Of one of the good weekends I occasionally got before she went into the centre. Of us sprawled on the carpet of her dank flat, Sellotaping paper together to make one giant sheet, like we were both children.
“Mum, I’m supposed to be doing my art homework.”
“You can do that later.” She waved her hand in the air, a thick felt tip clasped in her fingers. “Creativity is about fun. Okay, let’s try and draw every single Harry Potter character.”
And my homework hadn’t got done, and Dad had yelled, and Mum had forgotten to pick me up the next weekend, and I’d ripped our giant picture up and dramatically tried to set it on fire in the garden and Penny had flipped out, and Dad had tried to explain, and it was all a mess.
I felt angry suddenly as I looked at her – angry about the way she sipped her iced tea, angry about how she chewed delicately on her fajita, angry about how she seemed like a washed-out version of the mother I used to know, like she’d been put through the laundry too many times. Old Mum wasn’t a vegetarian – we’d have rib-eating competitions at the shitty cowboy themed restaurant in town. Old Mum wasn’t “wholesome” – she was loud, and brash, and all over the place – and yes, sometimes it was embarrassing and she wouldn’t remember and would never say sorry – but it was energy, it was real. Old Mum definitely didn’t wear gingham. And definitely didn’t follow men around like a lovesick puppy… She never looked at Dad the way she looks at Kevin.
After two years of yearning and wanting and missing, now suddenly all I had was bitterness and resentment and confusion. Was the Mum I knew even still in there? She wasn’t…bad any more. But, since I’d arrived, she also wasn’t…good?
Yet, when she pulled me in for a hug before we left for the campfire, I clung onto her like a limpet covered with superglue. She laughed and stroked my back.
“I saw you laughing with Whinnie at training today. It’s nice to see you’re making friends.”
I just kept hugging her.
“I knew you’d love Whinnie, she’s so unique, isn’t she? And I thought it would be interesting for you to get to know Russ, he lives on a pueblo, did you know? Who else is in your group tonight?”
“Kyle.”
Mum heard it in my voice, before I even knew there was anything there. She pulled away, gave me this hard look, and said, “Don’t go falling in love with him now. I had enough of that last year.” She wagged her finger.
“What? What are you talking about?” I protested. But I sort of knew what she meant…he was very good-looking…and genuinely, well, very nice too.
She studied my face quietly. “He worked here last summer, and I swear my job became less manager and more The-Kyle-Recovery-Centre. Every other minute some girl would come up to me, crying that he’d rebuffed them when they were so sure they shared a connection.”
So sure they shared a connection…
I thought of Peter Alsop, Kyle walking me back in the dark, his Van Gogh book…
“Be careful,” Mum warned, in an uncharacteristic bout of motherly advice. “Guys like him seem to make connections with lots of people, without even meaning to…”
I instantly felt so stupid.
I was in the middle of The Spirit Circle.
The vodka felt warm in my belly. My face felt warm in my head. My everything felt warm from the fire behind us.
… So I didn’t mind so much that I had a tea towel on my head and was yelling, “We are the knights who say NIIIIII.”
“NIII,” Whinnie shrieked, also bedecked with a tea towel.
“NI.”
“NI.”
Kyle stared at me, a tinfoil crown we’d made atop his head. “You’re the prom king, you play King Arthur,” Russ had said. Kyle’s lips trembled as he struggled not to laugh. The audience weren’t struggling at all. I could hear their howls behind me.
“Bring me a SHRUBBERY,” I demanded. “A nice one. Not too big.” Just as the audience was on the cusp of hysteria, I threw in an extra “NI” for good measure. Whinnie joined in and everyone dissolved around us. Even Russ and Kyle were bent over now, their hands on their knees, shaking. Bumchin Kevin’s donkey laugh hee-hawed louder than everyone else’s.
I felt quite proud of myself.
Proud, and a little pissed.
Russ had passed around a hip flask before our performance to “give us comedic courage”.
It had worked.
I was drunk. Again.
We stumbled our way to the end of the scene, stopping regularly to let the laughter calm down. Finally, we took our bows. The four of us stood in a line and dropped our heads. Everyone got to their feet and applauded hard. I looked up for Mum in the crowd. She was standing on top of a log, whistling using two fingers. I waved and she gave me such a watery look of pride that I had to bow again, using gravity to stop the tears rolling down my cheeks.
Kyle pulled me into a big hug.
“You were incredible, Miss England,” he said.
I couldn’t reply. His touch had done something to me. Mum’s advice came back to me.
Lots of girls think they have a connection with Kyle.
I stiffened as my defence mechanisms kicked in.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” My accent had never sounded so plummy and cold and unfriendly British.
Kyle stiffened too and released the hug. He coughed, looked down, and then pulled Whinnie in for one. “You did great, Pooh Bear,” he told her. I instantly felt jealous that Whinnie was hugging him, and not me.
Russ high-fived us and we returned to our seating area. The Spirit Circle was in a large natural clearing, with space enough for a bonfire right in the centre. The Opening Ceremony night wasn’t going as bad as I’d thought. Kevin had started things off by dragging out his acoustic guitar and making us sing campfire songs I didn’t know about cowboys. Then we’d played some team building games before The Show, seeing who could build the highest human pyramid. Everyone was drinking and Mum and Bumface were either pretending not to realize, or really just didn’t realize. Now we were sitting around the crackling flames, watching each group perform their skit. There’d been a makeshift Shakespeare, some ill-advised raps – our Monty Python was definitely winning so far. I settled back onto my log and tried not to sense Kyle sitting next to me.
Kevin made his way to the front, still applauding.
“That was great, guys, just great.” He gave me a thumbs up in front of everyone and I ducked behind my hair. He was so cringe, overcompensating for losing it over dinner. “Now, we’ve only got one group left to perform. Melody? You said you needed these?” He pulled out an old iPod and some big portable speakers.
Melody leaped up in her bare feet. “Thanks,” she said, and called to the rest of her group. “Come on, girls.”
They got up less gracefully behind her. Her group was all female, and none of them were wearing many clothes. A pocket of dread blodged into my belly about what might happen next. Melody wore just a bikini top with a tiny pair of denim hot pants. I stared enviously at her body as the girls got into a dance formation. Her tummy was so flat, a Malteser would stay perfectly still on it and not roll off if she lay on her back. Her bum cheeks didn’t merge into her thighs like mine did. Even her feet looked thinner than mine. We waited for the music to start and I turned my face away, accidentally catching Kyle’s eye. He gave me this weird smile.
The beat started. I recognized it instantly and held back a groan.
The Pussycat Dolls. “Don’t Cha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?”