by Chloe Rayban
‘Out of the question, Jessica. Not when you’ve got so much to catch up on.’
I sat for the next hour obediently doing totally unoriginal perfectly rounded oranges in pastel and watching the minutes tick by on the art-room clock. Each one of them bringing me nearer and nearer to being a GCSE English failure. I’d never be a writer now. And it was all Mr Williams’s fault. Twelve-thirty came and went. The bell rang for lunch, irrevocably sealing my fate.
I made my way miserably down to the canteen. Clare was there already.
‘What’s up?’
‘Everything,’ I moaned. ‘Like what?’
I explained about my Romeo and Juliet essay and my brilliant tribute to Futurism.
‘You can imagine what it’s doing for my coursework averages. It’s not fair, Mr Williams is being so anal. And Ms Mills is really down on me.’
‘You know why, don’t you?’
‘No?’
‘It’s obvious. Neither of them is married, or has a partner as far as we know. It’s clearly sexual frustration, and they’re taking it out on us.’
‘You think?’
‘Definitely.’
I paused in the middle of a forkful of shepherd’s pie. They were both really into art.
Ms Mills + art – poodle hairdo + great smile. And Mr Williams + art – worn cords + nice hair. Or to put it more scientifically:
MsM + a – ph + gs = MrW + a – wc + nh
Or maybe:
Nice Match!
‘I’ve just had an idea,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think that they would be just perfect for each other?’
‘What, Ms Mills and Mr Williams?’ Clare chewed on a radish thoughtfully. ‘Umm, well …I dunno, maybe.’
‘But they are.’
‘In which case, why haven’t they got together?’
I shrugged. ‘Perhaps they need help.’
‘What sort of help?’
‘Like something to throw them together.’
‘Like what? Locking them up together in the supplies store?’
‘Maybe something a bit more subtle.’ I wracked my brain. It needed to be something outside school. Some accidental meeting … Then it occurred to me. ‘Does your sister still get those free theatre tickets?’ Clare’s sister was a nurse. Her hospital was always getting hand-outs of free tickets for plays that nobody wanted to see.
‘Mmm. In fact, she’s got some she can’t use this Saturday, I think.’
‘Could you bring them in tomorrow?’
‘What are you up to?’
‘Just a little idea of mine.’
‘You’ll never get those two together.’
‘Wanna bet?’
Next day I offered to clean the art-room sink after double art. Ms Mills was pottering around as usual collecting up brushes and putting paper away, so we had the room to ourselves. I said, ever so casually, ‘Ms Mills, do you like the theatre?’
‘Why do you ask, Jessica?’
‘It’s just that I’ve been given this free ticket for the preview of the Brecht play at the Almeida and I can’t go. It seems such a waste not to use it. I was looking for someone who’s, you know, a bit cultural, to give it to.’
‘Well, how thoughtful of you, Jessica.’ Ms Mills sounded flattered. ‘When’s it for?’
‘This Saturday.’
‘Saturday. Yes. I’d like it very much. If you’re sure there’s no one else you want to give it to.’
I handed it over to her. It was so easy. Now for Mr Williams.
I came across him at breaktime putting up the poster for his play on the Arts Activities noticeboard.
I coughed politely to attract his attention. He turned and nearly jumped out of his skin at seeing me standing there.
‘Oh, Jessica! What can I do for you?’ He looked really hot and uncomfortable for some reason. Probably regretting how terribly unfair he had been about my Romeo and Juliet essay.
‘I just wondered, Mr Williams, seeing as you’re so interested in the theatre, whether you might like this ticket I can’t use. It’s for the Brecht play at the Almeida.’ I held it out for him to see.
Mr Williams got his glasses out of his top pocket. ‘Oh … ooh. How nice of you, Jessica. Yes, I was thinking of going to it, as a matter of fact. Are you sure you can’t use the ticket? Or change it for another night maybe? I wouldn’t like you to miss the opportunity to experience Brecht live.’
‘It’s a complimentary, Mr Williams. And I can’t make Saturday.’
