---

‘Do you reckon Ryan is going to be there?’ Victoria asked.

Ryan was older, but they’d seen him around in the town centre, sometimes in the park. They would report back to each other immediately if he had been spotted in the wild. When Sylvie thought about him, or if he was close by, a feeling like warm water rushed through her stomach. She’d never spoken to him, but she’d caught his eye a few times. And she and Victoria had done their research. They knew a lot about him. Where he lived, who he had been seeing – and, importantly, when they broke up – and where they were likely to see him next.

Sylvie shrugged her shoulders and they both grinned at each other. They were sitting on the patch of grass outside Sylvie’s house; Victoria stretched her arms out, as if she were lying in the snow. It had been on the radio earlier in the day that it was the hottest day of the year so far. On TV, there were women in bikinis on the beaches in Brighton and Bournemouth. They said the weather was going to break soon, though. The sun was fading to a haze, making all the colours in the street pop brighter.

Sylvie was counting money, dividing it into two piles, mentally doing the maths. She would never say it out loud to anyone. She couldn’t. But she’d thought it. One of the upsides to her dad being ill was that she had been allowed more freedom than ever. She had missed her 11 p.m. curfew a few times and her mum hadn’t said anything. She didn’t even seem to have noticed. Before, she’d have been waiting at the door, looking up and down the street. Her mum rarely asked where she had been or what her plans were any more. Sylvie sometimes felt she was moving through the house like a ghost.

Sylvie was wearing her green jeans and a black body top; the corners on the gusset were square and badly designed, cutting into the creases of her thighs. Victoria wore red jeans from the same shop and a striped body suit. Sylvie’s dad used to say they looked like they were in a ‘pop duo’. They both laughed at his old-fashioned phrasing, but Sylvie liked the idea of learning to play the guitar or even the drums. When things blew over at home, after her dad was better, she would ask her mum about lessons.

Sylvie’s foot was going dead. She adjusted the way she was sitting, twisting her legs one way then the other. It felt like her flab was bulging over the top of her jeans, uncontainable. She hated the way her thighs spread out when she kneeled down. Victoria’s still looked so narrow.

Sylvie’s mum was always on a diet. Sometimes she’d only eat grapefruit and cottage cheese for weeks on end, before giving in and eating half a packet of chocolate biscuits. Once she bought some weird concoction from a woman in a caravan over the tops. Sylvie waited in the car while she went inside. You had to add water to it and her mum gipped over the sink as she forced it down.

This special diet food was cordoned off in the fridge; Sylvie couldn’t have it.

Some days now Sylvie had to fend for herself. Others, her mum would spend hours baking and cooking – apple crumble and steak and kidney pie, although she didn’t eat any herself. Sylvie found herself eating to bursting point, like today. She felt too guilty to turn it down. She didn’t want to hurt her mum’s feelings, couldn’t risk disrupting the careful calibration of the house. Sylvie readjusted her trousers again, trying to tuck the small bulge of fat under the waistband of her jeans.

---

They went into town first, into the disabled cubicle in the public toilets in the centre. It was filthy but it was somewhere to sit and have a laugh, to have some privacy. You could have fun with Victoria anywhere, though, that was the thing. They locked themselves in, double-checking the door. Victoria had got hold of some alcohol from home. She stole a bit from each bottle, all mixed up in an old water bottle. They’d even drunk aftershave once before, retching up everywhere but carrying on anyway. That night’s concoction tasted disgusting. Sylvie took a big swig, then hung over the toilet gagging, strings of saliva bungeeing up and down. She wiped her mouth and laughed, before taking another large gulp, shuddering and contorting her face, waiting for it to be over.

They both laughed before Victoria broke the spell. ‘You nearly got me into trouble the other day,’ she said, taking the bottle from Sylvie. Her face was harder now.

Victoria took a sharp sip. They were both crouched down in the cubicle with their backs to opposite walls.

‘What do you mean?’ But Sylvie had an inkling. She’d called Victoria’s house and discovered that she wasn’t there. Victoria had told Peter and Judith she was staying the night at Sylvie’s.

‘Ringing the house. I got a right rinsing off my mum.’

‘You nearly got us both into trouble more like,’ Sylvie said. ‘Where were you anyway?’

‘Just out with some mates.’

‘Why did you lie to your mum?’

‘If I say I’m coming to yours, she doesn’t ask questions. If it’s someone new, she’s on and on at me about their life history.’

