by Various
As Jack walked closer, there was a second, just a second, when he and I were looking right at each other, right into each other’s eyes. As if we were the only two people in the schoolyard. As if those five years hadn’t passed. As if we were ten again, not nearly sixteen. As if what had happened hadn’t happened. I knew the look in his eyes. It was a kind look, a sweet look, an “I hope we can be friends again” look. I knew, because I was feeling the exact same things.
But Mandy didn’t know that. She saw him looking at me and saw me looking at him, and she saw me blush, and she told me afterwards that she thought it was because I was still angry about his mum running off with my mum’s boyfriend. But it wasn’t. My blush was just a proper old-fashioned “oh God look how gorgeous Jack is now and here he comes to talk to me” blush.
He was nearly within speaking distance and was still looking at me, when Mandy piped up, at top voice beside me. “Come for another reading and writing lesson, Jack, have you?”
She meant well, she told me a zillion times after. “I was just trying to protect you.”
But Jack didn’t know that. He obviously thought – and why wouldn’t he? – that I’d told everyone about his dyslexia in a mean way and that we were taunting him. He stopped in front of us, in front of me, as if he was frozen. And he looked at me again, looked really long and hard at me, as if I had disappointed him in a way he’d never thought possible. And then he walked away. Without saying a word.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to ring Mum and ask her to come and get me. All those things that kids do but I couldn’t do any more because I was nearly sixteen and the last thing I wanted to do was draw any more attention to myself. Or to Jack.
A week went past. Another week. I saw him in the schoolyard every day. He was either on his own or with a group of guys. Not the cool group, the brainy-but-a-bit-odd group. He never looked back at me. I tried sending him ESP messages. They didn’t work.
One night, Mum told me she’d seen Shona in the street. I hadn’t told her about me and Jack. She didn’t know I was crying myself to sleep about him. I tried to sound breezy. “Did you throw rocks at her? Try and run her over?”
She frowned. “Why would I do that?”
I rolled my eyes. “Uh, Mum, remember Shona? The one who stole your boyfriend?”
“That was years ago. She actually did me a favour. If Pete ran off so easily he wasn’t a good man anyway.”
See what I mean? My mum makes Pollyanna look evil.
I tried to put Jack out of my mind. I tried to get used to the sad, stone-like feeling in my chest. I studied. I played netball. I tried not to notice him at school and in town. I tried to forget the look of disappointment he’d given me. Mandy kept apologizing. I told her I was fine. She knew I was lying.
Then came Mum’s turn to volunteer in the school canteen. “Please, Mum, whatever you do,” I begged the night before, “please don’t wear anything that would embarrass me.”
I shouldn’t have said it. I should have stayed quiet, and I should have stayed home that night. But I was staying at my friend Nicola’s house, so we could watch a DVD of Jane Eyre in preparation for our English class. If I’d been home, I would have noticed a gleam in Mum’s eye, seen her stand in front of her wardrobe, and heard her say out loud, “Lily cares far too much what other people think of her; it’s time to shock her out of it.”
I would have somehow stopped her reaching for that rainbow-coloured ripped T-shirt and the polka dot miniskirt. Stopped her reaching for the hair gel and eyeliner. Stopped her leaning down and taking out the blue Doc Martens.
But I hadn’t been there.
Which meant I walked into the canteen at lunchtime today to see my mother standing behind the counter, looking like a deranged escapee from a 1980s punk music video. In front of everyone.
“Oh my God, Lily! You’re completely bright red!” It was Mandy, coming up beside me.
I said nothing, just stared down at my feet. I bet they were bright red inside my shoes too. I fought back sudden tears. I didn’t dare look up. This was a nightmare. The canteen is always so crowded at lunchtime. Everyone would see her. My friends and classmates. My teachers. Even people I didn’t know would see her and tease me.
“I can’t decide who looks worse,” Mandy said, too loudly. “Have they done it for a dare?”
They? There was someone else in embarrassing clothes? I peered through my hair.
