The First Last Kiss (20 page)

‘You saved my life!’ she’d gasped, and enveloped me in a hug.

But as I helped her up, holding up my fists to anyone who dared come close, I felt she’d saved mine.

From that moment on we were inseparable. We waited for each other after class, spent every breaktime together, I even purposely dropped grades in a couple of subjects so we could be in the same set. I’d been planning on doing it anyway, just to piss Mum off – now I had an even better reason. I helped her with schoolwork, she helped me to relax and be myself. For the first time, someone liked me for
me
. It was a revelation.

‘Molly!’ Casey squeals now as she gestures to the small space next to her on the couch. ‘You look wicked!’

I glance down at my fitted black T-shirt and long denim skirt that I’m wearing with – yep, you’ve guessed it – Converse. My style is still basically the same, mostly black, mostly long, but these days I like to show off a little bit of my shape, too.

‘Ooh, I love your hair! It’s grown! You’re almost back to your natural brunette! If you had it feathered, and highlighted, you could totally have a Rachel cut!’ I pull a face. This was not a look I’d be aiming for. ‘Although you’d need my Greek nose.’ She sticks her face up against mine and turns us to face the mirror in the hallway and I can’t help laughing. ‘See! Told you!’ she exclaims. ‘Oooh, we can watch loads of
Friends
over the holidays. It’s my favourite programme EVER.’ She pauses, but only to draw breath. ‘I’m desperate to see
There’s Something About Mary
! I love Cameron Diaz, I wish I were just like her, don’t you? She actually makes me wanna get my hair cut short! And maybe dye it blonde?’ She shakes her long, dark mane.

‘You look gorgeous as you are, Case!’ I smile.

‘Ahhh, you just always expect to see me with old braces, bad hair and Greek–Italian puppy fat! Hey!’ she snaps her fingers. ‘I’m the Monica to your Rachel!’

‘You were never fat, Case,’ I point out. ‘Just . . . curvaceous.’

‘Well, thank God for step aerobics! And straight teeth! I passed one of the Heathers in the street the other day – Nikki, do you remember? She’s up the duff! Again! Who’s Not-so-Gorgeous now, huh? Ha ha!’

‘I haven’t heard that name for a long time,’ I say, mentally rewinding the months since I left Leigh to go to uni in London.

‘God, I’ve missed you so MUCH!’ Casey leans over and squeezes me tightly. Her hair is pulled back with lots of little brightly coloured bulldog hair clips and they’re digging into my cheek. I pull away.

‘We only saw each other a few weeks ago!’

Casey pouts. ‘Yeah well, that’s way too long. We used to see each other every day!’

I squeeze her to let her know I’ve missed her, too. She knows I’m not one for ostentatious emotion.

‘Molly!’ exclaims Casey’s mum as she walks in from the kitchen and stands with her hip jutting out, chewing gum.

‘Hi, Toni,’ I smile politely. I know Casey finds her embarrassing because she’s not like other mums.

‘Make Moll a cup of tea please, Mum!’ Casey demands as I throw myself down on her sofa.

‘Make it yerself sweetheart, I’m going aht. I gotta hot date.’

‘Another one?’ Casey mutters sullenly.

‘Don’t be sore just ’coz your mum gets more action than you! I can’t help it if men find me irresistible. I’m off to an Ann Summers party at that posh house on the Marine Estate. Whatsername. Jackie Cooper.’ My chest constricts at that name. ‘Ooh, her husband is well fit, I’d give him one!’

‘UGH,’ Casey says as her mum slams the door behind her. ‘Seriously Moll, be thankful that your parents are the way they are. Can you imagine having a mum like mine who talks about shagging all the time? It’s so embarrassing!’

‘So how long are you back for?’ she then asks excitedly, throwing her legs over mine and stretching out languidly.

She smiles at me hopefully and I dread giving her my reply. ‘Just a few days to be honest, Case . . . ’

‘Oh, you’re not off to stay with Mar
coos
are you?’ Casey says, curling her lip. She never did take to him.

I shake my head. ‘Nope. I broke it off. Eight months was as long as I could stand with him! I reckon that’s the first and last long-term relationship for me.’

‘So you’re single?’ Casey squeals. I nod. ‘And ready to mingle?’

‘I guess so.’

‘YAY! We are going to have so much fun! So, hang on, why aren’t you staying here longer if you’re not with him any more?’

‘I’ve got a work placement at a magazine in London for six weeks starting next week, so I’m going to stay at my uni digs for the summer.’

