Asking for It (6 page)

It’s nearly 8 p.m. I’m lying on my bed, clicking through photos of Jack on Facebook. I take a swig of my drink, wincing as the sharp taste of vodka hits my throat, burning a hole in my empty stomach.

‘Is that all you’re going to eat?’ Bryan asked me earlier when I chopped up half a banana into a small bowl of natural yogurt. ‘Mam left dinner for us.’

‘Eating is cheating,’ I said, and he laughed.

My parents left for Killarney before lunchtime, Mam phoning Sheila Heffernan to boast about what a generous son she has,
Yes, a four-star hotel, can you believe it, Sheila? Not many boys his age would be so thoughtful.
‘And what are your plans for tonight?’ she asked me as Dad put their overnight case in the boot, her voice a little cooler, and I wonder if Dad or Bryan ever notice that, notice how different she sounds when she’s talking to me, or if it’s just my imagination. I tried to act casual. ‘Oh, nothing much. Probably going to go to Maggie’s, watch a DVD or something.’ (I’m eighteen, I’m an adult, what does it matter to you what I do?) ‘Well . . .’ She looked reluctant, but not even she could argue with watching a DVD on a Saturday night. ‘Be back by midnight. I expect you to phone me from the house phone as soon as you’re home.’

That’s not going to happen, but I’ll just tell her tomorrow that it kept going to voicemail, that her reception must have been weak down in Killarney. ‘Will there be boys there?’ Jesus. ‘Yes, Mam. Eli will be there.’ ‘The African lad?’ Dad had interjected. ‘Dad, he’s not African.’ ‘Sure, of course he’s African.’ Dad laughed. ‘His father is the man up in CUH, isn’t he?’ I nod. ‘He’s as black as the ace of spades.’ ‘Yeah, but his mam is Irish,’ I said slowly. ‘And Eli’s lived in Ballinatoom all his life. And Conor and Fitzy will probably be there too,’ I lied, and Dad visibly relaxed. ‘I just don’t know if I feel comfortable—’ Mam began, but Dad interrupted her, saying that he trusted me to be responsible. Bryan and I watched as the car pulled out the drive.
Freedom
.

I yank at the thin straps of my dress, pulling the material away from my clammy body. The heat is curling in through the open window, wrapping around my limbs. I can hear the sound of the kids on the estate shouting ‘Red rover, red rover . . .’ I sit on the windowsill and see the two Mannix boys playing with a little girl I don’t know. The girl and the older boy are on the swing set, ignoring the other boy whining that he wants a go,
s’not fair
, and it could almost be me and Conor when we were kids, Fitzy insisting every game that I suggested was ‘stupid’, until I burst into tears. ‘Don’t cry,’ Conor would plead with me, telling Fitzy to leave me alone. He promised that I could choose whatever game I wanted. ‘I hate it when you cry, Emmie,’ he said.

I grit my teeth. Now I’m going to have to text Conor as well.

He texts back with indecent haste.

I stare at the X for a few seconds. I wish he wouldn’t do that.

‘Bryan?’ I knock, pushing the door open when I hear him grunt. A musty smell of unwashed socks and Abercrombie Fierce hits me. He’s sitting on his bed, lifting weights. There is a plate with bits of dried lasagne stuck to it and a mug of tea half hidden under the bed. (
Emmie, what have I told you about eating in your bedroom? Do you want to have an infestation of mice, is that what you want?
) The green-and-navy tartan curtains are closed, the exposed bulb hanging from the ceiling giving the room a blank glare.

‘Right, so a few more people are coming tonight.’

‘How many is a few more?’ His face contorts as he raises the weight.

‘Just Eli Boahen, Ethan Fitzpatrick and Conor from next door.’

‘Grand.’ He drops the weight on the bed and grabs one of the good hand towels, peach with white bows on it, and starts wiping his face. I want to tell him that Mam will kill him for doing that. But we both know she won’t. ‘You’re not wearing that, are you?’ he says.

I smooth down my new dress. It’s black, cut down to the navel, and very, very short. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?’

‘I don’t know, Em.’ Bryan takes a gulp from his water bottle. ‘It’s a bit slutty, isn’t it?’

I stare pointedly at the FHM poster Blu-Tacked on to the wall opposite the bed, of some topless model, one finger in her mouth, the other hand reaching into her knickers.

‘That’s different.’

The doorbell rings so I just roll my eyes at him.

