Club 49

TW: Some swearing and mentions of self-harm.

Fingers catching on a loose thread, I smoothed down the sequin top.

The voice always started when I was ready to go out. Her voice.

“Aren’t you a bit old to go clubbing?”

I picked up my eyeliner, hand trembling slightly.

“Why do you say that?”

My eyes met my own reflection, star dust sprinkling the sides of my face.

“Well, look at you!”

“What do you mean?”

“Hardly love’s young dream!”

“Maybe not, but—”

“But what?”

“But…”

“But, but, but…”

“Don’t be mean.”

“Isn’t it time you faced facts? You’re too old to dress like that…”

“Like what? Who makes these rules? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Where to begin? Clothes meant for the young and gorgeous. Exposing your midriff, for fuck’s sake.”

“Stop swearing! Mum and Dad hated swearing. I like wearing these clothes and going to Club 49. Why make such a thing about age? You can have fun whatever your age—something you wouldn’t know much about.”

“Why do they even call it that?”

“Call it what?”

“Club 49.”

“It’s number 49 on the High Street.”

“And I’m not being mean, just honest—something in short supply round here. You go round completely unaware of how you come across to others. You leave a room, and they laugh at you. All that makeup—never heard of subtlety? That glitter looks ridiculous.”

“My makeup rocks. Cleopatra would have worn makeup like this—all thick and dramatic.”

“It’s definitely thick. And look what happened to her!”

“What exactly? I’ve forgotten.”

“Don’t you know anything about history, blockhead? Beats me what they taught you in that school you went to.”

“You went there too. My mind just went blank for a minute.”

“Seems to happen a lot these days.”

“You’re being vile today!”

“Cleopatra met a tragic end, and so will your makeup by the time you’ve finished trowelling it on. It’s more Bride of Frankenstein than hot chick about town. Not that you’ll ever be that. But who’s going to fancy you dressed up like a dog’s dinner?”

“I don’t know. You seem to have all the answers. YOU TELL ME.”

“Someone who wants to take advantage of you, that’s who. Or someone totally desperate. Most likely both.”

“Thanks for that. There’s a difference between being honest and being cruel, you know. You’re plain cruel.”

“And do you have to drink that bloody awful stuff?”

“It’s a snowball, as you well know. It looks lovely with that little striped parasol on the side of the glass. It reminds me of family holidays and cocktails. When Mum and Dad were alive.”

“Yeah, cute fluffy times when you felt nothing could harm you.”

“You’re snivelling. It’s giving me a headache. I’m going to need painkillers if you carry on. Pathetic. Mum and Dad aren’t around to pull you out of whatever hole you’ve dug yourself into this time.”

“You’re horrible. I hate you!”

“Stop! You’re meant to be a grown woman. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER!”

“I can’t. I’m a human being, not a pair of curtains. I don’t know why you think you have a right to talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I dunno. Like I’m nothing. Like…”

“Go on. Spit it out, dumb ass!”

“Like I have no right to my feelings.”

“Feelings! What crap.”

“It makes me feel inferior.”

“We all know you’re inferior.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Everyone. You’re a useless lump of lard. Always have been.”

“That’s a fucked-up lie!”

“Ooh, get you! Who’s swearing now?”

“You make me. And whatever you say, some people value me.”

“Like… who?”

“Kevin and Rhea.”

“You mean the manager of that charity shop where you volunteer, and her hapless sidekick? Dream on, love. So-called friends who are too polite to tell you what they really think.”

“You’re wrong. They’re nice people. You always look for the bad, never the good.”

“I just see it as it is. They’re using you—only you’re too dumb to see it. You’re a fool.”

“I’m not. Just because they need the shifts covered doesn’t mean they don’t care. Rhea says I have a great personality, and the customers love me. She’s brought me out of my shell.”

“Didn’t she once say you were like a warrior queen after all you’ve been through?”

“I couldn’t believe her saying that. She said whatever life throws at me; I come up fighting.”

“She’s really got the sum of you, that one. A bit of flattery and you’re anyone’s. Plays you like a Stradivarius.”

“And I’m not dumb. I enjoy reading.”

“By reading, you mean those trashy magazines where people send in pictures of their sad lives. Usually involving husbands who’ve slept with their mother-in-law and managed to slip in a sister or two along the way. Gross!”

“I find real life stories more interesting than fiction.”

“You would! And don’t even get me started about your online dating fiascos. Or that silly boyband you follow—even though you’re not a teenager and they’re no longer boys.”

“I love Clublife. They’re brilliant!”

“If you insist.”

“What’s wrong with them, then?”

“How long have you got?”

“They’re a positive force in my life. Listening to them made me want to stop harming myself.”

“Thankfully those days are behind you. You’ve got your dragon tattoo now.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? As for Clublife, you love them too.”

“Not much choice—being round you all the time. But what’s the point of following a band at your age?”

“I dunno. What’s the point of anything? They have amazing voices, they’re easy on the eye, and they’re FUN.”

“Let’s have some honesty here. When’s all this fun business going to stop? When are you going to grow up? I mean—look at this room! You can hardly move for unicorns and things.”