‘Who is the someone new?’ Sylvie’s voice went high-pitched.

‘Some mates.’ Victoria had a snappiness to her now. ‘You don’t know them. We don’t have to do everything together, you know.’

Sylvie swallowed down the hard stone in her throat.

Victoria burped. ‘What did you want anyway?’

‘What?’

‘When you rang?’ Victoria said, impatience thrown in now too.

‘Oh, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over. It gets a bit oppressive round there, you know, with my dad and everything.’

‘Oppressive,’ Victoria said, rolling the rrrrs and giving a flourish with her hand. ‘That’s a big word for you.’

It was supposed to break the tension, but to Sylvie it seemed flippant and untactful. She snatched the bottle and swigged back a big gulp of the concoction.

She sneaked a glance across at Victoria and something caught her eye – a dirty-looking mark on Victoria’s neck.

‘What’s that?’ Sylvie said, pointing at the same place on her own neck. Victoria slapped her hand across the mark. Panic rippled across her features.

‘Oh, I just… I banged it. It’s a bruise.’

Sylvie knew what it was, though.

There was a knock at the toilet-cubicle door. Sylvie and Victoria looked at each other automatically and stifled laughs. They flapped their arms around and covered their mouths. It could be the police.

‘Who is it?’ Victoria shoved the bottle down the back of her jeans and pulled on her hooded top.

‘Can you see it?’ she mouthed to Victoria, turning to show her.

Sylvie gave her the thumbs up, confirming that it was hidden. Victoria gestured with her head that Sylvie should be the one to open the door.

The knock came again, louder.

Victoria gave Sylvie a gentle push from behind and she opened the door.

A man was standing there. Not the police and not looking as if he was there to use the facilities. Sylvie froze. Something about him was skittish, her alarm bells were going off. His face was pale, eyes flickering and rolling back. He looked like he was off his head on something, and he was blocking the doorway, so it wouldn’t be easy for Sylvie and Victoria to leave.

‘Alright, mate. You need a slash or you just knocking for a laugh?’ Victoria’s voice was upbeat, an edge of cockiness. She just came right out and said it. But Sylvie was on edge. Something about the strain in his jaw, the way his eyes were darting around, she didn’t like it.

He made a sudden movement and Sylvie felt herself flinch. Then she realised. Her eye was drawn. He was flashing them. A hot spurt of vomit leapt into her throat, pungent with the alcohol.

His fingernails were dirty and he had this look on his face, lurid and sleazy. Sylvie was frozen solid to the spot.

Victoria had pushed herself forwards so she was level with Sylvie. She put her hand on Sylvie’s shoulder to stop her from shaking. Sylvie couldn’t take her eyes off the purple puncture wounds up his arm. She felt something swelling in her, sweating, shaking, she couldn’t catch her breath. She sneaked a look across at Victoria. At first her face was blank with horror, too, but then something else was creeping in. It was turning into a smile and, before she knew it, a fit of the giggles.

The man looked confused. Victoria was doubled over, covering her face, hysterical. Sylvie couldn’t help but join in too. It must have been all the alcohol.

The man moved again and they both adjusted their stance, to be ready. But he was fumbling with his pants and putting himself away. ‘Fuck yous, you little slags,’ he said, his voice whiny. ‘I’ll be seeing yous two around.’ He looked right into their faces, first Victoria then Sylvie, then back again.

He picked up his carrier bag and shuffled out of the toilets again. Sylvie shut the door and quickly put the lock across, trying to steady her breath.

Victoria was still trying to recover from the giggles.

‘D’you recognise him?’ Sylvie said.

Victoria thought for a minute, looking up. ‘Yeah, you shagged him, didn’t you?’

‘Piss off! Eurgh. Don’t you think we should be worried? You heard what he said.’

‘Dunno. Probably one of the smackheads from Camden House – who cares? Don’t worry about it, Sylv. He’s just some old druggy. He’ll be passed out and won’t even know what day it is soon.’

Sylvie tried to believe her, to forget about it. But the incident had set her on edge.

When they left, the man was crouching outside the toilets next to the railings. He was muttering something Sylvie couldn’t make out under his breath, and when she looked back, his eyes were following them down the street. She linked up with Victoria and soon he was out of sight. She felt warm-faced and bellied from the booze and decided to put the love bite and the snappiness behind them for now, and enjoy the night, the music and lights at the rink stretched out ahead of them.

