Freddie arrived bang on time looking gorgeous. Hah! And true to his word, he’d brought Malcolm and another boy.
‘This is Orlando,’ he said, introducing a fit guy I’d heard of but never met. He was semi-famous in a school chat room sort of way for being the 18th Lord of Hunte, a famous DJ on the public school circuit, and for running a Web site about Sloanes. It was meant to be a piss-take of Sloaney values and dress, but loads of people (like Honey) took it tragically seriously. Orlando was wearing a really un-Sloaney Saville Row suit with a rugby jersey underneath and frayed white tennis shoes.
‘You’re looking blindingly beautiful today, Calypso,’ Malcolm remarked, which made everyone muffle chortles. Apart from Freds, who stood by sullenly. Freds has been suspicious of Malcolm and me since last term, when I’d got stuck in the rain trying to climb the wall at Eades in the middle of the night. I was trying to get to Freds, but everything got muddled when I was caught in Malcolm’s room in his robe while my clothes dried. Anyway, I think it’s feverishly touching that Fred is so jealous, even though of course he doesn’t need to be. As fit as Malcolm is, he’s blatantly keen on Indie.
‘So everything’s cool with your parents now, then?’ Malcolm asked.
‘I told you about their marriage blessing, McHamish,’ Freddie chided, nudging Malcolm, who nudged him back. Then that turned into a nudge-fest as Malcolm replied, ‘Yaah, but I thought you were lying, didn’t I?’
Freds and I both rolled our eyes, and Freds squeezed me into his chest and kissed the top of my head. Then he suggested we go for pizza. I nodded, and Freds told the others we’d catch them later as he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me down the lane.
‘That’s okay, we’ll join you,’ Malcolm said, trailing after us with the others in tow.
Even though I was looking forward to time alone with Freds, neither of us could really say anything without appearing rude. Just the same, I thought to myself, Freds could have at least given me a significant look – a look that said ‘oh how I wish it were just you and me, Calypso, darling.’
But he didn’t.
All six of us set off down the cobbled lanes, slipping in the sludgy snow and catching one another. I slipped a few more times than necessary so Freds could catch me. Oh winter love, I love it.
At our pizza haunt we all sat at a big table in the corner. Freds pulled a seat out for me and sat next to me. He has so much savoir-faire.
Arabella was blatantly flirting with Malcolm, which was pointless given the fatal attraction Indie held for him. Meanwhile, Clems was fluttering her eyelashes in Orlando’s direction. I asked Freds how Kev was.
‘Brilliant,’ Freds said tonelessly as he scanned the menu.
‘Oh!’ I remarked, moving closer to him and pretending to scan the menu – as if my pizza choice seriously mattered. I always have Hawaiian and Freds always has pepperoni – it’s our thing.
‘Why, what’s up?’ he asked, finally sensing that all was not well in Calypso’s Very Own Fantasyland.
‘Nothing,’ I fibbed because I was hoping to hear tales of Kev’s broken heart. In Calypso’s Very Own Fantasyland, I had imagined Freds pleading for my intervention for the sake of his best friend’s health. Nothing would give me more joy than to reunite Kev and Star so we could be the perfect foursome we once were.
Even though Star hadn’t actually mentioned him since she announced dumping him, I felt sure she must still like him. I mean, seriously. He did everything she said. And he was fit and he could fence like a demon. All her talk about boys being a pain was just that, talk. That’s what I’d talked myself into believing anyway. ‘Just, well, Star told me they broke up, and I thought Kev might have said something.’
‘Yaah, probably for the best. Things had run their course there, I gather,’ Freds answered.
‘Run their what?’ I blurted.
‘Their course,’ he repeated, looking at me like I was a right bonkermaniac.
If I could have done that thing the girl did in The Exorcist and swivelled my head around and around and around, that’s what I would have done. Instead, my eyes popped out of my head and fell on the floor – well virtually.
‘Star has GCSEs to focus on,’ he added. And then he looked at me as if he were noticing me for the very first time and said, ‘You’ve got your GCSEs too, haven’t you?’
‘So?’ I asked, wondering what on earth he was on about. Who wants to talk about feverishly dreary GCSEs when there are lips to be kissed and lovely sticky-outy hair to be stroked?
‘Well, I’m just saying, you probably have a lot of, erm, time constraints.’
I had no idea where his head was. I know boys are from a different planet, but this was different different. There was no room to faint in the crowded restaurant, so I slumped on the table and snored. That at least made him touch my hair, although it was more of a ruffle – sort of like you might give a dog.
Having ruined my lovely hairstyle, he looked at the others and asked, ‘Shall we just order three large mixed and split them?’
‘Not for me,’ Malcolm said, looking at me as he pushed his chair back. ‘I might get going, actually. Good to see you girls,’ he said vaguely, and then he just walked out of the café.
It was peculiar the way he backed out of the café, still looking at me as if trying to convey something. I presumed he wanted news of Indie or something, but he only had to ask.
