Ollie looks surprised.
I explain, ‘We used to be friends . . . In fact, when I was seven, I believe I would have described her as a best friend.’ This is clearly news to him. ‘We were in a pretty tough girl-gang called the Ladybirds. Pearl made up our secret wave!’
‘Show me.’ I hold up my hand and tuck my thumb in. Then I wiggle my fingers.
‘You see, four fingers, four Ladybirds: me, Kat, Betty and Pearl.’
‘Hard to imagine,’ he says. ‘Hey, do you remember my party?’ I can tell that he wants to set the record straight. ‘Well, she dragged me upstairs “to talk”, then trapped me in my room for half an hour, breathing WKD over me, telling me why I had to go out with her before passing out on the carpet. When I got downstairs, you’d gone.’
Relief floods through me, the sun shines brighter and the chips taste more chippy.
‘I thought you were more than friends,’ I say.
‘Well, she’s quite touchy feely,’ Ollie says. Ha! The understatement of the year. ‘And I think she needs a friend . . . but, Bea, I didn’t know she was saying those things to you.’
I stare at the sea. It wasn’t just the things she said, it was the looks, the texts, the pasta twirls – everything. I decide that now isn’t the time to go into all that. Ollie is not going out with Pearl. The sun is shining. We are together.
‘I’ve suddenly realised something,’ I say, turning to look at him. ‘I’m fine . . . everything is fine . . . I’m not even worried about the final.’ He looks at me with his kind, smiling eyes, trying to work out if I’m telling the truth, and I can’t quite believe that I, Bea Hogg, am here with the Ollie Matthews. ‘Do you know what we should do?’
‘What?’
‘Go on that.’ I point at a ride right on the end of the pier. It’s a giant roller coaster, and its track twists and turns high in the sky and over the sea. ‘The Crazy Mouse,’ I say, reading the name that flashes in letters on the side.
‘Come on, then,’ says Ollie, pulling me to my feet and dragging me up the pebbles. I say ‘dragging’ but there may be the tiniest possibility that he is holding my hand. A few seconds later, he lets go, but my fingers are still tingling when the safety bar locks us into the Crazy Mouse.
We fly round in circles, the carriages shooting off the edge of the pier only to be whipped back in at the last moment. I love fast rides, but it turns out that Ollie doesn’t. He buries his head in his arms for the whole three minutes and just repeats, ‘Oh no oh no oh no,’ not appreciating any of my, ‘The people look like ants!’ comments.
Knowing that Ollie doesn’t love my bully makes him less mysterious, and as we wander around Brighton’s odd little shops, I feel like I belong at his side. When he looks at his phone, I don’t assume he’s desperate for a friend to ring and save him from the boredom of spending time with dull Bea Hogg: he is just checking the time. When he goes quiet, he probably isn’t thinking about how repulsive the spot on my forehead is, or how my coat was clearly bought for me by a mum on a very tight budget . . . he’s just, well, not talking.
Before we get the bus home, Ollie buys us a milkshake from the café where you pick your own flavours. He lets me choose. Strawberry cheesecake and Milky Way: the perfect end to a perfect day.
Ollie and I get the bus back in time for our rehearsal. In fact, we’re early which makes Lulu narrow her eyes. We’re in such a good mood, and so keen to get going, that she gives us the benefit of the doubt and accepts that school has shut twenty minutes early because the toilets have broken, and it’s a non-uniform day.
‘We have a week of rehearsals left, less than that. Today you have to do an aerial move or we’re taking them all out,’ says Lulu in a voice that doesn’t match her weenie height or bouncing plaits.
‘We can do it,’ says Ollie. Ray puts on our final’s song, ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’, and Ollie and I move through the dance, building up to our first aerial: the moon flip. He pulls me close, puts both hands on my waist and I jump. He swings me higher and higher, over and around his shoulder. We reach the point where I normally tumble to the floor but, today, it’s effortless: Ollie’s arms are steel and his hands grip me firmly as I fly round. The world spins and then my feet land surely, but as soft as a feather, on wooden floorboards.
We freeze, Ollie’s hands still on my waist. Lulu grins and, with a massive whoop, Ray leaps off the stage.
