The Walthamstow Bird

She was from Walthamstow and had the longest legs I’d ever seen. Someone told me she was seventeen which made her two years older than me and probably out of my league. She was leaning against an old upright piano talking to two other girls I didn’t know. They were all smoking what looked like cigarettes but didn’t smell like any tobacco I recognised. Her hair was short and blonde but had a curious “green” tinge to it. The same colour as my sister’s when mum said she’d bleached it once too often. I was envious of the Ben Sherman she was wearing. Mine was just a boring blue and white check, hers looked like a purple colour but I overheard someone say aubergine. I had no idea what that meant but was impressed by the word. Hers looked bigger as well. It had to be to hold in that wonderful shape so well.

She turned and looked straight at me.

“What the fuck you looking at?”

I had a stock answer for this question. Didn’t matter if it came from male or female. Trouble was it usually produced a certain reaction. A laugh or a punch. Once a kid did both. He laughed and then punched me in the face. I said the words slowly and out loud.

“Dunno, not seen anything like it before.”

Her face seemed to light up and went from menacing to cute in a fraction of a second. A wide grin made her mouth open and I could see a small red lipstick mark on her brilliant white front teeth.

“Come here.”

I did as I was told and stepped forward. She gave me an empty glass.

“So, little boy, stop staring and get me a drink. Bacardi and coke.”

I shrugged my shoulders but did as she said and headed for the kitchen.

My mate Billy followed me.

“I think you’re in there.”

“What, the Walthamstow bird?”

“Yeh. She likes you. I can tell.”

“How?”

“Cos she gave you that grin.”

“Don’t think so, she’s seventeen, she’ll probably end up with one of the sixth form wankers.”

The kitchen was heaving. There must have been twenty people in there. It was Billy’s house and his mum and dad were at their caravan for the weekend. They’d left strict instructions that he wasn’t to have any sort of party. He’d convinced them that it would only be me and a couple of our mates staying over. Incredibly they believed him. How mad was that?

I found a half bottle of Bacardi and poured a good slug into the glass. I added just enough coke for it to change colour.

I fought my way back into the front room. There she was, no longer with the girls, now with Colin Aston from the sixth form. He had his tongue so far down her throat he must have been massaging her tonsils.

Shit! That wanker Aston was so smooth.

Then she did something really clever. She opened one eye, looked over at me and stretched out her arm. She wanted me to give her the drink. I did. All this happened without wanker Aston knowing anything about it. He was still drilling for oil.

She pulled away and whispered something in his ear. He looked mortified and skulked off looking at the floor.

She took a mouthful of her drink and gave me a look. It was a look that said “What the fuck is this?”

I walked over.

“It’s what you asked for. Bacardi and coke.”

“Way too much coke little boy, way too much. You’ve drowned the Bacardi.”

“I only put a splash in it. I thought it might be too strong.”

She took another sip then passed me the glass.

“You try. See what YOU think.”

I hated Bacardi and coke. I’d only tasted it twice and both times I’d spat it out. Too sweet and sickly for me. I drank beer. Any beer. I took a mouthful and tried not to spray it all over her. I swallowed.

“Tastes fine to me.”

She gave me another one of those big smiles.

“Liar. You hated it.

Now it was my turn to smile.

“I know. I only drink beer.”

I gave her back the glass and she knocked back its contents in one go.

“What did you say to Aston?”

“Who?”

“The boy who was just sucking your face off.”

“Oh him. I told him he was a crap kisser.”

Now we both laughed. I saw Billy out of the corner of my eye, he gave me the “thumbs up” and handed me a can of Long Life. I offered her some.

“No thanks. Beer makes you fat.”

“I’m not fat!”

“That’s because you’ve only just started drinking it moron. You wait and see how you look in ten years’ time.”

I was about to come out with some witty or cocky comment when someone put on the new Diana Ross and Marvin Gaye LP. “You are Everything” began to play loudly. She grabbed me by the waist and we started to sway slowly from side to side. I decided to go for it.

She was taller than me and my head was on her shoulder. I kissed her neck. Gently. Slow butterfly kisses, like I’d seen Steve McQueen do to Ali McGraw in The Getaway. It worked. She made a purring noise and snuggled in closer. The record finished and we kissed.

She tasted of everything I didn’t like. Bacardi and coke, stale tobacco and Wrigley’s spearmint gum, yet the mixture of these flavours had an immediate and pleasant effect on my lower half. I didn’t want the kiss to finish. When it did she grabbed my hand and led me out of the room, into the hallway and up the stairs to an empty bedroom.

The bed was mountain high with coats. I pushed as many of them as I could onto the floor. She fumbled for something in her Jeans pocket and smiled when she found it.

“Lay down and I’ll put it on for you.”

I took off my trousers and did as I was told. I remember her taking off her shirt and jeans.

It didn’t last long, but for as long as it did I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

My first time. I never knew her name and I never saw her again. But I often wonder what happened to that Walthamstow bird.