1996 (90s Flashback Series) Read online

  1996

  KIRSTY MCMANUS

  Copyright © 2018 Kirsty McManus

  All rights reserved.

  To the graduating class of Good Shepherd, 1997

  THANKS TO…

  I know I’ve said this before, but I am so lucky to have an amazing group of people in my life who are willing to take the time to read my stuff and give encouraging feedback.

  Thank you, Diane. You are consistently helpful and always know exactly what to say (not just in terms of my books, either!). I value our friendship very much.

  Thank you, Sofie. Sometimes I think you’re too nice. Be harsher!

  Thank you, Natasha! You gave me the kick-start I needed in order to take this book seriously!

  Thank you, Louise. I love that you give me a slightly different perspective. It makes my work stronger.

  Thank you, Anna! For this book in particular, it was great to get an ‘insider’s’ opinion to make sure I was being authentic to the time and place.

  And a super big thank you to Lindsay. You are an awesome editor and I look forward to working with you again!

  ONE

  Saturday 22nd June 1996

  Dear Diary,

  What a crappy day! I mean, it started out OK, but it ended pretty badly. I stayed at Kelsey’s last night and we slept in until lunchtime, so that was all right. But then I got home and Mum was all mad because I hadn’t done enough around the house or something…she has no idea how busy my life is! Between school, work, dealing with girl dramas, and managing my love life, I don’t really have any time left over to worry about stupid things like whether I’ve left my clothes on the floor in my bedroom. Does it really matter in the scheme of things?

  Anyway, I had to work from 4 – 8 tonight and then Kelsey and I went to Rachel’s party. That’s when things took a turn for the worse…

  “Anna! Are you still reading that damn diary?”

  I look up at Ed, surprised by his tone. “What do you mean? I only found it this morning.”

  “Yes, but you’ve been glued to it for the last hour and a half. It’s like you’re obsessed or something.”

  “That’s a bit harsh. I wouldn’t say I was obsessed. Just interested in what I got up to back in high school.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “High school was bad enough the first time around. I couldn’t think of anything worse than reliving it.”

  “But that’s the interesting thing. I thought high school was awful too. I was always stressed out…I was insecure…and I never knew who my real friends were—but reading back now I can see it wasn’t all bad.” I close the diary and stand up to give my husband a hug. “But don’t think for a second I wish I was anywhere else right now.”

  He half-heartedly returns the embrace. “Okay, sorry I hassled you. But what was I supposed to think? You’ve had this dopey grin on your face all morning. And look!” He points to the words I LOVE JOHN written on the spine of the diary.

  I frown. “I don’t understand why you’d be annoyed by that. I don’t even know which John that was.”

  “Well, that’s not very comforting. How many Johns were you in love with?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds. Mostly celebrity ones, like Travolta. And Depp. Although, I probably would have written Johnny if that was the case…”

  “Stop! I get it. You were a little groupie.”

  I stare at him. “Why does this bother you so much?”

  “I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem healthy.”

  “Are you annoyed because you’re not mentioned in there?”

  “Don’t be silly. We hadn’t even met.”

  I squeeze his cheeks, trying to lighten the mood. “Aw, my poor little baby is jealous.”

  He slaps my hands away. “I’m not jealous. Forget it. Do whatever you want to do. I have to go or I’ll be late.”

  Wow. Okay. He is genuinely affected by this. “Do you think you’ll be out all day?” I ask in a small voice.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll text you later.”

  “All right. And I’ll put the diary away. I’m sorry if I made you feel weird.”

  He gives me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you this afternoon.”

  I watch him leave, feeling a strange mix of emotions. I’m not obsessed with the past, am I? It wasn’t like I was gushing about all the people I used to be friends with, or all the boys I had crushes on. I really did not know who the John was on the spine, because I didn’t date one in 1996. And it’s not like I had started today determined to relive my so-called ‘glory days’. I had needed some inspiration for a new blog recipe and had gone to the garage to locate my old cookbooks. My parents recently downsized their house, and Dad had dropped off a box containing my diaries and some other stuff a few months back. I forgot it was even there until this morning, when I stumbled upon it by accident.

  It’s so strange, reading back over your life as an adult. The events are familiar, but it’s like they happened to someone else. And I was so clueless! Reading between the lines now, I can see how things really were. For example, I always thought of myself as a bit of a loner, but looking back, I was constantly surrounded by people. And I clearly didn’t appreciate how much my poor parents suffered with me flitting in and out at all hours, not considering their situation for even a second.

  I carry my diary into the garage and tuck it back in the box. There are at least half a dozen other diaries in there, mixed in with some old CDs, stuffed toys and junk jewellery. I don’t have anything pressing to do today, but Ed’s reaction just now has made me feel strangely guilty. Further exploration can wait until later.

