays.
“What happened to your face?” I asked Helen, noticing what looked like a black eye poorly disguised with makeup.
She looked at Rachel before turning back to me.