Birdy by Jess Vallance Page B

Nan came to find me in my room.
    ‘I’ve made you a sandwich,’ she said, placing a square, foil package on my desk.
    ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Thanks. But … I’m not going till after dinner.’
    ‘You might get peckish, I thought. In the night.’
    I smiled up at her. ‘Thanks.’
    Then she ran her finger along my bookshelf. ‘It’s filthy in here. Make sure you clean it before you go.’
    Seven-thirty couldn’t come soon enough. At exactly seven-thirty-one, I stood on the Fitzroy-Blacks’ doorstep and knocked three times with the big metal knocker.
    Bert flung the door open almost at once. For a minute, I wondered if she’d been standing there, waiting for me. I sort of hoped she’d been looking forward to our evening together as much as I had. But I suppose that was wishful thinking. She got to do whatever she wanted every Saturday night. It wasn’t a novelty for her like it was for me.
    Bert was wearing some loose pink trousers and a matching vest. Over the top she had a cotton robe-type jacket. Her hair was in a messy bun, with strands falling around her ears. She looked amazing. I thought of the fraying grey pyjamas in my bag. I decided I’d have to sleep in my clothes.
    ‘You’re here!’ She pulled the door open wide for me to step in.
    She lifted my bag off my shoulder and chucked it at the bottom of the stairs, then she took my hand and pulled me down the hall to the kitchen.
    ‘I thought we could have a little Christmas party!’ she said.
    ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. I was suddenly afraid I was going to find that she’d invited half of Year Ten to join us for a wild house party, and that they’d be there already, hiding in the kitchen. But it was OK. It was just two bottles in the middle of the kitchen table, dark green with gold tops.
    ‘Champagne?’ I asked, gazing at them.
    ‘Yep!’ Bert said, bounding over to the table. ‘The real deal. Fancy a glass?’
    ‘But …’ I said, ‘your parents … they’ll …’ For some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off the shiny foil wrapped around the necks.
    ‘Oh it’s fine,’ Bert said. ‘One of Mum’s customers brought them round when Mum and Dad had already gone. We’ll just drink one bottle and leave them the other. That way, if the customer says, “Did you enjoy the champagne?” Mum and Dad will still be able to say, “Yes, thank you, it was terribly kind.” The customer isn’t going to say, “Did you enjoy the TWO bottles of champagne?” is he? So we don’t need to worry – they’ll never know. Anyway, I’ve had wine with dinner heaps of times before so they’re fine with that sort of thing.’
    I didn’t say anything but I don’t think Bert was waiting for my approval. She was already peeling the foil off one of the bottles. I jumped when the cork popped out and Bert giggled as she sloshed the foaming liquid into two elegant champagne flutes.
    ‘To the den?’ she asked.
    I nodded. ‘To the den.’
    Fifteen minutes later and we were squashed up together in the Egg – fast becoming my favourite place in the world. I’d already downed most of my glass. I’d got used to the sharp taste by now and I was enjoying the warm feeling in my belly and cheeks.
    ‘Have you ever had champagne before?’ Bert asked me.
    I shook my head. That was the good thing about Bert. I didn’t worry that she’d laugh at me or turn her nose up at my inexperience. She never seemed to find anything odd.
    ‘Have you?’ I asked.
    Bert nodded and took another sip. ‘A couple of times,’ she said with a modest shrug. ‘With my parents sometimes. Just a glass at New Year and whatnot.’ She giggled suddenly. ‘And …’ she said, shooting me a mischievous little grin, ‘and with Richard.’
    I had to think for a minute to remember where I’d heard the name before. ‘Wasn’t he the one whose car you smashed up? Your parents’ friend?’
    Bert nodded and giggled into her glass again.
    ‘I thought he was a plonker,’ I said. I