Skylights

***Contains a fair amount of Scots dialect***

The wedding reception was still in full swing when Ria found herself sitting alone – or as alone as a girl two days off her eighteenth birthday could be when backed into the corner of a snug and surrounded by a load of drunken Boomers.

Aw, lass… yer pal away now, is she…?

The woman next to her, squeezed into a leopard-come-zebra patchwork dress, placed a hand on the seat between them, leaning in over Ria’s jacket. Fingers heavily ringed, bronze-shimmer taloned acrylics, the upside-down, insect-like appendage in her piled-up, dark-rooted, blonde hair waggled its black-brown legs. Overcome by violet gin fumes, she reckoned…

No, she’ll be back in a minute. She’s just gone for a dance.

Eyes on her phone, Ria kept on scrolling, her own silver rings and acrylics intermittently tapping the screen.

Oh aye, and how come you’re no up there with her…? Young lass like you…?

Ria forced a weak smile. ‘The Cha-Cha Slide’ was Megan’s thing, not hers. Megan’s and her brother’s. Rex had taught her the moves when she’d been just a bit of a kid, and because this was his wedding, of course he’d have to get little sis up there to perform it with him. Him and his new wife, Jade, who’d already had her ass and tits out – couldn’t be helped that her dress bunched up whilst doing the worm, now could it? How hilarious. What a perfectly outrageous future anecdote for all those ‘night-is-young-and-wild, let’s-whoop-it-up-to-the-left-and-to-the-right’, Millennial/Gen Z criss-crossers.

And meanwhile, Ria had been abandoned. Left with Megan’s phone and purse, to party in the shadow-spill behind a pillar off the dancefloor, dregs beneath her feet… Sure you don’t want a drink, hen…? Naebody’s gonna ken if I sneak you yin… Ye wanna try ma violet gin…? Or Sharon can fetch you a vodka… Help loosen ye up a bit…

No thanks, I’m good…

Except she wasn’t, and Megan was probably right when she’d called her a killjoy, cutting off her nose to spite her face, making a point just for the sake of it, staying legal until Monday when no one could question her age and call her a child. Hell, there had even been talk of her having to leave at eight o’ clock with ‘the rest of the kids’, and maybe she could babysit…?

No drinking, no dancing…? Ay, things have fair changed since I wis yer age, ain’t that right, Dave…?

Jungle Jane, as Ria had decided to call her, tugged at the sleeve of the man sitting opposite. Stout, thick-necked and balding, he had his back to Ria but, engrossed in conversation with another of his grey-haired, grey-suited, beer swilling ilk, he’d kept edging closer to her, unconcerned by her strategic placing of Megan’s belongings.

Aye, Baz, I dare say Bob Crossly should hae been there tae walk his daughter doon the aisle, but ye ken whit he’s like, rather be oot fishin’ on The Rene. Ony roads, I deh think he wis even invited. Greg Beaumont’s been mair o’ a faither tae them kids than he ever wis. Mind that time… what is Sandra, I’m talking here…? Aye, when he sayed that he’d only ken which o’ his daughters wis which if they wore the right colours. Pittin’ Jade in blue, an’ Ruby in green, and Saphie in red wud confuse ony man…

An eruption of laughter, yet another tug on the sleeve, Ria clenched her jaw in a bid to close her ears.

Aye, an’ I hope yous ken Bob’s had a heart attack. Would’nae hae made the wedding even if he had been asked… Sandra glared at her husband, her original reason for begging his attention forgotten… Ah, here’s Sharon noo. ‘Boot time an’ aw. Maw’s belly thinks her throat’s been cut…

A skinny middle-aged woman in a figure-hugging scarlet dress tottered towards the table, eyes fixed on the precariously laden drinks tray held out before her… Yeah, and have ye seen the queue at the bar? S’alright fer yous, sittin’ doon on yer arses… Oh, my feet…!

She placed the tray on the table and plonked herself down on the far end of the seat beside an elderly lady in a pastel floral cotton and a cauliflower hair-do, the pink and mauve butterfly on top extending its mottled wings... Budge up, Maw. Gotta take these bloody shoes off. Been murder all day…

Killer heels dispensed with, Sharon rubbed at her stockinged-soles as everyone reached for their glasses.

And where’s mine, might I ask? Maw scrutinized the drinks in turn, face turning sour.

Ach, Maw, this’ll be yours, I’ve got it here. Baz handed her the one balloon glass which contained a clear liquid.

Weel, that’s no whit I asked fer. The butterfly bobbed its disgruntled response. Bitter lemon, I sayed. Slimline, no this bloody sugary water…

They did’nae hae ony, Maw, ye’ll jist hae tae make do. Sharon rolled her eyes, and continued massaging her feet.

Aye, would’nae be that if it wis you wi’ diabetes… Ye’ll jist hae tae gone back and an’ get me another… And where’s that lassie’s drink, she’s sitting there wi’ nane…? Here, hen, hae mine. It’s jist lemonade wi’ a wee tiny nip o’ gin.

