I love the festival. We all do, though we would rather die than admit it. We swagger through the crowds, hips thrust forward, glossy lips slightly parted, eyes locked behind our mirrored shades. The air is filled with the shrieks of kids and mums. The past couple of years I haven’t come down until about four when the little ones are being dragged home, but after too much cheap wine last night, I – we – needed to get out in the sunshine to blow away the clinging cobwebs of hangover. The boys brought the wine and after a few glasses I didn’t even mind snogging Courtney. I told him my period was here – it still isn’t – but I gave him a handjob to get him off my case. Lizzie and Jack got off together but I think that was just the drink. Jack’s not her type at all. They’re all so immature anyway. I feel a fizz in my lower belly. A week until I meet him.
‘Let’s find somewhere down by the riverbank,’ Jodie murmurs, ‘where we can laze in the sun for a bit. What do you think?’
We all agree. None of our stomachs are quite ready for the rides yet. We’ll need some food and Cokes first.
The boys are coming down later, but I’m glad of this time of only girls. We’re not even sure we’ll meet up with them. After last night, Lizzie’s not keen, and I’m finding the glamour of their roughness compared to the KEGS boys is wearing off. We come from different tribes. Under the skin we might not be so different, but at our age it’s only everything on the surface that matters. We get up early and swim. They go to bed late and smoke weed. They watch football. We watch Glee reruns. Maybe it’s only sex that draws us together, I think as we wander closer to the river. Maybe it will be the same way with him. Once the lust wears off, I’ll be bored. It’s an alien thought. The girls make the boys seem immature, he makes MyBitches seem immature. One week. One week to go.
It’s hard to keep the smile off my face. Me and Mum are almost back to normal today. Her weird mood of last week seems to have faded and she was almost glowing this morning so her work dinner must have gone well. She gave me an extra twenty quid and for once I said I didn’t need it, but she insisted I take it anyway in case everything was more expensive this year. It made me feel warm inside. Close to her again. Me and her against the world, even as the world pulls me away from her. She’s still my mum. I do love her, cautious and careful as she is.
Picnic blankets are everywhere, like quilt patches laid out for sewing. The festival is busy although it’s not officially being opened until one. These days people arrive well before eleven and if all the rides aren’t quite open, there’s food and drinks and stalls to wander through. This year’s official guest is that hot guy from Hollyoaks who won Strictly Come Dancing last year and constantly seems to be in every magazine ever. It said in all the flyers he’d be signing pictures and doing photographs too. Lizzie wants one. We told her she could queue alone.
We find a spot a little way from the families where the bank is a steep drop to the water and the kids can’t paddle, and I flop to the ground, the grass cool and ticklish against my bare legs.
‘I’m hungry,’ Jodie says.
‘Starved,’ Lizzie agrees. ‘We should’ve stopped at Maccy D’s. I’m also busting for a wee.’
‘I can’t be arsed to move,’ I say. It’s true. I just want to sit and let my thoughts drift in the sunshine for a while. ‘But if you’re getting some food, I’ll have some.’ I drag the twenty from the tight warmth of my denim pocket. ‘Whatever you’re getting. And a Coke. I’ll keep our spot.’
‘I got money,’ Jodie says, getting her bearings before heading off towards the food vans, her tiny frame quickly lost in the sunshine. Lizzie drifts off in search of the Portaloos and Ange sits down cross-legged beside me as I lie back and close my eyes.
‘I could fall asleep,’ I say.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Wake me up when Jodie gets back with my food.’
I don’t close my eyes, but lie there looking up at the branches through my shades and thinking about him. Is it possible to love someone you’ve never met? Is that crazy? I know everyone always goes on about how you shouldn’t talk to strangers on the Internet, but this is different. For a start, I’m not a kid – it’s not like I’m Internet stupid. And secondly, he’s not weird. He’s wonderful. He makes me feel wonderful.
I glance sideways. Ange is hunched over, absorbed in something on her phone and her fingers fly over the keys. I haven’t heard any pings so she must have it on silent. Has she got secrets too? I wonder if it’s Courtney. I don’t mind her texting him, we’re all friends after all, but it’s weird if she doesn’t mention it. She hasn’t talked about anyone else and Ange is a talker. Maybe she does fancy him. Perhaps I should encourage them. If they got together, I might not look like such a bitch when me and him are out in the open.
I take a deep breath and let all the tension out of my neck and shoulders as I close my eyes. I still have the dregs of a headache and so I let my thoughts drift like wisps of cloud on a clear day. The sun is hotting up and even in the breeze my skin doesn’t prickle. It’s a beautiful, perfect day.
At first I think the shrill noise is my alarm. I’ve dozed into a half-dream of exams and school and being late, and suddenly this awful sound is cutting into my chase for the bus, and when I open my eyes and sit up, it’s a moment before I realise where I am. The festival. Saturday. No more exams. It’s not an alarm though, it’s screaming, and even though I’m bleary behind my sunglasses, and my mouth is dry, I find I’m on my feet. My heart races me awake.
‘Oh God! Someone! My boy! Ben! Ben! Someone, please! Do something!’
I look around for Ange, but she’s gone, and I see the crowds gathering at the bank. An overweight man is pulling his shoes off. I look to the water. A small hand. Panicked splashes. A tuft of hair. Skin. Close to the other bank. The overweight man won’t get there. The currents are strong and there are weeds and his feet will hang too low and by the time he makes it across to the child he’ll drag him down as likely as save him.
I have all these thoughts as well as Where the fuck is Ange? as I run the few feet to the bank and jump in, my legs pulled up under me like a bomb in case it’s shallow here. The shouts and screams muffle. The water’s fucking freezing and stinks and I can taste the dirt in my mouth but my strong legs straighten and kick out, cutting across the current that will drag the child to the weir. I break the surface and swim.
20
LISA
I’m still smiling. The sun is out and the weather glorious, and Ava was in such a good mood this morning it was like a glimpse of a future where my adult daughter and I are friends who talk and laugh together. It was lovely.
Simon texted at breakfast to say how much he’d enjoyed our dinner and was not looking forward to spending this beautiful day indoors in meetings while he could be out having fun with me. When I read it I felt my usual knot of anxiety but then an overwhelming rush of excitement. It could be the weather, or the fact Ava’s exams are over, but I do feel better. I still have the fear, I’ll always have that, and I haven’t quite shaken off the anxiety of last week – it was not Peter Rabbit, and the song was just a coincidence – but I feel tougher, more resolute. I can learn to live in the present. Maybe allow myself to be happy again.
‘Here,’ Richard says, and hands me an ice cream with two wafers in it. ‘I didn’t get us sprinkles because we’re grown-ups.’ He winks at me, and I smile. The ice cream is already starting to drip down the side in the heat and I lick it from the cone.
‘Oh God, I shouldn’t,’ Marilyn says. ‘I’ve put on two pounds somehow this month.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish.’ Richard slides a strong arm around her waist. ‘You’re gorgeous.’
After a moment’s hesitation, she takes the cone. ‘Oh go on then.’
Her smile is bright and I find myself imagining Simon and me on a foursome date with them. Would he put his arm around me like that? Protective and caring? Marilyn hasn’t asked how the dinner went – she must be keeping that private from Richard for me. For me or for her. She wants me to be happy more than anything and she knows me well enough to know how quickly I’m capable of closing myself off. Any more pressure on this to be a thing might make me run after all these years of being defiantly single.