Fiona parked outside Charlotte’s house when they got back from their trip across the border. Charlotte longed to lean across and kiss Fiona but knew that sort of thing was never going to happen. Not in broad daylight with her mother watching through the living room window.

“Thanks for being my model.”

“I loved it. And I’ll drop the dress round later.”

“There’s no rush. Drop it round any time. I’m heading back to Belfast this evening. Need to get into the darkroom to develop these pictures, and then work on the final painting.”

Charlotte’s face fell.

“So you won’t be around for a while?”

“Just for a couple of weeks. By which time, you’ll be on your summer holidays and maybe you can come and stay in Belfast for a few days?”

Charlotte grinned.

“It’s a deal.”

She skipped out of the car and headed inside to change. She hung Fiona’s dress in her wardrobe, running her fingers over the lace as she remembered the afternoon in the graveyard. The memories of Fiona’s face between her legs caused Charlotte’s fingers to slide inside her panties. The thought that Fiona had taken all those pictures afterwards while her panties lay discarded on the grass made her blush.

Charlotte placed her other hand on the wardrobe door to steady herself as she pressed down on her fingers. She curled two fingers inside as the heel of her palm ground against her clit.

Fuck, she was soaked. Charlotte bit her bottom lip as she slammed her fingers in deeper, harder and faster. She could hear them squelch. She replayed the scenes from the afternoon in her head. Fiona with her face between Charlotte’s legs, Fiona straddling Charlotte’s face, Charlotte running her tongue around and around Fiona’s clit. She dropped to her knees. She knelt, one hand holding her up while the other was shoved inside her knickers. She could still smell Fiona on her face and as she leant forward, face pressed into the carpet, she came all over her hand.

She slowly brought her breathing under control. She pulled her hand out of her ruined knickers and wiped her cum over her face. Her tongue darted out to lick the strands of webbing from between her fingers. 

Her reminiscences were rudely interrupted by her mother calling to tell her that dinner was ready. With a sigh, she pulled on clean clothes and headed downstairs.

At school on Monday, Deirdre handed her a sheet of A4 file paper.

“I’ve got an idea for a song. Can you come up with some music for it?”

Charlotte read the lyrics, focussing more on the structure than the meaning. It was basic enough. Four lines in each verse, an AABB pattern and a four-line chorus, also AABB.

“Sure, what kind of tempo had you in mind?”

Deirdre glanced around and then shyly sang the first verse in a whispered voice.

“I was thinking that kind of speed,” she shrugged when she had finished. 

“I like it. I’ll try and come up with something for practice on Wednesday.”

Charlotte spent the evening messing about on her guitar. The guitar playing caused another row with her mother. Something that was becoming more frequent. This one was about how she had the end of year exams coming up which would be used as predicted grades for applying to university.

All Charlotte could think about was how she couldn’t wait to get away from here. Maybe she could apply to Liverpool. Get back with her old friends again. Mind you, she reasoned, she had the band here, not to mention Fiona. Though she would be heading off to London in a  few months. Charlotte decided it was best not to think about that. She wished she could spend more time with Fiona but she wasn’t at all sure how Fiona’s sister Emma would react to the news that both her sister and her friend were lesbians.

Charlotte distracted herself by putting chords to Deirdre’s lyrics. She settled on A, C and D for the verses with a change to F and Em for the chorus. She began working out a guitar solo but decided it might be better to let Deirdre hear the structure before putting too much work into it.

Reluctantly she pulled the history books towards her and tried to get her head around Roosevelt’s New Deal for the seventeenth time.

Wednesday night practice was a disaster. Fergal was late, and once they did start, Emma couldn’t keep in time and Deirdre kept messing up the lyrics. After half an hour, Fergal decided he’d had enough and suggested the three girls practised without him before they met up next week.

Emma slung her bass into the case and slammed it closed. She picked it up and headed for the door. She looked back at Deirdre and Charlotte.

“Are you coming?”

Deirdre hurried after her as Emma stormed off up the road. Charlotte still had her guitar and cables and effects pedals to pack up so she just slunk down onto the floor and slowly, quietly, tidied everything up.

“What’s up?”

Charlotte looked up at Fergal. He looked concerned. Charlotte shrugged.

“Fuck knows. She’s been in a mood for the last couple of days.”

“What about you? Are you ok? Surviving Strabane?”

Charlotte grinned.

“Just about.”

She’d never really got a chance to talk to Fergal properly before. He was always the drummer and when he wasn’t drumming, she was conscious of Emma and Deirdre watching her. Now that they were on their own, she found he was really easy to talk to, as well as being quite cute. No scratch that, not quite cute, really cute.