‘You look fab,’ Maggie says when I answer the door, giving me a kiss on the cheek, Ali doing the same. Eli nods hello, a case of beer under one arm, walking into the kitchen with Fitzy. I lean in to give Jamie a kiss as well, feeling her stiffen as I do so. I can smell a hint of vomit underneath her perfume.

‘You all look gorgeous,’ I say. Jamie and Ali are both wearing short dresses, except Jamie is wearing hers with Converse and an oversized knit jumper. Maggie is wearing skinny jeans tucked into black ankle boots, a sheer white tank gaping so much at the armpits you can see the black lace triangle bra underneath it; her hair is slicked up into a high topknot, dark burgundy lipstick her only make-up.

‘Did you see Ali’s shoes?’ Jamie says. ‘Aren’t they just amazing?’

Is that a hint of a red sole? (
You want what for Christmas? And how much would they cost? I am not spending that kind of money on a pair of shoes, Emmie.
) ‘Very nice,’ I say, feeling sick. ‘Very . . . high.’

‘My mother always wears shoes this high,’ Ali says, ‘and she’s even taller than I am.’

‘They’re fab,’ Maggie says.

Ali looks at me again, almost pleadingly. I clear my throat. ‘Did you bring the cough syrup?’

‘Yup,’ Ali says, holding up a large red-and-white shopping bag with ‘Hennessy’s’ emblazoned across the front. She had been reluctant when I asked her earlier to swipe it from her dad’s pharmacy.
I’ll get in trouble, Emma
, she said. I wrapped an arm around her waist, resting my head on her shoulder.
Please, Ali. Come on. It’ll be fun. Please?
And I could feel her melt.

‘Cool,’ I say as the doorbell rings again. I point them through to the kitchen. ‘There’s 7 Up and Jolly Ranchers on the kitchen table.’

‘Wow.’ Conor’s standing on the front porch, a paper-wrapped bottle in his hands. ‘You look . . .’ He trails off. Neither of us moves; we just stare at each other.

‘Sorry.’ He thrusts the bottle into my hands, and I’m glad to have something else to look at.

‘There was no need, Conor.’

‘Ah, it’s just some wine from the fridge.’

‘Conor,’ Jamie shouts as we walk into the kitchen.

She thrusts a red cup full of purple liquid at me and then one at Conor. ‘Drink up.’ I take mine, but Conor refuses, handing it back to Jamie, who drains it. She points a finger at Ali and barks, ‘Cigarette. Now,’ at her. She shoves open the stiff patio door, and Ali follows, rummaging in her Chanel bag for her own packet of fags.

Maggie hops up on the counter next to the fridge, her skinny legs dangling about a foot from the ground. She leans back against the apple-patterned wall tiles and yawns. ‘The heat is making me sleepy.’ Eli walks towards us. I smile at him but he doesn’t see me, I guess, as he stands between Maggie’s legs, nudging her knees apart so he can get closer.

I hear Jamie scream from outside, Ali shushing her nervously.

‘Jesus,’ I say, ‘how is she drunk already?’

‘She was tipsy when we picked her up,’ Maggie says. ‘I think her parents had another fight, they—’

‘Yeah, well, we all have problems,’ I say. Jamie screams again, and my jaw clenches. ‘Seriously, the neighbours are going to complain if she doesn’t shut the fuck up.’

‘Do you think she’s OK?’ Conor asks. ‘Should I go out and check on her?’

‘She’s fine,’ I say. ‘She’s just looking for attention. Ignore her.’

‘You girls are such bitches to each other,’ Eli chuckles, and Maggie elbows him in the ribs.

‘Come on, Em, be nice,’ she says. ‘Jamie’s just nervous about tonight, with both Dylan and Julie being there.’

‘She shouldn’t have fucked him then,’ Eli says. ‘Shit, she was
wasted
that night though.’

I look away, staring at my reflection in the night-black glass of the patio door.

Ali grabs her iPhone from the marble counter and hands it to Eli, instructing him to take a photo of us.

‘Oh, wait, Fitzy and Conor, get in it too,’ she insists. She thinks it’ll look cooler if we have boys in the photos, to prove that she has male friends. She stands between them, a thrilled expression on her face. Immediately after it’s taken, Maggie jumps down off the counter and she and Ali crowd around the phone.

‘Aren’t you going to look at the photo too?’ Eli sounds amused.

