A door blocked my way. I pushed it open with my last desperate burst of strength.

McDonald’s was warm and bright. A pub would’ve been more suitable for my mood, but I was too young to go to a pub, of course. Yet another disadvantage of youth.

My dress was stuck to me like a wet tissue. It was like wearing nothing and a really tight, uncomfortable bodysuit at the same time. Blisters were already throbbing on my feet. But I didn’t care. I didn’t even glance at myself in the glass door as I marched through, that’s how much I didn’t care.

There were maybe a dozen people in the restaurant, including the bored-looking kids behind the counter. I strode through the empty tables as if I was going up to get my Oscar, but instead of an Oscar I got a Big Mac, large fries and a chocolate milkshake. None of those things are exactly great for your skin, but I didn’t care about that just then either. What was the use of having good skin and knowing how to dress and wear make-up if you never had a chance to show yourself off a bit? There wasn’t any use, that was what. If my mother had her way, I’d still be wearing a Babygro and sucking on a dummy.

I sat at a table by the window, so I’d have something to do besides cry while I ate.

Some bloody birthday.

McDonald’s is all right, but it isn’t Planet Hollywood. Without the mothers and children it was pretty dead. Like a film set between takes. And it was too bright, brighter than usual. It reminded me of a hospital. You know, all cheery with yellow walls and fluorescent lights so no one will notice that they’re dying.

I turned my back on the hanging plants and the posters advertising the latest Disney blockbuster, and stared into the rain.

Happy Birthday to me, I thought as I took out my burger. Happy Birthday, dear Lana, Happy Birthday to me.