Honey slapped me hard across the face.
Then Star slapped Honey back even harder.
Malcolm must have wondered what kind of slappity-slap circus he’d entered, but he didn’t show it. Not that I was thinking about Malcolm’s feelings at the time. I was remembering Freds’ good-bye kiss and how lovely and real it had felt. Oh God, it was all so confusing. Please God, let Malcolm be wrong. Freds loves me. He told me so.
Besides, Malcolm wasn’t even one of Freds’ mates. Malcolm was in the year above and made weird art movie thingies that Freds wasn’t keen on. ‘Malcolm’s got it all wrong. It must have been a mistake,’ I told everyone. ‘Freds loves me.’
Honey snickered.
No one else looked convinced either.
‘He’s still wet,’ Malcolm muttered as he swizzled the straw of his champagne.
Star agreed enthusiastically.
Sucking hard on her cigarette, Honey nodded. Blowing a series of artful smoke rings in my eyes, she said, ‘Soz, darling’ and sprayed me with Febreze.
I didn’t rise to their bait, though. They hadn’t been there in Windsor in the snow when Freds kissed me good-bye. They couldn’t grasp the true depth of his je ne sais quoi or his savoir-faire. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly the life of the party, but he made me feel special, and without wanting to sound shallow, he was heir to the throne. Every girl in the world worshipped him – apart from Star.
‘And what’s with his hair?’ Malcolm asked, shaking his head. ‘You should see the pots of gel in his room. Has it delivered by the lorry load every Monday, the vain git.’
‘Freds doesn’t use gel,’ I blurted, because everyone knows that boys who use gel are très, très tragic.
Malcolm shook his head. ‘You never did find your way into his room, did you, Calypso? For if you had, well. Gel Central, I’m afraid.’
Star giggled. ‘I know, he looks like such a chav.’
Indie giggled. ‘Gel is soooo sad. You’d think one of his lackeys would tell him.’
Even Honey laughed – well, as best she could.
I looked around at the faces of my friends and Honey. I wanted to be alone with Star and tell her how terrible I felt, but I knew she’d just say stuff like how I was better off without him. This scenario was, after all, just what she wanted. But then she surprised me by announcing, ‘Listen, though, seriously, we can’t allow this to happen. Freddie can’t be allowed to dump Calypso.’
I could have kissed her! No wonder I loved Star so much. To quote from some addled Latin text we were translating, she is most definitely the ne plus ultra of girlfriends, the alpha and omega of friends.
When she came over and hugged me, I hugged her back so hard she made a squeaking sound. Everything would be okay now.
‘No Saint Augustine’s girl has ever been dumped. We’re the ones who do the dumping,’ she told me.
‘But he didn’t actually dump me,’ I reminded her.
‘Okay, so he chickened out, but according to Malcolm, that was his plan.’
I looked over at Malcolm, who shrugged and nodded in the affirmative.
‘It’s an immutable fact, my darling bestest friend in the world,’ Star said to me. ‘No boy, not even a prince, has ever dumped a Saint Augustine’s girl. Ever.’
Just then Georgina walked in with Tobias. What was this, Humiliation Central? ‘Apparently there was some incident of a Stowe boy dumping some girl in the sixties,’ she said, clearly already au fait with my shame. Maybe Freds had pasted posters declaring his dumping intentions over Windsor.
‘Typical,’ Malcolm sneered. ‘What do you expect from Stowe?’
‘Sister Constance will flip when she hears one of her girls has been dumped,’ Honey said gleefully.
Star gave her a warning look. ‘Do you want a wrist burn, Honey?’
Honey grabbed her thin little wrists in fear.
‘No one is telling Sister. Freds hasn’t officially dumped Calypso yet,’ Star said, the word ‘yet’ going through my heart like a dagger. ‘There’s still time to save the situation if we act quickly.’
Georgina gave me Tobias to hug. He was wearing a fetching little black Prada jumper and some vintage Vivienne Westwood bondage trousers, teemed with workman’s earmuffs – presumably to protect his ears from the noise of Star and Indie’s music. ‘Tobias said you’re not to worry, darling, we’ll sort it out.’
Just then I heard my txt alert going off.
Honey grabbed my bag off the chair and pulled out my phone. ‘ “Soz and all that, but I think we should take a break! I’ll call later, F,”’ she read. Then she made a really sad, pitying face that made her pumped-up collagen-enhanced lips loll around her chin.
Star snatched my mobile from her and scanned the message. ‘Bugger. What an absolute jerk,’ she said, chucking the phone to me in disgust.
‘The txt dump is a low blow,’ Malcolm said. ‘Even for a wet prince lathered in chav gel.’
I read the txt myself, wanting it say something other than what Honey and Star had read. But it didn’t.
Soz and all that, but I think we should take a break! I’ll call later, F
It was true. I had been dumped by the heir to the throne. What’s more, I had been dumped by txt, an instrument designed for flirting and sending lovely messages to friends! All the confusion I had felt earlier drained out of me as I read and reread the stark cruelty of the words.
All I felt now was outrage and anger. I looked up at the concerned faces of the others and stood up in fury. ‘Right. He’s toast.’
