by Sue Limb
‘Right, then,’ said Fred. ‘I’m going to eat my own weight in baked beans, and then I’m going to enjoy a brief spell of wife-beating before maths.’
‘Don’t bother to translate that,’ said Jess to Marie-Louise. ‘Fred’s just being silly.’ She was beginning to feel safe now. Fred was, in his own ludicrous way, pretending to be her boyfriend. She could relax. It was working – sort of.
‘So,’ said Marie-Louise, ‘how long ’ave you two been going out togezzer?’
‘Oh, for years,’ said Jess.
‘Oh, since last Sunday,’ said Fred – the idiot. Jess blushed. It seemed a bit early to relax after all.
‘Never believe a word Fred says about anything,’ she said. ‘He’s just trying to make me look a fool.’
‘You can do that yourself, sweetie,’ said Fred, ‘without any help from me.’
‘So,’ said Marie-Louise, ‘tell me all about it. ’Ow you met, ’ow you got togezzer … ?’
Jess took a huge breath. She was going to have to dig deep. She kicked Fred under the table, as a sign he should shut up. But would he?
‘We met at playgroup,’ she said. ‘We were about three years old or something. We had a fight over an inflatable bus.’
‘So …’ Marie-Louise said, ‘you ’ave been togezzer since kindergarten?’
‘Yes,’ said Jess, surprised to discover just how long she had known Fred. The bit about the playgroup was all true. ‘But Fred’s still three years old in some ways.’
‘I still hurl sand about and dribble gravy down my shirt,’ admitted Fred.
‘And do your parents get on wiz each other?’ asked Marie-Louise. She was beginning to be a bit tedious. What was she, a pre-marriage guidance counsellor?
‘Oh, my mum hates Fred,’ said Jess. ‘She can’t stand the way he spits when he talks. And she would have preferred me to have a sporty boyfriend. Joe Collins, the rugby captain, or something.’
‘Ah!’ said Marie-Louise, clapping her hands. ‘I adore ze rugby!’
‘Oh yes!’ said Flora. ‘The French rugby team is brilliant. I know cos my dad watches it on TV all the time. Maybe we could all go to a match together this weekend?’
‘Great idea!’ said Jodie, barging in rugby-style. ‘Do you like rugby, Gerard?’
‘Bof?!’ said Gerard, and shrugged.
‘We’ll take that as a no, then,’ said Fred. ‘Anyway, there aren’t any rugby matches this weekend. It’s almost the end of the season.’
‘It would be nice, though, to go somewhere, all of us together,’ said Flora thoughtfully.
Too right, thought Jess. Apparently there wasn’t anything special laid on for the French kids this weekend. They were supposed to enjoy ‘quality time with their host families’, according to Mrs Bailey’s schedule. Jess couldn’t imagine getting through a weekend at home, just her, Mum and Edouard, without them all going stark raving mad in separate rooms, hiding under their duvets and silently eating their pillows. Some kind of communal event would certainly help pass the time. It was a lot easier getting along with Edouard when there were plenty of other people around.
‘I know!’ said Flora. ‘We could go camping!’
‘Excuse me!?’ said Jess. ‘Did you say camping? You’ve never been camping in your life.’
‘I know, but I’ve always wanted to!’ said Flora. ‘My mum always insists on staying in hotels, but I’d absolutely adore to go camping.’
‘Camping!’ cried Marie-Louise. ‘It’s really a marvellous idea!’
‘But it’ll be freezing!’ said Jess, who had been camping once, in Wales, in the rain, with a mum who was having a migraine.
‘We can have a campfire!’ said Flora. That did sound rather attractive. ‘And besides,’ Flora went on, ‘my dad was talking about the weather yesterday, and apparently there’s going to be a mini-heatwave at the weekend. Perfect for camping.’
‘Where would we go, though?’ said Jess.
‘My auntie Rose lives on a farm,’ said Jodie. ‘She’s got loads of fields.’
‘It would have to have a shower block, and toilets,’ said Fred. ‘I’m not urinating behind any hedges.’
‘Don’t say urinating,’ hissed Jess. ‘It sounds gross.’
‘If we went to my auntie’s,’ said Jodie, ‘we could use her downstairs bathroom. And they’ve got an outside loo.’
