Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco

by Sue Limb

  ‘Come on,’ said Flora. ‘Let’s go to Jack’s.’ Jack had left school early for a dental appointment. ‘He’s texted me to say his face is still numb and he wants some TLC.’

  ‘Blokes are such wimps,’ sighed Jess. ‘Anyway, I should go home really.’

  ‘Just come for a few minutes,’ urged Flora. ‘It’s on your way. You’ll love Jack’s house. It’s amazing, but in a kind of unusual way. And it would be good for you to meet his mum before we go to Dorset.’

  ‘OK.’ Jess, though tormented, was still clinging on to the basics of politeness. Besides, she rather liked the idea of not going home right away – since Dad had arrived, there had been An Atmosphere. He hadn’t revealed his plans for what to do next, and it seemed he might be camping out in her bedroom for some time.

  Normally Jess went home, ran upstairs, dived into her lovely welcoming chaotic den, flung her bag in the corner and jumped on to the bed with her teddy and her laptop. Not having her own room waiting for her made her feel a bit like a refugee – she wouldn’t be able to escape from Mum and Granny and, much as she loved them, she realised that having her own private space was essential to her sanity.

  ‘So did you get a chance to talk to Fred?’ asked Flora gently as they set off through the frosty white twinkling streets. ‘Has he got a band organised?’

  ‘Well,’ said Jess cautiously, ‘he said he’s fixed up a band at last – Frenzy, apparently.’ She still hadn’t told Flora about the missing money, because it seemed so completely and utterly lame.

  ‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Flora. ‘I’m sure they’ll be terrific! Plus there’s always the DJ and the disco! Cheer up, babe – it’s going to be brilliant!’

  ‘I know, I know!’ said Jess, trying to shake off her secret angst about the missing money. ‘Sorry to be such a moody cow.’

  ‘The Moody Cow!’ repeated Flora, with a nervous trying-too-hard kind of smile. ‘Sounds like a pub. Maybe we should run a pub when we’ve left school.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Jess listlessly. It was hard to join in the joke – she was so anxious, she felt as if she’d drunk a whole barrelful of icy water.

  ‘Jack’s house is along here,’ said Flora, turning into a street of big terraced Georgian houses like in a Jane Austen movie. The door was dark green with a gleaming brass knocker shaped like a pineapple.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll come in,’ said Jess, beginning to back away. But then a blonde middle-aged woman, evidently Jack’s mum, opened the door and flung her arms wide.

  ‘Flora!’ she trilled, embracing her.

  ‘This is Jess,’ said Flora shyly.

  ‘Jess! How lovely to meet you! I’m so glad you’re coming down to Dorset with us next weekend! Come in! Come in! Have some tea!’ She hustled them indoors. ‘Jack!’ she called upstairs. ‘Jack! Flora and Jess are here!’ There was a muffled reply from upstairs.

  ‘Come through to the kitchen and get warm!’ Mrs Stevens went on. ‘Gubbins will be thrilled to see you!’ Jess wondered who Gubbins was. Although Jack’s family seemed to be incredibly rich, she wasn’t sure they had a butler.

  The kitchen was a long room sort of tacked on at the back of the house. There was a huge cream range cooker with tea towels hanging from its bar, French windows showing a wintry garden of clipped evergreen shrubs and a starry tree that seemed to be flowering even in January, and a huge table strewn with cookery debris. Above the table there was a big window in the ceiling so you could look up and see the sky.

  A little Jack Russell terrier leapt out of his basket, did a couple of growly excited barks and flew to greet the girls, jumping up and wagging his tail. At the same time Jack arrived.

  ‘Hello, Jeff,’ he said, smiling lopsidedly at Jess. ‘I can’t talk properly so I’m afraid you’ll have to have a fex-change.’

  ‘Hello, Gubbins!’ Flora picked up the dog and he thrashed his tail wildly, licking her face in the most tickly way. ‘Don’t go mental, you naughty pup!’ she gasped. ‘Oh! My mascara!’ She burst into uncontrollable giggles and passed him to Jack.

  ‘Gubbins is a lovely name!’ said Jess, rubbing the pup’s tummy. ‘I think I’ll be a little old spinster one day with a terrier and some knitting.’