‘A magazine?’

‘It makes sense for me to get some experience on a picture desk. It’ll give me loads of photography contacts, too.’

‘Ooh, I know!’ she says, sitting up on her knees and clapping her hands together excitedly. ‘I could come and work at the magazine, too! I could be, you know, one of those people who shop for a living! Or even better, their party correspondent.’ She adopts an American accent and holds the TV remote up to her mouth as if it is a microphone. ‘This is Casey Georgiou reporting from the Oscars where I’m currently snogging Brad Pitt.’ She clutches a cushion to her lips and kisses it passionately and I laugh. ‘Speaking of Brad Pitt,’ she says, putting the cushion back in its place, ‘I know another guy who all the girls fancy who’s looking forward to snogging – I mean seeing – you . . . ’

‘Who?’ I rack my brains trying to think of anyone in Leigh who could possibly want to see me. Being away from home has made me realize the size of the chip I had on my shoulder. It was more of a potato wedge.

‘A certain local football star who drives a nice car and is a
total
hottie . . . ’

‘Oh. HIM. Is he still living round here?’ I sniff.

‘Wow, Molly, you can still hold a grudge better than anyone else I know!’ Casey raises her perfectly pencilled eyebrow. When did she get so good at applying make-up, I wonder?

‘I haven’t thought about him in
ages
actually,’ I say defensively. ‘I had a boyfriend, remember? I look at my fingernails so she can’t see I’m lying. ‘Besides, I’ve got a right to hold a grudge – he totally humiliated me.’

‘He only kissed you, Molly.’

‘Badly.’

‘That’s not a crime is it? If it was, every teenage boy should be locked up!’

‘OK, I’ll rephrase that. He kissed me badly as a dare, in front of everyone!’

‘Yeah well,’ she continues flapping her hand dismissively, ‘clearly you haven’t thought about him AT ALL since.’

I make a face at her. ‘I haven’t. Apart from to recall the deep-rooted humiliation that’s printed to my core like a stick of Southend rock. Other than that, I can barely remember his name.’

‘Whoooee,’ Casey whistles. ‘He got you
baaaad
. Well, I happen to know he’s up for grabs, and a bit down on his luck . . . ’

‘Oh?’ I say, suddenly intrigued.

She nods and rubs lip balm on her lips. ‘He can’t play football any more, hurt himself at his trial for Southend. He’s still living at home and has had to have loads of physio and stuff. Lucky physio!’ she laughs. ‘Hey maybe that would be a good job for me?’ She wiggles her hands. ‘Put these magic fingers to good use! Anyway, it’s sad for him but good for you, eh Moll? I mean, bruised egos make them vulnerable. That’s what I find anyway when I hoover up other girls’ sloppy seconds. It makes them dead grateful.’ Her face clouds over and she puts on a bright smile. ‘When it comes to cheering up men, I’m like Leigh-on-Sea’s very own Saint . . . Mother Lady . . . you know whatshername. She’s old, or dead, and she always wore that hat. Blue and white it was . . . ’

‘Mother Teresa?’ I offer, struggling to keep up with Casey’s train of thought. I’m out of practice.

‘That’s her! Yep, I’m her, but younger and hotter and with better make-up and less clothes! So yep, if you don’t want him, let me know, ’cause I, Saint Casey Georgiou, will go and lay
my
healing hands on him . . . ’

‘Cas
ey
!’ I laugh, trying to hide my annoyance at her persistence. ‘What’s your obsession with Ryan Cooper anyway?’ I ask as I settle back on her sofa and close my eyes. ‘Change the record.’

‘OK. Consider it changed. And he probably wouldn’t be interested in you any more with your new hair and your future magazine career, and your swish London ways. Leigh lads like to keep it local, remember? They always stay close to home.’ I roll my eyes in acknowledgement of this truth. ‘So babes,’ she continues, ‘what shall we do tonight?’

‘What about The Sun Rooms or Club Arts in Southend?’

Casey groans. ‘Oh God no, not that divey old alternative music place you always insisted we go to.’

‘It was better than Tots.’

‘If by “better” you mean “not as much fun” . . . ’

‘What do you suggest then?’

‘I was thinking about a little walk down memory lane . . . ’

‘I can’t believe you brought me here!’

