Suttie - The actual one: how I tried, and failed, to remain twenty-something forever

A ll right then, I will! I yelled at Mark, wriggling out of my fleece, T-shirt, two undershirts, bra, jeans, long johns, underwear, leg warmers, socks, and shoes, in that order, tossing them aggressively onto the sand.

I didnt say anything! he shouted into the fierce January wind, he and my other two mates looking on bewildered as I sprinted, Day-Glo naked, toward the unforgiving arms of the Celtic sea.

Dont stop running from the bastards, I thought. No matter how cold it is. Whatever you do, dont stand still.

Tiny ice-cold fingers jabbed at my everywheres as I took one step, and then another, into the freezing cold water. I tried to run farther in, but my body went limp in protest. I was like a fly in treacle. As I sank down onto my knees instead, my every pore screamed out as I submerged myself up to my neck. I stubbornly faced the horizon for a few seconds, then turned around to look back at them on the shore, positive that their silence was due to their having nicked my clothes and scarpered to a hiding place behind some rocks. Surely that was it. Id done a crazy thing and theyd nicked my clothes. We were still OK. We were all dicking about. We didnt have to grow up yet.

And I turned, my blood already changing to strawberry Slush Puppie in my veins, and there they were, my three best mates. They werent hiding behind any rocks, and nobody had hidden my clothes. They werent even looking my way. Amy was tiredly chucking pebbles at Gavins foot, Gavin was texting, and Mark was sipping tea from a thermos. I left the sea and made my way back toward them. In the film version of this scene, the woman emerges from the water onto the deserted beach awakened, sexy, rejuvenated, never more alive. In the real-life version, Id never been more dead. Back I trudged. My thighs were sporting that mottled raspberry-ripple look Id last exhibited on the netball court at fifteen, my hair was stuck to my face in wet gloops, and my skin was becoming numb. Suddenly painfully aware that they could see everything, I turned round and attempted a sort of backward hop toward them on the sand, showing them just my bum. Good old bums, the same on each sex, neutralthe Switzerland of the anatomy.

I finally reached them, and sulkily yanked my crumpled clothes off the ground and back on as they averted their eyes.

What did you do that for? mumbled Mark, screwing the lid back on his thermos. Well hit rush hour now.

As we all hurried to the car in silence, it dawned on me that I had reached the point where my mates hiding my clothes behind a rock was a better scenario than my mates not hiding my clothes behind a rock. How had it come to this?

REWiND TWO days. Its December 30, and the four of us have stopped at a service station on the way to the beach cottage in Wales for our annual New Years piss-up. Id been to the loo and everyone was taking ages, so I was standing aimlessly next to WHSmith doing what I always do at service stations: kicking the floor; checking out travel pillows and thinking how useful they are but how they take up so much room in a suitcase; watching sunburned kids gleefully drizzle Fanta into the creases in those massage chairs. Eventually I entered the shop, lifted a fizzy cola bottle from Pick n Mix as a sweet, sweet micro screw you to The Man, swallowed it whole, and then promptly bought a packet of Rolos out of guilt. Amy and Gavin, the only couple I know where Im friends with both of them equally, scuttled round from the toilet area as I came out of the shop.

Do you want my first Rolo? I asked Amy. That means I hate you.

Actually Im feeling a bit sick, so I cant, she said. She glanced nervously at Gav.

You can just bite off the outside, I suggested. Ill have the toffee. Even though itll have your germs on it.

This time she ignored me. She looked at Gav again. He grinned now, and the two of them took on a kind of holy sheen. She spoke again. Isobel Jane Suttie, weve got something to tell you.

The sentence Weve got something to tell you is the benevolent cousin of We need to talk. Other relatives include Are you sitting down? and Are you standing up? and Are you standing on a bouncy castle? Everyone knows that We need to talk is never, ever good. When youre a teenager, it means that the person whos said it is going to talk for a long time and that the other person is going to sit on a swing with their heart going like a machine gun, using their tatty cuff to wipe away the tears and snot. Weve got something to tell you, on the other hand, is normally about good news for the speakersthe clues in the plural. Weve got something to tell you is usually about a matter concerning the speakers rather than you, the audience, unless your doctor likes to hire barbershop quartets to deliver the news of a terminal illness.

Mmmm hmmm, I said in response to Amy and Gav, feigning nonchalance as I tipped loads of Rolos into my mouth while grasping the nearest thing for supportone of those machines where you operate a metal claw, which Ive only ever seen pick up a toy once; it then dropped it again, just before it got to the chute. Dont ever bother with those machines unless you want to teach a child never to trust anyone. I had a bad feeling about whatever Amy and Gavin were going to tell me. They obviously had a very good feeling about whatever they were going to tell me. Beaming from ear to ear, they then proceeded to say one word each. I dread to think how they decided to do this and whether they did it for everyone they were telling. Amy said, We, Gav said, Are, Amy said, Going, Gav said, To, Amy said, To, and Gav said, No, I just said to, its have now. They giggled for a few seconds as my knuckles whitened.

Shall we start again? said Amy.

No, I said, I think Im getting the

Gav interrupted. Have, he said, A, Amy chortled, and I said, my mouth a cave of sugary stalactites, Latte? Fry-up? Bath? and they grinned, took a breath, and, in unison, said the word Id been most expecting, and most dreading. Baby.

Oooffft! I managed. Then, Well done.

A wwww, they said. Auntie Isy.

In fact, that was the first, but not the last, time I heard the term Auntie Isy. Auntie Isy drummed up a picture of an old woman in a black dress whos never married, whos covered in cat hair, and who has a permanent trail of cake crumbs across her neglected dcolletage. Auntie Isy? Oh, she had a suitor once. He worked at the Spam factory. That was years ago. Still, shes happy in her way. She has her tapestry. I didnt want to be Auntie Isy, and I sure didnt want them to be Mummy and Daddy. I was aware that I should have been pleased for them, but my heart was plunging deep down into my sneakers, and no amount of Rolos could stop it.