The Worst Girlfriend in the World

by Sarra Manning

  ‘Say what?’ I nearly walked into the road on the red man. Alice yanked me back. ‘I thought… you said… What do you mean, keep it civilised?’

  ‘That we have some rules so things don’t get out of hand,’ Alice explained. She came to a stop outside the one coffee shop that did coffee in fancy cardboard cups with the little cuffs to stop your hands getting burned. ‘Shall we work on them now? I’ve a free first period.’

  ‘I don’t,’ I said, because I had my English catch-up class and even if I had had a free period, I needed time to process this. Also, these rules. She’d had all night to come up with rules. I’d had one minute.

  ‘Can’t you bunk it?’ Alice asked. ‘This is important.’

  ‘So are my retakes,’ I said, hoisting my bag more firmly on to my shoulder. Alice pulled a face like she was bored with hearing about my GCSE retakes – not as bored as I was of studying for them. ‘What about lunch?’

  ‘I have Politics right after lunch. I can’t be late back.’

  ‘Can’t you bunk that?’ I asked, because Politics wasn’t that important in the grand scheme of things.

  ‘Well, not really.’ Alice looked torn. ‘Though I haven’t done the reading on the Corn Laws. OK, yeah. Let’s meet back here at one.’

  12

  In my Designers I Have Met And Liked notebook were what Alice and I called our Rules of Engagement. ‘Though I’m not expecting either of us to get engaged to him,’ she’d said before we got down to business.

  The Rules

  No pretending to like crap bands just because he does.

  No laughing at his jokes like a saphead, unless he tells a really funny joke and laughing is inevitable.

  No private messaging. That includes using technology to send pictures of your body parts.

  No flashing of said body parts in a real-life situation.

  No nudity. (This should really go without saying, but it has to be said.)

  No sexual contact, including grinding up against him on the dance floor of The Wow or anywhere else for that matter.

  No dirty talk.

  No getting him drunk.

  No getting yourself so drunk that shoving a tongue down Louis’s throat seems like an acceptable tactic.

  No offering to cut his hair for free or make him an item of clothing.

  No slagging each other off or running each other down to Louis.

  When one of us gets him, the other one has to back off immediately with no hard feelings and no pass-agg tweeting.

  The winner is declared when Louis changes his Facebook status to: ‘In a relationship with _____ ______’ (insert the victor’s name.)

  ‘The important thing is that we’re not going to fall out over this,’ I’d said once we’d finished. ‘It’s just a bit of healthy competition, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Alice had said. ‘It might even get you to take the training wheels off, Franny. Then no man will be safe from your charms.’

  ‘I’m not interested in anyone but Louis,’ I insisted, as we got to the corner where Alice went left and I went right. ‘But if some other foxy boy catches your eye in the meantime, feel free to go for it.’

  ‘Well, if Ryan Gosling decides to relocate to Merrycliffe then you can have Louis. I’ll even arrange to have him gift-wrapped,’ Alice decided and I never expected that we’d both be giggling as we went our separate ways.

  Drawing up the rules had taken all of our lunch hour and a little bit of flouncing and I was really late back for yet another tutorial on how to follow a dressmaking pattern, but I muttered something about women’s problems and needing a chemist and Barbara let it go.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Sage, as I hauled myself up on my stool. She was perched on Paul’s workbench and leafing through one of Barbara’s big binders full of patterns. ‘I’ve got some paracetamol in my bag if you’ve got period pain.’

  The other thing I’d decided during my long, dark night of the soul was that I’d been kind of unreasonable about Sage’s gold dress. It had only been half a day and it wasn’t her fault Mrs Chatterjee had undercharged her. Besides, the dress was wicked itchy so I’d given her back the frock that morning.

  ‘But we agreed I’d give you the first five pounds on Monday,’ she’d said.

  ‘Just have the dress.’ I’d shoved it at her so she had no choice but to take it.

  ‘At least let me buy you lunch,’ she’d insisted, but Alice and I had a prior arrangement so Sage had said we’d take a rain check.

  Now she was rooting in her big slouchy tote that proclaimed the legend My other bag’s a Birkin and pulled out a Crunchie. ‘I always need huge amounts of chocolate when Aunt Flo’s in town.’

  ‘Aunt Flo isn’t due for another week,’ I whispered because Barbara kept glancing over in our direction to see if we were engrossed in the finer points of pattern reading. ‘I just took a long lunch.’

  Barbara really was looking over at us now so we both shut up and gave our patterns our full attention. I was meant to be working out seam allowance, but my mind was on other things. It was on Louis. Or rather it was on Alice, who was the immovable object blocking my path to Louis.

  It was meant to be a clean fight, but Alice was a Jedi master when it came to pulling and I was the absolute opposite of a Jedi master.

  What I needed was a secret weapon (I also needed to stop using all this battle lingo) and that was when I saw him as I was swapping phone numbers with Sage.

  It was Sneering Studio Tech, not in his overalls but jeans and a plaid wool jacket, canvas satchel slung over his shoulder, walking towards the big double doors.

  It was obvious what I had to do.

