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Sylvie and Victoria sat in the grounds of the school at the top of the hill. The view was good from there. Sylvie liked the fact that the school didn’t even come into your line of vision when you looked out. It was there below; you could take it or leave it. But the view was beautiful for miles around. Fields like patchwork quilts, lines of traffic wriggling along, a world beyond Conley, people living all kinds of different lives.

Sylvie had never really left the place. She’d been to Skipton and Leeds and Bradford for the day; and to Blackpool and Morecambe on holiday. But never abroad. Even the idea of London felt like a foreign country.

She took a swig and grimaced, the bottle chinking against her front teeth. She was drinking Clan Dew, a gag-inducing mixture of whisky and wine. Victoria had the White Lightning cider, equally disgusting but cheap and did the job. She had to put both hands at the bottom of the big blue plastic bottle to drink some of it. A third of a bottle in each: they were just getting started.

Sitting at the top of the school hill was the extent of their plans for the evening. They’d had Michelle go to the shop for them to buy the alcohol. She was tall, broad-shouldered, so she could get served. She lived near Victoria and they’d seen her walking across the park as they roamed around, on the lookout for something to do.

‘Let’s ask her,’ Victoria had said, nudging Sylvie.

‘You ask her,’ Sylvie hissed back.

‘Chelle!’ Victoria shouted across the park. The space was so open and empty that there was a wispy echo.

‘Vic,’ Sylvie said, jabbing her in the ribs. Sylvie loved it really when Victoria was loud. She felt like just being around Victoria made stuff happen. She was like a magnet for fun.

Victoria asked Michelle to go to the shop for them and she didn’t argue. She was nodding even before Victoria had finished explaining what they wanted. She could have been asking her to do anything. Victoria shoved a ball of screwed-up money into Michelle’s hand, the exact amount counted out but Michelle didn’t check it anyway.

Sylvie and Victoria waited outside the shop, eyes fixed on the door. Sylvie was nervous that someone might come past and see them, or Michelle might get thrown out, but Victoria just sat on the wall of someone’s house, kicking her legs out, bouncing her heels off the bricks.

‘She’s not going to get served,’ Sylvie said. ‘She probably comes in here for milk and stuff with her mum.’

‘Oh, chill out, will you, Sylv? It’ll be fine. She practically looks like an old woman anyway. Especially with the…’ Victoria made a gesture for big, round breasts and Sylvie laughed along, ignoring a twang of guilt. It was true; Michelle was more developed than anyone else in their year. But rather than it getting her interest from the boys, as you might expect, it somehow made her look matronly and middle-aged. Michelle always got changed in the toilets for PE, not out on the benches like everyone else, but Sylvie imagined her wearing bras like her mum: thick-strapped, full cups, beige or mucky white

They were still laughing when the shop door jingled and Michelle appeared with a carrier bag. Sylvie felt relief at hearing the bottles clinking. Michelle handed Victoria one straining bag.

‘Thanks, Chelle. We really appreciate it.’

Michelle smiled. She looked big and awkward. It was too hot for the denim shirt she always had on. She tugged at the sleeves, a film of sweat visible above her lip. She had a bag of her own with one bottle in it. Obviously wanted to be invited along with them, Sylvie could tell.

If Victoria could too, she ignored it. ‘See you, then. Thanks again, mate!’ she said, and she and Sylvie walked away towards the school. Sylvie looked back and watched Michelle lumbering away towards her house.

‘Should we ask her if she wants to come along?’ Sylvie asked Victoria. ‘She’s alright, you know.’

‘Not tonight. I can’t be arsed,’ Victoria said, and Sylvie felt told off. But then Victoria turned to her and added, ‘I just want it to be us tonight, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, course,’ Sylvie said, and she linked arms with Victoria.

In the school field, the darkness was properly coming in now. Victoria handed Sylvie back the blue plastic bottle of White Lightning, now considerably lighter. Sylvie already had a buzzy feeling about her. She was loosened and Victoria’s face had softened too. Her eyes were glittering, words were getting slack.

‘I love you, Sylvie, do you know that? I just really love you.’ And she threw her arms out.

Sylvie felt a warm flush. ‘I love you too!’

Victoria hooked her arms around Sylvie’s neck and Sylvie did the same. And then they were face to face, the tips of their noses almost touching.

