If you like a lot o' gore and themes of dark humour (very dark humour) then this is your story...
Pink wall. Pink chair. Pink carpet. Everything in this stupid room is pink. I know my parents mean well but I seriously think they’re short sighted or something because the fact that I’m 14 and not 4 seems to have escaped their mind.
Mummy has her own body care range which is quite successful, hence the endless supply of designer clothes that seem to arrive from nowhere in my wardrobe… and I don’t really know what Daddy does for a living; something that involves a briefcase and a Rolls Royce anyway. We’re quite well off living in this little house, the three of us and Princess the poodle.
They hired someone to decorate my room when I was 7 and, no matter how much I beg and plead, refuse to do anything about it now. It makes me feel rather ill just sitting here looking at the Barbie wallpaper, alarm clock and bedcovers but what can I do?
I suppose looking at me you would think I like this sort of thing. I’m the size of a 7 year old and thanks to my Mummy picking my clothes, I dress like one too. Growing up surrounded by comfort, expensive clothes, flute lessons and huge mansion houses, I’ve turned into quite a baby I have to admit, I hate myself for it.
One time I tried going Emo and bought some really scary makeup that made my Mummy cry. That was the end ofthat. I think I just have to accept I’m a pale, nerdy goody two shoes who is scared of her own shadow and blushes at the very thought of anything remotely sexual.
At school, I mostly just stay quiet. I don’t think anyone knows me as anything but “that snobby rich girl.” Well I can’t help it can I? To be honest the thought of being anything but rich frightens me. I don’t like to think what it would be like living in one of those council houses…eurgh.
As for friends, Georgina Collins and Kerry-Jo Henries are pretty much who I’ve got. They’re ok, and they understand my parent problems; but only to a certain extent because they seem toenjoytheir parents babying them. I’ve never mentioned this but sometimes I think a really naughty thought. Something that Mummy and Daddy wouldn’t approve of…sometimes I really wish I could ditch the posh friends my parents picked out for me and do something really reckless.
Obviously I dispose of the evil thought as soon as it enters my head. How could I even think that?
The only person I can really tell all of my worries to - I worry alot- is Rue Harris, my flute teacher. When Mummy first suggested that I learn the flute, I naturally just went a long with it because if I said I wanted to learn the saxophone like I really do, then she’d probably have a heart attack.
Anyway, I hate the flute and sometimes when I get really frustrated and upset with it, the only thing that stops me from wanting to ram the damn thing down someone’s throat, is that Rue is there, and I can sit down and eat scones with him when the lesson is over. I do love scones.
Yesterday at school, I was sat eating lunch with Georgina and Kerry-Jo and they started babbling to each other about a new pony Georgina had been given for getting a good school report. I was just getting my cucumber sandwiches (with no crusts) out of my lunch box when they decided to include me in their conversation.
“Your Mummy is just so amazing. I love what she did with your room Bells!” George piped up,
“Yeah it’s like so gorge!” Kerry put in,
I answered with a nod and flashed my newly whitened teeth. That seemed to satisfy them enough to keep me out of their conversation about mansions and expensive cars. I didn’t really feel like talking to them at that moment - something had just caught my attention.
Madeleine, Brittany, Taegan and Maegan had just entered the dining hall. As soon as they walked through the door they commanded the room and everyone fell silent. In their miniskirts and 5-inch heels, they strutted across to a table that was occupied by some year 7s, trembling in their seats. They shoved them out of the way and the innocent kids stumbled off to a different table. Taegan kicked their oversized backpacks for good measure.
I hate those four, but Madeleine especially. She scares me about as much as a rabid mountain goat with dynamite strapped to its back being catapulted toward me. As she passed us to go and terrorise some more nerds, I kept my head bent low, making sure I was out of sight. I’m the type of girl all the bullies go for.
“Oh em gee! like who does she think she is?” Kerry-Jo squeaked as she scraped her hair back into a perfect little bun.
“I know! Like what is her problem?” George straightened out her skirt with her long bony fingers and crossed her arms in defiance.
“Right? Her and her friends are such…slags!” I added instantly blushing at the use of the word. There was no need to be so mean. Even though Madeleine scared me no end, I was sort of impressed be her.