  I hurried after him. Francis. (Oh God, I kept repressing the knowledge that his name was Francis. Sneering Studio Tech suited him much better.) He was walking superfast like he couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

  ‘So, hey, hi!’ I panted when I finally caught up with him. He pulled back one of the doors. ‘Great gig on Saturday night. One of your best.’

  He froze and gave me the oddest look, like I was speaking in tongues or had dyed my hair purple since the last time he saw me. Not that he’d ever acknowledged my presence outside of the fashion studio. He indicated the open door with a jerk of his head.

  ‘You’re Francis, right? I’m Frances too. Well, I’m a Francesca, but everyone calls me Franny. Franny B.’ I could be quite tongue-tied with boys I didn’t know but this running of my mouth was an entirely new experience, especially as Francis wasn’t giving me anything to work with.

  He’d marginally slowed his steps so I didn’t have to scamper to keep up, but that was all the encouragement he was prepared to give.

  Still, I persevered. ‘Yeah, so great gig. Really good sound. Those new songs are coming along, aren’t they? And Louis… well, he always puts on a show, doesn’t he?’

  I ground to the grindingest of halts because there really weren’t many positive things to say about Thee Desperadoes’ show on Saturday night and I’d said them all. I smiled. I could tell it was a very cringing smile.

  Up close, even obscured through a mop of brown hair, his thin face was even frownier than I’d previously thought.

  We’d reached the college gates by now and the thing was I’d come this far – these were HUGE steps for Frankind – so I couldn’t back down now.

  ‘Which way are you going?’ I asked brightly, though on the inside I was dying.

  ‘Whatever way I’m going is going to be the way you’re going too,’ Francis said drily. He folded his arms and leaned back against the railings. ‘I suppose you fancy Louis.’

  ‘No!’ But I couldn’t deny it, because if I denied it then I was never going to get anywhere with Louis. Louis was the reason why I was having this torturous conversation with Sneer – Francis. Francis! His name was Francis. ‘Well, yes I do fancy him. A little bit.’

  Francis looked me up and down. I got the impression that he found me wanting. Like, my hair was too stringy and my face was fo
rgettable and mint-green skinnies weren’t fashion-forward but a terrible idea that should have never made it to the cash register, let alone out of the shop, back home with me and worn on my actual body.

  ‘He eats girls like you for breakfast,’ Francis informed me flatly. ‘Not even for breakfast. As a light snack between meals.’

  Great. It sounded like Louis and Alice had so much in common already. ‘I’m sure that’s not true. He doesn’t know me, you don’t know me that well either.’ I attempted a winsome smile. ‘Louis probably hasn’t met the right girl yet.’

  ‘I don’t think the right girl for Louis exists.’ Francis wasn’t being at all encouraging. He was being completely discouraging. ‘Unless there’s a girl somewhere in the world who turns into a curry and a six pack of lager after she’s spent a few hours shagging.’

  Ewwwww! Louis wasn’t like that at all. Francis was probably trying to throw me off because he was fed up with all the girls wanting to get with Louis and not with him. I could empathise, except if Francis wanted girls to get with him then he needed to lose the attitude and the slouching like he had advanced osteoporosis, and the emo fringe, which was so three years ago.

  ‘Well, for all you know, I could be the right girl for Louis,’ I said with a slight edge to my voice.

  Through the fringe I could see his eyes widen. Close up, they were a nice shade of greeny hazel, I’d give him that at least. ‘Wow! So you have the ability to transform yourself into a tikka masala and six bottles of Stella? Have you told the British Medical Council about that?’

  ‘No, because I’m worried that they wouldn’t use my powers for the greater good,’ I snapped, before I remembered that I was trying to be winsome and charming and totally getting Louis’s bandmate and friend on side. ‘So, anyway, you could put in a good word for me…’

  Wide eyes again. ‘And why would I do that? What’s in it for me?’

  In a way this would be a lot easier if it were a straight swap: Francis’s talking me up to Louis in return for goods and services, because being charming and winsome really didn’t seem to cut any ice with him.

  ‘Well, um, I could make you something. Like a piece of clothing,’ I explained, because that would only be against the rules if I were offering to make Louis a piece of clothing. ‘I’ve never made anything for a boy before but it can’t be that difficult – just broader and with buttons on the other side. I could make you a shirt. Or embroider your name on your work overalls in a retro American sort of style.’ No way was I making him trousers and having to deal with crotch issues. No freaking way. As it was, Francis was looking distinctly underwhelmed at my offer. His lip was curling. ‘Or… or I’m really good at making dresses and skirts. I could make something for your mum or your girlfriend.’

  I couldn’t believe that Francis had a girlfriend. Someone so objectionable could not have found a girl who was happy to kiss him at regular intervals.

  ‘God, just stop talking,’ Francis said, which proved my no-girlfriend theory, then he peeled himself away from the railings and walked off.

  Which was very rude and completely unhelpful.

  13

  Usually if I wanted boy advice, which wasn’t often, I asked Alice, who had a never-ending supply of interesting facts and useful tips. ‘They think about sex every six seconds, unless the footie’s on,’ she’d announce out of the blue. ‘Then they only think about sex every ten seconds.’

