Something Wicked. Sherry Ashworth

a layer of bubbles. What I do is stare hard at the bubbles and the rainbow colours in them, and imagine each little bubble is a world in itself, with millions and millions of inhabitants no bigger than atoms. I’ve done that since I was a kid. Then I smash the bubbles like a vengeful god.

      I lay back in the water, replaying all the things that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. But I’m not really one for thinking about the past much; I’m more interested in the future. I was glad I’d be seeing Ritchie again. Then asked myself, why? Do you fancy him? I moved some of the bubbles over my exposed body.

      I liked him, definitely. I felt we were very similar in some ways. The fact he operated outside the law was frightening and exciting at the same time. I also suspected he had opened up to me in a way that he didn’t with his mates. Opened up. Yeuch! A phrase of my mother’s. I mean, we talked a lot, and it was good. And, yes, I liked his face, and I had to admit, he wouldn’t have had this effect on me if he was a girl. Which might mean something. But now all I wanted was his friendship, and I wasn’t going to risk that by introducing all that stupid boyfriend/girlfriend stuff. Like he said, we were mates. And that was more than good enough. Anyway, it felt all wrong, me and Ritchie dewy-eyed, in luuurve. That wasn’t what it was all about.

      The water was cooling now so I heaved myself out of the bath, took the largest towel and wrapped myself in it. School would be bearable tomorrow because I had something to look forward to at the end of it. I debated whether to get straight into my pyjamas even though it was only five, and spend the rest of the night chilling. But that seemed a bit of a slobby thing to do, so I went back to my room and got back into my jeans and a sweater.

      It was lucky I did, because when I got downstairs, Julia was there.

      “Anna darling! Come here. Let me kiss you. No – both cheeks. You look gorgeous. Anna – your poor mother. What shall we do with her? I thought rather than speak on the phone I’d come straight round and be here for her.”

      I forced a smile.

      Julia was sitting on the sofa with Mum, holding both her hands. It made me feel a bit sick – jealous, even – and so I let a sarcastic comment out.

      “How’s your non-specific anxiety disorder, Julia?” This is what she claims to be suffering from. In plain English, that’s worrying needlessly.

      “Thank you for asking, honey. I’m making progress. I understand now that it comes from caring too much – it’s the result of a caring overload.”

      Oh, puh-lease!

      “Anna,” my mum said. “Can you make Julia a drink?”

      Grudgingly I asked the traditional questions. Tea? Coffee? Milk? Sugar?

      “Do you have anything herbal?” Julia asked. “Camomile would be a joy.”

      I was waiting for the kettle to boil when my ears picked up the tune of Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On. I was puzzled for a moment or two, until I realised it was Julia’s mobile ringtone. I made a retching motion to myself. Then I heard her chatting to Geoff, her husband, confirming my suspicions. Julia’s voice was loud and brash, and it carried. When she finished the call, she carried on making my mum feel better.