‘My favourite,’ I say, pulling it out of the bag and taking a big bite.
‘Two caramel slices not enough for you?’ asks Dad.
‘Nope,’ I say, licking up the dripping jam. ‘Coming up to my room?’ I really need to get them away from Dad. As they follow me up the stairs, I notice Poo standing in the kitchen doorway.
‘Hi,’ she says, taking a sip of her tea, her eyes looking at me over the rim. She knows. Somehow she worked out what my dozy dad couldn’t see.
‘Bill, Kat, this is …’ I hesitate for a second before forcing myself to say, ‘Rue.’ Then I whisk them up to the safety of my bedroom.
As soon as the door shuts, Bill starts setting up my Nintendo. It’s ancient, probably an antique. My mum got it for my dad to celebrate their first wedding anniversary. This time he connects three handsets.
‘Hey,’ I say to Kat, who’s hovering by the door. ‘I really am sorry about the Autumn Celebration –’
‘Shh!’ she says, putting a finger to her lips. Then she smiles. ‘Bill told me how heartbroken you’ve been and how you were planning to make cupcakes.’ I nod earnestly … actually I’d forgotten about the cupcakes. ‘So I’m going to perform on my own at the concert and look like a total dork, but it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make to help you get it on with Toby.’ She flops next to me on the bed. Bill still has his back to us as he fiddles with leads. ‘I know how much you like Toby and you were right. I’d probably dump a friend for a snog.’
‘Slapsies?’ Bill asks, turning round.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘When you play slapsies,’ I explain to Kat, ‘James Bond’s weapon isn’t a Kalashnikov – it’s a great big hand that he goes round slapping baddies with instead.’
‘Like a James Bond bitch fight?’
‘Exactly … but with explosions.’
The three of us settle on the floor with Kat in the middle and pretty soon we’re having a surprisingly good Saturday night.
‘So,’ says Kat, as she dies for the seventeenth time, ‘how did you and the T-Dog get on today?’
‘It was fun,’ I say. Then, because she is clearly expecting more, I add, ‘He bought some trainers.’
‘So romantic.’
‘And he gave me this.’ I show her my necklace.
‘Really?’ Now she’s interested. She drops her controller to examine it. ‘He’s basically saying you’re his fox, Betty. OMG,’ her eyes light up with excitement, ‘he bought you jewellery. That means you’re his girlfriend!’
I gasp. Is she right? Then I gasp again. When I wasn’t concentrating, Bill’s character snuck up on mine and slapped me round the back of the head. ‘Bill, you’ve totally killed me!’
‘Sorry,’ he says.
‘You made my head explode!’
He gets up. ‘I think I’m going to make a move.’
‘Don’t go,’ says Kat. ‘We promise not to talk about girly stuff.’ But Bill’s made up his mind because he’s already pulling on his hoodie.
‘Do you want me to walk you home?’ he asks Kat.
‘OK,’ she says. Then she turns and faces me and mouths, ‘Oh my God,’ her eyes wide with excitement.
It looks like it’s just going to be me and Dennis for the rest of the evening. Before they leave, I ask Bill for another quote. ‘Bill’s educating me about love,’ I explain to Kat. I turn to a fresh page in my book and find my best inky pen. ‘He’s cleverer than he looks.’
He pauses in the doorway for a moment and looks at me. ‘This is from a poem by Yeats –’
‘Spell it,’ I interrupt.
‘Y. E. A.T. S.’
‘Got it,’ I say. ‘Go on.’
‘So he’s talking to this woman who had a lot of admirers –’
‘A hottie?’ asks Kat.
‘I guess she was probably a hottie.’
‘Like Beyoncé?’
‘Probably a bit less hot than Beyoncé. Anyway, he says to her that when she is old, and thinking back over her life, there is one thing she must remember …’
‘What?’ asks Kat, getting into the game.
‘That although many men loved her beauty,’ he pauses, looks at me and I get ready to write, ‘but one man loved the pilgrim soul in you.’
I scribble this down. ‘I don’t get it,’ says Kat.
‘I do,’ I say. ‘I’m getting better at these. He’s saying he saw beyond her hottiness and truly loved her soul.’
‘But what’s a pilgrim soul?’
Bill says, ‘A pilgrim is someone who follows their heart, like –’ he looks round for inspiration then spots my Dora the Explorer space hopper – ‘an explorer.’
