Oh, let me suck up to you because you're so rich and pretty and even posher than us – sooo much more suitable than that scruffy little Gemma who's been such a bad influence on my little angel Alice.'"
'You are bad,' said Mum, but she was snorting with laughter. 'You've got her voice spot-on, Gemma. You ought to go on
the stage.'
I couldn't cheer me up but at least I'd made Mum laugh. I put my
arms round her neck. 'Thanks for
sorting out the phone call, Mum.'
'That's OK. But I can't keep on
pestering Karen. You know as well as I do that she doesn't want Alice to stay friends.'
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'But ya boo sucks to her, we are friends, for ever and ever.'
'Yes, b u t don't forget Alice will be going to a new school, making new friends.'
'No she won't!'
'You don't want her to be lonely, do you?'
'Well. No. So, OK, maybe she can have one or two just-at-school friends. But I'm still her real best friend.'
'Oh Gemma. I j u s t don't w a n t you to get h u r t , love.'
But maybe Alice wasn't going to forget me. She wrote to me straight away, and she p u t her full address on t h e back of the envelope.
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112
113
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Ten
ive us a hand with the dishes, Gemma,' said Mum
G
'
, piling them up in the sink.
'Oh Mum! That's not fair. The boys never help,'
I said.
Callum and Jack slipped smartly upstairs.
'Jack, wait for me!' I called.
'Why are you always hanging round Jack nowa-days?' Mum asked suspiciously. 'You keep disappearing into his room.'
'He's just letting me use his computer for a bit, Mum,' I said. 'He shows me how to look up stuff on the internet.'
'Hmm,' said Mum. She still looked suspicious.
'What sort of stuff? It's nothing naughty, is it?'
'Mum! No. No, it's for this project thingy.'
'What project? Is it for homework?'
'That's right. Homework,' I said quickly.
'You've never been bothered about making an effort with your homework before,' said Mum.
'Are you telling the kid off for trying hard with 116
her homework?' Dad called from the sofa in the living room. 'Give her a break, Liz.'
'Yeah, Mum, give me a break,' I said, dodging out the way as she swatted me with the tea towel.
I was determined not to get lumbered with any more chores like the boring old dishes. I was working flat out as it was, appeasing Jack. He let me use his computer to e-mail Alice via this Flora girl and he saved her e-mails back to me – but at a price.
He didn't demand actual cash as he knew I didn't have any. No, I had to act like his general servant, finding all his pongy old socks from under his bed and putting them in the laundry basket, dusting the geeky collection of paper aeroplanes dangling from his ceiling, even rinsing round the bath after he'd used it.
'Would you like me to flush the flipping toilet for you while I'm at it?' I added sarcastically.
This was a big mistake.
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I also had to change his horrible
dinosaur duvet cover, a job I hate hate hate. I was far too exhausted afterwards to tackle changing my own duvet and Mum lectured me for hours.
'I was just too tired to change it, Mum,' I said truthfully.
Mum went on and on about how tired she was, running the house for a family of five. Surely it was the least a daughter could do to lend a hand? Even Jack was getting a lot more responsible now about his laundry and keeping his room spick and span even though he was so busy with all his school stud-ies, plus being the number one dog walker in the family.
I wouldn't have minded walking Barking Mad myself as one of my chores but Jack wouldn't let me. However, if he let Barking Mad off the lead up the
common he would roll in the smelli-
est dungheap he could find. Barking Mad, that is, not my brother. Then
guess who had to try to give the
silly dog a bath. Me!
But all these extra chores were worth it as I could now communicate properly with Alice. I didn't like having to start off tapping out a message to Flora first. I didn't much like the sound of her.
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Still, I tried to be ultra polite as she let Alice use her computer.
Hello, Flora. It's me, Gemma, Alice's best friend. Thank you very very very much for letting us write to each other.
Now, here is my private message for Alice. Don't read it, OK?
