Milkshake
Ginny sat on her bed and groaned at the sliver of battery on her phone screen. Just making one call would deplete its one percent of power. She felt torn between phoning the airport for an update on her missing suitcase or trying to call Adrian. Either call might bring a soar of delight or crash of disappointment.
She sent Phoebe a text instead.Hi darling. My phone battery is about to die. I hope all’s okay with you and Dad. Speak soon x.
She heard a scuffling noise outside her door and went to see what it was. The other bedroom doors were closed and a pile of clothes lay on the floor outside her room. She carried them inside and sat back down on her bed to browse through them.
They included a very small striped beach dress and an even tinier yellow bikini that obviously belonged to Loretta. A pink T-shirt with People Power written in the middle of a large flower must have come from Heather. On top of the pile were several of Edna’s black skirts and T-shirts.
Ginny didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the assortment. She tried on a baggy black skirt and the daisy T-shirt, then looked in the mirror. The outfit looked confused, like she was destined for both a music festivalanda funeral. Her once-smooth ponytail resembled the end of a broomstick. How on earth could she go out like this in public? She missed how her usual, smart clothes gave her confidence, as if she was wearing a suit of armor.
She sighed and stretched out her forehead using her fingers. It was difficult to remember how unlined it had once been. Ginny was too scared to indulge in Botox or fillers, in case her face resembled an overinflated beach ball. She tried to respond to aging with humor, cosmetics and electronic contraptions.
On a good day, she might pass for her midforties, possibly late thirties if she was in a dimly lit pub. At other times, she caught sight of her skin in broad daylight and noticed every line and wrinkle. Inadequate lighting in shops made her face look like a craggy cliff face, and no amount of miracle cream would fix that.
Ginny searched through the clothes pile again and caught sight of a lipstick nestled in the bikini top. It was sealed with cellophane and when she twisted it up, its frosted pink color reminded her of something her mum used to say, to try to lift her own mood whenever Ginny’s dad let her down.
“How can the world seem dark when you’re wearing pink lipstick?”
Ginny applied the lipstick and gradually felt a bit brighter. Something scratched her neck and she noticed the People Power T-shirt still had its tag attached. She was the first to wear Heather’s new garment and it made her feel honored.
Ginny rolled over the waistband on the black skirt to shorten it, tucked in the T-shirt and added the belt from her jeans. She tied her hair into a low bun and her reflection in the mirror reminded her of the teenage version of herself who’d fallen in love with Adrian Splinter all those years ago.
She often missed the people they once were.
She’d first seen him in a café when they were both eighteen. Ginny had been with her friend Sufrana who never shut up about the long list of boys she fancied.
“Don’t bloody look now,” Sufrana had hissed and prodded Ginny. “Adrian Splinter is at the table in the corner. He’s really fit.”
Up until then, Ginny had found reading books more interesting than dating boys. But when she’d flicked her ponytail to surreptitiously glance at Adrian, she’d changed her mind.
He had the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen and she loved how he offered his Victoria sponge cake to his friends first before taking a forkful for himself. Manners and kindness were important to her, so she appreciated how he swept his own crumbs away using a napkin.
Ginny had tried to look cool while sipping her milkshake, whereas Adrian’s two friends (one of them was Dave) flicked tinfoil balls at each other.
Adrian had caught Ginny’s eye with an apologetic shrug that made her laugh. Sufrana kneed Ginny’s leg and they exchanged excited glances.
Ginny went to the bathroom to apply more lip gloss, but when she’d returned, Adrian had left.
“Don’t worry, he left you a bloody note,” Sufrana had said rather jealously, passing her a napkin on which Adrian had written a message,Party at 8, next Friday?followed by his home phone number.
He’d arrived spot-on time to pick Ginny up at home in an ancient BMW, bringing her a huge bunch of flowers. She didn’t have any friends who could drive and had felt all swanky and precious sitting next to him in the front seat.
Adrian worked for his dad’s car business, so he dressed in sharp suits when the other lads she knew wore baggy jeans and T-shirts. His influence rubbed off on her and Ginny started to buy smart clothes for herself, too.
Upon leaving sixth form, Ginny had taken up an admin job in an accountancy firm, as recommended by her dad.
“You don’t seem like a numbers kind of person,” Adrian had mused on one of their dates. “It’s better to do something you enjoy. What are youreallygood at?”
Ginny told him how shefeltthings on behalf of other people. Her emotion-packed creative writing had scored her a top grade in her English A level.
TV advertisements, especially ones for donkey charities, could reduce her to an emotional wreck. Spotting a dead rabbit on a country road, charity phone-ins and other people’s bereavements made her tears flow, and she always avoided weepy movies and arguments.
Teachers and early employers labeled her assensitive, and not necessarily in a good way. Over time she’d learned to harness and channel her feelings, and to use them for good, such as being there for her friends after their breakups.
“People interest me,” she’d told Adrian. “I like helping them.”
“Then, why don’t you do that instead?”
