by Candy Harper
I was so overcome by this demonstration of emotion from Miss Ramsbottom that all I could manage was a small choking noise.
‘I’m glad to see you taking an interest in the community and Mrs Webber says that you have fitted into your new tutor group well.’
Good old Webber.
‘Miss Ramsbottom, does this mean that I can go back to my old tutor group next term?’
‘I think we’d best wait till January to review your progress. But I wanted to encourage you to keep up the good work.’
Which I took as a definite ‘yes’ for getting back with Megs in January, so I said, ‘Thank you, Miss.’ Like I really meant it.
Then she gave me what I guess was supposed to be a smile, but it looked more like a snake unhinging its jaw.
I had a little think on the way back to class and promised myself that I would not get into any stupid scrapes next term. That doesn’t mean that I can’t hope that Ramsbottom will get herself into one though.
It was the choir’s last rehearsal tonight before the concert on Tuesday. I popped along to Juicy Lucy’s with everyone afterwards, but Finn wasn’t there. Westy said Ethan had gone straight home too and that it was a good job because he’d been ‘a right moody pants’ today.
They’d better all buck up tomorrow, I haven’t got time for slackers or miseries. Tomorrow is all about me . . . ahem, I mean the dear old folk.
Granny drove me and Megs into school to pick up the boxes. Once again I tried to tell Granny that she really wasn’t required, but she pointed out that the old people’s home were unlikely to let in a horde of youths without her to explain who we were.
Being in a car with Granny is a bit like being in a cell with a psychopath. You mustn’t say anything to excite her. If the conversation gets more interesting than the weather she is completely distracted and then she takes her eyes off the road and next thing you know you’ve crashed into a traffic light.
Today was a fairly smooth journey, Megs did a great job of keeping things calm by telling an extremely long and boring story about shopping for her mum’s Christmas present. The only sketchy moment was when Granny spotted a woman wearing the hat she’s been thinking about buying. We did briefly mount the pavement, just so that Granny could get a closer look. I whispered to Megs, ‘My car skills don’t look so bad now, do they?’
She said, ‘Actually I was just thinking that now I know where you inherited your driving style from.’
When we finally got to school, I said to Megs, ‘Well done for making up that boring story.’
But she said, ‘What boring story?’ so I had to tell her that Cam was blowing her a kiss to avoid her getting shirty with me.
I was relieved to find that plenty of people had turned up. Mrs W let us into school and we picked up the boxes. Once we were ready to go we marched off to the old people’s home in a long straggly crocodile with Granny at the front shouting, ‘Mind the dogs’ mess!’ It was like being at primary school again.
I had a brilliant time. Megs and I ended up with Finn and his mate in front of us in the crocodile and Ethan, Cam and Westy behind us. Finn told me about different kinds of surfboards (I forget the details, but I can tell you that his eyes are very dark blue) and Ethan and Westy re-enacted Westy getting stuck under a desk during their History test yesterday. Good times.
When we got to the old people’s home, Granny introduced us to the manager, Mrs Holden, and then we all squeezed into the residents’ lounge, which was full of the oldest people I have ever seen, sat in armchairs.
It was a bit intimidating. I’ve discovered that old people are like cats, they will stare and stare without blushing or blinking. Granny was right at home; she was weaving between them, smiling and nodding like a princess visiting a hospital. When she got to the front of the room she started her speech. ‘Now then, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a marvellous treat for you.’
An old lady with dangly earrings nearly as big as her head looked up at Granny, then leant over to her neighbour and said in a very loud whisper, ‘Who’s that old trout?’
Her friend whispered back in an equally loud voice, ‘It’s that Jean, isn’t it? You know, Jean that moved in last week. You remember; her hunky grandson brought her.’
That made Granny turn a bit pink. They obviously thought that she was one of the inmates! And while Granny is extremely ancient, even I could see that she was a tiny bit younger than this lot. But Granny just did what she always does when someone says something she doesn’t like: she completely ignored them and went on with what she was saying. ‘These young people have brought Christmas gifts—’
‘What’s Jean done with her hair?’ the old lady said.
