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I add a small box of mints to my basket at the checkout, and when I look up, to my slight horror, it becomes clear that the cashier recognises me. Her face expresses a judgement I cannot afford.
People get preoccupied with the fiction of truth.
The lives we lead need to be gold-plated nowadays, a series of varnished truths for the sake of how we appear on the outside. Strangers who view us through a screen – whether on TV or social media – think they know who we are. Nobody is interested in reality anymore, that’s something they don’t want to ‘like’ or ‘share’ or ‘follow’. I can understand that, but living a make-believe life can be dangerous. What we won’t see can hurt us. In the future, I expect people will long for fifteen minutes of privacy, rather than fifteen minutes of fame.
‘A small gift for my cameraman and engineers after working so hard today,’ I say to the cashier, before slipping my purchases straight into my bag as soon as she has scanned them.
She is a little older than me. A potato-shaped woman, with well-worn skin and argumentative eyes, the kind that let you know with just one look how much they dislike you. Her blotchy face attempts a smile, and I see that she has a gap between her front teeth, big enough to slot a pound coin in.
‘Have you seen your mother lately?’ she asks, and I try to suppress a sigh. Everyone knows everything about everyone else in this town. Or thinks they do. It’s one of the many things I can’t stand about the place. The woman doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘She’s been found wandering the streets late at night a few times now, your mother. Lost in the dark, crying, not knowing where or who she is, wearing nothing but a nightdress. You’re lucky that husband of yours stepped in. She needs someone to look after her. Should be in a home, if you ask me.’
‘Thanks, but I didn’t,’ I reply, handing her my credit card.
I’ve always been more sensitive about my failings as a daughter than my weakness for a drink. I look over my shoulder, to see if anyone else in the shop heard what she said, relieved to see that they all seem content to mind their own business. If only that were true of everyone. I still remember the first time I bought alcohol in this supermarket, all those years ago.
Rachel said I couldn’t have a birthday party without drinks. I was surprised that she still thought I should invite Helen – given how much trouble our clever friend had almost gotten us into – but it also made me happy. I thought that Rachel’s decision to forgive her was another example of her kindness. I think that’s what made me invite someone else along; it was meant to be my party after all, and I wanted to be kind too. It was also why I made friendship bracelets for everyone who was coming.
Rachel laughed when she saw them.
‘Did you make them yourself?’
I nodded and she laughed again.
‘Well, that’s very sweet, but we’re sixteen, not ten.’ She put her hand on my shoulder, and shoved the bracelets in her pocket as though they were trash. It had taken me ages to make the gifts I couldn’t afford to buy. It was impossible to hide how much her words hurt, and she noticed. ‘I’m sorry. I like them, I really do, we’ll all wear them later, but first we need to buy some booze, and for that we are going to need some money. You can’t steal a bit from your mum, can you?’ she asked.
Rachel could see that I was shocked by the suggestion, and seemed to think better of it. We’d stopped at her house on the way to mine, and I watched as she flung open her enormous wardrobe doors, before rummaging around inside. She turned, looking triumphant, rattling her yellow Children in Need bucket in my direction. It was the one she used to collect donations at school. She tipped it upside down onto her bed, before counting the coins that fell out.
‘Forty-two pounds, eighty-eight pence,’ she said.
‘But that’s charity money.’
‘And you’re a charity case, so what’s the problem? How did you think I was paying for all those little presents I gave you?’
I didn’t answer. I was too upset that she was admitting to stealing money from children who needed it far more than we did.
‘Come on,’ she said, taking my hand in hers.
I remember it was the first time I didn’t like holding it.
‘Stop sulking, you’re less pretty when you frown,’ she whispered, then kissed me on the cheek. ‘We’ll swing by the supermarket for booze on the way to your house, a drink or three will cheer you up.’
We walked there in silence.
I watched as Rachel put bottles of Diet 7 Up, tequila and cheap white wine into her shopping basket, and wondered how we were going to buy it when we were both so clearly underage. I had a pain in my tummy as we approached the tills, just the thought of my mother finding out was enough to make me feel physically sick. It felt like I kept letting her down.
But then I spotted Helen Wang. She had already turned sixteen, and had a job at the supermarket on Saturdays. She scanned the alcohol without calling for a manager, and Rachel hid it straight in her bag. No ID required. I was so glad that we were all still friends, despite the incident with the essays.
‘What happened to your face?’ I asked Helen, noticing what looked like a black eye poorly disguised with make-up.
She looked at Rachel before turning back to me.
‘I slipped up.’
I had seen enough of my mother’s bruises when my father was still around to know that Helen was lying. But I also knew better than to ask any more questions. Just like when Mum used to insist she had walked into a door, I knew Helen wouldn’t tell me the truth. I thought she might have a secret boyfriend. A bad one.
‘We’ll see you later. Come straight to Anna’s after work,’ Rachel said to Helen, dragging me towards the exit.
My mother had reluctantly agreed to go out for the evening, but was still there when we arrived. I didn’t need to say anything for her to know I was furious.
‘I’m going, I’m going,’ she said as we put our bags down in the kitchen, the alcohol hidden inside. ‘I got you a little birthday surprise, and I wanted to show you before I left.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, dreading the answer, hoping it wasn’t something childish that would embarrass me in front of Rachel.
‘It’s in the conservatory, go take a look,’ said Mum.
I walked to the back of the house, worried about what I might find there, then saw a small grey ball of fur sitting on my mother’s favourite chair.
‘It’s a kitten!’ squealed Rachel, rushing forward, far more excited than I was.
‘One of the ladies I clean for has the most beautiful cat – it’s a Russian Blue – and when I saw the latest litter I just couldn’t resist bringing this little one home,’ Mum said. ‘Go on, pick her up, she’s yours.’
I had wanted a cat for a long time, but she said we couldn’t afford it. Plus, cats always seemed to be disappearing in Blackdown. Every week a new ‘Missing’ poster would appear in shop windows and on lampposts around the town. There were endless black-and-white photos of lost pets, along with their descriptions, and sometimes rewards. It was the sort of heartbreak my mother worried I couldn’t handle, but I still longed for one of my own. I carefully picked up the kitten, afraid I might break her.
