Game Girls Page 10

  * * *

  Fern lines the five bags up along the end of her bed, then runs her finger around the top edges. Today has felt strange. She has felt strange.

  'I want to make you look fantastic,' Alix had said.

  Fantastic isn't a word Fern has ever thought she could be, but if Alix thinks it, then she'll try to believe her.

  'We'll go out somewhere together soon – hit town in all our new gear. Now – what about this?' Alix held up a clingy white top. 'If you don't like it, you don't have to have it.'

  If you don't like it, you can stop. Fern hadn't stopped when it was Scottish Banana Man. She didn't stop three days later when Beer Belly Bill laid his glasses carefully on the white bedside table, then gazed at her blindly while he groaned. She didn't stop last weekend, when Gentle Jim stroked her hair before he left, whispering he loved her. These aren't their real names – she made them up. It gave her something to think about while she was doing 'the deed'.

  Today in Ethnic she'd tried on the clingy white top and wondered when Alix would organise the town hitting. She pictures this now – Alix, Courtney, and her – all of them swinging, giggling through the streets of Long Cove. It's funny, because she doesn't like what she's doing with all these blokes, but she loves what it does for her. It lets her in. She gets phone calls. Text messages. Last week they'd all watched a DVD at Alix's, and even Courtney throws her a thin smile at college now. She wonders if they'll know each other all their lives. Weddings and christenings. Maybe even funerals. Friends Forever. Forever Friends.

  A memory assaults her, as if someone has jerked her arm round behind her back. She gave a girl a pencil case once. It was a present at a party. They had both been about five and writing was already a meaningless muddle to Fern, but this girl – Frances Hall – had frowned down at the glittery letters that ran along the sugar pink plastic. 'What does that say, Mummy?'

  Frances Hall's mummy wore peachy-pink lipstick with nail varnish to match, and she pointed one of the peach perfect fingernails down onto the letters, tracing along the raised edges: 'Forever Friends.'

  And Frances Hall looked up at Fern, her eyes round and grave, and handed the pencil case back. 'I don't want it.'

  It had been the first time.

  Later there had been 'You smell' and 'Fern the Thicky' or things that at least gave her a clue to what she was doing wrong, but that first time was the worst. She had smiled and given her face a glazed-over look as if she hadn't really understood, and Frances Hall's peachy-pink mummy whisked away to 'sort out some lovely games'.

  The bag nearest to her is printed with a daisy pattern. Fern breaks the neat lip of tape that kisses the top edges together and lifts out a parcel of lilac tissue. The white top is a thin crepe fabric, soft and light. When Fern slips her hand inside, the crepe makes her skin muzzy. There's a silken white bra with it too – 'You need something strapless' – and matching knickers that Alix said were French. In the next bag is a box with high strappy shoes and a white gypsy skirt. Inside the smallest bag are stockings and suspenders that she isn't sure how to put on.

  'Practise at home,' Alix told her. 'Learn to do it quickly. You might sometimes want to make a quick change.'

  Standing now, Fern wrestles herself out of her jeans and jumper, changes into the new silky underwear, and then puts on the suspender belt. It is white lace with a pale blue bow at the front, and the stockings are cream. The belt itches a bit, and the stockings don't pull on straight the first time, so she has to untwist them and start again. She fumbles with the straps on the belt. It's hard to get them straight too. She's never going to master the 'quick change', and although she twists round she can't get an angle on the back view properly, so she can't see what they look like from there.

  She picks out the high strappy shoes instead. They're white too – even higher than the ones she wore on the Khaki Steve Disaster day, but at least she's not going to have to run in them.

  She slips them on.

  Taking her first steps, she wobbles across the carpet to the other side of the room. Then she wobbles back again. Across and back. Across and back. She walks slowly, one leg slightly crossing the other, trying to move in the way models do.

  She still wants to know how she looks. There is a long mirror in the guest bathroom, and none of the guests are in. Dad's asleep and Mum won't be back till five. She opens her door and does the leg-crossing model walk out into the hall.

  The guest bathroom smells of soft lavender and the sharp tang of toilet cleaner.

