by Sarah Webb
“I guess. I just . . . I want to do something. Fix things for her. All this waiting around is killing me.” His hand tenses in mine. “I feel like punching something.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say. “It must be awful, but maybe she’ll get more information on Friday.”
“Maybe.”
No wonder Seth has been so distracted. And I’m ashamed to say that I feel a tiny wave of relief. I thought he was losing interest in me. Then I remind myself why he’s been so distracted, and that makes me feel terrible. How can I be worrying about whether he likes me or not when his mum is so sick?
“Seth,” I say, still feeling disgusted with myself. “I really am sorry about Polly. Don’t worry about doing something together this weekend if it won’t work. I understand. And if there’s anything I can do, tell me.”
He gives a tiny laugh and bumps me with his shoulder. “Always trying to fix things, aren’t you? I think you’re out of luck with this one, kiddo. But thanks for the offer. And let’s take a rain check on Saturday and Sunday, yeah? I’d love to hang out, but it depends on how it goes with Dr. Shine.”
The whale song kicks in again, and the disembodied voice tells us to open our eyes. And we stay there, holding hands, to watch the whales again. But this time, the giant creatures’ eyes don’t look soft and gentle; they look sad, and I have to gulp and blink back my tears. Sometimes life is so unfair.
When I walk through the door of the kitchen after school that night, Alex is sitting in his high chair, chewing on a cookie, his mouth a sticky mess. He’s even got pieces of mushy cookie in his bangs. Dave’s standing in front of the stove, stirring something in a frying pan. His headphones are clamped over his ears, and he’s swaying his shoulders and singing along to an old Beatles song. I sit down at the kitchen table and wait for him to notice me. His singing gets louder and louder as the chorus kicks in.
He belts the lyrics of “Let It Be” out in his strong, mellow voice. He used to be in a band — the Colts — and he loves music. He wrote all the band’s songs, before he met Mum and had the babies. Now the only songs he composes are for toddlers. He’s spent the last few months perfecting a show for tiny tots featuring Dinoduck — a character he’s created that is half dinosaur, half duck. Dave’s convinced that he’s going to be the next big thing in toddler rock. Mum thinks he’s delusional, but I’m not so sure. Alex and Evie adore the Dinoduck songs — “Red, Yellow, Green, Let’s All Scream” and “One, Two, Tie My Shoe”— which all have an educational theme. He’s had a big fluffy yellow Dinoduck costume made and everything. All he needs now is a manager, he says.
Some of his songs remind me of the All Saints cheers, in fact. Maybe working with Miss Mallard to improve our cheering repertoire could be a sideline career for him. I’m lost in these thoughts when there’s an almighty roar. I jump right out of my chair before I realize that it’s only Dave yelling. He pulls his headphones off.
“Jeepers, Amy! How long have you been sitting there? You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
I grin. “Not long. Nice daddy-dancing, by the way.”
“You weren’t supposed to see that. Was it really that bad?”
“No,” I lie. “You’ve still got the moves.” The wooden spoon in his hand is dripping red sauce all over the floor. “What are you cooking? Smells strangely good.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Spaghetti Bolognese. Your mum’s at the cinema with your grandpa. I’m on babysitting duty.”
“Have you lost one already?” I ask, looking around the room for Evie.
“She’s having a nap, smarty-pants.” He puts the spoon back into the frying pan and swipes at the sticky red puddle on the tiles with a piece of paper towel — Dave’s version of cleaning up. Mum would be on the floor with all kinds of sprays and wipes.
“You’re home late,” he says. “Your mum said you’d be back at three. It’s nearly five.”
I roll my eyes. “We were on a school trip, and the bus broke down. There was black smoke coming from the engine and everything. We were stuck in our seats for over an hour while the Crombies sang stupid rugby songs.”
Remembering what happened next, I feel my face go red. Annabelle had this horrible, horrible idea. She decided it was a great opportunity to teach everyone on the bus the All Saints cheers. And she forced me and Nina to join in. Nina didn’t need much encouragement, to be honest — she’s such a show-off — but I was utterly mortified at the mere thought of waving my arms around in the aisle, let alone chanting. I wouldn’t have gone along with it if she hadn’t threatened to be mean to Mills.