Dearest Alice – How are you? Are you still missing me LOTS and LOTS and LOTS? I am missing you MORE if that is possible! It is so lonely and no one understands and they're all being hateful to me.
Oh! Jack has just looked at the screen and he says he's being exceptionally kind to me by letting me use his computer. I suppose that's true, but it's at GREAT COST
to me!
Callum is being OK too actually. He took me out to McDonald's yesterday evening and he bought me a Happy Meal and when it didn't have the special Blue Two Kung Fu Fighter toy I particularly wanted he bought me another Happy Meal and the little blue guy was in that, so now he's got Red Zed to fight with. Yay! I expect Callum only asked me out because Ayesha was seeing her girlfriends, but it was still sweet of him.
Grandad's being so kind too, though he won't buy me cream cakes any more. Dad keeps tickling me to try to make me smile. Mum was OK for a bit, but 119
now she's nag nag nag as always.
Still, they're mostly all right at home – but it's HORRIBLE at school. Mrs Watson was quite nice for a bit but now you will never ever ever guess what she's done! We have to do this stupid project about a famous person with a partner and she says I have to be partners with Biscuits! I am not not not going to be his partner. Do you have to be partners with anyone at your new school or are you allowed to work on your own if you want?
Lots and lots and lots of love
From your best ever friend for always Gemma
Hi Gem! Thanks for your really really really long message.
I can't write back as much because it would be a bit rude to Flora seeing as it's her computer. I've got to be quick anyway because we've got a ballet class at five. Flora's mum is taking us. I do hope I do OK. Flora is BRILLIANT
at ballet, heaps better than me. I hope I'm not the worst in the whole class.
What's this project? Poor you getting stuck with Biscuits. They're in the middle of this Egyptian project in my new class and I got worried because I didn't know anything about them but Flora's lent me her notes, so she's sort of my partner, I suppose. It's very kind of her to help me out.
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This is not just a pretty pattern. It's an Egyptian hiero-glyphic.
Lots and lots of love
From your best friend
Alice
Hello, Flora. This is a very private message for Alice. You stop reading now.
Dearest Alice – You know HEAPS about the Egyptians.
Don't you remember, Callum took us up to London and we saw the mummies in the museum and it was so cool
– only you found it a little bit creepy, even the cat mummies.
But I bet the computer girl Flora hasn't seen real mummies. You tell her all about them. And I'll make you up a story about them. I'll get to work on it right away, all about a Terrible Curse and a mummy who comes back to life and its bandages fall off and little blackened bits of flesh crumble off too. It will be dead scary and will seriously impress all your new classmates. Only don't get too matey with anyone in particular, will you?
Lots and lots and lots of love
From your best ever friend who will never ever break friends
Gemma
I was certainly not matey with anyone at school.
Especially not Biscuits. I wasn't
speaking to him, 121
which made this stupid project a bit of a problem.
Still, I thought I'd solved things. I didn't speak to Biscuits; I addressed the space in front of him, and announced my intentions.
'I'm doing my Famous Person project on Michael Owen because he is the best footballer ever and you can't really get more famous than that. I've got all this stuff about him and I can just copy it out easy-peasy and cut out a few photos from the papers and I might even include one of my posters for the project presentation.'
I thought I was being ultra kind and generous saving Biscuits an immense amount of work. Was he grateful for my suggestion? Absolutely not
'I think you've got something wrong with your eyes, Gemma. You're talking to me but you're staring into space. It's very spooky.'
'I'm not talking to you, Biscuits. I told you, I can't stick you. If you weren't such a rotten coward I'd fight you. I'm simply speaking out loud. Talking to myself about this project.
'Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness,'
said Biscuits. 'I'm not surprised. I think you've gone seriously bonkers, Gemma Jackson. Still, you're supposed to humour lunatics, so I will. Only I'm not doing a project on Michael Owen. I'm not into football. I don't know anything about him.'
