Gibson - The Great Escape

The Great Escape

Fiona Gibson

For the fabulous Dolphinton writers

Table of Contents

Tadaaa ! All hail the party buffet With a flourish, despite the fact that shes alone in the kitchen, Hannah sets out three bowls on the worktop. Shes wearing an outsized white T-shirt, sipping beer from a bottle and pretending to be hosting a TV cookery show. Here on the left, we have sumptuous tortilla chips, chilli flavour, the ones with red dust on moving along, we have dry-roasted peanuts and this, the pice de rsistance , is my very own dip, which you can whip together in just a few minutes with some beans, garlic and, er She swigs her beer, and detecting a garlicky whiff on her fingers, tries to remember what the other stuff was.

Ugh, has someone been sick?

Hannahs flatmate, Lou, has appeared at her shoulder, her freshly washed hair dripping rivulets down her cheeks.

Its our buffet, Hannah explains with exaggerated patience. Come on, youre supposed to be impressed. Ive finally managed to cook something before I leave. You should be in awe .

I dont think that counts as cooking. Lou winces as if Hannah might have scraped the stuff in the bowl off the pavement.

Well, I was going to make hummus but we didnt have chickpeas, so I mashed up those butter beans instead.

It looks ill. Kind of beige.

Itll be fine once everyones had a few drinks, Hannah insists, mopping up a smear from the worktop.

Lou smirks. Han, those butter beans have been in the cupboard since we moved in. Three years theyve been sitting there. Your parents brought them in your emergency rations box, remember?

Isnt that the whole point of canning? They find tins at the bottom of the sea that have rolled out of shipwrecks, and when they open them theyre perfectly fine. These things just dont go off.

Now Sadie appears, swathed in a silky robe, dark hair pinned up with an assortment of clips. She peers at the dip from a safe distance. Is that all weve got to eat?

Well, Hannah says, I was thinking of knocking up a banquet, wild boar on a spit, ice sculptures and all that, but She checks her watch. I kind of ran out of time.

How late is it? Sadie asks.

Just gone seven

Hell In a flash of red silk, Sadie flies out of the kitchen to the bathroom where she turns on the juddering tap (the tank only holds a bath-and-a-halfs worth of hot water, so the three girls are accustomed to a water-sharing system that requires a frequently flaunted no-clipping-of-toenails rule). Hannah glances down at the dip. Oh well, she thinks as Lou drifts back to her room, itll do for filling in that crack in the bathroom wall . It can be her parting gift to the flat.

Hannah doesnt want to think of tonight as an end-of-era party. Its a celebration, thats what it is: of four years at art school, three spent living with Sadie and Lou on the first floor of a red sandstone tenement block perched on a perilously steep hill around the corner from college. Funny , she reflects, how a place so distinctly unlovely, with its mould-speckled bathroom and grumbling pipes, can feel like the most palatial abode when youre about to leave it. Its like getting a haircut. You can hate your hair, absolutely despise it to the point of wearing a hat at all times. Then, as you trot off to the salon, you glimpse your reflection in a shop window and think, actually, it looks great.

She wanders into the living room. Its oppressively orange, thanks to the embossed patterned wallpaper which the girls landlord had said they were welcome to remove as if three art students would be likely to get around to stripping it off and redecorating. Anyway, orange isnt ugly, Hannah thinks now its warm and cosy . Her beanbag, too, looks strangely lovely, even though it has long lost its squishiness and now resembles a large cowpat in brown corduroy. There were two beanbags originally; the other burst mysteriously at a previous party, disgorging its beany contents all over the floor. Johnny from the upstairs flat had accompanied Hannah to buy them from a closing-down sale. Hed insisted on carrying both beanbags unwrapped, clutched in front of his body with the sole purpose of pretending they were unfeasibly large testicles.

Hannah looks around the room, taking in the dog-eared magazines on the shelves, the film and exhibition posters fraying at the edges on the walls. A rush of panic engulfs her as she tries to imagine no Sadie, no Lou, no Johnny; no orangey living room to hang out in late into the night, no kitchen table to congregate around over breakfast. Dont be maudlin , she tells herself firmly. This was never supposed to be forever. Youve got a new job, a new life and itll be fantastic At the sound of running water, Hannah makes for the bathroom and raps on the door. Sadie, you nearly finished in there?

Yeah, wont be a minute

Hurry up, its nearly half seven

God, sorry, didnt realise Theres a squeak as Sadies wet feet hit the glittery lino. She emerges from the bathroom, damp dark hair tumbling around the shoulders of her robe. Her toenails are painted fuchsia, her dark brows arched dramatically against her creamy skin. Sexy Sadie, the boys call her, although Sadie is blas about her allure, a combination of Italian colouring and sensational curves. Catching Hannahs eye, she pauses in the hallway.

You okay, Han? Feeling a bit wobbly about tonight?

Hannah shakes her head firmly. Im fine, honestly.

Just wondered, Sadie adds gently, with this being our last party, end of an era and all that

Hannah musters a wide smile. Yeah. Dont remind me. Her eyes moisten, but she quickly blinks away the tears. Anyway, better make myself look presentable. Weve still got to sort out the music and Ive got to get this garlicky stink off my hands

Ill do the music. You go and beautify yourself.

Okay. And look, I know you might find it hard to control yourself, but keep your fingers out of that butter bean dip, okay? With that, Hannah strides into the bathroom, dropping her T-shirt and underwear onto the floor where they lie next to Lou and Sadies discarded clothing. Sadies red fluffy mules have been kicked off by the washbasin; Lous beaded Indian slippers are neatly paired up by the door. Hannah sinks into the lukewarm water, detecting a prickle of toenail at the base of her spine. Shifting up onto her knees, she fits the pink plastic hose over the taps and lets the water pour over her wavy fair hair. Its shudderingly cold at first, then come the gurgles as the last dregs of hot water splutter through.

She can hear Lou singing through the thin bathroom wall. Hannah knows shes probably trying on dress after dress in those weeny vintage sizes that only someone with her doll-sized proportions could ever hope to squeeze into. Hannah is more athletically built, with taut, defined calves from cycling furiously around Glasgows hilly streets. Will London be like that? Will it be possible to cycle to work without getting flattened under a bus? She hasnt even figured out her work route yet. Archway to Islington isnt that far, apparently, but how will she get from one page of the A-Z to another whilst riding her bike? Hannah doesnt want to look like a tourist, peering at maps. She wants to be a proper, breezy London girl who belongs .

Her stomach whirls as she turns off the hose. Shes always anxious before a party and this one matters more than most. Drying herself with a towel that has all the softness of a road surface, she can hardly believe shes leaving. Shell miss those hungover breakfasts of bendy white toast and Philadelphia cheese. Shell miss all of them piling into Johnnys battered pillarbox-red Beetle and planning numerous jaunts to Loch Lomond, but never quite making it because there was always some party to go to instead. Shell miss whiling away entire afternoons in Puccinis, the best Italian caf in Glasgow. The thought of those ordinary things no longer being part of her life triggers an ache in her gut. Hannah cant cry, though. Not now.