Misconception - Book cover

Misconception

David Callinan

Chapter 2

AUGUST, 2007

Jess cupped her chin in her hands, leaned on the windowsill, and stared out at the tidy suburban street where she’d lived for most of her life.

So this is how it felt.

The first day of the rest of her life. That’s how the cliché went. Well, it was time to make a start. She moved from the window to her dressing table and prepared to transform herself into someone else.

Last week, on the last day of term, the five of them had gathered at a remote corner of the Downs and puffed cigarettes. There was Jess, Zoe, Emilia, Lauren, and Clara.

They piled their school ties and hats on a bundle of leaves and twigs and glanced around nervously, spotting a lone jogger two hundred yards away.

Of the five of them, Zoe was the bravest. She knelt and struck a match. With frightening speed, the twigs and tinder-dry summer leaves ignited, and soon the symbols of Colston High School for Girls were ablaze.

“All together,” whispered Emilia.

They put their arms around each other and formed a circle with the burning stack of hats and ties in the center, and watched each other for timing.

When the flames began to die down, they giggled and recited the alternative school motto in a whispered chant.

“Concordia Res Parvae Crescunt. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Concordia Res Parvae Crescunt. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

For a moment, the girls were silent as they stared at the glowing ashes, then began to laugh. They photographed the remnants of their last years of secondary education on their phones.

“That was, like, awesome,” said Lauren. “I can’t tell you how much I hated that school.”

“Let’s put out the fire,” said Jess, “in case someone sees the smoke.”

They found sticks close by and spread the ashes. Clara brought handfuls of earth and dumped them on the smoldering pile.

They walked back across the downs toward the city center, glancing at their screens, texting messages, and posting on Myspace and the new social networking site on the block, Facebook.

“School wasn’t so bad,” said Clara. “I can’t decide about a gap year. I’ve got into York or Edinburgh, but I fancy a break. You got an unconditional from Cardiff, didn’t you, Jess?”

“I just don’t want to go,” said Jess. “Three grand a year, and you’re supposed to earn more than those who don’t go. Traveling, now that appeals. Or stage school.”

“But you’re the cleverest of all of us,” said Emilia. “I know what you mean, though. You’ve got to live, live, live while you can.”

“Talking about living,” said Emilia clutching her phone like an amulet. “What are we doing to celebrate?”

“It’s my birthday next week,” said Jess. “I’ll pick somewhere. Are we all up for it?”

“Double celebration,” said Clara. “Coolio.”

***

Jess stared at her reflection.

She was almost satisfied with the tangled mass of dyed black hair, the heavy mascara, and bleached white powdered skin.

She particularly admired her fine sculpted cheekbones highlighted by curved streaks of blood-red blusher and the slash of black lipstick tinged with dark vermilion.

Around her slim neck, she had wrapped a succession of beaded necklaces, heavy and chunky, carved heads and scimitars, astrological sigils, and glittering glassy spheres that reflected light from multifaceted surfaces.

She stood up and looked around at her middle-class room, crammed with all the paraphernalia and fantasy possessions of a repressed eighteen-year-old.

Every inch of wall was plastered with posters of indie bands and ripped teen torsos; dirty underwear, bras, jeans, and boots were piled by an overflowing closet.

A flickering computer screen, a guitar propped up in a corner, a dressing table awash with bottles, makeup, press cuttings, photographs, jewelry, and magazines.

This was Jess’s own little world where she dreamed her fantastical dreams and compiled her life wish list.

Become an actress…somehow.

She didn’t know how but others had done it, so why not her? She’d always wanted to star in a horror movie, a Hitchcockian classic.

She was Tippi Hedren in The Birds, well, not as she was now but as she would become. She visualized facing down Freddie Kruger on Elm Street.

Or if not an actress, then a singer in a tough, streetwise band. She could sing, after all. She had a half-decent voice, and the rest was down to electronics and stage presence.

And she loved writing songs. She was able to pour out her inner soul in the lyrics. Some of the tunes she’d written were as good as any in the charts.

She was dressed in tight black leggings and a long, goth-like dress, black with dark-blue beading. Now for the final touches. Carefully, she painted her nails with multicolored patterns and symbols.

Beautiful.

She glanced at her bed and the letter announcing her A-level results. She smiled when she recalled the delight on the faces of her parents when she had waved three As and a B grade at them.

Those smiles were going to fade pretty quickly when she went downstairs.

Schooldays and exams had been endured mainly for their sakes, although, to be honest, Jess knew she had an aptitude for learning helped by a remarkable memory.