Orlando told Freds to go ahead and order three large mixed anyway. Then the two of them started chatting about Eades stuff, and I was left to join in a conversation with Clemmie and Bells about our rabbits. I know they’re my friends, and rabbits are adorable, but Clems and Arabella and me – well, we see each other every day. Actually, I share a room with Clemmie every night. Love rabbits though I do, I didn’t need to come all the way into Windsor to chat about them. I came to pull Freds!
FIFTEEN
Pi-Squared Shockarama
It wasn’t until after the pizzas were finished that we finally got a chance to be alone. Freds took control, saying to Orlando, ‘We’re off now, Hunte, see you back at school.’
I loved hearing him say we. It made me feel warm and wanted. It was a shame Hunte was too busy being love-bombed by Arabella and Clems to notice.
I snuggled under Freds’ arm as he chucked some money down and we set off into the snow. Outside I pulled his arm around me even more tightly. ‘I’m freezing,’ I told him, fluttering my lashes seductively. At least, it would have been seductive if they hadn’t been glued together from all the mascara I was wearing. As it was I had to pretend I had something in my eye, and Freds dabbed at me with his handkerchief.
‘Do you want my jacket?’ he asked, pulling away and removing his cashmere coat. ‘No, you flaming idiot! I want your arms around me,’ I screamed inside.
Then he looked down at my legs and said, ‘You’re blue. Why aren’t you wearing tights, Calypso?’
What was he, my grandmother? ‘Oh, I don’t feel the cold,’ I lied.
‘I thought you Californians were all sun-worshipping surf queens,’ he teased.
‘We do get snow in California you know,’ I told him. ‘It’s only an hour’s drive from LA.’
He laughed. And then, just as I started to feel perfect and blissful, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his chinos and said, ‘So, you’ve got a lot on, what with your GCSEs and your tournament in Italy.’
‘I wish you were coming to Italy,’ I told him. ‘Is there anyway you could tag along?’
He laughed as if I’d only been joking, which I found très vexing. He was a prince after all, and he wasn’t doing GCSEs. Why couldn’t he come to Italy?
Then he looked all serious again. ‘I know Billy’s training really hard.’
‘So are Portia and I,’ I told him. ‘Every lunch hour we’re en guarding our heads off in the salle.’
‘That’s what I thought. I really support you, which is why I want you to know I’d completely understand if you wanted a break.’
He looked at his shoes. Why do boys do that when they’re going to say something awful? To change the mood I added, ‘I wouldn’t mind a break from this weather. Snuggle up to me,’ I said, not wanting the conversation to continue any further.
Freds ignored me. ‘Well, us. I mean you and me. I just don’t want you to feel, you know …’
His voice trailed off as he looked me in the eye.
‘No, I don’t,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know what you’re banging on about, actually.’
‘I just don’t want you to feel like you have to hang out with me when you need to focus on other things like fencing. I know how hard you worked to get onto the international team, and I don’t want you to think of us as an obligation.’
I breathed out. Phew. He didn’t want to break up at all, he was just feeling insecure and I was just being paranoid. ‘You’re not an obligation,’ I reassured him. Then I gave him a playful nudge, hoping to nudge him into taking his hands out of his pockets and putting them around me again where they belonged. ‘You’re a pleasure.’
‘You know what I mean, Calypso. Portia and Billy are taking time out, and Kev and Star and …’
‘We’re not musketeers, Freddie,’ I said. ‘We don’t have to follow our mates as if they were a conga line.’
He didn’t even smile. Actually he didn’t even look at me. He went back to fixating on his shoes, which as far as I could tell looked perfectly unremarkable. ‘I’m just saying I know you have a lot on, so if you, well, you know, want to have a break or something, I’d understand.’
I bent down and looked up into his face so I could look him in the eye. ‘Are you trying to tell me something, Freddie?’ My heart was pounding. He looked more awkward than I’d ever seen him. The next seconds of silence were painful. I closed my eyes, terrified that he was about to dump me. But he ended my agony by putting his arms around me. He kissed me gently on the lips. I felt so warm and perfect inside again. Everything was fine! Well, I did a pretty good job of convincing myself that everything would be all right anyway. I pretended the awful bit where he’d mentioned a break was down to insecurity and his honourable intentions to give me more time for my endeavours.
When we stopped kissing and looked into each other’s eyes, Freds was smiling. So I smiled too. ‘Let’s put you in a taxi,’ he said, kissing my frozen nose.
I was still floating on a turbulent sea of confusion ten minutes later as I turned into the lane that led to Saint Augustine’s. Now I knew what it felt like to float above your pain. Everything was okay, I told myself. Freds was just having an insecurity complex. But as I watched the deodorising cardboard tree hanging from the rear-view mirror, nothing really felt okay. The deodorising tree wasn’t deodorising the taxi, and I wasn’t doing a good job of feeling on top of the world.
It wasn’t until I entered the main building that I realised I had left Clems and Arabella in Windsor, breaking the school rule of go in threes, stay in threes, come back in threes. I was about to call them and apologise, but when I checked my phone, I noticed the time. Curfew was still two hours away. And I didn’t need Mr Templeton to do that sum for me! I could have stayed two hours longer with Freds.
