Game Girls Read online

  The thought of this empties her out.

  She'd loved Sunday, round Alix's, just chatting with Alix and Courtney. She'd felt part of it. Part of them. She had let herself believe that she might have regular friends to go and see, but she thinks now that of course it won't work out like that.

  She trails on home, crossing the road to the side where the houses are, taking herself away from the couples and threesomes and small gangs.

  The afternoon is restless, a gruffling wind unsettling the leaves and litter that have piled in the gutter. She stops to pick up a conker, the spiked green case split and cracked. Cradled in its soft white bed, the chestnut brown is like an exposed heart. It can be scratched or kicked or bounced. Or crushed. She edges it out with her finger, nestling it in her hand.

  Rounding the road that forks off to the river path, she sees someone hurrying ahead of her. Courtney. She is walking determinedly, too far away to catch up. Perhaps Aaron's friends' changed his mind about collecting his mobile? Or perhaps Alix and Courtney were stood up?

  And then it strikes Fern that maybe Alix is at home, alone.

  She could go round and see. It's a chance to be like everyone else – a chance to be with someone.

  Dropping the conker down into the gutter Fern turns, heading left – or is it right? – to Alix's.

  * * *

  Courtney doesn't go home.

  Instead, she heads out along the main road, walking quickly.

  School is out.

  Small clusters of pupils in Long Cove High blazers mill about. Lighting cigarettes. Chewing gum. Laughing too loudly.

  She thinks that she used to be like that. Although she never really did the laughing.

  Her hair is still slightly damp because she showered at Alix's. Showered and showered and showered. Showered so much that in the end Alix came knocking on the door checking she was all right.

  Her walking takes her away from the pupils, past the river path that leads round to Fern's house, left at the church and then down the hill into the country park.

  She hadn't known she was headed here.

  She hasn't been down here for a long time.

  The entrance to the park has a small kissing gate and she weaves through it, stepping out onto the moss-soft track that leads down to the lake.

  There is birdsong everywhere, and she feels she is listening to the sound for the first time ever. It is not beautiful. It is harsh and sharp and angry. Maybe the birds are really screaming. She thinks how terrible it must be to scream and scream until your lungs want to burst, and to have people say, 'Oh, what a beautiful song.'

  She walks faster.

  Down by the lake there is a small girl, standing with her mum, throwing bread for the ducks. Courtney stops behind them, even though she knows it is a weird thing to do – stopping and watching people. But she wants suddenly to link herself in with them. Be part of the safety of this little girl and her mum, who have time to spend standing and smiling at a squabble of ducks.

  'Look, Mummy – that one there – the brown one. He hasn't had any bread yet.'

  'That's a lady duck. The man ones are the ones with all the pretty colours.'

  'Why?'

  'I'm not sure, darling. Maybe it's because the mummies have to hide in the reeds when they're nesting on their eggs.' The mum has endless patience in her voice. Stay near me. I will know everything for you. No one will hurt you when you're near to me.

  Courtney feels a bitter tang in her mouth and realises she has been biting her bottom lip. She keeps watching. More ducks come steaming round from behind the tiny island, behind them long lines of ripples crisscross each other in the dimpled water.

  The little girl scrabbles in her bag of bread, giggling.

  Courtney watches her and not the ducks, and tries to remember what it was like to be that small, to stand on this very spot, her own hand in the bag of bread. She's done it – she knows she's done it – because there are photos at home. Her and Mum, before the boys came along. But it's just photographs. She can't remember the real her standing here. She can't remember the real her doing anything that long ago.

  'Do you want some?'

  Courtney is startled by the question, realising the girl has turned and is handing out a crust to her. She wants to say no but the girl has wide grey eyes which are fixed gravely on her as if this is something that matters.

  'Thanks.'

  She takes the bread and walks forward to the edge of the water. It is rippled but clear, bowing trees nodding their branches wisely from their upside-down reflections. We know. We know. A fish splashes near, peach-pale and ghost-like under the surface.

