by Chloe Rayban
Everything was going wrong. To top it all, nightmare, today was the day I was due to have lunch with Dad and Mandy at the Gran’ Paradiso.
Chapter Eighteen
I arrived at the Gran’ Paradiso before them and was shown to a table in the window, so I saw them arrive. Dad parked the bike half up on the curb and then ‘Mandy’ climbed off.
I don’t know if my jaw actually dropped. But it did metaphorically. I suppose you have to wear a short skirt if you’re on the back of a bike. That’s unless you’re wearing trousers of course. Which might’ve been a better idea in the circumstances.
I tried my best not to stare as Dad stowed his and Mandy’s crash helmets. Mandy had the kind of legs that looked as if they’d spent their entire life on stilettoes – like the ones she was currently wearing. Muscular. I guess they needed to be to support the rest of her – she was a big girl. Her mini-skirt was topped by a cropped jeans jacket that was flashily mock stone-washed in bright white creases. Underneath I suddenly caught a glimpse of … No! I didn’t believe it. She had a ring in her belly-button. Now that was just so unfair. The double standards of parents. Dad went absolutely ape when I wanted to have my ears pierced. And that was only ears.
But Dad steered Mandy in ahead of him with an expression on his face like the cat that had got the cream. The Italian waiters did a predictably Italian double-take at the sight of her. But Mandy’s attention was elsewhere. The Gran’ Paradiso was one of those restaurants which economised on windows and made up for it by covering the walls with mirrors. Mandy was currently taking full advantage of them. She tossed her hair at the first and then glided by the others giving herself loving half-glances with a fixed mirror-face pout.
‘Hello Poppet,’ said Dad, giving me a hug. ‘I want you to meet—’
‘Jessica!’ interrupted Mandy. ‘My … don’t you look just like your dad?’
‘Hello,’ I managed to smile. (I didn’t look a bit like Dad. It was Mum I looked like.)
There was a painful pause. Dad was shuffling from foot to foot and rubbing his hands. Was I meant to get up and kiss her? But no, thank God, he was drawing out her chair and making false-sounding ‘Isn’t this place lovely?’ noises, which was really embarrassing seeing as he’d chosen it. I mean, the Gran’ Paradiso is fine because of the food and everything, but they do have really dire false flower arrangements and the kind of flouncy blinds that Mum calls French knickers.
‘Well, how are things?’ asked Dad when we were all seated. He stared at me pointedly, willing me to speak. I tried not to catch his eye. Luckily, the waiter came along and provided a welcome diversion by handing out the menus.
‘So, let’s have some drinks then. Bottle of rouge? Coke for you, Jessica?’
‘I’ll have a Campari-soda,’ announced Mandy. I couldn’t help noticing that this was the most expensive drink on the drinks list. Dad ordered a beer to keep her company.
‘Oooh,’ said Mandy, studying her menu. ‘Look Ted, insalata tutto mare! We haven’t had that since—’
Dad interrupted. ‘Great. Why don’t we start with that?’
I said that I’d be happy with a spaghetti carbonara. ‘Oh, but you must have a starter. Try the insalata tutto mare,’ said Mandy.
‘No, really I—’
‘Come on, Poppet. Give it a try,’ said Dad. There was an edge in his voice. I could see I’d have to give in. So I shrugged in agreement.
An awkward silence descended which was broken by Mandy. ‘That’s a nice colour on you, Jessica. That top you’re wearing,’ she said. ‘I’ve gone mad for pale blue this spring.’ (God, was she was struggling to find common ground.)
‘Thank you.’
‘She suits it, doesn’t she Ted?’
‘Yes!’ said Dad. As if pale blue was the most amazing colour anyone had ever worn.
‘We ought to go shopping together some time,’ continued Mandy. ‘I love shopping, don’t you?’
‘Umm, it depends …’ I said, staring at my plate. Visions of myself done-up to look like Mandy flashed through my mind.
Dad stirred uncomfortably on his chair. ‘You know you enjoy shopping, Jessica. All girls do.’
