Blue Lavender Girl

by Judy May

  Suddenly I wanted to prove to Jackson that I was every bit as caring as Jenny so I scooped up the rabbit (luckily it let me and didn’t bite me or anything!) and fed it one of the carrots Jackson had put on the bench.

  ‘It’ll be too dangerous around here for the poor little thing, what with foxes and dogs, so you’ll need to keep him in your bedroom,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll need to sneak the box past Mr Walsh and Grandfather.’

  ‘Or just keep him in your pocket and make him a bed from a t-shirt once you’re in there. Is your grandfather hard of hearing by any chance?’

  ‘Completely deaf. This morning I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, and he answered that I was under no circumstances to swim until the weather got warmer. His nurse says you have to shout right up close if you want him to hear.’

  ‘Great, then he won’t hear this little thing scratching about.’

  Jenny has no such hearing problems, and she heard us talking while on her way to the tearoom and came over to the hut. She squealed a lot when she saw the baby rabbit and asked what its name was. And because Jackson is in love with her he asked her to name it, so now it is called Cutie-Pie, or just Pie for short, and travels around in the large front pocket of Jackson’s jacket.

  We needed some soft things to sit on, to make the tearoom more comfortable for hanging around in. The plan was that we would all go up to the Big House and then Jenny and I would wait on the lawn below Jackson’s bedroom window and catch blankets and pillows as he threw them down.

  They were not blankets and pillows like in any other house, but really heavy and fancy throws and velvet embroidered cushions.

  ‘Good catch Jenny,’ Jackson shouted from above and I remembered his grandfather is deaf so we could do that.

  ‘Thanks,’ she yelled back as he ducked back in to fetch more.

  I wanted to yell, ‘Bum!’, or something much worse, as loud as I could because it would have been so out of keeping with where we were, but I remembered my goal to be a great dancer and great dancers don’t do things like that.

  I don’t know why, but I suddenly blurted out, ‘You don’t have a thing for Jackson do you?’

  ‘God, no!’ Jenny said.

  I was very pleased to hear that. There’s no way I could hang out with them if they got together, they are sappy enough as friends, both so nice all the time. Imagine if they got all loved-up as well!

  One of the pillows had gone flying so I went to fetch it back to the pile and saw Mr Walsh in the distance. He seemed to be on his knees at the door of the fancy hut (I bet there’s a proper word for it, I must ask Aunt Maisie.)

  I have worked out what is wrong with Jackson, he is too polite and formal even when he is very relaxed. He also has no pride for being so obvious about Jenny when she isn’t into him. Also, he doesn’t care that he isn’t cool in any way. Also, there are other things that I haven’t got exactly the right way of describing yet.

  We spent the rest of the day in the tearoom, hanging out, doing a bit of arranging and also fussing over Cutie-Pie. Mr Walsh came past, but as soon as he saw us he turned around and back across the lavender field.

  ‘That man is up to something,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Definitely,’ we agreed. And it felt like we were better friends because we all didn’t like Mr Walsh.

  Just as we were finishing the last bits, someone else arrived.

  At first Jenny and I didn’t have a clue who it was. He was very tall, basketball-player tall, and had brown curly hair that sort of flopped into his eyes. He dressed in the same style as Jackson, way-too-old-gentleman-sportsmen-go-casual, jeans and a golf shirt turned up at the collar. Jenny suddenly said, ‘Oh my God,’ and looked like she was about to pass out.

  It all became clear when Jackson said, ‘Bob, you remember Jenny don’t you?’

  Bob seemed equally shocked and asked Jenny where her braces had gone. He kept staring at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Today is the sad day that our good friend Jenny officially turned into GOOP. This is the most exact word to describe how she lost the run of herself the second Bob started talking to her. She usually giggles at what you say, but she usually waits until you’ve said it. She has also now developed this habit of pushing back her hair even if it is already pushed back. When Dee and Kira get like this it really annoys me, but with Jenny it is so sweet. He had better fall for her, that’s all I can say, even if it does break Jackson’s heart.

