Selena had been so excited when she’d told me her parents were allowing her to have the house to herself so she could celebrate her eighteenth birthday. It was obviously Uncle Owen’s idea. He’d agreed to take Aunt Bess away for the weekend to Blackpool so that Selena could enjoy herself. Not that she’d seemed grateful when she was telling me about it, the week before. She’d alluded to a row she’d had with him but didn’t elaborate. And I wasn’t the best listener when she tried to slag off her dad. Only four years since my own father died, I thought she was lucky to have a dad. And anyone could see that Uncle Owen tried his best. Aunt Bess hadn’t been sober in years.
I was becoming increasingly concerned as I wove my way through the throng of gyrating bodies. I hadn’t seen Selena for hours, and I was terrified that the police would be called and I’d get into trouble as the eldest.
‘Have you seen Selena?’ I asked one of Dean’s mates, who was huddled in a corner with what looked like a crudely put-together bong. I’d tried to convince her not to invite Dean, or any of his crowd, but she’d just laughed and said she had to invite her boyfriend. I was worried Dean would cause trouble. He was always getting picked up by the police for something – petty theft, vandalism, drugs. I wished Selena would stay away from him. He walked around his estate like he owned it and most people were scared of him.
‘Upstairs,’ he muttered, before inhaling again. I pushed past the couples in the doorways, stepped over bodies on the stairs and found Selena in her bedroom. She was slumped on her bed. On the wall over her head was a black-and-white poster of Robert Smith. An empty pint glass was on its side on the faded pink carpet. She was alone.
‘Selena?’ I ran over to her, shaking her shoulder. Her leg was bent under her and her eyes were ringed with mascara, her dress riding up to show her bare legs. I wondered if she was drunk. Or, worse, on drugs. ‘Selena!’ I cried again, louder this time. Her eyes blinked open. They were puffy, as though she’d been crying.
‘What?’ She sat up, rubbing her eyes.
‘What are you doing up here on your own?’ I cried. ‘The party’s getting out of control. Do you know that Dean’s friend has a bong? You need to tell everyone to go. They’re wrecking the place.’
She sat up straighter and pushed the hair off her face. Her lips looked unusually pale. ‘I think you should go home,’ she said, her voice deadpan. She blinked at me.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I think you should just fuck off home. You’re a party pooper. A square. Face it, Kirsty.’ Her words were slurred, spittle flying out of her mouth and wetting her lips.
Blood pounded in my ears. ‘Why? Because I don’t want you to trash your parents’ house? Uncle Owen—’
She jumped off the bed, her face red. ‘Shut up about Uncle fucking Owen! Do you know why I’m up here on my own? At my own party?’
‘You’re drunk,’ I said, turning away in distaste.
She grabbed my arm and spun me around so that I was facing her. ‘I’m up here because of Dean.’
‘Dean?’ I wondered if they’d had another row. I couldn’t understand the attraction, especially as they didn’t seem to like each other much.
‘Yes, Dean. Another person you disapprove of because you’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? With your Durham University place and your perfect grades. And me? What’s going to happen to me?’
I frowned. ‘What are you talking about? You’ve got a place at Glamorgan.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. But I think you knew that, didn’t you? No. I’m staying here. With my fucking perfect dad and my bitch of a mother.’
She was ranting, talking nonsense, slurring her words.
‘Have you had a row with Dean?’ I said, trying to stay calm.
‘Yes, I’ve had a row with Dean!’ she cried. ‘And do you want to know why?’ She didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘Because he wanted me to sleep with him. And I said no.’
‘Well … that’s great,’ I said, thrown. ‘You’ve done the right thing. If you don’t feel ready …’
She stared at me for the longest time, then laughed. It sounded cruel. Mocking. I couldn’t understand why she was behaving like that. I assumed it was the drink.
‘Oh, but I’m not a virgin.’
This conversation was making me uncomfortable. There was a time when we shared everything but she had changed since she’d met Dean.
‘Look, Selena. Whatever. I don’t want to be having this conversation with you.’
‘Why?’ she said. Her fists were clenched by her sides. Her eyes were wild, the pupils huge. Was she on something?
‘Because.’ I was stone-cold sober. I’d had a half of lager hours ago. I sighed. ‘Because I never know what to believe, okay? One minute you’re a virgin. Then you’re not. Then you are again. Whatever, Selena. I don’t care.’
Her expression changed, her lips turning up so that it looked like she was snarling. ‘You don’t care? Well, that’s pretty obvious. Do you want to hear who did take my virginity, eh? Your precious Uncle Owen.’
I staggered backwards. What was she talking about?
