Here are the top three entries in our 2022 young adult short fiction competition, as judged by author Gareth Baker, on the theme of ‘the Modern Fairy Tale’.
For local author Nick Rowe’s highly commended submission and winner of the Local Writer’s Prize, please follow this link to Nick’s website.
( o )
Third place
My Cindy Doll by Louise Mangos
The day Cindy’s mother died, we were in the middle of an algebra test in our year ten maths class. The school secretary came in and whispered something to the teacher. They both turned to look at Cindy with uncertain smiles flickering like faulty light bulbs on their faces. As they called her out of class, she stared for a moment straight at me and I thought we’d finally made a connection. Until I realised she was focusing on a random space on the wall behind me.
I used to follow Cindy after school when she met her dad from work and the two of them went to the hospital together to visit her mother. It was a slow deterioration down that cancer road. I always wished there was something I could do to make her feel less despair.
My sister Drizella didn’t know back then that our mum and Cindy’s dad worked in the same insurance office. But despite my inside knowledge, both of us were completely floored when three months later Cindy’s dad started taking our mum to the Rose and Crown on Friday nights. I followed them as well, once, thinking I might see Cindy. She wasn’t with them, and they went down Sycamore Lane for a quick snog. That made me feel sick, so I didn’t follow them again.
I’ll never forget Cindy’s face when she was invited for tea to be introduced to us. She went as pale as a ghost. It was supposed to be our first time together – the adults probably didn’t think to ask whether we already knew each other at school. Subsequent Sundays induced a familiar cosiness for me. I suspected Cindy hated entire weekends after that.
Drizella, on the other hand, was delighted at this development. It’s not the first time she’d picked on one of the quieter girls at school. By the time Cindy moved into our place, Driz had already chucked her shoes in the school gym shower twice that month and forced chewing gum through the slits in her locker. A small amount of collaboration with my ugly sister, even before Cindy became our stepsister, covered up something else I was feeling. Something I didn’t understand at first. I tagged along with Driz, using it as an excuse to get close to Cindy, because I didn’t have the guts to approach her on my own at school.
When Cindy and her dad came to live with us, Driz was furious that she scored her own room. The space we used to call either the ‘breakfast room’ or the ‘study,’ depending on how much homework we could be bothered to do, was now permanently labelled ‘Cindy’s Room.’
When she officially became part of our family, Driz briefly toned down the bullying. But she didn’t stop altogether. Every time I knew she’d done something cruel, I felt guilty. But I couldn’t say anything. Defending my sister was not an option. But I had to protect myself too. I was stuck in the middle, apologies, excuses and confessions catching in my throat like dry crusts. Deep down, I was afraid of giving away my true taboo emotion, the one that would be considered more than just sibling affection.
When we were all enrolled in different GCSE classes, school started later for each of us on alternate days. I sometimes sneaked into Cindy’s room after she left in the morning and often tried on her clothes. I occasionally lay in her bed, the sheets still warm, smelling vaguely of Vera Wang. Burying my face in her pillow, I breathed in the apple shampoo smell of her hair, dreamed what it would be like to lie next to her.
I was sitting at Cindy’s dressing table mirror one morning applying her strawberry lip-gloss, when Drizella burst into the room.
‘What the hell?’ said Driz in her usual aggressive tone.
I blushed furiously while she computed my presence and a sly smile crept over her ugliness.
‘Good on ya, sis. Brilliant idea. But Ana, that top’s too tight on you. Get it off and give it to me.’
We began to tussle and she tried to grab the hem of the Cindy’s favourite sleeveless top which was stuck against my skin like a band aid. I wriggled away from her, and the lip-gloss I was still holding smeared a massive pink stripe across the white front of the top. Kicking off Cindy’s purple pumps, I ran from her room still wearing the top, clutching the lip-gloss. I locked myself in the bathroom until Driz gave up and left for school.
Cindy came up to me a few evenings later at home while Drizella was serving detention at school for cheating on a biology test.
‘Ana, can I ask you something?’
I was sure she could hear my heart pounding. I nodded, and smiled uncertainly, wondering if this was the big reveal, a declaration. Did she feel the same way about me?