  Jackson whispered, ‘No more coffee for Jenny,’ to me, as we all tackled the very last bit of paint stripping together. Bob and Jenny got nothing done; they were talking at a machine-gun pace about God knows what. What I like about Jackson is that he is calm.

  It’s weird to think that one day Bob will be the owner of the Park and the Big House and the tearoom. ‘Bob’ is not the name of a person who is going to be lord of a manor, or squire or whatever the term is. Bob is a name for a guy who lifts things for a living. It’s a perfectly good name, just not if you know how to tie your own cravat. He’s probably called Robert Lionel Jeremy Forsythe and is just going through a phase. I bet his mum never calls him Bob. God, what is with me and guys’ names? Like I convict them before we’ve even got to know each other. I’ll give him a chance. After all, Jackson turned out not to be so bad.

  Anyway, Bob thought it was hilarious to have a rabbit called Pie, even when we explained that it was short for Cutie-Pie and not some sick joke about us having a plan to eat him.

  I stayed up late and made flapjacks and the ones towards the middle of the pan taste great.

  DAY 21

  The phrase for today is MAXIMUM EMBARRASSMENT. I wished that the ground would open up and swallow me, even then it would just spit me out for being such an idiot. I was waltzing around the garden again this morning and suddenly Jackson appeared, right there, beside the roses. I HATE how he does that, he’s like a ghost or something. I was mortified and so angry that he had just walked around the back instead of ringing the doorbell.

  ‘We do have a doorbell you know,’ I said in a really pissy voice.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, ‘I’ve been ringing it for ages.’

  I asked him what did he want and he laughed and said that he had decided that I’m not so tough so I could switch it off. God, that is so arrogant, like he thinks he can just do and say what he wants and I’ll be OK with it.

  Then he said, ‘Look, Tia, if you want to learn to dance, I can show you.’

  And because it is my goal and a goal is a thing that you make massive sacrifices for, I let him show me how to do a waltz. It was horrible at first, and I got really self-conscious about doing it right and then I was thinking what if my hands got really sweaty or if I fell over and took him with me. None of that happened, I just learned how to do some steps without looking at my feet. I was doing it all wrong before, so I suppose it’s good to know the real steps now. The first thing is that I have to hold my arms right, and be down with my knees bent for the first step and then up on my toes for the next two. Also I have to let the man decide where we are going (which would not work in real life because my dad can’t make a decision and we would end up homeless and starving if my mum wasn’t in charge).

  I was wearing my big boots and he said to take them off and I was suddenly really worried in case my socks had loads of holes in them, or smelled awful or something, but they didn’t, thank God, and after about half an hour I was too knackered to carry on so we went inside. I made some fresh iced tea the way Aunt Maisie had showed me and found a carrot for Pie, who had been in Jackson’s pocket all the time, but I had kept Jackson dancing at a bit of a distance so I hadn’t noticed. Apparently rabbits don’t get dizzy.

  I remembered what he said about me being not so tough, so I asked him what he meant by that. He made me promise not to have a big reaction and then said,

  ‘Well, you look all dangerous with your hair in your eyes and your black clothes – not that there’s anything wrong with them, you al
ways look stylish just it’s always dark and edgy. Then you always say something that pushes people away from knowing more about you, even if it is usually quite funny.’

  ‘Very funny,’ I corrected him.

  ‘You see,’ he laughed, ‘Totally defensive.’

  Then I couldn’t say I wasn’t defensive because that would be defensive, so I couldn’t win.

  ‘So I decided,’ he continued, ‘That you are like a little yapping dog, all bark and no bite.’

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, I felt really noticed or something. For once I couldn’t think of a single smart-alec thing to say, so I drank some more iced tea and asked where Jenny was. She was pretending to be sick so she wouldn’t have to go to a community lunch that Nanny Gloria was running in the village.

  ‘And Bob?’

  ‘Back at the house, trying to have a conversation with Grandfather. I really ought to go and rescue him.’

  You see, that annoys me. No-one says ‘ought’ except in Jane Eyre (which I haven’t read in a couple of days) and other old-fashioned-type books.