Mandy was right. There was a second woman behind the canteen counter. She was wearing a gold shimmery top so skintight I was amazed she could breathe. Tight blue pants that looked like they’d been sprayed on. Her hair was backcombed into a kind of a beehive. She looked like Olivia Newton-John in the final scene of Grease. She made my mother look like Audrey Hepburn.
It was Shona. Jack’s mother, Shona.
I didn’t see him come up behind me. I didn’t know he was there until I heard his voice, right behind me. “She’d shame the devil, that one,” he said.
I spun round. He didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t seem mortified. His expression was calm. Then he bit the nail of his little finger and I knew he was nervous.
I swallowed. I wanted to say a thousand things. I’ve missed you, Jack. I’m sorry you left the way you did all those years ago. I’m sorry Mandy said what she said. I’d never have teased you about your dyslexia. But I said nothing. All I could do was stare at him and go even more bright red.
He didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t seem to care that the kids around us were giggling about our mothers, either. He just stood beside me as if I’d been holding a place for him in the queue.
“Thank God it’s lunchtime,” he said, after another moment’s silence.
I could only nod.
“I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby child,” he said.
I stared at him. I found my voice. “Through the bars of a cot?” I said.
“Through the bars of a cot,” he said.
Another second passed.
“Want to go halves?” he said.
“Yes please,” I said.
He smiled at me. I smiled back.
We walked up to the counter together.
Postscript
I always hate it when stories finish like that, so here’s what happened next. My mum served him; his mum served me. My mum was really friendly to him; his mum was actually a bit over-the-top friendly to me.
We found out later that his mum had called round to my mum’s the night before to plead forgiveness and make friends again. Mum had been choosing her embarrassing canteen-duty outfit. She said she didn’t think she would go through with it. But then Shona said she could volunteer and dress up too, wouldn’t that be a lark? The more they talked, and the more wine they drank, the more hilarious the idea seemed.
“Sorry if we embarrassed you,” they both said. But anyone could see they weren’t sorry. They were laughing too much.
In hindsight, I’m not sorry either. Because if they hadn’t both turned up at school looking like that, I don’t know when or if Jack and I would have started talking again.
Or started meeting up after school again.
Or started seeing each other on weekends.
Or talked about all that had happened to us in the five years since we’d seen each other.
Or said sorry to each other for not staying friends back then.
Or told each other how much we had missed each other.
Or kissed each other for the first time.
But they did. And we did.
And that kiss with Jack was the best kiss I’d ever had in my whole life.
Until he kissed me a second time.
When you’re sixteen and a half, not particularly good-looking and have three mean sisters and a best friend with boobs like Jordan’s, you take any compliments you can. In fact, you eat them up.
My mother tells me I’m “interesting-looking” – which is actually worse than being called ugly. My sisters don’t sugar-coat it for me. They tell me all th
e time that I’m ugly, all except for my younger sister, Annie, who says I look like the actress Amy Adams, only my eyes are smaller. Have you seen Amy Adams’s eyes?! They’re tiny! So I have raisin eyes and brownish-red hair – like those red setter dogs, as my sister Joan constantly reminds me. (Sometimes when she’s feeling particularly bitchy, which is most of the time, she woofs at me.)
So when a gorgeous Spanish guy told me that my tiny raisin eyes were like pools of emeralds sparkling in the moonlight, I chose to believe him – and that’s when things got complicated…
Mum cried at the airport. It was so embarrassing. She howled into my shoulder! I could see people looking around to see where the werewolf was.
“Mum, seriously, stop,” I hissed. “I’m going to Spain for two weeks, not Australia for ten years.”
Mum fished around in her handbag for a tissue. She pulled out two blue Bic pens, one of which had no cap and was leaking, a half-eaten granola bar, a huge set of keys that a prison warden would have been proud of, a packet of Silvermints, a book on how to be successful in every aspect of your life and, finally, a raggedy old tissue. She blew her nose.
“I know it’s only two weeks, but it’s the first time you’ve gone away on your own and I’m just worried.” She sniffed.
