There was no way I was going to sit and listen to anyone, even my mother, calling me a loser. I stood up and stormed off to my room. ‘Come back here, Hannah. I’m still talking to you.’
But I didn’t go back and she didn’t follow me. I marched into my room and slammed the door shut. I was on the phone to Erin right away. Her number was engaged. A moment later my phone rang. Heather’s number. ‘I thought it was you who was on the phone to Erin. It must be Rose.’
So we’d all phoned Erin first. I was every bit as bad as the rest. But Erin was my best friend, wasn’t she?
‘Did your mother go spare?’ Heather asked.
In the ‘going spare’ stakes, my mother always won hands down.
‘Mine too,’ Heather said. ‘But she blamed it all on Wizzie. I told them we had no choice but to fight back, and they believed me. It was self-defence, I told her. My mum said violence doesn’t solve anything, and my dad said it was good I could stick up for myself. Now they’re not talking to each other. It’s hilarious.’
Heather wanted us all to come over to her place. But by the time I got hold of Erin – how long had she been on the phone to Rose and what could they possibly have to say to each other? – it was too late. Rose’s parents were angry. They’d got together to discuss it, but blamed her brother, who was in the school too, for not looking after her properly. And as for Erin, her mother had sat her down and discussed the whole thing with her, and told her not to let it happen again. In fact, her mum did all the things they would tell a mum to do in one of those agony columns. I’m telling you, Erin’s mum is perfect. All she seemed worried about was how this would affect Erin and her grades.
‘Want to swap mothers?’ I said, only half joking.
‘Take your mother? I don’t want to be cruel, Hannah … but I’d rather have my teeth drilled without anaesthetic.’ Erin said it for a laugh. But I couldn’t laugh. I knew it was too near the truth.
‘Mum wants to just forget about it, and I don’t blame her.’ Erin was changing the subject. ‘She’s got enough on her plate with Avril’s wedding.’
Avril’s wedding … I was looking forward to it too. My first chance to get all dressed up and go on a big night out with my friends.
Didn’t know it was going to change my life.
Chapter Eleven
The morning of the wedding Junior Bonnar was at his door, throwing confetti over me and Mum. Junior has been our next-door neighbour for as far back as I can remember. He used to live with his mum, but she died a few years ago and I was surprised that Junior was allowed to stay in the house. I won’t say there’s anything wrong with Junior, but he is definitely one sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, he holds down a job – and he drives a car, very badly, I might add. He’s even taught me how to drive … just as badly. But in spite of all of that, you know that there is something not quite right about him.
Mum actually does a lot for him. Washes his clothes and irons them, and makes sure he’s eating the right kind of food.
‘Oh, Terry,’ he said when he saw me emerge from our flat. ‘You look lovely. You’re that grown-up looking.’
That’s what I mean about there being something not quite right about Junior. He calls me Terry. He’s lived next door for years, but for some reason he still can’t get my name right. Terry, he always calls me.
I don’t even correct him any more. ‘Thanks, Junior.’
‘And you too, Mrs Driscoll. You’re a doll.’
‘I’m not going to the wedding, Junior,’ Mum told him. ‘These are my working clothes.’
Didn’t bother Junior. He only grinned. ‘You’re still a doll.’
‘I think he fancies you, Mum,’ I said, as we went downstairs.
‘That makes him a definite case for care in the community then.’
That was so typical of Mum. She could never accept a compliment with any grace. She always turned it into an insult.
It was one of those real West of Scotland days, with battleship-grey clouds hanging so low you felt you could reach up and sink your hands into them. They hovered above us, threatening at any minute to open up and flood us with a downpour. ‘Don’t you dare ruin my hair!’ I yelled at them, as we stood outside the church, waiting for the bride to arrive.
‘Or my dress!’ Heather added. She was resplendent in pink. A bit too much like a marshmallow, if you asked me.
Rose looked gorgeous in petrol blue. She always looked older than the rest of us. She even had boobs, big ones too.
I was wearing a green jacket and skirt. My mum had already told me green just wasn’t my colour. Now she was hanging about outside the church doors with her camera, gushing compliments on the wedding party as each of them arrived in their taxis – much to my embarrassment.