‘Does Drizella treat you like she treats me? I mean, does she pick on you too?’
I shrugged. ‘Not really, not like she does with you. I wouldn’t stress. She’s just jealous, because you’re so… much prettier than her.’
There, I’d said it. Drizella jealous of Cindy? I doubted it. Driz was simply asserting power with her cruelty. She’d been like that since we lost our own dad. I reckon that’s the only way she knew how to deal with the anger and the sadness. But then again, perhaps that was just me being generous about her psychopathic personality.
‘Only I think she comes into my room, and it makes me feel…’
Is it like when you get the sense of someone, and you wish she would hold you and put her hands…
‘… disgusted. It makes me feel disgusted. I can smell her. On my stuff. In my bed. And I think she’s nicked some of my clothes. I don’t want to tell Dad. Your mum makes him happy, has given him so much to hope for since my own mother… It might ruin everything if I tell him Drizella’s being such a witch. I know she does all that stuff at school. She was doing that before Dad began dating your mum, so I know their relationship’s not the reason. I thought maybe you knew why, or at least could tell her to stop before I have to say something to Dad.’
I stared at Cindy, trying to understand what she had told me. She was disgusted with the smell of… me? I swallowed. I couldn’t possibly tell her it had been me in her room. Instead, I went to our bedroom and fetched her favourite top and her lip-gloss.
‘I know,’ I said, as I handed the things back to her. ‘Driz has had these for a few days.’
Cindy looked at the objects in my hands, her eyes widening with horror at the smear of lip-gloss on her top. She took them to her room without saying thank you. Nothing. Not even a grateful crease of her eyes. The flash of something hot and sharp coursed through my gut.
I decided I didn’t want Cindy to be perfect any more. People hovered around her like bees round a honey pot. It was always pretty obvious that people like me and Driz didn’t possess her same sweet nectar. I thought if there was something about Cindy people found unattractive, I could still secretly treasure her for myself, that I’d be the only one who knew that although there was complete beauty inside, there was one flaw that I knew protected her from ultimate perfection. In any case, it looked like I was never going to be able to tell her how she made me feel.
Drizella reacted badly to the bedroom favouritism, although it made sense that sisters who had shared since birth would continue to do so. In protest, she ramped up her cruelty at school, so in the end I didn’t have to do anything. Except maybe I should have told Driz to stop being mean. But I didn’t.
Cindy began dropping weight, with shadows appearing under her eyes. I let Driz carry on her bullying and began to hope Cindy wouldn’t look so much like a doll any more.
I wanted my own feelings to stop, those ones I’d kept hidden, but they wouldn’t. I knew people would think it wasn’t normal. Most importantly, Cindy would probably think it wasn’t normal.
She started spending more time away from home, leaving in the morning before we’d even woken up. Sometimes she didn’t even come home for dinner. Panic fluttered conflictingly in my chest if I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days. Regret fighting with relief. Once I even I thought Drizella had gone too far and Cindy had been taken to hospital or something. Perhaps Mum hadn’t said anything to us because she knew about our shenanigans. Driz’s bullying and my indifference.
‘What’s with Cindy these days, Mum?’ I asked casually one day as I stole a runner bean from the colander in the kitchen. ‘She’s never around.’
My mother looked at me long and hard. She didn’t reply at first. I crunched on the bean.
‘Why would you care, Anastasia? She’s hardly been welcomed by the two of you into our family, has she?’
I blushed and shrugged, caught out, but too scared to reveal my feelings by speaking.
The next morning, I decided to follow Cindy. I slept in my school uniform and hid under my duvet with the excuse I felt unwell the night before, so Driz wouldn’t guess. I sneaked out of the house in pre-dawn when the rooftops on our street were still silhouettes. I waited, shivering, by our garage.
When Cindy came out she was humming. I was shocked to realise she was happy. I noticed she’d put a little weight back on those skinny bones and her face glowed. It made me want to cry. Whatever it was she was looking forward to, I wasn’t part of it.
I followed her down to the corner and along the high street. At the mini-roundabout she walked round the back of the newsagents. I hid behind the bus shelter across the street. Five minutes later she reappeared, a massive canvas bag slung over her shoulder, laughing at something someone had said behind her.
