Welcome to part six of “Memory Lives On”! This chapter is short, but undeniably squicky.

Gary whispered, “I’ll tell you later,” as he unlocked the door.

“And I’ll take up a whole chapter doing it, despite the fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with the plot!”

Mr Daly came in, looking from me to Gary in shock. “Well,” he huffed, “I honestly didn’t think it of you, young miss. I’m not even going to ask what you two were doing in there, but I shouldn’t think Mr and Mrs Freeman would be happy using their bathroom if they knew.”

I hate the way people assume that all teenagers are nymphomaniacs, almost as much as I hate the way they assume we’re all anorexic or on drugs. Just for the record, at this point in my life I was a virgin who was sort of hoping she’d stop being one soon. So that’s why I finally snapped at Mr Daly, for adding insult to injury.

Hang on- you “finally” snapped at Mr Daly? Does “I have a name, you know” not count?

“Well, I know for a fact they don’t like using it after you,” I snapped, pushing past him, “And neither do the rest of us. Why not try cleaning the plughole occasionally, creep?”

I’m not sure what I thought Anja had found in the plughole, but feel free to marvel at fifteen-year-old me’s idea of a scathing comeback.

I could tell Mr Daly was gearing up for another big explosion, but I shot downstairs before it could happen. At the foot of the stairs, Gary caught up with me and put his arm round my neck. “I like the way you don’t let him get to you,” he whispered, “You’re really spirited.”

Yes, Anja should be congratulated on sniping pointlessly at Mr Daly. It is a rare and wonderful display of character, and certainly not what she and everyone else in this story has been doing constantly since the first page.

(Also- “put his arm round my neck”? Is Gary secretly a serial killer?)

“Thanks,” I whispered, before going into the living room to join the others. The looked at me questioningly, which was a shame because I wasn’t planning on giving them any answers. “By the way,” I announced, “If Mr Daly hints that me and Gary were up to something in the bathroom, ignore him. He’s just got a dirty imagination.”

“Looks like you missed an opportunity, eh Gaz?” Mark laughed. Gary smiled, looking embarrassed.

Please note that the last time Mark saw Gary, he was running away in terror after catching Mark and co talking about his traumatic past behind his back. Sensitive guy, that Mark.

For once, Estelle didn’t tell him off for making crude jokes. Instead, she gave me a knowing look. I hate it when people do that. Especially when they’re right.

There was an awkward silence. Everyone, even Mark, who had a huge black hole where his tact should have been…

No arguments here!

…seemed to have picked up the fact that asking about Jordan would probably give Gary a nervous breakdown. It was Joe who eventually managed to take the conversation somewhere else (I thought dumping it in the Sahara desert would have been better, but there you go).

“You know,” he smirked, “I never got anywhere with Cherry, either.”

The rest of this chapter will mainly be disturbing speculation about the sex lives of a bunch of teenagers. Delightful.

This seemed to shock Mark, for some reason. “Huh? You told us all that stuff about the New Year’s party last…”

“I know.” Joe’s eyes shot down in what I think might conceivably have been embarrassment. “That wasn’t true. Truth is, I don’t think she even knew I felt that way about her.”

Estelle cackled. “Yeah right, Joe. She’s a smart girl, you know. She can practically read my thoughts, and you know how unpredictable I am.” Mark opened his mouth, clearly about to argue with the word ‘unpredictable’, but Estelle picked up an éclair off the table and jammed it in.

Because that’s what people do. Shove eclairs in their husband’s against their will. That and stab the air.

She turned to me, realising what I was about to ask. “Cherry is a singer at a sort of concert hall place my mother and Joe’s Aunt Jean used to run together.

Elsewhere, Blaze is described as a “nightclub.” I don’t know if I ever had a clear idea of what it was like, as a place. Of course, back then I didn’t have a clear idea of what nightclubs were like in general, so there’s that.

Since my mum moved to the US it’s only Jean running it now. Actually, I met Mark there. He sang there too.”

Mark swallowed the éclair. “I’m the next Elvis, me,” he grinned, “And Cherry is like… I dunno. Think of the best singer you know, add to the second best singer, and times by ten. She’s even better than that.

Brilliant description there. Also, for being such a prodigy, Cherry’s singing skills don’t feature in the story at all.

I haven’t got a clue why she’s still working at Blaze. She should have had a contract from some record company when she was six. I guess being a single mother got in the way.”

SPOILERS- Cherry is Anja’s cousin Svetlana. And the reason for the nickname is unbelievably stupid.

At this point, Mr. Daly came in, looking like he had a score to settle with everyone in the room. “Blaze,” he seethed contemptuously, “I think I can tell what kind of a place it was.”

…The sort of place that had an embarrassing name?

Like the rest of us, Estelle had put up with Mr Daly for the past week or so with good humour and politeness…

BWAAA HA HA HAAA. Oh my, that’s a good one.

…but I could tell she wouldn’t let someone scorn Blaze without a fight.

Insult it, yes. Criticise it, fine.  But scorn it? Never.

That place seemed really important to her. Probably because her mum owned it, probably also because it was where she met the man of her dreams (and considering I mean Mark she has very strange dreams). Either way, Mr Daly was about to get a taste of his own medicine.

“Just what is your problem?” Estelle hissed, “Ever since you turned up you haven’t smiled once!

“Anyone would think you didn’t enjoy being trapped in a stranger’s house and separated from everybody you’d ever known and loved!”

I know your surroundings are unfamiliar and all that, but look at Anja and Gary! They haven’t been complaining 24-7, have they?”

Well, to be fair, Gary’s been too busy shaking and looking pitiful, so he’s probably not the best example.

Mr Daly looked like he was going to explode, and he did.

Cool!

Well, verbally.

Aww.