Malcolm raised his bottle in the air. ‘Here’s to toasting the little wet!’ I know that it wasn’t the time to be thinking such things, but hearing him call Freds ‘the little wet’ suddenly made me realise that Malcolm was actually quite fit.
Georgina, Honey, Indie and Star all grabbed a bottle each and clunked them against Malcolm’s.
‘Toast!’ everyone declared.
Then Indie turned to me and said, ‘You could always perform The Counter Dump. A girl at Cheltenham Ladies had to do The Counter Dump once – the guy was destroyed! He never pulled again.’
SEVENTEEN
The Mechanics of The Counter Dump
How many teenagers can you fit in a dorm room built to accommodate three girls? Forty-two, that’s how many – the entire Year Eleven. There were girls on ledges, girls on cupboards, even girls in the bath in the en suite – all of them wearing the hideous plastic bead bracelets of Enterprise Initiative.
By that evening, I had become a cause celeb, only not in a good way like Nelson Mandela or that woman who is trying to bring down the cruel regime in Burma. No, my name had become associated with shame. The word was out. Girls, teachers, nuns and house spinsters were all aghast that one of their own, a Saint Augustine’s girl, had been so brutally dumped.
Walking down corridors, you could hear snatches of conversation like, ‘I just don’t understand how it could have happened,’ and ‘I heard he uses gel.’
I was as much at a loss to understand my dumping as they were. I had no answers, only questions. But all I really wanted was a solution, and that’s what Indie promised she had.
‘Right. The main thing is to restore honour to our school, right?’ she asked.
‘And to Calypso,’ Star added.
‘Especially to Calypso,’ Indie agreed, smiling sweetly at me. ‘The skillful execution of The Counter Dump is based on Calypso getting Freds in a lather over her again and then just as he realises that life without her isn’t worth living, she dumps him.’
‘Here, here!’ the room cheered.
‘Believe me, I’ve witnessed a Counter Dump firsthand. It will make Freds feel like a pig’s dinner for the rest of his life. He will never pull another girl again.’
Everyone seemed thrilled by this outcome. I mean, I know he dumped me, but a pig’s dinner? I don’t know that I’d wish that on anyone – not that I have the slightest clue what pig’s dinners consist of.
‘Seriously, he wil
l never pull again,’ Indie repeated for dramatic effect.
An image of Freds as a Lady Haversham character flashed through my mind and I giggled, which set everyone else off. As I looked around at the faces of the girls perched and squeezed into our tiny room, I couldn’t help but be touched. It was a coming together of the school such as I’d never witnessed. Even Honey – who was perched companionably with Polo Central on the wardrobe – thought The Counter Dump was the only way for me to regain my dignity. I was shocked that Honey felt I had any dignity in need of restoration, given she’d spent the last four years trying to strip me of it.
‘Calypso?’ Indie asked.
Portia nudged me from my musings and I realised a speech was required, so I blurted, ‘I want to see Freds grovel.’
The girls started clapping and banging their legs on whatever they could. Spurred by this show of belle esprit, I continued, ‘I want to rinse him good and proper. Horrible boy, hiding his nasty cruel streak under such lovely sticky-outy hair and kissable lips.’
More cheers went up and my emotions were swept along with the fervour of the crowd. Maybe Freds should feel like a pig’s dinner, at least for a bit. I certainly hoped he’d never pull again. That would teach him.
‘Speech! Speech!’ everyone cried.
Feeling rather like Cicero on a good day, I began, ‘Boys and their enormous egos. Who does he think he is? Apart from the prince of the United Bollocky Pollicky Kingdom, I mean. If we let him get away with dumping me, well, it will be open season on all of us!’
The roar of the crowd rivalled any Roman mob. It was a wonder we weren’t being plagued by house spinsters left, right and centre.
Star clapped her hands flamenco-style to call the meeting to order. ‘Right, so basically the honour not just of Calypso, but of the entire school is at stake! Agreed?
There was more banging of feet on the floor, the sides of wardrobes, cupboards, walls or baths as everyone showed their support. Then Star said, ‘Indie has suggested that Calypso bring Freds to his knees by performing The Counter Dump, a manoeuvre guaranteed to knock the stuffing out of the most egotistical of boys.’
Georgina covered poor Tobias’s ears – as a soft toy, he doesn’t like talk about knocking the stuffing out of things.
‘How dare he dump me by txt,’ I said – for like the thousandth millionth time since receiving his horrible txt.
‘At least now you can see him for the enormous idiot he is,’ Star pointed out. ‘I told you that you should dump him after that fiasco with the fake cold in Scotland,’ Star told me.
‘And I told you that I hate being told “I told you so,”’ I replied.
Star blushed. ‘Sorry, darling. Think of it as fodder for your lyrics,’ she advised more gently, chucking me her lip-gloss. ‘We’ll all help you avenge your honour.’
‘Don’t be so culturally insensitive,’ Honey argued hotly. ‘Think of Calypso, poor love; she’s American, and everyone knows they don’t know what honour is.’
