Good one, Summer.
Prince Charming smiles politely, then turns to Chloe, our brief interaction already forgotten — by him, if not by me — as I turn and leave the dance-floor, forcing my way through the crowd until I reach my seat in the corner.
It’s ten minutes to midnight, and my carriage has already turned back into a pumpkin.
I pick up my bag and am rummaging through it to make sure I have enough change for the taxi home, when suddenly a claw-like hand with nicotine-stained fingers reaches out and grabs my wrist, twisting it painfully.
“Oww!” I yelp, turning to see an older woman wearing heavy makeup and a pink feather boa standing in front of me. She has dyed orange hair, and looks like she’s so used to chain smoking her way through the day that she doesn’t quite know what to do with her hands without a cigarette in one of them.
“Listen,” she says, in a voice that sounds like she just drank a triple-shot of whiskey, then ate the glass. “You have to get out of here.”
“What,Diamonds?” I ask, confused? “Why, do you want my seat? You can have it if you like; I was just leaving.”
“No,” says the woman. “Well, I mean, yes: I’ll take the seat if you’re not using it. But no, I mean you have to get out ofhere. This town.Margate.You have to leave. You don’t belong here.”
I stare at her, wondering if I’ve heard her properly. The musicispretty loud.
“Is this… like an intervention or something?” I say at last, trying to figure out whether she’s serious or not. “Are you my Fairy Godmother?”
She considers this briefly.
“Think of me as a Wise Old Crone,” she says, looking pleased with herself. “Someone a few years older than you, who’s been around the block a few times, and knows the score. Or, actually, I’ve got a better one: think of me asyouin twenty years’ time, if you don’t listen to what I’m telling you.”
“Okay, this is getting weird now,” I tell her, plucking my coat off the back of the chair. “I think I’m just going to go home. Thanks for the, er, advice, though. I’ll definitely bear it in mind.”
I shrug my coat on, my mind whirring. The thing is, I may not be the prettiest girl in the room — or even the cleverest — but I know a Yoda figure when I see one (A very drunk, chain-smoking Yoda in this case. It’s the side of Yoda you don’t often hear about, isn’t it?), and this woman is speaking right to my verysoul. Crazily, and pretty incoherently, sure, but all the same, something makes me want to hear what else she has to say.
“I’m not joking,” she says, squeezing herself into the seat next to me. “Trust me. I know what I’m talking about. Plus, I’ve been watching you and your friend over there. In a non-creepy way, obviously.”
She nods towards the dance-floor, where Chloe is wrapped firmly around her Prince Charming. I can’t really think of a non-creepy way to watch them, but I nod anyway, wondering what my new friend is going to say next.
“I used to be just like you,” the woman tells me. “But Ididn’tget out. I stayed here; andnowlook at me.”
“You look… lovely,” I tell her politely, glad she was the one who made the Wise Old Crone observation, and not me.
“Don’t be daft,” she says, her face so close to mine that I can smell the alcohol on her breath. “You don’t want to end up like me. That’s why you have to get out of this bloody place. So you can makesomething of your life. You must want to make something of your life?”
“Well, yeah,” I agree, surreptitiously checking the time on my phone. “Of course I do.”
Five minutes to midnight. I feel the familiar pre-countdown anxiety start to build in my stomach. Now I reallydoneed to pee.
“Well?” The Crone stares at me as if she’s waiting for an answer.
“Well,what?”
“Well, what do you want to do with your life?”
“I don’t really know,” I admit, feeling stupid. “I used to want to be a singer. I was quite good at it when I was younger. But—”
“So, why didn’t you?”
I frown, wondering why I’m having to justify my life choices to an obviously drunk and/or insane stranger.
“I… I’m not sure. I guess life got in the way. So I didn’t ever do it.”
“And you never will, if you stay here,” says The Wise Old Crone dramatically. “Take it from one who knows.”
“Buthowdo you know?” I ask. “Did you want to be a singer, too? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