  'You just throw it,' says the girl, 'like this.' She hurls her breaded confetti in an arc, the ducks bleating madly, racing each other to get to it first.

  Courtney throws her own arc of broken crust.

  'See, it's easy.' The tone of the girl's voice shows she has taken charge. 'The brown ducks are the ladies but I like the boy ones best. They're prettier.'

  Courtney catches the mum's eyes for the first time, and the mum smiles at her. 'I know you,' she says. 'You work in Easi Shop.'

  Courtney nods and smiles back. She understands the statement. The mum is confirming that it's safe for her grave-eyed little girl to talk to Courtney because Courtney isn't a stranger. She's already been recognised and vetted. She works in Easi Shop. She must be all right.

  Courtney hurls the next handful of bread further. A few ducks make the half-hearted effort to swim for it, but most of them lose interest. The little girl's offerings are easiest.

  She empties the bag out upside down, the last soft flakes snowing down onto the pond.

  Then she takes Courtney's hand, her small warm fingers closing trustingly around Courtney's.

  Courtney glances at the mum again.

  The mum is still smiling.

  Courtney wonders what she'd do if she told her that, just under an hour ago, she had a stranger's cock in her mouth. For money.

  * * *

  Alix is glowing – not at all like someone who has just been stood up. 'Did you have a good time? With Aaron's friends?'

  'Sort of. You know.' Alix shrugs and throws Fern a bag of crisps from the kitchen cupboard. 'More leftovers. We can have a drink as well.'

  Fern can't link the glow with the shrug, and then decides it's because Alix is trying to do the 'not too keen' thing. She watches her hook two Breezers from the fridge, twisting open the lids with a bottle opener.

  Fern wonders when Alix is going to tell her that she's going to see him again. Her and Courtney. She sees them laughing, linking arms, all four of them out in pubs or clubs or all the places where Fern never really fits.

  They sit at the table in the living room. It's untidy. Beer cans. An empty Breezer bottle. Half-burned candles. For some reason the curtains are closed.

  'Can I ask you a question, Fern?'

  'Anything.' Fern splits open the crisps and puts one in her mouth but doesn't swallow it. Crunching noises are embarrassing, and bad manners. She'll have to let it get soft before she can eat it properly.

  'I wanted to ask you – and don't get upset with me – have you ever had a boyfriend?' Alix crunches into her own crisps.

  Fern sucks the crisp. Chews it nervously. Swallows at last. 'Not properly.' She hates having to say it. There have been a few groping moments with a boy who stayed at River's View with his grandparents last year, and a date to meet someone from school in the country park when she was fifteen. The date didn't turn up and she sat on the bench watching the ducks in the lake, and pretended it didn't matter.

  'So . . . does that mean you're still a virgin?'

  The question feels like a kind of punch – even coming from Alix. The familiar rush of heat burns up into her face, and she doesn't answer.

  'I just wondered because – I – well, I think I know what might be the problem.' Alix's voice is very gentle now, and her eyes have softened.

  Fern tries not to think about Aar
on. 'What problem?'

  'Why you haven't had a boyfriend. It's because you look too scared all the time. Too worried. Like a deer with a firework up its backside.'

  Fern forces out a laugh she doesn't feel. She can picture this deer – a cartoon image – leaping about with sparks fizzing out of its rear end. Is all this something to do with Aaron? Has he told Alix she was pathetic?

  'I could help you.' Alix swigs at her Breezer, and digs for more crisps. 'I could get you some – practice.'

  Is it Aaron she wants her to practise with? What if he's even suggested it? Fern is trapped in an anguish of shame. 'What d'you mean?'

  'I might be able to find some guys who are as nervous as you are – guys who wouldn't mind a bit of practice themselves.'

  'You mean – Aaron?' Fern knows she is doing the deer face again. She can feel her eyes widening and rolling and she hates herself, but she can't stop.

  Alix studies her for another moment, and then laughs. 'God no, not Aaron. Aaron doesn't even . . .well, let's just say it's not his scene. But I bet there are more guys like you than you realise.'

