other years, and the evening promised to be interesting, if not spectacular.
Amy had suggested that they both head into town in the morning to find something to wear and Angelina was excited, for she had never been shopping for clothes with anyone except her mum. Having had little spare time to spend any money over the past few weeks, she had a modest amount set aside and was looking forward to a girly shopping trip.
On the Friday, Amy came round to hers after school and they drew up their plan for the next day. They decided to meet up in town early, outside the main entrance to the Harlequin centre. From there they would scour its entire length and breadth on both levels before deciding on what to buy. Then, all being well, they would stop at Starbucks for a smoothie and a muffin, before going back to Angelina’s flat to get ready.
The following afternoon arrived and everything had gone according to plan. Both girls had found outfits they liked and they had arranged for Amy’s parents to take and collect them from the party. As they waited for their car to arrive they discussed the prospects for the evening.
‘So do you think Chardonnay’s parents will be there to watch over their house?’ asked Amy.
‘Probably not,’ replied Angelina. ‘Have you met them?’
‘No.’
‘They couldn’t care less what Chardonnay gets up to. I saw them at one of the parent-teacher consultations. They are still pikeys at heart.’
Amy giggled.
‘Well we’d better make the most of it then,’ she said. ‘I’d hate to miss out on the opportunity to party without any grown-ups watching over us. Did you hear what happened at her last party?’
Angelina shook her head.
‘One of her mates, Sarah Unsworth I think, found where Chardonnay’s dad kept his booze and got herself absolutely smashed. They had to call an ambulance and everything.’
‘Really? Wow, I have been missing out.’
‘Not really,’ said Amy. ‘Have you ever tried beer or vodka or anything like that?’
‘Only wine and only very occasionally.’
‘Well it’s all foul. At least that’s what I think. Maybe I’ve just got a sweet tooth, but what I’ve tried has all been too bitter for my taste.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Angelina. ‘Look, your folks have arrived.’
It was only a five-minute drive to Chardonnay’s house, though it was still far too far for Amy to walk in the heeled shoes she had bought. Angelina had gone for a pair of fur-lined boots with tights, a denim skirt and a sparkly top to go with them. She had never dressed up as smartly or in such a girly way before, and if it had not been for Amy looking equally as girly she would have been way outside her comfort zone.
The lights of South Oxhey floated by as they passed the parade of shops on Prestwick Road where gangs of kids her age hung around smoking and kicking litter around aimlessly. Soon the lights had all but faded and they had reached the edge of Oxhey Wood.
‘Where is it, did you say?’ asked Amy’s foster dad as they cruised slowly up the hill.
‘Just around the corner on the left,’ replied Amy.
The car turned off into a gated development that they were only allowed into after permission had been given via a voice entry system.
‘This is how the other half live,’ Amy’s dad could be heard saying as the car passed through the gates and drove between the rows of impressive-looking houses.
Chardonnay’s house was not hard to spot. It had been extensively decked out in gaudy lights and streamers and there were already hordes of teenagers outside, some smoking, some fighting (boys mostly) and some huddled together in groups whispering and sniggering to one another.
With one or two raised eyebrows Amy’s parents dropped them off and left, telling them they would be back at midnight to pick them up again.
The two girls straightened their skirts and walked up the front path hand in hand. As they neared the front door Chardonnay stepped out of it with a couple of friends in tow. She was wearing a bright pink halter-neck top and a leather skirt that did little to hide the rolls of flab around her tummy.
‘Amy!’ she cried upon seeing them and she trotted forward and gave her a kiss on each cheek in a display of affection that was so fake as to be cringe-worthy.
Then she looked across at Angelina. ‘Alright,’ she said with the briefest of nods.
‘Happy Birthday Chardonnay,’ said Angelina with a smile that showed that she could happily tolerate the girl’s rudeness for the sake of a good evening.
‘There’s drinks and food inside,’ said Chardonnay turning to Amy again. ‘Help yourself.’
Then she noticed another group of people arriving and headed off in their direction with her followers in tow. Angelina laughed and shook her head as they walked up to the house.
‘As charming as ever,’ she said.
