Once in a Lifetime

Toby–now grown up and cute, and always friendly whenever she went to the garage he ran–had been a teacher’s nightmare at the age of seven: hyperactive and overfond of the word ‘why?’

Why does the sun go down at night?

Why are the people on the television so small?

Why do we have to go to school?

Why did your mum die? Are you still sad about her being dead?

Natalie could see her seven-year-old self: a skinny little thing, with those matchstick legs poking out of the grey-and-white school uniform and her dark hair tangled and coming out of its ponytail no matter how carefully Bess did it before she went to school.

‘I’m not sad,’ she’d said defiantly. Toby obviously wanted her to say she was sad, so it was important to say she wasn’t. Toby said girls couldn’t climb trees and she’d shown him he was wrong. She’d skinned her knees in the process, but she’d shown him.

‘I’m never sad.’

Had she stuck her tongue out at him then? That she couldn’t remember. Probably. Sticking out your tongue was a vital way of winning arguments when she was seven, akin to pulling wimpy girls’ hair and jumping on to any bit of wall to dance along it.

She’d gone home and told Dad and Bess what Toby had said, and they’d exchanged that look that grown-ups did when they didn’t want to answer the question.

She had no memory of what her father had said, although she could remember subsequent conversations: God takes people sometimes, we don’t know why.

God’s responsibility had shifted vastly when the ten-year-old Natalie had said: ‘I hate God.’

Bess hadn’t missed a beat. ‘We don’t always understand what God does. We just have to accept it.’

Natalie had never accepted it.

There were so many pluses in her life: a lovely family with Bess as the centrepoint, Dad being sweet and just a little bit not-of-this-planet, her half-brothers Ted and Joe, and good friends like Molly. She had so much, particularly when she looked at the disadvantaged kids whom Molly worked with. Compared to them, she was rich in every way. Yet Natalie felt as if there was a part of her missing.

Lizzie and Anna seemed to think that any missing bit could be fixed with the right man. Natalie felt it was more than that. But what exactly?

‘Hi, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?’ she heard the guy with the skull-and-crossbones earring ask Lizzie.

Natalie could see him reflected in the bar mirror. He was tall, and good-looking enough for one of Lizzie’s model cousins to be giving him a hard, appreciative stare. Natalie took in the tousled fair hair and the honed body. She also saw Lizzie’s lustful look.

‘No thanks,’ Natalie broke in as politely as she could. ‘It’s a hen night. No men allowed.’

‘Spoilsport,’ murmured Lizzie, leaning on Natalie and smiling up at the guy.

‘No, really, no guys allowed,’ Anna said firmly, hauling Lizzie away.

He shrugged and walked off.

‘He was cute,’ Lizzie sighed. ‘I could take him for a test drive…?’

Anna and Natalie exchanged a look. It was indeed going to be a long night.

It was nearly two when Anna and Natalie realised that Lizzie was missing. The group had been dancing non-stop, so each time Natalie came back to their booth and didn’t see Lizzie, she assumed her friend was dancing with the other girls.

‘I thought the same,’ said Anna, shouting so they could hear each other over the music.

Nobody else had seen her for an hour.

Natalie found Lizzie first. At the very back of the club, in a dimly lit spot beside the fire exit, she was perched on a man’s lap with her arms wrapped around his body and her mouth clamped to his as if they were giving each other mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. One of his hands was tangled up in Lizzie’s dark hair, the other was burrowing up under her flirty dress, so her thigh was totally bared.

Natalie’s first thought was that her friend must be comatose to be behaving like this, but then she looked again. Lizzie was as ardent as the guy: she was writhing around on his lap, plunging her tongue into his mouth. It was the same guy who’d made a move on Lizzie earlier, the one with the denim shirt and the skull-and-crossbones earring. Lizzie had wanted this, Natalie realised: she was a willing partner.

‘Lizzie!’ shouted Natalie, trying to be heard over the throbbing bass notes of the music. ‘Lizzie!’

She shook her friend’s arm and Lizzie turned round, the crimson lipstick almost gone from her lips, leaving nothing but a giant red Munch-like scream smeared around her mouth from kissing. She smiled lazily at her friend, snuggled close to the man’s chest. Her eyes glittered with raw excitement.

It was the smile that hurt Natalie the most: a knowing, satisfied, mocking smile.

‘Lizzie, we’ve got to go,’ Natalie said, trying to stay calm in the face of this unrecognisable Lizzie.

‘Not yet,’ said Lizzie, still with that smile plastered across her face. She nuzzled into the man’s neck. ‘We’re having fun.’

Natalie decided that she’d have to try another approach.

‘This is her hen night,’ Natalie explained to the guy. ‘She’s getting married in a week. Her fiancé’s a cop. He’s on the drugs squad.’ This was, of course, entirely untrue, but she guessed it might be a deal-breaker.

Sure enough, alarm flickered in the guy’s face and he got up at speed, letting Lizzie fall unceremoniously to the floor.

‘Ouch!’ she roared.

Natalie and the guy ignored her.

‘For real?’ he asked. He meant about the drugs squad.

Natalie nodded grimly. ‘For real.’

Without a backward glance, the guy shoved the bar of the emergency exit and opened it. Cold wind and a gush of rain blasted in as he vanished out into the dark. Natalie shivered.

She glanced at Lizzie on the floor. Lizzie looked sulky now. She had a big tear on one side of the bodice of her dress where her admirer had been trying over-enthusiastically to access her boobs.

‘Home,’ Natalie said.

‘You ruined it all, Natalie!’ shrieked Lizzie.

‘Yes,’ Natalie agreed, ‘I ruined it all. Come on, let’s go. Where’s your stuff?’

When Natalie hauled her back to their booth, there was no sign of her bag or coat there.

‘Is she OK?’ asked Anna.

‘Oh, fine,’ Natalie said brightly. No point in telling Anna what Lizzie had really been doing. ‘She’s tired and emotional.’

‘Me too,’ sighed Anna. ‘And I’m exhausted. Can we go home now?’