Page 43 of Sad Girl Hours
“We are, I think. And we’ve still got lots of fun stuff ahead of us. We’ve done loads of the autumn things, but it’s nearly time for Christmas fun too.”
“Please don’t say the C word until after Halloween,” Jenna says wearily. “We have an agreement.”
“First of November, we watchNightmare Before Christmasto fully shift into the festive spirit. Yes, I know. But I’m an excellent multitasker, even if other people aren’t. I can enjoy Halloween AND feel full of excitement for Christmas.”
“Anyway,” Jenna says, ignoring me, “I’m glad that you’ve got lots still to do. It’s nice that you and Saffron are getting to spend so much time together.”
“It is. I think we—” I stop, seeing Jenna’s face. “Not this again.”
“I said nothing!” she protests, but her face is still doing that annoyingthing. “Just that it’s nice.”
“Itisnice,” I say, “But not for any reason that warrants such an expression.”
Things with me and Saffron are lovely. I feel really honoured that she opened up a bit to me, even if I do now want to bob down to Exeter and give both her parents a good shaking. But I wish Jenna would stop.
Engaging warfare tactic in three, two, one…
“What about you and Casper? Disappearing off into his room at the party. Was thatnicetoo?”
“Oh goodness, is that the time?” Jenna says, glancing down at her bare wrist. “You’re going to be late.”
“I didn’t tell you what time my meeting was,” I say, my tone tinged with amusement.
“I know, I just have this sixth sense for when people are not adhering to schedule. I was bitten by a radioactive bullet journaller as a child.”
“I hope you got a tetanus jab,” I call back as I head towards the door.
“And rabies, yes.”
The door swings shut behind me. That worked as well as it usually does, I think as I wander down the street towards the bus stop, kicking up the leaves on the pavement so they scatter into crisp leaf confetti. I don’t know why Jenna and Casp continue to pretend they’re not … whatever they are. It would be frustrating if it wasn’t so amusing to watch.
“Pumpkin lanterns line the airstrip street
Costumed people trekking dutifully from door to door
They swing open, people ready for their cold-callers
thrusting out baskets of sugar, of toys, of ‘here you gos’
Smiling chit-chat ‘and who are you?’ they’ d ask.
Scanning my costume,
I’ d look down at myself.
‘I don’ t know.’
I look harder, trying to place where I’ve seen these clothes, this mask before.
Nothing.
‘I don’ t know.’ The words echo down the street.
They close the door in my face, bewildered.
I walk back past the grinning pumpkin faces,
wishing the landing strip was leading somewhere I recognised.