They left the community centre together and walked down the road, Fergal tapping his drumsticks against his thigh as Charlotte lugged the guitar case. They came to the entrance to Charlotte’s estate. There was a patch under a couple of large trees which blocked out the glow of the streetlights.

Without meaning to, without even realising it, Charlotte and Fergal kissed. She stood there, the guitar case still in one hand as Fergal took her face in his hands and kissed her. She felt herself lifting up onto tiptoes as their lips moved in unison.

Fergal broke the kiss and stepped back. He looked sheepish.

“Sorry, I... I couldn’t help myself.” 

Charlotte smiled and swivelled her left foot.

“I liked it. Maybe you should do it again.” 

She lowered her guitar to the ground and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He really was the most delicious kisser, Charlotte decided. She liked that he was the first boy in ages who didn’t act like a teenage octopus. Fergal was content to let his hands rest on her hips and hold her as they continued to make out under the shelter and cover of the trees. 

It was the sound of the footsteps of an approaching Army patrol that finally broke the kiss. Charlotte blushed, giggled and picked up her guitar case. With a hurried “goodnight” and one last kiss, Fergal slipped off into the night and Charlotte headed inside for another round of “Where have you been to now, on a school night, young madam?” with her mother.

The last week of school finally arrived. Band practice had been curtailed for a few weeks due to the exams and Charlotte hadn’t spoken to Fergal in weeks. The nascent career of ‘The Whirling Dervishes’ was going to be put on yet another hold as Deirdre’s mum had announced they were all going on a family holiday to Majorca for two weeks once school was over. Despite Deirdre’s pleas, protestations and tantrums, she was going too. The phrase, “You will be allowed to stay at home on your own for two weeks over my dead body” may have been uttered more than once.

Emma’s mood hadn’t improved but at least Charlotte now knew the reason. Emma’s ex-boyfriend was back for the summer and he’d brought his new girlfriend home with him. Deirdre had told Charlotte that Emma had been hoping they’d get back together over the summer. Emma had even applied for courses in the same university he was at but he had arrived back home with a new girlfriend in tow. Emma was adamant that she wasn’t bothered but she was fooling nobody. 

The fact they’d been holed up in their rooms for the past few weeks and hadn’t been out drinking or seeing bands just added to the heightened sense of frustration. Charlotte couldn’t wait for the weekend.

First, however, was the small matter of Fiona’s end of year exhibition at the Art College in Belfast. Emma and her Mum and Dad were going up to see the exhibition and they asked Charlotte if she wanted to tag along. Charlotte’s parents agreed to babysit Emma’s little brother and sister and so Charlotte piled into the car for a trip over the mountains to Belfast.

When they got out at the Art College, Charlotte could see why Fiona didn’t come home every weekend. Over two hours in the car over twisty bumpy mountain roads was not a journey she’d want to make too regularly. There had been a train at one time but someone in their wisdom in the 1960s decided the car was king and all the train lines had been torn up. Now there was just one train track left around the coast from Derry to Belfast that took even longer than the car.

Fiona came running down the steps to meet them. She was looking as glamorous as ever in the black lace dress that Charlotte had worn on the photoshoot and it was hugs and kisses all around. She pressed her lips to Charlotte’s ear. 

“I hope you like the painting.”

She quickly led them inside and a few minutes later, a glass of warm sticky white wine in hand, they crowded around Fiona’s exhibition space.

Charlotte didn’t know what to say. She stood mesmerised as she ran her eyes over the painting. It was definitely her, lying defiled on the gravestone. The bright greens and blues of the summer June Saturday had been transformed into a cold grey night scene but it was still recognisably Charlotte lying there with a painted Fiona looming over her, mouth open and two long incisors dripping with blood.

Fiona brushed off the compliments from everybody as just an illustration for a gothic vampire story but the eroticism in the painting was palpable. Charlotte could sense Emma sidling up beside her and felt herself blush as Emma gave her considered opinion of the work.

“You look like you’ve just had the shit fucked out of you.”

Charlotte got the impression Emma was angry with everyone and just looking for an excuse to lash out so she bit her tongue. 

“I need a drink,” Emma slurred and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief as Emma wandered off to find a wine waiter.

Charlotte slowly walked around the exhibition room, looking at the work Fiona’s classmates had produced. Most of them were going on to study at art college, either in Belfast or heading across the water to England. Every so often, she’d steal a glance back at Fiona and sometimes catch her looking back.

Charlotte felt the conflict inside her again. Fiona and Fergal, both competing for her attention. Fiona was everything Charlotte loved but it was so difficult. Lesbian was thrown around the playground as a term of abuse and Charlotte was so confused. She wasn’t a lesbian. She fancied boys, she fancied Fergal. She wanted to sleep with Fergal. She’d lain in bed and thought about Fergal taking her, fucking her. But then she thought about Fiona. She’d recently bought the same perfume as Fiona and sometimes lay in bed, inhaling the heady scent and imagining Fiona was there beside her. 

