Jenny Q, Unravelled!

by Pauline McLynn

  When the others are gone, it comes to me what it is that I can do. I realize this is pretty much the same problem as the school troll, but bigger, so I need to go higher with this one. I draft another letter, this time to the police.

  I write it on my computer, so it is clear and legible – besides, my hand is shaking so much with nerves that my writing would be totes rubbish. I give as much detail as I have. I voice my worries. The only thing that grieves me about it is that I will have to remain anonymous. This seems cowardly to me, like the school troll who hadn’t the guts to sign up to his horrid comments, but the truth is that Dixie would never speak to me again if I got her into a big exposé and one which could only lead to trouble at home. I don’t want to lose her. If that’s selfish of me, then so be it. I must protect her, though – I have no choice there: it’s part of my responsibility as a friend. I need to remove her from danger.

  I email a copy to Uggs and text to alert him to it. I want, I need, his approval and backup for my plan. After a few minutes I get: go for it! I print out the letter and put it in a plain brown envelope. Uggs and Gypsy collect me and we walk to the cop shop, where we post it through the main door and hope for the best. It’s up to the big boys to deal with it now.

  Back at home, Mum has returned from a meeting of the mother-and-child group. She’s wearing a satisfied smile that has us all as worried as the sad face she used to wear until recently.

  ‘Anything we should know about?’ Gran asks.

  ‘Oh, you’ll see,’ is all we get in return.

  Uh-oh. There is, officially, trouble in the air.

  Romance is Dead

  We’re doing a briskish trade in love bombs and knitted hearts in the lead-up to Valentine’s Day. I’ll send cards to Dixie and Uggs. I do that every year, even though I never admit to it. I’m fairly sure they know it’s me, though.

  The next and final (EEP!) Teen Factor X is the day after Valentine’s and the guys want to do a love song. It will show they have range and don’t just do rock.

  ‘A very twisted love song, though,’ Dermot says, ‘that would be my choice.’

  I wonder if that is because he and Sam Slinky are no more.

  ‘The poet, Yeats, called love “the twisted thing”, didn’t he?’ This last gem is from Dad. He loves an opportunity to quote a writer and I suspect it is for showing-off purposes. And his tail is definitely up since he got his new job. He’s perky.

  ‘Such negative talk around a breakfast table,’ Gran says. ‘Is romance dead or something?’

  ‘Must be,’ I tell her.

  Actually, Gran always gets some post on Vally’s Day. She has admirers out there, even at her age!

  There is a range of unexpected events on St Valentine’s Day.

  First up, I get a card in the post! Unsigned, of course, but I know it’s not from Dixie or Uggs because I text them toot sweet and they deny it and I believe them.*

  Dixie is downcast as we trudge to school. Eventually she tells us why.

  ‘Kev has dropped off the radar. He closed his Facebook account and his phone is dead. Strange.’

  ‘Ah, maybe it just wasn’t to be, Dix,’ I say, cheering inside as loudly as I ever did out loud at Teen Factor X. Whoever Kev is or was, and whatever he was up to, he has been stopped for now at least.

  At school Samantha Slinky looks blonde and shiny and glorious. She is returned to her former self. Her Rottweiler-guard Slinkies are smiling. Dixie rallies from her low spirits and goes off to hunt down the gossip on the grapevine. She returns to tell us, ‘Dermot and Sam are an item again.’

  It’s like the old order has been restored. Like the prince has kissed the sleeping beauty and the nasty spell is broken.

  We have just arrived in our classroom when Jason Fielding comes through the door with a single red rose and hands it to Dixie. ‘I’m sorry, babe,’† he says. Before I can look away they’ve got into major tongue snoggage that is upsetting at any hour and particularly pre-elevenses.

  When she emerges from her clinch, all breathless, she says, ‘Well, if R-Patz and Kristen can give it another try, so can we.’

  All morning my mind is branded with the image of that snog = v unsettling.

  I scour the canteen for Stevie Lee B at lunchtime, hoping that the sight of him will help erase the mental picture of the Dixie/Tongue snog and tell me if it was him who sent me the card. It’s a long shot, I know, but, to paraphrase the saying, ‘while there’s lurve there’s hope’!

  I finally spot him. He’s in a group with the Slinkies. In fact, he is with a Slinky. They are laughing and smiling. He puts his arm around Danielle’s shoulder and I see that she is holding one of our love hearts. My world crashes into smithereens.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ I whisper to Dixie.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jen. I couldn’t tell you he’d bought one in case it wasn’t for you. I couldn’t break your heart like that.’

  No need, I want to tell her, he has already broken it. It feels like it has been torn in two. In reality, I have been waiting for this day for ever. I knew it would come. It had to. And the only betrayal of me is by me. Stevie Lee Bolton never promised me anything. He has never been anything but nice to me, sure, but he hasn’t led me on either. I must settle for knowing that he likes me, thinks I’m a quirky little nut job, the shrimpy sister of his best friend. And if that’s all it is, then that is all I get and I have to accept it. It will take time for my poor heart to heal but maybe that can happen. Maybe some day I’ll get over him.