  'How would you tell?' Fern thinks Alix can hardly go up to strange blokes in the street and ask them if they want to 'practise' being a boyfriend with a deer-scared wimp.

  'It's to do with another idea I've had. Something me and Courtney want to try. We're going to get some guys round and have a bit of fun with them – and they're going to pay us for our time.'

  'Pay you?' Fern grips a tight hold on her crisp packet, the crisps sounding like tiny firecrackers as they crush together.

  Alix swigs back more Breezer, then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 'It's more like a social service. We're helping guys out. And in your case, they'd be helping you too. Sharpening you up a bit.'

  Fern's deer eyes are locked wide.

  'It doesn't even need to be – you know – all the way. Some guys are just happy for something more . . . ' She tips her head back and drains the last of her crisps into her open mouth. '. . .manual.'

  Fern isn't sure what Alix means, but she doesn't want to look any more stupid than she already is. She sips her Breezer, hating the taste. She usually has a mug of hot chocolate when she gets in from college.

  Alix leans forward and chinks bottles with her. 'Look – no pressure. It was just a thought. You can forget I said it if you want. But if you ever think you might want to give it a go – just let me know.'

  Fern forces down the last of the Breezer. 'I need to get home.' She tries to brighten Alix a smile. 'Thanks – for the drink and everything.'

  She walks through the late afternoon, the sky already darkened. The streetlamps are on and she thinks they look like eyes. Eyes watching her. A man passes and she shrinks into herself, staring down at her feet. She waits forever to cross the road and then when there's a space she runs, which she shouldn't do. What if she tripped? What if she fell?

  She thinks about people being scared of her. Scared of making her scared.

  Turning the corner, she reaches the river path. It's not lit, and there are only the lights on the boats, and the beacons, and the spooky silver glow of the moon.

  She wants to run, but she makes herself walk. Slowly. Slowly. Nothing will happen.

  She hears footsteps, and hesitates.

  'Where have you been?' Mum comes looming towards her out of the twilight. 'I was just coming to look for you.'

  Fern stops, one hand on her hip, thinking this is how Alix sometimes stands. 'I've been to see Alix.' She flicks back her hair.

  'Not to see her brother, I hope.'

  'He's at university. And anyway, no. Alix is my friend. Why shouldn't I go and see her?'

  She walks on, slightly ahead of Mum, hoping she can't smell the Breezer on her breath.

  'Well, you should have rung.' Mum is hurrying behind. 'And it's dangerous, walking about on your own now the nights are drawing in. Anything could happen.'

  Beware.

  Be aware.

  Fern draws up the image of the cartoon deer again. The fireworks get bigger, fizzing and exploding. The deer springs one way, and then another. Its ears are flat and its eyes bulge. Somewhere, on the other side of an invisible screen, everyone is laughing.

  The thought jumps into Fern's head that all of her life Mum has been weighing her down with warnings. Warnings about strangers. Stray dogs. Playing by the river. Stand back – well back – from the train. Don't swing too high, or too fast. Don't burn candles in your bedroom.

  Maybe Mum has done this to her.

  She walks faster, leaving Mum behind. There are tears in her eyes. A storm in her head. Pushing inside the house she rifles through the drawer under the telephone table, grabbing a candle and a box of matches that are kept there for power cuts or floods and probably even the end of the world.

  She slams shut the drawer and pounds up the stairs just as Mum hurries in.

  'Everything all right?' Dad appears, shuffling into the hallway from his study.

  'No, it's not.' Fern stops halfway up the stairs and spins back to face them both. Her voice is shaking. Her nails dig into the candle. 'I'm not going to be a bloody deer anymore. No one's ever going to laugh at me again.'

  * * *

  HE IS A FRIEND of Dale's. The first real client. When he rang, Alix had thought he sounded cultured. Upper class.

  He didn't give her his name, and she didn't ask for it, but she told him hers. 'I'm Antoinette,' she'd breathed into the phone. 'I'm free next Wednesday.'

