by Polly Young
* * *
After school, I’m waiting near the school entrance for Josh to fetch my coat from the lockers in the lobby when there she is. Alicia Payne, the moron of the school and head year 11 bully. Sorry if that’s bitchy, but so’s she.
She’s alone, of course, buying hot chocolate from the machine. Her tights look like a cat’s run up and down them and she gives me a terrible grin with banana teeth. She’s wearing that idiot Alicia band she once told me was ‘iyonic’.
“Aw, fleecy. You cold?” and she creeps forward with luminous eyes and, before I can react, tips the froth from the plastic beaker just enough so it splashes onto my sock and burns. That machine would produce thousand degree hot drinks even after nuclear war.
“Hope it’s not boiling ,” she slimes, heads away, then turns back towards me in her stupid black patent ballet slippers, fat feet falling out as they slap off.
Alicia and I go way back. James Payne’s left school now but he was my mentor when I was in year 7 and we really got on. He’s quite famous now and I miss our chats but his sister’s poison.
The main reason she hates me is Tao. And I gulp and stop thinking because that’s the thing guaranteed to make me lose it.
Josh appears and here we are again: heading home together through the dusk but it’s different ‘cos it’s Friday. At last. Five days at school is enough to drive anyone mad and five days in December when you can’t even sit outside having a laugh on the field is child cruelty.
We head back to his.
At the Meadows’, the lights are all on, there’s cartoons blaring and Josh’s little brother Dominic is making a meal out of not having one.
“I don’t like beans.” He kicks Josh viciously; his twelve year old face a wizened prune. His mouth reminds me of Tao’s bum.
“You do when they’re shaped like X Factor ,” Josh orders.
And they are. A big, saucy ‘X’ across Dominic’s toast. He sits at the table and forks up the food Josh’s made in about thirty seconds flat. I’m in awe. I can make beans on toast; even eggs sometimes but not like Josh. He’s always been into cooking. Two years ago his mum had a fit after school when she realised she’d invited people round and had no food. And I mean none . Not even cereal bars.
Anyway, Josh put his homework away and went to Tesco with a big holdall and came back and locked us all out of the kitchen. There were a few bangs and crashes — one of them was his head on the oven hood — and an hour later he’d made bruschetta, lasagne and tiramisu. From scratch. I’d never even heard those words: the closest Mum and I get to Italian’s Domino’s.
And where Dominic’s a little turd, Josh’s youngest brother Edward’s a kitten. He sits on my lap, head like a dandelion and an eight-year-old smile that could’ve come straight from a washing powder advert. As he rests his head against my neck after his tea and purrs contentedly, I think I wouldn’t mind a little brother.
Looking round the kitchen as Josh clears away, I spy a new photo on the fridge.
“Who’s that?” I ask, though I know most of them. It’s a picture of all seven Meadows, plus a deeply tanned couple with two boys about our age. They’re sitting round a table in some courtyard somewhere hot. The writing on the umbrella’s Spanish.
“Hosts,” Josh says shortly. “Our villa was owned by a family. Wouldn’t leave us alone.”
As usual, Greg Meadows jetted back from Hongkers this summer and forked out for three weeks in a luxury villa. Josh got to drive a quad bike: I should hate him. That’s one thing about having a father, whether he’s around or not: more money. Mine may be abroad too but he’s a) not in our lives any more and b) has no money anyway. And boy, could Mum and I use some of that.
“Sweet,” I say. “Wouldn’t mind spending a summer with those two.” I mean the boys, who on closer inspection do look very cute.
“They were ok,” he says and then flips out. “Right, guys,” he says, imitating Mrs Debono immaculately, “who’s for ice-cream? Strawberry and chocolate.”
“I’m allergic,” I say automatically.
“You aren’t ,” Josh’s brow wrinkles. “Stop saying that.”
And he’s right. I got so used to telling people I couldn’t have ice-cream after I got my teeth whitened that Mum said she’d never known vanity like it. I didn’t know what else to say to though — couldn’t tell the truth, could I? That my mum got them discount and I couldn’t eat cold or hot things for a while? So when Erin said my teeth looked like some WAG’s I just smiled and nodded knowingly. Who’s to say eating cereal bars your whole life wouldn’t make them pure white? I told Josh the truth in the end, but only ‘cos he saw the trays next to my bed. Laughed his head off like I knew he would.