  The happy group is laughing and canoodling when suddenly SLB catches my eye and holds me in his gorgeous gaze. It’s like I’m mesmerized and cannot look away. Then he gives his group a glance and looks back at me, giving a little raise of his eyebrows, as if to say, ‘What the hell.’ It’s confusing, very confusing, but I feel connected to him just enough for this agony to be a little more bearable. Then I remind myself that perhaps there is a tiny part of me that is relieved. Would I really be ready for a real-life relationship? It doesn’t lessen the torture of seeing a Slinky draped around SLB, though.

  Gary O’Brien appears, shuffling nervously, which is odd for him. He normally attacks any situation with confidence.

  ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Jen.’

  ‘If you say so,’ I manage.

  ‘Erm, I was wondering if you were going to the poetry jam next week?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, although I had quite forgotten about it with everything else going on. ‘Why not?’ I murmur, hardly noticing my reply.

  ‘See you there, then.’ He laughs gormlessly. ‘It’s a date!’

  WHAT! No, that is NOT what I meant … Oh, well, I haven’t the resolve or the sheer interest to correct him.

  I drift aimlessly through lessons, learning nothing, swaddled in the numb of heartbreak. Then I am rudely jolted from my woe-filled miseries by Uggs and a copy of the local paper.

  ‘More replies to Dixie’s advert?’ I guess.

  ‘Not quite,’ he says. ‘This is more front-page news.’

  ‘OK …’ It is then that I see that he is holding the local local paper and not our schools’ one.

  ‘You know that mother-and-child group your mum joined?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Now he has my attention.

  ‘Well, here they are … in the news. Making the news.’

  The front-page picture is of a group of breastfeeding mothers protesting in the Barnacle Café, all with their chestage proudly on show, all with a baby latched on. Oh My Actual Mother. Well, she did tell that manager she’d be back, and she has kept her word/threat. Mum and Harry are rebels, taking a stand. I know we w
anted her to engage with life again, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind. I just wanted her to get washed and dressed and out of the house for a nice walk every day, not to change the blooming world. Is there no end to what the Quinns can and will get up to?

  It’s a lot to deal with, especially on top of a broken heart. But I am proud of Mum, none the less, even if I am not exactly thrilled to see her chestage splashed over the front pages for all to behold.

  The Final Act

  Life goes on: that’s one of the toughest things to handle about it. Valentine’s Day has passed and, even if my heart is shredded, I have a few more bob in my piggy bank from the sales of our love hearts and love bombs. Love has actually bombed for me, but I am still breathing (raggedly), still moving (clumsily), still keeping on (somehow).

  Finals day for TFX has arrived and I have to make an extra effort to look human, nice even. Just because Stevie Lee B is not going to have a big life-changing moment and realize I am the one for him,* that’s no excuse to let myself go, as Dixie is reiterating for the umpteenth time. Today’s ensemble is another ‘nearly’ suitie, a jacket and skirt that nearly match, with a little white T-shirt and my hair a bit mad. I think my nutty barnet looks a bit like the inside of my head right now, all wonky and confused.

  Dixie stands back, delighted with her work, and declares, ‘Chic happens!’

  I drag myself into the venue, trying to look all business-like with my folders and pens. I still have a job and today the stakes are at their highest.

  ‘Any valentines?’ Mel asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Just the one. Don’t know who it’s from, though.’

  She gives me a beamer and says, ‘Oh, I think it’s fairly obvious.’ Her eyes travel to the Dork O’Brien.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Yes! Bet you anything.’

  I look at GOB and realize that it might have been him. It does nothing to ease my anguish. I can’t just replace Stevie Lee in my affections. And Gary O’Brien is not any sort of worthy substitute.

  Margo is being extra nice to everyone after her v public faux pas last week. It’s a bit freaky. It doesn’t suit her, TBH. She’s better at being spiky and tough than a nice person.

  And if the semi-final was tense, this week is off the scale. As if to mask their anxiety, the lads eat more than ever before, though they talk a lot less. There are internal divisions that are becoming clear for all to see. Like Delia says, ‘Showbiz is no biz if you’re not enjoying it … then, it’s just showshizz.’

  We do our last group hug as Team TG and Stevie Lee Bolton says, ‘Thanks, Jen, you’ve been FANomenal.’ It’s cheesy and if the Dork had said it I would have snorted in derision but, pathetically I know, I am grateful for any crumb of attention SLB gives me.

  When I join Uggs and Dixie in the audience for the show, I feel like I am a different person from the kid who came through the doors all those weeks ago. I feel more grown up. When the show music starts, though, I get a tingly excitement and I start to shout and scream like everyone else.

  Delia is up first and follows a Valentine’s theme. She does a routine about how tough and perverted love is. It’s like she’s baring my soul, but she makes it gruesomely funny too. I am laughing outside and kind of crying inside. She is so clever!

  Next Jess has written a number about her cat sending love messages to her, including a half-eaten lamb chop, pulling threads in her sweater and coughing up a hairball on to her lap. It’s funny and catchy and it nearly makes me forget my own romantic woes.

