I’d been stupid to accept Harry’s invitation to the winter ball, and had been trying to forget about it until Lizzie opened her big mouth over dinner on Saturday night.
“I can’t wait for the ball,” she said. “We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we, Hels?”
Mum and Dad nearly choked on their food. And then Mum smiled.
“You’re going to the ball, Helen?”
I managed a pathetic nod.
“Who with?” Dad asked, and his eyes were full of suspicion.
“Harry Sawbridge, he’s nice,” Lizzie answered for me. I could have jabbed her in the arm.
“Sawbridge…” Dad pondered. “Mick Sawbridge’s lad?”
I shrugged, but Lizzie chirped up, seemingly an expert. “Yeah, that’s him. Polly is his mum.”
“Yeah, I know them. Good family,” he said, and sounded appeased. “Hard workers.”
“Not Harry so much,” I said, and then checked myself. “He’s in my art class.”
“Oh lovely!” Mum smiled. “That’s lovely, Helen.”
Katie grinned and flicked a pea at me. “Are you going to be a princess?”
“Not really, Katie.”
“Oh, but you must!” Mum gushed. “You have to have a nice dress, Helen. We’ll take you shopping, get you something nice. That’s only fair, isn’t it, George?”
“What?”
“Helen needs a lovely dress, doesn’t she?”
Dad shrugged. “Yeah, whatever you think.” He gestured in my direction with a fork. “Nothing too low cut.”
“As if,” I said. “When have I ever worn anything low cut?”
He shot me a look. “Just saying don’t start all that now, not now you’ve got a boyfriend in tow. Harry’s a nice lad, you don’t need to impress him with all that.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I snapped.
“Just as well.”
Lizzie stifled a giggle and I could have jabbed her all over again.
I retreated from the table as soon as possible and dragged her upstairs with me, shooting her evils over my shoulder all the way.
“What?” she said. “I didn’t think it was a secret!”
“It wasn’t. I just hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“But you need a dress!”
“I hadn’t thought about that yet.”
She rolled her eyes. “Get with the script, Hels. Hot Helen plus hot dress plus hot Harry Sawbridge equals one very jealous art teacher.”
“Except it doesn’t. He hasn’t even looked at me in days.”
“I don’t believe that.” She dug around in her overnight bag. “You need cheering up. You’ve been a right Miserable Minnie this week.”
“Excuse me for feeling like crap. My world is ending, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Such melodrama.” She handed me a bottle of wine then took out another. “Let’s get trashed, help you forget all about it.”
“Unlikely,” I said, but I was already unscrewing the lid.
“Have you gone on the pill yet?”
I shook my head. “Got a doctor’s appointment on Tuesday, but it feels stupid. What virgin needs the pill, Lizzie? He doesn’t want me, I don’t need the pill.”
“Jeez, Hels, sometimes I really despair. Life isn’t all about Rampant Roberts, you know.”
I took a swig of wine, and it was gakky and bitter. “You think I’m going to take the pill for Harry Sawbridge? Think on.”
“I think you should keep your options open. He’s hot, and he likes you. His eyes lit up when I told him you had a thing for him,” she smirked.
“You did what?”
She giggled her pretty little face off. “What did you think I was going to do? I had to tell him something.”
“So, now he thinks I want him?”
She nodded. “All the better for making Mr Roberts jealous, my dear.”
That explained a lot. Harry had been like a limpet in art, sitting next to me every lesson and boring me stupid with his TV talk and meaningless comments. He was sweet enough, but dull as hell, and considering Mr Roberts didn’t seem riled at all by his interest in me it felt like one big fat fail.
“Drink up and forget about it now,” Lizzie grinned. “Let’s have some fun, since I missed out on all our fun time while you were off playing artist.”
I drank up, much more quickly than usual. Quickly enough that Lizzie still had a load of her bottle left and split it between us. She seemed drunk though, drunk and giggly, telling me all about Scottie Davis and how hot he was with his head between her legs. My own memories burned me, and I drank more, pondered more, festered more. And then I was sad. Sad and angry and brooding.
“I really wanted him,” I said. “I really, really wanted him.”
“Aww, Hels, you might still get him.” She rubbed my arm. “We’ve got a plan.”
“A stupid plan.”
“Still a plan.”
“I wish it had never happened. I was happy as friends.”
“Don’t say that, Hels. You know you loved it.”
“I did love it, but now it’s gone.”
She tipped the bottle up so more wine forced its way down my neck. “Little Hels isn’t so virginal anymore… not now she’s had tongue between her legs…”