Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco

by Sue Limb

  ‘Oh good! Come downstairs and meet Martin. He’s lovely – you’ll love him,’ Mum prattled on in a confident way which Jess found deeply irritating, though under the irritation Jess knew she ought to be happy for her mum. At last, it seemed, she’d met a man who was halfway human. ‘We saved some cottage pie for you and it’s still warm in the oven.’ After delivering this interesting piece of news, Mum could be heard going downstairs.

  Jess sat on the end of the bath, pulling on her socks and having a think. That cottage pie was calling to her suddenly, all warm and savoury and slightly crusty, the way things are when they’ve been waiting in the oven. It doesn’t suit some things but it certainly suits cottage pie. Jess’s mouth began to water – it was a big improvement on the eyes watering a few minutes ago. She stood up, wriggled into her boots and pulled her jumper down. A brief look in the mirror assured her that, though pale and preoccupied, she didn’t look too weird or mad, and besides, however nice the half-gorgeous Martin was, she basically didn’t give a flying fandango whether he thought she looked weird or not.

  So, moments later, Jess marched into the kitchen. Mum and Martin were sitting at the kitchen table with a Scrabble board laid out between them. Martin turned round in his chair and looked up at Jess. He had short brown hair, a wide, open, friendly face and large, twinkly eyes.

  ‘Martin, this is Jess,’ said Mum, looking pleased that Jess had come down. Martin scrambled clumsily to his feet and held out his hand; he was tall and rangy.

  ‘Hello,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘How very nice to meet you!’ He had a proper handshake and he seemed kind of energetic and well-meaning. Jess began to be ashamed that she hadn’t wanted to meet him.

  ‘Jess has spent today organising a dinner dance,’ said Mum, also getting up. ‘It’s in aid of Oxfam. I’ll get your supper out, love.’

  ‘A dinner dance? Wow!’ said Martin, pushing the Scrabble board aside. ‘Tell us about it.’

  Jess was annoyed with her mum for mentioning Chaos, and Martin’s eager smile and sympathetic manner made things worse. But the smell of cottage pie was truly divine and Jess started to feel ravenous. She must have walked for hours up and down the town centre, looking for caterers.

  ‘Oh, it’s really boring.’ Jess took a deep breath, picked up her fork and tasted the first mouthful of cottage pie. It was delicious. ‘Mum, this is great. Thanks.’

  ‘Jess likes organising things,’ Mum went on, foolishly boasting. If only she knew. ‘Last Christmas she and her boyfriend Fred put on a wonderful comedy show in school and raised loads of money for charity.’

  ‘Amazing!’ said Martin. ‘What’s Fred like?’

  ‘He’s hilarious!’ said Mum, beaming. Jess was annoyed that, at the very moment when she was totally furious with Fred, Mum had somehow become his PR officer.

  ‘He is funny.’ Jess had to agree. This was not the time or place for an anti-Fred rant. She had to swallow her rage with him. It wouldn’t be appropriate to let rip now, in front of Martin. ‘He’s kind of shy, but he hides it with jokes and stuff,’ she admitted between clenched teeth. ‘The Christmas show was basically Fred’s idea – he inspired the whole thing, wrote it and directed it.’ It was inconvenient, right now, to remind herself of just how talented Fred was.

  ‘Did he?’ asked Martin, his big eyes kind of expanding in surprise and admiration. ‘That must have been amazing. Tell me about it!’

  So Jess told him all about the Christmas show while she ate her cottage pie, and after about twenty minutes somehow she felt almost herself again. Martin seemed really nice – genuinely interested in everything, and he’d really tuned in to the kind of guy Fred was. In fact, what he’d said had revived her sympathy for Fred. She began to believe that everything was going to be all right after all.

  Maybe, this time, Mum really had struck gold. She’d only known Martin for a few hours at most, but already Jess was starting to think that if she had to have a stepfather, Martin would be a very sweet and friendly one.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Jess jumped up – she assumed it was Fred, and raced to the door because she couldn’t wait to welcome him and assure him that everything was fine, she totally understood and there was no need to worry. She flung the door open, and there, in the frosty lamplight, stood Dad, carrying two cases. He gave her a doleful, tragic and self-pitying look.