What are you thinking Bells, she’s a bitch!
But she’s popular; wouldn’t you like to be like that?
Don’t be stupid, I’d rather be rich and smart and perfect than popular and mean and dumb…wouldn’t I?
When I got home that evening my mind was all muddled with thoughts. I dumped my pink duffle coat in the hall and ran to check the post in the kitchen. I only realised when I got to the table that I hadn’t even gone upstairs to say hello to Mummy. What was getting into me!?
Flicking through the mail I was quite surprised when I came across a letter addressed to me. It was written on thick cream parchment and the address and name was written in a beautiful curvy hand with blood red ink
Ripping open the seal I pulled out a single sheet of paper, thick and cream like the envelope. I realised immediately that it was some sort of invitation.But for what? I never get invited to stuff!Confused, I flattened the paper out onto the table and started to read:
Dear Isabel Olivia Jill Sykes
You have been invited to Kerry-Jo Henries’ 14thBirthday party!
Please come to 13 Bankside at 1:13pm on Saturday the 13thof October.
P.s. It’s Disney fancy dress!
I read the letter again and frowned. There were two things, why 1:13pm? I have a bit of an OCD with numbers, either choose 1:10pm or 1:15pm; and secondly why hadn’t she mentioned this at school?
I went upstairs to tell Mummy about the party and she thought it was odd too but she said I could go. My dear mother never misses an opportunity to dress me up like some sort of prostitute clown.
She managed to dig out an old Beauty and the Beast costume from the attic which consisted of a huge gold dress dotted with roses, a ridiculous tiara and fancy gold slippers.
On Saturday morning I heard my Barbie alarm clock go off and groaned.
I’ve lived for all my life with that damn alarm clock and I’ve never wanted something to shut up so badly. Just as I got up and switched it off, Mummy entered the room fully dressed and brandishing a hairbrush.
“Darling! Get up! It’s the party today!” She sang as she made my bed and kissed me on the forehead.
Today her blonde hair was expertly curled and fell down to her shoulders. She was wearing smart trousers and a pink blouse that showed off a little too much if you know what I mean.
“Mummy what are you wearing?” I exclaimed. She sat down on the bed beside me and pursed her bright red painted lips.
“You’re Daddy likes it when I wear this blouse darling.” She winked and I groaned, trying to get back under the covers and block her out. Her and the disgusting thoughts of my Daddy and Her.
“I want you downstairs in 5, darling. Lots to do! Toodle pip!” With that she strutted out of the room and left me in my fairy pyjamas with a hedgehog explosion happening on my head.
Fifteen minutes later I was sat patiently while she twisted my hair into an intricate bun and painted my face to look like a beautiful princess. When she was done I had to admit I looked pretty good: My hair was pulled off my face (held down with so much hairspray I felt like my head would fall off with the weight of it) and the tiara placed neatly on my head. I had glittery eye shadow and eyeliner that flicked up at the corners of my eye.
Fighting off my Mum’s offer to drop me off to the party in her limo - “So you’d look like a really princess darling!” - was hard but she finally agreed to let me walk there on my own. It was only two blocks away but by the time I arrived at 1:12pm I’d gotten 4 car honks and a couple of old men wolf whistling as I ran past the local pub.
Standing outside the address, which was an old warehouse painted with the number 13, I looked up and down the street. Finding it was deserted except from an old yellow skip I began to feel quite frightened. I was stood in full view of everyone in a gold princess dress looking like an absolute twit.
The notion suddenly occurred to me that I might have been set up but I didn’t pursue the thought because the hairs on the back of my neck stood up then and my palms began to feel clammy when I heard the crunch of someone walking on dead leaves behind me. Rotating slowly on the spot, tears now pricking in my eyes, I saw for the first time that I wasn’t alone…
Through my tears of confusion and fear, I could see a figure approaching me from the other side of the street, the wind swirling up a cloud of leaves so I couldn’t make out their face for a while, but as they moved closer I squinted into the shadows and saw the last person I would ever want to meet standing in a dark alley, especially while I was dressed like a complete idiot…Madeleine Rippon.