The door crashes and Mrs Meadows sashays in, carrying a bundle of blankets with one hand and a supermarket bag with the other. “Staying for supper, Lisi?”
She says ‘supper’, not ‘tea’ like it’s normal, not posh.
The baby starts crying, then so does Dominic.
“No thanks, I should go.”
“Date?”
Yeah, right. Unless you count a facemask and manicure set. I might have the most boring Friday night in the world planned but my nails’ll rival Miss Mint’s tomorrow even if my clothes don’t.
* * *
After Josh’s, I detour past Kai’s. His street’s three up from mine and though there’s no reason in the world to walk down it, I can make up some excuse if I have to ...
“Oi, Reynolds.”
It’s Kai and Felix, bouncing a basketball in the drive and lit up like aliens in the streetlights by Kai’s house. I’d have thought they’d be hanging out in town but apparently not; they have to be right in my path — shame it’s just as I’m picking my nose.
“Nice, Reynolds, nice,” Kai rumbles as he slows his dribbling and pirouettes slowly over. Felix looks at me funny and there’s a flicker, like he knows me but can’t be bothered. He knocks into Kai, and then shuffles off to the low wall to retrieve his phone.
“Alright?” two syllables, delivered with a grin that could end a world war and pupils the colour of storm clouds.
“Just passing,” I breeze. My hands feel clammy and it’s not the dankness in the air.
It’s love.
I know it’s love because this is how it felt when I saw a picture of the fake leather skirt on Kate Moss in Erin’s Glamour at break. It’s how I felt when Edward leant into me earlier and I smelt the top of his head.
“Party tomorrow?”
I nod. He moves right up and touches my hair.
“Wear something special. You’d look well fit in a black dress. Tight.” Then he does something amazing: he actually touches my hair. You might even call it a stroke. “And short ... maybe ...”
The ball hits his shoulder blade and he lunges at Felix, then he’s gone, spinning back off to battle.
I stand there, not sure where to go or what to say. What a chauvinist! But how sexy is his back?! Two words. That’s all, but it’s two more than I’ve ever said to him ever before. And he knows my name. I walk home hugging myself and nudging bits of rubbish down drains with my shoe to tidy the world up. There’s no room for mess. Everything needs to be perfect. Like Kai’s smile. I need to be perfect. I need a new dress. Black. And short.
* * *
When I get home, Mum’s flying round the kitchen, making bread like her life depended on it. The oven hums like a well-trained tiger and the air smells just like a proper bakery.
“There’s enough to last the month if I can get some in the freezer,” she says. “I’ve made stew and éclairs. And a chateau.”
“Gateau.”
Mum looks confused. “No thanks darling. Bit busy at the moment.”
Mum always does a cookery push when she’s feeling strapped for cash. Since Dad left four years ago, I’ve come to recognise the signs: spending on silly things that make her feel better (cushions, clothes, jewellery, scent) followed by scrimping and saving like we’re going to be sn
owed in for the next six months. Actually, I quite like it. And last year we did get snowed in. For half a day, anyway. Tao was hilarious: he ran around like a mad thing in the park and we had to calm him down which never happened after ... but I don’t want to think about that. Anyway, it means I can’t ask for money and I’ll have to work on Sunday after all, to pay for the dress Kai wants me to wear and the Kate Moss skirt and the Oasis top Miss Mint’s got and the jacket. I can ignore the fact that I had my outfit all planned out. I can ignore it quite easily, thank you.
Chapter 3: Saturday
So Felix’s going out with Frankee, is what Erin reckons.
“He snogged her after school yesterday in front of everyone — ‘parently he’s been seeing her for weeks.
“Old news,” Josh says glumly. He’s tagged along after all — I knew he would: it’s that or take Dominic to football - and we’re sitting by Primark on the edge of the not-working fountain in the middle of the high street having breakfast and making game plans. I’ve got a Krispy Kreme, Rach is smoking. Courtney stayed at home in the end, getting ready and sending us stressy texts.