‘Maybe I’m not like all girls …’ I said rather too quickly.
Dad glared at me. At that point, with welcome timing, our food arrived. I picked at my salad, wondering what the white bits on the top could possibly be. Some vegetable perhaps, cut in rings. I cut off a tentative piece and chewed. It tasted like old car tyres. Mandy was busy calling the waiter over to ask for fizzy water.
‘What is it?’ I spluttered to Dad.
‘Octopus,’ he whispered back.
What I had in my mouth was horrible wobbly tentacles. The room seemed to go all slurry before my eyes and I felt really sick. ‘Excuse me,’ I muttered, pushing my chair out. I ran for the loo and spat it out.
I stayed in the cubicle wondering if I was going to be sick or not. Wild thoughts were racing through my mind. How long had Dad known her? My mind kept going back to the belly-button ring. And I suddenly knew what was odd. She and Dad were exactly the same colour. As if they’d got a tan at the same time. This couldn’t simply be a coincidence. Mandy must have gone to Spain with him, which meant … My mind did a terrible calculation. Did Mandy plus belly-button ring and flashy mock faded denim equal Dad plus his Harley-Davidson and his black leathers:
M + (bbr + fmfd) = D + (HD + bl)
Match or Mismatch? I thought wildly.
There was a knocking on the cubicle door. ‘You all right, love?’ Mandy had come to find me.
‘Fine, thank you,’ I said. I flushed the loo and came out of the cubicle.
‘Ooh, you do look pale. Do you want me to stay with you?’
I shook my head. Mandy was wearing this really strong perfume. She seemed to be filling the space between the basin and the hand-dryer. All I wanted was for her to leave me alone.
‘No, I’m really OK. You go back. I’ll be with you in a minute.’
When I got back to the table, Mandy wouldn’t leave the subject alone. ‘You must be allergic,’ she said. ‘Allergic to seafood. Lots of people are. Aren’t they Ted?’ Then she started to list the things she was allergic to. She went on and on talking about food which made me feel worse.
I managed to catch Dad’s eye and whispered, ‘Would it be all right if I left now?’
‘If you really don’t feel well.’
‘She can’t go home on her own, Ted. Look at her.’
‘Yes I can. A walk in the fresh air will do me good.’
But Mandy insisted on calling a taxi. The taxi took ages to come. I didn’t feel like eating anything, so I had to sit there sipping fizzy water while Mandy rabbited on about star signs and how she could tell I was an Aries right from the start. I reckon Dad must’ve told her when my birthday was.
I felt really sick in the taxi. I kept on getting the taste of octopus in my mouth.
As soon as I got home I rushed upstairs and cleaned my teeth and washed my face in cold water. I wished Mum had been there so I could tell her all about it – about the meal and the octopus and how terrible Mandy was. She’d understand.
I spent the afternoon laid out on the sofa watching an old black and white movie on TV. I wanted Mum to come back and reassure me that it was just a passing phase and that Dad would be back to normal soon. They both would. Back to how they used to be, like in that photo Dad had hanging up to dry. It seemed such a long time ago now. But there was still hope. They weren’t divorced yet.
After an hour or so, Dad rang. ‘You OK, Poppet?’
‘It was only the octopus.’
‘So … ?’ he said.
‘So what?’
‘So maybe the lunch wasn’t such a good idea.’
‘No. I don’t think it was.’
‘Listen, Mandy’s a great girl when you know her. Why don’t you spend some time alone together? Girl stuff. I want to buy you a nice outfit as a present. For that party of your mother’s after th
e play. You know what I’m like, I can’t choose. Why don’t you go shopping with her, like she suggested?’
‘Do I have to?’
‘Of course you don’t have to.’
‘But you want me to.’
‘I’d like you to be friends.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
At last, I heard Mum’s key in the lock. She let herself in and dumped her bag on the floor. ‘Nice lunch?’ she asked brightly.
‘Not very,’ I said.
‘I’m exhausted. Be a love and make us some tea.’ I heard her take off her coat and hang it up and then she came into the kitchen and watched as I filled the kettle. ‘What’s up?’
