by Chloe Rayban
‘How’s my most talented pupil?’ he asked, catching sight of me.
‘Most talented, Mr Williams?’
‘I really liked that piece on Tess. You should use that imagination of yours, Jessica.’
‘Thanks, Mr Williams.’
‘I think we could count it as coursework, don’t you?’ He reached into his briefcase and handed me back my chapter with a smile. He’d given me an A+ for it. The writing down the side was surprisingly positive, at least I think it was. He said that I’d written a nice ‘pastiche’ of Hardy.
I slipped into the library and looked up the word ‘pastiche’ in the Oxford English Dictionary. It said: ‘Literary or other work of art composed in the style of a well-known author.’ Uh huh. Literary! Perhaps Mr W was able to recognise true talent after all.
It was just as well I had literary talent because socially I was a total disaster. That Saturday while everyone was getting ready for the Cranshaw Ball, I was due to go shopping with my dad’s hideous girlfriend to get an awful dweeby outfit for my mum’s excruciatingly uncool amateur dramatics party. Dad had it all worked out. It was blackmail really. He said that if I went shopping with Mandy, he would spend the whole day with me on Sunday. Just the two of us. I could stay over at his place on Saturday night and he’d do breakfast, lunch, everything. So I’d agreed.
I made my way into Mandy’s leisure centre with foreboding. Mandy was already seated at a table in their coffee shop waiting for me. I wondered if I ought to offer to buy her a coffee. But she didn’t give me a chance – she leaped up and got me a cappuccino with a double dose of chocolate powder on top. She was obviously bending over backwards to get me to like her.
‘Isn’t this fun. Where are we going to shop then?’ she asked.
I suggested the usual places I bought my clothes at but she pooh-poohed them. ‘No, your dad said to get you something really nice. Let’s go to Top Knotch.’
‘But everything costs a fortune there.’
‘Come on, Ted won’t mind. It’s for a special occasion,’ said Mandy. Some ‘special occasion’ I thought, taking a sip of my coffee. It was sickly sweet – I don’t like sugar in my coffee.
‘Don’t you like cappuccino?’ asked Mandy.
‘No … yes. It’s fine,’ I said, choking it down.
‘Come on then. We’re wasting precious shopping time,’ she said and got to her feet.
‘How much did he say I could spend?’ I asked.
‘Leave it to me,’ said Mandy. She gave me a wink.
As soon as we entered Top Knotch, I knew it was a mistake. The racks were hung with really extreme designer clothes. Everything was covered in lacings or ruching or embroidery or whatever. It was the kind of stuff that shouted out ‘fashion victim’ the moment you entered the room.
Mandy was in her element. She kept holding things up against herself and pouting into the mirror. ‘This is cute,’ she said, handing me a blue jeans jacket that had sequins and cerise feathers sewn all around the collar.
I shook my head. I’d found a rack with some boot-cut black jeans that weren’t too bad.
‘Black,’ said Mandy with a frown of disapproval. ‘It’s so last year.’
Luckily the next load of racks held clothes that were much too old for me. But Mandy steamed on ahead, sifting through a selection of evening wear that was far too dressy. I lagged behind in the teenage stuff checking the price tags. I could feel myself coming out in a prickly heat rash. I couldn’t let Dad spend money on me like that.
Mandy rejoined me and despite my protests started to gather an armful of stuff for me to try on. Everything she selected I hated. An assistant had noticed that I was coming under pressure. There weren’t many people in the department and before I knew it another had joined her. Like lionesses that single out the weakest in the herd, they were closing in. The two of them started to do a really hard sell on a pair of snakeskin-print hipsters. Mandy agreed with them. I tried to say that I never wear stuff like that. It was getting really embarrassing.
‘Well, we’ve only got half an hour before I’ve got to get back to work,’ announced Mandy. ‘I really don’t believe that you can’t find anything in a huge department like this.’