She’d scored a paper round! Deep down inside, a tiny seed of admiration and the last dregs of longing were quashed by the jealousy and fury that she’d managed to hide this from Drizella and me. It made me realise she was far more capable than we’d given her credit for.
And then my stomach dropped. Graham Braithwaite from Lower Sixth strode out after her and I saw his hand reach forward and grab her backside. Cindy laughed and slapped it away. As the bile rose in my throat, she turned around and kissed him full on the lips.
As the two of them split and went separate ways along the high street with their respective rounds, I stared after Cindy with my mouth hanging open until the wind blew over the tooth in my mouth that needed a filling.
She’d scored a paper round and a boyfriend. To stop myself throwing up, I smacked my forehead onto the glass wall of the bus shelter. Once she was out of sight, I walked home. I would have gone straight to school and waited for the gates to open, but I was cold and hungry.
‘Where on earth have you been?’ Mum asked as I came through the door.
Drizella was sitting at the kitchen counter eating cereal, a splash of milk perched on her spotty chin. She looked me up and down, frowning at my tussled hair and creased school uniform.
‘Woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Went for a walk,’ I said miserably.
Mum’s eyes narrowed.
‘Have you been out all night? What kind of games are you playing with me young lady?’
‘How come Cindy gets to have a paper round?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you go changing the subject on me,’ Mum said, an angry edge to her voice. ‘You could take a page out of Cindy’s book. She’s been innovative enough to earn herself some extra pocket money. Well, were you out all night, Anastasia? And where?’ Mum was now furious.
I looked down at my crumpled school skirt, and realised it looked pretty bad. Drizella stared at me with her eyes wide and her mouth open, milk pooling on her fat tongue.
‘Young lady, you’re grounded. There’s no arguing with me. You go up now and get yourself cleaned up and sorted out. Put on a fresh shirt. I don’t know what we’re going to do about the state of that skirt. You’ll be late for school. We’ll talk about this when you get home. And you will be home. Directly after school.’
Grounded! How long for? This was all because of her. It made me realise how thin that line is between longing for something and repelling it. The last thing I ever wanted now was to set my eyes on her with him. Graham Braithwaite. It made me feel physically sick just to think of them together.
As I pulled on a freshly ironed school shirt, my stomach grumbled for another reason. The worst of it was I’d now have to miss breakfast. Damn that girl!
It was time to implement a more concrete plan. Time for the tables to turn, for people to look at me the way they’d looked at Cindy until now. Time to paint myself in a better light. Or at least a brighter one than hers.
I’d always been good at making up stories in English. The teacher said I had beautiful handwriting. It might be the one GCSE I had a chance in passing. The first thing to do was get rid of Cindy’s pesky boyfriend for good. He was making her far too happy. By eliminating him, she might end up putting one of those pretty feet wrong.
I anticipated my own personal homework when I came home from school that afternoon, could see it clearly in my mind. How to wipe that perfect smile from her angelic face.
A blank piece of paper. A new pen. My best cursive script. A little white lie.
Dear Mr and Mrs Braithwaite…
( o )
Second Place
Waking Nightmare by James Edwards
Welcome to Dream-Light Laboratories. Where we literally make your dreams a reality. Have you ever had a dream so good you wanted to experience it again? Well now you can.Our revolutionary technological advances have allowed us to tap into the brain’s subconscious using the state of the art ‘electrode-chip .40’. Now you can record, download and re-live all your favourite dreams as often as you like; with a low monthly subscription fee plus the one-off installation payment. So don’t delay, contact us today to get booked in with one of our Dream-Tech specialists. Don’t let your dreams be forgotten.
“Mr Prince, Doctor Freeman will see you now.”
This was it, my last chance. I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. Sure, it was a long shot, but a long shot is still better than no shot. I thanked the receptionist and walked down the bright white corridor to the door marked Dr. W. Freeman and knocked. A muffled voice from inside told me to come in.
I had seen Doctor Freeman on television before of course but you never know if that’s just all an act for T.V. As I entered the room though the warm smile she gave me instantly put my nerves at ease, and as she calmly asked me to “please take a seat” I felt that I was just meeting up with an old friend, not the muti-billionaire CEO of Dream-Light Laboratories.