  She can't get the full effect in the mirror because the room is too cramped, so she steps back as far as she can. She has to press against the wall, squinting at the reflection, which is from the neck down because there still isn't room for her face. She's not sure about the stockings – she doesn't understand why Alix was so insistent that she got some – but it's the shoes that really startle her. They stretch her legs on and on and it makes her think about the Hall of Mirrors in the small fair that sets up in Long Cove every bank holiday in August.

  Strange.

  A stranger.

  And she thinks, strangely, that she likes this long-legged faceless stranger.

  She swivels sideways, watching the way her body moves one way and then the other. Her mind gropes for a word to describe herself. Fantastic? No. Alix went too far with that. She swivels again. Normal. That's how she looks. Without her boggle-eyed, deer-scared face this could be any teenage girl's body. This could be someone that people wanted to be friends with.

  * * *

  Alix always makes it easy. But clear. They are sitting on the side of her 'love nest' bed and she smiles at him; takes his hand. He has L.O.V.E. L.U.C.Y. along the backs of his knuckles. She traces each letter with her finger. 'I've just got to settle a few details with you first.' Her voice purrs, as if she's telling him he's gorgeous, fantastic, she's so glad he's here. 'You need to wear protection. That means we both stay safe. And you have to pay before we start. We agreed the price on the phone, didn't we?'

  He nods, pulling out his wallet and handing her the notes.

  She takes the money, counts it, and leans past him to put it in the drawer. Fern and Courtney's clients always pay downstairs – that way she knows it's happened. She doesn't trust either of them – but especially Fern – to be able to make guys settle up in advance. Not once they're with them in the room.

  She glances at the clock, then edges closer to him. He has a stubbled chin and strong, muscled arms. There is something 'builderish' about him, she decides. She can picture him out drinking; singing and swearing, swaggering loudly with a gang of mates. In here, now, he is as meek as a puppy. 'Is there anything special that you'd like?'

  He swallows. 'Just – you know – straight, thanks.'

  So straight he will get. She has already learnt that sometimes it takes them a couple of visits before they start being honest. That's fine with her. A couple of visits is a good business record, as far as she's concerned. And if he wanted anything drastically different it would cost him more anyway, so it's best to build that in slowly.

  This guy doesn't make much eye contact, but they all vary. She tries to care about each one. For thirty minutes she can be whoever they need her to be. Gentle. Wild. Wicked. Sweet. Understanding. Pliant. Stubborn. Controlling. Controlled. It's just like acting – a series of mini plays where she directs, produces, and performs the main part.

  Sometimes they don't want anything much.

  One guy, last week, just came to be held.

  Now she unbuttons her blouse – buttons are usually better than zips – she can make undoing buttons into more of a show. She's wearing fun undies – red silk with bits of white fluff. She got a set for Courtney and Fern too – ordered them from the internet. It's a concession to mark the fact that it's Christmas next week, although she's not sure that Courtney is entering into the spirit of the whole thing. She hasn't even taken hers out of the box yet. Christmas. Bloody Christmas. Alix still can't decide what she's going to do. Pe
rhaps she'll get away somewhere hot? Perhaps they could all go? She just fancies turkey on the beach.

  She lets him explore her, unbuttoning his shirt at the same time. Pulling it off him, she leans her head against his exposed chest. 'You're gorgeous. Fantastic.'

  His hands keep searching. More urgent. She can feel him shaking behind the touch, and she smiles slightly. 'I'm so glad you're here.'

  They get locked into a kind of sitting down tussle. He paws at her clothes. She removes him from his.

  He smells a bit. Stale sweat and last night's curry. She'll have to use the air freshener when he's gone.

  Smiling up at him, she puts her hands on his shoulders and pushes him onto the bed.

  'Mmmmm, that's nice. You're gorgeous.' She sits astride him, rocking, sliding one hand down between his legs. He is looking at her but his eyes have grown clouded and unfocused.

  She knows she could be anyone. 'Fantastic.'

  She glances at the clock. 'I'm so glad you're here.'

  * * *

  'You working all day?'

  Courtney shakes her head, her scalp prickly with the crown of tinsel she has forced down over it. She hands the bloke the packets of batteries that apparently didn't get provided with his son's remote control car. 'We finish at two.'

