Diary of a Grace (4 page)

Then Jesse muttered, ‘You weren’t like this at her age, were you, Pops?’ Then Wanted boy slid off the chair because he’d had too much to drink too and pulled me with him, and Toph (I’m wincing as I write this) had to pick me up off Wanted boy and said to Poppy, ‘Er, I think you need to take her home.’ I had a skirt on. God, I hope he didn’t see my pants.

Poppy wasn’t very keen on the idea of leaving so she called me a cab and told Toph to put me in it. I think I might have tried to kiss him because I have a very distinct memory of him holding me at arm’s length while trying to persuade the driver that I wouldn’t be sick over his upholstery. Someone just kill me now. Please. Make it swift, make it painless, but just kill me.

Text from Poppy:

‘Lil sis. Stp drnkng & suckng face wiv strangers. Not big or clver and u show me up. Will tell ma. Also ppl tlkng about u. repeat stop!’

That’s it. No drinking ever again because it’s bad and wrong and I saw Toph in town and he crossed over the road as soon as he clapped eyes on me. Like I even wanted to talk to him!

I know I should be conjugating French verbs and sticking to the elaborate revision schedule that took me the best part of a week to colour in but all I can think about is Toph. Short for Chris-toph-er. How could AS levels possibly compete? He looked so pissed off when he was trying to put drunk me into a taxi. I need to get a new rep and I need to get one fast.

Poppy absolutely refuses to be drawn in to any conversation about Jesse’s band and the boys in it and if I question her too closely then she’ll know that I kinda, sorta, maybe like Toph and make my life a living hell.

‘What do you want to know about them for?’ she demanded when I asked if they were rehearsing. ‘You’ve already been kicked out of one band and I don’t think they have any vacancies for guitarists who, y’know, can’t actually play the guitar.’ I hope she chokes on Jesse’s tongue next time they kiss.

Revision. Boring. Boring. Boring.

I saw Toph in town today as I was walking very slowly in the direction of the library. He was coming out of the indie coffee shop so I casually followed him (I was practically going in that direction anyway) and he went into this trendy building where all these web firms and design consultancies are. So I guess he, like, works there or something. He was wearing a khaki shirt and jeans and high tops and this cute little beanie, which probably meant that he hadn’t washed his hair but it was a good look.

I have to go out tonight because if I see one more mock exam question my head will implode. I could go out with Marianne but then I’ll end up drinking and getting off with someone. And if I go out with Atsuko I’ll get drunk and end up getting off with someone. I even thought about calling Darby and Jack who are still acting like some freaky version of love’s young dream but I wasn’t quite that desperate. So I phoned Dylan and although he sounded weirded out that I was calling him and managing to speak in whole sentences without getting tongue-tied, he said he was going to this art exhibition with some people from his course and I could tag along. He’s sweet. No wonder I used to have such a crush on him!

The whole point of going out with Dylan was so he’d act like a surrogate elder brother but it all went wrong. For starters, the art exhibition was really, really rude. I mean, post-watershed, strictly adult content, fullfrontal nudity rude. I didn’t know where to put myself. I was so embarrassed and Dylan was embarrassed and all like, ‘Maybe you should go and sit in the bar.’ So I went and sat in the bar and there was free wine and it tasted like a paintstripper but it was something to do that didn’t involve looking at people’s bare bits.

An hour later and the art porn no longer posed a threat. I staggered around trying to find Dylan when I saw a beanie hat that looked vaguely familiar. It was attached to a Toph-shaped boy who was studying a photograph of a close-up of a nipple. At least I think it was a nipple. I could see Dylan bearing down on me with a dismayed expression on his face as I lurched into a sculpture but he was too slow. My feet were moving in the direction of Toph and there was nothing I could do about it.

