Free Vintage by Maxine Linnell

you won’t be home until two or three. Four maybe. I’d say you could stay at mine, only it’s best not tonight, with everything going on.”
    Marilyn’s youth club started at 7.30. Everyone was there by then, queueing up at the doors, giggling and pushing each other, looking at each other’s clothes. At ten o’clock they were all back home in their beds. She’d never been up past eleven o’clock, except last year on New Year’s Eve. Nobody else at home stayed up, but she sat and watched the Scottish programme, and waited to feel different because it was another year. But nothing changed and she went to bed. It was cold. She was really tired in the morning and her mum grumbled at her.
    Tonight was going to be very different. Marilyn realised how excited she was. This was something completely new.
    â€œBye then,” said Kyle, and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

“What’s happened to you? You seem so different.”
    Sheila’s standing up. We’ve been talking. For a while.
    I’m trying to remember everything. So I can write a section in the 1962 project. ‘Day in the life of a seventeen-year-old girl’ or something.
    I think I’ve got carried away.
    â€œMarilyn, you’re so quiet. I always know when there’s always something going on underneath. Are you covering something up?”
    My heart heads way over its speed limit. Could go into cardiac arrest any time. Not sure if they’ve invented the kiss of life yet. Even if Sheila could bring herself to give it to me.
    I think hard. If I died. Would it be Marilyn who died? Or me? Or am I meant to die to get back to myself?
    She’s right. I’m different. Very different.
    But she doesn’t know how. Would she believe me? Has Marilyn told anyone? Can’t even think about that right now.
    Sheila’s looking at me. Hard.
    I take a breath. Heart slows. To a manageable speed.
    â€œSheila, there’s something I need to tell you.”
    She sits down again. Looks like she could run away. At any moment.
    â€œYou’re my best friend, right?” Need to establish some ground rules here.
    â€œYes.” She sounds doubtful.
    â€œSo there’s nothing I can’t tell you?”
    She shifts in the chair. Doesn’t say anything.
    â€œThere is something different, you’re right.” My voice has a little quiver in it. Clench my hands. So the fingernails dig in. Only Marilyn’s fingernails are short so it doesn’t hurt like it should.
    Sheila looks worried.
    â€œYou’ve not done something stupid have you? With that boy, Tony? Or someone else?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œYou’ve not – lost it, have you?”
    â€œI’m always losing it, that’s my trouble.”
    I see from her face that she means something else, not having a major tantrum.
    â€œDon’t avoid the question. You know what I mean.”
    I’m now seriously lost.
    â€œAnd don’t ask me to find a way out if you are. It’s illegal, and you could die. And anyway, I don’t know how. Something to do with knitting needles and a bottle of gin, Mam said.”
    My eyes are filling up. Make a little sobbing sound without meaning to. Can’t help it. Everything’s bad enough. Without all this dying talk.
    Sheila’s gathering power. Her back’s straight. Her voice is clipped. Staring straight ahead. Avoids looking at me.
    â€œWhy would you do it anyway? It’s not as if you want to, it’s disgusting, and you need to save yourself. Or nobody will respect you.”
    I don’t understand what she’s telling me. I seem to be losing the only friend I’ve got here.
    â€œDon’t cry.” Sharp voice.
    â€œWhat?” I can’t believe this.
    â€œDon’t cry, I said. It won’t help. How late are you?”
    She’s looking at me. Face red. Like she’s said something totally