  ‘My life,’ he said, ‘is in ruins.’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Dad!’ squeaked Jess in shock. ‘What are you doing here? What do you mean your life’s in ruins?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ said Dad in a wheedling kind of voice. ‘I’ve just come all the way up from Cornwall on the coach because I couldn’t afford the train and I haven’t slept properly for a week and I’m almost hallucinating.’

  ‘Of course! Right!’ Jess stood aside to let her dad in, though her mind was racing. Any minute now he was going to see Mum friskily enjoying a game of Scrabble with another man behind his back. OK, he and Mum had been divorced for years and years, but it still might be a particularly upsetting hallucination for him, and, in his present state, it might push Dad right over the edge.

  And what might it do to Mum and Martin? They were getting along so well, and the atmosphere had been so merry that even Jess’s black mood had vanished. Why did Dad have to burst in now, all needy and panicky, at this most inconvenient of moments?

  Jess hesitated. ‘Maybe, er … Granny’s watching TV in here, I think …’

  But Dad ignored the idea of Granny – he could obviously hear Mum laughing rather skittishly in the kitchen.

  ‘But Mum’s in the kitchen,’ he said, dumping both his cases in the hall and just barging through.

  Jess followed him hastily, biting her nails in anxiety and wishing she could have warned Mum. But it was too late. She saw the moment when Mum looked up from her Scrabble and tried to get to grips with the mysterious and puzzling fact that her ex had appeared. Every tiny scrap of fun faded from Mum’s face, and so did the faintest hint of colour; it simply drained away. One moment she was rosy and pink, the next she was pale and astonished like somebody who had seen a ghost.

  ‘T-Tim?’ she faltered. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘My life is in ruins,’ said Dad again. Jess was really irritated that he’d said that without being introduced to Martin or anything. Of course, she was sorry to hear her dad was upset and stuff, and she obviously loved him more than anyone else in the world apart from Mum and Granny and Fred, but really, did Dad have to come over all melodramatic in front of a total stranger?

  Martin stared up at him in amazement and shock.

  ‘Sorry.’ Dad appeared to realise his entrance had been a tad over the top. ‘I’m Tim Jordan.’

  Martin got up and extended his hand.

  ‘Tim’s my ex,’ added Mum, trying to keep exasperation and a thousand other emotions out of her voice. ‘Tim, this is Martin. Martin Davies.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Martin, keeping it light and obviously hoping to avoid any unpleasantness. ‘I thought you lived in Cornwall.’

  ‘So did I,’ Dad said gloomily and bitterly. He slumped into the nearest chair, which had been Jess’s.

  ‘What’s happened, Tim?’ asked Mum, retreating towards the kettle. ‘Can I get you some tea?’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind something stronger,’ said Dad, looking jealously at the wine glasses.

  Jess watched, mesmerised. What was all this about? For the past couple of years she’d been boasting about how her glamorous gay artist dad lived in a fabulous big white house by the sea in St Ives with a designer and boutique owner called Phil, who was a champion surfer when he wasn’t wearing gold lamé socks. And now what?

  ‘Help us finish this bottle, then,’ said Mum with a hint of irritation, pouring Dad a glass of white wine.

  Martin looked uncertain whether to stay or go; he rubbed his face and took a furtive peep at his watch.

  ‘Thanks, thanks,’ said Dad. ‘I hate to as
k, I hate to behave like this. I’m being a total wimp, I know, but do you have anything to eat? I haven’t eaten since breakfast.’

  Suddenly Martin got up. ‘Uh, maybe it’s time I was getting along,’ he murmured.

  ‘Oh, don’t leave now, Martin!’ cried Mum in dismay. ‘Tim won’t be here long. I’ll just make you a cheese sandwich, Tim,’ she went on swiftly, with a steely tone entering her voice. ‘Sit down, Martin, and have another glass of wine.’

  Martin obeyed.

  ‘What’s happened, Dad?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Well.’ Dad heaved a big sigh and started sipping his wine. ‘It’s – Phil decided he wanted to move to Barcelona. His business has been struggling a bit since the economic downturn, you know.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mum anxiously.

  ‘So he’s decided to sell his business, and the house, of course – and, believe it or not, somebody snapped the house up within a week of it going on the market.’

  ‘No!’ gasped Jess. That lovely house! With its white walls and its blue glass and the sound of seagulls wheeling on the wind outside! Her favourite bolt-hole and home from home! Dad looked guiltily at her.

  ‘Sorry, love,’ he said.

