Free Pack Up the Moon by Anna McPartlin Page B

sandcastles together. We’d shared adolescence together, from mud pies to blowjobs to losing our virginity to death. Nothing was sacred from one another. How could we change the habit of a lifetime?
    “So what’s he like in bed?”
    “Unbelievable.”
    “Fuck off!”
    “I swear, I came the first night. The first night, Emma! Do you know how long it was before I managed an
    orgasm with Des?”
    “Six weeks.”
    “Six weeks and I’m not saying he was bad. I mean, Jesus, Butterfly Man was bad.”
    We were drinking wine on her bed, half watching a video about a string-vest-clad Sylvester Stallone climbing
    rocks in the snow.
    “He does this thing with his finger. My God, it’s unbelievable.”
    I laughed. John used to do a thing with his finger. God, I missed him.
     
    “You know, I haven’t slept with someone that good since Sean,” she continued.
    My head jerked involuntarily and it hit hard against
    her wooden bedpost. My face flushed red while I steadied my wineglass.
     
    “Are you OK?” she asked.
    “I’m fine,” I spluttered, embarrassed and attempting to hide the fact that the one time my two wanton friends
    had sexually collided bothered me. I had no idea why my two single friends having sex had upset me, negating the possibility of meaningful conversation. It was definitely better to avoid the subject.
    “Are you sure? Your face has gone red.”
    I flushed more. This was a problem I’d had since I was a kid: any kind of embarrassment was further compounded by a blood-rush to the head.
    “I just hit my head,” I said, knowing she knew the blush better than I did, as she had been on the receiving end of it too many times.
    “You hate it when I talk about Sean,” she said after a while.
    She was right. I tried to explain my embarrassment away. “It’s just … it’s Sean, you know?”
     
    She didn’t know.
    “When it’s another guy,” I went on, “one I’m not friends with, well, then the graphic images are entertaining but with Sean — I can see him. It’s embarrassing!’ I was lying — that wasn’t it, but I didn’t know what was and what I’d said made sense.
    “But John was my friend and you still filled me in on
    the gory details. I don’t get embarrassed.”
     
    Shit, she was right.
    “Yeah, I know, but when we met we were all kids. God, if I didn’t tell you about him I couldn’t tell you about anything.”
    She was smiling at my inexperience.
    “Anyway, I’m a prude. Deep down.”
    She laughed. “You are such a prude!”
    “Alright, no need to bang on about it.” I was smiling but, deep down, as well as being a prude I was a little disconcerted.
    What is my problem?

Chapter 9
    The Priest, the Stranger and the Unwanted Child
     
    We hadn’t gone out together as a gang since that night. Anne decided it was time. She decided bowling was an easy option. I wasn’t so sure. I hated bowling. Anything that involved a ball and throwing caused me anxiety, although at least whilst bowling nobody would be actually
    throwing a ball at me, so I conceded. Clo was delighted, she being adept at pretty much any sport she tried. Also she felt it was a great way to introduce the rest of us to
    Mark.
    “It’s perfect,” she announced. “Three and three, we can have a match. Girls against guys.”
    Mark would take John’s place, filling the gap that he had left. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach, making me want to vomit. It must have been reflected in my twisted facial expression.
    “I’m sorry,” she offered, realising what she had said. “Don’t be silly,” I replied while fighting the urge to
     
    throw up. Life goes on and she was right: without Mark the teams would be uneven. She was so excited at the prospect of actually going out with someone long enough
    to introduce him to her friends, who the hell was I to ruin it for her?
    “I’m really happy for you, Clo,” I said.
    “I know you are,” she smiled.
     
    “I don’t mean to be a miserable