Lucky Girl by Fiona Gibson

Author:Fiona Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Dress Ink
Published: 2006-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

16

Fireball

Splosh whiskey, vodka and Cinzano into a receptacle such as an empty SodaStream bottle. Pour in some fizz—lemonade, cream soda or dandelion and burdock. You might like to add some of the more unusual drinks which have lain untouched in the cabinet for years: Pernod, sloe gin or advocaat. Stealing a little from each bottle is unlikely to arouse suspicion. Shake it, add ice if desired, and drink.

NB: The fireball cocktail is best made when there are no adults present.

Charlie and I used to entertain ourselves by concocting liquid refreshments. I enjoyed the mixing and shaking—the swirling of colors, the soft pfff as we unstoppered the lids—but was less keen on the drinking part. For hours afterward I’d be conscious of a sourness in my throat. Charlie, however, devoured our cocktails with gusto (the only discernible after-effect was a potent whiff of Wrigley’s, which Dad never commented upon).

It was a clammy summer’s afternoon. We weren’t long home from school but already Charlie had slugged enough Fireball to fuel an idea. ‘Where’s Dad?’ he asked.

‘Still at the allotment, I think.’ I was lying on the living-room carpet, dabbing my earlobes with wet cotton wool balls. Cheryl Havers had pierced my ears on the hockey pitch at lunchtime and they still felt scalded.

‘Let’s go,’ Charlie said. ‘See what he gets up to.’

‘You mean spy on him?’

‘Come on, it’ll be a laugh. We could make weird noises. Spook him out.’

‘Know where it is?’ I asked. It was a childish idea, but anything Charlie wanted to do, I was keen to be a part of.

‘Of course,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s round the back of the old match factory.’

By the time we set out, the day was tipping into dusk. Charlie walked purposefully, humming to himself. I was thinking about the small navy-blue box I’d found in the desk drawer in Dad’s study. I’d opened it, expecting to find nothing more enticing than rubber bands or paper clips. A gold heart-shaped locket nestled inside.

For a moment, I thought he’d bought it for me. I shut the box quickly, wishing I’d never seen it and not spoiled my birthday surprise. By the time I’d come downstairs I’d figured that Dad would never buy me anything so special. I felt so stupid, I didn’t even mention the locket to Charlie.

We headed into town, past the docks and through a small housing estate, its gardens littered with paddling pools containing dregs of murky water. We crept along a damp-smelling alley and gazed up at the fire-escape stairs that zigzagged above us. The alley ended unexpectedly at a small square of tired-looking grass. It looked as if someone’s lawn had been stolen from its proper place and hidden there between towering factories.

‘Here it is,’ Charlie announced. The lawn was bordered on one side by a looming brick wall.

‘How d’you get in?’ I asked.

‘Through that little green door. But we’re not going in. We’re going to spy.’

I was fifteen—long and narrow, like a chimney—but still couldn’t see over the wall. Charlie crouched down and I clambered onto his shoulders.

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