Granny raised her voice, ‘Christmas gifts for all of you.’
But Mrs Dangly Earrings went on ‘whispering’ to her friend. ‘It’s a funny colour, isn’t it? I don’t like it.’
Most of us lot and plenty of the oldies were cracking up by this point, so Granny decided to draw things to a close. ‘The youngsters will be bringing tea round now. I do hope you enjoy our visit and – Merry Christmas.’
There was a bit of applause, but old people have got weak wrists so it wasn’t loud enough to drown out Mrs Dangly Earrings saying, ‘She’s always got to be the centre of attention, that Jean, hasn’t she?’
Megs and I were first to the tea urn. We filled up two cups and headed straight for the whispering old ladies. Any ancient woman who can embarrass my granny is a friend of mine.
The lady with the earrings was called Marilyn and her friend was Audrey. They were really pleased with their Christmas boxes. Marilyn said she wanted to save hers till Christmas, but Audrey dived straight in. She particularly liked the purple nail varnish that I’d put in and she asked Megs to paint her nails straight away.
‘I ask Marilyn sometimes, but her hands shake too much, don’t they, Maz?’
Marilyn winked at me. ‘It’s the gin,’ she whispered.
While Audrey was telling us about the trouble she and Marilyn had caused by putting plastic beetles in the rice pudding last week, Westy came rushing over and said, ‘Faith, I need that spud gun back. Bert says he’s always wanted one.’
Mrs Holden popped up at our table at one point and said, ‘Are these two behaving themselves? You know, they give me the right runaround, this pair. Would you believe they set the smoke alarm off last night?’
By that point I could well believe it.
‘We didn’t know we weren’t allowed scented candles,’ Audrey said contritely. But behind the manager’s back Marilyn was miming smoking a cigar and I had to pretend to sneeze into Meg’s scarf to disguise my laughing.
Mrs Holden tutted. ‘And I don’t want to be finding any more booze in your room.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Marilyn. ‘We just like a small sherry at Christmas.’
‘Hmm,’ said the manager and she rushed off to stop Westy and Bert having a wheelchair race.
Audrey leant close to me. ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘when you get to our age, you’ve got to live every day like it’s Christmas.’ And then she and Marilyn cackled with laughter until they couldn’t breathe anymore.
The old people really did seem to enjoy our visit and I was surprised by how fun it was. Bert and Westy got on like a house on fire. Last thing I heard they were arranging to meet up in the Christmas holidays. Bert said that Westy could try some of his home-brew and Westy was promising to make some ‘modifications’ to Bert’s wheelchair. I’d better make sure that that visit is supervised.
I’ve got to admit that I was quite taken aback by what a laugh Marilyn and Audrey seem to have.
I said to Megs, ‘When we’re old, do you think we’ll be like that?’
Megs looked at Marilyn who was wolf-whistling at an old man tottering across the room. ‘Look! Look!’ Marilyn said under her breath to Audrey. ‘Did you see him looking at me?’
But when Audrey opened her mouth to answer, Marilyn whacked her with a Christmas cracker and said,
‘Shush, I’m talking.’
Megs snorted and said, ‘Faith, we’re already like that.’
Before we left we promised to go and visit Marilyn and Audrey again.
Audrey said, ‘When you come could you bring us a few things?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Megs said. ‘What would you like?’
‘A couple of balaclavas and a crowbar.’
We’re going to have to watch those two.
I was so worn out by all my good work yesterday that I decided to spend today in the loving bosom of my family. Sam and I played a traditional Christmas game of trying to throw Quality Street chocolates through the links of the paper chain decorations. And Dad did his traditional Christmas moan about how Chocolates-Are-Actually-Quite-Hard-When-They-Hit-Him-On-The-Nose. Mum called him Scrooge and then Dad pulled her on to his lap and they did some kissing that nearly made me sick up my Hazelnut Triangle.
In the afternoon we watched Mary Poppins.
It was quite a nice day actually.
But you don’t get something for nothing, so I’ve told them all to consider my company today as part of their Christmas present.