  ‘You won’t be a spinster!’ beamed Mrs Stevens. ‘The chaps will be fighting over you, young lady! And how is the lovely Fred? I’m dying to meet him.’

  ‘The lovely Fred is at a chess match,’ said Jess lightly, not wishing to go into the details of her present delirious happiness. ‘Your kitchen is wonderful – so cosy!’

  ‘It’s a great room for parties,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘But not as good as our house in Dorset. In fact, we’re having a little lunch party down there on the Sunday – it’s our wedding anniversary. Nothing special, just roast beef and apple pie and then possibly charades around the fire. I’ve heard how brilliant you and Fred are at charades, Jess. I can’t wait to see you perform!’

  Chapter 18

  As she arrived home and closed the front door behind her, Jess could hear her mum moving about in the kitchen, and she could tell by the way she was clattering the plates that her mood wasn’t good. Had she heard from Martin today? Or had he vanished at the first hint of a challenge? Was Dad moving back in? Were they a family again? Jess rather hoped not. Things had been just fine as they were. This was all so disturbing. And it had been a bit of a shock to realise that Dad’s beautiful house by the sea didn’t actually belong to him.

  Dad peered out of the kitchen door, smiled delightedly to see her and came out and gave her a hug.

  ‘I’ve made a fish pie!’ he announced breezily. ‘Of course, the fish can’t compare with what I used to get in St Ives. But I did my best.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be delish!’ Jess assured him. ‘It smells great!’

  ‘The fish you buy in St Ives has been caught literally a few hours before,’ mused Dad with a faraway look – about two hundred miles far away. ‘You can’t get any fresher.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, spare us the commercial break,’ said Jess, moving towards the kitchen.

  Her dad remained in the hall for a moment, fondly remembering an eel he had once bought.

  Mum was unloading the dishwasher with a bad-tempered frown. Speedily Jess cosied up to her and gave her a kiss.

  ‘Have you heard from Martin?’ she whispered urgently.

  ‘No,’ said Mum, trying to sound as if it hadn’t crossed her mind as a possibility.

  ‘The fish pie smells nice.’ Jess tried to cheer her up.

  ‘I don’t particularly like fish pie,’ said Mum, giving Jess a fishy stare.

  ‘OK, well, never mind. I’ll just go up and change,’ said Jess, fantasizing about soft, warm tracksuit bottoms instead of school uniform, ‘and maybe do my homework.’

  ‘There’s no time for homework now,’ said Mum. Jess stared in amazement. This was the first and probably the only time this sentence would ever pass Mum’s lips. ‘Apparently this fish pie has to be eaten right now or it’ll be ruined.’ Mum looked a little exasperated. Jess felt sympathetic, but she hoped she would manage to stay positive. Dad would probably move on in a day or two.

  ‘Well, I’ll just go up and get changed at least,’ said Jess. ‘I’m in the mood for pyjamas or something cosy.’

  She raced upstairs, but when she stepped inside her room, her tummy somersaulted with shock. Dad had tidied her room! All her papers had been gathered up off her desk, which was now shiny and organised. Where were those precious papers? They’d included a sketch of Mr Fothergill, the English teacher, morphing into an elephant, plus a very amusing dialogue about octopuses getting married, which she and Flora had secretly written in the French lesson when they should have been doing their translations. And the floor – it was visible! All her clothes had been picked up and hung in the wardrobe, or even, who knows, possibly folded up and put away in the drawers … She would never be able to find her stuff again.

  It was bad enough that her suddenly homeless dad should move into
her bedroom so she had to share with Mum – who read novels half the night, by the way, keeping Jess awake; it was bad enough that he should show no signs so far of moving on or moving out. But to tidy her room behind her back? That was a crime against humanity! Jess was fuming.

  He’d had all day to pick over her personal stuff, read her private notes, even – Jess’s heart gave a terrible lurch – devour her diary, which she noticed was tidily placed on her bedside table. He’d definitely touched it, then – it normally lived under her pillow. Disaster!

  Jess ran from her room in disgust, thundered downstairs and burst into the kitchen, spitting venom. Dad was straining some peas and Mum was laying the table. They both looked up in alarm at Jess’s dramatic entrance.

  ‘Dad!’ she screamed. ‘You’ve tidied my room! You’ve been messing about with all my private stuff! That’s so totally out of order! How could you?’

