‘Who’s Syd?’ I’ve never heard Bill mention a Syd before.
‘Just a girl from windsurfing.’
‘Is she nice?’
‘She’s OK,’ says Bill. ‘But she’s a close talker.’
‘How close?’
‘Tonight I could see Pringles between her teeth.’
‘That’s close,’ I say, feeling better. Then I shut my eyes for a few seconds and I realise I’m falling asleep. ‘Give me another quote, Bill.’
‘What about?’
‘Love. Tell me something that’ll make me happy.’ I stick my arm out of the bed. ‘Write it on here,’ I say sleepily. ‘I’ll copy it down in the morning.’
I hear Bill looking for a pen and then there’s a pause. He holds my arm steady and starts writing at my elbow. It feels tickly.
‘Sorry,’ he says, ‘it’s quite long.’
‘Have you finished your essay?’ I ask. I close my eyes. Bill laughs and says something, but his voice slips away from me as I drift off to sleep.
The next morning, I wake up early and for a few seconds I can’t work out where I am. Then I see a windsurfing harness hanging off the back of a chair and I know I’m at Bill’s. Thoughts of last night flood through me. I see Toby’s hands on the hips of that girl, the way her playsuit sparkled and then Toby squashing me on his bed.
My chest aches. Something feels bruised inside. I remember Mum’s last letter, The one where I got my heart broken. Is my heart broken?
I want to go home.
I get dressed in the dark and go downstairs. The living-room door is shut so Bill’s probably still asleep. Quietly, I slip out of the front door. It’s just starting to get light, and as I walk down Bill’s street, a bird is singing its heart out like it’s the best day in the world.
In a few minutes, I’m home and creeping past Dad’s door. I go straight to the bathroom. Right now, I don’t even care if Rue stayed the night. Turning on the shower, I pull my dress over my head and then I see Bill’s writing on my arm.
I tear a sheet out of Dad’s sudoku book and copy the quote down. I think I’ve got it right. I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. I need to ask Bill who wrote it. I think I know what it means.
I climb under the shower and make the water as hot as I can bear it. I squeeze loads of Dove shower gel on to a sponge and scrub myself until mounds of bubbles appear, but the ache inside me just won’t go away.
Last night, when I went to the party, I had a dream and then somehow, because I did something wrong and was weird, my dream got trampled on. I make the water even hotter.
What’s wrong with me? I’ve liked Toby since the moment I set eyes on him, so why didn’t I like kissing him? The water becomes a tiny bit cooler. I remember what Mum said in her letter, that kissing someone you don’t like is unnatural. But I do like Toby, don’t I? I like the way his hair flops down in front of his eyes and how I feel when I sit next to him. I like the way he plays the guitar. I even like the way he smells. Of course I like him. He’s right. I’m just weird. Suddenly, all the warmth in the water disappears and icy water pours over me. I rush to turn the shower off.
I wrap myself in a towel and sit on the edge of the bath, staring at the steamed-up mirror. Somehow, I’ve got to get Toby to give me another chance, so I can be his one and only B-Cakes again.
Then the ache will go away.
‘You’ve got to tell us all about it!’ says Kat as we go into assembly. Kat and Bea take a seat on each side of me. ‘Did you kiss him?’
That is a really good question. Did I kiss Toby? Mum said History Boy didn’t count because she didn’t kiss him back.
‘Are you OK, Betty?’ asks Bea.
‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I say.
I’m not fine. I had to force myself to come to school this morning. The thought of seeing Toby makes me feel sick. I made such an idiot of myself. I don’t know what I’ll say when I see him, but somehow I can make things right. After all, we’re performing in the concert together on Thursday. ‘I’m just tired,’ I say. ‘I slept most of yesterday.’
‘I sent you fifteen texts,’ says Bea.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I replied to them all.’
‘With fifteen photos of Mr Smokey …’
‘He’s a cute cat.’
‘I wanted to know if you were OK.’
‘I’m OK.’ Students gradually fill up the seats behind us. A few vague details about Bacardi Breezers and chandeliers distract Kat and Bea from the big kiss issue. I keep glancing back, looking for Toby, but I can’t see him anywhere.
‘Betty,’ says Kat, nudging me. ‘Is that Dexter’s drum kit on the stage?’