Something wonderful has happened: people are ill! I don’t normally do a little dance when other people get sick (unless they are Icky Blundell, Miss Ramsbottom or anyone who has ever pushed in front of me in a queue) but these people are in the choir! A nasty outbreak of flu means that numbers are seriously down so today Mr Millet was trawling the school for last-minute replacements.
He came into our Geography lesson and said, ‘What I need are musical girls with strong voices, because we’ve only got the dress rehearsal left, so they’ll need to be able to pick things up really quickly.’
Lily shouted out, ‘Crystal’s got a really good voice, haven’t you, Crystal?’
Mr Millet looked at Crystal. ‘Are you already in the choir?’
The rest of us could barely contain a laugh. Crystal is a complete slacker. She never does anything she doesn’t absolutely have to.
‘No,’ Crystal said.
‘Would you like to be?’
‘No.’
Mr Millet started purpling up, ready to tell her that he wasn’t interested in her free will and all that nonsense. Crystal’s blank look remained. I think she finds facial expressions a waste of energy. Mr Millet tried to squeeze his rage into something more polite. You could see it was killing him. ‘Could you, do you think you could possibly reconsider, for the sake of the school. It’s just the dress rehearsal tomorrow afternoon and—’
‘Afternoon?’ Crystal said. She doesn’t like to waste words either.
‘That’s right. Straight after lunch and I really do think that it’s your duty as a member—’
Crystal held up a finger to stop him talking, then very slowly she flicked through her contact book to look at what she had on her timetable tomorrow afternoon. ‘Double Biology’. She screwed up her nose to consider which was worse. ‘All right then,’ she said eventually.
Mr Millet was still furious but he had to say, ‘Thank you. Anyone else?’
I threw my hand up. Mr Millet squinted at me. ‘You? Aren’t you already in the choir?’
‘Oh yes, Sir, I’ve been a very enthusiastic member right from the beginning, but due to a minor misunderstanding Miss Ramsbottom said I couldn’t attend rehearsals. But given the circumstances and the terrible pressure that you’re under with all those parents coming and since I am fully trained and very keen to—’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll speak to Miss Ramsbottom. Just make sure you’re at the rehearsal tomorrow.’
So I am back in the choir. For now anyway. I’m not sure what Miss Ramsbottom will say when Mr Millet speaks to her, probably a big fat no. Maybe he’ll forget to ask. Fingers crossed.
At afternoon registration, Mrs Webber said, ‘All the girls who are in the choir need to go down to the hall now.’ I stood up, half expecting Mrs W to say that Miss Ramsbottom had told her not to let me go, but she didn’t mention anything, so off I went with Lily and Angharad.
We had a great afternoon with the boys. Mr Millet did spoil things a bit by constantly interrupting to tell us what a shambles we were and that this was our last chance to get it right.
Finn was amazing. Although I think I’m an excellent member of the choir, I actually don’t know much about music, but even I can tell that Finn has got a phenomenal voice. And rather nice hair.
When he spotted me across the hall he gave me a little wave, which is a good sign, but then he is quite a friendly type, which makes it hard to know whether he is interested in me. It’s because he’s so cool. I don’t think I could be that cool. I’d miss skipping and shrieking.
Mr Millet had us working right up to the bell. He says we’ve all got to dig deep tomorrow night and really fling ourselves into it.
I shall fling myself as far as I can whilst still looking attractive.
I hope Icky flings herself off the stage.
When the rehearsal had finished Cameron asked Megs if he could walk her home. Megs managed to choke out a yes and off they went. Leaving the lonely and unloved (me) to get the bus with the loony and unhinged (Lily). I wonder what Megs and Cameron are up to?
When I got home I asked Sam if he wanted to hear a sneak preview of the treat in store for him tomorrow when he comes to the concert.
He said, ‘What? You mean I’ve still got to go? I thought they’d kicked you out for being unbelievably tuneless.’
‘No,’ I said, ‘I got kicked out for being unbelievably naughty, which is quite a different thing. Anyway, they’ve realised they can’t do without me. I’m just worried that my singing voice hasn’t had a lot of practice lately.’