‘I’m so glad we have each other,’ Victoria said. Her face swam in front of Sylvie’s. Sylvie felt like her eyes went one way and her brain went another. It was all spinning. She had a rush that she hadn’t expected where she considered kissing Victoria. She imagined the softness and warmth of her lips and felt her head lolling forwards.

But Victoria had pulled back. Sylvie was glad to feel the air on her face. It made everything stand still for a second. She was back to herself.

Victoria yanked the Clan Dew bottle from Sylvie’s hand and tipped it back. Sylvie took a small sip of the White Lightning, shuddering at the dry taste. She made a contorted face and looked across at Victoria, hoping to get a laugh, but Victoria was still chugging down the Clan Dew, her eyes wide, fixed with determination.

She pulled the bottle away and burped loudly before bursting into laughter.

‘You alright? You’re on a mission tonight,’ Sylvie said.

‘I’m fine, couldn’t be better!’ Victoria said, throwing her arms out like a vaudeville actor. The booze was really kicking in.

They sat and looked out for a while, the bottles on the ground between their legs.

‘Anything up?’ Sylvie asked. There was something hanging in the air. She knew Victoria well enough to sense it. ‘You can tell me, you know.’

Victoria didn’t look up. She took a swig from the blue plastic bottle, squashing it inwards to pump the sour fizz out faster. She wiped her hand across her mouth.

‘How’s things at home?’ Victoria said, turning her head to look at Sylvie.

Sylvie looked down and picked at the grass and shook her head. There was an unspoken rule of silence at home. Dad mustn’t be disturbed or upset, he needed his rest. Sylvie felt as if she was holding her breath the whole time.

Victoria hesitated then said, ‘My dad got beaten up. Came home with a black eye.’

‘Really? Why?’ Sylvie asked.

‘His business is struggling. Think he owes someone money, or he didn’t finish off their conservatory or something. Someone keyed his car too.’

‘Shit.’

‘I hear them every night. He gets back late and says he’s been working, but he hasn’t, as she checks up on him. So she sits about at home getting herself more and more worked up, then she just flies for him when he gets in. Says he needs to stop drinking the money away, and that he should give in and get a proper job. He doesn’t like that.’

‘You can understand, I guess.’ Sylvie had seen her dad roll his eyes sometimes when Peter talked about how well his building business was doing, the contracts they had coming in, like he was bragging about how much he earned. Sylvie had giggled. It was a little secret between the two of them, her and her dad.

‘Flash Harry,’ she had heard her dad call Peter to Margaret, when they thought Sylvie wasn’t listening.

‘Heard her say he’s going to get hurt if he’s not careful. Over money. He owes people money,’ Victoria said. ‘And so she’s going on at him all the time, so he just goes out more. To “see a man about a dog” or wherever he goes. And she’s there winding herself up. Ugh.’

‘It’ll be alright, Vic.’ Sylvie rubbed the top of Victoria’s arm.

‘You know what he calls her? A bored housewife and frigid. I wasn’t in the room but I heard him.’ She mimed sticking her fingers down her throat and gagging but something about the words made Sylvie flinch.

‘And I can hear her crying through the wall. And other stuff too.’ Victoria rubbed at the dirt underneath her legs.

‘What other stuff?’ Sylvie said, but she knew somehow.

‘Doing it.’ Victoria said, and they both covered their ears at the same time.

Sylvie had to stop herself from asking more about what Victoria heard. Something was compelling her to demand the gory details.

Victoria’s shoulders were slumped. Then she looked up, brightened. ‘Tell you what, let’s make a pact. Let’s never ever get married. No husbands, no kids. Just you and me.’

‘Count me in!’ Sylvie said, and she meant it. They clinked the plastic bottle against the glass one and guzzled them back.

‘Never!’ they both said at the same time and started laughing.

They ate mints on the way home and took it in turns to slap each other’s faces so their parents wouldn’t realise they were drunk. But when Sylvie got in there was no one downstairs. She made a sandwich from spongy white bread and a bright yellow cheese slice, adding in a browning leaf of lettuce that tasted bitter and earthy. She could see light under her parents’ door but there was no sound.

She stood outside, listening and waiting, but there was nothing. And after a while the light went out. She waited there for a bit longer on the landing, in the darkness, then finally went to bed.