  ‘So what’s your share?’ demanded Mum, starting to sound a bit tense and cold. She’d always hated things being out of control. Recently she’d lightened up a little and fun had been creeping back into her life, but with Dad’s news it was almost as if she’d had to strap her armour on again, like a knight going into the battle.

  ‘My share? Nothing,’ replied Dad. ‘Well, virtually nothing. It was always Phil’s house – I mean, he’s a successful businessman. I’m an unsuccessful artist, as you know.’ He did a strange lame little shrug. ‘I didn’t want to move to Barcelona. Obviously because of Jess, mainly.’ Jess felt strangely guilty just for existing. ‘But also there were other issues … It’s hard when you’re financially dependent on somebody … It was OK at first, but it hasn’t really been working for some time …’

  Jess suddenly remembered how Phil had been a bit preoccupied when she’d phoned – not quite as friendly as usual. Maybe he and Dad had had a row that evening.

  ‘So … that’s it, I’m afraid. Curtains.’ Dad’s voice trailed miserably away, the kettle boiled and Martin suddenly seemed to reach a decision, leaping to his feet and grabbing his coat.

  ‘I’ll be off, I think,’ he said in an embarrassed voice. Jess felt sorry for him. ‘You’ve obviously got a lot to talk about. Nice to meet you, Jess, Tim. Give my best to your mum, Madeleine …’

  He hesitated, and there was an awful moment during which everyone waited to see whether he was going to kiss Mum goodbye. Even a mere peck on the cheek would have been appalling in the circumstances. But luckily Martin did the decent thing and backed off hastily towards the door, dispensing twinkly but anxious smiles in all directions.

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ he said, and he did.

  Mum stood, holding the kettle, throughout his entire exit, seemingly frozen or paralysed like somebody in a fairytale. Little wafts of steam floated up out of the kettle’s spout, making the tiny hairs around her brow wave slightly, as if they were waving goodbye.

  ‘Congratulations, Dad!’ snapped Jess, as the front door slammed shut behind Martin. ‘You’ve just ruined the first decent date Mum has had since – well, for ages.’ It would be best not to mention last year’s Japanese toy boy.

  ‘What?’ Dad seemed lost in a mist. ‘Who … who was that again?’

  ‘He was Mum’s date,’ said Jess sternly. ‘A lovely guy called Martin.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ Dad clapped his hand across his mouth like a naughty schoolboy. ‘I’m so sorry, Madeleine.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing. He wasn’t a date really, anyway,’ said Mum irritably, fussing and fretting with bread and cheese, and pretending like mad that it really didn’t matter, even though it was obvious it mattered A Lot.

  ‘But I kind of turned up here as if … as if –’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Mum bleakly. ‘As if nothing. There is no As If.’

  ‘But I’ve ruined everything for you!’ wailed Dad. ‘Again!’

  ‘Shut up. Don’t be silly,’ said Mum. ‘I’m having a coffee – would you like one? A decaf?’

  ‘Thanks, no – yes – I don’t know,’ said Dad helplessly, dropping his head into his hands.

  ‘Have a coffee,’ said Mum, slapping the sandwich down in front of him like a cafe owner who is longing to close the shop. ‘It’ll keep you going till you get to wherever it is you’re staying. Where are you staying, anyway?’

  Dad hesitated for a split second, looking pale, tragic and ever so slightly apologetic. ‘Uhhhh, I haven’t got anywhere,’ he murmured guiltily. ‘I’m so sorry, Madeleine – could I possibly doss down on your sofa for the night?’

  Mum stared at him blankly for a moment, then she seemed to shake herself and get her focus back. ‘Of course,’ she said briskly. Jess could tell she was furious. ‘Except you can’t possibly sleep on the sofa. You can have Jess’s room and Jess can come in with me.’

  Jess felt a spear of resentment. Why did Dad have to have her room? Why couldn’t he sleep on the sofa? He was behaving a bit like a teenager, so why couldn’t he sleep like one? She was tempted to object, but it so obviously wouldn’t help, and she felt very sorry for Mum, whose brave new world had crashed and burned in one short quarter of an hour.

  There was the sound of somebody coming along the hall – it was Granny, who had slept through the whole drama. She entered and screwed up her eyes slightly. It had been dark as she snoozed in the sitting room, with just the low lamps and the TV’s flicker.