  He had to go, but he taught me and my grubby socks the steps for a basic foxtrot dance in the kitchen before he left.

  ‘How come you know all this again?’

  ‘In school we have a choice between this, running laps of the grounds in the freezing cold or playing chess with the maths teacher.’

  ‘Got it. It’s not an all-boys school is it?’

  And for this I got a well-deserved fake punch and a loud ‘NO!’

  And then I was on my own again, and quite pleased about the dancing.

  Then I chilled and read a bit, and tried to make my long black dress look like something a bit more stylish by taking up the hem, but that didn’t work and now I will have to cut it even shorter and use it as a top. I should have measured it properly instead of just using the edge of a cracker box as a guideline. I didn’t let on why I didn’t show up at the tearoom until five. Didn’t want to give Jackson the pleasure of seeing me make a fool of myself again. I borrowed Aunt Maisie’s vintage white top to wear with my beaded jeans and it sort of suits me.

  The others were all talking at me the same time, which made it sound like Chinese, and it took a bit of brain work to catch what they were on about. Anyway, THE NEWS: Bob’s parents are organising a formal ball (aka party for posh people) in honour of his grandfather. No-one is saying it, but I think they’re scared it might be the last time he’ll be able to enjoy a ball and know what’s going on.

  Bob’s dad left this morning after Bob and Jackson had shown him what we were doing with the tearoom. Jackson said that as soon as he saw it, he got quite emotional and said how there used to be balls and parties there all the time when he and Jackson’s mum were little. So they decided to hold the meal in the courtyard and then everyone would come across to the tearoom for the drinks and dancing part of the evening. There’s only a short time to organise it so the whole family is pulling together with Bob and Jackson doing the stuff here and the adults doing the phone stuff. It will be all long dresses and tuxedos.

  OK, the best bit is that ME AND JENNY ARE INVITED!!!! The second best bit is that the four of us are in charge of decorating the tearoom. I have not been this into something in years!! The third best bit is that it will not be anything like the party my mum and dad had four years ago when I had to wear a corduroy dress and hand out swirled cream-cheese on ritz crackers with chives sprinkled over. At least I hope not. Corduroy should be illegal.

  We went down to the Gate Lodge so I could call Aunt Maisie and tell her not to expect me back for dinner. She gets that it’s a cool thing about this party and said to just ask if there was anything she could do. I told her yes, she could NOT tell my parents, and make sure they don’t visit on the night of the party. She laughed and said, ‘Done deal, little one.’

  Jenny, Bob, Jackson and I, then spent the whole evening around the kitchen table in the Gate Lodge planning and eating quiches and salad, and these amazing apple puff pastry things, which were so good that I asked Nanny Gloria for the recipe.

  Jenny and Bob loved all each other’s ideas immediately, so me and Jackson had to fight pretty hard to keep things fair and realistic. Jackson is taking it pretty well the way Jenny is so besotted with Bob, and the way Bob seems to be equally into her. Maybe Jackson’s not as crazy about her as I first thought.

  Apparently even Mr Walsh is thrilled about the party, which is completely amazing, even spooky.

  DAY 22

  I now hate my clothes.

  I know I say I hate everything, but I really do hate my clothes. They are more stylish than the clothes most girls I know wear, but compared to Jenny and Aunt Maisie I feel really dull and unimaginative. Black stuff doesn’t seem to work outside the city.

  I said this to Aunt Maisie just now at breakfast because she doesn’t judge me. My mother would say, ‘Well, at last you are seeing some sense’, and I’d want to take back whatever I had just said. I probably will go back to liking that stuff again, it’s just that people here don’t dress like that.

  ***

  LATER

  Aunt Maisie came in while I was writing the stuff just above this, and we drove for an hour to get to the nearest big town. We bought me four outfits, which we can make eight or more outfits from by swapping the pieces around. There is a pink dress (NOT pastel pink), a blue dress, a white skirt, cream trousers, four different tops, two cardigans, a little jumper, and three pairs of shoes that are the size of my feet, unlike my usual boots, which are the size of a small family car. The new outfits look really fashionable and amazing, but I am a little bit afraid they will make my brain seize-up and make me all ordinary. No, they are too cool to make me ordinary, they might make people say things though, like Jackson might think that I did it because of what he said. Well, I’ll just have to show him that it doesn’t make any difference what I wear, I am still my own person and I do what I want.