  Some strange expressions flitted across Dad’s face. He shared a quick glance with Mum.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, his tone strangely light-hearted. ‘But maybe you should find somewhere a little safer for this.’ He picked up a big bulging envelope from the dresser and held it out. Jess’s heart gave a leap. She grabbed the envelope and peered inside – it was the money! A big sheaf of cheques and bundles of cash! She flung herself gratefully into Dad’s arms.

  ‘Oh, Dad! You’re such a legend! Sorry I was in a strop about the tidying! Where did you find it?’

  ‘Down the back of your desk – between the desk and the wall,’ said Dad. ‘I couldn’t quite work out whether you’d put it there deliberately, or if it had just dropped down.’

  ‘You must open an account and put it all in the bank!’ scolded Mum. ‘How have you managed to pay for everything?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Muv, it’s all under control!’ trilled Jess. Clutching the magic envelope to her heart, she bolted back upstairs.

  For a moment she hesitated on the landing. Should she text Fred and tell him the good news? The trouble was, she’d been quite hard on him, thinking he’d got the money, and all the time it had been in her bedroom. But then, Fred had been so annoyingly carefree about the whole thing … Jess decided to wait.

  Carefully she placed the envelope on Mum’s dressing table, because of course she was sharing Mum’s room at the moment. It was hardly the chic lifestyle one hoped for as a teenager, but finding the money had made Jess feel insanely cheerful. Pulling off her uniform, Jess plunged into her mum’s collection of huge soft comfy clothing. Now, at last, she could relax!

  She chose some grey joggers which looked as if they’d last been used by the inmate of a fat camp, a big man’s shirt in a faded check, and a very old but comforting fleece with the zip half hanging off – the perfect outfit for her evening of cosy celebration. (Although she still hadn’t sorted the problem of the catering, she was determined to shove it to the back of her mind for a couple of hours. She sometimes thought, in desperation, that if the worst came to the worst they could always order a huge delivery of ready meals and stuff from a supermarket.)

  Halfway downstairs, she found a particularly tempting crispy bogey in her left nostril. She had a finger stuffed halfway up her nose and was sauntering down in her hideous garb, looking like something out of a horror movie, when the front door opened and Granny came in. She was always visiting her friend Deborah these days. Maybe Granny could go and stay with her until Dad moved out – then he could have her room.

  Granny turned round by the front door and said, ‘Come in, then, dear. Jess’ll be thrilled to see you!’

  Jess froze and cringed back up a stair or two. Nobody must see her like this! She had literally never looked so gross. Who on earth … ?

  Granny looked up the stairs. ‘Ah, hello, love!’ she crooned. ‘Guess who I just met by the front gate?’

  Jess braced herself, horrified that anyone was going to see her all dolled up in her mum’s least attractive outfit. The person edged in through the front door. It was Fred.

  He looked up with rather less rapture than Romeo gazing up at Juliet’s balcony. It was impossible to read his mind. For a moment Jess felt kind of pinned to the stairs like a smelly old sock on a noticeboard; the fat-camp joggers would look especially horrendous from below.

  ‘Oh, hi!’ said Jess, trying to sound casual but divine. ‘How was the chess match?’

  ‘Uh … hi,’ replied Fred. ‘Fine. We lost.’

  At this moment Dad burst out of the kitchen, looking excited. ‘Fred!’ he exclaimed, charging down the hall and shaking hands ferociously with the poor guy. ‘You must stay to supper! I’ve just made my signature fish pie! Phone home and tell ’em you’ll be late!’

  Jess wondered why Fred had come round – presumably it was something to do with the Chaos chaos. She knew he wouldn’t mention anything in front of The Parents about the awful mess they were in. She had to have a private word with him somehow or other, because she was longing to tell him that Dad had found the money – and, of course, she owed Fred a huge apology for thinking he had lost it.

  Dad and Fred were enjoying a flamboyant reunion: Dad was leaping about excitedly as if Fred was his son, or possibly stepson, or possibly … son-in-law. Fred was goofily gangling about as usual, but he had already been persuaded to part with his coat.

  ‘OK, then – er, thanks,’ he muttered, looking charmed but awkward.