“Smile? How can I smile? I have been trapped in a house with some very disagreeable people, not least yourself, madam!

And, just for the course of those three brief sentences, Mr Daly becomes the sanest person in the story.

You complain about my bad mood, when there are things going on in your house that would frankly mortify me if they happened in mine! That young man over there”-he pointed at Joe-“is reprehensible in every sense of the word!

…How many senses are there?

And the other two are hardly little angels! Anja and Gary may be cheerful, but I know why, and it isn’t for the ears of the faint-hearted!

“Smug drunk sociopaths, I tell you! We have to do something!”

(Gary? Cheerful? What planet are you living on?)

And I don’t imagine your husband,” he said this as though Estelle should be scared of Mark, “would be pleased, either!”

Mr Daly, her husband sings along to other people’s funerals. I think he’s a lost cause.

By some miracle, Estelle managed to keep her temper. “I can think of a few things a teenage boy and girl might get up to,” she smiled, looking straight at me and Gary, “and I think I could keep my lunch down if you told me. So, what terrible, sinful things has the nation’s golden girl been up to with He Who Barely Ever Speaks?”

Mr Daly was put off a bit there. Estelle had effectively told him that even if he had conclusive evidence that me and Gary had been having it off, she for one wouldn’t mind.

Estelle Freeman: unofficial foster parent of the year.

That would make his shocking revelation that we’d been alone in the bathroom together with the door locked look a bit pathetic. So Mr Daly decided not to tell Estelle what he’d seen. “Well, pardon me if I worry when an underage girl is being defiled by a shady character.

Yep, there’s no-one shadier than seventeen-year-old boys who spend all their time trembling and weeping!

(Once again, Gary is based on Elijah Wood’s character in The Faculty. Try to square that with “a shady character,” if you can.)

That’s right!” he snapped, turning to see the look of shock on my face that wasn’t there, “Underage!

Heh. OK, I’m still kind of proud of that bit.

The age of consent in this country is 16, and if my memory serves me right, you’re much younger than that! Quite frankly, you should have more respect for yourself, young lady, because you should know how girls like you end up!”

And here we see Mr Daly firmly shake off that “sanest character in the story” title. Now he’s going full straw-Daily-Mail-reader.

I rolled my eyes, knowing I wasn’t as good at keeping my temper as Estelle was. “One, I don’t think five months counts as ‘much.’ Two, having sex before the age of consent may be illegal, but it doesn’t automatically make the girl a future prostitute. Three, it might have escaped your dirty mind that a teenage boy or girl who are alone together don’t always end up doing that! I mean, for all you know one of us might be gay! Or maybe we don’t fancy each other! Maybe, just maybe, just a slight possibility, not all teenagers instantly get off with the first attractive person they see! Bit of a strange concept, but it might be true!”

SPOILERS- This passionate speech will be more than a little undermined when Anja jumps into bed with Gary five or six chapters from now.

I was shouting now. Mr Daly sneered at me. “Typical of your immature generation to scream when you know you’re wrong! I saw with my very eyes you two locked in what appeared to be a very passionate embrace!”

“Passionate embrace? Gary was depressed, you moron! I had my arm round his shoulders, that’s all!”

I have to admit, that is a pretty big mistake to make. Something tells me that Mr Daly fell asleep during Sex Education.

Mark saw that this looked dangerous, so he stepped right in.

True. In nature, fights between the Smug Drunk Sociopath and the Straw Daily Mail Reader are swift but bloody.

“Hey, whoa, put the claws away, Anj.” (He never did learn how my name was pronounced.) “Mr Daly, I think maybe what these two were up to in the bathroom was a bit more innocent than you thought. But come on, Anja, you can hardly blame him for jumping to conclusions. I mean, I know a crush when I see one and Gary clearly has one the size of…”

“Mark, whatever you were going to say, don’t,” Estelle interrupted.

Mark is secretly twelve years old. This probably explains why he was happy to marry a woman who shoves eclairs in his mouth and tries to stab oxygen.

“Well, he does. And don’t look all surprised, Gary. It’s in your peepers every time you look at her. Not that I blame you, Anja’s a bit of a babe. I mean, obviously I can only comment in a sort of detached way, me being married and all, but still.”

Anja is fifteen. And Mark won’t be the last older man in this story to express his attraction to her. Ewww…

(The sad thing is, this is how fifteen-year-old me thought all men behaved. Double ewww…)

“For shame, Mr Freeman!” Mr Daly gasped, “She’s half your age!”

And Mr Daly makes a valiant attempt to regain his former title!

“You, my friend, can’t add up,” Mark countered, “Fifteen times two makes thirty, not twenty-seven. And I’m just saying she’s nice-looking, that’s all. I’m not saying I fancy her. Not least because Estelle would kill me if I did.”

“Damn right I would,” Estelle replied, “And if you’re going to talk about Anja’s looks you could at least have the decency not to do it while she’s in the room. Her face is going as red as her hair.”

And Estelle moves to challenge him! It’s an exciting match, ladies and gentlemen!

It was. For some reason I always do that when men say I’m attractive, especially when they’re Mark’s age.

As well you should! Maybe you should try backing away and calling the cops as well.

The previous year, when I’d been to visit Svetlana in Southend, someone called James who I think was her boss’ son or something had kept flirting with me and I was still bright red an hour later.

SPOILERS- James turns out to be Joe’s dad. And the reference to “the previous year” indicates that Anja was fourteen at the time. Triple ewww…

Like I said before, I’m not really all that pretty. Well, maybe on a good day. But definitely not compared to Estelle!

All the same, I couldn’t help looking over to Gary and wondering if he thought differently.

And that’s a wrap! Join us again next time, when we find out more and more details about Gary’s tragic past. I know you’re all looking forward to it!