Star took off her shoe and threw it at Honey. But our bete noire caught it adroitly, looked at the label, screwed up her nose job and chucked it right back.
I know I should have felt insulted by what Honey said, but the horror of it all was, I was worried she might be right! I really wasn’t in the least bit worried about my bloody honour, or the school’s honour for that matter. I wanted to sob uncontrollably into my pillow and then pretend it was Freds and thump it.
‘Indie’s right, though. The only thing to do is seduce him all over again, and then when he’s down on his knees with love for you, txt him a dump message,’ Fenella said, without looking up from the copy of Horse and Hound she was flicking through.
‘I didn’t seduce him in the first place, though – I trounced him at sabre,’ I explained.
‘What’s sabre?’ Perdita asked.
‘It’s like something you do with swords, only not on horseback, darling,’ Georgina explained.
‘Huh,’ Perdita nodded. ‘Like water polo, you mean?’
‘Exactly,’ Star agreed, rolling her eyes at me.
‘So this seduction business, how do we go about it, precisely?’ Portia asked. ‘No offence, but Calypso is no Mata Hari.’
‘I think we’ll need a decoy,’ Honey suggested. ‘Perhaps I could pull Freds to distract him and …’
‘He said he’d call,’ Portia reminded her calmly with the sort of poise only a girl who can trace her title back generations can possess. Like Star, most of the rest of the world just wants to throw shoes at Honey. ‘Let’s presume he’ll be true to his word and call Calypso.’
I grabbed my mobile and checked it was on. ‘But what should I say when he does call?’ I asked. ‘If he actually does call, I mean,’ I added, as doubts engulfed me.
‘Whatever you do, you must not answer it,’ Indie advised sternly.
‘I can’t do that,’ I told her. It was true, I’m not one of those people that can call-screen. I go doo-lally with curiosity.
Star took the phone from me and started pressing buttons. ‘I’ve put it on mute and on mute it will stay,’ she told me firmly, tossing it back to me.
‘Do you think he will leave a message, though?’ I asked.
‘No,’ Perdita said knowledgably. ‘Boys don’t ever leave unpleasant messages. He might just say he’ll call back, or see you at the next polo match or ask you to call him.’
‘On Saturday,’ said Star. ‘When Calypso and posse head into Windsor, we should arrange to meet Malcolm and get him to bring his entourage. That way, when Freds sees you, you’ll be surrounded by friends and fit boys.’
It did sound like a cool plan, but was Malcolm the ideal decoy? ‘What if he doesn’t care that I’m with Malcolm’s entourage and a posse of girls?’ I asked, because really, and I know this is sinfully self-centred, I wanted him to care so much that he’d sob at the sight of me and beg me to take him back. Of course I would spurn him, but still I wanted to know he cared first.
Star chortled, ‘Oh darling, I do love you for being so naive when it comes to boys. Freds may not be deep, but his ego is enormous. He’ll notice you with Malcolm. Remember how jealous he was when you accidentally climbed into Malcolm’s room at Eades that night in the rain?’
‘But he knows Malcolm and Indie are practically an item. He’ll just presume I’m a cling-on.’
Indie looked shocked. ‘Since when have Malcolm and moi been an item?’
I blinked so hard with confusion I began to get a migraine. ‘Erm, forever?’
‘Are you mad?’ she replied – though clearly the question was meant to be rhetorical. ‘Malcolm’s cool but …’ She shook her braids and said, ‘Portia, you explain.’
EIGHTEEN
It Was All Très, Très, Très Befuddling
All forty-two girls were silent as Portia rolled her eyes and said, ‘Indie’s pulled Tarquin.’
Georgina threw Tobias at her. ‘Tobias can’t bear secrets. Why didn’t you tell us?’ she asked furiously.
The rest of the room muttered their displeasure. Indie kissed Tobias on the nose and threw him back to Georgina. ‘Because you and Star were banging on about how we should stop being so boy-obsessed.’
‘Has no one in this school heard of the word proportion?’ Star groaned.
‘I thought you and Malcolm were an item, too,’ Perdita added.
‘Buggery slops,’ Star cursed. ‘Anyway, everyone, let’s stay on message. When Freds approaches you, seething with jealousy, you have to be really carefree and breezy. Charming but distant, you know, sort of look at him and smile as if you can’t quite remember who he is.’
‘Don’t be too obvious, though,’ Georgina warned as she brushed Tobias’s fur. ‘I mean, boys aren’t that clever, but they usually know when they are being played.’
‘That’s true. Be a bit flirty without actually flirting, if you know what I mean,’ Arabella suggested. ‘You know, twirl your hair, pout your lips and titter gaily.’
‘What? Freds
will think I’m mad if I start tittering gaily, or tittering in any way for that matter. And as for pouting and twirling my hair, well … he’ll think my madness is out of hand and call for the asylum lorry to take me to an island of loons.’
‘She’s right,’ agreed Honey. Then she looked at me with big blue sad-eyed pity. ‘Poor, poor tragically butch Calypso. I’ll help you learn the art of seduction, darling,’ she advised in a mildly threatening sort of way. ‘Seduction is my middle name.’
A Royal Mess Page 28