The Other Ida by Amy Mason

the bed and Ida turned and sat behind her, pulling the chopsticks out of her mother’s hair and beginning to brush.
    They were expecting more drinks but the man was empty-handed. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but instead a black suit, and behind him a young blonde waitress carried two coffees on a tray.
    â€œMs Adair. We have brought you some coffee.”
    â€œWhere are my drinks?”
    â€œAh well, there was a little problem with that. The studio would prefer you had some coffee.”
    The man was smiling like this was a gift. He was good, Ida could see that, but he could never be good enough to defeat her mother. She sat on the bed and looked outside. That was that then, they’d be here all God damn night.
    â€œI need the drinks I ordered, now. If that bloody studio think I am going stone cold sober to some terrible thing where people will insult me, and my work will be ripped to shreds by morons, then they’ve got another think coming.”
    â€œIt’s also come to our attention that your daughter is underage.”
    â€œBoth the drinks are for me.”
    â€œI’m sorry we can’t help more, Ms Adair, maybe you could take it up with the studio?”
    â€œYou know I know every reviewer in this town? Just you wait, you stupid, foolish man.”
    He bowed and started to leave.
    â€œMy apologies, Ms Adair, if there was anything I could do –”
    â€œYou could do plenty, couldn’t you? It’s that you won’t.”
    He closed the door but Bridie didn’t move. “I bet this has to do with your father, you know. Bad mouthing me to all and sundry, spreading lies in that bloody trashy mag he writes for…”
    The Radio Times , thought Ida, he writes for The Radio Times .
    â€œGet your shoes on then, count up the money from the bottom of my bag. There must be a shop near here you can get to.”
    â€œBut the time, Ma.”
    â€œI’m not going anywhere ‘til I’m at least three-quarters pissed. Not tonight. Not tonight of all nights.”
    By the time Ida got back the driver had been sent away twice and it was nearly seven o’clock. She had a dusty bottle of brandy she’d bought in a tobacconist; the old lady behind the counter was long-sighted enough to have taken Ida’s height as proof she was over eighteen. Bridie’s hands were shaking as she took it, and she downed almost a quarter of it in four gulps. She exhaled.
    â€œHe’ll be back in ten minutes, that’s what he said. Wash your face, darling, you’re sweating.”
    Ida couldn’t stop shaking in the car, and for the first time she wished Alice was there. She realised that it was, perhaps, the first time she’d been away from her sister overnight. If Alice was there she would have been kept busy answering her maddening questions and making sure she ate. Without her there Ida wasn’t sure what to do. But it was a grown-up film, not one for irritating girls like Alice who wet the bed and cried at Lassie .
    It was dark outside but there were people everywhere and more lights and sounds than she could possibly take in. She wound down the window and took a deep breath, tasting petrol and fast food and things she couldn’t name. On a street corner two men were dancing while other people watched, and as they turned she saw a group of girls with red Mohicans and leather jackets. She was filled with a joy she’d not known before, the kind she’d been told she would feel when she’d been confirmed. She wasn’t sure whether God would possibly choose to reach her through some scary looking girls, and some smells, and some dancing young men, but it certainly felt like it.
    Bridie was jiggling her leg and looking out of the other window and Ida could tell she was nervous, drumming one finger on her collarbone. Her hair was up in a twist, Ida had pinned it, and she had dark red lipstick on her full lips. Over her white shirt