“Hello, Doctor Freeman. Thank you for finding time to meet with me.”
“No need to thank me, it’s the least I could do in the circumstances. And please, call me Wendy.”
She spoke with such genuine compassion. I felt silly even being here but like I said I’d run out of options.
“I wanted to talk to you about Rose, I wondered if there was anything you could do to help?”
She took a deep breath and briefly looked down at her desk before resuming eye contact with me and said, “I was so sorry to hear about Rose. I can’t imagine what you must be going through right now and of course if there is any way I can help I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen.”
She genuinely meant it; I could tell. Rose had said what a genuine person she had seemed. I was always sceptical but now sitting with her I felt it as well.
Rose had been working for Dream-Light Laboratories as a dream tech for just under a year; straight out of college. It was her job to do the temporal insertions of the electrode-chip, remove or replace faulty hardware and provide ongoing tech support and software upgrades for those on the premium monthly plan options. She never complained about the work, but I had a feeling she didn’t enjoy it as much as when she first started. She talked about not realising how much of a corporate machine the company was. But she must have liked it enough to stick with it. The fact the incident had happened whilst she was at work was why I was hoping they would be willing to try and help.
Rose had inexplicably fallen into a coma 6 months ago. A seemingly fit and healthy 19-year-old just collapsed during her shift at work one Wednesday afternoon and it had left doctors baffled. The only unusual thing they could find was a small pinprick sized mark on the end of her right index finger. They have no explanation for the mark, can’t explain why she became unconscious and despite all their best efforts there is nothing that they have done or apparently can do to bring her around.
Her work health plan had paid for all her treatment, including consultations with expert doctors from around the world, and I will always be indebted to them for that. There was no way I’d be able to afford to pay even the basic hospital cot rental prices for 6 weeks let alone for 6 months. That’s why part of me felt guilty even asking them for more help, but I was out of options, and time.
Non-responsive coma patients had a maximum of 6 months occupancy allowance before ‘alternative arrangements’ had to be made. The date had been creeping over me like a dark cloud as I desperately tried everything I could think of. Until finally, here I was, in Doctor Freemans’s office. Hat in hand, begging for an answer. But this was the place where they made dreams reality right?
So, I plead my case, poured my heart out and prayed for a miracle. And when I was done speaking, Doctor Freeman sighed again, but this time she did not look away. Not even for a second.
“There might be something we can try” she said resignedly.
My whole body lifted in anticipation. She noticed and went on “But I must warn you there are no guarantees of any kind of success. We are currently working on the ‘electrode-chip .50’ but it is still in the analysis phase. The device will allow the user not only to record their own consciousness but also enter the consciousness of another fully consenting paired user. We will be marketing is as, ‘the .50 – halfway to a new reality’. But like I said its still in the very early stages of development and we have yet to do any real-life testing.”
This was of course intriguing to me, but I didn’t understand how this could help Rose. Freeman read my face like a book.
She went on, “many doctors now believe that coma patients are ‘trapped’ within their own dream-like subconscious, unable to find their way back to the waking world. You’ve probably been told by the doctors treating Rose to talk to her as she will still be able to hear you. Studies have confirmed that this is not only true but can in fact help bring a coma patient back.”
I nodded in agreement, this is exactly what the doctors had been telling me, and I had read similar studies over the last few months during my desperate search for answers.
She continued, “So, what if you could enter her world and talk to her ’face to face’ and help guide her back to consciousness?”
This was a lot to take it in. I managed to force myself to respond. “You really think that could work?”
Her reply was brutally honest, “I don’t know. There are a lot of hypotheticals involved. But we can try. We owe Rose that much. Of course, this must be your decision though.”
There was nothing to decide, this was our last chance. A nod of my head confirmed to her I was willing to give it a go.
“Excellent” she replied, “now our records indicate that you currently don’t have any temporal upgrades.”
This was true. Even though Rose worked for one of the biggest tech companies in the world I had never had the desire to purchase any modifications. There was quite a large anti-chip movement at one time but, over the years more and more people had given in to the perceived ‘benefits’ of chip life. I suppose you can’t stand in the way of progress. I still didn’t like the idea of being ‘modified’ but what choice did I have at this point.