‘Did you know about Mandy?’ I asked. I didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation.
‘Oh, Mandy, yes. Yes, yes I did. So Ted’s introduced you.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me about her?’
‘I thought your dad should.’
‘Dad can’t like her. She’s hideous.’
‘Is she? I wouldn’t know. What’s so hideous about her?’
‘Everything.’
‘Come and sit down,’ said Mum. I followed her into the sitting room and sank into a chair. My legs were feeling wobbly and I had a big hard lump in my throat.
‘You’ve known about her all along, haven’t you?’ I forced out.
‘Come on. Tell me. What’s so dreadful about her?’
‘She’s … she’s not like us. You’d hate her. She wears these awful clothes like they’re years too young for her. Stuff I’d wear. No, stuff I wouldn’t wear, ‘cos it’s really horrible. And … and she’s got a belly-button ring and Dad wouldn’t even let me get my ears pierced … ‘ I tailed off.
‘Well, maybe he’ll have to now.’
‘I don’t want to have them pierced any more.’
‘Jessica, aren’t you forgetting something?’
‘What?’
‘Maybe she’s what your dad needs.’
‘How do you mean?’
Mum then went into a long monologue about how we had to let Dad make a new life for himself. I was only listening with half an ear. I wanted her to scream and rant and sound Dad off. How could she be so calm about it?
Apparently, Dad had met Mandy down at the gym. The very one I’d suggested that day at the bus stop. Mum said she thought Mandy had been really good for him. In fact, apparently, all those things I’d been congratulating myself on, like him cutting down on booze and giving up smoking and taking more exercise, had been down to Mandy all along. She was his fitness instructor.
‘Haven’t you noticed how he’s making an effort? He’s looking so much better and—’
‘Huh,’ I interrupted. ‘Fitness instructor. She didn’t look particularly fit to me.’
Mum gave me a look. ‘Didn’t she?’
‘No.’ I was near to tears now. I got up and turned my back on Mum. Clearly she was taking his side. Nobody seemed to care how I felt. I went to my room with my mind in a turmoil. I had to speak to someone. I desperately needed Clare. But she still wouldn’t answer my calls so I sent another text.
need to talk to you
desperately
j
Almost immediately she texted me back:
no way
c
I stared miserably at my mobile. She must be really mad at me. This wasn’t like Clare. When we argued she’d flare up but she’d usually calm down. Generally, within an hour or so, we could laugh the whole thing off.
I went into school on Monday determined to make it up with her. But she wasn’t on the bus. Her coat wasn’t hanging in the cloakroom. And she wasn’t in English either. Apparently her mother had rung in. She was off sick.
Off sick. My heart did a lurch. Then it hit me with the full force of conviction. Cedric was right. She’d been pale and limp and weak-looking and now she was off school. It was anorexia. I had this sudden horrible vision of her lying in bed, white as the sheets, too frail to move. And then later laid out on the Murphys’ dining-room table with a candle at each end and me coming in with a huge bunch of pink gladioli (her favourite flowers). No, not gladdies, it would have to be something more mournful, like lillies perhaps. Yes, huge white scented lillies. I’d visit her tomb every spring and put gladdies – no, lillies – on it.
‘Jessica?’ Mr Williams’s voice broke through my sombre thoughts.
‘Yes, Mr Williams?’
‘How did you get on with your Tess of the d’Urbervilles chapter?’
‘Umm. Fine thank you, Mr Williams.’
‘Well, would you let me have a look at it?’
‘Yes, all right.’ I located it in my backpack and handed it over to him. Mr Williams cast a critical eye over the page, frowned and put it in his briefcase. I knew it wasn’t a very long chapter but Mr Williams didn’t realise what I was up against. It was all very well for Thomas Hardy. He hadn’t had the problems of reuniting his parents, curing an anorexic best friend and solving a love triangle when he wrote his version.
As soon as I was out of class I hid in the cloakroom and dialled Clare’s mum. She answered right away.
‘Yes, Jessica?’