122
'You don't need to know. I'm telling you, I've got all this stuff.'
'But I want to do something different. Heaps of people are doing footballers, your Michael Owen or David Beckham. I want an original choice.'
'Oh yeah, like who?'
'Fat Larry.'
'Who?'
'You've never heard of Fat Larry?'
'Are they like a pop group?'
'It's a him. Larry. Who's fat. He's this brilliant TV chef – you must have seen him. He wears these amazing huge sparkly suits and a big diamond earring.'
'Oh, very tasteful – not.'
'And each programme he cooks for a different group of people, like kids in hospital or old ladies in a home or a group of mums on an estate. They always look sad or weird or bored to start with, and not really into food at all, but Fat Larry cheers them all up and cooks them something yummy and at the end of the programme they're all laughing and eating and having a whale of a time. And there's a cartoon of Fat Larry as a whale at the end of the programme after the credits.'
'What are you, a publicity guy for this Fat Larry?'
'I just think he's great, that's all. He's famous.
I want to do a project on him. I bet nobody else is.'
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'Yeah, because nobody else cares about Fat Larry.
Look, we're doing a Michael Owen project. I said, I've got all the info—'
'And so have I. I've got all three Fat Larry cookery books.'
'Oh, big deal.'
'With recipes. We could make stuff for when we present our project.'
I looked at him properly. 'What sort of stuff?'
'Anything! We could have little trays and pass canapés around – or little cakes – or mini pizzas.
Whatever. I could do a cookery demonstration Fat Larry style. I know heaps of his jokes. And I kind of look like a little Fat Larry myself. Hey, maybe my mum could get some sparkly material cheap down the market and make me my own miniature Fat Larry suit!'
'I could do football demonstrations. I've got a Liverpool football kit so I could be Michael Owen,' I said, but my voice lacked conviction. I was only argu-ing for the sake of it. I could see Biscuits' project was a brilliant idea. For him.
'Suppose you did do Fat Larry? What could I do?'
'You could read out the recipes,' said Biscuits.
'What, like your assistant? No way. I'll be Fat Larry and you can read out the recipes.'
'You're just being daft now. You don't look anything like him.'
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'I could impersonate him, easy-peasy.'
'But you've never even seen him on the telly!
You're being dead awkward, Gem. Still, I'll make allowances seeing as you're going through a sad time missing Alice.'
'All because of you.''
'No it wasn't. And you know it.'
I suppose deep deep deep down I knew it wasn't really Biscuits' fault. Alice and I would have been caught whether he'd told on us or not. Or we'd have got the train back home again anyway because I knew we couldn't really live in London all by ourselves. But I didn't feel ready to acknowledge any of this, particularly to Biscuits.
'It was your fault, Fatso.'
'Fatso Larry! I'm going to be him, do you hear?'
'No, I'm going to be him and I'll get my mum to make me a sparkly suit, see. Now clear off. I'm not speaking to you, remember?'
'For a girl who's not speaking you don't half gab gab gab,' said Biscuits cheerfully. He produced a large tinfoil package from his school bag and unwrapped it carefully. It was two slices of the most fabulous mouth-watering chocolate cake decorated with scarlet cherries and white whipped cream.
Biscuits took a very large bite. Cream and chocolate oozed all over his fat fingers.
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He licked them happily, one by one. 'Yummy,' he said. 'A special Fat Larry recipe. Delicious! Though I shouldn't say that, because I made it myself.'
'You can't make cake like that, Biscuits!'
'I can so. Well, my mum helped a bit.'
'You mean you helped her.'
'You can scoff all you like, Gemma, but when I'm presenting our Fat Larry project you'll see I can cook.'
'When I'm being Fat Larry you'll see I can cook,'
I said, although my heart was starting to beat faster.
I was pretty sure I could pretend to be Fat Larry easily enough once I'd sussed out what he actually looked like, though I wasn't totally sure I could get Mum to make me a suit, sparkly or otherwise. But actual cookery was something else altogether.