Mills’s face flashed in front of my eyes. The scared, bullied face; the face she wears when she talks about cheering.
“I’ll do it, I suppose,” I muttered.
And then the humiliation began. Every second of the experience was sheer torture. The worst thing was having to cheer in front of Seth. SETH! He couldn’t stop laughing. It was good to see Seth smile, but I do wish it hadn’t been at my expense.
“Rugby songs?” Dave smiles at me. “Sounds like a nightmare, all right. But at least they didn’t make you cheer, eh?”
“Dave, do you still keep in touch with Polly?” I ask, to change the subject. She used to ring him with any medical questions or worries about her treatment and he’d try to help.
“Yes,” he says slowly. “Why?”
I stare down at the table. I don’t want to break Seth’s confidence, so I can’t say any more. It’s good to know Dave’s still looking out for her, though. “Nothing, I was just wondering.”
Dave is quiet for a long time. Then he sits on the edge of the kitchen table and smiles gently at me. “Polly’s in good hands, trust me. She’s a really strong woman, a fighter. How’s Seth doing? Is he OK?”
“He’s finding things a bit difficult at the moment,” I say.
“That’s understandable. I know it’s all a bit up in the air for them both right now. It must be hard on the lad. But at least he has you to talk to, Amy. I know all this is hard for you too and you’re coping with it so well. I think you’re pretty incredible, in fact. I don’t know many teenagers, but if they’re all like you, this country’s going to be just fine.”
It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me. And for some reason it makes my eyes well up, which is really embarrassing.
“Thanks,” I say, blinking back my tears and getting up quickly. “Just going to do my homework.”
“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour,” Dave says behind me. “I’ll give you a yell.”
I lug my schoolbag upstairs to my room. I don’t actually have all that much homework because of the school trip — just a classics essay on the Parthenon (an ancient Greek temple that is actually a pretty cool building) and a couple of geography questions to answer about urban renewal in Ennis, County Clare (yawn, yawn, and triple yawn). But I’m so not in the mood.
I keep thinking about Seth and Polly and everything. A lump forms in my throat and I gulp it back. I’m not going to cry, I’m not.
I pull my mobile out of my pocket, looking for a distraction. There’s a tiny number 1 hovering over my message box, so I click on it.
YELLO, BEANIE. TELL DAVE TO KEEP ME SOME CHOW. I’M STARVING. GRAMPS IS OUT AND THERE’S NOT A CRUMB IN THE PLACE. I’LL BE OVER ANON FOR MY DIN-DINS. HAVE GOSS WORK FOR YOU TOO. CLOVER XXX
I instantly feel a little better. Clover always cheers me up. I decide then and there that I’ll tell her the Bus Trip from Hell story, but I won’t say anything about Polly and Seth. If I do, I know I’ll only start to feel miserable again, and besides, I don’t want to break Seth’s confidence.
She’ll laugh at the cheerleading story, though. There’s no girl better to keep my mind off things than Clover Wildgust. I can’t believe that she might not be around for much longer. I’ll miss her so much. . . . If she does go to New York, who will cheer me up when I’m feeling blue?
“So how goes it, Bean Machine?” Clover says, comi
ng into my room later. “Dave said you were on a school trip today. You and the lovely Sethness get a chance to slope off for some smooch a-go-go?” She puckers up her lips and makes loud kissing noises.
“It wasn’t that sort of trip, believe me.”
“Everything OK, Beanie Baby? You seem a little out of sorts. Not like you to be so serio-so.”
“I’m just a bit tired.” I say. “I had the bus trip from hell today.” And I tell her all about my cheering experience.
“That sounds grimmer than the Grimm brothers,” she says when I’ve finished. “You poor sausage. No wonder you’re down. But there’s nothing else worrying you, is there? It’s not Seth, is it?”
“No, Seth’s fine. The perfect boyfriend, as always.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing else upsetting you?”
I’m determined not to say anything about Polly, so I shake my head.
