I shook my head. I’d fallen in love with about six of them. Woodie and the Samoyed and Kiki the old collie, a mongrel that looked like an old teddy, a beautiful black Alsatian and a cheeky Jack Russell.
Some had to be overlooked as it said clearly on their report that they could be destructive and didn’t like children, even teens. Others, I knew, were too big like the Alsatian. Arm-wrestling champion that I am, I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep him on a lead.
It was then that I turned a corner and saw Mojo. He was sitting quietly in his room, a medium-sized black dog with a white patch over one eye. He gazed up at us with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. You look how I felt last night, I thought. Sad, lonely and badly in need of a friend. ‘Mojo is four years old and a stray,’ said his report. ‘He has a very gentle nature and likes people. He is very distressed at finding himself here and would like a good home as soon as possible.’
Mojo looked up at me with hopeful eyes.
I glanced over at Dad.
‘He’s The One, isn’t he?’ said Dad.
I nodded.
Dad and I didn’t stop talking all the way home. He told me all about how he had wanted to be a vet, but didn’t think he could cope with having to put people’s pets down as you sometimes had to do.
We even talked about Paul.
‘At least this fella won’t get on a plane and leave us,’ said Dad, looking at Mojo who was sitting happily in the back, looking out of the window. ‘Unlike some people I could mention.’
‘Paul, you mean?’
Dad nodded. ‘I hope he’s all right, wherever he’s got to. He may be grown-up, but you never stop worrying. And I know you and Mum think I go on but I know my own son and he can be naïve at the best of times. Even as a young lad, he was a dreamer, too trusting of people . . . You have to have your wits about you when you’re travelling.’
‘He’ll be OK,’ I said. ‘He’s with Saskia.’
‘Hmmmph,’ said Dad. ‘And she’s as daft as he is. Still, I guess he’s not alone. You’re right.’
I was glad it had been Dad who’d come with me to the Home. I felt I’d got to know him better. And discovered he was missing Paul as much as I was.
When we got home, Mojo ran around sniffing everything. Tail wagging happily, he seemed more than pleased when Dad opened the French doors to the garden. He ran out and sniffed the air as if he couldn’t get enough of it.
‘I think he likes it here,’ said Mum, watching him from the kitchen. As he ran about familiarising himself with the smells, the phone rang.
‘Oh, that will be someone called Lucy again. She’s phoned a few times since I’ve been back and so has someone called Nesta.’
I went to answer the call. Mum was right. It was Lucy.
‘About Nesta last night,’ she said. ‘She really didn’t mean to upset you. What she meant to say was that with your potential you could look totally amazing. She wasn’t saying you looked awful or anything.’
I’d forgotten all about the incident the night before. And it didn’t seem so bad in the light of a new day.
‘I suppose I was being a bit over-sensitive,’ I admitted. ‘Overreacted a bit.’
‘We all have days like that,’ said Lucy. ‘Like my mum says, only the wearer of the shoe knows where it rubs. You know, sometimes we don’t know where each other’s sensitive spots are and tread on them by mistake. Nesta treads on people’s sensitive spots with hobnailed boots on. But she doesn’t mean to. We all want to be friends. Honest. We all agreed. That’s why Nesta came to sit next to you at Sam’s talk the other afternoon.’
‘Really? I thought that was just coincidence.’
‘No. It was so you had someone to sit with.’
‘Really?’
We chatted on for about ten minutes and I told her my news about Mojo. She wants to come over on Monday to meet him.
After I put the phone down, I had plenty to think about. It looked like I had misjudged the whole situation and I decided I should give Nesta another chance. I watched Mojo as he ran about. He looked a different dog already. His tail was wagging madly, his tongue out.
Mum had her radio on in the kitchen and an old song was blasting out. How true, I thought, as I listened to the lyrics. ‘What a difference a day makes, twenty-four little hours . . .’
We’re all going to be good friends, I thought, going out into the garden to Mojo and doing what I’d wanted to do ever since I’d set eyes on him.
