1997

England, 1997.

Twelve-year-old Mary May was in a much brighter mood than usual that evening. She was sat at the kitchen table as her mother prepared the family’s evening meal. She was only half concentrated on Jane Eyre and her brother and sister were sat either side of her revising for their exams. Eleanor’s head bobbed back and forth to the music coming from her Walkman, and Mary May thought she could hear the faint strains of “If You Wanna Be My Lover”; James was intent upon some insane looking algebra. The kitchen filled with the steamy comfort of boiled potatoes. Her mother poured a glass of wine, leant against the worktop and watched her three children; this was a tradition she knew she would miss, and she sighed, content.

“How long will dinner be, Sandra?” Mary May asked looking up from her book. 

“Stop calling mum, Sandra, it’s, like, so weird,” Eleanor said, waggling her pink fluffy pen. Eleanor had recently become obsessed by fluffy pens, and the word “like”.

“I agree,” Sandra said, taking a sip of her Sauvignon, “What’s wrong with calling us mum and dad?” At that moment, Geoff came in through the front door. He placed his briefcase down in the hallway and joined his family in the kitchen. “Ah, speak of the devil…” Sandra smiled and reached for another wine glass from the cupboard.

“Talking about me?” Geoff smiled, kissing his wife on the cheek, before ruffling the hair of each of his children in turn.

“We were just discussing why Mary May feels the need to use our names,” Sandra said, pouring out the wine in satisfying glugs, and topping herself up.

“Don’t worry, Sandra,” Mary May smiled sweetly, “It doesn’t mean I love you less,” and then returned to her book. Geoff pulled the book from his youngest daughter’s hands and examined the cover. “Have you read that book I bought you yet? It’s meant to be quite excellent.”

“Witches and Wizards? It’ll never catch on,” Sandra waved her hand dismissively and returned to the potatoes.

“No Geoff, not yet,” Mary May sighed, retrieving her book from her father’s hands and leaving the kitchen. As she climbed the stairs, she heard Geoff wondering aloud why she couldn’t just read Harry Potter like all the other kids her age. Last year, when she’d finished Pride and Prejudice, she’d taken to calling her dad “Mr Bennet”. Night, Mr Bennet! Thanks, Mr Bennet! Can we get a film from Blockbuster, Mr Bennet? Geoff had never read the book himself and had evaded the BBC adaptation. So when Mary May greeted him as Mr Bennet, he had just gone along with it, bemused, and accepted it as another of his youngest daughter’s ever growing list of eccentricities. He was still none the wiser and unaware of the aspersion on his parenthood to this day.

After dinner that night, Mary May took her book and went to sit on the blue inflatable chair at the foot of James’ bed. As older brothers went, James wasn’t so bad.

“We’re watching South Park, so don’t tell mum and dad,” James warned, switching on the lava lamp on his bedside table. Eleanor was bent over the desk, still frantically scribbling on revision cards, the pink feathers bobbing back and forth manically. As an older sister, Eleanor was… taxing.

“Why can’t pissing Shakespeare be as easy to remember as South Park?” Eleanor whined.

“Because you’re, like, a moron?” ventured James, flicking his pretend shoulder length hair. Mary May sniggered.

“Shut up, fat boy!” Eleanor said, affecting a terrible American accent.

James replied with his best Carter, “I’m not fat, I’m festively plump.” His impression was much better, and Mary May snorted. “The tape’s on the side, Mimi.” Mary May picked up the VHS and inserted it into James’ combi TV. Geoff and Sandra had banned Mary May from watching the TV show: she’d been quoting various obscenities for weeks, but the final straw came last weekend when Brenda next door had asked her what she would like for her upcoming thirteenth birthday. Mary May had flatly replied that she wanted “The Ultravibe Pleasure 2000”: “It’s a vibrator, Brenda. Women use it to-,” Sandra had cut her off just in time, ushering her away and leaving their neighbour baffled.

As they settled down to watch the recorded show, Mary May smiled to herself. She smiled because she had a secret that she didn’t have to share with her older siblings, and that secret was currently hidden away behind the lawn mower in the garden shed. The only thing spoiling the secret was Freddie.

She’d made the discovery earlier that day when she and Freddie had been exploring the woodland at the back of their houses. Freddie was Brenda’s son, and although she refused to associate herself with him at school (most of her friends thought he was a bit weird), Mary May didn’t mind spending the odd afternoons with him, which were more frequent than Mary May cared to admit, and it seemed to keep Sandra happy.  

That night, Mary May tossed and turned. She couldn’t wait to get back down to the garden shed in the morning. She’d set her alarm for 5am to give herself plenty of time before school to scavenge supplies, although what supplies she needed she still wasn’t sure; her Microsoft Encarta hadn’t been much help, neither had any of her encyclopaedias.

As they’d agreed, she met Freddie at five thirty outside her garden shed. “It’s a fucking baby fox, Freddie, not a tiger,” Mary May jeered, when she saw the oven gloves secured with tape up to his elbows.

“Yeah? Not heard of rabies then?” he said, waving the gloves in her face. “We should take it to the vet, or call the RSPCA.”