But that was the past.

Now that she was free of education, her next battle was to convince herself that she had the talent, ambition, and determination to skip university and pursue her dream.

But one part of her, the part that half-recognized that her parents were probably right, nagged away with negative objections. Did she really have the guts and, more importantly, the ability?

Jess’s phone jingle-jangled.

“Hiya, Zoe.”

“Hiya, Jess, are you ready for the night of your life?”

“Yeah, so where are we going?”

“We are going to, where else but G-Spot,” cried Zoe.

Jess breathed on her nails. “I’ve always wanted to go there. Wow!”

She listened to more of Zoe’s over-excited delivery as her friend hissed and giggled and hinted at who they might meet at the club.

“I’ve got to see Mum and Dad first. That’s going to be, like, ghastly when they see what I’m wearing.”

“School’s out forever,” sang Zoe in an out-of-tune contralto.

“The end of school once and for all, yay!” yelled Jess. She paused, then said, “Okay, meet you outside the Hippodrome. Cool, yeah, see you.”

Once again, Jess stared into her mirror, turned her head this way and that, then stood up, checked her appearance for the last time, took a deep breath, and went downstairs.

The ground floor was large and spacious, with a comfortably furnished through-lounge and kitchen.

The rooms were well lived in and homely. A large square hall with parquet flooring led to the front door and another door to Paul’s office and den.

The moment Jess stepped into the hall, she knew something was wrong.

Her mother, Annie, was stirring something on the stove, and the aroma of a meaty stew wafted through the room, but she was sniffing and rubbing her eyes.

Paul, her father, had been filling in his lottery ticket at the kitchen table, and the papers were scattered around. He held the house phone in his hand and was staring at it.

“What time are you going out?” called Jess’s mother without turning. Her voice sounded strained.

Shit, thought Jess. ~Have they had a row?~

“Soon,” said Jess standing with her hand on the banister.

“It’s just a dream, the lottery,” said Jess. “It’s about fifteen million to one.”

Paul glanced at his daughter, looked down again, and then jerked his head back up.

“My god, Jess, what have you done?”

Annie turned around and clamped her hand to her mouth. Jess couldn’t decide if she was laughing or crying.

“Have you been crying, Mum?”

“You’re not thinking of going out in public like that,” she gasped finally.

“I think it’s cool,” said Jess. “School’s over. I just want to express myself now I’m free.”

“You’ll get arrested,” said Paul.

“Express yourself? You look like one of those slasher horror movie posters,” said Annie. “Go back upstairs and change into something sensible.”

“I’m going clubbing with Zoe and the girls, Mum. They won’t let me into G-Spot if I look sensible. It’s a horror movie theme night.”

“The G-Spot,” growled her father disbelievingly. “There’s a place with a name like that? No, no, you’re not going to a place with a name like that.”

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I’m over eighteen.”

“You’re still living under this roof,” her father growled.

“You hear such horror stories,” said her mother.

“God, listen to you,” Jess snapped in frustration. “You don’t control me anymore.”

Her father rose to his feet. “We’re not trying to control you, we’re trying to protect you.”

“Well, I don’t need your bloody protection,” shouted Jess as she walked toward the front door.

“Darling, no, please don’t disgrace us.” Her mother took a step forward.

“That’s all you care about, isn’t it?” said Jess angrily. “What people think. My lovely daughter is a disgrace to us. The sacrifices we’ve made. Well, it’s my time now. School’s out forever.

“And, Dad, I wouldn’t bother trying to win money for university fees. I won’t be going to university. I’m going to be an actress or a singer, or I might go traveling. I don’t know how yet, but it’s what I want to do.”

Jess grabbed her shawl from the peg on the hall stand, opened the front door, and turned back.

Her father erupted from his chair, knocking it over. He strode to the front door and rammed his arm and full weight against it, slamming it shut.

“Go upstairs and change. You look like a freak.”

“A what?” Jess staggered back in surprise.

“Paul, this is not the time,” Annie said.

“Jess, do as I ask,” her father shouted and stared resolutely at the ceiling. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Mum…” Jess appealed to her mother with tears in her eyes.

“Just go, Jess, and clean yourself up,” her father shouted.

Jess turned on her heel and clumped up the stairs, hearing only the pounding in her ears and a silence below in the hall that crackled with tension.

“Just because you’ve had a row doesn’t mean you can ruin my life,” she yelled back at them.

She went into her room, slammed the door, and sat on the bed.