In the end, Mandy practically frog-marched me into a cubicle and said she’d be waiting outside to pass judgement. The first thing I tried on was a sick turquoise colour that made me look completely washed out. Then I squeezed into some shiny white Lycra separates that made me look like some poor sad wannabe. I stood there with my socks hanging in folds round my ankles staring at my reflection. I was starting to feel like a freak.
‘Now this is more like it.’ Mandy must have taken the opportunity to go on another foray. Around the curtain came a T-shirt top that was luminous green with kind of multicoloured Smarties all over it. ‘Look, it’s got a mini-skirt to match.’
Under her strict instructions I tried it on. ‘Let’s have a look,’ she pestered when I was half-in, half-out. I emerged from the cubicle. She and the assistant went into ecstasies. It was so now, it was so new. It made me look taller-slimmer-older-cooler. I slipped back into the cubicle and checked the price tag. It was on sale – the cheapest thing I’d tried on. I sighed. I’d promised Mum I’d dress up for the party.
‘All right,’ I said weakly. ‘I’ll take it.’
I went home fuming, with the outfit in a Top Knotch bag.
‘What did you get? Let’s have a look,’ said Mum.
‘Don’t ask. Mandy talked me into it.’
‘Well, I hope it’s something you can wear tonight.’
‘It’ll have to do. We ran out of time.’ I dragged the outfit out of the bag. It hadn’t looked such a hideous colour under the shop lights.
‘A bit kind of wacky, isn’t it?’ said Mum holding it up.
‘It was in the sale. Everything else cost a fortune.’
‘I suppose it’s quite fun for someone your age.’ (I shuddered at that word, ‘fun’.)
‘According to Mandy I look brilliant in it. And she seems to think she’s the world’s greatest fashion expert. A belly-button ring at her age. Sad case. And she hasn’t even got a particularly flat tummy.’
‘Hasn’t she?’
‘No.’
Mum paused and looked at me oddly. Her next statement came like a bombshell. ‘That’s probably because she’s pregnant,’ she said.
‘Pregnant.’
‘I thought you ought to know before you made a total enemy of her.’
My head reeled. ‘Mandy’s having a baby?’
Mum nodded. I stared at her as the full realisation sunk in. ‘Dad’s baby?’
‘Which means that you’ll have a brother or a sister,’ said Mum in a falsely cheery voice. ‘You know you’ve always wanted one.’
‘How does Dad feel about it?’ I asked weakly.
‘He says he’s really pleased.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you mind very much?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. A baby. What’s going to happen. About you and Dad I mean?’
Mum continued speaking, but I could tell by her voice it was really difficult to talk about. ‘They want to get married. So we’ll have to sort out a divorce. That’s what we’ve been talking about. We didn’t want to tell you until we’d both made up our minds.’
‘And now you have made up your minds?’ I asked sitting down at the kitchen table. I hadn’t noticed but I’d been screwing up the Top Knotch receipt in my hands. It was all in bits. Now I’d never be able to change the outfit.
‘Come on, it’s not as bad as all that,’ Mum said, putting an arm round me. ‘It was bound to come to this in the end.’
‘Don’t you mind?’ I said.
‘I’ve got used to the idea now.’
I didn’t know how Mum could be so accepting about it. I felt as if the bottom had fallen out of my world. Everything I’d been hoping for and dreaming about had suddenly disappeared into thin air.
I
tried ringing Clare but she’d left her mobile on message only – probably too busy getting ready for the ball. I had to speak to someone. So I went downstairs to see Cedric. I rang on his doorbell.
‘Can I come in?
‘Sure … Hey, what’s up?’
‘Everything.’
‘Come on,’ he said, leading me into his room. He turned off the music. ‘Come on, tell me. What’s going on?’
‘It’s all gone wrong. My dad’s got this girlfriend …’
‘Uh huh.’
Cedric didn’t say much. He just let me ramble on. He was a really good listener. ‘And now she’s pregnant …’ I ended. ‘And Dad wants a divorce. So Mum and Dad’ll never get back together again.’
‘But your parents were really miserable together, you said so.’
‘I know, but I thought that if they changed, you know all the things that made them mad at each other, well, things would be different.’
