The Second Virginity of Suzy Green (14 page)

“Yeah.” I laugh.
Well I can hardly say sorry but best friend position already taken. Anyway, I
can be hers even if she isn’t mine, especially if I don’t tell her. Which is a
bit mean. Or a lot mean. Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her feelings
but really, she knows about Maddie. Though she has made the occasional snide
remark about her. Mind you, Maddie’s done the same about her, too.

“So you’ll ask
Guy?”

“I guess. At
break, if he’s around.” And if I dare.

Hopefully he
won’t say no. If he does I’ll look a prize dick.

I could always
ask Ryan—I can just imagine his face if I ask him to wear a tux and accompany
me. It’s almost worth asking just to see his reaction.

Really? I’m
doing all I can to prevent him from disclosing my innermost secrets and now I’m
thinking of inviting him somewhere all my friends are going to be.

For goodness’
sake Suzy.

As soon as I get
home I charge into the kitchen, drop my bag on the floor mid-flight, and open
the connecting door into the garage. I say garage loosely. It’s huge, as in the
size of a small aircraft hanger.

Ever since Lori
gave me the invitation this morning I’ve been itching for a nose into Rosie’s
boxes of clothes. We’re virtually the same size and build so there’s bound to
be something really cool I can borrow. I vaguely recall last year seeing photos
of her when she went to a rich guy’s party and wore a black clingy dress—very
tasteful. It would be perfect, if I can find it.

Rosie’s things
are stashed right at the back, which means clambering over years of accumulated
trash before I can get to them. Whoever designed the garage as a place for
keeping the car clearly doesn’t know our family. The only car in here is
Rosie’s, an old mini so doesn’t take up much space, and the rest is family
junk. You’d have thought moving might have encouraged us to pare down our
belongings. But no. I come from a family of hoarders and unfortunately both
Rosie and I inherited the hording gene.

Rosie’s boxes
are all sealed with brown parcel tape. Luckily Mom labeled them so I can ignore
the ones not containing clothes. Even so, that still leaves about ten for me to
look through.

Trembling slightly, from excitement or
anxiety I’m not exactly sure, I pull one toward me and begin to carefully pull
back the tape. Suddenly I’m hit by a pang of guilt, and I freeze. Should I
leave Rosie’s things alone? Mom put them here out of the way for a reason. If
she’d wanted me to go through them she’d have said, wouldn’t she? Unless she
was so upset at the time she didn’t think to say anything. She packed up all
Rosie’s things only a couple of weeks after the accident. It bothered me at the
time, it was as if Mom wanted to put Rosie in a box too. So we didn’t keep
bumping into her, if you get what I mean. I wanted to say something, but
couldn’t bring myself to. Then other events took over and Rosie’s clothes were
the last thing on my mind.

If only Rosie
could give me a sign. Let me know it’s okay. Maybe the fact Lori gave me the
invitation is the sign. Because Rosie knows I’d straightaway come to look at
her clothes. Yes, that’s definitely it.

I give the tape
one more gentle pull and as the top begins to part the smell of Rosie hits me
and I reel backward, scraping my arm down a treadmill keep fit machine Mom
bought, and is determined not to give away because she will definitely use it
one day, and landing awkwardly on the floor.

My head pounds
and I close my eyes. Images of Rosie dance before me. Rosie as a girl, Miss
Perfect I remember Dad calling her. Clothes always immaculate, food never
daring attach itself to her cheeks, and nothing but a smile on her face. And
she didn’t change as she got older. Teenage tantrums weren’t for her—though I
more than made up for that. Whenever I’d done one of my famous stomps up the
stairs declaring my hatred for everyone, she’d knock on my door, come in and
placate me—not that I’ve had a tantrum since I was about fourteen. Well, maybe
only the odd one every now and again, when it was something I felt strongly
about—like the time Mom and Dad refused to let me go to an all night party held
in an old warehouse one New Years Eve.