I sighed and for the millionth time reminded her that I wasn’t going away on my own. I was going with my best friend, Chloe White, and her parents.
Mum looked over at Mr and Mrs White. Gerry White was talking furiously into his mobile phone. We could hear him shouting, “Not bloody good enough. We’re not settling for less than two million.” Norma White was sitting, drinking a coffee with her sunglasses on, even though it was raining outside.
“I won’t get a wink of sleep until you come back,” Mum said.
Well, I knew that was a big fat lie. Mum sleeps like the dead. The minute her head hits the pillow she is gone to the Land of Nod and nothing can wake her up. Even when Dad left and everyone else was up all night crying, Mum was snoring in her bedroom. She says it’s the only time she gets to switch off. If sleep were an Olympic sport, she would be a gold-medal winner.
Chloe came over to Mum and me then. She was wearing a gorgeous Marc Jacobs minidress and Miu Miu wedges. I looked down at my Primark maxi dress and felt very uncool. Chloe always has the best clothes. Her mum takes her shopping once a month and buys her all designer stuff. My mum takes me shopping once a year and buys me school shoes and trainers.
“Hi, Mrs Jones.” Chloe smiled at my mother. To me she said, “Look, Jenny, we need to go through security now. Are you ready?”
I’d never been more ready. I was going on a two-week holiday to Spain with my best friend and her very rich parents. We were staying in a five-star hotel on the beach. I would be away from my three sisters for fourteen blissful days. I couldn’t wait.
I pulled away from Mum’s clinging hands. “Goodbye, Mum. You need to go or you’ll be late for work,” I reminded her.
“Call me when you land,” she told me. “Call me every day. If you don’t call, I’ll be worried.”
“OK, OK, I will. Please, Mum, I need to go now.”
I pecked her on the cheek, turned round and walked through the departure gate.
Spain, here I come!
When we landed and the aeroplane doors had opened, the warm summer air wrapped around me like a cosy blanket. It was great to feel heat on my bones. It was the fifteenth of July, and so far in Dublin this year our summer had consisted of rain (lots of), hailstones and even sleet on one very special day. I was thrilled to be in sunny Spain.
Mrs White seemed to be in better form when we landed too. By then she had knocked back three of those little bottles of wine. She had started smiling after the second bottle and, although she hadn’t taken her dark glasses off, had told us we could order whatever we wanted from the in-flight menu. Chloe had ordered everything, taken tiny bites of it all and then said she was full. So I’d ended up eating most of it – sandwiches, crisps, chocolate bars and crackers and cheese. It was fantastic!
When we arrived at the hotel, my jaw nearly hit the floor. It was incredible. You walked through the huge white-marble lobby, out of some French doors and you were on a white sandy beach. There were about a hundred sunloungers in neat lines, each with a soft squishy blue and white striped cushion to lie on. Each chair even had its own parasol. There were waiters in crisp white T-shirts and navy shorts scurrying around delivering drinks and snacks to the sunbathers.
“Let’s get our togs on,” Chloe suggested, and we ran upstairs to our big bedroom to change.
We were back down in ten minutes. Me in my H&M red and white polka dot bikini and Chloe in her Missoni swimsuit with a plunging neckline. Although she is only sixteen, Chloe has really big boobs – I think they are even bigger than Kim Kardashian’s! I am jealous of them. Mine are like two fried eggs, sunny side up. I have a boy’s shape – tall, long and lean. Chloe has a womanly shape – small, with big boobs, a small waist and big hips. She wants to be thinner and I want to be curvier.
We lay on our sunloungers and applied suncream to each other’s backs.
“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” I said, looking around at the beautiful beach and the deep blue sea.
Chloe shrugged. “It’s OK, I guess. I’m usually here on my own with Mum and Dad, which is sooooo boring. Dad spends his whole time on the phone and Mum just shops and drinks wine. I’m so glad they let me bring a friend this year. It’s going to be so much more fun with you here.”
