wrong before that night besides steal the odd smoke, which was hardly the crime of the century, so our parents had no reason to doubt a word we said.
Jeans, a T-shirt and a tatty old jumper was what we both had on, so that we wouldn’t look conspicuous. I had mascara and some pink lipstick I’d stolen from Gran’s room, and Mar had a blunt black eye pencil.
Dad dropped us off at the chippie, telling us to ring him if we needed a lift home later. I had sweaty palms.
We strolled casually in and stood motionless under the fluorescent light as we watched his car pull off. The couple sitting by the front window, tucking into chicken boxes, licked the greasy crumbs from their fingers. In between mouthfuls they’d glance out at the street, away from one another. The pimply young boy behind the counter didn’t much care if we ordered or not. We headed straight for the ladies’ loos. They smelled of stale piss and used tampons. We applied our make-up under a blinking light. Our hands were shaking. I didn’t dare put too much on. I was shy of my own reflection. Mar circled her eyes, even pencilling along the fine layer just inside the lashes. She applied mascara with that pouting concentration I thought only mothers possessed. We bought two cans of Coke and walked the mile or so back towards my house, to the boys’ school. If anyone we knew saw us we’d be in trouble, but we were willing to take the risk. We could always come up with some excuse, like Mona hadn’t shown up, and we thought we’d just walk back to my place rather than drag Dad away from the neighbours and the cards.
We clung to one another as we walked up the dark muddy avenue, beneath the lonely cawing of crows in the trees. There was no moon that we could see. It was difficult to find our footing. We only had the faint light from the street lamps on the main road behind us, and the headlights of the passing cars. The ground was wet from a downpour earlier and we had to step lightly so we didn’t spray our jeans with mud. It was a strange sensation to be there at night, without adults. I’d only ever been up there during the day, when Dad had to collect one of the neighbour’s boys. I kept my head down on those occasions, staring at the dashboard so that none of the boys would see my face collapse into itself with embarrassment. Each time that had happened I had to lock myself in the bathroom when we got home and apply heavy eye make-up and line my lips and pout, wondering what to make of myself, and what boys would possibly make of me. The longer I looked the more uncertain I became. I’d get lost in the reflection of my own eyes. Then I’d get to thinking there was nothing behind them.
The front of the school loomed larger than it did during the day, and only the bare bulb above the porch at the main entrance gave off any light. All the windows were black. A priest stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms folded, legs akimbo, nodding to passers-by. I wanted to walk up to him and confess, have my sins absolved before I’d even committed them, before I was even sure what they might be. I wanted him to touch me, lay his lukewarm hands on my shoulders.
The older girls hanging round the front of the school looked unfazed by the smell of cheap eau de cologne. I spotted a few girls from our year arriving with boys from the town.
‘Shall we have a cig, Mar?’ I said.
‘God, yeah,’ Mar gasped. ‘Not with him looking, though,’ nodding towards the priest.
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