Birdy by Jess Vallance

‘You wanna drink?’ She held the bottle out to me.
    I shook my head and turned away, ready to head home now.
    ‘Oh, don’t go!’ the girl whined. ‘Stay. Have a drink!’
    I hesitated for a moment, and then I don’t for the life of me know why, but I took the bottle from her and took a swig. It was rancid. Like what I’d imagine nail-polish remover to taste like, but I swallowed it down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
    At first I thought I was going to vomit, but then it settled into my stomach and it didn’t feel too bad. Sort of burny, but in a good way. And then the girl cheered and Matt joined in. And so I smiled. There I was standing in the middle of the park holding a bottle of vodka with people cheering me and suddenly the whole scene struck me as so funny that I started laughing.
    ‘God, she’s pissed already,’ Gary said.
    The girl laughed a tinkly little laugh then she said, ‘Have some more. Go on.’
    I didn’t move, so she said it again. ‘Go on, Frances. Treat yourself.’
    And then they all started chanting my name: ‘Frances, Frances, Frances.’
    So I took another swig, and another and another. I got used to the taste and I started to like the feeling. So I had some more. And then, in no time at all, I’d finished the whole bottle. I flopped down on the grass next to Matt. There’s no rush to get home, I thought. I’ll just sit here. Watch the sun go down. Have a chat.
    I remember one of the girls peering down at me like I was something in a Petri dish. ‘She’s a funny little thing, isn’t she?’ she said to Matt.
    It was strange really – I didn’t even find it insulting. She just seemed so fascinated by me. I don’t remember minding or feeling silly or anything. It all just seemed so funny, at the time. Flattering, almost.
    ‘Yeah,’ Matt said, laughing. ‘A real nutjob.’
    I don’t remember anything else. I suppose I’d thought they’d carry on talking to me but I don’t think they did. I don’t remember saying anything at all. I think I just sat there, just being. The sun was warm on my face and my head felt like it was inside a cloud.
    It was dark when the policeman woke me up, and freezing cold.
    ‘Come on,’ he said to me in a weary voice. ‘Let’s get you home.’
    I’d frozen at the sight of him, not sure if it was a dream or a kidnap attempt or what. He’d bent down and hauled me to my feet and steered me out of the park and into the road where his car was parked. He wrapped me in a blanket, and laid me on the back seat. Then he drove me home.
    When we got to the house he took me to the door. I realised that at some point I must’ve started crying because I could taste the salty tears dripping into my mouth. I don’t remember feeling very sad or anything though. I suppose it was all such a shock, finding myself outside in the dark with a huge chunk of time erased from my memory.
    In the car, I’d been terrified that Nan was going to go crazy at me, maybe hit me even. I mean, it wasn’t like she’d hit me before, and actually, her sudden fits of temper were usually reserved for silly, petty things – leaving soap-bubble smears on the glasses when I was meant to be drying up, leaving the light on in my bedroom all day by mistake – but here I was, being driven home by a policeman, a drunken disgrace. I was all too aware that this must’ve been exactly what Bridget was like. Surely, I thought, surely I’m going to get it this time.
    But in the end, she didn’t do anything very much. She thanked the policeman and when he’d gone she stood in the hall, just looking at me, not saying anything at all. I kept waiting for it to come, for her to explode. But she didn’t. She didn’t even look angry really. Just confused. Sad and confused. In the end she said, ‘Your dinner’s on the side,’ and went back upstairs. I’d assumed Granddad was in bed but then he’d appeared at the top of the stairs. He’d just stood there for ages, looking