  I go back inside and straighten the house. Not that it needs a lot of tidying. Ed and I are both very house-proud, so we always put everything away as soon as we’ve used it. We live in a restored Queenslander in Balmoral—a three-bedroom home with newly painted eggshell walls and blonde timber floorboards. Sometimes I wander down the hallway and marvel over the fact that I co-own this place with my handsome husband. We’ve both worked very hard to get where we are—Ed is a criminal defence lawyer at a well-known firm on Eagle Street—and I’ve made a bit of a name for myself as a food blogger. Today is Saturday, but lately Ed has been working on the weekends to try and clear a backlog of cases, so I’ve been treating Saturday as a work day too.

  After making the bed and loading the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, I head into my study to boot up my computer. I run a healthy dessert website, and I am very fortunate to be paid for doing something I love. I got into the business before every man and his dog decided to do the same thing, so I already had all my processes refined, plus a loyal fan base by the time the internet got crowded. I have also published a cookbook, which brings in some passive income, and I have an ongoing sponsorship with a nutritional supplement company. They basically pay me to advertise their products and incorporate their ingredients into my recipes. I have over 400,000 Instagram followers, and my blog gets a couple of million visits each month.

  Before I started doing this, I studied to be a pastry chef at a school in Paris, and then I did a dietician’s course when I returned to Australia. These days, I try and stay up to date with workshops and online study.

  But my day begins fairly boringly with admin. I quickly skim through my emails and find the usual…a ton of spam and businesses wanting me to promote their overpriced detox diets and exercise programs. I don’t even reply to them anymore. I have an exclusive deal with my sponsor, and I only agreed to work with them because I believe in their products.

  After approving a few dozen reader comments on my blog, I open up Wordpress to type up my next recipe. I already tested it out yesterday—a date and walnut slice made with almond me
al and coconut flour.

  I spend a bit of time creating a cute backstory—today’s being inspired by the past and recalling my grandmother’s fantastic baking from when I was a child. She was an amazing cook, even up to the day she died. I learned a lot from her.

  I include all the ingredients and method for my latest creation, and then upload the photos I’ve already taken. Fortunately, this batch didn’t need much Photoshopping. I’m quite proud of my food photography. It took a bit of practice, but I noticed that my following increased once I figured out the best angles and lighting for my dishes.

  After reading over everything a couple of times to check for errors, I click Publish. I then post to Twitter, Instagram and Facebook, letting everyone know that a new recipe is up.

  There.

  I then remember I wanted to do something nice for Mum. I spoke to her last night on the phone, and she’s going through a bit of a rough patch. I open up a florist website that delivers to her area and pick out a brightly coloured bouquet of gerberas. In the accompanying message, I say I hope she’s feeling a bit better and that I’ll visit her soon.

  I sit back and rest my arms behind my head.

  What now? I was supposed to plan a few recipes for next week, which is why I was in the garage earlier looking for inspiration, but I don’t really feel like doing that now. I could go to the gym, but it’s pouring rain outside, and I don’t want to get wet.

  I think back to Ed’s earlier behaviour. Surely his reaction was a bit over the top? My husband is usually oblivious to what I do in the mornings because he’s busy getting ready for work. I’ve learned to give him his space so he can read the news and eat his breakfast in peace. The only time we really exchange words is when I give him his morning coffee, and even then it’s mostly just me asking if he’s got a big day ahead. He explained to me once that he has a particular set of thought processes that allow him to mentally prepare for the demands of his job, and any external distractions can have severe negative consequences for his clients.

  The last thing I want to do is inadvertently contribute to one of Ed’s clients going to jail, so I always try and save any news I want to talk about until after he gets home in the evening.

  Anyway, my point is, to have him be that affected by me flicking through an ancient high school diary is kind of strange.

  There’s a knock at the door, happily giving me something else to focus on. I pad down the hall and collect a small box lying on my front step. The delivery guy has already disappeared. Weird. I don’t remember ever getting a delivery on a Saturday before.

  I carry it through to the dining room, tear off the packing tape and peek inside. It looks like my latest bunch of supplements have arrived.

  I pull out the containers, one by one, and place them on the dining table.

  The first is greens powder. I could probably put that in my next smoothie recipe. The second and third jars are flavoured protein. I could maybe put them in an energy ball or slice.

  The last jar is much smaller than the others. I hold it up and read the label.

  YOUTH COMPOUND – Wind back the years with our revolutionary formula.

  Feel instantly energised!

  Dosage: Half a teaspoon dissolved in room temperature water. Effects will last for approximately twelve hours.

  30 doses.

  Twelve hours? Is that all? Is it supposed to have some sort of cumulative effect over time or something? I open the jar and smell the contents. It has a faint chlorine scent and looks like salt crystals. I shrug and go to the sink to fill a glass with water, sprinkling a few of the crystals on top.

  The water bubbles and turns purple. I wait until it has fully dissolved before taking a sip.

  Yuck! It’s a good thing I trust this company’s products. It’s like drinking poison! If they want me to advertise this for them, they’re going to have to work on the taste.

  I down the rest in one gulp and wince. Maybe next time, I could disguise the flavour with some juice or sweetener.

  I wonder how I’ll know if it’s working. Will it be like a caffeine rush? Or an alcohol buzz?