Her father had never, ever spoken to her like that before. Moments later, there was a knock on the door, and her mother came in.

“Jess, your father is sorry for what he said.”

“What’s the matter with him calling me that?”

“He didn’t mean it.”

“You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”

“Your father has too.”

“Why, what’s happened?”

“Well…”

“You’re not getting divorced, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“What then?”

“Your father’s had some bad news.”

“Like what?” Jess was still fuming.

Annie sat down next to her and held her hand. “It’s not an excuse, but Aunt Alice died today. Dad’s taken it pretty badly. We were going to tell you tonight, but—”

“Aunt Alice, no,” Jess cried. “I loved Aunt Alice.”

Jess could see her mother trying to summon up the courage to say something else.

“Jess,” said Annie finally. “We all loved Alice, and your dad was very close to her. They were twins, after all. Try to understand how he feels right now. He’ll calm down later on. But it’s not just that…”

“What then?”

“I came into your room today to do a bit of tidying up. Yes, I know, I know, it’s your special place, but it just needed a bit of a clean, and there’s all your dirty washing everywhere. Well, I found something.”

Jess just stared straight ahead.

“What do you call it, a spliff?” said her mother.

“God.”

“Drugs, Jess. We were worried, that’s all. And when your dad saw you dressed like that, he just blew, which is not like your father at all.”

“It was a spliff, Mum. I just tried it out, that’s all. I am not an addict, you have to believe me. I thought I’d got rid of it. I can’t see what the fuss is about.

“Look, I can see why Dad got mad, but I really want to go out tonight. And I’m really sorry about Aunt Alice. You know how close we were, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. We’re seeing the solicitor tomorrow about her will so that’s not going to be very pleasant. I just think you ought to do as your father asks. I’ll say no more.”

Annie got up from the bed and went to the door.

“Mum,” Jess pleaded.

When her mother left the room, Jess stared at the walls for a long time, her mind awash with conflicting emotions.

She had to go out tonight, whatever happened. Dad would get over it. But the news of Aunt Alice’s death had made the prospect of a rave at a nightclub almost irreverent and sacrilegious.

Jess wiped away a tear as she thought about the last time she’d seen Aunt Alice.

They’d always had a kind of conspiratorial understanding—like they both shared a special secret about the world. Her aunt understood her like nobody else on Earth.

Then she remembered the advice her aunt had frequently given her. Enjoy yourself to the full while you can because you never know what life has in store for you.

Would Aunt Alice be appalled if Jess went out to a club tonight having just heard the news? No, Jess decided. She could almost hear the old lady’s voice chuckling in her ear, urging her to live while she had the chance.

Shit, how did I manage to leave a spliff in my room? It must have fallen out of my jacket pocket. It’s not as if I’m a regular user.

She’d only had a couple, and they’d made her act stupid and gave her a headache. But her parents were going to think it was an indication that she was going off the rails.

Sod it! I’m not going to stay in my room like a naughty schoolchild the entire evening.

She went to the door and opened it a few inches. She could hear her parents arguing in low voices in the living room.

Jess knew that sooner or later, her dad would come up to her room to apologize but that he would not change his mind.

Her window of opportunity was now. Her dad would have locked and bolted the front door, but Jess had her own key.

She left her room and closed the door carefully behind her, then tiptoed down the stairs placing her feet on the edges of the steps to avoid the tell-tale creak.

Reaching the bottom and padding to the front door, she listened to the sound of her parents’ frustrated voices rising and falling.

She carefully slid open the chain lock and held the chain in her hand while she unlocked the door with her key.

Opening the door very slowly, she slipped outside, released the chain, and put the key in the lock from the outside.

Jess closed the door quietly behind her, wrapped herself in her shawl against the early evening chill, and trotted down the drive and out of the front gate.

She marched along an avenue of similar four- and five-bedroomed houses, most with televisions flickering behind lace drapes.

God, it is so boring~ here.~

In her mind’s eye, Jess pictured herself in an exotic beach location listening to her co-star’s heartbeat as she pressed her face against his smooth, bare, sculpted chest and nuzzled his warm skin.

She heard the director’s hoarse voice cry, “Action.”

Her image of the perfect man, she knew, came from her assiduous reading of cheap books with covers showing hunky six-packs and strong jaws.

And the women always looked as though they were seconds away from coming but somehow remained in control. You too can have an orgasm like me, ~girl~, they implied to the voracious reader from their book jacket eyes.

Jess wanted to be caught on the hop, see a face on a train, and fall instantly, insanely in love.