‘It would be bliss to get away from my dad for a few hours,’ sighed Flora. ‘He’s always showing off, speaking French and waving his arms about.’
Jess privately agreed. OK, camping might be a bit cold and weird, but it would be great to get away from fussing old parents for a while. This camping idea was growing on her.
Edouard, who had been trying to follow the conversation while eating his chips, asked Marie-Louise something in French. She explained, and Edouard looked surprised, then pleased, then suddenly worried. It was strange how many facial expressions he had when talking French. At home, his face was a numb mask of torment.
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Jess.
‘Edouard is worrying about his hay fever,’ said Marie-Louise. ‘But I told him it is too early in ze year. Zere will be no – how you say?’
‘Pollen,’ said Fred. ‘A lovely name for a gerbil, now I come to think of it.’
Later Jess and Flora enjoyed a brief tête-à-tête in the loos, because whenever they had any free time, Edouard and Marie-Louise were always tagging along.
‘We’ve lost our privacy,’ Jess hissed, as they washed their hands at adjacent basins. ‘The Frenchies are always around. M-L is lovely though.’
‘She’s a bit like a parent,’ said Flora thoughtfully. ‘She’s kind of middle-aged. But really nice.’
‘The camping idea is brilliant!’ said Jess. ‘Only problem is, we haven’t got a tent, let alone two.’
‘Why two?’ asked Flora.
‘One for me and one for Edouard. I’m not sharing with him! He gives me the creeps.’
‘I think he’s rather sweet,’ said Flora. ‘I like short guys anyway. They’re less threatening.’
They were now slightly late for English and had to run. At the corner by the gym, they bumped into the history teacher, Miss Dingle (known as Dingbat, obviously).
‘Jess Jordan!’ she cried, and Jess skidded to a halt. ‘Where’s that essay you owe me about King James and the Rise of Puritanism?’
Jess wondered, fleetingly, why she was always the one to get into trouble. It was going to be one of those days.
Chapter 13
Jess ended up with some extra history homework as well as the King James essay, thanks to Miss Dingle’s mood.
‘Although,’ said Jess as they packed up their bags at the end of the day, ‘I’d almost rather do extra homework than have to spend time with my little friend from across the sea.’
‘I’m really lucky,’ admitted Flora. ‘Marie-Louise speaks better English than I do. If I was alone with somebody shy and speechless like Edouard, I’d totally freak out.’
At this point the French gang arrived. Gerard, Jodie’s partner, was wearing shades and he strolled up to Jess and Flora.
‘’Ave you seen Jodie?’ he asked.
‘She’ll be here in a minute,’ said Flora. ‘Have you had a good day?’
Gerard shrugged and sort of pouted, as if to suggest that his first day in England had been not particularly wonderful. Tolerable, maybe.
‘Bof?!’ he said. Or something similar.
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ said Jess. ‘My day was totally bof as well.’
Gerard took off his shades, looked at Jess for a moment and grinned slowly.
‘You are phoney,’ he said in a drawly sort of voice. His green eyes smouldered.
‘You may be right about that,’ said Jess, half to herself. ‘But don’t tell anybody.’ Presumably he meant funny. She hoped so, anyway.
Jodie rushed in looking panicky that her precious Gerard was daring to talk to other girls. He gave Jodie a very seductive welcom
ing smile. She blushed so hard that, for a moment, all her spots disappeared.
‘Come on, Gerard!’ she said. ‘My mum will be waiting – oh, by the way,’ she added, in a kind of public announcement sort of voice, ‘I’ll sort out the camping trip with my auntie Rose, no problem.’ There was a cheer.
Jodie’s certainly Queen Bee at the moment, thought Jess.
Marie-Louise bustled up to Flora. ‘Oh, I ’ave ’ad such a simply wonderful day!’ she said. ‘Madame Lamentin show us a video about British ’istory. Ze Middle Ages. I love zis! Tomorrow we are going to Oxford. I am so ’appy!’
Bless her, thought Jess. Fancy getting excited about the Middle Ages. Maybe it’s because she’s so middle-aged.
Flora and Marie-Louise went off home, and moments later Jess was wishing that she could have had a partner like that. Edouard crept towards her, staring sadly at the floor as if he was too embarrassed to look her in the eye. His crush – if he’d ever had one – was certainly crushed.
‘We’re going to walk home,’ she said. ‘It’s not far.’