“Okay”, I said “let’s try it. How quickly can we make this happen?”
Freeman smiled “well we have prototype .50 chips in the lab right now, so, if you are sure you want to go ahead, we can get one inserted straight away. Rose will only require a software upgrade so that can easily be done remotely, but you will have to sign the permission forms for us to make those changes to her chip.
The only other thing we require is a blood sample. Because the chips have to be paired, we need to match the users DNA. We already have Rose’s on file so it’s only yours we will required. Don’t look so scared it’s only a drop of blood. We usually just take it from the tip of the finger. You will barely feel a thing. If you want to take a seat back in the waiting room, I will contact the tech department and put a rush on the procedure.”
It was all happening so fast; I didn’t know what to say and just blurted out a thank you as I made my way towards the door.
“Thank me when you and Rose are reunited” was Doctor Freeman’s response, with a warm smile.
Freeman was right about one thing, the blood sample didn’t hurt at all. The chip insertion on the other hand felt like someone pushing a hot razor blade into my temple. Although the tech assured me it was only the size of a grain of rice.
I’d been feeling a little woozy ever size the blood was taken but now my head was pounding. I was alone on a hospital cot in one of the basement labs when Freeman’s voice came from nowhere. I nearly jumped out of my skin. The voice was coming from inside my head, it was a very unsettling feeling.
“Sorry I didn’t mean to startle you. The .50 chip allows me to communicate directly with you on both a conscious and subconscious level. So, all being well, when you enter the mind of Rose, I will be there with you.”
As she spoke a small monitor in the corner of the room sparked to life. My eyes were becoming really hazy now, but I could just make out a flickering image of Rose lying where I’d last seen her on the hospital ward. A smile crept across my face as I remembered why I was doing this.
Freeman’s voice again sprung unannounced inside my head, as if it was one of my own thoughts. That was going to take some getting used to.
“Right, we are all go this end, so if you are happy, we can begin the pairing process. This might be quite a jarring experience for you.”
I tried not to think too much about what was about to happen and just held my thumb up in tentative acceptance. Then, suddenly, I was falling, fast. No not falling because I seemed to be moving forwards. Down a dark tunnel. And there was steady beating noise, ‘bum-bum, bum-bum’. Sounded like a heartbeat but surely it couldn’t have been mine as my chest was going a million miles a minute. I closed my eyes, contemplated screaming, but as quickly as it had started it stopped again.
I slowly opened my eyes and inhaled sharply. Where the hell was I? Everything around me was dark and grimy, but vaguely familiar. Then I realised where I was, Aurora Hospital, where Rose was receiving treatment. Only, it wasn’t how it had been.
The clean white, sterile corridors where now covered in layers of dirt and dust. But it was the ‘green’ that was the most shocking. There were plants; thorns, weeds and vines growing everywhere. Through cracks in walls and up from the drains in the floor.
I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. The whole place looked like it had been left derelict for 100 years. Just as I was trying to take in my surroundings it hit me, and I fell to the floor in panic.
It was Freeman, “Can you hear me?”
There was a strange static sound accompanying her voice, but there she was inside my head, right where I’d left her.
“Yes, I can hear you. Where am I, what’s going on?”
As Freeman spoke again I felt like I could hear the faint sound of applause and cheering behind her. The excitement in Freeman’s voice as she spoke was unmistakable.
“You are in Rose’s subconscious. The .50 chip was a success. This is a huge technological leap.”
I wasn’t really interested in hearing about the tech right now. “Where is Rose? Why is the hospital like this?” I had started walking now but could hardly get through the thorns and vines blocking my way.
“This is the world Rose’s mind has created. Her subconscious’s way of rationalising the comatose state it is in. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
Fascinating isn’t the word I would use. I had managed to find an old, rusted fire axe and was hacking my way up the stairwell to the floor where Rose would be. Should be? I didn’t know anymore.
Freeman’s voice continued inside my head. “This is such a success for us. It really is going to change the world of human modification. We’ve have had the technology for a few years now but it’s the testing process that has slowed us down.”