Throughout the rest of the evening, Victoria kept doing the tiniest of gestures. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it. Pretending to flash Sylvie, pulling a silly face or crossing her eyes, and they’d both burst into fits of giggles again.

This shared joke, a little secret between them, it made Sylvie feel close to Victoria.

At the rink, Sylvie and Victoria glided around the ice. They could stay upright most of the time but there were speed skaters there, too. When they zipped past, Sylvie could feel the air between them and each time it made her wobble and falter. They’d skate backwards and spin in the air.

Sylvie tried to follow the swirling lights with her feet. She got her skates into a tangle and fell over onto the ice. Victoria creased up laughing. The icy water seeped into Sylvie’s jeans. Victoria put her hand out to help her up, then kept pulling it away at the last second, laughing even harder. Sylvie eventually managed to get herself up again, feeling big and clumsy.

To get off the ice, Sylvie and Victoria had to hold on to the barriers at the edges, where groups would gather, posing and showing off, dancing to the music. Serious faces, small nonchalant moves. Groups of lads they’d seen in the town on Saturdays. Striped jumpers, gelled hair.

Victoria grabbed Sylvie’s arm, hard, using her to stop herself from falling over. ‘Let’s go over there.’ She gestured towards one of the groups. The shifting, twirling lights made it hard to make faces out, but Sylvie had studied him long enough – the height, build and stance. Sylvie could see that at the centre of the group was Ryan.

Before she had a chance to say anything, Victoria set off out in front and his eyes narrowed as she got closer. When the lights flashed on his face, Sylvie thought she saw him run his tongue across his teeth and top lip and nudge the lad next to him. The strobe light effect was disorientating, making people’s movements stutter and judder. Ryan was beckoning them over. Sylvie’s stomach skipped and her legs skidded around – for a moment she thought she would fall over again.

Sylvie reached out to tap Victoria’s shoulder, but she was too far ahead, already going towards him, speeding up. When she got there, Ryan put his hands on Victoria’s shoulders and whispered in her ear. He pushed Victoria’s hair back off her face. His hand was on her neck, right at the spot where the mark was. Sylvie was still on the ice and skidded again for a moment. The way Ryan had greeted Victoria had a tenderness about it – it wasn’t a first-time introduction; it was like they were close.

Finally, Sylvie managed to stagger off the rink. The fact she was focused on Victoria and Ryan, and the sudden change from ice to solid ground, made Sylvie lose her footing again. She flailed around behind them uselessly, a spare part, Victoria’s back to her. Ryan caught Sylvie’s eye over Victoria’s shoulder and the strobe gave him a wild look.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a head close to hers, lips pushing through her hair and touching the skin of her ear, sending small shocks down her neck.

‘What’s your name, love?’

It was one of the other boys from the group. His face was pocked. He was definitely older. And quite short, Sylvie noticed. He was leaning into her with his hands behind his back. Lots of the boys stood and walked like that.

‘Sylvie!’ she called out, looking past him at Victoria and Ryan. She was shouting but it seemed like no sound came out; it was swallowed up by the music.

‘It’s a pretty name,’ he said. ‘For a pretty girl.’

‘Thanks.’ Sylvie wished she could say more, but she couldn’t think of what.

‘Maybe see you around later, yeah?’ he said, looking her up and down slowly.

He had turned back to the group. He said something to them and they all looked at her, grinning and nodding. One of them punched him on the arm.

Victoria turned round. ‘Come on,’ she said, dragging Sylvie to the seats, where they took their ice skates off.

‘What’s going on?’ Sylvie shouted, but Victoria didn’t look up – she was focused on her boots.

Sylvie wasn’t feeling so drunk any more. As they dawdled towards the exit, the decision to leave unspoken, the group of lads was at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer in front of them. Sylvie looked back and the rink was almost empty now, closing down, just a few speed skaters left on the ice. She nudged Victoria. ‘Here, look who’s with them. It’s Charmaine Simmonds.’

Charmaine was notorious locally. Her whole family was. People said she was hard. She was rumoured to have beaten up two girls in a pub by grabbing their hair from the back and smashing their faces into each other. Sylvie didn’t know if it was true, but she winced to think about it. She was the only girl amongst the group of boys.

When Sylvie and Victoria reached the stairs, Ryan’s group was standing around. Sylvie got the impression they were waiting.

