We could play Glassworld a n d S a n g r i a together.'
'You mustn't tell him! Promise you won't.
He'll be so mad at me,' I said as we collected our chips and went to sit down.
'You're not scared of him, are you?'
'No. I j u s t don't w a n t to upset him.'
'You are so sweet with him. Don't you believe in playing h a r d to get sometimes? Why don't you t r y acting up and being difficult? Maybe making out you're keen on someone else?'
'There wouldn't be any point. Carl knows me too well. I'm not the slightest bit interested in anyone else.'
'Oh, yawn! You're a hopeless case. Stuff your 98
chips in your gob before you come out with more sickening stuff. OK, it's obvious I can't try to get Carl off you. We'll have to get him to find a special pal for me. What about this footballer friend Raj mentioned? Have you met him?'
'No. I don't t h i n k he can be a real friend. Carl hates football.'
'Yes, but maybe he likes h i m . '
'He's never really mentioned him.'
'Well, you mention him. See if we can get together. You could come to my place. No silly kissing games, I promise. Well, unless we s t a r t serious snogging. You and Carl, me and football guy. I hope he's more David Beckham t h a n Wayne Rooney in looks. Carl might come again even if it's j u s t to admire my stained glass. Or we could go to your place if it would make him more comfortable.'
'My place isn't comfortable. Not any more.' I bit the end off a chip and t h e n started arranging the others according to size.
Miranda waited, unusually tactful.
'My dad cleared off two years ago. He doesn't even bother to come to see me now, not t h a t I care. He doesn't always send Mum money for me. She works, but we have to have lodgers too, to pay the mortgage. I h a d to move out of my proper bedroom. I j u s t have this little cupboard room now. It's not big enough to have friends round.'
'I'm quite a small friend. Well, I'm ginormous compared to you, but everyone is. I can scrunch 99
up small in your cupboard. And the two boys can lie on your bed – or even under it.'
Miranda used h e r own meal to demonstrate, t u r n i n g her carton into a tiny room, her paper napkin into a bed, and then putting two chips on top and two underneath. Then she made one of t h e top chips lean over and kiss one of the bottom chips.
'Idiot. Have you got a watch on? What do you think the time is?'
'I don't know. Maybe half one? Let's j u s t go and have a peer round TopShop, it's up on the first floor,' said Miranda, stuffing all four chips into h e r mouth and chomping enthusiastically.
'We'll be late back for school.'
'No we won't. God, you're such a worry-guts.
J u s t t h e quickest of quick peeps, OK?'
I let her drag me out of McDonald's and up the escalator to TopShop. Inevitably, it wasn't a quick peep at all. Miranda spotted a black lace vest top she said she'd been looking for all her life.
'I've got enough cash on me. Heaps.'
'So buy it then. But do hurry!
'I'll have to t r y it on. Maybe it won't stretch over my great big boobs.'
'Stop boasting!
'I'm not, I'm not, I'm complaining like crazy –
they get in the way so.'
'Well, lend t h e m to me. I'm sick of being totally flat-chested. I look like a little boy, for God's sake.'
I wondered if t h a t was why Carl didn't w a n t 100
to kiss me. Maybe I simply didn't look grown up and girly enough.
I looked at the black silky vest with its slinky straps and pink lace edging. 'What do you t h i n k it would look like on me?' I asked wistfully.
'It would look great. You try one on too, come on.'
So I picked up one of the vests and we went to the changing rooms together. Miranda pulled h e r school s w e a t e r a n d blouse off unself-consciously. We were supposed to wear plain white underwear to school but she was wearing an amazing tangerine bra embroidered with little turquoise flowers.
'Wow,' I said. 'It's a good job you haven't got PE today.'
I turned away to shrug myself out of my own top. I was horribly embarrassed by my sad little girl's bra like a white bandage. I put the black vest on quickly. I peered hopefully into the mirror, expecting some kind of magical transformation. My reflection peered back. The vest j u s t looked like a vest, the sort of garment you wore for warmth. The straps slid uselessly off my narrow shoulders, exposing the straps of my b r a . T h e m a t e r i a l drooped about me unattractively.
I looked at Miranda. The vest was transformed. It clung to her like a corset, the straps t a u t against her smooth white skin, the black lace stretched to the limit over h e r cleavage.
