The Fall Girl by Denise Sewell Page A

cigarette and take a couple of pulls.
    ‘Would your mother be able to leave me home?’ I ask Lesley.
    ‘Daddy’s away in the car,’ Sandra says, ‘but don’t worry, Keith won’t bite you.’
    ‘OK.’ I pull my gabardine from the knob on the wardrobe door. ‘I’d better go.’
    ‘Scared?’ Lesley puts her arm around me.
    ‘It’s Daddy I dread facing the most.’
    ‘Why, is he a bollocks too?’ Sandra asks.
    ‘No, he’s lovely. But he’ll be worried sick about me by now.’
    ‘Just tell him you’re fed up of being treated like a two-year-old,’ Sandra says. ‘Fuck it, he was young himself once upon a time.’
    ‘And if your mother as much as lays a finger on you,’ Lesley says, ‘clock her.’
    It’s cold and dark outside. My knees are knocking off one another – more the fear of riding on a motorbike with a fella than the chill. With the helmet on, I feel like an astronaut. I don’t know where to rest my feet.
    ‘Put your arms around my waist and hang on,’ Keith shouts back at me as he revs up the bike.
    I don’t dare. Lesley is standing at the front door shivering and jigging about to keep herself warm.
    ‘If you don’t hang on, you’ll fall off,’ Keith says, taking my hands and wrapping them around his leathered body.
    When he sees my feet dangling, he looks back at me, his eyes smiling through the gap in the helmet.
    ‘There,’ he shouts, pointing to the footrest.
    At first, it’s like being on a merry-go-round – a gentle breeze in my face. But, once we’re out of the town, we’re tearing out the road so fast, I’m swallowing great big pockets of air. And although it’s almost choking me, I don’t want the journey to end: I’ve never felt so high.
    When Keith pulls up on the outskirts of the village, I step off the bike, remove the helmet and hand it to him. He hangs it on the handlebar and says, ‘Come here.’
    I think he’s expecting a kiss. Why else would he want me to stand close to him? But I don’t know how he’s going to manage; he still has his helmet on. I step towards him, my lips and tongue suddenly draining of their juices. He pulls off his right glove and tousles my hair.
    ‘That’s better,’ he says, ‘the helmet flattened it on you.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    He smirks. ‘You’d better go.’
    ‘Yeah,’ I say, without budging. I’m standing next to him, gawping into his face, still waiting for the kiss.
    ‘See ya,’ he says, turning on the engine and revving up the bike.
    ‘Bye.’
    I walk wobbly-legged down the street, feeling both relieved and disappointed about the kiss that didn’t happen.
    ‘Hello, Mister Scully.’ He’s closing up the shop.
    ‘Young Fall, be the hokey!’
    I’m glad I’ve shocked him.
    Billy Brady, the village flirt from my class in primary school, is walking towards me.
    ‘Evening, Red,’ he says, and winks.
    ‘Hiya, Billy.’
    ‘That’s never you, Frances Fall?’
    ‘Yip,’ I say, striding on.
    ‘Well, fuck me pink.’
    He stands looking after me. I throw back my shoulders and toss back my hair.
    ‘Oh, by the way,’ he shouts, ‘your father’s been looking for you. I’ve just seen him driving out the Castleowen road.’
    My heart sinks.
    ‘Shite shite shite,’ I whisper, slowing my pace.
    If only I had thought of ringing him from Lesley’s house and asking him to collect me. I could have talked to him on the way home and explained to him why I’ve done what I’ve done.
20 October 1999 (the early hours)
    I’ve just woken up in a sweat. I thought I heard a baby crying, but there are no babies in here. I must have been dreaming.
Her eighteenth birthday
    My vision is blurred. Indicating, I pull over on to the hard shoulder to dry my eyes and compose myself. I need to keep my wits about me.
    When I turn to look at the baby, I find her lying on her back, hands facing upwards, fingers curled like petals on the verge of blooming. As I run my forefinger down her cheek, her lips quiver into what looks like a