Ryan said something to the others, then to Victoria, ‘You coming round to mine again?’

Again? Sylvie looked at Victoria and her face was glowing pink. She refused to look at Sylvie though.

‘Yeah, can do,’ she said to Ryan. The casualness in her voice was a total act, Sylvie could tell.

The boy that had been talking to Sylvie walked towards her, and Charmaine too. She had black permed hair, half up with a spotted ruffle on top of her head.

The boy who spoke to Sylvie earlier put his hand out. ‘I’m Jimmy,’ he said. ‘And you’re Sylvie.’

Sylvie blushed.

‘This is Ryan. And Charmaine.’

‘Alright.’ They both nodded. Charmaine eyed Sylvie suspiciously.

‘We’re off to a house party up Brantham, if you fancy it,’ Jimmy said to Sylvie. She thought she detected a bit of a smirk across his face.

Before Sylvie could say anything, or catch Victoria’s eye, Victoria had answered, ‘Yeah, she’ll come. Sounds like a laugh, doesn’t it, Sylv?’

‘Sound,’ Ryan said.

‘What about you? Cat got your tongue?’ Charmaine glowered. Sylvie could feel her heart fluttering. ‘I’m talking to you, you ignorant cow.’

‘Sorry, I…’ Sylvie could hear how weedy she sounded.

‘Don’t be a bitch, Char,’ Jimmy said. ‘She’s alright, leave her.’

Sylvie looked across at Victoria, but her face was impassive, flitting between them, waiting to see what happened.

Charmaine made a sudden lurch towards Sylvie, making her chest explode, then she just laughed. ‘Chill out, will you, I’m kidding.’

Sylvie looked over and Victoria was deep in conversation with Ryan. She hadn’t even bothered whether Sylvie was OK.

Jimmy put his arm around Sylvie, his hand dangling close to but not quite touching her breast. ‘Don’t worry about Char. She’s only jealous,’ he said. But Sylvie was spooked and she was tired and sober now. She wanted to go home.

‘Just a sec,’ she said, shrugging him off. She went over to Victoria.

‘V, can I talk to you for a minute?’

‘What?’ Victoria said blankly.

‘I just need to have a quick word with you, on your own.’

Victoria let out a sigh. She looked at Ryan, and he nodded. Did she need his permission now? She walked towards Sylvie.

‘Listen, I’m gonna go home. I don’t fancy it, to be honest.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Victoria was already turning away.

‘Is your mum not going to be worried about you?’

‘No, because I’m going to go to the phone box and tell her I’m staying at yours. I was going to suggest you do the same, but it’s up to you. I’m going to the party.’

A lump bobbed into Sylvie’s throat. Suddenly all she wanted was her room, her own bed.

Victoria relented a bit, her voice softer. ‘Look, why don’t you just come, Sylv? It’ll be a laugh. This is our chance. Jimmy likes you.’

Sylvie thought for a moment. She was sure Victoria would give in and walk back with her.

‘Nah, I’m going to go back, V. Next time I’ll come, I promise.’

Victoria shrugged but she was already on the move. ‘Suit yourself. Who says you’re going to get another chance, though?’ she said over her shoulder, throwing her hands up before turning away.

---

When Sylvie got in, the living-room door was open, a mound shape on the sofa. When her eyes adjusted and the silence settled, Sylvie could make out her mum in the darkness, head on the cushions, asleep. She had taken to sleeping downstairs so as not to disturb Sylvie’s dad. He needed his sleep, she said, and the nightmares didn’t help. She didn’t say who the bad dreams belonged to.

Sylvie crept in and draped the thin blanket from the back of the settee over her mum, before quietly going upstairs. In bed, she lay awake, wondering what Victoria was up to, thinking about that mark on her neck and what she was doing with Ryan.

Before she fell asleep, Sylvie heard the door creak downstairs. She leaned over and pulled the curtain back and saw her mum jogging off down the street, leaving a trail of fog with her breath.

When she went jogging, it usually meant there’d been bad news at the hospital or a new mysterious symptom had appeared with her dad. Sylvie could time it around the appointments or the whispered fussing. Her mum would become tighter, more manic –sometimes she’d run twice a day, early in the morning and last thing at night. She’d hardly eat anything. Tomorrow morning, she would probably cook Sylvie a breakfast; more than she could face – bacon or waffles with butter. Sylvie’s stomach twisted.