‘We did it,’ says Ollie, amazed. He gives my waist a squeeze. ‘We did it!’ Then he frowns. ‘What’s the matter?’
I clutch my hand to my mouth and feel the blood drain from my face. ‘Oh, no,’ I gasp, then I pull away from him and rush from the hall. I make it to the toilet just in time. The bunking, the chips, the Crazy Mouse, the truth about Pearl and the cheesecake milkshake were all shaken up when Ollie flipped me upside down. I’m sick, really sick, but even as Lulu rushes in and holds my hair back from my face I manage to smile and say, ‘We did it, didn’t we? Was it good?’
‘It was perfect.’
Having gargled with water about twenty times and quickly chewed half a pack of Ray’s gum, I sheepishly wander back into the hall. After promising Lulu I feel fine, our practice continues.
‘That was pretty funny,’ says Ollie. ‘But maybe don’t do it on live TV?’
‘Right,’ interrupts Ray, ‘remember, all aerials are dangerous, so concentrate. One mistake can result in serious injury.’
‘Or serious barfing.’
‘Shut up, Ollie.’
‘OK.’
Lecture over, we get down to the hard work – learning all those aerial moves that have been out of our reach: the moon flip, knickerbocker, pancake, chuck and judo flip. To think I used to worry about holding Ollie’s hand. The rehearsal is like twister for two, with added music, and I don’t even blush when Lulu says, ‘Lift her bum, Ollie, come on! Squeeze her into the lift,’ and, ‘Press into his chest, Bea, you need the momentum.’ It’s at moments like these that I really miss Kat, although Ollie’s a surprisingly good substitute.
Lulu yells, ‘Lock on to his crotch, Bea! Lock on!’ and Ollie laughs so hard we have to stop dancing.
We’re jubilant when we leave the hall, a bit earlier than usual because all the acrobatics have knocked it out of us. We wander down the road before standing on the corner where we usually go our separate ways.
‘So, see you at school,’ I say. ‘And thank you for introducing me to naughty ways . . . the skiving, I mean.’
‘I think we got away with it. Even if we get found out, it was worth it.’
There’s a moment of silence and Ollie looks at me with a frown. It’s getting closer to summer and the days are getting longer. It is one of those beautiful evenings when the wind dies away and the light becomes soft. Some kids are out playing on their scooters. As we stand there, facing each other, their screams fade into the distance. Ollie continues to look at me and, all of a sudden, we seem to be standing very close together indeed.
‘I loved today,’ I say in a rush. And then I ruin everything by adding, ‘Except the puking.’ Well, that breaks the spell.
Ollie grins and we take a step back.
‘See you, Bean.’ He gives me a wave, turns round and walks down the road.
I watch the back of his head for a moment, the slope of his shoulders as he pushes his hands into his pockets, then I turn and walk back home.
I don’t just love his shoulders. I love all of him. So this is what it feels like – love. Amazing . . . and a little bit terrifying. I rein myself in. How tragic. Just because Ollie isn’t going out with Pearl there’s no reason why he’d suddenly want to go out with scared, shy, wrong-shaped Bea Hogg from Year Nine.
But then it hits me.
I’m not so shy – or scared, any more. And I’m not the wrong shape. In fact, I’m the perfect shape. Maybe I should start thinking of myself as happy, confident, curvaceous Bea Hogg . . . from Year Nine (I can’t do much about that) who’s a kick-ass jiver. That sounds more like girlfriend material
.
So, for once, I let myself fantasise about being Ollie’s girlfriend. And you know those moments in Disney films? When the bluebirds start tweeting and the princess holds her skirts out and twirls around a meadow and sings? That’s how I feel.
16
‘Feeling better, Bea?’ asks Mr Simms the next morning, which makes me feel bad for a second, then I remember I was actually sick so, in a way, I’m not lying.
In my quietest voice, I tell Betty all about the day Ollie and I spent in Brighton, leaving out a few important details, you know, the ones to do with bluebirds and love. Even so, she looks at me slyly and says, ‘You two are taking the whole “partner” thing really seriously.’ I’m saved from having to say anything back by the register being called, but Betty keeps smiling to herself and looking at me out of the corner of her eye. I shake my head like she’s a big fool, which she is, but this just makes her grin even more.