I nod. ‘Weird,’ I say. Dexter has stencilled a lime-green ‘X’ on each drum skin and I’d recognise his kit anywhere. I look behind me again for Toby and see Pearl slip into the hall by a side door. She slumps down in the last seat in our row. She’s got her shirt tucked into a pair of leggings and she’s wearing a pair of flat canvas shoes. Pulling out her phone, she looks about to see if a teacher is watching. She catches my eye and, for the first time in years, she doesn’t scowl or sneer. She just looks at me for a second like she wants to say something, then turns away.
‘Come on, Betty,’ says Kat. ‘I want to hear about the kissing!’
For once, Mrs P turns up at just the right moment. ‘Blazers,’ she says, standing legs astride at the front of the stage, ‘will improve your GSCE results!’ She spends the next five minutes defending this dubious statement. ‘As you all know,’ she says, flashing a brief smile to indicate she is changing the subject, ‘our Autumn Celebration is on Thursday evening.’
Definitely hadn’t forgotten about that.
‘Joss Carlisle,’ she continues, ‘was supposed to be giving us a sneak preview of his street dance performance, but he fractured his coccyx – please stop sniggering Year Tens, a coccyx is a small bone –’ massively increased sniggering – ‘at the base of your spine. On Friday, Joss danced quite literally in the street and was struck with some force by a girl on a Micro Scooter.’ Mrs P chooses to ignore the hysterical laughter that erupts. ‘Fortunately, another act has agreed to fill his spot. I’m told they were rehearsing all day yesterday, so please give a warm round of applause to Toby Gray and his band, The Vanilla Chinchillas!’
‘What’s going on, Betty?’ asks Kat.
‘I don’t know,’ I say, and then I watch, confused, as Frank and Dexter appear from behind the curtain. Toby follows them, goes to the front of the stage and takes the mike off Mrs P.
‘Actually,’ he says, his deep voice filling the hall, ‘it’s Vanilla Chinchilla.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Bea whispers.
‘I don’t know anything about this,’ I say. Why wasn’t I at the rehearsal? How can you rehearse without your singer?
‘You’d better go up,’ says Kat, nudging me.
I stand and awkwardly pick my way over bags and legs. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Excuse me.’
Suddenly, Pearl gets up from her seat and walks past me, head held high. She climbs up the steps at the side of the stage and stands next to Toby. He hands her the microphone and their fingers meet for a second.
I watch, frozen to the spot.
People start to turn round and look at me.
‘Betty Plum, what are you doing?’ Mrs P walks towards me. ‘Sit down at once!’
But I don’t sit down. I look at Pearl and Toby, hardly believing my eyes.
‘Betty!’ says Mrs P. ‘I said, sit down.’
Around me, students snigger and as Toby strums the opening chords of ‘Shut up!’ I keep pushing my way along the row. I trip over a boy’s foot and stumble into the centre aisle just as the drums and bass kick in. The familiar music sweeps through the hall and the laughs around me get louder.
As Pearl’s X-Factor vocals boom from the speakers, I turn and walk away from them, straight out of the hall, ignoring Mrs P’s demands that I sit back down at
once!
I let the huge double doors slam shut behind me, muffling Pearl’s voice, but I can still hear her as I walk down the corridor then out of the main entrance and straight along the driveway.
‘Betty Plum, where are you going?’
Mrs P has followed me out of school and is trotting after me in her high heels.
‘I’m going home,’ I yell over my shoulder, ‘and I’m never coming back!’
Poo is standing in the doorway to my bedroom. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea? A hot-water bottle?’
‘No,’ I mutter. Then I change my mind. ‘Actually … that would be nice.’
I hear the door shut.
Mrs P told Dad that I had ‘absconded’, and because he was in the middle of a job he sent Poo home to find out what was wrong with me. By the time she came round, I was in bed, curtains shut, duvet over my head. She tried talking to me, but I just pretended she wasn’t there. Not to be deliberately mean to Poo – I’d have done the same to anyone – and I wasn’t lying when I told Mrs P that I was never going back to school. How could I?
Now my heart is definitely broken. I can feel it.