  I might have a shower while I wait. I don’t want to be too distracted if the effects are only subtle. I walk towards the bedroom, starting to undress along the way, but before I even get there, I begin to feel woozy. Wow. This stuff is strong.

  I unsteadily make my way to the bed and plonk down on the edge, flopping backwards and staring at the ceiling. My vision swirls. I hope I haven’t overdosed. Maybe I should call an ambulance.

  The spinning gets faster. And faster.

  Then everything goes black.

  TWO

  I open my eyes, feeling disoriented. That stuff really knocked me about. The room is still spinning and I can’t make my eyes focus.

  After a moment, I sit up and take a few deep breaths.

  But something isn’t quite right.

  This isn’t my room. Or my house. Although, as my brain catches up, I realise I know this place.

  I’m at Kelsey’s. As in my high school best friend Kelsey who I haven’t spoken to in almost twenty years. And I’m in Shell Beach. More than an hour and a half’s drive from Brisbane. What on earth? I groggily look around at the movie posters on the wall—Twister, Trainspotting and Billy Madison…the CDs strewn on the carpet beside the bed—Alanis Morisette’s Jagged Little Pill, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ One Hot Minute and Garbage’s self-titled album…and then at the body lying asleep beside me in the satin-sheeted bed.

  I scream.

  Kelsey grabs her pillow and covers her head.

  “What is wrong with you?” she moans. “It’s still the middle of the night.”

  I lift up the edge of the pillow and then drop it again. It’s as if I’ve been burned.

  “You’re…you’re so young!”

  “Can we please do this later?” her muffled voice complains.

  I push myself away from her and roll off the side of the bed. After stumbling to my feet, I launch myself at the mirror mounted on the side of her wardrobe.

  “Holy shit.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Anna. What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m…am I sixteen?”

  Kelsey finally emerges from under her pillow. “Not for much longer. Are you going through some sort of early-life crisis or something? Has this got something to do with Todd?”

  I stroke the skin on my cheek and under my eyes, ignoring Kelsey’s question. It’s so smooth! And then I look down at my body, currently clad in a tiny peach-coloured silk slip.

  “Oh my God! I look amazing!”

  “You’re freaking me out, babe.”

  “I’m freaking myself out! What date is it?”

  “I don’t know. Sometime in June.”

  “And the year?” I need to hear her say it.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.”

  “1996. Did you have a nightmare or something? Are you still drunk? I knew I should have stopped you doing those tequila shots last night. You didn’t swallow the worm, did you?”

  “We drank tequila?”

  “You did. I only had wine. Don’t you remember? Ellie came over and we were playing that stupid drinking game.”

  Ellie? Wow, that’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. Kelsey and I were kind of friends with her, but she only seemed to make time for us when the more popular girls were ignoring her.

  “Uh, right.”

  “You were a mess. I’m surprised you’re not puking your guts up right now.”

  I mentally probe my body. Apart from a tiny headache, I feel surprisingly good. Better than I have in ages.

  “I actually feel pretty awesome!”

  “Great. Now can we go back to sleep? In case you’ve forgotten, we didn’t get to bed until a few hours ago.”

  “I’m too excited to sleep!”

  Kelsey pulls the pillow over her head again. “Go and annoy someone else, then. I’ll be up after lunch.”

  I giggle. Th
is is insane! Am I really somehow back in 1996? What the hell was in that Youth Compound?

  Wait. I need to stop and think about this logically for a second. There are only a few explanations that can make sense here.

  The Youth Compound contains some sort of hallucinogenic drug and I’m basically tripping.

  I was tired after a morning of dealing with Ed’s weird mood, and the Youth Compound contained a sedative that put me to sleep—in which case I am having a very lucid dream.

  The Youth Compound is a vitamin form of a DeLorean, and I’ve travelled back in time, Back to the Future style.

  I don’t really think it could be that third one, but I’m not going to completely discount it until I have more information.

  Whatever the reality, it’s pretty impressive that my brain can conjure this all up from over twenty years ago. I’d forgotten the ratty shagpile carpet on the floor and exposed brick on the walls.

  I venture into the hall and down the stairs. The TV is on in the living room and Kelsey’s older brother Andy is watching Ren and Stimpy. I freeze. The last thing I want to do is talk to Andy—even in a hallucinogenic dream. I never liked him in the nineties, and knowing what happens in the future, I was definitely right to feel that way.

  I start to creep away, but he spots me. He smiles a greasy smile.

  “Anna. Are you trying to hide from me?”

  I shiver and quickly cover my chest with my arms. I wish I was wearing something a little more conservative.

  “I was just…uh…going to have a shower,” I improvise. Even though the shower is upstairs.

  He jumps up and plants himself in front of me quicker than I thought possible. “Would you like some company?” he purrs.

  I slowly back up the stairs. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I try not to shudder too obviously. He has lank, shoulder-length hair and bloodshot eyes. He reeks of body odour, cigarette smoke and rum. I focus on the Metallica shirt underneath the red flannel he’s wearing. It has a skeleton playing guitar on it, and the skeleton looks like Slash from Guns n Roses. Weird.