She turned a corner of the exhibition and stopped suddenly as she almost collided with Fiona.

“Hey, your exhibition is amazing.”

“Thanks. I’m so sorry we haven’t got a chance to talk recently. It’s just been so hectic.”

“You don’t need to apologise. I understand. I’ve been under house arrest anyway with the exams.”

Fiona stepped closer. She ran her long fingers with the black nail polish up Charlotte’s arm and Charlotte could feel herself melting under Fiona’s touch. She was just about to lean in and kiss Fiona when Emma came round the corner.

Immediately, Fiona sprang back and turned and smiled at her sister.

“Hey, there you are. So what do you think of the work?”

Emma shrugged. A compliment about her sister would have been hard at the best of times but Charlotte could see that Emma had figured out that there was something going on between her and Fiona.

“It’s alright I suppose. You made Charlotte look a bit of a slut though.”

Fiona laughed. “I’ve debased her,” and started to hum the intro bass line from the Pixies song.

Emma just shook her head and started to walk off. “By the way, Fi, Mum, and Dad are looking for you. I think they want to head home soon.”

Fiona looked at Charlotte and mouthed “Sorry” then followed Emma back to her exhibition space.

The next morning, Deirdre flew off to Majorca, still complaining about how the sun would ruin her pale gothic complexion. Charlotte hoped Emma would cheer up otherwise it would be a long two weeks until Deirdre was back.

Fiona had invited Charlotte to come up to stay with her in Belfast for a few days and Charlotte was just biding her time to find the most opportune moment to broach the idea with her parents. She figured if she was helpful around the house and timed it right, they just might say yes.

When she’d got back from Belfast, there had been a message stuck to her bedroom door. Fergal had called round and suggested they meet up to practice anyway even without Deirdre. She called him back and agreed to meet up that evening. Charlotte phoned Emma’s but she wasn’t in so left a message.

When Charlotte got to the rehearsal room, there was only Fergal there, reading the NME as usual. She plugged in her guitar and gave him a first listen of the music to Deirdre’s as yet untitled new song. After listening to her playing it through once, Fergal picked up the sticks and joined in, giving it a fast pounding beat to drive the music forward.

“I like it. But how should it start?” Fergal asked. Every song had started so far with Fergal tapping the sticks four times then guitars, drums, and bass launched together. Charlotte looked at the door and sighed.

“I’d hoped Emma would have been here by now. I was thinking a bass line opening would be good. A bit like the Pixies ‘Debaser’ song. You know, dum de dum de, dum dum dum dum,” she sang, flushing with embarrassment at Fergal staring, grinning at her.

“That could work,” he agreed. “Bit hard to work on it though if the bass player doesn’t turn up.”

He came out from behind the drum kit and walked closer to Charlotte, running his finger along the neck of her guitar. 

“Still, we could probably think of something else to do instead.”

Charlotte raised her eyes to look at him. Her long eyelashes fluttered and then they were kissing again. Charlotte still had her guitar hung around her neck and as they kissed, she felt Fergal pressing the guitar against her. Finally, they came up for air and Charlotte hurriedly unstrapped the guitar.

Charlotte felt less shy this time. Maybe it was the fact they were in private, away from everyone else but when they kissed again, it was Charlotte who glided her fingers along Fergal’s chest. It was Charlotte who slowly unbuttoned his black shirt and caressed the smooth pale skin of his chest.

She stepped back slightly, slowly running her eyes over Fergal as he stood, his shirt open, the bulge in his black jeans visible. She bit her lip and stepped in again. Her fingers traced the button on his jeans, popping it open as she kissed him again.

But then he took her wrist in his hand and lifted it away from his jeans. She looked at him, confused.

“I don’t want that. Not here,” Fergal whispered, glancing towards the door again. “Someone might come in.”

Charlotte flushed with embarrassment. No one had ever turned her down before and the blow to her ego was sickening. 

“OK, I’ll go,” Charlotte muttered, feeling the blush spread over her face, knowing she was burning red.

She quickly gathered her guitar and left the room, ignoring Fergal’s protestations to wait. When she got home, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Everything seemed to be falling apart, but then she remembered she and Emma were going to the pub tomorrow night and she was going to Fiona’s next week and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad after all.

With Deirdre in Majorca, it was just Emma and Charlotte who headed out on Friday night. There was an older crowd in the Alleymans with a lot of students back from university for the summer. As Charlotte was ordering the drinks, she heard Emma’s name being shouted. She turned round to see Emma heading over to talk to a group of older guys she’d never seen before. They looked an interesting bunch with spikey dyed hair and leather jackets. One guy with a pillar box red fringe and shaved head saw her looking and grinned at her. 