  Dear Fred! thought Jess. If only she wasn’t bundled up like a street person! Jess slid down the last few stairs with what she hoped was graceful panache, but unfortunately the sleeve of the man’s shirt she was wearing caught on the bottom of the banisters and forced her to leap backwards like a tethered dog with behavioural problems. Then she tried to cover her tracks by performing a kind of comic clowning staggering fit, but when she looked up, she realised that Fred had followed Dad into the kitchen, and her stupid antics had been for the benefit of Mr Nobody.

  Chapter 19

  ‘Come on, Fred – sit here!’ Dad was turning into a manic master of ceremonies, settling Fred down opposite Jess and laying an extra place.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Jordan,’ said Fred warily. Mum nodded to him, giving a tight little smile. You could see she hated the way this evening was turning into some kind of gala. She was tired – Jess could always tell; there were little shadows at the corners of her eyes. She’d probably had a hard day dealing with shouty lunatics in the library.

  ‘Right!’ cried Dad with the air of a conjuror. ‘Madeleine, pass me the magic oven gloves!’ Mum obliged, with a weary look.

  ‘Oooh, lovely!’ said Granny excitedly, rubbing her hands. ‘I love fish pie! Oh, there’s no prawns in it, is there, Tim?’

  ‘Are no prawns, plural,’ Mum corrected her. She didn’t usually comment on Granny’s grammar – it was a sign she was in an irritable state of mind.

  ‘No prawns, no sharks, no whales and definitely no dolphins!’ Dad promised. He threw the oven door open, bent down and pulled out the fish pie, which was a lovely golden colour and bubbling faintly at the edges.

  ‘Is there cheese on top, Tim?’ asked Granny.

  ‘There is cheese on top!’ Dad declared proudly. Then, ridiculously, he started to sing to the tune of some opera or other, ‘Fish pie! Fish pie! Fish pie! Is there cheese on top? Cheese on top? On top? Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! Tra-la!’ He was over-compensating for Mum’s gloominess. If only they could both just be normal and boring like other parents. Fred’s dad, for example, would die rather than sing. Jess cringed in embarrassment and was tempted to slide under the table.

  Dad picked up the serving spoon and Mum brought a pile of plates over. He had taken his place at the head of the table, where Mum usually sat. Jess felt he shouldn’t have done it. But that was the least of her problems – for a start, she looked grotesque in her joggers and ragged fleece. And secondly, in less than two weeks she was going to have to feed nearly a hundred people … but no, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think about that tonight!

  ‘I made
a salad to go with it,’ said Mum, ‘as fish pie can be a bit fatty.’ Jess wondered wildly if her parents could be persuaded to make a fish pie the size of a double bed and a salad as big as an allotment, enough to feed ninety-two, the Saturday after next.

  ‘Don’t you worry about fatty food, Mad!’ Dad reassured Mum. He often called her Mad – ironically, really, as Mum had once confided to Jess that living with him had almost driven her stark staring bonkers. ‘Fish oil is good oil – it’s omega three or five or whatever. Good for the heart!’ He patted himself skittishly on the chest.

  ‘What about the cheese, though?’ nagged Mum.

  ‘Well, scrape the cheese off and give it to Fred!’ suggested Dad, doling out portions. Even though Jess was technically a bit overweight (she’d done the BMI quiz on the internet and everything), she was still annoyed with Dad for suggesting the extra cheese should go to Fred, not her. Whose dad was he, anyway?

  ‘Would you like my cheese, Fred?’ asked Mum.

  Fred nodded eagerly. ‘Yeah, please!’ he said.

  ‘Just a very small portion for me, please, Dad!’ pleaded Jess urgently, but a massive slop of pie came her way.

  ‘You’re not too fat, honeybun!’ Dad assured her, smiling charismatically and flicking a long lock of fair hair out of his eyes. ‘You’re perfect – isn’t she, Fred?’

  Fred looked startled and avoided her gaze. ‘Oh, totally!’ he muttered in obvious embarrassment.

  ‘So, Fred!’ said Granny. ‘What are you two lovebirds doing for Valentine’s?’

  Fred gave a kind of horrid twitch, no doubt at the concept of his being part of a Two Lovebirds Situation, but he managed not to gag by keeping his eyes firmly averted from the vast smelly mountain of cellulite, dandruff and bogies that was his beloved girlfriend, Jess.

  ‘There’s a – uh, the dinner dance thing,’ he growled, as if to show his total indifference to the doomed event.