I’d made it to Rose’s floor now. I could see her room at the end of the corridor. One last effort and I would be there.
“You see ever since they passed that prison welfare bill, we haven’t been able to test the new chips on human participants.”
I could still hear Freeman’s voice but was too focused on reaching the door. It was nearly in touching distance now.
“However, thanks to your brave sacrifice, and giving us Rose’s consent, we have reached this ground-breaking milestone.”
I was at the door. I was almost scared at what I would find as I slowly pushed it open. But there she was, exactly as she had been when I saw her last. You would think she was just sleeping. I ran over to the bed and instinctively kissed her.
At first nothing. Then as if waking from a dream she slowly opened her eyes. Her smile filled my heart and she reached for my hand. But then her face changed.
She was staring at the end of my finger, the one the blood sample was taken from, and terror filled her eyes. It was hard to make out, but she whispered, “Freeman did this.” I suddenly became re-aware of the voice in my head.
“The next stage now of course will be developing the technology to bring a person back to their own consciousness. The techs have been struggling with the theoretics behind this but the data we have received from today’s experiment is really going to help iron out the problems we have been experiencing.”
I looked at Rose, I could tell she was also hearing Freeman’s voice, and the reality of what was happening washed over me like a tsunami.
Freeman continued, “We can’t underestimate the role you both have played in this process and on behalf of myself and the company I would like to offer you our thanks and admiration. I will be turning off your chips now but let me assure you that your contributions will not be forgotten.”
A click and then, silence. I looked at Rose, a tear rolling down her cheek and tried to smile. But, before I could, I was falling again.
( o )
First Place
That Dress by Margaret Morey
I wanted that dress. I mean, I really wanted it. It called to me from the shop window, the smart one with the black shiny mannequins. It was coral, perfect for my skin-tone, with a soft tulle skirt ending just above the knee. Not too short. Sophisticated. And the bodice not too low, but flattering to someone like me who’s not well-endowed. As soon as I’d seen it I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I thought of it late at night, trying to go to sleep. I thought of it during lessons. I thought of myself wearing it at the prom in a month’s time, when the GCSEs were over. The end of compulsory school. Some of us would be going into the sixth form, but some wouldn’t, so it was the end of our class, as it had been for the last five years. And Alex had asked me to be his partner at the prom – Alex, the tall. blonde rugby player who had been my heart-throb since we were in first year. We had been good friends all that time, but sadly, just mates, and soon we’d be going our separate ways, me into the sixth form and him off to college. I imagined myself dancing with him in that dress… the dress that might change everything. I had to have it.
I told my best friend Mandi about it. We always told each other everything. And of course she wanted to see it, so we got the train to the shopping centre after school the next day, and stood together in front of the shop window, gazing in admiration at the dress, both of us reflected in the glass. We were the same height and build, more or less, but her reflection was more stylish than mine, her hair perfectly straight and smooth, her skin flawless, just the right amount of makeup, understated skinny jeans, the right brand of hoodie, and the right immaculate white trainers. Effortless style. I looked at myself – hair needing straightening, roots starting to show at the parting. I wondered if Mum would pay for me to have a cut and some highlights put in before the prom. My jeans were last season’s and my trainers had never been quite the same since I got caught in the rain. And I could feel a spot starting on my chin. On the scale of coolness, I was medium-cool: I would never be as cool as Mandi, however hard I tried.
I hadn’t bargained for her to go straight in and try the dress on. She collected the size 8 from the end of the rail and bore it off to the changing rooms like it was already hers. When she came from behind the curtain, she looked stunning, and I knew the game was up. She was going to have that dress. Why would she not? Her parents gave her everything she wanted.
“Why don’t you try it?”
But I’d lost the will somehow. The dress was hers now. Her Dad could never say no to her, and my Mum believed that there were more important things than clothes and makeup and flash cars. She was into saving the planet – growing vegetables and recycling.
“Well,” said Mandi, “If you don’t think your Mum will get you it, I suppose I might as well get my Dad to buy it for me. One of us might as well have it.”