  When Ten Guitars take to the stage, I feel myself freeze. This is it. It’s difficult to breathe. My heart aches. They all sit in a semicircle and start a romantic number called ‘More Than Words’, which a band called Extreme used to sing yonks ago. It’s a v beautiful melody and has lush harmonies and lovely guitar playing.

  The Guitars’ song would melt a stone. The judges LOVE it. The audience LOVES it. I LOVE it, and I want to hear it again and again. I think my heart might break to see SLB singing a love song. It’s the last time they’ll perform on the show unless they win, and you can see the tension on their faces – and feel it all around in the studio.

  The night is a whizz-by blur, but finally it is time for the results. The usual agony of the disqualifications leaves the ultimate agony – the final three are Jess, Ten Guitars and Delia! Then the show only goes and takes an ad break. WHAT?! We all squeal and howl.

  I feel like I have been stretching to beyond breaking point. Uggs puts an arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Hang in there, Jen,’ he says, and I don’t know if he’s talking about life and love or the fact that all my faves are in the last three.

  When the show resumes, the acts are standing on the stage again, looking exhausted. Margo announces that in third place is …

  Long pause …

  ‘DELIA THOMAS!’

  We go nuts for Delia. Then we see all her best bits. We go nuts again.

  And in second place is …

  An even longer wait now, because this will reveal not just second place but also the winner …

  It’s …

  Another even longer pause …

  The auditorium goes weirdly silent with only one or two voices shouting the names of the final two.

  And second place goes to …

  Longest pause EVER in the history of television …

  ‘TEN GUITARS!’

  We go nuts! We’re jumping up and down, screaming, grabbing those next to us. Onstage, the lads hug one another and look oddly relieved. Jess is crying, even though it means she has won – hey, maybe because she has won. We see the best bits of Ten Guitars on the show and it is thrilling to be reminded of their journey from the pavement outside the trials† to the live shows. The lads all raise their guitars in the air and Dermot shouts, ‘Thank you, everyone.’

  Then Jess, the tiny sprite from Cork, dries her eyes and prepares to sing again. She brings the house down. Jess is a true star.

  And suddenly the Teen Factor X adventure is over. It is a v v emotional time but at least everyone is in bits, so I don’t stand out as being any worse than anyone else.

  Delia simply says, ‘Thank Friday night that’s over.’

  Real Life

  The ideal of a normal state is elusive to all at Quinn HQ. How come we’re incapable of doing ordinary things without the world noticing what we’re up to? Mum is determined to breastfeed in public wherever it is frowned on. She’s part of a small army of mums doing guerrilla raids on what they see as enemy territory. Harry is oblivious to the fact that he is a poster boy for a Breast is Best militancy. He’s just happy to be fed, burped, changed and talked to. There are times when I envy him the simplicity of his life.

  Although Ten Guitars have decided to take some time out from being Dublin’s hottest boy band, Dermot, SLB, the Dork and a couple more lads have a new group called Faction, and that’s in keeping with the rebellious nature of the Quinns right now.

  Dad has decided to ‘confront his image’, by which he means continuing his hobby of photography, in other words taking photos of us all when we don’t want him to. Gran is egging him on, of course, and has suggested they do a joint exhibition of their ‘work’. He doesn’t seem appalled by this idea, though I am. I will always be one to champion a creative pursuit, but I am not sure I can cope with any more pics of the Quinn family on show to the public.

  Gran has also decided to grow fruit and veg in the back garden and there is even word of getting hens. We’ll be the Oakdale hillbillies!

  At school, the status quo returns, with all the various people who need to be together being together. The Slinkies are unbearably smug, even EmmyLou, w
ho is as single as I am, for frippsake! It’s ridic.

  A worrying thing happened on the way into class yesterday. Mike Hussy came up to me, clicked his tongue suggestively and winked. EEP! That sort of romantic attention I can do without, thanks all the same. I needn’t have worried that he had changed utterly, though, because he gave Uggs a black eye during the rugby game after school. It’s already a stunning shiner and I suspect Uggs is at least half proud of his war wound.

  ‘I think it might be safest to get on the same team as Hussy from now,’ he told us at Knit ’n’ Knatter. ‘Though, apparently, that’s no guarantee of immunity from attack and bodily harm.’

  I was busy knitting Harry’s blanket at the time and it took me a few moments to realize that Gypsy was actually lying across one of my legs. Again, a worrying development.

  We’re falling back into our routines at home and at school. But here again there is room, still, for a surprise or seven. Today at the poetry jam GOB takes to the floor with a rap about life and it doesn’t take long for everyone to cop who he is rapping about:

  Her Mum is an ACTIVIST

  She’s a LACTIVIST

  Her Dad is wordy

  And that is worthy

  She got a bro

  He called Dermo

  He a gee-tar-playin’ man

  They got a little dude

  He got da attitude

  He got rebellion in his soul

  She got a granny

  In her famlee

  There are many

  There for Jenny

  Jenny Q

  Dis foh u

  WORD UP!

  I am mortified but weirdly delighted too, and find myself laughing. We give a round of applause to our school comrade and I feel grateful to him.

  Maybe the Dork is not such a dork after all.

  If you want to learn to knit like me,