I’m not that bothered, to be honest. Felix isn’t my type, Frankee’s a complete cow and the only reason I’m at all interested is because Kai’s involved by default. They go around everywhere together. What’s going to happen now?
“Will Kai get a girlfriend, then?” I wipe my mouth and ask the question we’re all thinking.
Erin pulls out a pair of tights with a seam up the back. She’s already done half an hour; prefers shopping on her own and she’s an early riser. “Yeah. Me.”
“They’re gorgeous ,” I slather. I’ve seen them before.
“Miss Mint’s got some.”
“You wearing them tonight?”
She looks at me for a split second, and then drops them in my lap. “Nope. You are.”
I feel a bit dizzy. That’s so nice; I love Erin. We hug.
“If they ladder, I’ll buy you a new pair.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Josh plucks his shoelace. “It’ll take more than tights.”
“What’s wrong with you ?” snaps Rach. She and Josh have never quite got on: she reckons he’s a drama queen, which he is.
“Shh, look over there,” I clutch Erin’s arm.
Emerging from Boots is Miss Mint, clad in a peacock, flared coat with old gold buttons and military boots. Her hair’s swept into a low chignon like she often wears at school and she’s trying to put a small plastic bag into a massive, beautiful leather one.
“Pregnancy test,” Rach whispers, knowingly.
Miss Mint clips her bag shut and checks her phone. She looks up and I think she’s staring at me. I raise my hand to wave but then realise she’s looking straight through and to my left, to a man like a tank walking towards her. He’s wearing a navy blazer, jeans and posh looking shoes and I know then it must be her fiancé. We watch her hand lift, her mouth move but it’s too noisy and she’s too far away to hear. They kiss quickly, he scoops his hand under her elbow and they make their way through the crowd until they’re practically on top of us. I spring up. So does Erin.
“Miss, hi Miss.” She looks puzzled for a split second, and up close I see the gloss on her lips is redder than she wears at school but otherwise she’s polished; poised.
“Girls. Josh. This is Taff.”
We snort.
“There’s a sale on in Coast,” Miss Mint stage whispers to us. “Taff can’t wait.”
He chuckles, says it’s true and then smiles at me in particular and I don’t know why but I blush. It’s not that I fancy him; he’s too big and old and looks a bit like Prince William after too many roasts but I imagine him having sex with Miss Mint and he winks at me, so fast I’m not sure it happened and then Josh drops sherbet down himself and the others giggle and I do too so then I’m free.
Miss Mint doesn’t even mention the trip on Monday, she’s that cool. We say goodbye, then trawl through the mall, picking up accessories and sweets. Erin buys an incredible blue cape with psychedelic roses but spots Alicia Payne in the distance eating chips, wearing the exact same one so she takes it back. I can’t find the skirt or the top but to be honest, my mind’s more on finding a black dress to impress Kai.
I find it in a shop way, way out of my budget. But it’s perfect: skin-tight, lacy, thigh-skimming. I’ve already bought the skirt and a jacket and there’s no way I can afford it. But I buy it anyway.
“Eighty five quid?!” Rach goggles.
“Had a windfall.”
“From a millionaire?”
I shrug and Josh looks at me funny but I ignore him.
The wind’s picking up and we start to feel hungry again and head to McDonald’s. We buy burgers and milkshakes but Rach doesn’t ‘cos as usual she’s watching her weight so she just gets a Diet Coke and we find a tiny table and squidge in. Erin and Rach start talking calories, Josh waffles on about some club in London and everything’s great until I remember Taff’s look as I’m crunching into a pickle and choke.
“He winked at you.” Josh mind reads.
“Who?” Erin shakes salt all over her fries and rips the cardboard pack open. She’s too fussy to eat with her fingers so she stashes a fork in her bag. She’s weird like that.
“Taff. He wants to get in Lisi’s pants.”
“Shut up, Josh.” How dare he? As if I’d ever say anything about his obsession with Kai. But it’s too late. The girls start listening like I’m reading lottery numbers. Erin sucks her fingers.
“He likes minty green.” Josh tugs my hair, which still is.