My mind is trapped, running over and over the events of the past few weeks, and every thought makes my heart break a little bit more. Too late, I see that Toby isn’t a hot vampire, he’s just pale and he has a mean smile. He isn’t a rebel either. He just makes nice things look ugly by spraying rubbish cartoons on them. And he doesn’t love me. I don’t even think he likes me. This is what hurts the most.
‘Here you are,’ says Poo. I hear a cup being put on my bedside table. Next she slips the hot-water bottle into my bed. I feel fur on my feet and wriggle back. ‘It’s a raccoon,’ explains Poo. ‘I brought it round for you. I thought you might like it. Sorry it’s not a fox.’
I peer down at my feet and see a big stripy tail.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I do like it.’
Then Poo leaves me and immediately my mind flashes back to the hall, and I hear everyone laughing as I stumble along the row and I see Toby and Pearl standing side by side looking beautiful, dark and mean.
‘BABES!’ yells a shrill voice. I struggle to work out where I am then I see the duvet over my head and feel a cold racoon between my feet. I remember: I’m hiding in my bed and never going to school again.
The bed sinks as Kat plonks herself down by my knees. ‘We’ve got your bag,’ she says.
‘Toby is such an A-hole,’ says Bea. ‘We’ve been blanking him all day. Hey, are you coming out of there?’
I shake my head.
‘Poor Betty,’ says Kat, and she pats my bottom. ‘Sorry. Thought that was your shoulder.’
‘We came to find you as soon as we got out of assembly,’ says Bea, ‘but you’d already gone home, and when we rang Rue said you wouldn’t talk.’
‘She told us to come round,’ says Kat. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’
Under the duvet, I nod.
‘Hey, Betty,’ says Bea. ‘Why did Toby do that to you?’
‘Because I’m such a bad kisser,’ I say, breaking my silence. It sounds so funny I start to laugh and cry at the same time. Then I decide I might as well tell them the whole story so I stick my head out of the duvet and start talking. ‘It’s weird,’ I say, when I get to the bit where I left the party. ‘The more I got to know him, the less I fancied him.’
‘Depleting hottiness,’ says Kat, giving me another pat. ‘It’s when you actually go off someone the more you hang out with them.’
‘Just because someone’s got a lovely bum, doesn’t mean they’re lots of fun,’ adds Bea. ‘My nan told me that.’
‘I just wish he could have been nice,’ I say, ‘like …’ I think about the boys in school, but I’m imagining someone much better.
‘Bill!’ says Kat. ‘He’s definitely the nicest boy I’ve ever met … and he’s got a lush bum.’
‘Kat!’ yells Bea. ‘Don’t talk about his bottom. Betty’s like his sister.’
‘Seriously, I’ve seen it in a wetsuit. He’s ripped … Did you know he’s the captain of the T15 club and they won the championship?’
‘Kat’s been showing me YouTube videos of Bill all day,’ explains Bea. ‘She claims she’s addicted.’
‘He’s a good windsurfer,’ I say, then I fall silent because, honestly, I didn’t know he was the captain of the T15s. I don’t even know what the T15s are …
‘Isn’t he?’ And Kat is off, describing mind-blowing ‘vulcans’ and back loops. ‘Next Saturday,’ says Kat, barely pausing for breath, ‘there’s a sailing taster lesson and we’re going, aren’t we, Bea?’
Bea nods. ‘Come with us, Betty,’ she says. ‘It’ll be fun.’
I imagine it. Just me and my best friends being stupid and laughing for hours.
‘No thanks,’ I say.
I can’t see a way of getting out of bed, let alone hanging out with my friends and being me again.
‘Downstairs or up here?’ asks Poo. She’s standing at the door holding a plate of toast. ‘I’ve made you up a bed in the front room so you can watch TV.’
It’s Tuesday and Dad’s agreed that I can have another couple of days off school. If I can stretch out my ‘illness’ to Friday, I’ll even miss the school concert. Dad’s tried to tell me that leaving school forever isn’t a viable option, but I still can’t imagine going back. Today he’s left Poo to look after me, which basically means ‘make sure Betty doesn’t do anything insane’. It’s getting kind of stuffy in bed.
‘Bargain Hunt’s just started,’ says Poo.