Edouard nodded seriously. Jess’s heart sank. Then, suddenly, Fred appeared, grinning.
‘Hi, Ed!’ he said, slapping Edouard affectionately on the back. Edouard produced a shy smile. ‘How’s it going?’ said Fred. ‘Do you fancy being engaged to Jess for a bit? I’m bored with it already.’
‘He can’t understand that much English,’ said Jess, laughing. Edouard laughed, too, and shrugged.
‘Jess – dog,’ said Fred, making a barking sound. Edouard laughed.
‘Fred – pig!’ said Jess, snorting piggishly. Edouard laughed again.
‘What Edouard?’ asked Fred. Edouard paused for thought.
‘Edouard – snake!’ said Edouard eventually, and gave a brief and rather surprising hiss.
‘Laugh? We nearly did!’ said Fred. ‘I’ll walk you both home, as long as I don’t have to hold hands with you. I’d rather hold hands with your friend.’
‘Honestly! You’re all over me all the time,’ said Jess. ‘Keep your distance, can’t you, Parsons? And by the way, Mum and I usually refer to you-know-who as the Queen.’
They set off, and immediately it became awkward. There was only room for two people to walk side by side on the pavement. Edouard immediately dropped back behind Jess and Fred.
‘This is awful,’ said Jess. ‘The Queen seems kind of sad and neglected.’ She stopped and turned. Edouard, who had been looking at the ground, bumped into her and his glasses went crooked.
‘Sorry,’ said Jess.
‘Sorry,’ said Edouard, blushing.
‘Fred wants to talk to you about something,’ said Jess, indicating that Edouard ought to walk in front in a boys-bonding kind of way.
‘Er – what was it I wanted to talk to him about, again?’ said Fred.
‘Oh, you’ll think of something,’ said Jess.
‘What sort of music do you like, Ed?’ asked Fred. Edouard looked panicky – even from behind.
‘La musique,’ said Fred. ‘Gangsta rap? Indie rock? Beethoven?’
Eventually Edouard realised what Fred was talking about, and joined in. At one point Fred looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Ed and I share a passion for Fat Chance.’
‘Excellent!’ said Jess. ‘Keep up the good work!’
It was so much easier getting through half an hour with Edouard if somebody else was there. She prayed that her mum would be home already when they got back.
But Mum’s car wasn’t parked outside as usual. Maybe there had been some kind of hold-up at the library.
‘Please, please, don’t leave me alone with the Queen,’ she begged, as she unlocked the front door. Fred was loitering by the gate. He began to put on his I’m-off-now face. ‘He’ll try it on with me the moment you’re back’s turned,’ said Jess, at speed. ‘As my fiancé, you should be a tad more possessive.’
Fred gave a charming, treacherous smile, shrugged his shoulders and backed away.
‘So much homework,’ he said. ‘So little time …’ Then, abruptly, he blew her a sarcastic kiss and ran off.
Jess heaved a deep sigh and turned to face Edouard. This time there was no escape.
Chapter 14
There was a note on the hall table. Edouard hesitated for a moment, then ran upstairs. Jess heard his bedroom door close as she read the message from Mum.
Jess, I’m sorry, but I won’t be home till very late today – probably about midnight. I’ve had to go off to Granny’s. Nothing to worry about. I’ve just got to go and check on something. There’s a pizza in the freezer and some ice cream. Sorry to leave you in the lurch on Edouard’s first evening, but I’m sure you’ll cope.
Jess slammed the note down in total disgust. What on earth was this Granny crisis? If it wasn’t serious or anything to worry about, why had Mum dashed off on a long journey just like that? It took nearly two hours to get to Granny’s. Jess’s stomach seemed to writhe inside her like a living snake.
She went to the fridge and got herself a glass of juice. Maybe she should get Edouard one. Suddenly she heard him come out of his room, and she braced herself. Oh no! What if he said something? In French? If only she had paid attention in French lessons instead of dreaming and doodling.
Phew! What a relief! Edouard went into the bathroom and locked the door. But wait! What if he was ill or something? What could be worse than having to be sick in a foreign language? Or having diarrhoea and knowing the host family could hear your groans? Jess flew to the TV and turned it on very loud. She found The Simpsons. It blotted out all other sounds. Jess tried to sit and watch it for a while, but she couldn’t concentrate. Even the cleverest and funniest TV programme in the world couldn’t distract her from her massive ordeal – a French boy upstairs.
