Vintage (13 page)

Gross.

Do I want to dance? Can't he see I'm dancing already? Do I need his permission or something? Want to turn him down. But I'm here for Marilyn's sake. On a mission. To get her kissed. Maybe she'd be happy with this geek. Not like I know her or anything. I just am her. For a couple of days.

It couldn't be longer.

It can't be.

But then I think of Dave Richards. Fit. Dangerous. Smile at the thought of him. Seems Tony thinks I'm smiling at him. He steps round in front of me. Starts to do this stupid dance. Out of time with the music. He thinks he's doing it so well. Going up and down. Like a crazy yo-yo.

Tony's looking at me very seriously. Hungry. And frightened. I can't take my eyes off the boil. Red. Puffy white centre. I want to burst it with my fingernails. But Marilyn's fingernails are short and bitten. I can nearly see Tony's boil throbbing. I want to ask him if it hurts. Sheila's turning away from me. Leaving me to Tony. Eyebrows raised. Smarmy smile. Tony's beginning to get closer. He doesn't smell good. Shirt soaked at the armpits. Have they not invented antiperspirant yet? Disgusting.

It's no good. Can't possibly let Marilyn kiss this guy.

She'd be better off staying a virgin.

For ever.

“Hi, don't you look fantastic, where did you get that fabulous basque, you are so brilliant!”

Three girls joined Kyle and Marilyn in their corner, and they obviously knew Holly well. Were these her best friends? They all hugged Marilyn with screams of delight, as if they hadn't seen her for months. Marilyn wondered where Holly was. She surely wouldn't go to the church social, would she? With Sheila. And that Tony. Marilyn almost laughed out loud at the thought of it.

“How long have you been here? This is so cool, don't you think? It's taken forever to get ready, hasn't it, Sumila? And Maria's been on the sauce since two.”

Sumila got out her mobile and started taking pictures of them all. She was brown and thin, with long black hair. Everyone seemed to be thin here. Too thin.

“I'll send these to Katie. She's on holiday with her parents in Crete. She'll be sooooo jealous.”

To Marilyn, this did not seem a very kind thing to do, but she was trying to grasp why anyone should feel like coming home if they were on a Greek island, whoever it was they were with.

Sumila went on.

“Crete is so boring, I've been there three times and there is just no scene at all.”

“Yeah,” was all Marilyn could offer, but it didn't seem to matter.

“We've got to dance.”

The floor was suddenly filling up as a new song was played. To Marilyn's surprise everyone was dancing on their own, doing whatever they felt like, jumping up and down, arms up in the air, swaying, moving from one foot to the other. How did they learn all that? Didn't anyone show them the latest steps? Sheila and Marilyn spent ages each week practising, even though they hardly ever went out to a dance. And they didn't seem to be dancing boy and girl, just anyone anywhere.

Marilyn didn't think she could ever be like that. She wouldn't dance, she wouldn't.

Kyle took her hand and pulled her off the stool and onto the dance floor. She couldn't help following. But as she stepped onto the floor, Marilyn had a flash of a thought: she didn't have to be wary here. This place wasn't about talking and making mistakes and getting it wrong. The music was too loud for talking. She didn't need to protect herself from saying something stupid. This place was about being herself, in a way she'd always longed for, but never dreamed she could have.

They joined all the others. Marilyn began by doing the twist. It was the latest dance, she and Sheila had learnt it from Chubby Checker on the telly. But then she looked round at the others and copied them. She found she could easily do this kind of dancing. And as she got used to it, she found she could make moves that seemed right for her, for the clothes she was wearing, for who she was, now that she was outside the prison of Marilyn and her world. In that world everyone danced the same dance. But she was in Holly's world now and it seemed that there weren't many ways you could get it wrong. She was Holly. And being Holly was brilliant, fantastic, fabulous, just like her friends said.

She took off the jacket and threw it onto the railings, and she didn't care what anyone thought of her. She held her arms high in the air and undulated. Lights played over the dancers. The music throbbed through her body. The music flooded her veins, moved her feet, beat her heart. She was at one with the music, one with the other dancers, one with the dance.

There was no sign of Saleem, but it didn't matter. She lifted her head, closed her eyes and danced.

The music changes. Slow. Tony's reaching out for me. I duck under his arm. Mutter an excuse he'll never hear above the sound of feet shuffling. I start off down the hall. Lights still on. Dark through the windows. Mrs Thing is setting out glasses and jugs on the table.