‘Why do you want them to get back together?’
‘Because they’re my mother and father, of course.’ It was out of my mouth before I’d even thought about it.
‘Jessica. Is that a good enough reason?’ I fell silent. ‘Hey, come on, think it through. Look at the positive side. I’d love to have a brother or sister.’
‘Would you?’
‘Yeah. We could take it out. When it’s big enough. Take it to the zoo and stuff.’ That was really sweet. I was starting to understand what Clare saw in him. I suddenly realised I’d been gabbling on about me and hadn’t even asked about her.
‘Clare told me you’re taking her to the ball tonight,’ I said. ‘And she’s eating again. Like normal.’
‘Yep. I think we’ve sorted a few things out.’
‘She was really angry with me.’
‘We both were.’
‘I was only trying to make things better—’
‘Said the dictator.’
I had to laugh at that. I went back upstairs feeling happier. I still had this kind of empty sore feeling inside – and yet there was something else as well. An odd kind of feeling that I couldn’t quite identify. I’d always longed for a brother or sister. But I didn’t expect it to happen like this.
Chapter Twenty
Thanks to me, practically the whole of Rosemount Mansions was going to Mum’s play that night. There were three car-loads of them. Mum had to leave early to get ready for the performance, so I was getting picked up by Dad and Mandy. Dad had it all worked out. He reckoned it would be best if Mum and Mandy met on neutral territory – and the play would be the ideal thing. Plenty of distraction to keep them occupied. I reckon I was being taken with them as a kind of hostage to keep the peace.
Being driven there, in the back of Mandy’s car, I felt really sorry for myself. Clare and Cedric and everyone were dressing up and going to the Cranshaw Ball while I was being forced into watching Mr Williams’s cringe-worthy amateur play with Dad and my nightmare future step-mum.
The play was in Forest Vale Community Centre (Mecca of sophistication). And, as if all that wasn’t bad enough, I had to be dressed up in my lurid Smarties outfit to please Dad (and Mandy).
Forest Vale Community Centre was absolutely jam-packed when we got there. It seemed the last night was a sell-out. There was even a queue of stragglers at the door asking if there had been any returns.
I spotted Ms Mills ahead of us. ‘Great turnout, Ms Mills,’ I said. ‘Mr Williams should be pleased.’
She beamed at me. ‘I think I may have had something to do with it. I photocopied the handbill you gave me and circulated it.’ (I had a fleeting vision of the bill I’d scrawled on: ‘Free wine and Refreshments.’ Oops!)
There was a lot of scraping of chairs as people assembled and then the lights went down and the pianist started a kind of overture. Silence fell on the hall. The curtain was drawn back with a set of fits and jerks and the stage lights went up, revealing a courtier in doublet and hose. I settled down resignedly in my seat as he started on his opening speech.
‘Now in the merry month of May,
Methinks the king should marry
We’ll scour the globe for ladies fair
To please our noble Harry.’
(Yawn! I knew it would be terrible.) I cast my eye around the hall. In the gloom I could make out Colonel Mustard and Madame Zamoyski who were listening intently. Roz had arrived late and was now sitting on the end of our row beside Jekyll and Hyde. I even spotted the Serial Killer in the back row. There were several teachers from my school – Ms Mills’s influence I imagined. And there were a load of guys in the front row looking a little restive.
My mind wandered as another courtier joined the original one and there was a lot of talk of treaties and battles and other tedious historical stuff. Double yawn! I wondered how Clare and Cedric were getting on at the ball. Christine would be there with Matt too. I bet they were all having a wicked time.
My attention was drawn back to the action by a kind of bugle fanfare. And then striding on to the stage, padded out to a tremendous girth, complete with ruff and beard, came Mr Williams. He was holding a portrait miniature in his hand.
‘Foresooth, the widow of my brother!
England’s queen shall be no other
Methinks we’ll marry Catherine of Aragon
Fair of face – of virtue a paragon …’
But no sooner had he married Catherine, than there was a lot of fuss about the church and annulling the marriage – all pretty tricky to handle in verse. You’d think Mr Williams could have found something better to rhyme with ‘divorce’ than ‘horse’. Eventually Catherine was supplanted by Anne Boleyn. I sat there aching with boredom wondering when Mum was going to come on.