I called Clemmie and Arabella and apologised for leaving them. They said they were about to go to the cinema with Orlando and another friend of his, Yo. I couldn’t help feeling that Freds should have taken me to the cinema. Talk about hitting the ground with a thud. It was pointless fainting, as there was no one around to notice.
As much as I kept telling myself that Freds’ suggestion that I might want to take a break was motivated by honourable intentions, I couldn’t shake the horrible gnawing in my stomach. I headed to the music wing in search of Indie and Star. Maybe writing some disaffected teen lyrics would make me feel better.
The music wing wasn’t officially opened yet. That treat would come in two weeks when the plaque was finished. Star was privileged to have early access because her father had paid for it. It looked more like Abbey Road Recording Studios than a school music wing, probably because Star’s father’s platinum albums lined the walls of the lobby-ish area. As I wandered through the entrance corridor, I kept expecting a beautiful receptionist to dive out and offer me Evian. Even a few stoned roadies would not have seemed out of place. The only jarring note was an oil painting of Our Lady with a set of rosary beads.
I expected to find Star and Indie, but Malcolm was there as well. I don’t know why I was so surprised to see him, given he’d snuck into Saint Augustine’s last term.
‘Ah, Calypso! At last. Champagne?’ he asked, pulling a mini bottle of Veuve Clicquot out of the six-pack by his feet.
Drinking champagne and having a boy on the premises could lead to a suspension, but Malcolm looked so at home with Star’s bass guitar around his neck that I forgot the risk we were all taking. I nodded my acceptance to the offer of champagne, even though I don’t really like the stuff. I was in shock, really. A shock which was about to intensify by pi square when Malcolm uttered the impossible words, ‘I daresay you need a drink after being dumped.’
SIXTEEN
Bonkeratus,
Bonkeratum,
Bonkerama
As it was, I did an actual faint and crumpled up at Malcolm’s feet. I felt quite the Georgian lady –you know those ‘gels’ Miss Austen wrote about in such yawn-making detail. They do one of those swooney wooneys and the next minute, Darcy or some other git goes into feverish overdrive to bring the corseted lass around.
Back in the twenty-first century, I came to, looked up and saw Malcolm looking mildly curious rather than alarmed. He was preoccupied with easing the cork off the miniature champagne bottle.
Star and Indie helped me up, and Star gave me a cuddle. ‘How dare he dump you!’ she declared hotly.
‘He didn’t dump me,’ I insisted. ‘He hasn’t dumped me!’ I pointed at Malcolm. ‘He’s just being Scottishl’
All eyes turned to Malcolm, who had successfully removed the cork and was now giving it a sniff and wrinkling his nose. He turned to me and winced before saying, ‘Sorry, I appear to have set the veritable cat out amongst the veritable whatsits.’
Malcolm stuck the straw in the miniature bottle and held it to my lips. Why was this mad loon of a boy always trying to shove alcohol down my neck?
‘Drink deeply from the well of fizz, Calypso. In the words of Madame Bollinger, “I drink it when I am happy, I drink it when I am sad.” Besides, you don’t want to take anything I say seriously. I’ve probably got it all wrong. He was no doubt off to dump some other hapless girl and not your good self after all. Forget everything I said.’
I pushed the champagne away and roughly wiped a tear from my cheek. Malcolm hadn’t got it wrong. Deep down I knew that. All that guff Freds had been burbling in Windsor about how he’d understand if I wanted to take a break. He had wanted to dump me all along. He’d just bottled out because he didn’t want me to cry, or make a scene, or do something disappointing.
‘If you ask me, he was a bit wet for you anyway,’ Malcolm remarked, sipping the champagne himself.
‘I agree,’ said Star. ‘Wet as soggy gym socks. You’re much better off without him.’
Star would say that. Operation Dumping Boys was going splendidly – well, in a reverse sort of way anyway.
‘Better off without whom?’ my bete noire, Honey, asked as she wandered into the studio wearing yet another slinky sundress. Her bony arms were covered in nicotine patches but she was still smoking a fag.
‘Freds dumped Calypso,’ Malcolm said, offering her a miniature.
‘Poor lamb,’ Honey said, taking the bottle. ‘Here, have a nicotine patch, darling, they really give you a lift,’ she offered, peeling one off her arm and slapping it on my forehead. Then she plonked herself down on the floor beside me and put her arm around my shoulder as if she really, really cared.
I didn’t know what was worse. My despair that Freds didn’t love me anymore or having Honey pretend to pity me. She blew a plume of smoke in my face, which made me cough, so she sprayed the air around me with Febreze, which made my eyes tear up. ‘Poor, sad little tragic Calypso. You must feel like utter dirt. You must feel as though your life’s not worth living. You must feel like slashing your wrists or diving from the bell tower to your macabre and bloody death – or at least a coma. I know I would if I were you.’
‘She’s far better off without him,’ Malcolm said stoutly, roughly snatching back the bottle of champagne he’d given Honey.
‘I’m not better off without him, though,’ I insisted. ‘He’s not a drip and he didn’t actually dump me!’ I carried on, my voice rising into a hysterical screech. Tres unattractive, I know, but I was like one of those crazed women in films who have just had a horrible shock and need a good slap.
A Royal Mess Page 27