I clasp my legs
and lean forward, resting my head on my knees. Why? What did she ever do—

“Suzy?” My head
jerks upward at the sound of Mom’s voice. I must have been in here longer than
I thought, she said she wouldn’t be home until after five.

“Over here. At
the back” I stretch out my legs in front of me.

“What are you
doing?” She sounds cross. A shiver runs down my spine. I can’t face an
ear-bashing. Not now. Maybe I should pretend I was doing something else—what
exactly I don’t know. Except she’ll see the open box. Unless I can quickly push
it to one side before she gets here. I glance across at the box and notice all
the other boxes are out of place.

“Suzy. Answer
me.”

I guess I better
tell the truth. Before she starts accusing me of all sorts. Maybe I’m being a
bit melodramatic. She trusts me now. At least I think she does.

“Looking through
Rosie’s clothes, but—” My words are lost as suddenly a huge lump forms in my
throat and all that comes out is a strange choking noise.

From behind me I
hear her scrambling over the boxes. When she gets here she drops down and
squeezes in next to me. “Suzy, are you okay? Is it Rosie?”

I nod slowly and
she wraps me in her arms.

“Mom. Why?” I
say my voice all muffled as I bury my head.

“I don’t know
love,” she says quietly over the top of my head.

I can feel her
shoulders gently bobbing up and down and I know she’s crying. Which sets me
off. We stay like this for ages, neither speaking, both absorbed in our own
thoughts. Suddenly Mom gently eases me away and she pulls out a couple of
tissues from up her sleeve and wipes my eyes with one then her own eyes with
the other.

“Thanks,” I say
sniffing. “I better put this box back.” I lean over and bring the tape back
across the box and start to push it along the floor to where the others are.

“Wait,” Mom
says. “What made you want to look at Rosie’s clothes?”

“I wanted
something to wear for Lori’s parents’ silver wedding party. I thought Rosie
might have something I could borrow. But I think I’ll just buy something, if
that’s okay with you.”

“You can do
either, love. If Rosie was with us now she’d let you borrow whatever you
wanted.” The wistful tone in her voice set me off again and tears spill
furiously down my cheeks.

“I know,” I say between sobs. “She was so
perfect wasn’t she?” Mom frowns and opens her mouth as if to speak then changes
her mind. “What?” I pause for a moment waiting for her to reply but she remains
silent. “Mom? What were you going to say?”

“Suzy. As much
as I love your sister with all my heart and nothing or no-one could ever
replace her. She did have faults. She wasn’t perfect. She was human.” She
reaches out and rests her hand on my arm.

“No.” I shake my
head. “She was perfect. Dad used to say so. Miss Perfect was what everyone
called her, including you.” I don’t get it. Why would she say that about Rosie?

“That was a
nickname Suzy, something your dad said in fun when she was a tiny girl. No-one
is perfect. Everyone has some failings. Remember the time Dad caught her
smoking in the shed at the bottom of the garden?” I shake my head. I’ve never
heard that story. “Well he did. And the night she came home drunk and threw up
over Dad’s roses?” Well, I do remember that. It was so funny. Dad got really
cross. I don’t know why, he could have started a whole new craze with vomit
smelling roses. You could send them to people you hate.

“Come on,” she
continues. “Let’s get a cup of tea. We can look at the dresses later.” Oh yes,
a cup of tea. The answer to everything. Well, it is in our household.
Personally it’s times like these when a stiff drink would be of more use.
Except bearing in mind my past behavior I don’t think suggesting that would go
down too well. Plus Mom and Dad don’t drink, if you don’t count the odd beer
and sherry at Christmas.

Mom pulls me up
and keeps hold of my hand while we make our way back to the kitchen—which is a
mission in itself as it makes it even harder to balance.

My mind’s a mass
of thoughts. Rosie was perfect. I don’t care what Mom says. And I know that
deep down she believes it as much as I do. And those silly smoking and drinking
incidents are so trivial they don’t count.

