Do You Remember the First Time?

was one of our guidance sessions and that she was giving me some counselling.
    ‘Very trusting, your parents,’ she said as my dad went off to make her a cup of tea.
    ‘God, I know. Try not to molest me, even though they’ve given you tacit permission.’
    I sat on the floor, leaning against the bed, holding my knees against my chest. Tashy sat on the undersized desk chair. Exactly how we always used to sit.
    ‘Stop sitting like that, then.’
    ‘OK.’ I hopped up the bed. ‘Tell me tell me tell me.’
    She let out a long sigh. ‘I’m only glad you weren’t there to see it,’ she said. ‘It meant one fewer person in the world as a witness. Leaving only every female I know, minus one.’
    ‘Tash, you always do this. Always have done. You always think you’ve done something terribly bad, then you’ve always just tripped over a pot plant or something.’
    ‘No, it was bad.’
    ‘Worse than kissing a teenager?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Did you kiss the stripper?’
    ‘No,’ said Tash. ‘God, I wish I’d only kissed the stripper.’
    ‘Dancing on the table with your pants out?’
    ‘God, no, who’d do that?’
    ‘No one!’
    She sighed again. ‘OK. I … um, I had a little meltdown.’
    We were quiet for a second.
    ‘Tashy,’ I said, ‘what’s a “little” meltdown?’
    Tashy’s story, as it came out, was this. About sixteen of them, various friends of Tashy’s and some workmates, her mum, her aunt Cath and her sister had been to TGI Friday, another diabolical trick of Heather’s, a place designed to induce ennui and existential angst in the most optimistic of brides.
    They’d started off drinking vehemently coloured cocktails, called hilarious things like ‘Tittiepolitans’ and ‘Please Waiter Could You Give Me Some Sexual Innuendo-tinis’ and, with a kind of dedication to being drunk few people had seen for quite some time, moved on from these, not to the chain’s no doubt extensive and tasteful wine list, but to Bacardi Breezers, the natural accompaniment to curly-wurly fries, surf and turf nachos and other such food.
    ‘I don’t remember what we ate,’ groaned Tashy, ‘but all of it was brown.’
    ‘It’s sounding pretty good so far,’ I said. ‘Oh no, hang on. Sixteen to thirty-two. Mental switch. Right. I’m there. Puke.’
    ‘Anyway, Heather starts doing this speech, right?’
    ‘Uh-oh.’
    ‘Uh-oh is right. How hard can it be to stand up in front of a bunch of girls – OK, a bunch of girls completely fucking up the words to “Wooh-oh, those summer nights”, but still … how hard, just to say, “Well done, sis, I love you”? Something normal families do.’
    ‘What did she do?’
    ‘She flashed her tits at the waiter.’
    ‘Heather has no tits.’
    ‘Have I explained to you again about the cocktails and rum-based devastation?’
    ‘Yes. Sorry.’
    ‘Then she kept going on about, “well, if you must do it”, and marriage really shouldn’t be something you undertake unless you really feel it’s your only option, and remember the inability of men to stay faithful through biology and how—’
    My dad knocked on the door and we shut up immediately.
    ‘Here you go, young ladies,’ he said jovially, bringing in a tray with chocolate biscuits and everything. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing anything. I do realise privacy is very important for teens.’
    I rolled my eyes at him in a proper teenage fashion that made Tashy half smile.
    ‘That’s right, Mr Scurrison,’ she said gravely. ‘Well done. You know, when a child is from a stable loving background like here, we rarely have too much to worry about.’ She lowered her voice until she sounded like a gossipy hausfrau. ‘It’s the broken home families we have to worry about,’ she whispered.
    I was shocked and told her so, after my dad had looked very troubled, briefly rubbed his head, then left us to it.
    ‘What?’ she said. ‘I’m helping you out, aren’t I?’
    ‘Yes, but …’
    ‘I know, it’s not really my business.’
    Suddenly I remembered her those nights when I did try to look after my mother. Tash had always been there, always been sympathetic, always nice to my mother and coming out with us on shopping trips and small treats. She’d been a proper friend.
    ‘It is,’ I said. ‘And thank you.’
    I poured tea. ‘So, Heather makes a speech …’
    ‘Anyway, meanwhile the stripper is agreeing with everything she’s saying.’
    ‘Wait – the stripper’s arrived?’
    ‘Yes.