No, I’m fine, really…

Ria smiled in Maw’s direction. Apart from the old woman’s dialect, and that stupid fascinator on her head, she reminded her of her gran. It had been six years since she’d passed away, just before her twelfth birthday. Six years to the day since her funeral… She continued to scroll. Facebook Memories, the likes got less every year, and this year even her sister, Louise had failed to acknowledge her repost. Having fun? We are… Lou’s Snapchat. Her and her boyfriend, Christian, looking like Barbie and Ken in an advert for strawberry milkshake, the pair of them grinning away in their matching pink hooded tops…

Oh, that’s a nice frock ye’ve got on. Maw again.

Thanks.

Lovely colour. Claret, is it?

Ria shrugged, to her it was simply dark red.

Onyway, it fair suits ye…

Her mother had said the same. Was that a good thing?

Mind, I don’t hold wi’ them rings through yer nose, ye ken yer spoilin’ yer looks…

Mother…!  Sandra’s interjection came so hard and fast that even the men were stunned into silence, and Ria felt all eyes upon her as her nose began to itch. Should she scratch it, or just keep staring blankly at her phone, pretending that she was the only one around that table who hadn’t heard? Face going red as her dress, she thought, aware of Sandra whispering into the old woman’s ear and her hollering out… Well, no, I’ll no be shushed, like I would’nae be shushed when ye an’ Sharon went oot tae they discotheques lookin’ an’ actin’ like whores…

A snorted chortle from Dave. Aye, Sandra, that’s you telt…

The Medusa stare. Any minute now, that unfortunate replica insect on the younger woman’s head would twist itself back on its feet and turn into a nest of vipers.

An’ ye were nae better, me lad, with all yer fighting an’ breaking the law, bringing trouble tae ma door every t’other weekend…

Aye, fair do’ s Maw. I hold my hands up tae that, but mind, Baz, them’s were the days. Hey remember we used tae aw pile intae Cammy’s van and gawn doon tae the clubs past the border jist tae stairt fights wi’ the English…?

Aye, the guid auld days…

Aye… Ye shair ye don’t want a drink, lass…? By the way, I think yer piercings are great…

So a thumbs up from Dave. Like her mother’s thumbs up on the dress. Perhaps a change of image was called for. And perhaps she ought to go and find Megan. ‘The Cha-Cha Slide’ was over, and Taylor’s ‘Shake It Off’ had come on. She could dance to that, except she didn’t relish the thought of squeezing past those legs, especially Maw’s. Bruising, she’d read somewhere, could cause serious problems for diabetics.  Oh well, back to scrolling…

Moments later, as a barefoot Sharon returned from the bar with her mother’s drink, the door to the reception room swung open. Rex’s muscle-bound best man, all six foot eight of him, ducking down for fear of causing injury to his head… Hey folks, you gotta come and see this…

Maw tutted. What did that giant want now? She’d not even had a sip of her drink yet, and she’d seen and heard enough of his tricks for one day. That poor young couple must have been black affronted when he’d brought out those fluffy handcuffs during his speech. Like as not, he would have done something just as tasteless to their car. Rude slogans on the window, rattling Hooch cans…

He’s got a name, Maw…

Eh?

Stop calling him The Giant, his name’s Enoch.

His name’s what…? Eunuch, did ye say…? Well, I’ve heard it aw noo. What the hell were his parents thinking, and nae wunner he felt he had tae graw tae that size…

Ria suppressed a giggle. Her gran had been exactly like that near the end. Like when she’d seen the moon one night and thought her mother had put a new solar light in her garden, or when the doctor said they were going to scan her head and she’d thought he’d told her to do a headstand.

Aye, lad. Maw’s right. We’re not sae daft as tae fall fer ony o’ yer tomfoolery. Dave waved him away as Sandra chimed in.

And whatever it is ye’ve done, ye can jist gone back an’ undo it. Jade sayed she would’ nae stand fer ony sic tat…

The big guy threw his hands in the air. Naw, naw, ye’ve got it aw wrong. This is good. Ye’ve got to come see, or ye’ll miss it… I’m gonna grab aw the rest o’ them too…

A notification. Louise again. Wow, just wow… Ria leapt to her feet… I’ll come…

Funny, she thought, how it always took just one. A single being to take the lead for everyone else to change their minds and follow. They were all behind her now except Enoch who towered up by her side. Young and old, eyes raised towards the sky, smartphones out, taking photographs. That swathe of purple and green had never been seen over their home town before, and it was beautiful, amazing. People spoke of it being lucky for the newlyweds given their names. Purple was the colour of kings, after all. And Jade, whose own nan had died close to the time that Ria’s had, spoke of her looking down on her, sending the Aurora Borealis as a gift. The sequins on her white bridal evening dress twinkled like the stars as she lay her head on her husband’s shoulder. And on Ria’s phone, like on so many others, notification followed notification… Jeez, that’s all we’re seeing now, give it a rest, folks… Ria scowled at the comment, reacting with the angry face emoji before typing out a comment of her own: *Why complain about the pictures? Don’t you think that in this world of bad and chaos, and trivial concerns, it can only be good that, for just a few moments in time, everyone’s out here looking up with wonder at the same incredible sky…?

* Author’s note: For the final line of this story, I must give credit to my youngest daughter on whom the character of Ria is loosely based. I have adapted her words, but the gist of the fictional comment (the majority of it in fact) was hers as written online after the Northern Lights appeared a couple of weeks ago over the Scottish Borders. It was the first time either one of us had experienced this phenomenon.