Something Wicked. Sherry Ashworth

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СКАЧАТЬ about his mum and I wasn’t going to pry. I hated people who did that. So I changed the subject. “Do you know anyone here?”

      He shook his head. I reckoned he wouldn’t last long. I could see his eyes darting round the dining hall, casing the joint. Like a cat who’s out of his territory, trying to get his bearings as quickly as possible. When the bell went for the end of break he said he had to go to the library and do a maths test. I explained where the library was. He loped up the stairs, two at a time, and I watched him go.

      “Are you going out tonight?” my mum asked.

      “Yeah, later on,” I muttered, my eyes on the TV screen. Until I spoke those words, I hadn’t totally made up my mind to accept Karen’s invitation. Now I’d committed myself I felt mildly interested in my own decision. I wondered why I’d decided to go.

      I suppose one factor was that I just didn’t want to stay in on Saturday night. Even though Mum was a bit more cheerful today, the idea of just being glued to the sofa all night and staying up till two or three in the morning all by myself wasn’t the most appealing of prospects. Whatever happened in town would be better than that.

      But also, I just wanted to give clubbing another shot. I wanted to see if I could enjoy myself more than last time. And to tell you truth, I was grateful to Karen for inviting me. It was friendly of her. A lot of the time I felt as if I didn’t have any real friends. I get along with people without ever getting close to them. All the girls I know have one other person that they like more than me, a best friend or a boyfriend. Maybe it’s my fault and I don’t try hard enough, or maybe there’s something about me that people don’t like – I don’t know and, most of the time, I don’t care.

      Mum was curled up on the sofa, reading some magazine. The sofa is under the wooden staircase that leads up to our two bedrooms. I live alone with my mother in a small terraced house in Calder. You walk in off the street to a tiny porch and then into our living room. It’s quite modern with IKEA furniture. You can walk through to the kitchen, and behind that is a small garden. Upstairs there’s just our two bedrooms and the bathroom. There’s a loft as well, and Mum reckons that one day we could convert it into an extra bedroom and maybe we could have Neil back.

      Neil is my brother. He lives with my dad in Exeter. He chose to do that himself when they split up six years ago. He’s a year older than me and I get to see him every few months or so. Bit by bit we’ve stopped being close. My dad remarried and has got two small kids with his new wife. But none of this is a big deal. These are just the facts of my life and I’m luckier than a lot of people. My mum finds it hard to cope sometimes because she gets low – she’s off work for stress – but she has her good days too. Today was one of them.

      “Let me read you your horoscope, Anna!” she said.

      I rolled my eyes. My mum is really into all that stuff big time. As if some freak can work out from the position of the planets exactly what is going to happen to me and the one twelfth of the world’s population who happen to be Libra. And they’re written so vaguely that you can always fit what is going on in your life to what the horoscope says.

      “Here we go,” my mum said. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Your voyage of discovery starts here. You’re itching for a fight but make sure you don’t take on someone bigger and stronger than you. Use your gift for criticism to detect a man who isn’t all he seems. And above all, be yourself.”

      “Yeah, right,” I said.

      “Don’t be so sceptical. I’m always amazed how uncanny some of these forecasts are. I’ve been tempted to get my horoscope read properly, taking into account my hour and date of birth. You were born at seven thirty-five p.m. on a Thursday, in case you ever need to know.”

      My mother’s voice was just a little petulant and self-pitying. I know she wants me to be more like her. I can feel her tugging at me a lot of the time to be her best mate, to have girlie heart-to-hearts, to open up and all that rubbish. I would if I thought it would do her any good. Mum already opens up to a lot of people. She belongs to a therapy group and sees the therapist on a regular basis. She does hypnotherapy too, and aromatherapy – basically, if it’s got therapy at the end of the word, she’ll try it. My mum says that my character is more like Dad’s than hers and I can come across a bit shut-off. Which is crap. I’m just waiting for the right person to open up to.

      “Where are you going tonight?” she asked.

      “The Ritz.”

      “Who with?”

      “Karen, Paula, Janette and some others.”

      “That’s nice.”

      I forestalled the rest of the questions by giving her a set of answers. “I’ll be leaving about nine and I’m getting the bus. We’ll share a taxi back around one. I know where my keys are.”

      “You know not to flag down an unlicensed minicab.”

      “Yes, Mum.”

      “And not to have too much to drink.”

      “Do I drink?” I asked her.

      “Well, no, but there’s always a first time.”

      My mum worries too much and seems to think that I’d go off the rails at the first opportunity. The trouble is, she reads too much, too many magazines and newspapers. She believes all these horror stories about teenagers – you know the ones I mean. Teenagers binge-drink alcopops, rot their brain cells with weed while having underage sex and committing copycat crimes from rap lyrics. Sounds like fun. I might try it some time.

      But in the meantime, I thought, I’d better go and get ready for Anna Hanson’s big night out.

      A mirror is never enough, is it? You’ve got to have at least one other person tell you look OK, or better than OK, if possible. So I went downstairs to my mum and didn’t say anything, but stood there, hoping she’d comment.

      “You look pretty,” she said. “Your hair is nice.”

      I was wearing it loose. My hair is fair, that nothingy shade somewhere between blonde and brown.

      “Why don’t you try something with a little more colour, Anna?” Mum suggested.

      I was dressed all in black. On Karen’s orders. I’d rung her and she said that’s how everyone usually dressed. We had to look eighteen and get in past the bouncers. Best not to draw attention to yourself. So I put on a black shirt (three-quarter sleeve), black trousers (plain, New Look) and black trainers. My make-up was lip gloss and a lick of mascara.

      “What about that floral-print blouse I bought you from Marks?” Mum suggested.

      As if.

      I went over to Mum and pecked her goodbye on the cheek and went out. The bus stop wasn’t far and I knew a bus was due. Dressed in black as I was, I felt reassuringly anonymous and was glad that no one at the bus stop gave me a second glance, not even the two lads waiting there. I could see the bus approaching, blazing light. I got my purse out of my bag to find my fare.

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