Mum was lifting a vegetable casserole from the oven as I opened the door. I decided not to tell her that Mandi and I had had a burger in the shopping centre.
“Just a bit, please,” I said.
It could be a good time to broach the subject of my prom outfit. But as I say, she doesn’t get it about clothes.
“The charity shops are selling lots of prom dresses at the moment. They have probably only been worn once. And after all, there’s no point in spending loads of money on something, just for one night. It’s very divisive for girls to buy things that others can’t afford, as well as being bad for the planet.”
I was standing with my back to her, mouthing her words as she said them. So predictable. So high-minded. So boring.
“But there won’t be much choice in the charity shops.”
But a few days later, I went for a secret snoop in Oxfam after school. I’d told Mandi I had a headache and couldn’t go to her’s like I usually did. I looked both ways first, to check there was no-one I knew watching, before I shot inside over to the prom rail, which had cut-out silver stars above it, to make it look a bit special. There isn’t much glitz and glamour in a charity shop, however hard the volunteers try. And I don’t like the smell – the fusty smell of pre-worn garments, some of them left over from people who’ve died. At least the previous owners of the prom dresses were unlikely to be dead. More likely they would be in the sixth form now, hearing with pity about how I had been seen the night before wearing their dress from last year.
There were two dresses in my size – something in emerald green, but green does nothing for me, and a tight black plain one which just wasn’t how I wanted to look.
“Can I help?”
The sales assistant held the green dress out at arm’s length, hoping to increase its appeal, I suppose. She meant well, but she was way too old to understand, and I didn’t feel like explaining. The world would have been different when she was young. No proms in those days. She probably wouldn’t be able to imagine the excitement of stepping into a brightly-lit store which didn’t smell fusty and choosing a dress no-one else had ever worn. I just kept thinking of that coral creation, now hanging in Mandi’s wardrobe, waiting for her, hair and makeup professionally done, to slip it on, on the night of the prom. I even started to imagine rugby-playing Alex dancing with me, looking over my shoulder across the room at her.
Even if carrying home a dream dress in a fancy carrier bag was going to bring about a climate disaster, I really wanted it. Like I prefer a bar of chocolate to a locally-grown Cox’s pippin with no air-miles attached, or a Margarita to a calorie-free glass of tap water with a zero-carbon footprint. There has to be a little fun and frivolity in life…doesn’t there?
“It’s OK,” I said to the Oxfam woman. “I’m just looking.”
“Don’t leave it too long,” she said with a well-meaning smile, “The prom will be here before you know it, and things are getting snapped up fast.”
****
And the prom was indeed there, or nearly there, before I knew it. Once the last exam was over, I started to panic. Mandi not only had the dress, the wonderful coral dress which I had longed for, but she also had the bag and shoes to match. We were down to a week to go to the big night.
“Found your dream dress yet?”
Mum picked up her coat from the kitchen chair and slung her canvas satchel over her shoulder. She was off to her meeting about Ukrainian refugees. She had signed up for us to take two, and they would be arriving soon.
“There was nothing in the charity shop, if that’s what you mean. Can we not go to the Metro Centre and have a look? Mandi’s got a nice one from there. There’s less than two weeks to go now.”
“Have you looked on Ebay?”
“Yeah. There’s nothing in my size. To be honest, I’m starting to panic a bit. Everyone else has their dress.”
“Don’t worry, something will turn up. And these poor people from Ukraine have nothing. We’re going to start a clothes bank for them. I’ll ask around my friends tonight. Some of them have teenage daughters. I’ll ask if any of them have a dress they could lend you.”
Mandi says that my Mum’s mean, but I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that her mind is always on a higher plane. Material things aren’t important to her. And we didn’t have much spare cash. I felt bad about asking her to waste money on frivolities. So while she was out I had another look on Ebay. Nothing. The charity-shop-woman had been right. Everything had been snapped up.
And then my phone went. Mandi. She didn’t sound right. Her voice was thin and tired somehow.
“Hi. I’ve got something to tell you. The most awful thing has happened. You know I felt a bit weird this morning, when we were hanging out in the park? Well, when I got home I couldn’t taste my sandwich, so I did a Covid test, just to be sure, and I tested positive.”