  'Hi, come in.' She stands back from the door to let him step inside. Courtney walks through from the kitchen to the front room and gives him a brief smile, although she doesn't speak. Alix has stressed it is important that every guy knows there is someone else in the house – cultured voices or not.

  'Follow me.' She leads the way upstairs, moving slowly, letting her hips sway with every step. She bets he's watching. Of course he's watching. And he looks clean. Well dressed. She's already clocked the designer jacket and quality shirt. This pleases her because she hasn't yet decided what she'd do if someone really dirty and disgusting turned up. She'll have to develop strategies. Maybe dirty disgusting guys won't get the whole deal. Maybe they'll have to pay extra. Or maybe she just won't do it with them at all.

  At the door to her spare bedroom she stops and turns to him. 'Are you all right?'

  He nods and grins. He has a designer face to go with the clothes – in another time and place she'd probably have come on to him anyway – and she wonders again why someone like him, and like Dale and Tom, would want to do this.

  'I'm fine, Antoinette,' he says. And she knows that he is.

  With one hand on the door handle she lifts the other up to his face, stroking his cheek. He has great bone structure. He could be a model. A film star. A Greek god. 'I'm glad you came,' she whispers.

  He slides his arms round her waist and pulls her closer, nuzzling her hair. 'I haven't. Yet.'

  She giggles, pressing her back against the opened door and drawing him into the room in a slow backwards shuffle. 'You will,' she whispers, nibbling his ear and slipping her hands up inside his designer jacket. Her nails raze a slow line down his back, scratching through the quality shirt. If she can always get bookings with guys like him, this will be a fantastic way to earn a living.

  * * *

  Fern sits in Alix's spare room, on the edge of the single bed. The quilt is cream silk, the bedstead brass. She feels sick. It's not an actual being sick sort of sickness. It's more a slow tightening in her stomach. She isn't going to be able to do this. Except Alix and Courtney have been having clients in here for the last couple of weeks. And now Alix says she's booked someone who is 'just the thing' for Fern.

  There is a white wood wardrobe where Fern's clothes are hanging – she's borrowed a skirt and blouse from Alix for today – and next to the bed there is a whitewood table with a small white alarm clock, a box of tissues, and a condom.

  Fern wonders if the tissues are there because she's likely t
o cry.

  She smoothes down her skirt and checks herself in the mirror. Alix made her open the top two buttons on her blouse. 'It's more sexy,' she'd said.

  Fern doesn't feel sexy. 'If you don't like it you can stop,' Alix had said.

  Fern knows she won't like it.

  She doesn't even know which way up condoms go.

  They did sex education at school in Year Nine and they all had a go at rolling a rubber onto a banana and it was funny then. Patti Hodge collapsed on the floor with hysterics when Fern's got stuck halfway, but even if that hadn't happened they'd have all still been laughing, their fists stuffed into their mouths trying not to annoy Miss Lymph, who kept saying, 'Now, girls, that's enough.'

  It was one of her best memories from school. She'd felt included. People had thought she was funny – in a nice way. The whole session had been funny.

  It isn't funny now. Fern wishes she'd taken condoms home to practise on. Maybe there's time even now, to grab the condom and run downstairs. Maybe Alix has some bananas in the kitchen.

  There is a knock on the door.

  Fern tries not to do her 'deer' eyes, straightens her back, and sits with her hands in her lap. She feels like a schoolgirl waiting for the headmistress. Or maybe the headmaster.

  'Hi.'

  'Hi.' Fern is aware of Alix hovering slightly behind the bloke, and then melting away.

  She'd told Fern she would deal with everything – even the money. 'All you have to do,' she'd said, 'is the deed.'

  Fern stares at the bloke she is going to be doing 'the deed' with.

  At least he's young; not sun-dried like Khaki Steve.

  She's probably supposed to slink across the room to him and pull his head down to meet hers, kissing him passionately.

  He's going to be disappointed. He's going to ask for his money back.

  'Ah'm no' really sure why I'm here.'

  His accent is Scottish – a bit like Gramp's. Fern loves Gramp's voice, the way it lilts and sings.