‘Hi Toph,’ I said a touch too loudly and he looked at me and frowned. That should have been enough to stop me but the frown just made his nose wrinkle up in this cute way and then my voice was saying, ‘Cool nipple. I bet you have cool nipples ’cause you’re really cool so your body parts must be cool too even…’

And then Dylan was there and I never got to finish my sentence. Not that it would have made much difference. The start of the sentence was horrific enough. All the way home, Dylan lectured me about drinking and my immature behaviour but all I could think about was the withering look on Toph’s face as Dylan dragged me away.

It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right. I’ve just managed to find Toph’s number on Poppy’s phone and I’m going to text him and apologise. It will be all right. ‘hi, it’s grace, poppys sis. sorry abt lst nite. my dog had died & I ws upset. u must fink im an idiot bt ws irrational wi grief.’ That should be OK. Please let it be all right.

Oh God. Just got a text message from Toph. Every time I read it my heart sinks. ‘Don’t ever contact me again, you silly little girl.’

I finished my last exams and what with being grounded and having no life, I think I might have actually done quite well. But I have this feeling of, like, utter despair. I can count the number of friends I have on one finger. Or no fingers. Edie and Dylan are spending the summer inter-railing so they can look at art in dusty museums and go to flea markets. Darby and Jack are still coupling (in every sense of the word apparently). Poppy is an accident of birth and I can’t hang out with Marianne because I turn into a drunken slut.

The time honoured tradition of getting a crappy summer job has been thrust upon me by my ’rents. Starting next week I get to wear a fun fur chicken costume (in the middle of summer!) and hand out fliers for a fried chicken emporium that is not KFC. I can see my life from here and it doesn’t look good.

I don’t know why I did it to myself but I went to see Mellowstar last night, though I should have known that I’d sit there on my own being all moody and depressed-y. That’s the band I used to be in and there were far too many boys there who I’ve snogged because I was drunk and then threw up on. It didn’t help that although nobody actually wanted to talk to me because I’m the queen of awkward silence, they were all surreptitiously watching me to make sure that I didn’t drink.

In the end I couldn’t stand it and sneaked out of the backstage door to get some fresh air. I sat on a wall, listlessly swinging my feet and feeling sorry for myself. And once you start feeling sorry for yourself the tears start prickling at the back of your eyelids and trickling down your face. I squeezed my eyes shut but it did no good. Those tears just kept coming faster and faster and then I was having a full-on weep complete with runny nose and hiccupy sobs. My face was all scrunched up so it took me a while to focus on the high tops standing in front of me. They seemed familiar. I looked upwards at the jeans-clad legs that they were attached to, then The National t-shirt and finally my gaze rested on the concerned expression on Toph’s face.

‘Are you OK?’ he said. It was the first time that he’d actually spoken to me.

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him. ‘Go ’way,’ I muttered in a low voice but he sat down on the wall next to me.

We sat there in silence for a while as I struggled to get myself under control. At last I managed to stop crying and wiped a sticky hand over my equally sticky face. I wished that Toph would leave. Why does he only see me when I’m making a complete twat of myself?

‘It’s hot isn’t it?’

‘I s’pose,’ I agreed after a pause.

‘So why were you crying?’ Toph turned to look at me but I ducked my head and stared at my feet. My nail polish was chipped.

I shrugged. ‘You don’t want to know why I was crying,’ I mumbled. ‘You’re pretending that you’re a genuinely nice person so I feel even more of an idiot.’

I know I’m not usually so wordy but I think the crying had lowered my defences.

‘Well, yeah, you do act like an idiot most of the time,’ Toph said casually and my heart sank even lower. It was currently somewhere around my knees. ‘But sitting out here on your own and crying makes me feel sorry for you so I guess that does make me a genuinely nice person,’ he continued.

‘People aren’t nice,’ I spluttered, feeling the tears trying for a repeat performance. ‘They suck. Everything sucks. Everything in the whole world.’

‘Wow, I never had you down as a nihilist,’ drawled Toph. I was sure his eyes were twinkling in the dim glow of the streetlight.