I thread my way through the circles of girls dancing round their handbags. Dotted with a few boys. The rest of the boys are at the back of the hall. Some jigging up and down to the music as if they didn't care about the girls. As if they're desperate to pee. The vicar is standing with two of the older boys, shouting to make himself heard. Even though the music is dead quiet.

I can hear the vicar now. “Remember I'm hoping for more of you older lads to rejoin the choir, now your voices have broken.” Recognise Alan, Sheila's favourite. Eyes on his shoes.

“Now you, Alan, you were a beautiful boy soprano.” Alan looks up at me. He's got hazel eyes. Something clicks between us. He blinks, looks surprised. But he doesn't stop looking.

And I don't stop looking back.

I turn round to see where Sheila is. She's with Tony. Dancing near him with her body half turned away. Probably to avoid the smell. Maybe she's rescuing him now. Or saving him for me.

Let's get this straight.

I am not Marilyn Bolton.

Or whatever her name is.

I am Holly Newman. Holly Newman. In some kind of time warp.

That's all.

Alan and I lock eyes. I take a quick glance at the door. To show him I'm ready to leave. He looks shocked.

But as I head back outside, I know he's following me.

Dave Richards is there. Still leaning against the wall. Surrounded by three girls. They're spellbound each time he lifts the cigarette to his lips. I walk past him. Slowly. Deliberately. Make sure he sees me. I don't look him in the eye.

Alan's at my shoulder. I can feel him there. We move beyond the corner of the hall, and round through the door of the church. It's open. Don't know where else to go. Churches are sexy. All that darkness and echoes. The smell of wood and dust. Something exciting about the pews. And the graves outside. Though I haven't seen any graves here.

I hear Alan stop at the door. Turn to him. “Coming?”

He closes the door. Walks towards me. I sit in one of the front pews. Leave room for him.

He sits next to me.

We're both quiet. But I can hear him breathing. Fast.

Look up at the stained glass window. At a picture of Jesus. Floating up in the sky. Wearing something that looks like a nappy.

“I've forgotten your name…”

Marilyn is so forgettable.

“I'm Holly.” Don't want to be Marilyn, with her lumpy body and her bitten nails. But it doesn't seem to matter here. Maybe because I'm Holly inside. I know I'm gorgeous. On a good night.

“Aren't you Sheila's friend?”

“No, you must have got me mixed up with somebody else.” Now this is a bit awkward. Feeling cold. Wish he'd make a move. Then at least I'd be warm.

“Holly. That's a strange name.”

“My mum says it's a name for the future.” Catching up with myself. On guard again.

He slides an arm round my back. I lean casually into the arm. “Are you sure you're not Sheila's friend – Margaret or something?”

I smile at him. Put my hand on his thigh. He looks worried. But he doesn't move away.

“Where d'you live? Holly?”

I wish he'd stop asking difficult questions. I know I'm doing this for Marilyn. Might not be the best decision. Making a move on the guy her best friend is after. But somehow my head's muddled up.

Transfixed by his mouth.

The song ended and people drifted off the dance floor, clumping together in groups of girls and boys, holding their drinks.

“Let's get completely out of our heads,” Kyle said in Marilyn's ear, coming up behind her and holding her round her waist. “That guy's here, have you seen him? The new one over the road from you.”

Saleem was opposite them across the dance floor. He lifted the bottle he was holding, and smiled, then turned to his friends.

“You still sure he's straight? He was looking at me.”

“No, he's looking at me,” said Marilyn, too softly for Kyle to hear above the music.

Marilyn didn't need to drink to be drunk. The lights, the friends, Kyle's arms holding her tight, the music. Saleem.

This was all she needed. All she'd ever wanted was coming true. In a way she couldn't understand, couldn't make sense of. It was as if this was her home. She fitted in, completely.

The church door bangs open. Alan's leaning over.

Close.

There's a loud cough. It's the vicar.

“Squash and biscuits are up. Come along, you two, and join everybody else.”

Alan and I jump apart. He gets up. I follow him up the aisle. Feeling caught out.

As if my dad walked in.

We walk back towards the hall. Vicar first. Me after. Alan some way behind. Dave Richards grins. He's alone now. Stubs his cigarette out under his heel.

The vicar shows us where the queue for the squash is. As if it wasn't obvious. Looking red in the face, he goes to the front of the queue. Helps himself to a biscuit. And another.

Sheila's standing by the table. Looking furious.

“What were you doing with Alan?”

“Alan? Is that who he is? That guy? He walked in behind me, that's all.”