‘No.’ I hold eye contact with him for a second longer than is strictly necessary. ‘I don’t need to.’ Eli shifts from one foot to the other, then looks away.

‘I look like shit in this picture.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Maggie says. ‘You look fab.’

‘Fat, more like.’

‘Ali . . .’ Maggie sighs. ‘Shut up. You don’t look fat.’

Ali insists on taking another photo, then another, until they’re finally happy with the perfect one to upload to Facebook. Maggie starts swiping through Ali’s old photos, showing a few to Eli, going pink as he tells her how pretty she looks. She gives a sudden snort of laughter.

‘This is hilarious!’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you send these to me too, Em?’

‘Send what to you?’ I say. Ali lunges for the camera but it’s too late, I’m looking at a series of photos of me, taken with FatBooth, my face as bloated as Chloe Hegarty’s. I hand Ali back her phone. ‘I didn’t take these. Guess Ali had some free time on her hands.’

‘It was just a joke,’ she mumbles.

The doorbell rings again.

‘Em.’ Ali follows me as I walk away. ‘Em, please. It was a joke.’

‘Hilarious.’

‘I’m sorry. Please don’t be cross with me. I’m sorry, OK? Are you fighting with me?’

I don’t answer for a moment, a knife edge of satisfaction cutting through me when I see her forehead pinch with anxiety. I can almost taste her fear that she’s annoyed me, that she’s gone too far.

‘No,’ I say finally.

‘Are you sure? You still seem mad at me.’

‘Jesus, Ali.’ I shake her hand off me and gesture at her to go back into the kitchen. ‘I have to answer the door.’

Bryan comes bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time. He’s freshly showered and barefoot, wearing a Beatles T-shirt and jeans.

‘Hey.’ He opens the door and reaches out to Jen, drawing her close to kiss her.

‘Ew,’ I say, and they break apart, smiling at each other.

‘Hi, Emma,’ Jen says, hugging me hello. She’s the same height as Bryan, and seems to be made up of points and sharp edges from her teeth to her elbows, but there’s something luminescent about her, her skin so pale it almost glows. ‘You looking forward to tonight?’

‘Yeah, should be fun.’

‘Tell Sean he’d better have the place cleaned up when I get home. I’m not doing it for him.’ I nod. ‘I love your dress, by the way,’ she says. ‘Zara, right?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, smirking at Bryan. ‘On sale. Fifteen euro.’

‘Ah, feck it, I bought the same one for full price months ago.’ She turns to Bryan. ‘Remember? I wore it for your birthday party? You loved it.’

I try not to laugh. ‘OK, I’ll let ye at it.’

The kitchen is empty when I return. The sliding door is wide open, tiny black midges buzzing around the recessed light bulbs in the ceiling, like constellations of black stars. I pour myself another drink from the pitcher, throwing it back, and refill the cup again before grabbing Precious from the counter, wiping away the dusting of ginger hairs she’s left, and follow the rest of them outside.

Maggie is doing somersaults on the trampoline to show off her years of gymnastic training. Ali is bouncing half-heartedly beside her, her hands holding the hem of her skirt down. Jamie is standing at the edge, watching them, draining what’s left in her red cup. She should take it easy. She should know what happens when you drink too much.

‘That is seriously cool.’ Conor claps Fitzy on the back, Eli raising a can of beer to him. The three of them are sitting on the garden chairs, the case of beer open on the table.

‘What’s cool?’ I say.

Conor sits up straight. ‘Ethan got accepted into the Rhode Island School of Design.’

‘It’s one of the most prestigious art colleges in the States,’ Eli says when I look confused. ‘It’s a huge deal.’

‘That’s amazing, Fitzy,’ I say, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. There’s an awkward pause.

‘Who was at the door?’ Conor asks.

‘Jen Casey. She and Bryan are watching a movie.’

‘Bryan’s home?’ Conor grins. ‘Are they in the living room or the TV room?’

‘TV room,’ I say.

‘Fitz, you coming to say hello?’

He looks up from his phone. ‘What?’

‘You coming to say hello? Bryan’s here.’

‘Yeah, cool,’ Fitzy says. ‘You know I’m always happy to see Bryan.’

I smile at him, as if that didn’t hurt. Leaving my phone and cup on the table next to the beer, warning Eli to be careful of it, I heave myself on to the trampoline with the girls. We jump and jump, higher and higher, until I want to reach into the inky black sky and swallow the stars.