December's story

Never make a promise you can’t keep

After all, it was her fault. It had been her idea to get drunk in the dead of night, and then her idea to sneak around buying alcohol with gawky Mike. They’d been caught red handed and their jinks were up. Tears started to well up and it wasn’t a night that she relished. She was a bit shell shocked as she muddled through the hurly burly of the busy evening to the date with the zombie scavenger.

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How could she stop so low? A date with a living ‘Jabba the Hut’ Even Princess Leia escaped in the film, and she hoped likewise!

She’d wondered what to wear, fretting about a pleated skirt or a twin set, trying to look as much like her mum (and therefore as plain as can be) as she dared. The Hallowe’en plan hadn’t worked, and the disguise would now be slightly more cryptic.

She tried to assess the situation, thinking of what lay ahead. Mike’s breathe, like a dead kipper.

The bulge of his mass. Ripples in his fat. Sweat crawling down his fat neck.

It had become a living nightmare. Maybe Susie had a friend, and they could go as a foursome?

She picked up her mobile, and with a rattle and a squeak phoned up her friend.

She'd already tried the ruse, it ticked in her brain just as she spoke.What a howler. Suzie was the last dwindling hope, her bubbly personality and elegant hairddo. She’d been slushy on the phone, trying all the tricks to persuade Suzie to come, with a friend.

Gushing, she’d sobbed, pleaded and begged, to no avail. Suzie wasn’t allowed to come out. Her wager was lost. And even worse, Suzie wanted to cancel that burger, but then, had said that she might just come out next week.

Solene sat there in her private world. WTF.

So, time to get going.

There was no relent. She stifled her fears, and got her brother out of his room, no mean feat.

He’d been playing computer games for the last three months instead of living.

All the things living people did. Like wash. Go to the toilet. Brush their teeth. Eat food. In his room, green gas hovered above the dirty carpet, and here and there lay mugs and plates, stacked up, mouldy. Was that a dead body? Or a rat? Holy cow.

It seemed a shame to go around pigeonholing her sibling into the “geeks” gang, but the strains had built up , and his other worldly glow, acquired from lack of sunlight , meant he didn’t need to pretend it was Hallowe’en.

 

 

She’d daubed on bit of make up anyway and tried to think of a way to dismount the stead of despair. Best look stunning.

Her brother stifled a yawn. He really was allergic to fresh air. He’d taken a giant tuck box full of twiglets to nibble in the cinema, hiding them in his rucksack. What a dork.!

She needed a drink.

She’d taken a small empty spice pot beforehand, and carefully planned to empty it. She’d been looking for a small enough bottle so that taking a little Dutch courage in the form of dad’s vodka would be unseen.

A small enough bottle was found in the spice rack, and a quick glance around the kitchen to check, she’d very quickly filled it with a well-earned dose of vodka, and slipped it in her bag.

 

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Later, she’d planned to lace the drinks with it when they went clubbing. If she had to be cuddly with Mike, perhaps vodka would help! She hoped it wouldn’t end in the sticky mess she was now in.

They got on the bus and rumbled to the meeting point, outside the cinema at 10.00. She’d primed herself for the meeting with plenty of perfume and she’d finally decided on the top with nice lacing.

 

They got to the cinema. Dread vented up inside her, disrupting her train of thought. They paid and then went inside the old sandstone cinema. She’d have to be on the same pew as Mike. It made her skin crawl just being in the same universe. And to top it all, her loser brother had been dragged out from his dorm, twiglet tuck box and all.

A plan. What she needed was a plan. She put her brother between her and Mike (Swamp Thing), and sat next to the unassuming young man. He looked sprightly. She waited until the film began.

 

She slurped and burped her way through the giant coke that she’d made Mike buy and held onto the cuddly toy he’d had to buy too. Flittered and flirted with the man next to her just to piss Mike off. But the guy next to her was either oblivious or gay, she thought. Oh well.

The boys crunched through the twiglets, but she hadn’t dared to swig on the vodka. Sometimes, the whirlwind leaves its traces and she didn’t want to have to end up clipping the hedge or worse, playing rounders with the next-door neighbours’ children as a punishment.

 

She couldn’t even remember the film at the end. Mike had insisted on a ‘little peck’ but it turned out to be like kissing the toilet plunger

just after it had been used to unblock the toilets when her dad had eaten a spicy curry.

They all went their separate ways in the end, no club, no drinks, no fun.

 

She threw up on the curb anyway. The kiss of the dementor kicked in.

Her brother, off course had taken a stunning selfie of the “kiss from the black lagoon”

and, being quick with those click mouse fingers from all those gaming hours, quick to take one of the vomit. Siblings are great!

Sometimes life had to be seen stoutly, and the fat had to be pared off from the fun, or we stumble into hard punishments. Helping her dad in the potting shed and mowing the lawn. The list of things that her dad had made her do, and still she was stupid enough to take a nip of vodka and pour into that empty spice bottle.  Her arms still ached from scrubbing the toilets.

Later at home she sneaked into the lounge and took out the spice bottle.

She strapped on her bike light onto her head like a thief in the night

and steadily, she poured the incriminating evidence back into the bottle. She tightened back on the screw cap and stood back to admire her work. This time, she wouldn’t get caught. Yes!

But then she noticed something floating on the surface of the liquid in the vodka  bottle. What was that?

She held the spice bottle up to the beam of light. It hadn’t been emptied at all! What was in it? With dread she turned the bottle to read the label ‘EXTRA STRONG CHILI GARLIC MIX”. Oh NO!

She read, glued to the spot “Guaranteed to be the hottest since 1884” The bottle went on, comparing jokily the spiciness as being “stronger than Chernoble AND Fukishima combined”

It was the one used for dad’s spicy curries. Oh fudge! Perhaps no one would want vodka for a while if she was lucky.

 

She sneaked back upstairs and hoped for the best. But then she remembered the next weekend, the vicar and his wife were coming, and they liked vodka and orange. She buried her head under her pillow and screamed into the mattress….

Tune into next month’s instalment