“How can you be grounded at eighteen years old?” I could hear the scorn in Lizzie’s voice down the line. I could hear Ray’s voice in the background, too. Shouting about something, shouting about someone. I heard Lizzie slam her bedroom door and let out a groan.
“I’m not grounded… Dad’s just… pissed. Says I need to knuckle down and study rather than treating life like one big party.”
“As if you ever party.”
“I just don’t want him to get arsy… it might make it awkward for me to go every day. And it’s my last time… and…”
“And I get it.” I could almost hear the eye roll. “So, that’s it? I’m banned am I?”
“No!” I said. “Of course not. It’s just… difficult this week. Just for a few days, while I’m painting the set. I need to be seen to be taking my exams seriously in the evenings.” I felt shit about it, but Dad had looked grumpy as hell when I’d rolled in late. Grumpy enough to relieve Brittainy’s mum of babysitting duties if I didn’t pull my arse back into line. “More time with Scottie, hey? Surely that’s a good thing…”
“Just as well, isn’t it?”
“Sorry, Lizzie.”
She tutted at me. “You’d better be. You’ll have to make it up, I’m thinking sleepovers galore over Christmas, just the two of us, hanging out like old times.”
“Wouldn’t miss that for the world.” I smiled. “You’re the best.”
“So, was it worth it? Did Rampant Roberts touch your tits again?”
I slumped onto my bed, keeping an ear out for movement outside. “No, he didn’t.”
“You wore the turquoise, right?”
“Yes, I wore the turquoise. And the stupid frilly undies.”
“Shit, maybe he is gay,” she laughed. “Maybe the grope really was a one-off.”
“You think so?” My stomach lurched.
“Of course not. There’s no way it was a one-off.” More voices sounded in the background. Her mum this time, yelling, and then more doors slamming. “What are you wearing tomorrow? You’ll have to up your game, I told you heels were the way.”
My throat turned dry, and I didn’t know why. It was just Lizzie, hardly a judging panel. “I’m, um… I’m just going to wear my normal clothes tomorrow.”
“Your normal clothes? Why would you do that?” she said. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No, I just…” I sighed. “I just want to be me.”
“You are you. Just you in hotter clothes.”
“But maybe I don’t want to be hotter. Maybe I want to be real, I want him to want me for me, not because I’m dressed up all fancy.”
“He will! They’re just props, Hels!”
“No, he won’t, you don’t understand.” I took a breath. “His wife died.”
I heard the bed springs creak under her. “Whoa… what?”
“He had a wife and he loved her and she died. And he’s so broken, Lizzie. It’s so tragic, and beautiful. A slutty skirt isn’t going to make any impression whatsoever… he’s… he’s deeper than that…”
“No wonder he didn’t grope your titties. What a passion killer…” she giggled, but it wasn’t funny. “But what’s all that got to do with your little thing? Was it an excuse? That’s the ultimate get out of jail card… ultimate heartbreak, I’m just not ready…”
“It wasn’t anything like that. It was real, and sad, and beautiful, and I touched his hand and he called me his friend…”
“But no titty touching? Not even a bit?”
I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me. “No.”
“You want titty touching you have to put them in their best light, that’s all I’m saying…”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“Fine, Hels, just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She covered the handset while she yelled at someone, then came back on the line. “It’s like a pissing war zone in here tonight.”
“Sorry, I feel bad you’re not here.”
“I’ll survive,” she sighed. “Anyway, I’m all ears. I think it’s about time you told me all about the deceased Mrs Roberts, Helen Palmer. Don’t hold back on the detail, I want everything.”
I felt so much better the next day. Boring flat pumps sat so much more comfortably on my feet, and I’d opted for my art shirt; loose, soft, faded pink cotton with hippy-style thread work. I wore it with my faded jeans and a crocheted cream cardigan, and I looked like me. Weird, geeky Helen and her slightly eccentric clothes. I didn’t bother with makeup, and what would have been the point, anyway?
Mr Roberts wanted to talk to me, not grope me. We shared art, not sex. And although it pained to think there was a chance he would never touch me again, I’d have given anything just to sit with him some more and talk the hours away. Maybe that would be enough.
I was kidding myself and I knew it the moment I set foot in the hall.