by Sue Limb
‘Thank you for your hospital,’ said Edouard solemnly. They exchanged awkward, formal kisses. Over Edouard’s shoulder, Jess could see Flora and Gerard wrapped in a tragic final snog.
Edouard was first on to the bus. It was clear he had no wish to linger. But once installed in a window seat, he seemed overcome with last-minute tenderness. He blew kisses at Jess and Mum and waved in a frenzied manner, as if he loved them best in all the world.
‘He looks really happy,’ said Jess. ‘Do you think he enjoyed himself just a tiny little bit?’
‘I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ said Mum. ‘He’s just overjoyed at the thought that he’ll never have to speak to us, ever again.’
‘What about when I go and stay with him next year?’ groaned Jess.
‘Oh, yes, I was forgetting,’ said Mum. ‘Of course. Next it’ll be your turn to experience the endless torture of homesickness and strange food. There is no animal so horrid that the French will not attempt to eat it.’
‘Donkeys, hippos, meerkats, wheel ’em on, kebabbed,’ said Jess. Though secretly she was planning to develop appendicitis next year. Her French trip would have to be cancelled, and Ben Jones would stop in the corridor and say, ‘I hear you’ve had appendicitis. How’s the scar? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’
‘Jess!’ A voice jolted her out of her daydream. It was Marie-Louise, who kissed her goodbye with such ferocity that her cheeks hurt. Marie-Louise handed Jess a card with her address on it, and Jess promised to stay in touch.
Then somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She turned round. It was Gerard. His green eyes were fixed on her. He grabbed both her hands and kissed her: left, right, left. Jess couldn’t help feeling a little tiny flutter, just for old time’s sake.
Then he swept her into his arms for a goodbye hug. He smelt really nice. Jess tried not to enjoy it too much. She knew that Flora, and possibly Jodie, would be watching and that, though tempted to cling on slightly, she must, in fact, let go.
But a split second before releasing her, Gerard whispered something in her ear.
‘Jess … Lovely Jess! I would like to kiss you a hundred times. Please, write to me.’
Jess was thunderstruck.
Then he let her go and presented her with his card. Off he went, hugging and kissing the others and giving everybody his card. Was he whispering that kind of stuff to everybody? Jess stood still, totally gobsmacked, in a freeze frame. What had he said again? ‘I would like to kiss you a hundred times.’ The filthy swine! The treacherous beast!
Maybe she had misheard. Surely he hadn’t said that. She was utterly speechless, amazed, shocked and stunned. She just wanted to be somewhere else, and fast.
‘Come on, Mum,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Mum. ‘We have to see them off.’
The rest of the goodbyes passed in a blur, but eventually the French buses swept away out of the car park, leaving an unpleasant smell of carbon monoxide.
‘Well,’ said Mum, with a relieved sigh, ‘that’s the end of that little saga.’
But it wasn’t, quite.
Chapter 39
Next day Jess and Flora went to the ice rink, but Flora was in low spirits.
‘I miss him so much,’ she said, her blue eyes huge and glistening with tears as they glided round the gloomy cavernous rink to the sound of terrible 1980s music.
Jess said nothing. She couldn’t tell Flora about what Gerard had said about wanting to kiss her. It would devastate her. Jess just gritted her teeth and concentrated on not falling on her bum.
‘He sent me five texts yesterday, when he was on the journey home,’ said Flora.
‘Terrific,’ said Jess. ‘Must be some kind of record.’ It was really hard not to take the mickey.
‘But nothing today,’ said Flora.
‘Well, he’s probably asleep after the journey,’ said Jess.
‘Time is meaningless,’ sighed Flora. ‘It seems about a month since yesterday. I’m going to e-mail him as soon as I get home.’
Monday arrived: back to normal school. For Jess life now revolved around trying to get a glimpse of Ben Jones. He wasn’t in their class, but there was always the chance of seeing him strolling around the corridors somewhere.
Jess started to keep a BenLog in the back of her rough book. It went like this:
Mon 11.30 a.m. Suspect spotted outside art room. Only back view available. Heart leapt into mouth, though, and stomach tied itself in cute but pulsating bow.