She wanted to open a door on an ordinary day in an ordinary place and come face-to-face with him.

The ~one~.

The one who knew her inside out instantly, leg measurements, bust size, and how many pubic hairs she had. And she would know him and could describe his body through his clothes.

Jess shivered the dream to the back of her mind.

Next, she was fronting a cool but pulsating rock band as a cross between Blondie and Amy Winehouse.

This is what she wanted.

She could taste it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. She knew it would be tough, but she’d loved acting in the school productions, and she’d spent hours writing and recording her songs.

Fuck the doubt!

Then again.

Maybe Mum and Dad are right, and I should go to university, then follow my heart later. Why is life so complicated~?~

Jess waited by the bus stop on Grainger Road and thought about it seriously. Did she really have the talent? How was she going to make her dream come true?

She’d have to get a job and maybe take an acting course or join a theater group. Maybe she could get into RADA or another stage school.

She knew the time of dreaming and hoping was coming to an end, and the time for action was upon her.

It was one thing to tell her parents she wasn’t going to read English or History or something else at university but quite another to turn her dreams into reality.

She just didn’t want to be ordinary.

In her deepest soul, she knew that ordinary was just not good enough. Sometimes, when she thought about the future, she thought of her parents.

They were really nice. They played Scrabble on Saturday afternoons and laughed at the same jokes. They were so alike. They finished each other’s sentences.

Maybe that’s what marriage did to you after years of agreeing and avoiding treading on toes or venturing into no-go areas.

They hadn’t always been alike.

Jess’s mom had been a groupie following some long-haired band or other and worn long tweed skirts to her ankles and flowers in her hair. She told Jess once that they were the best days of her life.

Does that mean you’ve put up with the rest for the sake of an uneventful life, Mum?

Her dad was more studious. He made lists. He knew what they were doing two years ahead, and he loved to remind them.

They’d only had one child, although Jess knew they’d have liked a boy, a brother for their firstborn. Something had happened in that department, something Jess would never, ever ask about.

Jess found it difficult to be angry with her parents. They frustrated her because they cocooned their only child, but they were good people.

Her eyes were damp because she hated upsetting them, but there had to be a time to break free, to make a statement, to be the person she really wanted to be. But how to do that without hurting them was the issue.

If she were a nasty bitch like that Monica-kiss-my-ass-Wainwright around the corner, then it would be easy.

Monica’s tattooed parents spent their entire lives and half the county’s social security budget getting pissed or stoned.

What did Monica have to come home to? Was it any wonder she was constantly in trouble? No matter how hard she tried to sympathize, Jess knew it would make no difference.

Monica was a lost cause unless she found religion (unlikely) or had a forced lobotomy.

Monica Wainwright was not someone you could get to like or, after digging really deep, find a half-decent human being lurking inside the brutish lout. Monica Wainwright was a shit.

Jess remembered overhearing two teachers talking in low whispers about Monica.

She’d been passed around between her large extended family, dumped in damp caravans on traveler sites, sent to school in jam-stained hand-me-downs with her backside hanging out and with the bruises for all to see.

There had been battles with social services because Monica had a temper.

Jess had tried to feel sorry for her and couldn’t help comparing the way she’d been brought up.

But Monica Wainwright had probably been pushed too far down face-first into the steaming dung heap to suddenly turn into Little Miss Perfect.

Jess remembered the head-to-head stand-off when Monica the bully thought she’d have a go at her.

Jess was no coward. When Monica tried to deliver a headbutt, she sidestepped just in time and lashed out with her foot, violently connecting with Monica’s ankle.

“You fucking little cunt,” Monica had spat at her as she fell backward, yelping in pain. “You’ll pay for that, you bitch. One dark night I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Jess had snarled at her, really mad now. “Why don’t you piss off and spend the rest of your life looking for your one and only brain cell.”

As a comeback it wasn’t great, but it was the best Jess could think of at the time.

Since then, the odious Monica had left her alone, but she’d try to get her own back, Jess knew. She wouldn’t like to meet Monica Wainwright and her mates on a darkened street corner.

Through the gathering evening, the glowing lights of the single-decker bus emerged around the corner of Bradford Lane and slowly made its way to the stop.

Jess got on and paid the driver. Tonight was going to be a good one.

Next chapter
Rated 4.4 of 5 on the App Store
82.5K Ratings
Galatea logo

Unlimited books, immersive experiences.

Galatea FacebookGalatea InstagramGalatea TikTok