“I love unicorns. They’re comforting when I can’t sleep. Leave them alone.”

“Alright, I’ll let that one go. But you’re not getting any younger. How old are you now?”

“You know how old I am. Why ask?”

“I want you to say the number aloud. Go on!”

“No.”

“No one is listening. Go on, say it.”

“No. It’s stupid.”

“Who are you calling stupid? I thought you hated that word. Didn’t one of the teachers call you it when you struggled with writing?”

“It’s a horrible, ugly word. Like something you want to spit out. You can’t say offensive things like that anymore. Thankfully.”

“But the real question is—how old are you in physical years? Obviously, in mental ones, you’re a long way from being an adult.”

“I… am.”

“What? Stop beating around the bush. Why’s it so difficult to say?”

“Alright, misery guts. I’m 49. The same age as the club number.”

“Correct. And what have you actually achieved in those years?”

“According to you, not much. But I’ve done things.”

“Like what? You haven’t exactly climbed Kilimanjaro, have you? Ha ha! Imagine it. As it is, you struggle getting up the stairs without huffing and puffing some days. And dancing? You spend most of the time sitting down when you’re at that club. You’ve never had much in the way of coordination. Mum used to say that.”

“Just because you were the pretty one. Don’t go bringing Mum into all this. I don’t need to climb a mountain to prove myself, because I have achieved something big in my life. Some would say it’s the biggest thing. I had Ollie. And I don’t regret a second of the struggles I had to go through to have him. People kept telling me it wasn’t a good idea, including Mum, but I went ahead. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’m so proud of him! No one can take that away, not even you.”

“But somebody has. Where’s Ollie now? He’s with his dad, not here.”

“I’m trying everything I can to get him back. I’ve got a court date when things will get settled properly and Rhea’s supporting me through it all.”

“It’s in her interest to support you.”

“Not true. Once I get Ollie back, I won’t be able to help at the shop as much. That’s not in her interest.”

“If you get him back!”

“I will. It’s the thing that keeps me going.”

“Whatever happens, you’ll be forever in Rhea’s debt. She’ll be able to call you whenever she’s short-staffed, or for whatever else she has up her sleeve, and you’ll be there in a flash. Sound like a plan to me.”

“I’ll always help if I can.”

The phone buzzes.

“Hold on, she’s texting now.”

“There’s a surprise! She’ll be wanting you to help out at some really awkward time, no doubt.”

“She wants me to help out next Saturday.”

“What did I tell you?”

“Oh, shit! That’s going to be difficult. I’m meant to be going out for a day with Rob and his young nephew. He wants to go to the planetarium and Madame Tussaud’s. They’re close by. But I don’t like letting Rhea down. Saturdays are really busy at the shop.”

“Now you’re in a fix. Who are you going to please? Rob or Rhea?”

“Maybe I don’t have to let either of them down.”

“Sounds like an expensive day all round. I thought you were supposed to be broke. Don’t forget you’re going to need money to fix that ridiculous car of yours. Unless Rob is paying. It’s not as though he can’t afford it, is it?”

“I wouldn’t expect him to pay all of it. I’m happy to go halves, seeing we’re friends ’n all that.”

“Yeah, you tell yourself that if it helps. I seem to remember you wanting a bit more, but then Tim took pity on you. Or have you forgotten?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe now Rob is showing signs of interest, you don’t want him. Sound familiar?”

“I do want him. It’s just…”

“Let’s face it, you’re not likely to get a better offer any time soon.”

“Stop going on. It’s confusing and hurtful. It’s just hard to see a way out of the friend zone. But there’s definitely something there.”

“Could be the real deal. In the meantime, what are you going to do about Rhea?”

“I’ll try and fit an hour or two at the shop before I meet Rob. Better than nothing.”

“That’s going to work out fine… I don’t think.”

“I’ll play it by ear. Text and see what she says.”

“Oh no! Rob is at the door. I hope he can’t see me looking at him through the nets. He usually texts before coming round.”

“Things are definitely looking up. No point bothering about the club now. Pity you haven’t time to change into something presentable. Quick! Try dabbing down the makeup a bit. You don’t want the poor man to think he’s turned up to a horror movie by mistake. Try not to blow it! This may be your last chance.”

“I’ve a terrible track record when it comes to men.”

“Just BE COOL. Try listening to what he has to say for once. Don’t go all giddy and throw yourself at him as soon as he’s through the door.”

“Okay, but no more talking. You are doing my head in. If he hears me talking like this, he’ll do a runner.”

“He may well skedaddle if he does. But then, who’s going to tell him? Certainly not you. As for me, I’m only reacting to you. Now, go and answer that door before he thinks you’re out. Admittedly, that might be a lucky escape, but we try to be optimistic about these things.”

“Okay. Will do. And while we’re at it, I need to ask you a favour.”

“What’s that, then?”

The doorbell rings.

“Ooh! He’s carrying pink roses. Be still, my beating heart. My favourites!”

“Not tacky at all—finally on the right track.”

“Listen! I need you to be quiet now. Leave me alone.”

“For once.”

“You died years ago.”