Casey and I are standing on The Green in Leigh-on-Sea, gazing across at the boats that are moored there. Clusters of teenagers are scattered over the grass, and I can see hazy silhouettes of people down on the beach and on the boats, too. The June evening sun is bathing everything in a soft, lemony light that makes me feel like I’ve stepped into a photo album, one that I wasn’t fussed about opening because it has lots of terrible haircuts, clothes and bad memories. I grab hold of my Canon EOS and hold it close, for support and comfort more than anything else. This green was the scene of so many embarrassments, my parents insisting on picnicking here with me – complete with deck chairs, gingham picnic blanket and windbreaker – when everyone else was smoking Silk Cuts with their mates. Not to mention the rejections, the boys who laughed at me and Casey, the girls who called us names. It feels too soon to return here, those years, those memories are too close. I’ve spent the last two years trying to erase them with my shiny new London life.

‘Well, it’s summer, where else would we go apart from the top deck of the
Bembridge
? We used to have so much fun here, didn’t we?’ Casey grins. I raise an eyebrow at her and smile – a trick she taught me – always lifted by her ability to see sunshine through the rain.

‘I guess you could call it that, Case,’ I reply drily. She glances at my camera which I’m still clutching to put it in front of my face, not to take photos, but to hide behind. This place makes me feel like the vulnerable, awkward teenage me instead of the confident, outgoing and worldly woman being a university student has made me. Casey tugs at my arm. ‘Oh, take one of me, Moll, you can put it on your photo wall in your room, next to the one of you and Mia! Or you could put it on the cover of that fancy magazine you’re doing work experience at! What’s it called?
Viva Forever.
’ She starts singing the Spice Girls’ hit and swings off an old Victorian lamp post and, with both of us laughing, she pouts at the camera as I take a series of shots of her with the sea shimmering in the background. Then, bored already, she leaps over to her bag. ‘I’ve got all the supplies we need, too.’ She flips it open to reveal a large bottle of cider and forty Marlboro Lights. ‘C’mon, Molly, for old times’ sake?’ She holds out her hand and, to my embarrassment, begins to sing something from a different lifetime. I glance around hoping no one is close enough to hear it.

‘We’ve only got each other right now

But we’ll always be around

forever and forever no matter

What they say . . .

Come on, Molly, join in!’

‘They say, they sa-ay,’ I mutter obediently, not wanting to hurt her feelings but hoping she’ll follow suit and lower her volume. She beams and continues singing loudly.

Then she grabs my hand and whilst I pull back at first and shake my head, after a moment, I give in, swing my camera over my back and we run down the hill, laughing as she sings the chorus loudly and people dive out of our way.

We’re lying on the top deck of the boat feeling the familiar, fuzzy-edged happiness from the cider inhabit our bodies as we gaze at the stars.

‘Can you believe we’re twenty?’ Casey says wondrously. ‘Nearly twenty-one! It’s so old! Properly grown-up. It feels like only yesterday that we were lying here, wondering if we’d ever get a boyfriend . . . ’

‘ . . . and now here we are, thinking the same thing!’ I laugh, lifting my cigarette to my lips. Despite my earlier misgivings, I am actually starting to enjoy this evening.

‘Speak for yourself!’ Casey blushes and falls silent for a second in a most uncharacteristic manner.

I gape at her. ‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing, I mean, you know, we don’t need men! We’ve got each other! And that’s all we need! Right? BFFs forever!’

I sit up and shake her on the arm. ‘Are you seeing someone?’ Her face is guilt-ridden. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Is he from the café?’ Despite my nagging her to do something else, Casey’s still working at her mum’s place. I know it’s because there is a continual stream of young male kitchen staff that Toni employs to work alongside her and her daughter. I’m pretty sure that’s what is keeping Casey there anyway.

‘No, he’s not.’

‘So where did you meet him? In a club, bar, what?’

‘He’s someone I’ve known for a while, actually,’ Casey says, studying her stick-on French-manicured fake nails. I look at my own chipped, dark nail polish and sit on my hands to hide them.

I laugh, stubbing out the cigarette next to me. I nudge her gently. ‘Come on, spill it, sister, you’re making me think you don’t want me to know who he is.’

Casey looks uncomfortable. ‘Well, he’s thirty-nine . . . ’

‘An older man,’ I tease, unable to hide the disapproval in my voice, ‘there’s a surprise.’ Casey is nothing if not predictable. Her absent father has given her a lifelong fascination with father figures. ‘And what does he do?’

‘He’s a plumber,’ Casey says. She is being reticent, which is unlike her.

‘So where’s he from?’ I push.