  We got so much stuff including earrings and bracelets and underwear. It cost a fortune and I felt bad about that but Aunt Maisie said it is my wedding present, just a few years early (more than ‘a few’, I hope! I have no plans to get married until I’m at least thirty). Next week we are going back to find a party dress, which I guess is to celebrate my university graduation! Aunt Maisie is SO COOL. I wish she was my mother.

  I am completely excited! I have been trying them all on in different combinations and I look so different. Now the thing is that my hair looks like it’s just hanging there because, well, it’s just hanging there. Jenny is good at doing stuff with her hair so she’s coming over now to help me with that. I’m going to wear one of the outfits later this afternoon (I think the white skirt and the white and pink sleeveless top) when we meet Jackson and Bob in the village to buy more paint.

  ***

  LATER

  Bob didn’t notice the new look because he’s only met me a couple of times, but Jackson was staring at me like I had a turnip for a head.

  ‘Wow,’ was what he eventually came out with, which was pretty cool. I mean not that I care what he thinks, it’s just nice when anyone has a good reaction to you.

  ‘Say anything, and you’re dead,’ I snarled.

  Which wasn’t the ladylike effect I’m going for, but if he had laughed I would’ve had to have gone home and never left the house again.

  ‘Can I say, “Wow”, again?’

  ‘No,’ I said with my teeth gritted, but he made me laugh.

  We bought some gold paint to add a bit of something to the tearoom chairs, and some more lavender and some white to finish the walls and woodwork.

  Jackson paid, and the boys carried all the bags. Normally I would have insisted on carrying one to show I wasn’t all weak and helpless, but somehow my new outfit made me not want to carry anything. I guess that’s how princesses feel. When I am older I will employ someone to carry things so I won’t have to – books, bags, plates, suitcases. Or just get married, which is pretty much the same.
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br />   We were headed out and saw this man on the street opposite, leaving a building, slamming the door behind him like he was a huffy kid.

  ‘Isn’t that the Park manager?’ asked Bob.

  It was Mr Walsh, coming out of a small, deserted-looking warehouse on the other side of the road. Jenny said it used to be the storage warehouse for an oil merchants, from before the farmers around started to get deliveries straight to their own farms from the suppliers.

  ‘The estate owns some property in the village, but not that building,’ Jackson said.

  He looked at me like he knew I’d be up for it and said, ‘Let’s see what’s inside.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said and we headed out the door.

  Bob and Jenny thought we were being silly (which coming from them is a bit rich!), and wanted to get back to the tearoom. So we went inside, while they kept watch. Jackson gave Pie to Jenny to make sure he wouldn’t escape inside the warehouse.

  The hinges were broken, so although the door was padlocked we could push our way in.

  It was a small enough room for a warehouse, and there were a few large oil barrels and some building equipment, hammers and rope and a lever thing. I was hoping for a trap door or some stolen goods, but it was all quite boring really and we felt a bit nothing when we told the others what was in there.

  Jackson saw my pissed-off look and whispered right into my ear, ‘It could still be important Tia, we might be able to work out what he’s up to.’

  Once we got back to the tearoom there wasn’t much of a chance for any of us to talk because we had so much grafting to get done. I didn’t have to be careful not to get paint and dirt on my new clothes because Bob had brought along some of his old shirts for us to wear as overalls and they reached mine and Jenny’s knees which made the guys start calling us ‘the elves’. Once all the walls were done (two in lavender, two in white, with white on the window frames) we voted to leave the chairs for another day as it’s such a big job. Instead we stripped the old paint from a long wooden sign where you could just about make out the words ‘The New Park Tearoom’. Bob said that was the name they had given it in its last year of life, to try and attract some customers.