‘Oh she’s harmless,’ said Amy clutching her arm as they stepped inside. ‘Anyway, despite what she may think, she’s not the reason we’re here. Let’s see what this place is like.’
The inside of Chardonnay’s house turned out to be just as tasteless as the outside. From the eye-wateringly lairy paintwork to the faux-Roman and Greek mannequins, it all smacked of trying too hard to show some class and missing the mark completely. Only the kitchen, where a wide range of drinks and nibbles had been set out across the central island units, showed any kind of genuine inspiration, though again, the choice of colours left a lot to be desired. There was music playing loudly from within the vast lounge and the whole house was absolutely teeming with people. Angelina had only seen such a sight in American teen movies and had not believed that parties of the sort actually happened in the UK. Chardonnay certainly had pulled out all the stops.
Amy and Angelina spent much of the evening perched upon the work tops in the kitchen where the music was not deafening and the food and drink were close to hand. They chattered to their classmates as they came and went and Angelina was introduced to a number of boys she had seen hanging around at other parties. They were having a great time, especially Amy, who was getting merrier and more animated as the evening wore on.
At about ten thirty Amy, who had been drinking some sort of punch all evening, grabbed Angelina by the hand and shouted, ‘Come on Angel, let’s go for a dance.’ At which point she leapt off the counter onto the floor. Unfortunately she forgot about the size of the heels she was wearing, and as she landed, her left foot skidded out from underneath her on a patch of spilt drink and she fell in a heap on the floor.
‘Amy, Amy, are you OK?’ cried Angelina hopping down and kneeling beside her. To her surprise, Amy was laughing. She looked up at Angelina with blood seeping from a cut on her forehead.
‘Whoops!’ she giggled.
‘Hey, we’d better get you cleaned up,’ said Angelina helping her to her feet.
‘No, I want to go dancing,’ said Amy staggering slightly.
‘OK, but first let’s go to the bathroom.’
A number of people stopped and stared at them as Angelina led Amy out of the kitchen and to the large cloakroom off the main hallway. Once inside they closed and locked the door and Angelina sat Amy down on the toilet while she got the tap running.
‘You OK there?’ she asked as she watched Amy sway gently from side to side.
‘Yeah I think so,’ said Amy dreamily as Angelina dabbed a cloth against the cut and began to stem the flow of blood.
Then suddenly Amy’s eyes widened. ‘Actually, maybe not,’ she said, slipping sideways off the toilet seat and throwing up into the bowl. Quite how she managed to do it all in one graceful movement was a thought that stuck in Angelina’s mind for only a second, before she realised that she needed to get Amy home.
‘Amy, I’m going to ring your parents and get them to pick us up,’ she said.
‘OK,’ echoed Amy’s voice from deep within the bowl. ‘Their number is on my mobile.’
Angelina fished around in Amy’s handbag and found her phone.
‘Right, is it under ‘Home’?’
‘No that’s my real mum and dad’s house. Or was. Try Mr and Mrs Foster.’
Angelina scrolled to the number.
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘Are you saying your foster parents are actually called Foster?’
‘Like that’s your biggest concern at the moment,’ said Amy taking her head out of the toilet. The ends of her hair were matted with sick and her mascara had run badly.
‘Right,’ said Angelina, and she rang the number.
‘Hi Mrs Foster…? Yes, it’s Angelina Marsh here… Amy’s not very well, could you come and pick us up please…? Yes, as soon as you can… Thanks… Bye.’
‘They’ll be here as soon as they can,’ said Angelina reaching forward to try and catch Amy’s hair as she threw up again.
Twenty minutes later Amy’s phone rang and the Fosters told them they were at the gate. Angelina then escorted Amy out of the toilet and ushered her towards the front door. On the way they bumped into Chardonnay.
‘Ooh she doesn’t look too good,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Can’t handle her drink huh?’
‘She’s not well,’ said Angelina shortly. ‘I’m taking her home. Can you open the main gate please?’
‘I heard you pushed her off the counter,’ said Chardonnay gleefully. ‘What did you do that for?’
‘Forget it,’ said Angelina and she led Amy out into the street to a chorus of disdainful laughter. Luckily Mr and Mrs Foster had somehow managed to get through the gate and were waiting for them.
‘Christ Angelina, what