She remembers those days when everything felt possible. The days back home, when mum was still acting and they all lived in the cottage, and She Who Shall Not Be Named was still in her life.
It feels like a million years ago, she thinks, getting to work on the miniature Wispas.
Chapter 6
Forest Hills High School Christmas Disco, 1991
Rose collapses down on to one of the benches, drenched in sweat. Poppy stays on her feet for a while longer, trying to tempt her back up to Chesney Hawkes singing ‘I Am the One and Only’.
‘No chance,’ says Rose, wiping her forehead clean and grinning at her younger sister. ‘I hate this song anyway.’
Poppy pulls a face, and sits down next to her. She’s on a mission tonight. A mission to have the most fun humanly possible at an event held in a decked-up school sports hall.
It’s their last Christmas disco together, and she wants to make it count. Rose is 16 now, and will be going off to sixth-form college to study hideously science-y things in September. Poppy will have to face the rest of high school alone, and can barely tolerate the thought.
She’s boiling, and would like to follow Rose’s lead and wipe her face clean, but she knows all her foundation will come off as well. Then her spotty forehead will be revealed to the world like the devil’s own logo. She hates spots almost as much as she loves Rose, and her battle with acne has already taught her a very valuable lesson: life just isn’t fair.
Rose comes from the same genetic material (as far as they know) as her, lives in the same house as her, and eats the same food as her – but has that kind of milky-white skin that they use to advertise Simple cleansing lotion.
Poppy, who actually uses Simple cleansing lotion, has a face full of crusty blisters that make her look as if she’s re-invented smallpox.
Rose looks at her sister, and sees her skin glistening under the disco lights. She pulls a tissue from her pocket, and gently dabs the moisture away.
‘It’s okay,’ she says, quietly, as Poppy starts to mutter in distress and tries to knock her hand away, ‘I’m being careful. The slap will remain in place, I promise. Just trust me.’
Poppy settles immediately. Of course she trusts her. Rose would never leave her exposed to the taunts of her alleged friends, and the insensitive gaze of the Bastard Boys. Rose would never call her Spotty Poppy, like they do.
All cleaned up, she feels better. It’s hard to see properly with sweat dripping off your mascara-laden eyelashes. Not that Rose knows that – she never wears make-up. Never needs to. She has mum’s gorgeous eyes, and that perfect skin. She’s anEnglishRose, as their mother always says.
Poppy’s not quite sure what she is – an Ugly Duckling, with any luck, who might magically transform into a beautiful 14-year-old swan sometime soon. She might even grow boobs, which Rose has already managed. Not that she appreciates them – she says they’re more trouble than they’re worth, and keeps them hidden away under baggy sweaters. If Poppy had them, she’d probably start walking around topless just for the thrill of it.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to leave me here …’ says Poppy, sighing as she looks out at the dance floor with disgust.
Everyone seems way too interested in members of the opposite sex, and what everyone else is wearing, and being cool. Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ has come on, and they’re all busily making squares with their arms. It’s not very co-ordinated, and it kind of looks like they’ve all been possessed by a jerky-limbed demon.
‘I’ll only be at the college on the other side of town,’ replies Rose, nudging her so hard she almost falls over. ‘You’ll still see me every morning and every night and every weekend. Besides, you’ve got friends here. It’s not like you’re Little Orphan Annie, is it?’
Poppy gives her a sideways look, and nods. Technically, she’s right. The college is only on the other side of town. But she knows it’s The Beginning of the End. After her A-levels, Rose will apply to universities, and they most definitely won’t be on the other side of town. They might be on the other side of the country. Everything is changing, and she’s not happy about it.
And while Rose is right again, she does have friends, she’s not especially close to any of them. High school seems to be ruled by teenaged tribal warlords, and she hasn’t quite found her faction.
She’s not slaggy enough to be in with the Hot Girls, and not nasty enough to be in with the Mean Girls. Not weird enough to be part of the Geek Gang. She’s not sporty. Not musical. Not especially good at anything at all – other than being Rose’s sister.
Rose is excited about college, and Poppy wants to be excited for her. But she can feel everything … sliding away. Slipping and changing and wriggling around her. She’d quite like to keep things the way they are – the two of them together – but the world seems to have other ideas.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘You’re right. I’ll be fine, of course I will. It just won’t be quite the same without you.’
She feels sad as she says this, and then feels guilty for sucking at pretending to be happy. Rose is two years older than her, and there’s nothing she can do about that. If she carries on being a sourpuss, she’ll spoil the night for both of them.
As she plasters a huge smile on her face, determined to fake it till she makes it, the lighting makes a sudden change from flashing neon strobes to something more subdued, and the music changes with it. Poppy looks up at the clock on the sports-hall wall, and sees that it’s almost 10.30. Kicking-out time – which also means it’s Slow Dance time. Eeek.
The girls look on as couples pair up and move apart, as hearts are broken and dreams are crushed. It’s painful to see the rejects slink off to the corners, and downright funny to see the loved-up duos shuffle round the dance floor to Sinéad O’Connor singing ‘Nothing Compares 2 U’. There is snogging and groping and a few concerned looks from the teachers lurking on the edge. Maybe, thinks Poppy, there will even be a Christmas Disco Baby in nine months’ time.
She giggles at the thought, and amuses herself by trying to guess who the lucky couple could be.
A shadow falls over them, and she looks up. Uh-oh. It’s Him. It’s Marcus Pemberton. He’s in Rose’s class, and he’s been chasing her for what feels like years. Rose smiles at him, shielding her eyes against the lights, and he looks as though he might melt in a puddle of Levis at her feet.
Marcus is one of those boys who is on all the teams, and has his name called out in Assembly for his latest sporting triumph practically every morning. He’s the Head Boy to Rose’s Head Girl, and ifhe’sever had a spot, Poppy has never seen it. His hair is floppy and blond, and his expression as he stares at Rose is completely ga-ga. Poppy totally and utterly hates him.
