‘This is totally brilliant,’ said Nesta as she caught her reflection in the phone box window. ‘No one expects a secret agent to look like this. Everyone expects them to wear white macs and French berets, although we can speak in French accents if you like.’
It had seemed hysterical when we were in the fancy-dress shop. A great idea. On the Tube on the way here we hadn’t been able to stop laughing at how we looked, but now that we were hovering outside the phone box the comedy element was beginning to wear off, to be replaced by rising panic – plus it was a boiling hot day with not a cloud in the sky and my head was sweltering under the tight wig.
‘What does Jamie’s dad do?’
‘Something to do with finance I think, but his mum and dad are divorced. His dad lives in Scotland most of the time.’
‘Och aye hey the noo,’ said TJ.
‘We could be Scottish spies instead of French or Russian,’ said Nesta. ‘Let’s speak in Scottish accents for the rest of the day. Begorra bejabbers, haggis, tartan, kilts . . .’
‘You two are bonkers,’ I said.
‘Och aye, Jimmy,’ said Nesta. ‘Dunna get your bagpipes in a twist.’ Then she began to dance the Highland Fling.
‘Er, remind me what we’re doing here again,’ I asked as an old lady went past and gave her a peculiar look.
Nesta stopped dancing and put her arm around me. ‘Relax, ma petite Scottish amie. Don’t worry. We are simply checking out Jamie to see if he is worthy of you or not – but in the meantime, I ’ave to find ze toilet for ze ladies, because I need to gooooooo . . .’
TJ gave her a quizzical look. ‘That doesn’t sound Scottish.’
‘It’s mixed. Scottish and Russian,’ said Nesta. ‘I like to keep an open mind.’
‘Confused, more like,’ said TJ. ‘Let’s agree. Scottish OK?’ Suddenly she ducked down behind the phone box and pulled Nesta and me with her. ‘Someone’s coming out of the house. A boy. Is that Jamie?’
I poked my head up so that I could see. It was him. Right on time. Becca had done her homework and phoned his mate Henry last night to find out Jamie’s movements for today. Of course Henry wanted to know why we were interested, so Becca had to fill him in and make him promise not to spill the beans. He told us that Jamie was heading out to meet him in Covent Garden at twelve noon.
Our plan – or should I say, Nesta’s plan – was that we waited until Jamie came out of the house and then we casually started walking towards him so that Nesta could get a good look at him. He wouldn’t know Nesta or TJ but would probably stare anyway, partly because they both have great legs, but also because of the colourful wigs. I was to be in the middle of them and, hopefully, he would do a double turn when he realised that it was someone who looked like me, and then he would realise that it really was me, not a lookalike me. This was the crucial point of the plan, because Nesta said that she would be able to tell from his reaction to seeing me exactly what his feelings were for me. I hoped that she was right and that he wouldn’t phone the police to report that aliens had landed in West London and were heading straight for him.
Jamie turned out of his gate and began to walk towards us. He was dressed in jeans, his grey hoodie and sunglasses and was looking very cool and grown up.
‘Get up, you two,’ I urged. ‘He won’t know you so I don’t know why you’re hiding.’
‘Oh right,’ said TJ, and got up and adjusted her wig that had gone a bit squiff.
‘Hey, he’s a cutie,’ said Nesta as she got up and pulled me with her.
It was so weird. I’d been looking forward to seeing Jamie again for ages. Imagining how it would be. Where it would be. But now that it was actually happening, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me. It was all a big mistake. I looked a total prat. Why on earth had I let the girls talk me into this, never mind wearing this mad wig? There was no guarantee at all that Jamie would find it a laugh – in fact, he might not even be pleased to see me. As I watched him approach us, I realised that actually I didn’t know him that well at all. We had only spent a couple of hours together on the trip to Morocco and, although he had seemed like a nice guy and was keen on me there, he looked much more sophisticated than I remembered. I knew he went to private school, but now that I’d glimpsed where he lived as well, I could see that we were from very different worlds. He was going to think this whole idea was so childish. Oh God, oh God, never again, I thought as we began to walk towards him. Already he was staring – and who could blame him? I thought, as I began to blush as pink as TJ’s wig.
