Young Writers Society

((I've decided to split this novel up slightly after being advised to So here's chapter four. Reviews would be most appreciated ))

FOUR

Jayne woke up the next morning with the mother of all headaches. Her mother had always told her not to drink on an empty stomach. God, she was right. Her brain pounded behind her eyes and the alarm clock sounded like a small truck driving over her pillow.

She looked at her watch. She had a lecture in just under an hour. If she was honest, the surrealist movement didn’t seem too attractive at this time in the morning. Definitely not as attractive as an extra hour in bed nursing her sore head.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. Jayne grunted, the universal signal that it was acceptable to enter, and Daniel poked his head round the door.

“I’ve just put the kettle on. Fancy a coffee?”

Jayne breathed in deeply. Daniel’s incessant chirpiness wasn’t really welcome this morning, and neither was a coffee.

“No thanks,” Jayne replied. “Any chance you can get me a glass of water?”

Daniel nodded and walked away. Jayne could hear him humming in the kitchen as she sat up in bed.

She dragged the duvet aside and stood up. God, she felt unwell. And it wasn’t just the drink. She hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime yesterday, and a raging hunger was brewing in her stomach. She felt a bit faint, but she probably just needed some water. That would sort it all out.

She pulled on some clothes and walked into the kitchen. Daniel handed her a pint of water.

“A bit tender this morning?” Daniel smiled that irritating smile that reminded Jayne so much of her own mother. That unmistakable “I see you’ve learned your lesson” smile.

Jayne swallowed the entire pint of water. It was teeth-achingly cold. Not quite as cold as the stare she was fixing Daniel with, but still cold. Annoyingly enough, she still felt faint and weak.

“Toast?” Daniel handed her a plate with a slice of black toast spread shoddily with butter. Christ, Daniel was an awful cook. It was just as well she wasn’t in the mood for eating. She’d have to take it though. She didn’t think her body would be able to function if she didn’t eat something soon.

She took the plate into the lounge and sat down on the sofa. She was on her own. Elliot was still in bed, and Jess had spent the night at Will’s. Jayne was on her own with the toast. She raised it to her lips and opened her mouth, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to bite into it.

She knew she needed it, but she just didn’t want to think about what it would do to her. The butter must have been half a centimetre thick in places, for God’s sake. In others, it had just melted away, staying at the surface; pure fat just waiting to get acquainted with her hips.

She bit down into the toast. It was crunchy, heavy and tasted of charcoal. It tasted bad, but Jayne savoured the tiny mouthful as she chewed it. She could have devoured the whole slice there and then. God, what she wouldn’t give to be able to sate the constant hunger in her stomach. But she couldn’t. She would never get a boyfriend looking like she did now, she would never get anywhere in life looking like she did now. She’d always just be the one with the ginger hair and the funny Northern accent.

She took one more bite before dropping the toast back on the plate. That might just about keep her going till lunchtime.

She stood up and walked back to the kitchen, dropping the remaining toast in her bedroom bin on the way. The empty plate would keep the likes of Daniel and Jess happy without too many suspicions. Unless they looked in Jayne’s bin. Then it’d be a bit more complicated. She had no idea how she would go about explaining why the best part of a week’s worth of food was hiding in the corner of her bedroom.

Daniel was still in the kitchen when Jayne entered, washing up yesterday’s dishes.

“There’s post there,” he said, gesturing to the worktop on his left.

Jayne flicked through the pile of envelopes. Only one was addressed to her. Something from the bank. Christ, if she had to tell them once more that she didn’t want a credit card, she was going to phone the police and report the branch for harassment.

Another envelope was addressed to “the residents of flat 42A”. Although it wasn’t specifically addressed to Jayne, she felt it was her responsibility on this occasion to open the envelope on behalf of her flatmates.

As soon as he saw what was inside, she made a vow to never take that responsibility again. Any further post addressed to the flat as a whole would have to go the same way as the letter from the bank.

Daniel read the single sheet of paper over Jayne’s shoulder. “The May Ball? It’s not that time already is it?”

Jayne looked at him. “It is April,” she said sarcastically. “And May usually follows April. I doubt this year will be any different Dan.”

Despite what she said, she couldn’t believe it was that time again already. But the invitation in her hands was proof that it was indeed time to prepare for the spectacle that was the May Ball.

She could have shredded the invitation, kidnapped Daniel and kept him hidden in the washing machine till June. Then she would never have to go to the ball. Jess and Elliot would never know it was going ahead this year. But she doubted that Jess would wait till June to realise that her brother was missing and the washing machine was out of bounds. No, she would have to face this thing. There was no choice now Daniel had seen the invite.

“Should be a good night,” Daniel said, emptying the sink of water and drying his hands. “It was last year.”

“Yeah, it was great,” Jayne replied. “Until Jess slapped Sue Greener. And Elliot picked a fight with the DJ because he wouldn’t play Michael Jackson. Up until then, it was great.”

She smiled overly sweetly and took the invitation with her back to the lounge. Despite what Daniel and the majority of the college thought, the May Ball was really just an excuse for everybody to show off the dance moves and fake tans they’d spent the last twelve months perfecting. There was nothing elegant or traditional about it. It was just a glorified birthday party with ball gowns. People still got drunk and picked fights. People still made a fool of themselves by looking or acting ridiculous. People still did anything to make sure they looked better than their supposed best friend. Where was the elegance in that?

The picture on the invitation showed a woman with a beautiful figure in a beautiful flowing dress. Jayne wouldn’t look like that. She’d still look like the overweight, ginger-haired, pale-skinned girl that she was. No amount of pretend elegance or tradition would change that. No ball gown could make her look like anything other than the girl she saw in her head, because that was who she was. And she would continue to be that girl forever, unless she kept filling up that bin in the corner of her bedroom.