‘What’s a nihilist?’

‘It’s someone who—’ Toph began.

‘I know what you’re doing, you’re trying to distract me so I forget that I feel so crappy,’ I said crossly. ‘Look, now that you’ve shown you’re a caring person and you’ve managed to make me feel even more humiliated about all the times you’ve seen me making a prat of myself, could you please leave me alone. Please.’ It came out all desperate and whiny.

And then he did something that kinda restored my faith in humanity. He leant over and brushed my sticky, tear-stained cheek with his lips.

‘Everything doesn’t suck,’ he murmured softly. ‘One day you’ll figure that out.’

Started my stupid summer job today. I have to stand in the middle of town wearing, oh God I can barely type the words, a chicken outfit, complete with strap-on beak and hand out leaflets for Tallahassee Fried Chicken.

The heat and the man-made fibres I can just about cope with but the endless shouts of ‘I feel like chicken tonight’ from passers-by is doing my head in.

Ever since that conversation with Toph I’ve sworn off drinking alcohol or going out ever again. I’ve read a lot of improving books and my bedroom has never been so tidy, even though Mum’s very worried and even Poppy has started to feel sorry for me.

This evening she asked me if I wanted to go on a little country break over the August Bank Holiday weekend with her and Jesse and some friends who are renting a cottage. I wonder if Toph is one of those friends. The very thought that he might be one of those friends actually makes me feel like I’m going to throw up so I told Poppy I’d think about it.

At lunch-time today when my face was shiny with sweat and, oh yeah, I looked like the biggest fluffiest chicken-suit-wearing dork in the world, Toph appeared as if by magic. I had a split second to make a getaway but it’s hard to move quickly when you’re carrying an additional 10kg of stuffing and artificial feathers.

‘Grace?’ he said, with a smile, peering at me as I frantically adjusted my beak.

The ground never opens up and swallows you when you really, really need it to so I just thrust a flyer at him and squawked, ‘Tallahassee Fried Chicken, it’s hoooooot!’

‘Parents forced you to get a summer job, did they?’ he asked sympathetically and I nodded, silently willing him to walk away and bang his head on the nearest lamp-post so he could suffer a convenient but harmless bout of amnesia.

Toph must have got the message that I wasn’t in the mood for small talk and he gave me another friendly smile and walked off. He even turned and waved just before he turned the corner.

Then my foolish heart decided to skip a beat.

The one good thing about my humiliating summer job is the money I’m earning, money that I’ve just given to my sister for my share of this Bank Holiday cottage. Atsuko reckons with some certainty that neither Toph nor Darby and Jack (who are
still
together!) are putting in an appearance. Spending an entire four days with Jesse and Poppy isn’t exactly going to be Big Fun but at least I’ll get out of Manchester and my chicken costume.

There is a God! Tallahassee Fried Chicken got closed down by the council after they found loads of dead cockroaches at the bottom of the deep fat fryer. I’m so glad I always refused my complimentary Tallahassee Tortilla Chicken Wrap and small fries. And in no way can Mum say it was my fault that I got fired. Yay!

What’s with my parents? They’ve now decided I can spend the rest of the summer filing at Dad’s company. I had to go on hunger strike until Dad agreed to match my meagre wages from Tallahassee Fried Chicken.

Today was weird in bad and good ways. Dad’s personal assistant who suffers from permanent PMS yelled at me all morning then before I could go to lunch she handed me an envelope to deliver to an office right over the other side of town.

But, sweet, lovely, little diary, it was the office of Toph. And as I looked frantically for someone to give the envelope to, I saw Toph waving at me from across the room.

I had to trudge down the length of this huge office while everyone stared at me and I wished I hadn’t worn a flowery summer dress that made me look about 12.

‘What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?’ Toph asked, like I was some emotional wreck that he was officially sponsoring.

‘No!’ I scowled. ‘Got this letter from er, my da… the solicitor’s office.’