Just My Luck(69)

Oh my God! Oh my God! I just want this to go away. I can’t think about it right now. I won’t. I just won’t.

I get up, pull off my bed clothes and climb into my costume. I check how I look in the long mirror. In our old house I had to stand on my bed to get a look at my outfit because my mirror was only face height and not very big. Now I have an honest to God dressing room with two full-length mirrors facing each other, so there are an infinite number of me: stretching into the distance, getting smaller and smaller until I disappear. My outfit rocks. I spent ages on Amazon trying to source a Zendaya outfit; I wanted a really cool version, not some cheap polyester crap that meant I was in real danger of going up in flames if I stood too close to a hot light. In the end, Sara had an exact replica made for me. It’s so gorgeous! A silky tiny cami and velvet hot pants. It’s sweet and flattering in a girl-next-door way. Sara thought that I might regret going too subtle, so she also had an exact replica made of Zendaya’s purple performance outfit too. It is so much more glam and sexy! It has a sheer neckline that is cut to the waist, gold boots, even a pink wig. I take off the sweet number and climb into the purple. I zip up the boots, stand tall. Place the wig carefully on my head. Check my reflection again. Transformed. It’s a relief to step out of me. Mum is going to hate it. It’s awesome! I smooth my hands over my stomach, still flat. I’m not sure when you start to show but I’m glad it’s not tonight. Tonight, I have to be hot and cute and perfect. Which means a flat stomach.

The late afternoon sun floods into my new uber-cool bedroom. I only have to flick a switch and the electric blinds would close but I don’t. I like the way the warmth and light falls into the room, onto my body, which is sticky and hot. I move my hands across my hips, my bottom, my waist, remembering the pleasure we once gifted each other that was beyond words. I’d never felt that way before Ridley. I didn’t know people could make each other feel like that. What if I never feel that way again? What if no one’s touch can ever bring me to life like that again? I knew everything about Ridley’s body before we started to have sex. Or so I thought. I had shared bubble baths and paddling pools with him as a toddler. That stopped as we got to school age, but still we were in and out of one another’s homes, tents, gardens, kitchens, lives. So I knew that there are tiny blue veins on his eyelids that you can only see when he’s sleeping, I knew he had a chickenpox scar on his jaw (right-hand side) and a birthmark on his thigh that looks like a melted chocolate button. I knew he had a line of hair that ran downwards from his tummy button and a thatch of dark hair under each arm. I did not know what that body could do.

And now I do, so I can never be the same. We can never be the same. Being friends isn’t enough. Suddenly I don’t like the heat or the sunshine or anything at all. I can’t face the party. My body feels heavy, leaden with memories and consequences. My dad keeps saying life is great, everything is wonderful now and always will be. I want it to be. I want to believe him. But Mum keeps asking if I’m OK, if everything is all right and I feel I might collapse under her scrutiny. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling. I force my eyelids to stay wide open, but a fat tear slips down the side of my face anyway. I brush it away impatiently. I have to go to the party. I have to talk to him. Him first.





30


Lexi


I tightly grasp the party planner’s laminated timetable in my hand, not unlike a toddler grasps a security blanket. The first version was printed on stiff creamy card, but as the weather forecast suggests there might be another downpour later tonight, the planner had the plans laminated so that I could refer to them no matter what the weather. She’s very plan-y, I’ll say that for her. She considers every eventuality. I can’t help but think if she was running the country, we’d probably clear the national debt in the next decade. She’s not though, is she? She’s arranging parties for people with more money than sense. And I firmly count us in that bracket when I spot staff handing out glittering monogrammed glowsticks studded with Swarovski crystals.

The party is by anyone’s estimation, tremendous. As I’ve had little to do with the planning, I am surprised and impressed by the props and design. It’s not just a party, it’s an amalgamation of a funfair, a circus and a movie set. People have understood it was going to be spectacular and have made a big effort with their costumes. There are a lot of girls and women in basques and fishnets, wearing top hats. There are men dressed as bearded ladies, lions and ringmasters, depending on their self-view (funny, cuddly or Alpha respectively). There are a lot of people in random spangly things and endless clowns. This is not the place to come if you suffer from coulrophobia.

I glance at the plan at every few moments but no matter how often I read it, the details won’t stay in my head. The party planner has listed out where and when each ‘event’ is going to take place throughout the evening. Obviously, like at most parties, there will be eating, drinking and dancing but there are also magic acts, performers and photo opportunities that I have to be aware of. I have never encountered a precision-timed party before, and I’m finding it overwhelming. At the children’s parties we’ve thrown in the past, the only clock-watching we did was because we were counting down the minutes until the bedlam ended. We have hosted Christmas parties before. We’d invite all our friends and neighbours to bring a bottle/drink a bottle at our place; if I was feeling very efficient, I sometimes stuck a few mince pies in the oven. I’d expect thirty-odd guests to those parties; tonight, we are expecting just over three hundred. I had no idea we knew so many people. Having read over the RSVPs, I’m still not convinced we do. Jake made good on his promise to invite everyone and anyone we knew or have ever known, however vaguely, and we’ve had an extremely high acceptance rate. Only a handful of people have said no and that was because they’re out of the country. I’m surprised but Jake was right – even the kids from the new school have said yes.