Something Wicked. Sherry Ashworth

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      A woman got on with two small kids. I love little kids, the way they stare at you. They came and took the seat in front of me and the little boy knelt on the seat and just looked at me. He was gorgeous, chocolate coloured with large, dark eyes. It’s crazy, sometimes I wish I was black so one day I could have a kid like that. I grinned at him and he watched me, a bit suspicious at first. I stuck my tongue out. That made him smile. Then his mum called him and he swivelled round again, and I was on my own.

      We arrived at the bus station and everyone queued to get out. I could see Karen and Paula and everyone in a gaggle over by the closed newsstand. I walked over to join them.

      “Hi, Anna. We’re just waiting for Janette.”

      Paula and everyone were all transformed. They looked nothing like they did at school. They wore their hair up with huge butterfly clips; their faces sparkled with glitter; Karen had done up her eyes so that they dripped sex. Their perfumes competed with each other, eddies of musky scents moving around them, but overcome by the acrid cigarette smoke – nearly all them were puffing away at cigs. God, I felt dull in comparison.

      And just then Janette arrived, stepping out of her mum’s Ka.

      “You look gorgeous!” everyone cried.

      Which was true. She did. She just wore a simple black skirt which consisted of a silky lining with see-through flouncy material over it. Janette’s top was one of those tight-laced bodices, thrusting up her boobs and leaving a few inches of exposed midriff. I don’t blame her – her stomach was flat as a board. She wore black, knee-high boots. All the other girls cooed over her and she chatted away nonstop to them. I had a choice. I could either join in or stand back and lose the sense of kinship that comes from doing the same thing as all of your mates. Because I’m a bit bloody-minded at times – and because I wasn’t sure whether I was wanted or not – I stood back.

      The Ritz wasn’t far. It used to be an old cinema that they converted to a night club. It was the best place to go on a Saturday night. The shaven-headed, puffajacket-wearing bouncers gave us all the once-over as we made our way in, but stopped none of us. Karen had warned me they were being more careful since the police raided a few months ago and found the place full of eleven year olds. But it was quite easy to get in if you were female and dressed sophisticatedly. Karen linked arms with me as we entered and that made me feel better.

      We paid our fivers at the kiosk and made for the ladies for a bit of extra grooming. I primped my hair a bit in the mirror and wished I’d made more of an effort. I didn’t look much different from usual. There were stubs of ciggies in the basins and damp, lipstick-stained tissues. The condom machine had a notice on saying it was empty. Karen said I looked a bit pale and put some of her blusher on me. Then she disappeared into one of the cubicles.

      Paula came over to me then and said Karen had fallen out with Mandy and that was why she was hanging round with me. She was only using me. Mandy was there, and was busy fussing around Janette. I reckoned this could be true. Great. I was just a substitute.

      We all left together and headed for the bar. They all bought Smirnoff Ices and Vodka Blues. I had a Diet Coke. I don’t drink. Partly because I don’t much like the taste but, more than that, I don’t like what it does to me. I feel as if I’m slipping out of my own control.

      The dance floor was quite crowded. The DJ was playing some Madonna track that I forget the title of. Our crowd was still sticking together, shouting in each other’s ears stuff about who they knew who’d turned up, what they were wearing, who they were seeing, or every so often their eyes would swivel towards some bloke who’d come in. “He’s fit! … He’s cute! … He’s stunning!”

      I just looked around. Karen carried on whispering stuff to me, but I could see that every so often she looked over at Mandy to see what she was up to. I began to feel more and more as if I wasn’t really there. It was a strange feeling – as if I was just a pair of eyes, observing. I saw the DJ jerking to the music; groups of lads standing round, bottles in hands; everyone eyeing up everyone else.

      I followed the girls on to the dance floor. It was sticky with spilt drink. They put their bags down on the floor so they could watch them while they danced but I didn’t fancy that. I kept my bag on my shoulder and decided that I wouldn’t dance for a bit, but just look on. Some Ibiza anthem was blaring out now: loud, repetitive music with a heavy bass. The girls were dancing together, showing off their bodies, hoping to attract attention. Paula was getting right down on to the floor. Janette hardly moved. Just stubbing out her ciggie on the floor with the toe of her boot was enough to send the boys wild.

      A little voice in my head said, go and join them. Get on the floor and make with the music. But it was no use; I just wasn’t in the mood. I was invisible – no one could see me. No boys looked my way. And then I noticed Mandy go up to Karen and say something to her, and Karen hugged her, and Mandy hugged her back, and they started dancing together. I knew what that meant. Bye bye, Anna.

      The louder the music got, the more frenetic the dancing, the more detached I felt. Don’t think I wasn’t having a good time in my own way. I’ve said before you’re not to feel sorry for me as there’s nothing to be sorry for. I liked the way my thoughts were coming thick and fast, I liked watching people, I liked watching blokes. If you’re interested, I’ve had crushes on boys and the odd snog, but never a real boyfriend. I want one, one day. You wouldn’t credit this, but I have romantic fantasies too. Sometimes I watch old Hollywood musicals on the box, and wish I could be the girl in the long flowing dress tripping lightly down the staircase to the ball, my lover waiting in the hall. Or be the dame in one of those secret agent movies – the woman with a past who the detective falls for – walking into a sordid little office, aloof, sexy, full of passion. Or I’d be on top of the Empire State Building, up high, looking over Manhattan, the man of my dreams by my side and knowing only we two mattered.

      How sad am I? I have all the wrong dreams. I know I should want to be Britney Spears or J.Lo, or have a kooky, loving family like in the sitcoms. Or get proposed to on telly or something, so the whole world knows. But when you think about it – when I think about it, I mean – today’s romance scenarios are crap. All those so-called role models – Britney, Madonna, Kylie – they’re just in love with themselves. You can see it on the videos. And everyone is completely into who they pull or have sex with – it’s that or soppy look-at-this-lovely-Valentine’s-card-he’s-sent-me! It’s either all crude or makes you want to throw up.

      To prove my point to myself I looked again at the dance floor. Some lads had come up to my mates and were groping them. Hands on bums, on waists, and Paula had turned round and was draping herself all over this boy with spiky black hair. They were hoovering each other up with their mouths. His hands were everywhere. It was kind of disgusting and kind of sexy at the same time. I looked away.

      Paula wasn’t a virgin. She liked chalking up her conquests much as boys do. One lad in our class – Darren – boasted he’d shagged Janette so Paula beat him up. It was the best scandal we’d had in school for ages. But it was all about point scoring, the relationships my friends had. I wished things were different. I thought when I fell in love – pow! – we’d make a new world, a world all of our own.

      That crappy world of the Ritz with its bouncers and people gagging for sex they probably didn’t even enjoy, the deafening so-called music and the gallons of alcohol, was a pretty rubbishy sort of world. But it was about as good as it got in our town. It was clubbing or looking round the shops at things you couldn’t afford. It made me angry. I wanted things to be different, but how could they be? What could I do?

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