“Don’t wait up,”
I call into the sitting room after I see Guy pulling up in his car at the
bottom of our drive. “I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”

“Where are you
going?” Dad asks, looking up from reading his newspaper.

 “I told you
earlier. There’s a local band playing at McGinty’s. We’re all going from
school.”

I’m really
looking forward to tonight. I haven’t seen a live band in ages. And Guy’s been
raving about Twice Bitten ever since I met him. His father’s best friend
manages them. Which is how come we got free tickets. According to Guy they’re
on the brink of making it big. Just about to sign a recording contract.

“Do you want me
to pick you up?” I don’t think so. He means well, but really.

“No thanks, Dad.
Guy will bring me home.”

“Well, make sure
he doesn’t drink. And if he does phone and I’ll come and get you.”

“Dad. This is
Guy we’re talking about. He won’t drink and drive. Anyway, no-one will be
drinking they’re really strict at McGinty’s and always check ids.”

“Good.” He
returns his gaze to the paper. “Have fun. And don’t be too late.” He suddenly
looks up again. “Does your Mom know where you’re going?”

What is it with
the twenty questions? I thought we’d moved on from that. I’m only going out
with my friends. And I’m going to behave myself. Surely he realizes I’m
different now?

“I told her
yesterday.” My tone is decidedly sullen and a frown flies across his face. Uh
oh. I think I might have overstepped the mark. He’s normally fairly placid,
leaves most things for Mom to deal with. Every now and then, though—

“Suzanne.” Told
you. He never calls me Suzanne unless he’s getting cross. “I hardly think
asking whether your mother knows what you are doing warrants that sort of tone.
We’re only concerned about you. Is that such a problem?”

“No. Of course
not. I’m sorry Dad.” I go over and give him a hug, which usually does the
trick. “Mom’s okay about it. She knows what I’m doing and who I’m with. Don’t
worry.” I kiss him on the cheek then walk back toward the door.

“Try telling
your mother that,” he mutters, more to himself than me, I think.

Whatever, I
can’t hang around or Guy will get cross. He hates bad timekeeping with a
passion. I slam the front door behind me and race down the drive. Well, not
race exactly as I’m wearing a pair of black heels that are totally crippling
me. Not sure how I’m going to dance. I suppose I could always take them off.

***

“Hey,” I say to
Lori when we get into McGinty’s.

She’s managed to
grab one of the big tables at the back, which is great as it means we have a
fab view of the whole place. I slide along the bench and sit next to her.

“Hi,” she says.
“Don’t look now but guess who’s at the bar.” My head swings around before I
have time to check it. George. I wonder if I can do something tonight?

“Suzy,” Lori
shouts—so loudly I spin back in double quick time. “I said don’t look. He’ll
know we’re talking about him now.”

“Don’t worry. He
didn’t see me. And why would he know? It’s not like he suspects we’re up to
anything.” Yet.

“Drink, girls?”
Guy asks on his return from chatting with the band’s manager. “Mark will get
them for us.”

“Beer for me
please,” I say. “Lori?”

“Same. No, make
that lemonade. I said I’d share the driving to Mom’s friend’s house tomorrow
morning. Mom will freak if she smells beer on me when I get in, and give me one
of her you-shouldn’t-be drinking-lectures ending with
alcohol-stays-in-the-system-for-over-twelve-hours. Even if I do have only one.”
And I thought sometimes I had it bad.

“Have a
Vodka-ice. Vodka is smell proof.”

“Is it? I didn’t
know.” She pauses a moment. “No. I better not.”

I glance away from
Lori and scan the place. McGinty’s is so cool. It’s part of a chain of restaurant
bars. This one reminds me of the one Maddie and I used to go to in Dallas, only it’s smaller. But they have the same muted lighting and décor. There’s a
small stage at the side near the back door where the band is setting up. Four
guys who look decidedly ordinary. Can’t say there’s a hot one amongst them.

“What do you
think of the band?” I ask Lori, nodding toward the stage. “Have you seen them
before?”

“They’re okay.
They played at Guy’s birthday party last year.”