As she walked over to join them, she heard the guy ask Emma who she was. 

“This is my friend Charlotte,” Emma proudly boasted. “She’s the guitarist in our band too.”

“Hi, Charlotte. I’m Cormac.”

“Hello. So how come I haven’t seen you before?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he laughed. “I’m at uni in Manchester. I’m just home for a few weeks' holiday. What’s your excuse?”

When Charlotte explained she’d recently moved here from Liverpool, they quickly got into a discussion about how wonderful the north of England was. 

As the barman rang last orders, Cormac turned to Charlotte and Emma and asked them if they fancied coming back for a bit of a party at his friend Jason’s house. 

Charlotte looked at Emma who shrugged as if to say ‘whatever’ so Charlotte agreed. After buying some cans for a carryout from behind the bar, the three of them headed down the road. 

Jason’s place was a little terraced house and it was easy to spot as the front door was open and music filtered out into the street. Everyone was carrying a blue plastic bag containing a few cans or a bottle as they headed to the door. 

Once inside, Charlotte handed a can of lager to Emma, opened one for herself then hid the rest of the carry out under the chair. She’d only taken a couple of swigs when Emma grabbed her hand. 

“Fuck, Richard’s here.”

“Does it matter? You don’t need to speak to him.”

“I want him to know I’m so over him.”

Charlotte realised that Emma was quite drunk at this stage. 

“Should we go home?”

“Fuck no. I want to make him jealous.”

She stood up and walked over to an older guy who looked like a Robert Smith clone with a spikey bird's nest hairdo. Charlotte watched. She felt like she was watching a car crash unfolding, powerless to stop it. She saw Emma turn around to check Richard was watching, then she kissed the guy.

Charlotte glanced at Richard and saw he was watching the man putting his hand on Emma’s ass. The man’s fingers were dipping lower, fingertips were curling under the hem of her short black skirt. Emma broke the kiss and said something to the man and then they both left the room. Charlotte caught a glimpse of the two of them heading upstairs.

She looked at Richard who turned and said something to a girl with the blonde mohawk. Charlotte watched the girl laugh. She saw Richard look over and met his gaze across the room. Charlotte got up to follow Emma but all the doors were closed by the time she got upstairs. She called out, “Emma?” but there was no response.

As she came down the stairs again, Richard brushed past her, putting his coat on as he left through the front door. The girl hurried out after him, calling his name to get him to wait for her.

Charlotte sat in the front room, nursing a can of lager until Emma reappeared fifteen minutes later.

“Are you ok?”

Emma didn’t answer but just looked at the space where Richard had been sitting.

“Do you want to go?”

Emma nodded and the two girls left the party.

As they walked down the road, Emma began to cry. Charlotte sat her down on a low stone wall in front of a row of semi-detached houses and offered her a cigarette. 

Emma inhaled, then held the glowing cigarette in front of her face until finally, she exhaled, blowing the smoke over the tip, watched it glow bright orange. 

“I’m such a stupid slut.”

Charlotte didn’t answer but just let the silence hang. 

“I took that guy into the bathroom and I didn’t even know his name.”

The words flowed faster, now the dam had been breached. 

“I took him into the bathroom and I got down on my knees and I sucked his cock.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. 

“I sucked his cock and then… and then, he told me to turn round.”

She swallowed. 

“I turned around and he pulled up my skirt and tugged my knickers to one side and he fucked me.”

The tears finally ran down her cheeks. 

“He fucked me over the toilet and when he’d finished I just pulled my knickers back into place to stop his cum running down my thighs and came back downstairs again as if nothing had happened.”

Charlotte just wrapped her arms around Emma and held her as her friend sobbed into her tee-shirt. Eventually, she looked up.

“Did Richard say anything?”

Charlotte sighed. “For fuck’s sake, Emma. Forget about him. He’s not worth it”

Emma pushed herself away from Charlotte.

“Fuck you, Charlotte. Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t do!”

Emma stood there, swaying slightly. Charlotte stared at her. Her mouth open, unsure what to say.

“Just because you’re some wee slut fucking my sister, that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do.”

Emma started to walk off. Charlotte took two steps to follow her and reached an arm out to her. Emma stopped, swinging her arm to brush off Charlotte’s hand.

 “Fiona won’t want you. She’s off to London. She doesn’t need some wee bitch following her around like a lapdog.”

Charlotte stopped. She stood in the street and watched as Emma’s mouth snarled to deliver a parting line as she staggered off down both sides of the road.

“Just fuck off and leave us alone, you fucking queer.”

Charlotte could feel the tears well up in her eyes as her world threatened to topple down.