“No we shouldn’t. We’re going to raise it, and reintroduce it into the wild!” Mary May declared. Mary May was modelling her current project on the baby hedgehog that Geoff had helped her to look after when she was seven; she’d still called him dad back then. She’d remembered him saying that you absolutely don’t give the hedgehog cow’s milk, as a lot of people did, and that ordinary dog or cat food would do the trick. So she’d pillaged the pantry and brought along three tins of cat food and a bottle of water. “What did you bring?” she asked Freddie as she emptied her bag of loot onto the grass.

“I’ll see your water,” Freddie grinned, “And raise you milk,” he pulled a glass bottle of milk out of his drawstring bag, and smugly presented it to her. Mary May rolled her eyes.

***

“I told you we should have called the RSPCA!” Freddie winced, looking down at the suppurating wound. It had been a week since they’d found the baby fox, and also a week since the biting incident. At first Freddie had gloated over his genius foresight to wear oven gloves, but in recent days he’d become increasingly anxious about the red, angry and weeping wound on the soft, fleshy inside of Mary May’s forearm.

“Oh stop being a wuss,” Mary May waved him away, pulling the bandage back down and covering it with her sleeve.

“I’m not!” insisted Freddie indignantly, “What if it’s rabies?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she dismissed him and returned to her task of opening a tin of cat food.

After they had finished feeding the cub, changing the straw in its box, and refilling its water bowl, Freddie had seemed determined to disprove his wuss-ness. First he had suggested tree climbing, and he’d climbed a branch higher than her in every tree they’d tried. Next, he’d suggested skimming stones across the pond, and he’d graciously tried to offer her tips when he had achieved a couple of triple bouncers, and hers continued to plop and sink.

Finally, when Mary May had said she’d thought she’d head home, he’d asked her if she wanted to kiss. At first she’d laughed in his face and he’d told her to fuck off. But then she thought about it. Most of her friends had kissed someone at school, and although she wasn’t particularly interested in kissing any of the boys in their year, she also didn’t relish the idea of being assigned the new moniker that so many boys were using when they talked about girls behind their backs: virgin lips.

“Alright, fine,” she’d said as Freddie had turned to leave.

Afterwards, they had returned to the garden shed to check one last time on the cub.

“We really should call the RSPCA you know, or take it down the road to Mr Johnson: he’s a vet.”

“I told you we’re not,” she was feeling awkward and wondering why he hadn’t said anything about kissing her since they’d done it.

“Well I might just sneak over and take it myself!”

“If you do I’ll tell everyone at school you’re a shit kisser!”

***

That Saturday, Sandra had invited Brenda, Brenda’s husband, William, and Freddie over for lunch, but Brenda had arrived alone, apologising for Freddie and William’s absence. Apparently, Freddie was ill and in bed, William was watching over him, and so it was “just little old me I’m afraid!”

“I bet he’s got pinkeye.” Mary May sniggered into her plate.

“Pink… eye?” Brenda raised an eyebrow in query.

“Oh ignore her, Brenda. It’s from that stupid cartoon they’re all watching,” Sandra shot Mary May a warning glance.

“It’s American for conjunctivitis, Brenda,” offered James. “My mate had it last year; it was vile, couldn’t open his eyes for all the crust. He had to pick…”

“Yes, yes, we get the picture, James!” Sandra said waving her hand in his direction and laughing nervously at Brenda.

“Oh-,” was all that Brenda managed. Her fork was suspended half way to her mouth, loaded with Caesar salad and a crouton. She remembered the fork and, thinking better of it, replaced it on her plate, her nose crinkling. “Well, no, Mary May. He doesn’t have - he’s just a bit under the weather, probably a summer cold,” she tried to smile. “So, anyway, I was telling you earlier about our new neighbours, Sandra. Two women, moved in two doors down from Edward and Laura? You know, I think, I think they might be…” Brenda paused and the family looked in her direction expectantly. “Hmm, well, I think they might be, you know…” Brenda waggled her head this way and that.

“Spit it out, Brenda,” Mary May said.

“Mary May!” chided Sandra.

“Well, I think they might be…”

“A couple?” Geoff offered, having met them the previous day and ascertaining this information for himself.

 “You know you can say “lesbians”, Brenda. Our auntie’s a lesbian, there’s n-.”

“Yes, thank you, Mary May,” Sandra interrupted her daughter.

“Yeah our aunt’s a raging lesbian, Brenda,” chimed in James.

“I’m a bigger lesbian than you,” laughed Eleanor.

“You’re a fatter lesbian than me,” countered James.

“Screw you guys!” yelled Mary May, pushing back her chair and rising to her feet, “I’m king lesbian!” and she raised her arms in the air as her brother and sister crumpled in their seats laughing. Brenda’s mouth had fallen wide open and her neck had gone very red and blotchy.

“Mary May!” Sandra leapt to her feet and tried to pull her twelve year old daughter back into her chair all the while apologising to Brenda, blaming it on “that cartoon”, and wafting her other arm across the table as though to dismiss the whole thing. Geoff sat back and watched the whole scene unfold with a look of mild amusement.

