All That Glitters. Holly Smale
finally being so far at the bottom that there’s nowhere left to go.
Which is obviously untrue.
Most clouds don’t: just the rain clouds with the sun directly behind them. Given the size of the sky, that makes it statistically uncommon.
However, I’d like to think that I’m the kind of person who at least looks for the sunshine. A positive, optimistic girl, who hopes for the best even when the signs aren’t looking good.
And – let’s be honest – they’re really not right now.
At all.
The first schools were established in 425 AD. I’d be quite surprised if anyone has had a less successful first day in the history of formal education.
On the upside, at least I’ll be able to focus on my schoolwork properly now. Without any distractions or discussions or interesting debates. All day, every day, for the next two years.
Most of the evenings too.
And possibly quite a few weekends, if Nat gets really busy with college.
Oh my God.
Of all the planets in our solar system, we would weigh the most on Jupiter. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve somehow accidentally ended up there instead.
Bits of the day are beginning to rattle around inside my head like coloured balls inside a lottery machine, and every time they collide with each other, another little piece of me gets heavier.
I like bananas! My lungs. I’ve got this one! My tongue. It’s a mushroom! My kidneys and liver. Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Maybe you could leave me alone? Eyeballs, spleen, pancreas, veins, muscles.
She’s not worth it: every single one of my bones.
Until, organ by organ, I weigh so much I’m surprised I don’t have to drag myself down the road by my fingernails.
Finally, I manage to reach the bench on the corner of the road where Nat and I have met every morning for the last ten years, even when our parents had to come with us.
I stand and look at how empty it is.
Then I turn around again and start walking towards the only place in the world that could possibly make me feel lighter again.
The local launderette.
I haven’t been back here since Annabel and Dad broke up and then had their big romantic laundry reunion nearly a year ago. Initially, I thought it was because it had become their place, not mine any more. Then I thought it was because I’d just worked out how to clean my clothes for free at home, like a normal human being.
But now I’m wondering if it’s simply because I haven’t needed it the way I need it now.
When I don’t know where else to go.
I still love this place.
I love the bright lights, the soapy smells, the soft purring of the machines. I love the heat and the shininess of the glass in the tumble driers. But most of all I love the way that nothing could ever feel alone in a place where so many things are jumbled together.
I rub my eyes and pull a chair over to my favourite machine. The glass is still warm, and there are baskets filled with piles of abandoned clothes everywhere. Somebody’s even left a shoe behind: it’s peeking out from behind a particularly large heap of jumpers and underwear.
I pull a blue sock out of my bag and a memory suddenly flashes: snow, warm cheeks, a cold hand squeezing mine.
So I swallow and put it in the drier as quickly as I can.
Then I start fumbling through my satchel for the fifty pence I need to put it on a quick spin. Followed by another fifty pence.
Then another pound in shrapnel.
And a two pound-coin.
After the day I’ve had I may be here some time. I am about to own the driest sock in existence.
I’m just chipping a bit of melted chocolate off a pound so that the machine recognises it as something other than a snack when something small and shiny flies through the air and lands in my lap.
I blink at the newly arrived coin, then at the empty room.
Maybe there’s some kind of strange gravitational pull levitating the money out of the machines and throwing it at my head. I suppose I could do my science project on that instead.
Reaching into my bag, I pull out another ten pence and there it is again: money, soaring through the air.
Except this time it’s a pound, which is even better.
I look around the empty room – still nothing – and am just quickly calculating how long I’ll have to stay here before I am rich enough to buy a castle when somebody laughs.
“You actually think it’s magic flying money, don’t you?”
Then I see the shoe in the pile moving. A pointy, silver shoe that stormed down my driveway yesterday morning, attached to my best friend.
“Nat?”
A dark, curly head pokes out from behind an enormous pile of clean jumpers and trousers. She’s obviously been lying in them, like some kind of enormous cat.
“Obviously. God, you took ages. I was starting to think I might actually have to do some washing.” She stands up, puts Vogue down and picks off a pair of huge beige knickers attached by static to her jumper.
“Gross,” she adds, flinging them into the corner so they hit the wall with a fffpp. Then she turns to where I’m still sitting, frozen in surprise. “How’s it going, Manners?”
I have got to start checking rooms before I walk into them. Apparently chameleons and dragonflies have 360-degree vision, and I am clearly neither. If I were a small animal, I’d definitely have been eaten by now.
“Nat, what are you doing here?”
She hops on top of one of the machines. “Finding you, obviously. I’ve got a selfie with Vivienne Westwood – she was nowhere near as difficult to pin down.”
I jump with considerably less nimbleness on to the machine next to her. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s going on? I’m so worried, I’ve just spent an hour sitting in a laundry basket, covered in old-lady clothes. I may never fully recover.”
I take a deep breath and decide to confront the metaphorical elephant in the room head-on. “I’m fine, Nat. Honestly. Nick quit modelling and went back