‘Then I accept with pleasure. Most thoughtful of you.’ He put the ticket in his pocket.
I positively floated down the corridor to my locker, envisaging Saturday night and love blossoming in the centre stalls. I texted Clare right away.
nice match!
ms m and mr w sat night
row g seats no. 25 and 26
I lay in bed that night happily visualising Mr Williams and Ms Mills sitting side by side in the Almeida. Sharing a box of chocolates maybe. Having a drink together in the bar in the interval, laughing in a slightly embarrassed way about the coincidence that had brought them together. Later, he’d offer to drive her home, and then maybe she’d invite him in for coffee …
Chapter Fourteen
So much for Mr Williams and Ms Mills. Now for Jane and Henry. That Saturday was the day I was due to go to Forest Vale. Henry would have received my letter by now. He had to be there and he had to be the right Henry.
I washed my hair and used tons of conditioner and blow-dried it so that it was really shiny. I’d even washed my favourite jeans the night before and tumble dried them so that they shrank to an optimum fit. Not that it mattered, of course, what I looked like – I was only finding Henry for Jane.
The bus that morning seemed to take for ever, stopping at umpteen random stops which I hadn’t remembered from the previous journey. I arrived early at the café all the same. I peered through the steamy windows. There was no one who looked as if they could possibly be Henry. Venturing inside, I found the café’s customers consisted of two blue-rinse ladies who were taking a break from shopping and an old man with a mangy dog and a pile of newspapers who looked as if he lived in the place. I bought myself a coffee and chose a table near a window away from the others and waited.
Each time the door opened with a jangle of the bell, I nearly jumped out of my skin. But the only people who turned up were a jogger who wanted a bottle of mineral water and a woman who came in collecting for charity.
I kept glancing at my watch – the minute hand seemed to be on a go-slow. Eleven o’clock came and went. By eleven forty-five I was starting to give up hope. I rubbed a place clear in the steamy window. And at that moment, this fit-looking guy appeared inside the circle of steam like the hero of an old movie. He was coming straight for the café.
He opened the door and looked around. My jaw dropped. This boy was gorgeous. Divine bright blue eyes met mine. In spite of myself my mind did a lightning calculation:
Did his sexy blue eyes, fit body, nice smile lines, high cheekbones, perfectly faded jeans, cool leather jacket, latest trainers, equal my nice, shiny, blow-dried hair, long legs and straight teeth (thanks to two years of an agonising fixed brace), errm, nice-fitting jeans, not bad T-shirt, decent nails (I’d stopped biting them), errm (I tried to think of more positives but I was really scraping the barrel now).
H + (sbe + fb + nsl + hcb + pfj + clj + lt) = J + (nsbdh + ll + st + nfj + nbTs + dn) Match Pl-ease?
Because frankly, I wouldn’t substitute a single thing about him.
But could this be Henry? He was slightly shy-looking. A little young perhaps to suggest marriage. But then some people married really young, didn’t they? Lucky Jane. I hoped she appreciated him. I’d hardly be human if I hadn’t felt just a flicker of envy. No, more than a flicker – the green serpent shifted and stretched and recoiled itself inside me. I reassessed my image of Jane. Suddenly she had thinner lips, and there was a cold calculating look in her eyes. She certainly didn’t deserv
e him. What Henry needed was someone understanding. Somebody more like me.
I had decided most definitely.
Henry > Jane
I held my breath. He was obviously looking for someone. The blue-rinse ladies and the elderly man with the dog were unlikely candidates. Which only left me.
He caught my eye again and half-smiled and nodded. I smiled back, waiting for him to say something. But he seemed to be waiting for me to. I couldn’t think of how to start. This was just so embarrassing.
He turned away and went to the counter and bought a Coke. Drink in hand he took a circuit of the room that passed my table. Our eyes met again. He took a sip out of his Coke bottle and gazed around the café as if someone might magically materialise out of thin air. Then he turned and started to make for the door.
I couldn’t simply give up like this. ‘Wait!’ I said.
