When Poppy died, I was in no state to answer any questions. I can still hear the wailing neon sirens and see the fluorescent vests, the awkward silence as the policeman took notes and my head banging onto the metal ambulance doorframe.
From afar, the thumping of the bass beat seemed to shake the warehouse through to the rickety foundations. The whole thing looked like it was pulsing, like something out of a cartoon. Or maybe it was the alcohol. My legs felt like they were on fire and then as we stumbled along holding onto each other for dear life, it was like walking through a sea of knives. Or maybe it was the killer heels. I can't be sure. Poppy stumbled beside me, diving into a pile of crisp autumn leaves headfirst and toppling me as well so that we landed in a hysterical heap on the concrete. There may have been a few snide remarks? Catcalls? Who knows, probably about my purple space buns or the short skirt. Or both.
They had the smoke machine out again and people had been vaping. The sickly-sweet candyfloss smell of e-liquid hung, laced into the hazy mist-air in the warehouse. Top stuck to my back and hair tangled with my necklace, I lost Poppy in the din and multicolour-dyed sea of bodies moving haphazardly out of time to the faint music, barely audible above the shouted of carefree teenagers. October Halloween gaffs were always the pinnacle of our social calendars, generated the most gossip and was the talk of the streets until the New Year's parties – like we needed an excuse to get drunk. Again.
It wasn't so much dancing as it was swaying back and forth in puddles of lukewarm beer. When we stumbled out the other side, hair askew and missing a shoe apiece, Poppy and I padded barefoot on the damp pavements, leaves and dirt sticking to our feet. The odd cargo truck and a few cars here and there rumbled past. I steered Poppy onto the bridge trying to hold her steady as a stream of incoherent babble tumbled out of her mouth. She veered to the left and toppled to the right, waving her arms wildly which caused various drivers to honk their horns angrily and swerve violently.
Swerved violently. Straight at us.
I distinctly remember trying to scream, my throat on fire as I moved on instinct, rolling out of the way. Her fingers slipped through mine as we were pulled apart. She was screaming too, with hysterical laughter, wind-milling her arms like a traffic warden. I heard the ear-splitting screech of metal on metal and the pitter of patter of rocks splashing into the river below.
Then more obnoxious laughter and cheering. Then a huge splash. Then deafening silence.
Then more wailing sirens.
I don't remember much of my late teens and early twenties. Only the hazy nights of flashing kaleidoscopic lights and the stench of cheap vodka and beer which accompanied us while we fumbled for hangover cures and sweet water for our parched throats. Apart from that night of course. But that life was not for me, my carefree disposition had cost my best friend her life. The guessing game of when my liver would finally fail me was not one I was willing gamble mine for.
The breeze has a distinct bite and the pram is laden with shopping and costumes for the local Halloween parade. Leon and Fallon sit in the double pram squabbling over the toy they got from the shared McDonald's Happy Meal and Yvonne skips ahead, chasing after Kalia who is preoccupied by the dandelion clocks floating out of reach on the light breeze. I let my mind wander and somehow, we end up back at Reid Street Park, one of our fondest childhood haunts. While the kids chase each other in a mad game, hurtling themselves left and right, I sit in one of the unoccupied tyre swings. I can still see those spaces where she should be standing, snapping her colourful bubble gum with her plaits flying as she twirls and giggles hysterically at some private joke.
I pick a dandelion from the cracks in the flooring underneath me and blow at the delicate clocks, sending them into a frenzy, carried by the wind in a swirling mass before being stolen somewhere else. I close my eyes and make a wish.
"Mummy, mummy! What did you wish for?" Leon and Fallon bound over after losing the dandelion trail.
"I can't tell you that!" I wink and tap the side of my nose, "it won't come true if I tell you."
"But mummy! Fallon and me are good at se'rets!" Leon whinges, tugging at my sleeves.
"Fallon and I, darling, and I know that you are good at keeping secrets, but some things are for grown ups only."
"Like bad words mummy?" Fallon chimes in with a mischievous grin on his face, we've had this conversation before. He knows exactly what I'm going to say.
"Do I need to ban Xbox time for tonight?"
They recognise the stern tone, and their faces droop. They dejection lasts for a split second before a shout comes from the direction of Yvonne and Kalia and they race off, on the hunt for their next adventure, carefree and blazing a trail of dust and crisp autumn leaves in their wake.
I shake my head and push the pram in their direction, and, like every mother, I wish that they would stay forever young, frozen in time like a photograph. I blink as if I can capture the way the light filters through the thinning leaves onto my children, the way they chatter, even the way they argue over who has to do the chores. I reach down to pick another dandelion and blow the fluff to the winds, close my eyes and make a wish.
I wish for their carefree laughter to ring forever in this small town.