‘I just wondered, Mrs Murphy, how’s Clare?’
‘Well, I really don’t know. I’ve called the doctor, as a matter of fact.’
‘The doctor?’ I repeated weakly.
‘I don’t know what’s got into her. She hasn’t been eating properly for weeks. I found all her dinner in the bin the other night.’
‘Can I speak to her?’
‘She’s asleep at the moment. But she said she didn’t want to speak to anyone.’
‘Oh, I see.’ I clicked my mobile off. She’d called the doctor, so it must be serious. I felt like a criminal. Oh, why had I let her go on a diet?
For three agonising days Clare didn’t come into school. She wouldn’t answer my calls and I ran out of cheery things to say in text messages. I rang Cedric but he had become strangely elusive too. I even went down to his flat a couple of times but each time his mum said he was out. She didn’t know where. Maybe he was sitting by Clare’s bedside holding a limp hand. Oh Clare, how could I have done this to you?
The rumour about her being anorexic had gone through the school like wildfire. People kept coming up to me and asking about her as if I was the eyewitness at some sort of national disaster. The swots had sympathetically taken me into their group and insisted I sat with them every lunchtime, which was really kind of them but incredibly humiliating all the same.
Chapter Nineteen
After three agonising days, worried sick … on the fourth, Clare was back in school.
I didn’t actually see her till lunchtime. I caught sight of her across the canteen. Actually, she didn’t look too bad from a distance, considering she was at death’s door. I got my tray of lunch and approached cautiously. She was eating. I’d have to be really really careful not to put her off.
I coughed gently. ‘Hello … Clare.’
‘Mmm.’ She looked up.
‘Would you mind? I mean, would it be all right if I sat here?’
She nodded with her mouth full. I slid in opposite her. She continued eating without saying a word. In front of her was a huge plate of beef stew and mashed potato. She was shovelling it in as if there was no tomorrow. Beef stew and mashed potato! And after the way I’d been worrying about her?
I took a tentative mouthful of my salad, wondering who would be the first to break the silence. Then she looked straight at me and came out with one of her perfect dimpled grins. She pushed her plate away. There was hardly a trace of gravy left on it.
‘God, I needed that,’ she said.
‘You could’ve called me. I was really worried about you,’ I complained.
‘It was only a virus,’ she said.
‘A virus. I thought you were practically dead.’
‘I laid it on a bit. I wanted to be sure I’d be fit for Saturday.’
‘Saturday?’
/> ‘The Cranshaw Ball.’
‘He’s asked you?’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact.’
‘I knew he would.’
Clare looked at me archly. ‘How?’
‘Well, you’re really made for each other.’
‘You’d got it all worked out, hadn’t you?’
‘Yes. I mean no.’
‘You can’t run everyone’s life you know, Jessica.’
‘I know. I mean, I don’t want to.’
‘Good, because basically, both Cedric and I feel you’ve interfered.’
‘Me? Interfered?’
‘In fact, we were so mad at you I reckon it kind of bonded us …’ said Clare. The dimples reappeared. Then she told me in detail how brilliant Cedric had been and how understanding he was and how he’d caught up with her and walked her home after the party and stayed with her and talked for hours because she’d been in such a state.
‘So you see, you’ve me to thank after all, haven’t you?’ I said.
‘In a round-about way, yes, I s’pose I have.’
‘And you can wear that dress after all.’
‘That dress was rubbish. I took it back. It was way too small anyway. And I found this brilliant funky dress with this cerise lining that kind of shows when it’s …’
Christine wafted by at that point. She leaned towards Clare. ‘Will you tell Cedric thank you from me. Matt just loved the compilation. See you at the ball.’
‘I’ll let him know,’ said Clare.
Clare and Christine, talking to each other! And they were all going to the ball and I wasn’t. And Clare was getting a brilliant funky dress. Hang on a minute – I was starting to feel really out of it.
That afternoon I came across Mr Williams in the corridor. He was adding a banner to his Eight into Six Won’t Go poster on the Arts Activities noticeboard. TICKETS STILL AVAILABLE. Sad.