‘So she’s a cross between Beyoncé and Dora the Explorer,’ says Kat.
‘You’ve got it,’ says Bill, smiling. They go downstairs and soon I hear them calling goodbye to Dad and Rue.
When they’ve gone, my room seems very quiet and I feel a bit lonely, particularly when I imagine Bill and Kat walking home together. I start to flick through my records. Mainly they’re Dad’s, but Gramps has also given me some. I know what I’m looking for. I pull out a bright yellow album. I always liked it when I was little because it’s the colour of Mr Happy. On the front is a photograph of a black woman with bobbed hair, wearing a shirt with the pointiest collars I’ve ever seen. She’s lying in a field of daffodils. Bettye Swann – my namesake and Mum’s hero.
I clean the record with a drop of oil on a special cloth, making sure I do it just the way Dad taught me. This record is very old. Gently, I release the needle and, after a crackle of static, her rich voice fills my room.
I haven’t listened to these songs for years. I take off my necklace and copy the curled-up fox into Dennis. I do a speech bubble coming out of its mouth so the fox is saying Bill’s pilgrim quote. Does this necklace mean I’m Toby’s girlfriend? Maybe. I think about the Crazy Mouse, and the feeling I get when I’m chugging straight up the track, heading towards the big drop, that exciting, scary feeling. If I think about Kat and Bill walking together through the dark streets, or Dad and Poo downstairs, the scary feeling inside me gets worse.
I turn Bettye up and think about Toby. How he looks at me with his pale blue eyes and how his mouth is always smiling, like he’s thinking of something funny.
Job for Monday, I write in Dennis. Find out if I’m Toby’s girlfriend.
Next week, I study everything Toby says and does. We hang out together a lot, but Frank and Dexter are always with us and if we’re not rehearsing we’re playing FIFA 14. Toby always makes me play with Dexter because I suck at football games. By Thursday, when I’m sitting in the hall with Kat waiting for a meeting about the Autumn Celebration to start, I still don’t know if I’m his girlfriend.
As Mr Simms starts talking, Toby slips into the seat next to me. Then – and I watch this happen – his hand falls on my knee … and he leaves it there. Toby is holding my knee in public.
My cartilage tingles with pleasure and I struggle to sit still as Mr Simms starts running through rehearsal schedules. ‘Remember, the concert is just over a week away, next Thursday,’ says Mr Simms.
Very interesting, sir, but, right now, Toby is melting my body from my left knee upwards and it is rather distracting. Surely only boyfriends or creepy men put their hands on girls’ knees? He must be my boyfriend. I think I have a boyfriend!
I’m just about holding it together, but Kat is sitting on the other side of me and she isn’t holding it together at all. The moment Toby’s hand landed on my knee she started digging me in my ribs with her finger and it’s getting painful. I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at her. My knee is being held by Toby and my ribs are being prodded by Kat.
Then Toby leans towards to me and whispers, ‘You alright, wifey?’
‘Oh … great,’ I say.
Kat can’t cope with this. The exact moment Toby says ‘wifey’ she begins to quiver with silent laughter.
‘Calm down, Kat Knightley,’ says Mr Simms.
�
��Yes,’ I say. ‘Calm down, Kat.’
A minute later, I feel my phone vibrate. Kat’s sent me a text: wifey omg that means GIRLFRIEND i heard it on eastenders :D
Kat shakes for the rest of the meeting while I sit like a statue, trying to stop her vibrations from travelling through my body and into Toby’s hand. I don’t want Toby thinking he makes me shake.
As everyone starts to leave, she leans round me and says, ‘You OK, Toby?’
‘More than OK,’ he says. ‘My mum and stepdad are going away this weekend so you know what that means …’
‘Party?’ asks Kat.
‘Partaaay!’ he corrects. ‘There is going to be one huge party at my place this Saturday.’ He looks at me. ‘You coming, B-Cakes?’
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I love parties.’ My heart is hammering. A party … surely this will mean a kiss? I am so glad I practised kissing all those Granny Smiths.
‘How about you, Kat?’ he asks.
‘Sorry, I’m busy.’