I’m treated to almost a week of Pearl-free days at school as The Pink Ladies go into dance overdrive. Each night, Ollie and I are similarly immersed in rehearsals, practising the aerials again and again. By Thursday, we can moon-flip, knickerbocker, pancake, chuck and judo-flip with ease . . . and without me puking.
On Friday, I’m queuing in the canteen, running through the hand signal to the moon flip in my head, when my thoughts are interrupted by Pearl’s voice. With Lauren, she pushes to the front of the line and begins telling some Year Seven girl to ‘lend’ her a pound. With Pearl standing over her, the girl opens up her purse and looks inside. The thing that really gets to me is the purse. It’s shaped like a ladybird. For some reason, that makes what Pearl is doing even worse. The girl looks scared. In fact, her hands are trembling so much she can’t get any money out.
‘I’ve only got enough for my lunch,’ she says in a whisper.
‘Oh well,’ says Pearl, snatching the purse and taking the money. ‘Ta.’ She drops the empty purse back into the girl’s hands. The girl stands behind Pearl, trying and failing to zip it up.
My body is shaking. I’m furious. I leave my place in the queue and walk up to them.
‘What d’you want?’ asks Pearl.
‘I want you to give that girl her money back,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm as Pearl’s clear blue eyes stare at me.
‘What?’
‘Give her back her money.’ Pearl laughs, so I carry on, ‘What makes you think you can take someone else’s money off them?’ The anger is showing now in my voice and this makes her laugh even more. Lauren smiles nervously.
‘She lent it to me, you retard,’ says Pearl, using that word. Then she turns round and says, ‘Didn’t you!’ to the girl with the ladybird purse. The girl nods and stares at the ground, probably hating me for getting involved and making everything worse.
Pearl turns back to face me, leans forward and says, ‘See. So why don’t you mind your own business, you silly little bitch?’ she says the last three words quietly and without emotion, almost like they are my name. Then she turns away as though another little problem has been sorted out.
I give her a shove on her back. I have to force myself to do it gently because I am feeling very fierce. Pearl spins round. ‘She doesn’t want to give you her money. You forced her to. You steal off Year Sevens. I can cope with you calling me “silly” and “little” but “bitch”?’ Without realising it, I have begun to shout and I step closer to her. ‘That is you, Pearl – you are one massive bitch, probably the biggest bitch in the school. And I am SICK of it!’ I point at the girl’s purse. ‘A ladybird, Pearl . . . what’s happened to you?’ I’m really shouting now and, although I know it sounds massively uncool, I just can’t stop my voice from rising until finally I yell, ‘Now give her back her pound!’
The canteen is silent and Pearl stands there staring at me, her glossy mouth hanging open. Then she composes herself, blinks her big, beautiful eyes, sucks in her breath, pulls back her arm and throws the pound coin – very hard – at my face.
‘There you are,’ she says calmly, before turning and walking out of the canteen with Lauren trotting after her.
The coin has hit me in the corner of my eye. I clutch my face. A few seconds later, the pain dies down and I take away my hands. My whole face throbs and I can’t see properly through my blurry eye. Stretching my arms out, I feel around on the floor until I find the coin and I give it to the girl. The canteen is still, deadly silent, and I notice one of the dinner ladies coming around from the kitchen to see what’s going on.
‘Thanks,’ says the girl, taking the coin and putting it back in her ladybird purse. ‘Your eye’s bleeding.’
Trying to walk as normally as possible and ignoring the stares, I find my bag and leave the canteen. As I go, the talking starts again. I make my way towards the toilets. I have to look in a mirror and see what damage Pearl has done. Suddenly, a blurred figure stands in front of me.
‘Bea, what happened?’ It’s Ollie. I’d recognise his voice anywhere.
‘I got a pound in my eye,’ I say, laughing, although tears of pain run down my cheeks.
He holds both of my hands, something that feels strange, even though we have done it for hours and hours in rehearsals. ‘How?’
‘Pearl threw it at me . . . It’s a long story.’
‘You need to go to the nurse. I don’t think you can walk.’
‘I can walk.’
‘No, we’ll make a chair for you.’