After a while, she heard Edouard trying to flush the loo again. Oh no! They hadn’t had time to show him how to do it yet. There hadn’t been a spare moment to fix up a tactful little sign: PLEASE TAKE A RUNNING JUMP AND HURL YOURSELF BODILY ON TO THE LOO HANDLE. Please take a running jump anyway, thought Jess.
Edouard went on cranking away for ages like some kind of demented piece of farm machinery. Jess turned the TV sound up even more and stuffed her fingers in her ears. Eventually, she sensed movements above and heard Edouard go back into his room and shut the door.
Part of her wanted him to stay there for the rest of eternity. But part of her wanted him to come bounding cheerfully downstairs and say, ‘Right, babe, what’s for supper? Get that grub on the table, gal!’ (in a French accent, of course). However, right now it seemed that the former of these two possibilities was more likely than the latter. Would Edouard and Jess ever commit communication? She doubted it.
Jess stared blankly at The Simpsons for a while, her mind racing. Then she began to tune into it and enjoy it. Time passed. After a short eternity of entertainment, she became uneasily aware that Edouard had still not come downstairs. She wondered if he ever would. Much as she dreaded his coming downstairs, if he didn’t she would be in big trouble. He had to eat. What if he died of starvation? It would be in the papers and everything. Her mum might even go to prison.
She turned the TV sound down and walked to the bottom of the stairs. She would call him and ask him if he liked pizza. That couldn’t be too difficult. She opened her mouth. No sound came out. She shuddered and felt sick. She opened her mouth again. A tiny squeak came out.
Jess went back into the sitting room and sat down. Her heart was thumping. This was ridiculous! How could it be so hard just to give a boy a pizza? She went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialled Flora’s number. Her dad picked up.
‘Barclay!’ he barked. Jess cringed. Flora’s dad was so frightening.
‘Hi, is Flora there?’ she asked, in a small, inoffensive, insect-like voice.
‘Who is that?’ demanded Mr Barclay.
‘It’s – er, Jess,’ said Jess, for a moment forgetting her own name, so great was her terror of this international businessman. Mr Ba
rclay imported bathrooms and was always nipping off to Milan to inspect bidets.
‘Look, Jess. Just identify yourself when you ring people up, OK? It saves time. Flora can’t come to the phone right now. We’re in the middle of supper. She’ll call you back later.’
‘Sorry, sorry!’ said Jess. She was deeply regretting phoning Flora. Thank goodness her own dad was feeble and lived hundreds of miles away. She couldn’t cope with all this sergeant-major stuff.
‘I just wanted to ask what the French was for “Do you like pizza?”’ said Jess.
‘How many years have you been doing French?’ demanded Mr Barclay. He sighed in a self-important, sarcastic way. ‘Oh well, never mind. It’s ‘‘Aimez-vous pizza?’’ Or, if you want it in Italian, ‘‘Lei vuole pizza?’’?’
‘Thank you,’ said Jess. ‘Didn’t mean to disturb you. Sorry. Thanks you very much.’
She rang off in confusion. She had said, ‘Thanks you very much’! Wonderful! He would think she was a complete moron! She had been going to say ‘thanks’, but then it had started to sound too casual, and she’d decided at the last minute to change it to ‘thank you very much’, but she hadn’t quite managed it.
Still, at least she now knew the French for ‘Do you like pizza?’ What was it again? Jess’s brain whirled. She felt as if she might faint. The horror of her phone call to Mr Barclay had blotted out the actual French words he’d told her. All she could remember was the vague sound of the Italian version, which he’d insisted on telling her as well – the bighead! Something sounding like ‘vole’.
Vole pizza. What a ghastly image it conjured up. Limp with effort, Jess dragged herself across the kitchen and opened the door of the freezer. There was indeed a pizza in there. She got it out. It stuck to her fingers, burning with cold. Even inanimate objects seemed hostile and threatening tonight. She brushed the pizza off her fingers. It clattered down on to the table. She peered at it through its coat of frost. The freezer needed defrosting, as ever – it was like Antarctica in there. However, there didn’t appear to be any dead voles on the pizza. One small triumph in the nightmare of this endless evening.