watch a film in the TV Room earlier. It was shockingly bad; some PG-13 shit about an awkward brunette who defeats the mean girls with witty banter to get the cutest boy at school.
I think it was supposed to be inspirational, but Naomi and I just talked through it.
‘What would you be doing tonight if you weren’t here?’ I asked her during the makeover montage. I wished I lived in America; all you need to do to overcome your demons is to get contact lenses and a blow dry.
‘Shagging Tom,’ she said with a filthy laugh.
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re
so
rock and roll.’
‘Don’t hate on me because the boy I love wants to shag me, not my friend.’
I kicked her so hard she fell off the sofa.
‘Juliet isn’t my friend,’ I reminded her as she climbed back up, but she grinned.
‘That’s worse.’
Actually, it is.
‘So what would you be doing, then? Trying to get your leg over with Sid?’
I ignored her. ‘All sorts. We never stayed in on a Friday night.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We went to a lot of gigs. Juliet’s a proper hipster – she only liked bands that played tiny venues. As soon as everyone at college started talking about them, she moved on.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Me and Sid didn’t care; we’d listen to anything—’
‘Me and Sid,’ Naomi sang.
I glared at her. ‘Hands up who’s not helping.’ Reta put her hand up and I rolled my eyes. ‘Put your hand down, Reets.’ When she did, I crossed my arms. ‘We went to this wedding once. It was Sid’s cousin’s cousin, or something. I don’t remember. It was at this rugby club in West Ham.’
‘Classy.’
I had to laugh. She was right. The last wedding I went to was at Claridge’s so I’d never been to a wedding with paper plates and a balloon arch before. I should have been horrified, I suppose, but as the
Daily Mail
once said about me: you can take the girl out of the council estate, but you can’t take the council estate out of the girl, so I loved it. What’s not to love about sausage rolls and cheese and pineapple? Food of the gods, that.
By nine o’clock the father of the bride was shirtless and everyone was dancing to ‘Come on, Eileen’. Sid had lost his black suit jacket and was twirling one of the bridesmaids. She was clearly besotted with him, ignoring another bridesmaid who was not so patiently waiting her turn. Three year olds don’t fuck about, though, so after a few minutes, dresses were tugged and hair was pulled. I was horrified, but Sid was unfazed, and just picked them both up and danced with them at the same time, one on each hip.
I nudged Juliet, but she was fiddling with her phone. ‘Let’s dance.’
She wrinkled her nose and continued tapping away.
The DJ must have been on my side because he put ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ on.
I jumped to my feet. ‘We have to dance to this!’
She wrinkled her nose again. ‘What? This is old people’s music.’
I stared at her, horrified. ‘It’s
Sinatra
.’
She ignored me and continued sending a text, but before I could slap some sense into her, someone took my hand.
I looked up as Sid tugged me towards the dance floor. ‘I’ll dance with you, Ro.’
‘Okay,’ I breathed, so bewildered, I almost tripped over my own feet.
We found a gap between a gaggle of cackling aunts and a group of thirteen-year-old girls who were swishing around in their dresses. They blushed in unison as Sid approached.
‘Nice dress, Bex,’ he said with a grin, sweeping a hand through his hair.
I knew immediately which one he was talking to because the poor girl looked ready to collapse. Not that I was much cooler; as soon as Sid pulled me to him and put his hand on the small of my back, my cheeks started to burn, too.
That was the first time he touched me. Not play-punched me or grabbed my sleeve at a gig when he was trying to get my attention over the roar of the band, but really
touched
me. I could feel the heat of his hand through the silk of my dress and
I think it was supposed to be inspirational, but Naomi and I just talked through it.
‘What would you be doing tonight if you weren’t here?’ I asked her during the makeover montage. I wished I lived in America; all you need to do to overcome your demons is to get contact lenses and a blow dry.
‘Shagging Tom,’ she said with a filthy laugh.
I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re
so
rock and roll.’
‘Don’t hate on me because the boy I love wants to shag me, not my friend.’
I kicked her so hard she fell off the sofa.
‘Juliet isn’t my friend,’ I reminded her as she climbed back up, but she grinned.
‘That’s worse.’
Actually, it is.
‘So what would you be doing, then? Trying to get your leg over with Sid?’
I ignored her. ‘All sorts. We never stayed in on a Friday night.’
‘What did you do?’
‘We went to a lot of gigs. Juliet’s a proper hipster – she only liked bands that played tiny venues. As soon as everyone at college started talking about them, she moved on.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Me and Sid didn’t care; we’d listen to anything—’
‘Me and Sid,’ Naomi sang.
I glared at her. ‘Hands up who’s not helping.’ Reta put her hand up and I rolled my eyes. ‘Put your hand down, Reets.’ When she did, I crossed my arms. ‘We went to this wedding once. It was Sid’s cousin’s cousin, or something. I don’t remember. It was at this rugby club in West Ham.’
‘Classy.’
I had to laugh. She was right. The last wedding I went to was at Claridge’s so I’d never been to a wedding with paper plates and a balloon arch before. I should have been horrified, I suppose, but as the
Daily Mail
once said about me: you can take the girl out of the council estate, but you can’t take the council estate out of the girl, so I loved it. What’s not to love about sausage rolls and cheese and pineapple? Food of the gods, that.
By nine o’clock the father of the bride was shirtless and everyone was dancing to ‘Come on, Eileen’. Sid had lost his black suit jacket and was twirling one of the bridesmaids. She was clearly besotted with him, ignoring another bridesmaid who was not so patiently waiting her turn. Three year olds don’t fuck about, though, so after a few minutes, dresses were tugged and hair was pulled. I was horrified, but Sid was unfazed, and just picked them both up and danced with them at the same time, one on each hip.
I nudged Juliet, but she was fiddling with her phone. ‘Let’s dance.’
She wrinkled her nose and continued tapping away.
The DJ must have been on my side because he put ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ on.
I jumped to my feet. ‘We have to dance to this!’
She wrinkled her nose again. ‘What? This is old people’s music.’
I stared at her, horrified. ‘It’s
Sinatra
.’
She ignored me and continued sending a text, but before I could slap some sense into her, someone took my hand.
I looked up as Sid tugged me towards the dance floor. ‘I’ll dance with you, Ro.’
‘Okay,’ I breathed, so bewildered, I almost tripped over my own feet.
We found a gap between a gaggle of cackling aunts and a group of thirteen-year-old girls who were swishing around in their dresses. They blushed in unison as Sid approached.
‘Nice dress, Bex,’ he said with a grin, sweeping a hand through his hair.
I knew immediately which one he was talking to because the poor girl looked ready to collapse. Not that I was much cooler; as soon as Sid pulled me to him and put his hand on the small of my back, my cheeks started to burn, too.
That was the first time he touched me. Not play-punched me or grabbed my sleeve at a gig when he was trying to get my attention over the roar of the band, but really
touched
me. I could feel the heat of his hand through the silk of my dress and
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