‘Well, you’re missing out,’ he says, getting up. ‘It’s gonna be hectic – an all-nighter. Don’t forget we’re rehearsing after school, Betty. It’s just us. I told Frank and Dexter we’re going to work on your vocals.’ Then he gets to his feet, slowly stretches – giving Kat a nice view of his flat stomach – and walks out of the hall. At the door, he glances back and smiles.
‘I wish you could come,’ I say to Kat. ‘I’m going to need moral support. I have a powerful premonition that I will be kissed on Saturday.’ I try to smile when I say this, but the idea is actually a bit scary.
‘It might be a bit weird if I’m sitting next to you for your first kiss,’ says Kat. ‘C’mon. Let’s go to the canteen. I’m hungry.’
I follow her out of the hall. My knee is still a bit wobbly. ‘What are you doing on Saturday?’
She pauses at the door. ‘I’m going windsurfing with Bill.’
‘What?’ I say, amazed. ‘You are going windsurfing with Bill? Kat, you hate getting wet – rain makes you scream – and you fear exercise. I’m fairly certain windsurfing involves a lot of getting wet and exercise.’
‘You don’t mind, do you, Betty?’ she says. ‘I know he’s your best friend, but he told me he was running this beginners’ course on Saturday and I asked if I could go, kind of as a joke, and then he said yes … and I thought, why not?’
‘Course I don’t mind,’ I say. We push our way down the corridor towards the canteen. Honestly? Part of me does mind. I suppose I don’t like the idea of sharing Bill, a bit like how I don’t want to share Dad. But I’m trying hard at the moment not to be selfish, particularly with Kat. ‘You’ll have fun,’ I say. ‘He’s always trying to get me to learn. So, do you actually want to windsurf or do you just want to check out Bill in a wetsuit?’
‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘I’d have to say a little bit from column A, and a bigger bit from column B.’ She smiles to herself and then goes a pretty shade of pink. I’ve seen Kat talk about boys loads, but she’s never been shy before.
‘Why can’t you come to Toby’s party in the evening? You could bring Bill.’
‘There’s a barbecue afterwards and I’m getting a lift home with Bill. We’ll be back too late.’
‘Wow … windsurfing … barbecue … that all sounds kind of dateish,’ I say, getting out my phone.
‘What’re you doing?’
‘I’m going to ring up Bill and destroy him.’
‘No you’re not!’ says Kat, and she gets her phone out.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Putting a totally public message on your timeline: Good luck for your massive snog with Toby, Betty …’ she says as she taps away, ‘… just think, in two days’ time, you’ll no longer be a kissing virg–’ But that’s all she gets to write because at that moment I grab her phone and run down the corridor with it. By the time she’s caught up with me, I’ve dropped it into some passing boy’s bag.
For the rest of lunchtime, Kat makes me walk around the school ringing her number, until we hear a drunk Smurf trapped in a Year Seven’s rucksack.
‘Sorry,’ says Kat, unzipping his bag and pulling out her phone. ‘A very silly girl put this in your bag.’
Before I go into Toby’s garage after school, I take a deep breath. Knowing it will just be the two of us makes me nervous. Usually when we’re rehearsing we walk to his place together, straight from school. Today, he wasn’t waiting in our usual spot so I came over on my own. I see him lying on the sofa, strumming his guitar.
‘Hey,’ he says, glancing up. ‘I reckon we make this a quickie.’ He glances at his phone then drops it back on the sofa. ‘You stand over there and I’ll play from here.’
I leave my bag by the door, but keep my coat on. It’s cold in here. I go and stand in the middle of the room. I’ve sung ‘Shut Up!’ so many times now, I could do it in my sleep. Toby plays the intro and then nods me in. Using the bored voice I know he likes, we run through the song, but I’ve only sung three lines when he stops me and makes me start again.
‘Can you get into it a bit more?’ he asks, leaning back on the sofa and frowning. ‘Like move around, or something.’
‘Like this?’ I say, running my hands up and down my body and wriggling about. I start to laugh. ‘Or this?’ I do a dance I’ve seen Bea’s sister do. It’s like a robot twerking.
Toby drums his fingers on his guitar. ‘No, not really like that.’
I shrug. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Like you’re really into it.’
I hesitate for a second and start to blush. I don’t know why, but I feel stupid standing up with Toby watching me. The thing is, I’m not into the song – I never have been – but I am into being here with him. I’m just going to have to fake it. I guess my mum had to do this loads when she did gigs. ‘Alright, but I don’t want you to watch.’ Toby rolls his eyes. ‘You come up here with me.’