‘Actually, I don’t want him to see me like this,’ I whispered, and tried to steer the girls off in another direction while at the same time hiding my face so that he wouldn’t see me. Hopefully with the sunglasses and the wig, he wouldn’t recognise me at all and we could get back to TJ’s and forget the whole thing.
Too late. He was making a beeline for us.
‘Hey, girls,’ he said as he got closer. ‘It’s a bit early for the Notting Hill carnival.’
‘Vot carnival do you speak of, Eengleesh boy?’ drawled Nesta in a heavy Russian-ish accent.
‘I thought we were being Scottish,’ said TJ in a perfect Irish accent.
Jamie looked like he was going to burst out laughing – and then he saw me and screwed his eyes up as if to focus more. As planned, he did a double take. Then he came closer. ‘You look like someone I . . . hey . . . Cat, is that you under there?’
‘Cat? Me? No? Probably someone who looks like me . . . I mean her . . .’ I blustered.
‘Surprise,’ chorused TJ and Nesta.
‘Yeah – surprise,’ I said. ‘I . . . we . . . that is . . .’
I couldn’t deny the fact that Jamie looked delighted and immediately wrapped me in a big bear hug. ‘Cat Kennedy! This is fantastic. Wow . . . but you look . . . strange.’
I was lost for words, caught between being happy to see him and wondering if I ought to explain.
Luckily Nesta took over. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you,’ she said. ‘I’m Nesta and this is my mate, TJ. And er . . . I couldn’t possibly use your loo could I? I’m dying to go.’
Jamie looked totally bemused. ‘Loo? What? Er . . . Oh . . .’ he stuttered as he glanced nervously back at the house. ‘Er . . .’
Nesta crossed her knees and clasped her hands in the praying position. ‘Pleeeeease . . .’
Jamie’s expression changed from looking delighted to being anxious. He looked studiously at our wigs and then finally nodded. ‘Come on then, but . . . listen . . . er . . . yeah, great look and all that – but would you mind taking your wigs off before we go in?’
Nesta, TJ and I exchanged glances as if to say ‘What’s the problem?’ but we whipped the wigs off all the same and stashed them in TJ’s rucksack. As Jamie ushered us back to the house he glanced at me, but his expression was now impenetrable and I began to wish that I’d never come.
We made our way up the pathway and Jamie opened the front door.
‘Only me,’ called Jamie as we stepped inside a vast white hall with a marble floor.
We heard footsteps approaching from a corridor to our right and then my mouth fell open as a woman dressed in white leotard-and-tights exercise gear appeared. She looked as if she was in her forties, was stick thin and had a shock of red hair. Henna-red hair. In exactly the same style as our Afro wigs, but hers was clearly not supposed to be a joke. Now I understood why Jamie had asked us to take ours off.
‘Er, this is a friend of mine, Cat, and her mates . . .’ Jamie started.
Nesta stepped forward and shook the woman’s hand. ‘Nesta and TJ.’
‘Right, Nesta and TJ,’ said Jamie. ‘And this is my mother.’
‘Do excuse one’s attire,’ she said in a very plummy voice. ‘I’ve just had my Pilates lesson.’ She bent over and touched her toes. ‘Sooo good for keeping one’s back supple.’
Ohmigod, I thought as I fixed my gaze on the floor and fought back an irrepressible urge to laugh my head off. I didn�
�t dare look at Nesta or TJ, not even for a second.
‘AND YOU ARE, AGAIN? I didn’t catch it the first time,’ asked Mrs Parker as she led us into a magnificent living room off the hall. It must have been about fifty feet long with high ceilings, huge bay windows and elegant cream furnishings that looked like they cost a fortune. Everything looked as though it had been styled for an interior design magazine photo. Pale duck-blue silk cushions on the two vast sofas were plumped up and arranged so perfectly that I hesitated before sitting down, in case I disturbed the layout. Big art books had been placed on a glass coffee table with carved gold legs. On the floor were immaculate cream carpets that would last five minutes in our house before having something spilled on them.