  The bloke winks at her, takes his receipt. 'Half an hour left. Well – you've been an angel. We'd have had tears all over the turkey if you hadn't been open. Merry Christmas.'

  'Merry Christmas.'

  As well as the scraggy halo of tinsel, Courtney is wearing a flashing Christmas tree brooch underneath her Easi Shop name badge. That's as much as she is prepared to do.

  'You should leave,' Alix had said, looking up from cramming her suitcase full of skimpy tops and bikinis and suntan lotion. 'You could come with me then. It's not like you couldn't afford it.'

  But Courtney can't afford it – she can't afford questions. Suspicion. Easi Shop is the best explanation she's got for the new clothes (they're all second-hand, Mum – there's a shop in The Lanes that does it) or all the toys and trainers and gadgets she keeps bringing home for the boys. (I get them cheap through work – they run a sort of warehouse catalogue.)

  And anyway, she's not going to do what she's doing with Alix and Fern forever. Not once college finishes and she moves away. And she's going to need a reference then – from a job that hasn't involved her lying on her back and panting.

  'Any fresh double cream?' A middle-aged woman races in as if she's being chased.

  'Sorry, we've only got tinned left now. You could try Texaco. I think they're open all day.'

  The woman humphs in exasperation, looks at her watch, then races away again.

  'Merry Christmas,' Courtney calls after her.

  The door rattles slightly as it slams.

  Courtney tidies the counter, sprays it with Anti Bact.

  An impeccably dressed couple come in. 'We're lost.' The woman has on pearly-pink lipstick to match her lamb's-wool jacket. 'Do you do maps?' Courtney directs them down Aisle Four and watches in the security mirror as they pore over the Long Cove and District Street Finder, making notes on the back of a folded envelope. They leave without buying anything.

  'Merry Christmas.'

  'Merry Christmas.'

  'Well – I reckon that's it.' Barry Ludd comes through from the stock room and goes over to lock the door. He is wearing a ridiculous green headband with red plastic antlers springing up out of it. He's got quite a wide head and Courtney thinks the headband must pinch his skin.

  She folds the cleaning cloth and places the Anti Bact back neatly on the shelf under the till.

  A car screeches up. Someone – Courtney can't see who – bangs on the door. Barry Ludd shakes his head. 'Closed,' he mouths.

  The someone Courtney can't see shouts, 'Effing bastard!' in through the letterbox.

  Barry Ludd follows Courtney down the aisles and through to the stock room, turning off the lights in the main shop as they leave. 'Are you in tomorrow?'

  'Yep. Morning shift again.' Courtney answers him without turning round, already unbuttoning her overall. She folds it neatly, slipping it into its carrier bag. As she reaches to take down her jacket from the hook above, she realises he is still behind her. Close behind her.

  She half turns, and tries to smile at him. She doesn't like him, but she's been feeling sorry for him, working Christmas morning. He's in his thirties and he lives with his mum and she's sure that, like her, he probably prefers to be out than in – even out somewhere like Easi Shop. He's given her a Christmas present too – a box of chocolates. She's been feeling guilty about that, even though she knows they were on special offer last week. It didn't even occur to her to get him anything.

  'I'd like a word,' he says quietly.

  She realises he isn't quite looking at her. He is staring past her left ear, at the wall. He is still very close.

  Courtney wonders if he's going to sack her and she closes her eyes. A silent prayer. No please, please don't sack me. I do all the rubbish shifts. All the hours no one else wants. Don't sack me please.

  'I know what you're up to,' he says.

  Her eyes open. Widen. What does he think he knows? She's never nicked anything from here – not even a packet of chewing gum. She'd never risk that work reference. 'Honestly.' Her eyes search his face and he's still not looking at her. 'I'm not up to anything.'

  'You and your mate. The slag who comes in here to see you sometimes.' The word 'slag' seems to tremble as he spits it out. She can see he is shaking.

  'Wh . . .what do you mean?'

  'I know people who know people. I've been hearing stories.'