With a sigh, he flops off the sofa and comes to stand next to me. ‘Better?’ he asks.
‘Much.’
He starts to play and I face his garage door, imagining it’s our school hall, packed full of students and parents, oh, and Mrs P, of course, watching me with a frown from the front row. I hang my head down and start to sing, ‘Shut up, shut up,’ through a curtain of hair, then I grab an imaginary microphone with both hands and clutch it to me as I sing the rest of the song.
The song finishes and there’s a moment’s silence. I turn to face Toby.
‘Nice,’ he says, looking at me with a smile. ‘You nailed it, B-Cakes.’
‘Yeah?’
Suddenly the garage is very quiet and I have that feeling again – that something might happen, that I’m strapped in the Crazy Mouse and the carriage is heading for the big drop. I look at Toby’s arms hanging down by the guitar. Do I want him to reach out for me? To pull me closer? He steps over a trailing wire, moving closer to me. Panic rises in my chest.
‘I’ve got to go,’ I say in a rush.
He shrugs. ‘Don’t forget my party on Saturday.’
‘I won’t,’ I say as I grab my bag and head towards the door.
‘You should stay over.’ Toby lazily strums a chord.
‘What?’
‘On Saturday. Everyone’s going to crash here for the night.’ He slaps his hand down on the strings and the hum of the guitar stops dead. I must look worried because he adds, ‘Mum’s decided to stick around. It’s just a sleepover.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say, as if having a sleepover at a boy’s house is a totally normal thing to do. ‘If your mum’s going to be here, I guess Dad won’t mind.’ He would massively mind and there is no way he can ever know about it. I wave goodbye to Toby and slip out of the garage.
I half walk, half run home, thinking about the lies I’m going to have to tell if I’m going to stay at Toby’s on Saturday. Somehow I know that the kiss I’ve been waiting for will happen at the party, but maybe not if I have to leave before everyone else. Suddenly, there’s one of Mum’s letters
I have to read.
Luckily, Dad’s not in. Up in my room, I put on Bettye Swann and pull out the Puma box.
I hold The one where I have my first kiss. If I open this letter, then I’ll only have one left. I dash out of my room, calling, ‘Mr Smokey … I need you!’ I find him asleep on a pair of Dad’s pants. He digs his claws into them as I pick him up so I’m forced to bring Mr Smokey and Dad’s pants back into my room.
‘Sit on my knee and don’t wriggle,’ I tell him. ‘I need your help … and Mum’s.’ I open the letter, rest my chin on Mr Smokey’s head and start to read.
Dear Plumface,
Kissing. I’ll be honest, I was a bit of a late starter. My mum always used to say I was a ‘slow developer’, you know, to the hairdresser, to my teachers at parents’ evening, to my friends’ mums (loudly, at parents’ evening). She was probably right. I was a slow developer in all the key ‘becoming a woman’ areas: bras, periods and kissing. When I was fifteen, I dragged Mum to Marks & Spencer’s and forced her to buy me a bra. As the sales assistant was measuring me, I saw Mum shaking her head in the mirror and then she whispered to the assistant, ‘They’re just buds.’
When the sales assistant announced I was ‘almost a 28AA’, Mum did an ‘I told you so’ face, but she perked up when I was given the bras.
‘Oh my God!’ she shrieked as I pulled the first one out of the packet. ‘It’s so dinky … just like your first ever shoes. Maybe I could get them framed together!’ Seeing my disgusted face she added, ‘A nice box frame, Lorna. Something tasteful … It can go in the hallway.’
On to periods. Does the tampon lady still come into schools? I hope so because I can’t imagine Dad sitting you down and explaining how a tampon works. When I was eleven, all the girls in my year were called to a special assembly. A lady wearing jeans and a fluffy jumper stood in front of us and showed us pictures of ovaries on the overhead projector.
‘You will probably start your periods sometime before your fifteenth birthday,’ she announced cheerfully.
I can’t remember much about the rest of the talk, except she held up a teacup and said that a whole period would only fill up half a teacup – I think that was supposed to reassure us – and that when we first tried to use a tampon we should take a pet into the toilet to help us relax. I don’t think I’ve made the last bit up.
Love Bomb Page 8