‘Er . . . Catherine Kennedy, but everyone calls me Cat,’ I said as Nesta came back from the loo and settled next to TJ. As I looked around, I couldn’t help thinking that the atmosphere in the house was cold, too formal to be the kind of place where you could kick your shoes off and feel cosy and comfy when you got home. I was going to make my bedroom look exactly the opposite to this grand immaculate place.
The design was beginning to form in my mind – all the rich warm reds and oranges that TJ had used in her room, with possibly a red velvet throw for the bed. I’d seen one in a mail order catalogue at TJ’s house and she said that I could borrow it and send it back to her later. For my birthday and Christmas I was going to ask for Moroccan-type knick-knacks to finish the look that I wanted, but it shouldn’t be hard to create with a couple of pots of paint. All the strong vibrant shades used in hot countries. Plus, there was another reason I wanted to paint those colours. They were the colours from all the countries that Mum had been to, according to her diaries. I think she’d have liked the fact that some of her experiences had inspired me and that, although she was gone, she was still a strong influence on my life. I could hardly wait to get back and get started.
Mrs Parker looked up to her right, as if scanning an imaginary list. ‘Kennedy, Kennedy. Hmm? Can’t say I know the family. Where are you from, dear?’
‘Cornwall,’ I said as I attempted sit up straight, which was difficult because the sofa was so big and squashy that when I leaned back my feet came up off the floor, making me feel like a five-year-old. I made myself remember what Lucy had said yesterday about that fact that no one can make anyone feel inferior without their permission.
Mrs Parker regarded me as if I was of a different species to her. ‘Cornwall? Oh how terribly quaint,’ she said. ‘Isn’t that where that school friend of yours lives, darling?’
‘Ollie Axford,’ said Jamie.
‘Of the Axford family. Jamie is often a guest of theirs, aren’t you, darling?’ she asked with a brief glance at Jamie before she turned back to me. ‘But I don’t suppose you know them . . . ?’
‘Actually, Lia Axford is one of Cat’s best friends, isn’t she, Cat?’ said Jamie.
I nodded.
‘Is that so?’ said Mrs Parker, then, as if bored, she turned to Nesta and TJ. ‘And you girls?’
‘Highgate,’ said Nesta, and was met with an approving nod. ‘Nesta Williams of the Costello Williams family. Our family goes back years in Spain, Italy and Jamaica. My father is —’ TJ nudged her to shut up.
‘I’m from Finchley,’ said TJ. ‘Watts family.’
‘Finchley?’ said Mrs Parker, then added disdainfully, ‘That’s North London, isn’t it?’
Jamie rolled his eyes. ‘Mother has never been further than Hampstead,’ he explained.
‘And you’re from Jamie’s circle, are you?’
Nesta and TJ shook their heads.
‘We go to a public school in North London,’ said Nesta, and I noticed that TJ looked at her with surprise.
‘And I go down in Cornwall,’ I said. ‘To the local comprehensive.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mrs Parker, looking taken aback. ‘Jamie, darling, I don’t think you’ve brought anyone home from a comprehensive before. Still, no matter. I suppose it’s good that you mix with all sorts of people.’
Jamie looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him up. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed when she looked the other way.
Now I understood why he hadn’t been so keen on us coming into his house. Luckily, she lost interest in us pretty swiftly and left to go and shower and dress for her ladies’ lunch in Knightsbridge.
As soon as she’d gone, Jamie asked us if we’d like anything to drink and disappeared off to get us glasses of lemonade.
‘Er, and since when has our school been a public school?’ TJ asked Nesta as soon as Jamie had closed the door behind him.
‘It’s open to the public,’ said Nesta with a big grin. ‘And Cat, Jamie’s on the level. Not a player or a user, and he clearly adores you. I’ve been watching him and the way he looks at you. So . . . there has to be an explanation for the flowers yesterday.’