He turned back to face me. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you Henry?’ I blurted out.
‘Are you “A friend”?’ he asked.
I nodded, blushing to the roots of my hair. This must seem like the most obvious pick-up in the history of the universe. Having come so far I couldn’t give up now. I had to do it. I reached in my pocket and passed him the envelope.
He raised his eyebrows and pulled out a chair. ‘May I?’
I nodded and he sat down at my table. With a look of concentration he drew out the card. (Oh, why did it have to be such a naff card?) I cringed as he read the message on the front: ‘To someone special’.
One look at his face told me instantly. ‘Oh my God. It’s not from you, is it?’
He shook his head.
I was getting up from my seat. ‘This is just so embarrassing. Forget it even happened, OK? You … me … we were never here. Right?’
‘But … ‘ he started.
‘No, really. I’ve made a stupid mistake.’ All I wanted was to get out of the café as fast as I could. If only the stained linoleum floor would swallow me up. If only I could put my life on rewind and do a retake.
I could hear my bus revving up at the stop, preparing to leave. ‘That’s my bus,’ I said, groping for my backpack.
He reached the door before me. As I pushed it open our hands met. Well, maybe only the tips of our fingers. But the touch went through me like electricity. He was smiling in a way that made me smile back. I suddenly realised I was so, so glad he wasn’t the right Henry.
‘It’s too late. You won’t catch that bus now,’ he said. He was right. It was already picking up speed, accelerating away from the stop. ‘Why don’t you let me buy you a coffee and tell me what this is all about?’
I sat down in my seat again. ‘You promise you won’t laugh?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to.’
‘OK.’
So I told him the whole story. He didn’t laugh. He was quite sympathetic actually. Then somehow one thing led to another and I found I was telling him about Mum and Dad. And Cedric and Clare and the mess I’d made of everything. He was a good listener. I don’t know what happened to the time. An hour went by like minutes.
We walked over to my bus stop together. He took my mobile number and said he’d ask the neighbours and if he found a single possible Henry he’d be in touch right away. Then he swung his jacket over his delectably fit shoulder and said, ‘See you around.’
I watched as he made his way back towards the mall. Perfection. Oh, why had I made such a fool of myself?
Chapter Fifteen
Most of Sunday was spent in a miserable haze of self-recrimination. I kept on having these hideous flashbacks of the moment I’d passed Henry the card. He must’ve thought I was such an idiot. In fact, I spent practically the whole day catching up on homework as a penance, which just proves how bad I felt.
The next day I headed into school with my backpack crammed with completed assignments. I even caught an earlier bus so I didn’t have the usual mad dash to avoid being on the late list.
I arrived at the same time as a herd of swots. Hump-backed like wildebeests under their heavily laden backpacks, they made for their usual browsing grounds in the library. Not wanting to be categorised as one of them, I lingered outside. I was loitering in the school car park when I saw Mr Williams’s car nosing into a space. He climbed out, and then who should climb out behind him but Ms Mills! I couldn’t wait to tell Clare.
I waited by her locker till she arrived.
‘You’re in early,’ she said.
‘Yes, and you’ll never guess what I saw!’
‘What?’
‘I was just passing the car park when Mr Williams’s car drew up.’
‘And?’
‘And guess who got out?’
‘Mr Williams?’
‘Mr Williams and Ms Mills.’
‘No way!’
‘No, really, honestly.’
‘Body language?’
‘Hard to tell. She had on her green quilted parka – you know the one that sticks out all round and makes her look like a caterpillar.’
‘What about him?’
‘Too far away, couldn’t spot any love bites.’
‘Gross!’
The bell went for double English at that point, providing an opportunity to study Mr Williams at closer range. I even took a front desk so I could get an uninterrupted view. He walked in and took his place at the teacher’s desk. He looked very pleased with himself: well scrubbed, positively pink and well-shaven. Catching sight of me, he said, ‘Excellent performance of Mother Courage. Thank you for the ticket, Jessica. I do hope you’ll get a chance to see it yourself.’ Then he smiled at the class in an unusually benevolent way and asked us to get out our set books.