I gave him a big hug.
email: Inbox (1)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 16 June
Subject: Asta la vista
Ola bamboo baby.
Me velly sollee no email back last night.
Sollee you had bad time. Wish I was there to make it all better. Confucius, he say all things will pass. Particularly if you eat plennee fibre. Arf, arf.
Had brill time. Went for a grand beano feast and drinky drunky woos at a girl from school’s. She’s new like me only she’s come here from Johannesburg (known over here as Jo’burg). I think we might be friends. Her name’s Rachel.
Am getting bronzed and beautiful. It may be OK here after all.
She has two book titles for you. Bit rude.
Poo on the Wall by Hoo Flung Dung
Dog Bites by R Stornaway
Love you loads
Hannah
email: Outbox (1)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 16 June
Subject: Illo mysterio of lifeio
Great to hear from you. All changed from last night. V happy. Have new furry friend called Mojo. He’s adorable and Mum says he can sleep in my room. I think Dad is jealous. He was so sweet today at the dogs’ home. I realised I don’t know my dad as well as I thought. He’s v worried because Paul said he’d call when he got to Goa but nothing so far. Hope he’s OK. I think it’s just Paul and he’ll call when he remembers.
Also, Lucy called and apologised about Nesta. May be OK after all but no one will ever replace you. I am glad you met this new girl though as I don’t want you to be lonely. Lucy said her bro Steve liked me and thought it was unusual to meet a girl who had half a brain and was good to talk to. Not sure if this is a good thing as boys seem to view me as ‘one of the lads’ and I would like to have a boyfriend some day. Maybe Nesta was right. Maybe I do need a make-over. Anyway, I told Mum I want to change my appearance and maybe try and look a bit more like a girl. She was v pleased and said I can have a new dress.
Scott came over to meet Mojo. He has ditched Jessica already. He was looking mucho cute and was very sweet with Mojo.
Funny business, life, isn’t it? Just when you think everything’s rotten and life stinks, it can all change. Love you.
TJ
Books:
Rhythm of the Night by Mark Time
Bad Falls by Eileen Dover
email: Inbox (1)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 17 June
Subject: Goa
Hey TJ.
In Goa, it’s awesome. We sleep under the stars and look out over the sea. We met some amazing people (travellers mostly – Brits and Irish and a large number of Dutchies) and the locals here are very kind. I have bought an amazing crystal and every time I hold it, it is like there are enormous beams of light pulsating through my head via my temples, brow and crown chakra, but it gives Saskia a headache. I have been having real funky lucid dreams lately and been feeling like a million dollars with this quartz.
Rock on.
Paul
PS Please let Ma and Pa know I am OK. Tried to ring but lost wallet soon after we arrived. Have got job in a bar though. So all OK. Please ask Ma to send some dosh. Tell her I’ll pay her back, promise, promise. Don’t mention to Dad. Saskia got some nasty insect bites. Please ask Ma to send some more homeopathic stuff – arn
ica and apis and citronella and lavender oil.
Chapter 7
Our class was in a mad mood the next week at school. I think the heatwave had affected everyone’s brain.
It started in science, when Mr Dixon asked if anyone knew the formula for water.
Gabby Jones put her hand up. ‘HIJKLMNO,’ she said.
‘Er, can you tell me why?’ he asked.
‘Yesterday sir,’ said Gabby, ‘you said H to O was the formula for water.’
‘H2O,’ he sighed, then wrote on the board. ‘H2 as in the number O. OK, last question about water. What can we do to save water in a water shortage?’
‘Put less in the kettle sir,’ said Lucy.
‘Excellent. Anyone else?’
‘Don’t use the hosepipe,’ I said.
‘Another good one. Any others to help our water supply go further?’
Jade Wilcocks’ hand shot up. ‘Dilute it, sir,’ she said.
Mr Dixon shook his head but I could see he was trying not to laugh.