She didn’t waste any time finding out when he came back. ‘So, Jamie,’ she said. ‘Flowers. Cat tells us that you sent her white roses.’
‘Yes. You got them OK?’
I nodded. ‘I left a message on your voicemail. In fact, I left a few messages to let you know I was coming up.’
‘My phone was nicked a couple of days ago,’ said Jamie. ‘I was in a café in Kensington and left it on the table for like, a nano-second. I looked around and it was gone. Did you try calling the land line here?’
I nodded.
Jamie sighed. ‘Mum never picks up. She just leaves the machine on the whole time but she’s the worst person ever for passing on messages. She listens, then deletes them. Sorry. But I did e-mail you to let you know.’
‘We’ve just moved. Not connected up properly yet,’ I explained.
‘I should have known,’ said Jamie. ‘But I’m sorry that I didn’t know you were coming up. I was going out to get a new mobile just now. I’ll give you the new number as soon as I have it. Phew. At least we didn’t miss each other. I’d have hated to think that you were up here and we hadn’t met up.’
‘Yes, but never mind all that. Flowers . . .’ insisted Nesta. ‘Do you give many girls flowers?’
‘Nesta,’ warned TJ. ‘That’s not really any of our business.’
Jamie smiled and glanced at me. ‘I don’t mind. And no, I don’t buy girls flowers as a habit. Only Cat so far, although . . . that said, I did buy my cousin some yesterday to take to a mate of hers in hospital. She’s totally broke so don’t tell Mum, but I put them on her account. And I got white roses again because, well, I read in a mag somewhere that girls like them, and I think they look classy.’
Nesta gave me a smug look and, as Jamie poured the drinks, she gave me the thumbs-up and mouthed, ‘Sorted’. Then she wrapped her arms around herself and started acting out someone being kissed. She looked so silly that I got the giggles, and Jamie turned around to see what I was laughing at and caught her mid-imaginary snog.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
Nesta immediately sat up and coughed. ‘Oh yes – uhuh uhuh – just something stuck in my throat.’
The rest of the day was a blast. TJ and Nesta diplomatically made themselves scarce, leaving me to spend the afternoon alone with Jamie. He was so apologetic about his mother and said that she gives everyone the same grilling, which is why he was reluctant at first to introduce us. I said I didn’t mind. Which I didn’t. We had a great afternoon, what was left of it. We went and bought him a phone, did a bit of shopping in Kensington – where he bought me some gorgeous strawberry-scented soap – and over coffee in Starbucks, I told him of my plans for my room. He asked me to wait for a few minutes while he went to get something. He reappeared later with a carrier bag from Waterstone’s bookshop, which he gave to me. Inside was the most fabulous book on North African interiors. It was perfect, full of fantastic ideas for décor.
‘We got together in Morocco,’ said Jamie. ‘And if you do your room out in those colours, it will be a reminder of our time there. Almost as if you’ve brought a part of it back with you.’
Once again, I felt touched by his thoughtfulness. I’d always thought that Squidge was king of the romantic gestures, but Jamie was a close runner for the crown.
I gave him a big kiss. ‘Thank you so much. That’s the perfect present.’ It was now doubly confirmed in my mind that I had the right decorating plans.
After coffee, we walked through Holland Park and lay on the grass in the sun for a while. Snogged a bit. Snogged a bit more. He was a really good kisser. Gentle, yet firm at the same time. As we lay in the sun, hand in hand, chatting and kissing, I was so glad that I had made the effort to meet up with him. He was every bit as fab as I remembered. Boys, I thought. I do love them.
By the time I got on the early evening train, even though I had only been away for two days, I felt like I had been away for ages and found myself looking forward to seeing Dad, Luke, Joe and especially Emma. I was so used to her being there in my life – morning, noon and night; it was strange to be away from her, even though she could be annoying at times. I hoped that she wasn’t pining too much for me. If I ever slept away on a sleepover, she had nightmares and crawled into bed with one of the boys. With me having been away for two days, no doubt she’d have insisted on coming to meet me at the station with Dad, even though it was getting late.
All Mates Together Page 7