By now, Betty has appeared and they cross over their arms to make a seat and lift me up. I rest my arms round their shoulders while they run, very recklessly, down the corridor, yelling at people to get out of the way. By the time we get to the nurse’s room, I’m laughing so much that I feel fine. She still makes me lie down with a packet of peas on my face.
‘Don’t eat them,’ says Ollie.
They ask the nurse if they can stay with me and miss their next lesson, but she pushes them out.
‘You’ve got two very silly friends there,’ she tells me. I smile behind the bag of peas and, although I know it’s crazy, I feel really, really happy.
When I walk out of school at the end of the day, all that’s left to show for the pound coin incident is a tiny cut and a larger purple bruise. I’ve had one lesson with Pearl and she’s been strangely quiet, not even whispering to her BFs about me. I suppose I’d describe it as an icy silence, but it’s definitely an improvement. The funny thing is that even though she’s actually hit me I’m not scared of her any more. I don’t avoid looking in her direction, or lower my voice when I talk to Betty. She is losing her powers.
I walk across the playground and notice Ollie leaning on the wall by the gate. I prepare to do our usual nod and smile as I pass by, but he leaves his friends and walks over.
‘Hello,’ he says. ‘You do know you’ve got a black eye, don’t you?’
‘Does it look that bad?’
‘You could wear an eye patch.’ He falls into step beside me. ‘Lulu’s probably got a vintage one with cherries on it.’
‘The nurse promised me they could cover it up with make-up.’
‘Hmm,’ says Ollie doubtfully.
As we walk to rehearsal, I tell Ollie what happened in the canteen, exaggerating a little for comic effect. If it had happened a couple of months ago, pre-Ollie and pre-jive, I’d have been devastated.
Ollie listens, then says, ‘Well done, Bea.’
‘What for?’
‘Sticking up for that girl. Those were the actions of a fierce Jive Monkey.’
‘They were, weren’t they?’ I say.
Our rehearsal finishes at eight, when Lulu says, ‘That’s it. That’s as good as it’s going to get.’
They’re all going to get pizza and ask me along, but I’m going to see Nan. I’ve accepted that there’s no way she’s going to make it to the finals tomorrow and I need to speak to her.
She’s staring at the door as I walk in, like she’s been waiting for me. Quickly, she arranges her face into a big smile, hidi
ng the discomfort she’s obviously feeling.
‘So, Beatrice, this is it.’
I go and sit next to her. The bed is so high my legs dangle over the side. ‘I wish you could come and watch,’ I say. All of a sudden, Starwars, dancing, even Ollie, it all seems unreal. To see Nan, who is usually full of life, stuck in a hospital bed surrounded by beeps and wires, this is real.
‘I wish I could come too, more than anything.’
‘It’s thanks to you, Nan, all this.’
‘I said that you’d love jive.’ She gives my hand a squeeze. I notice that all her nail varnish has chipped off.
‘No, not just the dancing, everything.’ Nan frowns. ‘You see, when you got ill, I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you, but dancing has changed my life. I’m happy now. I thought I was before, but I kept the real me hidden away, especially at school. I would never have believed I could learn to jive, but you knew I could do it.’
‘Bea, you can do anything. You are a strong young woman . . . and you’re my granddaughter.’ And I know Nan doesn’t want me to say any more soppy stuff so, carefully avoiding her tangle of heart, blood pressure and temperature monitors, I lie next to her on the bed, rest my head on her pink knitted bed jacket and watch the end of Coronation Street.
17
‘Gosh, Bea, chive, chive, CHIVE,’ says a voice in my ear. I blink and jiggle up and down. What’s going on? Then I have a ‘Christmas morning’ moment of realisation. This isn’t any old Saturday . . . This is Starwars Saturday! Emma has been sent to wake me up and has chosen to do this by bouncing on my bed and showering me with sheets of paper. ‘Done you a picture,’ she says, her breath all Coco Poppy. She’s being modest. She’s done many pictures.
‘It’s lovely,’ I say, trying to focus on the one closest to my face. It’s of Ollie and me dancing. I wouldn’t know this if Mum hadn’t helpfully labelled the large-headed blobs with our names. She’s used a lot of red crayon and it looks like a murder on the dance floor. She gets into bed with me, bringing all her pictures with her.
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