Then it was into the school hall for a film about the cosmos and all the planets and stars. Afterwards, Miss Watkins asked us questions to see if we’d been paying attention as I think some girls used the hour in the dark as an excuse to have a kip.
‘What is a comet?’ asked Miss Watkins.
I knew the answer to this and put my hand up.
‘Star with a tail, miss.’
‘Correct. And can anyone name one?’
Candice Carter, who was one of those I saw nodding off, stuck her hand up. ‘Mickey Mouse, miss,’ she said, as everyone cracked up.
But the best was in RE. Again, it was poor Miss Watkins taking the class and she asked if anyone knew what God’s name was.
This time it was Mo Harrison who put her hand up.
‘Andy, miss.’
‘Andy? Why on earth would Andy be the name of God?’
‘It’s in all the hymns, miss,’ said Mo. ‘Andy walks with me. Andy talks with me . . . There are loads of examples.’
‘No, Mo,’ Miss Watkins said, turning to Nesta who was crying with laughter. ‘Nesta Williams, seeing as you clearly find it so funny. What do you think the name of God might be?’
‘Er, not sure,’ said Nesta, looking caught out. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t think,’ said Miss Watkins. ‘I know.’
‘I don’t think I know either,’ giggled Nesta.
The whole class got detention but it was worth it. I felt like I’d spent the whole morning laughing my head off.
We never did get to know what God’s name was.
‘How are you getting on with the mag?’ asked Izzie as we sat doing our lines in detention in the lunch break.
‘So-so. I’ve got some ideas, but need to get them down on paper,’ I replied.
‘Come over to ours at the weekend,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m sure Steve would like to see you again and he can help. And so could me and Izzie and Nesta.’
The offer of help was tempting. Less than two weeks to go until the entries were due in and there was going to be a lot of competition. Intense discussions and hushed conversations were going on everywhere.
‘I could do a horoscope page for you, if you like,’ said Izzie.
‘That would be brilliant,’ I said. ‘And I may do a piece about Battersea Dogs’ Home.’
I showed Lucy and Izzie the Polaroids of Mojo. Soon, everyone wanted to look, so they got passed round the class. Everyone ooed and aahed until it got to Wendy Roberts.
‘Arrr, sweet,’ she said loudly. ‘TJ’s new boyfriend. Hey, TJ. Is this all you can pull? He needs a bit of a shave.’
A few girls giggled half-heartedly, but as though they felt they had to rather than because they thought Wendy was hilarious. Why was she being so horrid to me? Was it because Sam had liked my answer and not hers? Or because she’d got a low mark after copying my homework? It wasn’t my fault I was crapola at maths. I racked my brains for something funny to say back so it would look like I didn’t care, but I couldn’t think of anything quick enough. Bummer and bananas, as Hannah used to say. Why can I never come up with the right words when I need them?
After detention, we all trooped out to the playground for the last ten minutes of lunch. I ate my sandwiches and stretched out in the sun, but I couldn’t help but notice that some girls were passing a piece of paper round, then staring at me and giggling in a nervous way.
Oh, what now? I thought, as Izzie came out to join me on the bench.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Wendy. You know she’s running for editor as well. She’s just jealous . . .’
‘Take no notice,’ said Lucy, coming to join us. ‘You don’t need to know, TJ. She’s a sad cow and you should ignore her.’
‘No, I want to see,’ I said and got up and went over to a group of girls who were standing round Wendy looking at the piece of paper. I glanced over Wendy’s shoulder. There was a picture of a dog with its head cut out and mine stuck on instead. She’d cut out the photo of me from the group shot in last month’s newsletter. Underneath Wendy had written ‘Dog of the Week’.
‘What do you think, TJ?’ giggled Wendy. ‘You getting your dog gave me the idea. Each month in the newsletter, we pick someone to be Dog of the Week. What do you think?’
As I searched for the right put-down, a voice behind me got in first. ‘I think, Wendy, that if you were any more stupid, you’d have to be watered.’
I turned round and there was Nesta. She looked mad.