The tangerine of her bra straps contrasted 101
exotically. She looked incredible.
'It's not fair,' I said, tugging my vest off and hurriedly pulling on my school shirt.
'Hey, hang on, I didn't have a proper look.'
'You wouldn't w a n t to. It looked awful.'
'I'm sure it didn't. Don't be like t h a t . Maybe you need a smaller size.'
'They don't come in smaller sizes. None of the clothes in normal shops look right on me. I'm going to have to shop in bloody Mothercare.'
'Oh, Sylvie, you are funny.' Miranda gave me a sudden h u g to cheer me up.
An assistant twitched the curtain to check on the cubicle and looked startled to see two girls embracing in their underwear.
'You're not m e a n t to be in there together,' she said hastily, h e r cheeks pink. 'Come on, get dressed. I want you out of here.' She flounced off, rattling the rings of our cubicle curtain.
'Oh my God, she thinks we're getting it on together!' said M i r a n d a , whooping w i t h laughter.
'Oh, Miranda!' I said, going bright red. 'Quick, put your blouse on. Let's go!'
Miranda's laughter was terribly infectious. I started giggling too, and then I couldn't stop, even though I covered my mouth and bit my lips.
We staggered out of the changing room, snorting and squealing. I felt every sales girl was staring at us disapprovingly. I was ready to r u n right out of t h e shop, but Miranda made me wait.
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'I want to buy the top, silly.'
'You can't buy it now!'
'Why not? It looks good on me, doesn't it?'
'But they're all looking at us, thinking we're
. . . you know.'
'Who cares? Anyway, so w h a t if we were?
Grow up, Sylvie.'
I knew Miranda h a d the right attitude but I couldn't help feeling horribly embarrassed as we waited in the queue for her to pay. She made it worse, playing to the crowd, putting her arm round me and gazing at me fondly.
'Stop it!' I hissed.
'Oh come on, where's your sense of humour, Coochie Face?' said Miranda, laughing at me.
I was even more upset when we got out of the shop at last and saw the time on the big ornamental clock.
'Oh no! It's nearly two! We'll be so late. We're going to be in so much trouble! Come on!'
I started running. Miranda h u n g onto me.
'Don't, Sylvie. Slow down and s t a r t thinking.
You're right, we really will be in big trouble if we go back to school now. If we waltz in halfway through the afternoon then it'll be dead obvious t h a t we've been out. But if we don't go back at all then they'll j u s t think we're away ill or something. They don't t a k e a register in t h e afternoon, do they? The teachers won't even notice.'
'But the other girls will know we were here this morning.'
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'No one will dare blab on me. Do you think old Lucylocks will tell?'
'She wouldn't tell to get me into trouble, but she might be worried about me, scared t h a t something's happened.'
'Oh yeah, I suppose she might s t a r t flapping.
Can't you text her? Look, borrow my mobile.'
'She hasn't got a mobile her
self.'
'Oh, typical. W h a t a bore t h a t girl is. I don't know what you see in her, she's so smug and silly and lickle-girly.'
'No, she's not. Not really' I said. 'Poor Lucy.
Carl's always horrid about her too.'
'There! I knew Carl and I were soulmates.
Anyway, let's hope Lickle Lucy holds h e r tongue because we've j u s t got to stay out of school now, we've no serious option. So we might j u s t as well enjoy ourselves, right? Let's go round all t h e shops. Hey, we could wind up all the shop girls pretending to have steamy sessions in the cubicles. Oh, Sylvie, your face! I'm j u s t joking. Don't go all moody on me, there's a darling.'
'We're going to be in even more trouble if we miss the whole of afternoon school. And w h a t will we do about our homework and stuff?'
'Oh, get a grip, girl. Copy off Lucy. Look, no one will notice at school, but if they do you can always say you were sick at lunch time or h a d a splitting headache or whatever and had to go home. Don't look so worried, it's easy to fob t h e m off, believe me.'
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'So easy you actually got expelled from your last school,' I said.
'I didn't get expelled for something as trivial as a teeny bit of truanting,' said Miranda. 'Come on, Sylvie, lighten up a little, let's have fun!
I lightened, because t h e r e was no point darkening and spoiling everything.
