Don't Worry, It Improves With Age

Bernie watches the kettle, anticipating the high-pitched ring. She doesn't want to alert her flat mates she’s home. She remembers a cacophony of laughter drifting from upstairs as she opened the front door after her late shift. Although she feels a flicker of disappointment about missing her corny ghost-hunting shows, she resigns herself to tea in bed and scrolling.

The door to the kitchen bursts open, banging against the wall.

Henry strides in, genuinely apologising to the door. He looks startled to see Bernie but his face quickly dissolves into a wide smile.

“Bernie! You’re home!”

Her body tingles with an unexpected warmth, not sure why he was happy to see her.

He immediately launches into a story. “Gemm just told everyone about a sex dream she had!” He pulls out two plastic bottles of Sainsburys brand cider from the refrigerator.

Bernie replies, “Oh no!” But he isn’t angry at his girlfriend, just amused.

He laughs. “Come join us! We just played King’s Cup. Gemma lost!” He scratches his nose. “No wonder she told everyone about her dream…”

He grabs plastic cups and pours out two. He passes one to her, bumps her cup with his, and shouts, “Cheers!”

She doesn’t really drink. The memory of a high school party, necking sparkling wine from the bottle and waking up on the wet grass, was enough to dissuade her. At school the following Monday, her friends had told everyone she was faking her drunkenness for attention.

She doesn’t want to let Henry down as he takes a long draw from his plastic cup. She takes a sip and shudders.

Henry points out, “Don’t worry, it improves with age!” He laughs at his own joke, but Bernie doesn’t get it.

He struggles to pick up the cups and the cider. Bernie offers a hand and he thanks her.

Abandoning her tea, she follows him, cider in hand, up the stairs into the living room.

Aiden, Ciara, and Gemma look up when they enter. Ciara is wearing a pair of 3D glasses, and for unknown reasons, all their saucepans litter the floor.

Ciara shouts, “BERNIE!” with a kind, drunken look in her eyes.

Everyone else greets her with enthusiasm, and Gemma pats the couch next to her. Bernie is grateful that she knows where to sit.

She’s only been in this share house for a month. Her flat mates seem so confident, and she often hid in her room, scared they’ll notice her and deem her uninteresting. Her ex-boyfriend had broken up with her after he had met someone that had more shine. When she asked why, he said with such conviction that she was dull. She had internalised that characterisation, he had said it with such truth.

Gemma takes too long in the bathroom. Henry wonders where she’s got to. Bernie knocks gently on the door and calls, “You alright, Gemma?”

A muffled “Yea” floats through the door. Gemma eventually exits, her eyes focusing and un-focusing.

“Bernie babes! I peed and then I sat there and had to pee again!”

Bernie helps her back into the living room.

Aiden suggests a game where they have to name famous dogs. The rules are simple: if you can’t name one on your turn, you have to drink.

Bernie’s mind works furiously. She comes up with the German Sheppard - Inspector Rex, desperately hoping nobody else thinks of it.

Gemma starts. “Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.”

Ciara shouts, “Toto!” Bernie thinks of The Wizard of Oz.

Aiden goes next. “Clifford. The big red guy” Bernie doesn't know this one, but trusts Aidens conviction.

It gets to Henry. “Wait a minute... Isn't Shaggy the human?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Bernie is surprised she didn’t catch it herself, considering she is the most sober of the bunch.

She sips her cider, surprised that it doesn’t taste too bad now. She now understands Henrys joke —it does improve with age.

Conversations overlap. Ciara tells Gemma how her mother was so poor growing up that salt was a luxury. Aiden and Henry talk passionately about music festivals. Bernie wishes she could talk about her expeiences in the same way.

The talk of salt whets Ciara’s appetite, and she declares she's going to cook some bacon. Ciara bought it in bulk. Her huge stacks of it take up most of her shelf in the shared fridge. Bernie offers help, buzzing, and wanting something to do with her hands.

The bacon sizzles in the kitchen, and Bernie grabs a plate and paper towel. Ciara confesses, “I think I like girls.”

Bernie freezes, feeling the weight of the confession. She is surprised, but isn't at the same time. The way Ciara holds herself, her close guy friends she never crosses a line with.

Bernie stops her and gives her a hug, telling her it’s okay. Ciara’s eyes fill with tears.

“I haven’t told anyone. Please don’t tell anyone. My mother is so Catholic.”

Bernie can sense the inter-generational shame.

The confession emboldens Bernie, and she shares, “Sometimes when I’m walking home from the tube, I imagine zombies are chasing me. I fumble with the keys to get them into the door as quick as I can.”

“Seriously, Bernie! You are so funny,” she says, not unkindly, feeling the absurdity of their shared truths.

Back in the living room, they eat bacon straight off the plate. Bernie finds space in the quiet chewing to ask about the saucepans. Gemma grabs one and imitates a bongo drummer, wildly out of beat with the music playing.

Aiden tells Henry that he thinks he can touch the ceiling with his feet.

Bernie knows he can’t. The ceiling is too high, despite his height.

Ciara overhears and challenges Aiden to a bet.

“What do I win?” He asks, his eyes glinting.

Ciara says she’ll cook him dinner for the coming week.

Henry confidently says he can do it too, getting in on the action, although he is a foot shorter than Aiden.

“What if we lose?” Henry asks.

Ciara considers it. “You guys have to streak around the block!”

They agree, and the bet is on.

Aiden goes first, doing a handstand on the couch. He doesn’t quite reach and falls down laughing. Henry tries too, even though it’s obvious he will fail.

They all laugh, and Ciara holds them to the bet.

Gemma chimes in, “Bernie, you should do it too! If you beat them around the block, we’ll cook you dinner for a week!”

Bernie doesn’t care about the dinners, but the cider buzz makes her feel confident. She has been running at least three times a week since she moved in.

They undress in the entryway. Bernie is self-conscious of her body, but they all keep their eyes neck-upwards.

They need shoes in the cold, and all three don beanies. The frigid air hits them as they open the front door.

The race is on.

Bernie takes off. A fresh blanket of snow has fallen, and the world seems clean and magical. The cold air on her body is invigorating, and the footsteps behind her fade away. Aiden - or maybe it was Henry - shouts “WE’RE STREAKING!” doing their best Will Ferrel impression and she lets out a yelp. The statement so fitting to the situation.

She has never felt so alive - naked and ridiculous, legs pumping without a care in the world.

She feels like she should hope nobody sees her, but strangely, she doesn’t.

The front door is close now and Bernie arrives back first. Ciara and Gemma sit cross-legged in the entryway, a bag of crisps between them. They cheer her, and Bernie can’t help but feel like a true champion. She had won the race.

The night winds down. Henry takes Gemma to bed. Ciara follows suit.

Bernie makes a fresh cup of tea in the kitchen, cleaning the nights mess away while Aiden pours himself a whiskey. He doesn't make eye contact and shares "Ciara, Ciara, Ciara... She is perfect.... she doesn't want me...." He is focused inwardly and confesses he’s in love with her.

Bernie desperately wants to tell him what she’s learned about Ciara tonight to ease his longing, but she knows she could never betray her like that.

Instead, she tells him there is someone for everyone. She isn’t sure if that’s true, but for someone like Aiden, she thinks he’ll be fine.

Ready for bed, she snuggles up under the duvet, warm and happy. The house settles, the smell of bacon clinging to the walls. Her body tingles all over.

She is finally home.