“Honestly, just wrecked,” I say firmly.
“Good-o. But remember that I’m always here for you, Beanie, if you want to talk. Day or night, 24/7. No matter where I am. Comprende?”
A little voice inside me suddenly says, Ask her about New York. Ask her if she’s really going. Ask her! But I don’t want to get Mum in trouble, so I keep quiet and the moment passes because she bursts into the chorus of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” complete with elaborate arm gestures.
“This is the cheer version of the song,” she says, tipping her fingers together over her head to form a mountain and swooping them down into a low V to form a valley.
Despite my mood, I manage to smile.
She stops singing and pulls a crumpled sheet of paper out of her bag. “Nearly forgot. Problemo for you to solve, o teen-problem guru.” She hands me the letter and I smile to myself when I see my name at the top of it. First too.
Dear Amy and Clover,
I have a problem. Sorry, I should tell you my name and a bit about myself first. I’m Bethan and I live in Cavan. Recently I’ve started hanging out with some new friends from outside school and they’re all pretty cool. Most of them are older than me. I’m 13.
My new friends have all had their first meet by now — where we live we call a kiss a “meet”— and I feel really left out. No one has been pressuring me or anything, I just feel I’m ready. There’s a boy I like, Eddie, and I think he likes me too. But here’s the BIG PROBLEM. I don’t know how to kiss a boy or even let him know that I’d like to kiss him, and how can I tell when it’s the right time? Is there some sort of secret message that I don’t know about? Do you wink twice at a boy with your left eye or something?
I know this letter probably sounds really stupid, and everyone I’ve asked says it just comes naturally, but I’d really, really appreciate some factual information — a step-by-step guide to kissing.
Can you help me?
Thank you in advance,
(A very desperate) Bethan XXX
“That’s exactly how I felt, remember, Clover? I asked you how to kiss Seth, and you started demonstrating by pretending to snog the back of your hand.”
“And Sylvie walked in the door and caught me.” Clover chuckles.
“You told her you were testing out a new lipstick.”
“And she believed me. Grown-ups! They’d swallow anything.” She rolls her eyes, then asks, “So what do you think? Now that you’re an experienced girl of the world, care to do a step-by-step guide for Bethan? I think it’d probably work better as an article than a letter. Your very first Goss feature, Beanie. Coola boola.”
That would be amazing! “Would Saffy really print an A-to-Z of kissing?”
“Sure, if it’s good enough. It’s exactly the kind of thing Goss fans want to read. And Bethan’s letter proves it. Avoid making it too graphic, though. Don’t want to offend any parental types.” She puts on a New York cop accent. “Just the facts, ma’am.”
“I’ll do it!” I say.
“Good woman.” Clover pats me on the back so hard she nearly fires me across the room.
An Ultimate Teen Guide to Kissing? That will mean lots of research. I hope Seth’s up for it!
I didn’t see much of Seth on Thursday, and he wasn’t in school at all today, Friday. He texted me to say he was going to the hospital with Polly for her appointment with Dr. Shine. He also said that Polly isn’t working tomorrow after all and promised he’d hang out with me — result! I’ve just texted to arrange where to meet: HOW ABOUT MCDONALD’S AT 1 AND THEN A MOVIE? THERE’S A NEW PIRATE ADVENTURE THING THAT LOOKS COOL. AND IT’S PADDY’S DAY ON SUNDAY — ARE YOU UP FOR CHECKING OUT THE FIREWORKS IN TOWN WITH MILLS AND BAILEY? XXX
OK, SURE, he texted back. MEET YOU AT MCD’S.
As soon as I spotted the word “meet,” I smiled. He has no idea of my dastardly plans for him. Well, for his lips, to be strictly accurate. We’ll definitely have to sit in the back row of the cinema!
