Prologue
August 2010
‘Y’all right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Lucy.’
‘You don’t want to ask me my name?’
‘No.’
‘Rude.’
‘Not really. I don’t care what your name is.’
‘It’s Craig.’
‘I said I don’t care.’
‘What are you drinking?’
‘A drink I’ll buy myself.’
‘Nah, seriously. I’ll get you a drink.’
‘Craig, thanks but no.’
‘Bitch.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I was just trying to be nice.’
‘Hold up.’ I pass my bag to my sister, Emma, who’s standing next to me and looking slightly ashen with nerves.
‘So you come up to me, Craig… a man coming up to a girl, in a club. I’ve not met you before and you expect me to be friendly and accept drinks off you? I want to be cautious and because I refuse, that makes me a bitch? What if I’d accepted the drink? Then you would have expected something from me. You’d have wanted payment for your niceness. Right? What would you have wanted in return? Or was this a purely altruistic act because I look thirsty?’
Craig’s mates behind him start to chuckle.Of all the girls to offer to buy a drink, Craig.Craig continues to stand there, wearing a dazed look but also my pet hate of midwash denim and a mint polo shirt.
‘So when a girl decides to buy her own drink and not engage with you, Craig, maybe she’s just looking out for herself and not wanting to get involved with someone who looks like his mum still cuts his hair,’ I finish.
Emma lets out a huge sigh of despair. Beth, our other sister at the bar, shakes her head and gets in between Craig and me.
‘Lads, she’s tanked up. You don’t want to go there,’ she says, putting a protective arm across me. Beth can talk. We’ve just been in the loos and she snogged a sink.
‘Not worth the drama,’ Craig retorts.
‘In your dreams, home haircut…’ I continue. He puts an anxious hand over his mop of hair. Emma is very close to clasping her hands over my mouth. My sisters put their bodies between me and the group of lads and we continue to lean over this bar, waiting to get noticed and served. I could have got a potato and made the vodka myself with how long I’ve had to wait. Am I tanked up? Hell, yes. We are in a nightclub. It’s the law. I let out a huge burp that tastes like mixed berries.
‘I need another drink!’ I cry out, exasperated.
‘But do you?’ Emma asks.
‘Beth, be a dear,’ I say, one leg in the air, my arm around her neck. She levers me onto the bar and I scramble to my feet. That group of fellas look on and I’m conscious they have a view right up my skirt. Emma tries to block that view with a coaster. Lordy, it’s high, I can see the world from up here. Emma’s hands are firmly around my ankles and I can’t tell if she’s pulling me down or keeping me upright but this will get us served. Or kicked out.