“Shut up .” I’m so embarrassed. I want to get up and go to the bathroom but I’m slotted next to Rach, who waggles her straw in the air.
“Would you shag him?”
“Who?”
“Taff.”
“No way.”
“If you were Miss Mint, would you shag him?”
I hesitate. Too long.
“You like him! Oh my god! Urgh, he’s like, old and posh .”
And rich and famous, I think. Because I happen to know Taff Broxley-Hunt is an ex-Olympic rower. He may be ancient now — in fact I think he must be, like, forty, which is nearly as old as Mum and almost impossible to imagine, but Dad used to talk about him when he was still around. I think he rowed across the Atlantic once, in a boat with another man. I remember seeing pictures of him in Dad’s office.
When Dad was around. Still, I’ll see him quite soon. Well, at Christmas.
So then we realise it’s nearly four and all of us have to get ready but none of us want to split up. So Josh comes to mine and Rach and Erin go to Rach’s and we arrange to meet at seven at the garage near Courtney’s so we can check our outfits.
When we get back, Mum’s brandishing an iron and waiting for Strictly Showbusiness which Josh likes too, ‘cos he can be sarcastic and look at sequinned tuxedos at the same time. Conscious of my shopping, I’ve crushed my dress into the skirt bag and I’m wearing the jacket under my normal coat. But Mum’s being perceptive for once.
“What’s that you’ve bought?”
“Jumper.”
“Let’s see,” she pouts.
“Show her,” Josh prompts and I have no choice: I pull out the dress. Mum gasps.
“That’s ... grown up.”
And now I look properly, it is. Way too grown up for me, to be honest, although I’d thought that was the point. I saw the shop assistant’s expression when I came out of the changing room. I shouldn’t have bought it for so many reasons. Not least because ...
“You can’t afford it,” Mum says as she holds it up and sees the tag.
“I can. I’m working double shifts tomorrow and anyway, Josh lent me some, didn’t you?” I stab him with a look. He stares at the ground.
“That was generous, Josh.” Luckily, Mum loves him so as long as he doesn’t say anything, I’ll be fine.
Upstairs, Josh’s quiet. I know better than to open my mouth, but I ca
n’t help it.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have lied. Thanks.”
He’s silent, playing with the sea-Mint glass paperweight Dad got me. I toss shopping, coat, hat on the bed and flop on top.
“Make it up to you? Pay for a taxi tonight?”
He gives me a pitying look, which is worse than anything he could say, and puts the paperweight down. Then he says he’s going to Courtney’s. And then he leaves.
I hear the front door bang. For a minute I’m lost, then I stand up and go to the window. The paperweight’s pure; Arctic clear. I stare out at the neighbourhood rooftops and Mum’s over-Mint garden outside, wet like it’s been crying.
Chapter 4: Saturday night
Mum’s cross too. She’s put the iron down and chews her pen when I descend and shakes her head when I offer to help her with French, but when she looks up and sees me wearing the dress she has to say something.
“I just hope he’s worth it.”
That’s all. And as if it wasn’t bad enough having to walk to the garage alone, my heel breaks on the way so I have to put on ballet pumps and text Courtney to make sure she’s not wearing her black shoes. The message fails so I text Josh. No reply. Oh god, what if she is.
I’m worrying about this as I walk past the petrol pumps and see Felix coming out with Frankee. They don’t see me ‘cos they’re linked into each other, oblivious. Felix is undoing a fag packet with his arm wrapped round Frankee’s fake fur shoulders and Frankee’s hair looks great: all shiny-smooth and thick, spanned out across her back like seaweed.
With my soles all soft I slide behind a pump and crouch, swallowing my heart as I watch them pass. It’s not that I’m trying to avoid them for real but if anything else can go wrong before the party the way things are going it probably will, so I’m not taking any chances.
My phone vibrates.
“Where are you?” I can see Erin and Rach crossing the road a few metres away. I stand up, start waving and gabbling about broken shoes until a man in the shop storms out, making neck-slashing gestures. Apparently you can’t use a mobile phone near petrol. Who knew? Anyway, I skip over and Erin slips me a swiped can of Fizz ‘cos she knows I like cider and then we’re off to Courtney’s.