  ‘I heard the front door go, Madeleine,’ she muttered blearily, still half asleep. ‘Is Jess back safely? How are you getting on with the Scrabble, Martin? Oh! You’re not Martin. Oh heavens! You’re Tim!’ Granny was suddenly wide awake, and who could blame her?

  At bedtime Jess received a text from Fred. BAND FIXED UP — FRENZY. THAT’S THEIR NAME BUT ALSO MY STATE OF MIND. SORRY I WAS A BIT WEIRD IN THE CAFE. LOW BLOOD SUGAR.

  Jess heaved a huge, huge sigh. So they had a band! Things were looking up – at last one thing was going right. Now the priority was finding the money. She whizzed him a reply. WELL DONE FOR FINDING FRENZY! BUT WHAT ABOUT THE MUNS? HAVE YOU LOOKED UNDER YOUR BED YET?

  Chapter 17

  Next morning on the way to school, Jess brought Flora up to date on her useless Dad’s unscheduled arrival.

  ‘Basically, I think he’s ruined Mum’s best chance of finding somebody really nice,’ Jess concluded. ‘Martin was a lovely guy, but he’s not going to want to get involved with somebody whose ex has just turned up and moved in, is he?’

  ‘Maybe he will,’ said Flora uncertainly. ‘If he really likes her, he’ll at least want to find out what the score is between your dad and your mum – I mean, they’re not exactly old flames, are they?’

  ‘No,’ agreed Jess. ‘Even when they were young, they won the Nobel Prize for Least Amorous Couple. But Martin doesn’t know that.’

  ‘Maybe he does,’ mused Flora. ‘Maybe your mum’s told him.’

  They were nearing the school gates now, and Jess’s attention began to ebb away from the parental saga to the much more urgent and gripping issue of where Fred was and whether he’d found the money. If he insisted he hadn’t got a clue where it was, she hoped she’d be able to remain smiling and gracious as she ripped his head from his body and booted it over the science block.

  Ah, there was Fred! A tiny explosion of hope fizzed up through her ribcage and soared up to her head, where it caused her ear lobes to vibrate. Fred was standing on the edge of a group that included Jodie, Ben Jones, Mackenzie, Tiffany, and Zoe Morris and Chloe Thingummyjig from the year below. She couldn’t tell by his body language what kind of mood he was in.

  Obviously she couldn’t mention the money with everybody standing there. Maybe Fred was hiding in crowds because he knew sh
e couldn’t confront him in public. He was such a coward. Though Fred seemed engrossed in what Mackenzie was saying, Jodie beckoned them over with an infectious grin.

  ‘Jess! Flo! Come here and listen to Mackenzie doing a Homer Simpson!’ Jodie bawled.

  Fred turned towards her and Jess waited for a sign from him that things were OK. But somehow he seemed to fix his gaze on Flora instead, hesitating, his mouth half open, a quizzical frown hovering above his elusive grey eyes.

  At this point the bell rang, and they trooped towards the door. Jess managed to position herself alongside Fred. They weren’t alone, but it was the next best thing.

  ‘Great about the band!’ she whispered. ‘But have you found the muns?’

  ‘I keep telling you.’ Fred turned and stared into her face for a split second, his eyes wide and panicky. ‘You had it!’

  ‘But I’ve turned my room completely upside down!’ insisted Jess, her pulse racing. ‘There’s no sign of it! I know I did have it for the first few weeks, but then you took it – I’m sure.’

  ‘I did have some of it for a while,’ admitted Fred. ‘But then I gave it to you with all the paperwork – don’t you remember?’ He still looked jittery, though. Jess’s panic spiralled downwards. Her heart was hammering away like mad. What if they never found it? They’d have to cancel the whole thing and spend the rest of their lives working to pay people their money back. Aargh! She would never organise anything ever again. It was misery.

  After all that, the French test was almost a blessed relief. For the rest of the day, Jess hardly had a chance to speak to Fred at all. At break she was in detention (history homework had caught up with her at last); at lunchtime Fred had yet more infuriating chess club practice, and after school he had to go off with Mr Dickson and the chess team because there was a match against St Benedict’s. Honestly! Why couldn’t he put the dinner dance first, just for a few days? Jess hadn’t had a chance even for a brief moment of shared hysteria.

  She packed her bag with a heavy heart (not literally – she wasn’t into offal) and, sighing, wrapped her fave stripy scarf around her throat. It was another dark, frosty afternoon.