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finishes in two weeks. If I start now, I can get used to going before next term.’ As she spoke Jenny was already planning how she could leave the flat next Tuesday evening without her parents noticing.
    â€˜Anyway it’s too far away. If you went to one at all, it would be better if you went to the one at Hangleton; it’s much nearer.’
    â€˜But nobody I know goes there. Everyone goes to the other one.’
    â€˜I don’t know, Jenny. How will you get back?’
    â€˜I can walk, or get a bus. It doesn’t get dark until nearly ten o’clock. Gail said she’d leave if I don’t join.’
    â€˜Well, I suppose you could, it is summer. Alright then, you can go. But I want you back by nine-thirty. If you’re one minute late, there’ll be trouble.’
    Jenny returned to the sitting room where to her surprise the television had been switched off.
    â€˜What did Mum say?’
    â€˜She said I could go.’
    â€˜Oh, she did, did she? Well that must be alright then. Ecuador?’
    â€˜Quito.’
    â€˜Madagascar.’
    â€˜Antananarivo.’
    â€˜Somalia.’
    â€˜That’s enough now Dad. I’m going to my room now.’
    â€˜But, we haven’t finished.’
    â€˜I’ve got things to do.’
    â€˜Things?’ said Charlie with a puzzled look. ‘What things?’

    *
    The following Tuesday Jenny cycled home from school, bolted her dinner and disappeared into her bedroom. She peered into the mirror, examining her face for any fresh eruption. With “it will only make it worse” ringing in her ears, she squeezed the offending spot, until the white head burst onto her handkerchief with a satisfactory pop. She spent the next thirty minutes deciding what to wear, and a further five minutes tying her now shoulder-length hair into a pony-tail. At seven o’clock, she was ready.
    â€˜I’m off,’ she shouted after checking that her parents were still behind the closed sitting room door. She rushed down the stairs, a brown paper bag in her hand.
    Gail was leaning against the brick wall of a ladies’ toilet in the local park. They marched inside, immediately swapping their flat shoes for the heels in their bags. Standing in front of the mirror, they applied a thick layer of foundation, a curtain of mascara, and pale pink lipstick. They emerged like butterflies from their chrysalises; two inches taller and ready for action.
    The Shirelles thumped out their agonies from a record player in the corner of the hall. Behind a rolled up metal blind was a galley kitchen, where an older girl in a tight jumper served soft drinks in paper cups. Two table-tennis tables and a pool table stood on one side of the hall. Jenny noticed that only boys were playing. The girls stood around in twos and threes watching and giggling. Wooden chairs lined the walls. They sat down in the middle of the row.
    Gail nudged Jenny in the ribs. ‘He’s over there. He’s such a hunk.’
    â€˜Where?’
    â€˜By the toilet, I really dig him,’ Gail sighed.
    Jenny gathered that the tall fair-haired lad must be Steve.
    â€˜Come on let’s jive. He’ll notice me then.’ Gail pulled Jenny up and they joined some girls dancing in the middle of the floor.
    Jenny remembered how she used to dance with Desmond. He had returned to Nigeria a couple of years before. Alice had said that, ‘it was not before time’, and that she thought, ‘he was never going back’. Although she hadn’t seen him for three years, Jenny felt that she had lost a friend. The record finished and Gail walked towards Steve. Feeling self-conscious by herself, Jenny went into the girls’ toilet, stood in front of the mirror for a minute and then came out again. Gail was still talking to Steve and seemed oblivious to anything or anybody else.
    Jenny picked up her bag and walked over to the hatch. As she stood sipping her drink the swing