'OK,' I said. 'Fun time.'
We did have fun going all round the shopping centre, in and out of every clothes shop, though I kept well away from the changing rooms whenever Miranda wanted to try anything on.
I did let her talk me into trying on shoes, and we paraded around in high heels and big boots and strappy sandals. Miranda adapted her gait according to h e r footwear, s t r u t t i n g a n d striding, even doing a C h a r l e s t o n step in diamante twenties shoes. I was scared we'd get thrown out of the shoe shop too, b u t there was a young spotty guy serving us and he j u s t sat back on his haunches, entranced. I watched Miranda admiringly too, though part of me wanted to kick her for being such a terrible show-off. But the thing was, she showed off so brilliantly. She was t h e M i r a n d a Holbein Roadshow, rolling up and performing anywhere with cheeky charm.
I'd never h a d such fun going round the shops.
Carl liked browsing in charity shops and antique centres but he hated the shopping centre and wouldn't set foot inside it. Mum was generally too intent on making a quick trip round Tesco.
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She got depressed if we went window-shopping in the centre because we didn't have enough money to t r e a t ourselves. I'd gone shopping with Lucy one Saturday afternoon but it hadn't been much fun. We'd h a d a staid cup of tea and a scone in a department store like a pair of pearls t r u n g old ladies, and then we'd wandered aimlessly around, Lucy only getting really animated in the Bear Factory.
I was surprised when Miranda wanted to go to the Bear Factory too. She entered into the spirit of the thing, playing with all the limp little bodies in the t u b waiting to be filled with beans and turned into bouncing bears.
'J want to be yours, Sylvie,' she said, making empty little paws stroke me imploringly. 'Fill me up and set my little satin heart beating with love.'
She was so good at making things seem real, j u s t as good as Carl. I couldn't resist. I picked up the chosen bear and its head flopped wistfully, its eyes big and brown, its little mouth an imploring smile. T h e r e seemed something quaint and old-fashioned about him, so I called him Albert. He quivered approvingly.
Miranda took him to the machine to be filled up.
'No, don't. Stop it!' I said. 'We'll have to pay for him if we fill him up.'
'So? I'm not proposing we steal him. I've got heaps of money on me. More t h a n enough for one small bear.'
106
'So you really want Albert?' I asked.
'No, you idiot, you do. So I'm buying him for you, OK?'
'You can't possibly—'
'I certainly can. Watch me!' said Miranda. She handed him over to be stuffed. 'Nice and portly, if you please. All bears should have proper plump tummies. Isn't t h a t right, Albert?' She made him nod his head. The Bear Factory girl smiled, obviously used to people larking around.
Miranda chose Albert a little red satin h e a r t to be sewn into his chest, and she recorded a message too. She put on a delightful growly voice and said, 'Grrr! I'm Albert Bear and I think Sylvie's grrreat!'
We watched Albert being sewn up as proudly as two parents. When he was handed to me I felt t h a t wonderful tight-chested surge of excitement t h a t I used to feel long ago at Christmas when I was very little. I couldn't help hugging Albert, even though I worried t h a t I looked ridiculous.
'Aah!' said Miranda. 'Now, let's kit him out in some clothes.'
'The clothes cost a fortune though. He doesn't need any, really,' I protested.
'Nonsense! He can't prance about s t a r k naked if he's a middle-aged Victorian.'
M i r a n d a picked h i m out a s h i r t , a canary-yellow waistcoat, a pair of trousers and some splendid scarlet boots.
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'There! Very stylish, even if his costume is an approximation of Victoriana,' she said. 'Maybe we can make him a greatcoat and a top h a t somehow. And wouldn't he look cute with an ebony cane? He's a bear with t r u e style, Sylvie.'
She complimented me as if I'd given birth to him myself.
She paid for him discreetly, not making a great show of h e r generosity, and t h e n passed his carrier bag over to me when we were outside the shop.
'It's the best present I've ever had,' I said, hugging her.
'Well, you're t h e best friend I've ever had,'
said Miranda, hugging me back.
I was delighted but unnerved. I badly wanted Miranda to be my best friend now – but w h a t was I going to do about Lucy? And much more importantly, w h a t about Carl? Would he mind?
W h a t did he really think about Miranda?