She took the paper and, much to Wendy’s astonishment, she ripped it up. ‘This is not remotely funny, Wendy. And you know it’s not. It’s not journalism. It’s just nastiness. Come on, TJ. Don’t lower yourself by breathing the same air as this low life.’
I was as gobsmacked as Wendy, but I turned away with Nesta and followed her to a bench where Lucy and Izzie were sitting.
‘Thanks, Nesta,’ I said, ‘but I was OK. I can handle Wendy Roberts.’
‘I know. But I’ve been waiting for a chance to show you that I’m on your side. I’m sorry about the other day. Sometimes words come out the wrong way.’
‘Not just then,’ I grinned. ‘That was brilliant. I wish I could come out with stuff like that. I always think of good things to say later, like when I’m falling asleep or something. . .’
‘Nesta’s special talent is fighting for her mates,’ teased Lucy. ‘Her special downfall is her big gob.’
‘Well, I know what it’s like to have some saddo like Wendy have it in for you,’ said Nesta.
‘I don’t know why. I never did anything to her.’
‘With her sort you don’t have to,’ said Nesta. ‘She’s probably jealous.’
‘Of me? Don’t be mad.’
‘Looks and brains,’ said Nesta. ‘Lethal combination.’
I felt really chuffed. Maybe she didn’t think I looked too bad after all.
Then I looked over at Wendy who was glowering at us from the other side of the playground. I hoped this wasn’t going to be the start of something.
Then I looked at Lucy, Izzie and Nesta glowering back at her like they were my best mates. And I hoped that this was going to be the start of something.
email: Outbox (1)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 18 June
Subject: notalot
Dear H
Weather is lovely. Wish you were here.
TJ
email: Inbox (2)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 18 June
Subject: notalot either
Dear TJ
Weather is here. Wish you were lovely. Arf arf.
Must dash. Going to movie. ie. Drive-in.
Bigola hugs and heeheehasta la vista baby.
Hannah
Book title:
Chest Complaints by Ivor Tickliecoff
From:
[email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 18 June
Subject: Friday night
Hey, Lara Croft
Wanna come to a sleepover Friday night! Iz and Lucy are coming. About 7?
Nesta
Chapter 8
‘TJ. TJ!’ called Mum excitedly as she came in the door. ‘Where are you?’
‘Here,’ I called from upstairs where I was straining to get started on some ideas for the school magazine. So far, I’d written one word. Aggh.
It was Friday night and I was going to the sleepover at Nesta’s in half an hour. An evening of culture had been planned. ‘The Simpsons’, ‘EastEnders’, ‘Friends’ and ‘South Park’.
Mum came in carrying a large carrier bag and plonked herself on the bed. She looked very pleased with herself.
‘I couldn’t resist,’ she said, getting something wrapped in tissue out of the bag. She pulled out a calf-length dress with swirly rust, maroon and orange-coloured flowers on it.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
The word ‘disgusting’ came to mind, though I suppose it was pretty in that cottage-chintzy-curtain-fabric way.
‘Not your usual taste, Mum,’ I said, thinking I was being diplomatic. Mum isn’t fashion-conscious at the best of times but her style is more plain than flowery. Jaeger and Country Casuals for work and sloppy tracksuits for the weekend. And her idea of making an effort to dress up is to wear a blue glass bead necklace. Even if it’s with the tracksuit.
‘Not for me, silly,’ said Mum. ‘It’s for you.’
Whaaat? Aggggh. No. Buuuut it’s horrid, I thought.
‘It’s lovely, isn’t it? I saw it in a little boutique opposite the surgery and remembered what you’d said about wanting to look more like a girl. Perfect, I thought. I described you to the lady in the shop, said you had dark hair and hazel eyes and she said you’d be an Autumn according to her Colour Me Beautiful chart and would suit the brown rusty colours,’ said Mum, not drawing breath. ‘Cost a fortune but we won’t tell Dad. It’s about time you had something nice. So what do you think?’
Mates, Dates and Sleepover Secrets Page 5