There was a brief interval when everyone got up and stretched their legs to the accompaniment of a lot of scraping and clunking from backstage. Then we sat down again for the second act. The scene had been set with a painted backcloth of trees and shrubs, and a pot of rather obviously false flowers had been placed centre stage to indicate that this was meant to be a garden.
Mum entered carrying a basket with cut flowers in it. I hardly recognised her under her wig. Her costume looked really good in stage lighting. The way the false gems glittered made them look almost real.
‘ Fairest Jane, I want to make you mine
Pray answer me
Let me hear your voice divine …’ said Mr Williams.
‘Henry … My King …’ replied Mum.
Somewhere deep in my brain some loose connection joined up and … O-m-G!!!!! I didn’t hear the rest of the speech. Jane! Henry! This couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it? The card was in verse too and the handwriting …That’s why it was so curiously familiar. I normally only saw it in red. O-m-G. There could be no doubt about it, Henry was Mr Williams and Jane was Mum. The purple envelope hadn’t got misdirected. It was meant for Mum all along.
My mind then did an extremely complicated calculation. Did Mr Williams minus padding and ruff and beard plus terrible rhyming verse plus measly teacher’s salary plus clapped-out-car equal Mum minus wig and wimple plus OU English course minus hopeless cooking and housekeeping plus delinquent daughter and fat cat?
MrW – (p + r + b) + (trv + mts + coc) = M – (w + w) + OUEc – (hc & h) + (dd + fc) Ple-ase God NO?
No, no way! Mum was lovely and Mr Williams was a pain. Mum was always on my side and Mr Williams was always down on me. It was just as well that I had intercepted the card before it got to her.
At that moment I felt my mobile vibrate in my pocket. I brought it out. In the dim light I could just make out that I had a text message.
found j & h!
see you later
henry
It was from the Forest Vale Henry!!!!!! I texted him back straightaway.
where are you?
j
I sat with my head in a whirl through the rest of the play. At last the actors were taking their bows. The lights in the hall went up and people started to disp
erse. At least, some people left. There seemed to be a lot who were staying on for the party.
But I had something more important on my mind. Henry from Forest Vale had texted me. Where was he? How could I find him? And who were the Jane and Henry he had found?
My train of thought was interrupted by people trying to shift me so they could move the chairs. Tables were being set up with bottles and glasses and plates of nibbles. The actors had started to appear from backstage and were mingling. Mum came out front dressed in her normal clothes again. She actually went up to Dad. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. He put an arm around her and kissed her on the cheek and turned her towards Mandy. She was talking to her now. She was laughing. They both were. I couldn’t help staring. How could they be so calm about the whole thing?
‘Hi,’ said a voice right beside me which made me nearly jump out of my skin. It was Forest Vale Henry, standing there large as life.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I gasped.
‘Last minute panic. Guy who does the lighting had an accident. I stood in. What are you doing here?’
‘My mum. My mum’s in the play,’ I said.
‘Oh? Who’s she playing?’
‘Jane Seymour,’ I said, feeling incredibly stupid.
‘Oh,’ he said, and then he thought for a moment. ‘Ah, I see. That explains it then. About the card, I mean. Why it turned up at your place.’ He looked at me sideways. ‘You don’t look very pleased about it.’
‘Mr Williams is my English teacher.’
‘So?’
‘He’s a real pain.’
‘George? No he’s not. He’s a laugh. At least, he’s OK when he’s backstage.’
‘Is he?’ I said, wishing that I hadn’t made such a fool of myself. Wishing that I wasn’t there with my mum and my dad and my future step-mum like some kid. Wishing that I’d worn anything apart from my hideous Smarties outfit.
‘Can I get you something to a drink?’ he asked.
I nodded. ‘A Coke if they’ve got one.’ He joined the queue at the refreshments table.