  This time Alice was not going to be my go-to guru on matters of the heart, as both our hearts were yearning for Louis. Well, mine was. Alice was more concerned that there was someone under twenty-five in Merrycliffe yet to fall for her very obvious charms.

  Luckily, Siobhan was coming home for the weekend – for once. She never came home during the university holidays, though when we’d left her two years ago at Manchester University in her little room in the halls of residence that had been the general idea. But then Gran had died and Mum got made redundant and everything was ruined. Mum wouldn’t stop crying and washing her hands so much they were rubbed raw and bleeding, and Dad was away all the time on the big-money transcontinental jobs because we were relying on his pay packet. Siobhan didn’t come home for a whole year. She said it was because she’d got a part-time job in Whistles, but even once Mum was kind of better Siobhan would never come home if Dad was away. Obviously, it was less about her part-time job and more to do with her completely not wanting to deal with Mum.

  I sort of hated Siobhan for that when she wasn’t here, but as soon as I walked through the door on Friday evening and she jumped on me with a gleeful cry, I went back to loving her so much it hurt.

  ‘Franny B, light of my life,’ she cried, because yes, even my own sister calls me Franny B. ‘I’ve missed you, you funny-faced little freak.’

  Although I was ten centimetres taller than Siobhan and she had long, dark brown hair with a new Zooey Deschanel-style fringe cut in, we could have been twins. ‘I know you are but what am I?’ I demanded.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, are you still ten?’ Siobhan asked me with a smirk. ‘So, what’s been up with you?’

  There wasn’t time to tell her anything because then Dad came in. He’d been to get fish and chips in Shuv’s honour and he even let me have a glass of shandy, like I hadn’t been guzzling vodka and various mixer drinks every Saturday night for the last two years.

  Dad wanted to know all about Shuv’s course and her exams and if she was doing any work placements and what her tutors said and what she’d need to do for her post-graduate studies if she wanted to be a barrister and no one else could get a word in edgeways. He hadn’t even been a fraction interested in what I was doing at college once he’d made sure that I was signed up for my GCSE retakes, but Shuv was the brains of the family. I always suspected that she was Mum and Dad’s favourite too, which was hard to take but at least I didn’t have Dad trying to mastermind my future career plans.

  Even Mum was interested enough to ask Shuv about her exciting life away from Merrycliffe. ‘But you do have time to go out and have some fun, don’t you?’ she asked as she slowly and torturously removed all the batter from a tiny piece of cod. ‘You can’t work all the time, love.’

  Shuv could barely bring herself to even look at Mum. ‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said brusquely and because it was Shuv, neither Mum nor Dad called her on her borderline rudeness. Sometimes I wished that Shuv and I could change places.

  But then again, maybe not because Dad was still rabbiting on about the Law Society and chambers and boring legal stuff at 10 p.m., when I ignored Shuv’s desperate, pleading look and said I was going to bed.

  The next day I was working in the Chattterjees’ shop and poor Shuv was scheduled for some mother/daughter bonding so it wasn’t until she came to meet me from work that we could get down to business.

  ‘I’m not going down The Wow,’ she said before I’d even shut the door behind me. ‘Not while I still have breath in my body.’

  ‘But it’s Saturday night…’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why we’re going to the Pizza Express in Lytham St Annes, my treat, so we can have a proper chat. Dad lent me the car. I’ll even let you have both kinds of doughballs.’

  It was a tradition that we always went to the Pizza Express in Lytham St Annes when Shuv did bother to come for a visit, and that we had the garlic doughballs for a starter and the doughballs with Nutella for pudding. Two kinds of doughballs and quality time with Shuv just about won out over The Wow Club, just about – though Alice wasn’t happy that I had to bail on her.

  Jeez, Franny. I hardly ever see u & now ur a wow no-show. U r out with Shuv, not any of ur new college m8s, rite?

  Not only was I worried that Alice was in a mood with me, again, I was also worried about what Alice might get up to with Louis in my absence. I had no choice but to text Dora and ask her to keep an eye on Alice, but she didn’t know about Alice and me doing battle over Louis and it was very hard to explain it via text message.

  It wasn’t until we were
in Pizza Express with the garlic doughballs in front of us that I was able to give Siobhan my undivided attention and a brief explanation of what was up with me. There was quite a lot up with me for once: Alice and me fighting all the time, college, Dora and Sage, my leather dress and Louis.

  Finally I got to the end of my monologue and asked Shuv for some big-sisterly advice. She’d actually had boyfriends while she was at school and though she swore she wasn’t dating right now, there were a lot (like, really a lot) of pictures of this geeky, hipster-ish boy all over her Facebook. In two of them they were even kissing.

  ‘Come on! You have real world boy-getting experience. Hit me up with your best tips,’ I said. ‘What do I need to do to have Louis begging to spend time with me? Dying to snog me? Pining for the touch of my hands?’

  ‘Oh, where to begin,’ Shuv sighed. She leaned back in her chair like she was settling in so she could impart all her wisdom.