We were studying Tess of the D’Urbervilles and Clare was asked to read a passage aloud. I’d finished the book over the weekend and I was only listening with half an ear as I mused about Tess and Angel. Why had the whole relationship gone so disastrously wrong? He and Tess were a perfect match. Angel was all high ideals and love of nature and Tess full of youthful innocence and country purity.
A + (hi + lon) = T + (yi + cp) Good Match!
It all hinged on a lost letter … Nightmare! The very thought brought back a horrible sick feeling as I relived that excruciating experience with Henry … Henry!!!!! I could feel myself going hot and cold all over.
Mr Williams’s eye was upon me. He’d noticed my lapse in concentration. ‘So Jessica? Would you like to comment on the passage Clare has just read?’
‘Errm… ‘ (O-m-G. What passage?)
‘Yes, Jessica?’
I had to say something. ‘I think the book would have been so much better if Angel had found the letter in the first place,’ I said all in a rush.
I could see Mr Williams was making a big effort to be patient. ‘An interesting point of view. So what would have happened, do you think, assuming he had?’
‘Well. I reckon that if he’d found the letter before they got married, he would have forgiven her.’
‘Wouldn’t that have ruined the plot?’
‘No, it would’ve made it much better. You could have a brilliant bit about them both going off to become missionaries together in Africa. And none of that gloomy bit when she has to harvest swedes in the rain and it all gets so despressing …’ I glanced at his face. ‘Errm.’
Mr Williams was sitting back in his chair gazing at me with an unreadable look on his face. ‘Tell you what, Jessica. How about you writing a chapter of your alternative version for us. Let’s say you start with Angel finding the letter. And then we’ll compare them.’
‘But Mr Williams—’
‘It seems a pity to waste such an imaginative approach,’ he said firmly.
‘Yes, Mr Williams.’
‘Right. Now, anyone else? Charlotte, how do you feel about Angel’s reaction to Tess’s confession?’
I fumed. I had enough homework as it was. He was being a huge pain.
I had a real moan to Clare in the canteen at lunchtime. ‘A whole ch
apter! How does he think I’ll find the time?’
‘So what do you reckon now about your brilliant scheme to get him and Ms Mills together?’ she asked.
‘Well, he went to the play. He said so.’
‘Hmm.’ Clare took the tiniest mouthful of yogurt and licked the back of her spoon delicately. ‘But how about her? We still can’t be sure they actually met up.’
‘True.’
Later that day, however, when I was passing the art room on the way to an English period I had confirmation. Ms Mills’s handbag was open on her desk. I texted Clare straightaway:
rendevous confirmed
spotted mc programme in
ms m’s handbag!
love j
I was in the cloakroom, standing at the mirror congratulating myself, when someone came up behind me.
‘Hi.’ It was Christine. Christine never spoke to lesser mortals like me. She took out a brush and started to waft it through her perfectly straight and shiny hair.
‘Don’t you live at Rosemount Mansions?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘There’s that boy who lives in your building …’
‘In Rosemount? What boy?’
‘Cedric something.’
‘Cedric?’ (What did Christine want with Cedric? I couldn’t be hearing this.)
‘It’s just that he has this session at this club Matt goes to.’
‘Cedric. Do we mean the same Cedric? Darkish hair, skinny, square black glasses, kind of dweeby.’
‘But cool dweeby,’ she said, turning to me.
I stared at her. Cedric was cool dweeby? ‘Cedric has a session at a club?’
‘Yes, I thought you knew him.’
‘I do – sort of.’
‘He’s into some really good stuff. I wondered if he could make me a compilation tape?’
‘Of jungle?’
‘It’s a surprise for Matt’s birthday.’
‘Ah. Huh.’ (Cedric was cool. Jungle was cool. He was a DJ in a club. This was seriously worrying. Was I getting out of touch?) I gave her his number.
‘Thanks, I’ll see you around.’ She swept out after that.