Instantly she regretted destroying the poster she held so dear. Her tears were exhausting. She collapsed on to her mattress and lay staring at the ceiling. The walls seemed to spin and again she thought she might be sick. Closing her eyes, she wondered if Michelle was wondering where she was and if Tony had filled her in on the details yet. How? How had her whole life been dismantled in just one day? It was bad enough that she had done so badly in her exams, but to be so humiliated by Tony, let down by Lawrence . . . It seemed ridiculous that such a small thing as sex had become such a big, big thing. A few minutes of intoxicating joy had led to this? And again, her tears fell. Bessie flipped on to her stomach and buried her face in the soft pillow. She tried to quieten her noisy and destructive thoughts, hoping for the sweet escape of sleep. Her door opened slowly, and she was aware of her mum, standing on the landing but with her head in the room, checking on her. Seemingly satisfied, she quietly closed the door, and Bessie was glad, not wanting any more interaction with her parents this evening.

My whole life is ruined . . . My whole life is totally ruined . . . I’m plain! I didn’t know that – I thought I might be pretty. I felt pretty . . . but I’m not . . . I’m nothing.

Evidently she had fallen asleep, as she was now being woken by a sound that was unfamiliar. The first thing she noticed when she lifted her head from the pillow was that she was still a little sozzled, and she gripped the mattress to stop the room from turning. This did little to allay the leap of nausea in her gut. Jumping out of bed, she ran to her bedroom window, which was where, coincidentally, the sound was coming from. As she levered open the sash, vomit rose in her throat. She saw Michelle in the front garden with a handful of gravel, which explained the harsh pitter-patter that had woken her, as the small stones hit the glass. With desperate sweeps of her arm, Bessie managed to shoo her friend away from standing directly beneath, before shoving her head out and throwing up. Fortunately, Michelle was not in the firing line. The front of her parents’ house, however, was not quite so fortunate and she scored a direct hit. The painted pebbledash now sported a dark red-brown stain that sat like a giant ink splat, if that ink had been made of dark chocolate cherry brandy liqueurs and Cinzano.

‘God, Bessie!’ her friend gasped.

‘M’sorry.’ She wiped her mouth and was relieved to note that she felt almost instantly better.

‘Come down!’ Michelle beckoned quietly.