Vintage (15 page)

A group of girls spilled out from the club door. They were shouting, and the bouncers pushed one of them so she almost fell.

“… and get yourselves off home now.”

The bouncers stood at the door, their arms folded, grinning.

A fight started up. Two of the girls hitting out at each other, grabbing at each other's faces, unsteady on their feet. Marilyn shrank into the wall, hugging herself. She couldn't believe this. Girls, fighting? And these girls were very drunk, swearing and screaming. Now they were pulling each other's hair.

People coming out of the club looked, but walked away. One of the girls was on the ground, and now two others were kicking at her. Marilyn edged her way back along the wall towards the club door, eyeing them closely.

A girl lurched towards her, dropping a bottle on the ground. It rolled towards Marilyn's feet. She stared at Marilyn. “What you looking at?”

“Nothing.” Marilyn slipped inside behind the bouncers' backs, breathing again in the warmth.

Kyle was standing near the door.

“Where've you been? You can't go off on your own, it's not safe.”

“There's these girls out there. They're fighting. They're drunk. One of them looks hurt.” Her hands were trembling.

Kyle looked at her and frowned.

We've got to do something, now. Come on. Marilyn heard her own voice, high, nervous. But she hadn't said the words. She knew she should say them, wanted to say them, do something.

Nothing had changed after all. She thought everything was different, but she was the same old Marilyn: stupid, speechless, frightened.

“What do you expect? It's Saturday night, remember? Shit happens.”

“But girls, fighting, that can't be right. Girls don't fight. Not like that.”

“Feeling strange again? Remember who you are? Come on, it happens.”

“But why?”

“Holly, it's time we got you home before it gets too existential. Maybe you're not joking – you do seem like somebody else.”

When Kyle said Holly's name, Marilyn remembered who she was, or who she should be. She shivered.

The man. He's standing in the car park. Under the trees. Swigging from a bottle. He's waiting. They can't see him yet.

“I'm not sure I can walk. I feel shaky.”

“We're not walking anywhere. Don't want a kicking. Your mum would kill me if anything happened. I'll call a cab.”

Marilyn headed for the toilets. She sat and looked round at the cubicle. There was writing on the walls – like at school, scrawls and crude images. On the door were three stickers.

Pregnant? Worried?

Lesbian, gay, bisexual and trans-gender helpline.

Unhappy? Confused? Youth counselling.

On the walls, stuff written by girls sitting here, like she was:

I don't belong here.

Do you know who you are?

I was young once. I'm still young.

Slimming pills. These really work. A phone number.

Marilyn pulled some toilet paper from the huge roll and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. She felt sick, and very tired. She left the cubicle. She saw her face in the mirror, washed her hands under the cold water. Holly's face, her face, what did it matter?

She dried her hands and went out to find Kyle.

The girls had stopped fighting, but outside the club there were groups of people, drunk and noisy. There were people who hadn't been in their club. Groups of older men, in patterned shirts and blue trousers. The noises and shouts outside were different now. Deeper voices and louder shouts. Where had they come from?

A text came through on Kyle's mobile to say the cab was waiting.

“I said we'd be over the road. Let's go.”

They found a way through the new people outside, keeping their heads down.

“Fuckin' Emos,” one shouted. “Fuckin' gay too, he is,” yelled another, and Kyle hurried her through and across the road.

“Be careful.”

“Where d'you think you're going?”

A man suddenly stood in front of them, his head shaven, his eyes red. He was wearing a black leather jacket.

He took a swig from a bottle and steadied himself.

“Just keep walking,” said Kyle, trying to walk around him.

“Fuckin' Emos, fuckin' shit, fuckin gays.” The man stood in front of them, swaying, blocking their way.

Marilyn clutched Kyle's arm, praying he'd protect her. That's what boys were meant to do. But Kyle was a different kind of boy, not like any boy she'd ever met.

I can't breathe. I can see us. There's me, and there's Kyle. We're on the road, and the man… he's right there.

He swung the bottle towards Kyle. Kyle stepped back, shielding himself with one arm, holding on to Marilyn with the other.

Marilyn couldn't believe this was happening. She could feel her heart beating.

“Stop him!”

I'm yelling, but there's no sound.

The man swung his other arm and caught Kyle in the face.

Marilyn was frozen to the spot, too terrified to breathe, still hanging on to Kyle. The hand caught the stud in Kyle's eyebrow. Kyle pulled back and put his hand to his face and then swung his arm back to hit out.

Marilyn couldn't move.