‘I’d be more worried that your squawking will ruin the melody.’
‘Actually, I’ve got a plan to smooth over any little vocal difficulties I might have. Look at these.’ I fished about in my bag and pulled out some of those reindeer antlers on a headband and popped them on my head. ‘See, when people look at me in these they will be caught up in the Christmas spirit and everything will sound festive and lovely to them.’ Then I gave him a blast of our first song. ‘What do you think?’
Sam took his fingers out of his ears. ‘I think you’re going to need bigger antlers.’
I’d sent ten text messages to Megs asking what happened with Cameron when she finally rang me a little while ago.
‘So?’ I said. ‘What happened?’
‘I’m not sure that it’s the sort of thing that I want to discuss.’
‘What? You are kidding me, aren’t you? Megan, I have to listen to every single tiny detail of your life, including what you found when you flossed your teeth. You cannot be suggesting that now that you’ve got something interesting to say that you’re not going to tell me.’
‘All right, all right. Well . . . we kissed.’
‘You kissed!’
‘Yes.’
I can’t believe that Megs has had a snog and I haven’t even managed a bit of hand holding yet.
‘Come on then, you can’t stop there, tell me every slurpy detail.’
‘It wasn’t slurpy.’
‘Dry then? Like when you’ve got a cold and you wake up in the night and your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth?’
‘No, it was not.’
‘Slimy?’
‘Faith!’
‘Don’t shout at me! I can’t help it if I have no experience of snogging. Please don’t hate me.’
‘Will you shut your mouth for just one minute?’
‘Is that what Cameron said before he snogged you?’
Then I had to pant with laughter a bit so I thought I’d let her get a word in edgeways.
‘It was nice, OK?’ and I could tell even without seeing her that she was wearing a soppy face.
‘Am I allowed to ask for a bit more detail?’
‘We just sort of pressed our mouths together, you know, in the tradition of kissing. It was nice and gentle, but it made my lips go a
ll tingly. Actually it made all of me go tingly.’
And she sounded so happy that I said, ‘I’m really pleased for you, Megs. That’s amazing.’
And she said, ‘It’ll be you next.’ Which was kind and also hopefully true because surely the spirit of Christmas can spare a little tingle for me.
I feel like Santa Claus must have read all those letters I wisely spent my History lessons writing, because the concert went better than I could have hoped. We had a quick warm-up with Mr Millet backstage and then it was time to get into our places. As we were filing into position I passed Finn and he whispered, ‘Good luck!’ And then . . . he squeezed my hand! Really and truly he did. I did look down just to check that it wasn’t Westy’s hand pretending to be Finn’s hand or anything ridiculous like that, but it was definitely lovely Finn’s lovely hand. It was a good squeeze. And I totally got tingles.
I was a bit bewildered and had to grab hold of Ethan to scramble up next to him on the bench that the back row had to stand on. Which may have caused him to wobble and grab the hair of the girl in front of him, making her squeal just as the curtain went up, but I’m sure it all looked like part of the show. I can’t think why Mr Millet put me on the back row anyway. I must give off the impression of being taller than I am.
The hall was packed and the audience were all smiling (except for the brothers and sisters of people in the choir who had clearly been dragged along against their will – they spent most of the time scowling and looking at their phones). The Christmas tree lights were shining and the band were wearing Santa hats. It was all very festive. I really enjoyed the singing, it got me right into the spirit of the season, even though Mr Millet did keep glaring at me and making gestures that I couldn’t understand.
When Finn sang his solo the hall went completely quiet. He’s got the voice of an angel. And the hair too. When he hit the long note I made a silent wish that I could find him in my Christmas stocking. Then Ethan elbowed me in the ribs and whispered, ‘Third row back, second from the left.’ And when I looked at that spot in the audience, there was Mr Hampton picking his nose. I had to bite my lip not to laugh. But the really funny part came when it was Icky’s turn to sing. She slinked her way up to the microphone to do her solo, gave what I imagine she thought was an endearing toss of her hair, opened her mouth to sing and . . . burped. Yes, burped.