Wrapping my duvet around me, I follow her downstairs. There’s a big pile of pillows on the sofa and a glass of water on the coffee table. Sitting on the top pillow is the hot-water bottle. Still wrapped in my duvet I get on the sofa and push the raccoon down by my feet.
‘Very warm,’ I say.
And that’s how I find myself watching Bargain Hunt with Poo. At first we don’t talk much, but when Relocation, Relocation comes on I’m forced to agree when she says that Suzie from Wimbledon is a ‘spoilt little cow’ and that she’s totally ‘perving over Phil’.
After lunch – cheese toasties – she says she’s going to let me rest. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.
‘Bit better,’ I say.
‘I might be able to help,’ she says. ‘I’m trained in Thai massage.’ She comes and perches on the edge of the sofa. ‘Tell me where it hurts.’
I think about Toby gazing at Pearl, the way their fingers brushed as he handed her the microphone. Without warning I see his naked chest with its four prominent hairs. I stare out of the window. Then, for some reason, I picture Kat and Bill sitting on the beach together, a barbecue glowing in the background.
‘It hurts here,’ I say to Poo, patting my chest. My heart thuds under my fingers. ‘It really aches.’
‘Shut your eyes,’ says Poo.
I do what I’m told and hear her moving around the room, adjusting the blinds. The sofa sinks down by my feet and then I feel cold air as she pulls the duvet back. She starts massaging the bottom of my feet. It should be horrible, but it makes me feel sleepy. ‘I want you to imagine you are standing at a gate,’ she says. Immediately I see a gate in front of me. It’s green, a bit like Nanna and Gramps’s gate. ‘You are stepping into a beautiful garden. You are surrounded by flowers and your feet tread on soft, cool grass. Shut the gate behind you. Everything that is making you ache has to stay outside.’
Poo is a nutter, I think to myself. My dad has managed to get himself a nutter girlfriend. But in my head I slam the gate shut on Pearl and Toby and turn into my amazing garden. Poo chatters on about the sun warming my face and pink blossom and birds singing, all the time massaging my feet in tiny circles. Her story ends with me lying in an imaginary hammock, drifting off to sleep … and I really am sleepy.
‘That was nice,’ I whisper. ‘Was that Thai massage?’
‘Not really – just some crazy stuff I made up,’ she says as she covers up my feet. ‘T
hought you’d like it.’
Yep, I think as she slips out of the room. Definitely a nutter. But kind of a nice nutter.
I spend Wednesday reading The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole and eating toast. Rue’s been given the day off.
That evening, I go back up to my room and get out Dennis and read through all of Mum’s letters and Bill’s poems, trying to work out how I could have got it so wrong about Toby. I take The one where my heart was broken out of the Puma box and hold it for a minute before resting it against Mum’s picture. Then I feel like listening to a bit of Bettye, so I put on Mum and Dad’s song, but, to be honest, listening to someone sing about millions of kisses probably isn’t what I need to hear right now.
A million kisses? One was bad enough. The tears well up again and I pull Mr Smokey off my feet and hug him to me. He must be fed up with me snuffling into his fur, because he squirms out of my arms, walks along my bookcase then leaps on to my wardrobe. He sits up there and glares at me like I’m a stranger.
‘Sorry,’ I say to him. ‘It’s just I had a really bad first kiss.’
‘Miaow,’ he says.
‘Do you remember that time you’d been eating Rabbit Supermeat Whiskers and you accidentally put your tongue in my mouth? We were nuzzling and then you yawned?’ I pause, but he doesn’t reply. Like me, he’s probably tried to block out the memory. ‘Well, that was better than my kiss with Toby.’
I hear a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ I say, lifting Mr Smokey off the wardrobe.
‘Who were you talking to?’
‘Bill!’ I say, turning round and clutching Mr Smokey to me. I haven’t changed out of my pyjamas for three days. ‘I was talking to Mr Smokey … the only man I trust in the whole world.’ I climb back into bed.
Bill’s wearing a grey T-shirt I’ve never seen before. I wonder if he bought it to impress Kat. He does look quite impressive in it.
‘Kat told me you were hiding in bed,’ he says, ‘so I thought I’d come and cheer you up.’
‘I only hid for a day.’
Love Bomb Page 11