“You’ve got Covid? I don’t believe it.”
“Yes, I feel gross. Coughing all the time, feeling hot and cold, and really tired. The worst of it is that I’ll be out of action for well over a week, so that means no prom for me. We all have to show a negative test before we get on the bus. And I wouldn’t go anyway, spreading it round. It’s not fair.”
“Oh, that sucks. I won’t even be able to come and see you. I’ll keep in touch though. I’ll ring at least once every day. Maybe we’ll be able to meet outside when you feel better.”
“Look, I’ve been thinking about the dress. You really wanted it, didn’t you? It was mean of me to buy it. Now Dad’s saying that if I can’t wear it, I have to take it back to the shop. But that’s going to have to be after the prom, when I test negative again. I wondered if you want to borrow it. If you keep the labels on, you know, tuck them away, you could wear it for the night and I could still take it back. But you’d have to be really careful with it. Don’t, whatever you do, spill anything on it, or tear it. You can borrow the bag as well, but not the shoes. You can’t take shoes back if you’ve been outside in them.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was sorry Mandi wasn’t coming to the prom. It wouldn’t be the same without her. And it was rotten luck for her to be missing out. But I was already starting to imagine myself dancing with Alex in that dress, under sparkling lights… And of course I’d be careful. I wouldn’t let anything happen to it.
****
The prom was all I’d hoped for. Everyone seemed suddenly so grown-up. Alex looked cool, of course, waiting for me beside the bus, and my heart did that kind of melty, fluttery thing that people talk about, when I saw how he self-consciously wriggled his broad shoulders because of the unaccustomed restrictions of his suit. He said he liked my dress, and I look amazing standing beside him in the photo, even if I say so myself.
Time flashed by, and in no time at all, the DJ was announcing the last dance, and Alex was holding me close. My heart was racing. I thought he might be going to kiss me. But then all of a sudden, one of the lads who had been hanging about on the edge of the dance floor decided to prance about on his own beside us. He was still holding his drink and before we could get out of the way, he staggered a bit and some of the liquid came out of his glass, sailed through the air in slow motion in a kind of arc, and settled on the front of my wonderful coral dress in a pattern of dark red dots. Alex mopped at it with a tissue, but it wasn’t going to come out. I tried to make light of it. There was nothing else I could do. We got back on the bus, but the magic of the evening had gone, and on the way home I could only think about what I would say to Mandi when I rang her next day.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,” Alex said. “You seem a bit subdued.”
He gave me a squeeze and a peck on the cheek when we got off the bus and went our separate ways. When I got home, Mum was watching TV in the lounge. She called out as I shot past the open door and up the stairs.
“Had a good time, love?”
I took a deep breath and said as convincingly as I could,
”Yeah, great, thanks. I’m really tired, though. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”
Then I got into bed and pulled the duvet over my head as far as it would go.
****
I woke up late next morning, and the memory of the night before hit me like a brick. I padded across my bedroom floor to look at the dress, draped over the back of a chair. I had the ridiculous hope that I had imagined the spilling of the drink, that I would find the dress as spotless as when I first lifted it from the posh carrier bag. But of course the stains were still there, a stark testimony to my carelessness, the proof of a broken promise. I had let Mandi down.
Mum must have heard me moving about, and brought me up a cup of herbal tea. She moved the dress out of the way, so she could sit on my chair.
“Oh dear,” she said when she saw the stains. She seemed relieved when I said it was just a drink. I think she thought I’d been near a stabbing.
“We could take it to the dry cleaners’, she suggested, “Or get some stain remover.”
I could tell by her voice that she wasn’t holding out a lot of hope.
Then my phone pinged. A message. Alex!
Hi
Hope you enjoyed last night as much as I did. You looked very cool in that dress, but to me you’d look good in a bin bag. Such a pity the drink got spilt down it. I know you’d borrowed it from Mandi, and I expect you’re worried about giving her it back in that state, but I’ve had an idea. We’ve both probably got stuff we need rid of. Why don’t we do a car boot sale together to raise some cash to pay her back? And how about a date sometime when hopefully no-one will shatter a romantic moment?
Alex xx
Yay!
( o )
Leave a Reply