Mon 2 p.m. Suspect spotted in distance on school field, practising football. Took up position on low wall by rosebeds. Disaster! No binoculars. Heart thudded wildly for twenty minutes, like the hooves of a stampeding buffalo.
Mon 4 p.m. Somebody resembling suspect seen by school gate. Turned out to be Toby Williams. Same height, same blond hair, but when he turned round, face like a meat pie. Howled at the moon like a lovesick wolf.
Jess walked home with Flora, quite pleased with her day’s work. Two sightings of Ben Jones wasn’t bad for starters, though eventually, of course, she hoped to actually bump into him instead of casting longing looks at his bum disappearing in the distance.
One day – possibly tomorrow? – there might be an actual encounter in a corridor. He would smile. He would say, ‘Hi, Jess.’ He would throw his arms around her and whisper, ‘I’ve been praying I would bump into you outside geography.’
‘He hasn’t e-mailed me,’ said Flora in a voice of anguish, breaking into Jess’s divine fantasy. ‘And he still hasn’t texted me since Sunday night.’
‘Cheer up!’ said Jess. ‘I’m sure he will.’
The week passed agonisingly slowly for Flora, but for Jess the days were full of excitement. Thursday at 2.30 p.m. was Jess’s personal high point.
Face to face with Ben Jones outside staffroom! He was talking to sports teacher Mr Monroe. But he grinned at me. Heart flew out of my mouth, sailed 40 metres down the corridor and vanished around the corner. He smiled at me! Re-sult! Heart now back inside body but covered with mud and throbbing strangely. NB Must try and get interested in football.
Friday was the last day of school before the Easter hols. Everybody was overjoyed. But for once, Jess would gladly have continued to attend school on the off-chance that Ben Jones might award her another of his heart-stopping grins. Or even – oh, please, Goddess of Love! – a word. ‘Hi!’ would do. She knew he was the strong silent type. Except in her daydreams, when they walked along the beach at Malibu and he read her love poems written by himself as the surf crashed all around them and the dogs playfully tried to pull off each other’s lycra shorts.
At lunchtime on Friday Jess and Flora sat on the bench in the science quad. Flora had lost her appetite. She could no longer do justice to the baguettes. She had also lost her appetite for conversation. Jess devoured her Mexican wrap. Flora toyed with a Greek salad. Suddenly Jodie bounced into view.
‘Any room for me?’ she asked. They made space and she plonked herself down. ‘Heard from lover boy?’ she demanded. Flora blushed.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Well, not recently.’
‘Nor have I,’ said Jodie, taking a huge bite of a hot dog. ‘Never mind. Forget him. He’s a waste of space. Have you heard about the school show at the end of next term? Apparently we can do comedy sketches as well as musical numbers and stuff. I think we should write something.’
‘Hmm,’ said Jess. She didn’t want to commit herself. If she was going to write some comedy sketches it would have to be with Flora or Fred. Fred was back at school after several days off with a cold. His voice had gone deep like a Dalek. Fred had vowed never to go camping again in his entire life. He was such a nerd.
The bell went for afternoon school. Jodie got up and touched Flora briefly on the shoulder.
‘Forget Gerard,’ she said. ‘“No man is worth it” as they say in Some Like It Hot.’
It seemed Jodie had got rid of her evil mood and was extending the olive branch. Je
ss felt relieved. It was good to be back in touch with Jodie’s normal cheery self.
Flora, however, was so deeply depressed she could barely walk or talk. She dragged herself up off the bench and slouched off to maths. She would normally have trotted happily off to maths, like a puppy going on a walk.
After maths it was history, and then they walked home. Some of the time, Flora was actually crying, silently. As they neared her house she dried her eyes on a tissue.
‘Come in with me, Jess,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll tell my mum I was crying about some whales that got stranded on the beach or something.’
Flora’s mum was out at the hairdresser’s, so no lying was necessary. They went up to Flora’s room. She switched on her laptop and checked her e-mail. Nothing.
‘He hasn’t e-mailed me or texted me for over five days,’ she said. Her face was pale, her eyes huge and brimming. ‘I’ve sent him messages every day. What if he’s been killed in an accident or something?’