I'd once tried to make pancakes for Alice and me when Mum was working late and Dad was asleep.
I'd watched Mum on Pancake Day and it looked dead easy. Alice wasn't so sure. She was right.
I whipped up some eggs and some milk and tipped some flour in but it all went lumpy. I hoped it would all blend together in the
frying pan. It didn't. I turned
the heat up to encourage it.
Then I chatted to Alice and ate
a few raisins and dug my finger
into the butter and coated it with
126
sugar as I was getting ravenous by this time. Then I noticed a funny smell. When I investigated I found the lumpy pancake was rapidly turning black. I thought it might help to toss it. Big mistake. Crispy cinders flew everywhere and fat spilled all over the stove.
We tried to clean it all up but we couldn't quite manage it. The frying pan was coated in a thick black crust and we couldn't shift it.
I don't want to remember what happened when Mum came home. It's too painful. I've never wanted to try my hand at cooking again – put it that way.
'Tell you what. Let me be Fat Larry and I'll give you half my cake,' said Biscuits, holding a slice right under my nose so I could smell its divine rich chocolate.
I so wanted a slice.
I didn't want to cook. I didn't really want a sparkly suit. I didn't even want to track Fat Larry down on the telly. But I couldn't give up now. I didn't want to give in to Biscuits.
I didn't want to make friends.
'Yuck,' I said. 'I absolutely hate
chocolate cake. And I'm going to be Fat Larry, so there!'
Eleven
H
'
ave you ever heard of Fat Larry, Grandad?'
I asked, as we walked home from school.
'Yes, he's a TV chef, a bit of a laugh. I don't mind his programme, but Nigella's my favourite.'
Grandad started burbling on about this Nigella until I tugged at his sleeve.
'No, Grandad, I need to know about Fat Larry.
When's he on the telly? I want to watch. Why haven't I ever s
een him?'
'He's on at half past seven. Your mum will be watching her Corrie then, won't she? I'll video Fat Larry if you like, pet.'
'Can you do the Fat Larry recipes, Grandad?'
'You're joking, aren't you? I'm not one of these new men. I'm an old man and my limit's blooming beans on toast, you know that.' Grandad sighed. 'I'd give anything for one of your grandma's roast beef dinners with lovely golden Yorkshire pudding! And she used to make wonderful trifle – and apple pies
– and fruit cake . . .'
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'Maybe I'll take after her. I'll make you lots of lovely nosh, Grandad.'
'You're a very talented girl, little Gem, but I don't think you're a natu-ral cook. Your mum told me all about the dreaded pancake disaster.'
'She stopped my pocket money for
weeks to pay for a new frying pan. She hardly uses it now anyway because she says fried food is bad for you. Grandad, Mum doesn't make Yorkshire pud but she does do roast chicken on Sundays sometimes. Why don't you come round for lunch?'
'That's sweet of you, Gemma. But I'm generally quite happy pottering down to the pub of a lunch time – or I'm out working at weekends, when they're short of a driver. Maybe I can wangle you another little trip in the white Rolls if I'm booked for a wedding, sweetheart. What are you up to on Saturday?'
'Nothing,' I said, sighing.
I didn't know what to do with myself. I plagued Jack until he let me send a long e-mail to Alice. I'd wondered if she might be playing round at Flora's house, so I could get a reply straight away. No such luck. I badly wanted to hear from her but it was actually a relief to know they weren't weekend friends. I didn't like the sound of this Flora one 129
little bit. It looked like she was trying to get Alice to be her best friend. Still, she didn't stand a chance.
I knew that.
Callum asked if I wanted to go
for a walk down the park. He took
his bike and let me muck around
on it, trying to do all sorts of daft tricks. They didn't always work.
The third time 1 tell off .
scraped a teeny bit of the paint
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