“I’m very happy to oblige.” I grinned. “Last summer we went to Kerry for a week. We stayed in a two-bedroom mobile home that Mum’s boss lent us. It rained every single day, but Mum insisted on going to the beach for picnics in between the showers. We sat on the cold wet sand, eating sandwiches, shivering, moaning and fighting. At night the only thing to do was play cards or Scrabble. Can you imagine four girls, ranging in ages from fourteen to twenty, stuck in a small mobile home for a week? It was hell.”
Chloe smiled. “I dunno. It sounds kind of fun. At least you have people to play with, or fight with or whatever. Being an only child sucks. I’d love to have three sisters.”
I snorted. “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me, it’s no fun.”
“My mum really wanted more kids. She had loads of miscarriages after I was born and eventually just gave up trying. Sometimes when she drinks too much wine she gets upset about it. It’s mortifying. I hate it when she gets all teary. Dad can’t cope with her when she’s like that either. He just gets furious and tells her to be grateful for all the things she does have. She says material things mean nothing to her and don’t make up for lost babies. But Dad says her credit card bills suggest the opposite – and they end up having a massive argument.”
“At least your dad is around to argue with her. Mine’s MIA.”
“Does he never get in touch with any of you?” Chloe asked.
I shook my head. “No, none of us. He lives in England now with his new woman and doesn’t give a damn about us.”
“I’m never getting married,” Chloe announced.
“Me neither. Unless Justin Timberlake asks me.”
“Or Robert Pattinson.”
“Or Taylor Lautner.”
We giggled.
“I’m hungry; let’s order some food,” Chloe suggested. “What do you fancy?” She looked up from the menu. “Speaking of something I fancy … he’s cute!”
A tall boy with pale skin and brown curly hair was walking by. He had nice blue eyes and a good body, but he wasn’t really my type. He looked too Irish. I only wanted to meet dark, handsome Spanish boys on this holiday.
“I recognize him,” Chloe said. “He’s in school with my cousin. I’m pretty sure he’s the captain of the rugby team. I bags him!”
I laughed. “You’re welcome to him.”
Chloe followed him with her eyes. “Dylan. That’s his name. I’ll have to think of a way to get chatting to him later.” Chloe’s stomach rum
bled. “What are you having to eat?”
Mum had told me to always order the cheapest thing on the menu and only ever ask for tap water because it was free. She said people didn’t like guests who were always asking for things. It was important to be an excellent guest. I scanned the menu. The cheapest thing was a side salad.
“I’ll just have a green salad,” I said.
Chloe looked at me. “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
She sighed. “No wonder you’re so thin. I’ll have the burger and fries.”
I was delighted. I knew Chloe would only have one bite of the burger and a couple of fries. I’d be able to eat the rest.
The waiter came over to take our order. He was my height, really tanned and had jet-black hair and big brown eyes. He looked about eighteen. His T-shirt was very fitted and showed off his muscles. He was so my type.
“Buenas tardes. My name is Carlos. How can I help you today?” he asked.
“I’m Jenny. Jennifer,” I said.
Chloe waved the menu at him. “We’d like a burger, fries and a side salad and two Cokes.”
“Please,” I added. “I mean, por favor.”
Carlos winked at me. “I’ll bring it right away,” he said in a beautiful Spanish accent. He rolled his r’s. It was very sexy.
I blushed; he was so hot.
Fifteen minutes later, Carlos was back with our food. His fingers brushed my hand when he passed me my Coke. I shuddered. It was like an electric volt down my arm. I looked up at him and his eyes locked with mine. Wow, he really was gorgeous.
“Bon appétit,” he said, grinning at me as he walked off.
Chloe smirked. “So is Carlos more your type than Dylan?”
“What?” I blushed.
“Oh my God, it’s so obvious – you’re practically drooling.”
I busied myself with my salad. “No, I’m not.”
Chloe popped a chip into her mouth. “Come on, admit it – you fancy him. I can see why – he is cute. But there are loads of hot Spanish guys here. Don’t fall for the first one you meet. Besides, I thought he was a bit too smooth.”