As Mary May had stood to make her proclamation, she’d gained a vantage through the backdoor window into the garden, just in time to see Freddie scrambling over and wriggling down the fence. Now he was making for the garden shed, and Sandra was pulling on her arm and flapping about.

“Son of a bitch!” She exclaimed. The adults at the table turned to the twelve year old in astonishment. Eleanor actually snorted and James began choking on a crouton.

“I think that’s enough now, Mary,” Geoff finally interjected, but Mary May was already heading out the kitchen, through the hallway and bounding up the stairs two at a time.

“Really, Geoff, you think that’s enough now do you?” Sandra exhaled.

“Actually,” Brenda piped up, “I was going to say, I think the new neighbours might be New Labour. I think I saw a poster of Tony Blair in their car window,” Brenda finished, reaching for her water glass and taking a polite sip, but nobody was listening.

The meal continued in Mary May’s absence under a strained silence. Eventually, Brenda attempted to raise the tone. “Honestly, how anyone can believe that Blair-”

“What on earth?” Sandra exclaimed getting to her feet and rushing to the back door. By the time Sandra reached the bottom of the garden, Mary May had already dragged Freddie out of the shed and onto the ground and was now rushing him like an angry baby rhino, pushing him back down every time he clambered to get back up.

“Mary May!” Sandra tried to grab her daughter by the arms.

“Freddie!” wailed Brenda as she came wind milling down the garden after Sandra and threw herself between Mary May and her son as a human shield.

Geoff stood back with James and Eleanor and watched in bewilderment.

When Sandra had finally restrained Mary May, and Freddie remained on the ground, now partially pinned down by Brenda, James laughed and contributed, “Oh my god! You killed Freddie! You bastard!” Geoff clipped him round the back of the head in the most responsive act of parenting Sandra had witnessed him perform in years.

Freddie completely sold her out. The baby fox was discovered, the bite was revealed, and Mary May was dragged from the garden screaming, “Remember what I’m gonna tell everyone at school!”

***

Mary May was in her room lying on her bed, sulking. When she read the last page of Jane Eyre, she flung it to the floor. “Mr Rochester was a piece of shit!” The doctor had cleaned and dressed the bite, given her a tetanus jab, prescribed some antibiotics and taken a blood test to be safe. She told her the blood test was just a precaution, not to worry while they waited for the results, and that she was certain that she indeed, did not, have rabies. Mary May had simply replied, “Of course I don’t,” and rolled her eyes.

“Who’s a piece of shit?” James appeared at her door.

“Go away,” she growled, turning on her side with her back to him and pulling her knees into her chest.

“Didn’t enjoy the book then?” James said, sitting down on her bed.

“Nope. I don’t know why you recommended it. I think Jane Eyre’s a massive twat.”

James laughed, “It’s a classic.”

“Well it’s shit.”

“Freddie was just here. Wanted to know if you had rabies. Brenda was there too. I think she wanted to make sure you didn’t go psycho on him again,” James laughed.

“Did you tell him I didn’t have rabies?”

“No, mum sort of just ignored the question and said you’d been given some antibiotics and you’d be fine.” Mary May rolled over to face her brother and grinned.

***

Leaning out of Eleanor’s window, she could just about hear the conversation below. James was standing on the coal bunker looking over the fence, and the fence was too high for Mary May to see Freddie on the other side, but she could hear him.

“Yeah well, I didn’t want her arm to go all manky or anything.” She leaned out further.

“What are you doing you weirdo?” Eleanor said as she came into the room, removing her Walkman headphones. Mary May shushed her and Eleanor joined her at the window. Mary May had missed what Freddie had added, but now James was speaking again.

“The antibiotics? Yeah, they’re for the rabies.”

“What? She’s got rabies?” Mary May could imagine his eyes going big and round; his face going red and blotchy like Brenda’s.

“Yeah. But don’t worry mate, we’re all good. You can’t catch it or anything. I was worried about that too,” James laughed, “Apparently, you can only get it by exchanging bodily fluids.”

Freddie said something back; Mary May thought it sounded like, “Exchange what?” James laughed again.

“Don’t worry. As long as you didn’t kiss her, you’re all good mate,” James gave him a thumbs up. In that moment, Mary May thought her big brother was the best person in the whole wide world.

“Wait, did you kiss Freddie?” Eleanor said, recoiling from the window. Mary May laughed. “Ew! Mary May!”

“What, he’s not even that bad. Actually I think he’s quite nice.”

“So then why are you trying to make him think you’ve given him rabies?”

“Because my name’s not Jane.” Mary May laughed to herself, delighted by her own quip.

“You are such a little weirdo,” Eleanor said resignedly, lying down on her bed, and pulling her headphones back over her ears. Mary May was still perched on the windowsill straining to hear the muffled and tinny lyrics of “When Two Become One” when James came into the room.

“You owe me one, Mimi,” he grinned. “South Park?” Mary May nodded. “Definitely do not tell mum and dad!”