  Courtney has always known that it was only a matter a time before the wrong person got 'the word'. 'It doesn't matter,' Alix said, when Courtney tried to talk to her about it. 'If someone we knew ever showed up at the door, what could they say? Just the fact they'd showed up would implicate them. They'd want to keep it quiet just as much as we would.'

  'I want some.' Barry Ludd's voice is hoarse and strange. He is looking at her now, nodding at her, the red plastic reindeer antlers swaying. 'Think of it as my Christmas present.'

  He pushes her against the shelves. There is the roll and clatter of things falling. Forcing one leg in between hers he wrestles her to the floor, and then there is only his rasped breathing as he takes what he wants. Courtney stares over his shoulder, counting out the cans of tomatoes that are stacked against the opposite wall.

  * * *

  ALIX DIGS HER FEET in the sand, scooping up handfuls and sprinkling it down over her toes. She'll lie out again in a minute, but it's cooler than she'd thought it was going to be. It's windier too and she has goose bumps on her arms.

  She could have gone to Italy of course – 'Darling, you must come for Christmas.' Aaron is there even though she'd tried to bribe him to be with her instead.

  'Gran Canaria? But Mum wants us with her. She'd be gutted if we did that. And even more hurt if we asked her to pay for it.'

  'She doesn't need to know. And I'll pay.'

  'With what?' He'd laughed at her, so suddenly innocent, a hundred years younger than her now.

  She thinks of Mum and her bulging belly, and the image makes her cringe. There was no way she was going out to Tuscany for Christmas. Mum thinks she's at Fern's but she's told her not to ring because the phone might wake Fern's dad. 'He's in a bad way,' she said. 'I'll call you on my mobile.'

  'My legs ache so much,' Mum sighed. 'The extra weight. I'll send you a picture of the latest scan . . . '

  Alix cut her off then. She does that a lot. Mum never rings back.

  There are other people on the beach – a honeymoon couple from the same hotel. They are holding hands, paddling in the sea. They have a glow around them – an invisible circle that cuts out the rest of the world. Alix would like to catch the husband alone in the lift.

  There are oldies too, all leg veins and cellulite. There should be laws about baggy-skinned women in bikinis.

/>   Sitting near her – too near – is a family. Mum and dad. Two boys. A pin-thin girl. The pin-thin girl is grizzling, whining that she has sand in her eyes. The mum rubs the girl's closed lids with a towel. 'No, Mummy. No. It hurts, it hurts.'

  'Take her back to the hotel.' The moustached dad is angry. The whole holiday is a painful chore.

  Alix slid glances his way all through breakfast. He seemed distant – shut out from all the others. Just once, he looked her way. She held the look and saw him warming. Stirring. It was like watching someone come out of a deep sleep.

  She'll have to move in a minute. The grizzling is annoying. No, Mummy. No.

  She remembers another Christmas – years and years ago – they were staying at some 'Uncle's' house, helping him pin cards among the wreathes of holly on the wall. Stepping backwards, a sting of pain had stabbed the sole of her bare foot. When he'd seen the drawing pin, the round head flat against her skin, Aaron had gone white and screamed. But Alix didn't cry. The 'Uncle' wrenched the pin out with tweezers and when it was finished Mum promised her an extra present for being so brave. She forgot, of course, but Alix hadn't minded too much. She had been proud of the braveness. Proud of not annoying the 'Uncle'. Proud of always managing to be the way Mum wanted her to be.

  The family with the grizzling girl walk away, heading back towards the hotel. The boys kick sand sullenly. 'Don't do that.' The moustached dad is striding ahead, glaring back over his shoulder. 'We'll ALL end up with the bloody stuff in our eyes.'

  Alix watches them go, their footprints weaving a straggled path along the beach.

  She oils her body, straightens her towel, lies back. She'll have to brave the wind so she can at least go home with a tan. Courtney and Fern couldn't believe she'd do a last minute deal like this on her own, but it was her best option. It was either really having to do Christmas Day at Fern's – the offer had at least been true – or sitting it out alone in her house. Courtney was working in the morning, and said Christmas afternoon belonged to her brothers. It wasn't a choice, she'd said. Just one of those once a year essentials. Alix has noticed before, that Courtney will do anything for her brothers. She has filed this information away in her head. Knowledge like that can be useful sometimes.