I went round to Carl's t h a t evening. J u l e s said he was upstairs in his room doing his homework. I knocked on his door a n d w e n t in. He wasn't doing his homework, he was lying on his bed with his h a n d s behind his head, s t a r i n g at the ceiling.
'Carl?'
He grunted at me, not sounding encouraging.
I stood in t h e middle of his room, peering around. It wasn't at all like t h e Glass H u t . It was like seeing lots of Carls reflecting right back to when he was a baby. There w a s his wooden Noah's Ark still sailing across t h e windowsill. An elderly plush giraffe grazed on the faded rug. The Tale of Peter Rabbit and Where the Wild Things Are a n d Frog and Toad Are Friends were tucked at one end of his 109
bookshelf. String puppets dangled down from the ceiling. The walls were papered with his a r t
– nursery school blue dogs and red horses, primary school ancient Romans lounging at the baths, Egyptian mummies glittering with gold paint.
There were his current possessions, of course
– his computer, his glass reference books, his second-hand Penguin Modern Classics, his antique and collectors' fair magazines, neatly stacked.
His whole bedroom was always neat. There were never any clothes strewn across the floor, smelly socks screwed up under the bed, plates of food left mouldering on the carpet, all the usual boy things. There were no pin-ups either, no baby-faced girls with big breasts. I knew Carl wouldn't go for a Beyonce or a Britney.
'Who do you fancy, Carl?' I asked.
He lifted his head, blinking at me. 'What?'
'You know, pin-ups. Women.'
'Oh. You sound like the guys at school. They're always on about t h a t stuff.'
'So, who do you like the most?'
'I don't know. I'm not interested. I don't know any of these women so why should I get turned on by photos of them?'
'And t h e w i n n e r of t h e Male Political Correctness Award is Mr Carl Johnson,' I declared, pretending to h a n d him an imaginary trophy.
&nbs
p; He didn't play along with me, still staring at 110
the ceiling, not moving a muscle. If his eyes hadn't been wide open I'd have sworn he was asleep.
'You're always lying prone now, Carl. You w a n t to watch it. You'll get so used to horizontal life you'll keel over when you eventually stand up.' I paused. 'So who do you fancy out of the girls you know?'
Carl sighed. 'I don't know any girls.'
'Don't be ridiculous. You know heaps. Like . . .'
I paused again, digging my nails into my palms.
I decided to go for an easy option, though I felt mean. 'Lucy?'
'Oh yeah, I fancy Lucy like crazy,' said Carl.
'Not:
I felt m e a n using Lucy like this, even if she was totally unaware of it. But maybe I didn't have to be loyal to h e r any more.
She'd phoned up at five, asking w h a t on e a r t h h a d happened to me. When I told her I'd bunked off with Miranda she'd been appalled. She came over all righteous a n d goody-goody, going really over the top, saying I was jeopardizing my entire school career. I t h i n k she was mainly put out because I'd gone off with Miranda and not her. I let her lecture me for ten minutes. She went on and on about Miranda being a totally b a d influence. She wasn't saying a n y t h i n g t h a t w a s basically u n t r u e , b u t I got so bored I said, 'Do s h u t up, Lucy. Miranda's my friend.'
Lucy put the phone down on me. It didn't look 111
as if Lucy was my friend any more. Still, did it really m a t t e r now I had Miranda?
'What about Miranda?' I said.
I'd paused too long. Carl h a d lost the thread of our conversation.
'What about her?' he said.
I swallowed. 'Do you fancy her?'
'No,' said Carl.
'Not one bit? She's ever so lively a n d attractive and dynamic. She's the sort of girl you can't help looking at.'
'I told you, I don't fancy h e r at all. She's not my type.'
I paced up a n d down his bedroom, trying to summon up the courage. I said it over and over in my head.
Am I your type?
Do you fancy me?
I couldn't quite manage it. I reverted to Miranda.
'She's not really a type. She's unique. I haven't ever met anyone else quite like her. I don't j u s t mean t h e way she dresses, but the way she relates to people, and all the different things she knows. She can seem really outrageous, like she keeps pretending she's after you – well, I think it's pretending – b u t then she can be amazingly sweet to me. You'll never guess what Miranda bought me today, Carl.'
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