On Saturday morning I get up at eleven and take a shower. In fact, the babies woke me at seven, but I managed to drift off again — Mum knew I didn’t have anything on this morning and she left me to sleep, which rarely happens, so I’m already in a good mood. I dry my hair upside down to give it extra body, then tong a couple of curls into the front with my curling iron. We haven’t been out anywhere, just me and Seth, for ages, and I want to look nice, so I take extra care choosing my clothes. I put on some music and start trying on loads of different outfits before settling for my denim skinny jeans, black top, and a black leather jacket of Clover’s, teamed with silver Converse. I dab some lip gloss on my lips and smack them together with a satisfying puck noise. Now I’m ready to rock and roll!
“You look nice,” Mum says as I walk into the kitchen just after twelve. “Where are you off to?”
“Just going to the cinema with Seth.” An image of the two of us smooching in the back row flashes into my mind and my cheeks heat up.
Luckily Mum is too busy chasing Alex around the kitchen with a piece of damp paper towel to notice.
“What time will you be back?” she says, catching Alex. She holds him in a wrestling-style grip while she rubs his chocolate-ringed mouth and he wails in protest.
I calculate in my head. The film starts at two, and we might go for a walk or something afterward.
“Five or six, I guess,” I say.
“Before six, please,” she says. “And have fun.”
I smile at her. “I will.” She has no idea how much fun I intend to have “meeting” Seth.
I get to McDonald’s at five to one and have a quick look around. Seth isn’t here yet, so I sit down at a table just inside the door to wait. There’s a dad with two little kids at the table beside me. They’re playing with their plastic toys as he feeds them fries. Opposite me, there’s a gang of D4s. I don’t know them, thank goodness. They’re studying their hamburger wrappers, reading out the calories and comparing them. If they’re really that bothered about their weight, they should eat in a health-food café, not a burger joint. One notices me watching them and raises her overplucked eyebrows, so I quickly start fiddling with my iPhone.
“Hiya.” I look up, and Seth’s standing in front of me. He’s wearing a creased T-shirt with an old blue zip-up hoodie over it, and his hair is limp and falling over his eyes. I feel a bit disappointed. I spent ages getting dressed, and he looks like he picked yesterday’s clothes off the floor and threw them on. But at least he’s here.
“Hi.” I smile at him.
He smiles back, but the expression doesn’t hit his eyes. My stomach tightens a little. Something’s not quite right. Then I remember what he was up to yesterday — visiting the hospital with Polly. It can’t have been easy. No wonder he looks tired, anxious, and a little crumpled around the edges.
“You stay here and keep the table,” he says. “Big Mac meal with Fanta, yeah?”
“Thanks.” I nod. He knows me so well. I take my wallet out of my pocket, but he waves it away.
“It’s on me. Back in a sec.” As he walks off, I notice some o
f the D4s’ heads turn to check him out. I allow myself to feel a little smug. I bet none of them has a boyfriend as cute or as kind as Seth, even if he does look a bit of a mess today.
A few minutes later, he plunks a tray on the table and shuffles in beside me. Then he just sits there, staring at the food.
“Is everything all right, Seth?” I ask.
“Sorry, just got a lot on my mind. Let’s eat.” He hands me my food, and I start to tuck in. I used to hate eating with Seth. It made me so nervous, I could barely swallow. I worried about getting sauce on my face, dropping food all over my lap, or looking like a pig in front of him. But Seth usually wolfs down his food and is a far messier eater than I am. These days I’m quite happy to eat in front of him. In fact, now I often wonder what I was fretting about in the first place. I don’t think he’s ever noticed how I eat.
Today Seth’s eating his burger slowly, methodically almost, and instead of cramming a handful of fries into his mouth in one go, he’s chewing them one by one.
“Are you not hungry?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Not really.”
“What’s wrong?” I’m starting to feel uneasy again.
“Nothing.”
“How was yesterday? Did you find out anything else about any new treatment plans?”
“Yeah, Dr. Shine seems to think this new American drug is a goer. Polly can start on a course of it next week. But it’s going to wipe her out apparently, ‘cause it’s pretty strong.”
“But it’s good news, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. She’s going to need me around a lot to help out. Some days she might not be able to get dressed and stuff on her own. I might have to take some time off school.”
“I can help too,” I say brightly. “And I’m sure Dave and Mum would be happy to — ”