Jess realised her time had come. Up till now, she hadn’t wanted to tell Flora the truth because she knew it would destroy her happiness. Now she had to tell her because there was just a chance it would, ultimately, destroy her unhappiness.
‘OK,’ said Jess. ‘It’s time you knew.’
Chapter 40
‘Gerard is a flirt and a time-wasting womaniser,’ said Jess. She said it fast, so it might possibly hurt less. Flora looked shocked and panicky. Then she frowned and her eyes flashed.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Just before he got with you on the camping trip, he was holding my hand and telling me how great I was,’ said Jess. ‘I didn’t say anything when you and he got together because I didn’t want to upset you. You seemed so happy and, well, I suppose I thought he was entitled to change his mind.’
Flora looked troubled. You could tell hundreds of thoughts were racing across her mind. But she said nothing, and her eyes were hostile.
‘But then,’ Jess went on, ‘when we said goodbye on Sunday, he whispered something really gross in my ear and gave me his card and asked me to write to him.’
‘Something really gross?’ gasped Flora. ‘What?’
Jess told her. Flora cringed and went pale, but she didn’t look quite so tragic any more. She was still hostile, but now the target was Gerard, not Jess.
‘Don’t cry,’ said Jess. ‘Jodie was right about one thing – he’s not worth it.’
‘There’ll be no more stupid crying, that’s for sure!’ said Flora, though she was deathly pale. She picked up the jacket she’d just taken off, and put it on again. ‘I need to go for a walk. On my own for a bit. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, it’s totally fine!’ said Jess. ‘I have to go on home anyway. I’ve got heaps of stuff to do.’
When she got home, Jess’s first task was to clear out her pockets. She found the card Gerard had given her. On the back he had written, To dear Jess, love Gerard, and there were three kisses. Jess stared at it thoughtfully for a couple of seconds, and then rather ceremoniously burnt it in a saucer.
‘Goodbye for ever, loser,’ she said. ‘You’re not worthy to kiss the seat of my rather enormous pants.’
Next day Flora was a different person. She was back to her old self. She bought a large baguette and took an enormous bite.
‘Wow, it’s such a relief to have my appetite back!’ she said, through mouthfuls of egg mayo.
‘And it’s good to be able to talk properly again,’ said Jess. ‘I mean, when we were camping, I couldn’t communicate with you. It was horrible.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Flora thoughtfully. ‘It’s weird how that happened.’
‘It’s the story of my life,’ said Jess. ‘I can’t talk to my mum about my dad, I can’t mention my mum to my dad, my mum and dad can’t talk to each other, my granny talks to dead people …’
‘I can’t talk to my dad either,’ said Flora. ‘I have to rehearse everything in my head before I speak to him.’
‘And for two weeks I was banged up with a Hobbit who only spoke Elvish,’ said Jess. ‘You were lucky, having Marie-Louise. She was great. Have you heard from her?’
‘Yes,’ said Flora. ‘Apparently her boyfriend wasn’t two-timing her. Although she still sounded a bit uneasy about it. I don’t think she can really trust him.’
‘Men!’ said Jess. ‘Hopeless. Can’t talk, won’t talk.’
At this moment Fred swooped past them and did a mime as if lifting his hat politely in a 1940s film.
‘Good day, ladies!’ he said. ‘Can’t stop! Have to save the world by 2.30.’
‘There is Fred, of course,’ said Flora. ‘He never stops talking.’
‘Yes, of course, Fred,’ said Jess. ‘I can communicate with him. But he’s so eccentric – he’s a one-off.’
There was a pause while they got on with their baguettes. Jess’s was cheese and pickle. She could feel it going down her throat and heading straight for her hips.
‘Have you still not heard from Gerard?’ asked Jess. ‘Or is it a pointless question?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Flora bitterly. ‘And I hope I never do. I hate him now. It’s great, actually. I feel kind of free, you know? But I am a bit guilty about you, Jess. I mean, he hit on me after he’d started with you, and you never said a thing. You must have been so upset. It must have seemed like I’d grabbed your guy.’
‘Oh, it was no big deal,’ said Jess. ‘It wasn’t like he’d proposed or anything. I didn’t mention it because I didn’t want to hurt you. Although, to be honest, there were moments when I wanted to murder you – painlessly, of course.’
‘You are the best friend in the galaxy,’ said Flora, ‘and may my fingernails be pulled out one by one if I ever dump all over you like that again.’
‘If we just make sure we always keep talking,’ said Jess, ‘nothing like this will ever happen again.’ She was to remember this conversation a couple of months later.
‘OK,’ said Flora. ‘It’s a deal. Now, we’re through with live men, obviously, so I’m going to have a crush on someone who’ll never let me down. Superman, maybe, or Batman. Who are you going to have a crush on?’
A divine face hovered in Jess’s imagination. She heard the dim, distant roar of a football crowd, she saw a shy smile, a cool crown of Californian blond lifeguard hair, a pair of baby blue eyes. Her heart gave an excited little jump, like a gerbil leaping for a piece of cheese.
‘It’s a secret,’ she said, smiling to herself. But she had a feeling that her secret crush on Ben Jones was bound to mutate into a full-scale melodrama in no time at all.
She just had to finish this baguette first.
Hi, guys!
You’re so brilliant reading this and it’s really cheered me up, as Fred is being a bit of a toad at the moment – not that he’s covered with warts and is shooting poison out of his neck (but give him time). Sometimes I feel that you’re my only friend, especially when Flora’s at orchestra practice. So please, please, do me a ginormous favour and visit my fabulous, dazzling, low-calorie, high-energy website – www.JessJordan.co.uk!!!!
I’m going to be blogging away (I wrote glogging by accident at first and I kind of like it, so I might be glogging too) and I can promise you loads of laughs, polls, quizzes, interactive stuff, downloadable goodies, plus sensational secrets that Fred, Flora, Ben, Mackenzie and Jodie have begged me to never reveal! Don’t tell them I sent you – and promise you’ll be there!
Love,
Jess!
Jess Jordan’s Top Tips on Writing Charismatic and Charming Letters
Emails and texts are all very well, but you can’t beat a letter handwritten in golden ink on scented paper, sealed with a loving kiss (or, if you prefer, a kick). Here’s how to get started!
• Start with Dear, Darling or Dearest. Or, if you want to play hard to get, start with, Oi, You!
• Ask how they are even if you don’t give two hoots. (Assuming hoots are available.)
• Say how lovely it w
as to see them last time – unless you haven’t met them yet, in which case they’ll think you’re weird and mad.
• Thank them if they’ve recently been fabulous. In fact, thank them for being fabulous even if they aren’t – it’ll give them something to aim for.
• Make sure your signature is divinely illegible.
For more top tips from Jess, visit www.JessJordan.co.uk
Loved this story about Jess?
You’ll adore
Charming But Insane
Chapter 1
Eyes, nose, lips. Jess was drawing a face on her hand. She should have been making notes for her history essay: a list of ‘Reasons Why King Charles I Was Unpopular’. But instead she was giving herself a love-tattoo of the beautiful Ben Jones. The flicked-up hair, the slanty grin … Oh no! It didn’t look like Ben Jones at all. It looked like a demented iguana.
Art wasn’t Jess’s strong point. She wrote, Ben Jones – or Demented Iguana? under her tattoo, and coughed in a signal to her friend Flora that communication was desired. It was a kind of ringtone. Flora looked up, and Jess held the tattoo up to her. Flora smiled, but it was a kind of pretend smile, and immediately afterwards Flora glanced furtively at Miss Dingle and dived straight back into her work.
Miss Dingle – Dingbat to her fans – was glaring from the teacher’s desk. ‘Jess Jordan! What’s your problem?’
‘Oh, Miss, there are so many,’ sighed Jess, hastily pulling her sleeve down to hide the portrait-tattoo of Ben Jones: the Demented Iguana. ‘Tragic broken home, hideous genetic inheritance … massive bum …’ A few people giggled.
‘Get on with your work,’ snapped Miss Dingle, trying to sound steely and terrifying, even though she had a weedy little voice and a tendency to spit. ‘If you showed half as much interest in writing history projects as you do in trying to be amusing, you’d be the star pupil instead of the class dunce.’
Everybody hid their faces in their books and cracked up – as silently as possible, of course. The whole room shook.