Girl, 15: Flirting for England (3 page)

‘I found a photo of you on my PC,’ said Fred. ‘From that school trip to Oxford.’

‘Oh no!’ said Jess. ‘That was last year! I was so young. Practically a foetus. I had terrible hair as well. I’ve got some more recent ones on this CD.’

‘Well, just take a look at what I’ve done so far,’ said Fred, with a mysterious smile. ‘You’d pay a fortune for this kind of image enhancement in LA, you know.’ And he clicked on an icon called ‘New Improved Jess’.

A monster appeared. It had the eyes of a frog, the mouth of a shark and the nose of an anteater.

‘I was planning to give you a baboon’s bottom,’ said Fred. ‘That would be the icing on the cake.’

Jess was tempted to pull Fred’s hair. It drooped down around his shoulders in sad wispy locks. She was always nagging him to have it cut. But on the other hand, it was very handy when punishment was due.

However, she decided not to rise to his bait. Instead, she leant closer to the screen and examined the image closely, then whistled.

‘Wow!’ she breathed softly. ‘Is that really, really me? I’m almost in love with myself.’

‘Don’t fight it,’ said Fred. ‘It’s the sensible choice. You should sue your orthodontist, though.’

‘Is it true sharks grow new teeth all the time?’ asked Jess. ‘I wish we did. You’d save a fortune on tooth-whitening toothpaste.’

‘What is toothpaste?’ asked Fred.

‘Shut up, Parsons, you’re a total hobo,’ said Jess affectionately. ‘Now come on! Let’s take a look at some hot celeb lips.’

They looked at about a hundred photos and felt overwhelmed.

‘So which of them do you rate?’ asked Jess. ‘Who would be your secret love goddess?’

‘I don’t believe in love gods and goddesses,’ said Fred. ‘I’m a confirmed bachelor. Girls are so vile. Boys, too – he added hastily.’ Fred often said, ‘he added hastily’.
Sometimes he sounded like somebody from an old-fashioned novel.

They messed around for a while, trying to transplant some pouty starlet lips on to Jess’s face, but it didn’t work. But Fred did manage somehow to get rid of Jess’s spots, plump up her lips and add a manic sparkle to her eye. On the screen, anyway. They printed the image and scrutinised it critically.

‘Hey!’ said Jess. ‘It’s not bad! I look almost human. It’s plastic surgery without the bruising.’

‘I could always add a little light bruising, if you prefer,’ said Fred, brandishing a fist. ‘No extra charge.’

‘When Edouard and I are installed in our palatial flat in Paris, you can come round and digitally enhance the children,’ said Jess.

‘No thanks!’ said Fred. ‘Those Frenchmen are a jealous lot. He’d probably challenge me to a duel or something.’ Downstairs, the Parsons’ family clock started to strike the hour.

‘Oh no! Look at the time!’ said Jess, aware that her mum would be cooking up a monster sulk if she was too late on a school night. ‘Well, thanks, Fred! You’re a genius!’

Jess pulled his hair with just a teeny dash of sadism. Fred grabbed her arm and gave her just the hint of a Chinese burn. Then it was time to leave.

When she got home, her mum was up in her first-floor study, talking on the phone. Jess ran upstairs.

‘All right, then,’ her mother was saying. ‘But I’m not very happy about it. Ring me tomorrow evening and tell me how it went . . . I know, I know. Take care. Bye, Mum!’

‘Was that Granny?’ asked Jess, as her mum rang off. ‘What weren’t you very happy about?’

Her mum looked thoughtfully at her own fingernails and frowned.

‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said. ‘Look how dirty my fingernails are. I couldn’t find my gardening gloves.’

‘Mum! Never mind all this fingernail stuff! It’s just a diversion. What’s going on with Granny?’

‘Nothing,’ said her mum, getting up suddenly. ‘It’s nothing, really. It’s just one of her silly ideas.’

‘What silly idea?’ said Jess.

‘It’s nothing,’ said her mum. ‘Really. Honestly.’

‘Why are you lying to me?’ asked Jess. ‘What’s with this Granny mystery?’

‘There is no mystery,’ said Mum. ‘She’s just got a new friend, that’s all.’

‘What? A boyfriend?’ shrieked Jess. ‘Brilliant! How old is he?’

‘No, no, it’s not like that,’ said Mum, looking trapped and irritated. ‘It’s not a man at all. It’s just a woman.’

‘Well, that’s great! Who is she? They could go on holidays together and stuff.’

‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea,’ said Mum, tight-lipped.

Jess would have to contain her curiosity. Her mum could be very obstinate and very secretive at times. Even now she was walking out of the room and going downstairs. Jess followed.

‘Let’s have some toast!’ she said.

‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day,’ said Mum.

‘It’s the first sensible thing I’ve said all year,’ said Jess. Her mum’s mood could always be improved with toast. But after the toast, Mum started staring into the distance and heaved a sigh.

‘I did mean to do the vacuuming,’ she said dolefully. ‘And we’d better start getting Edouard’s room ready.’

‘Where’s he going to sleep?’ asked Jess, with a sudden horrid panic. ‘He’s not going to share my room!’

‘No, no, he’ll sleep in the little spare room,’ said Mum. ‘We’ll have to clear all the junk out of there, though. We can do a couple of trips to the recycling centre.’

‘Yes, and we can make it really nice, can’t we?’ said Jess. ‘Oh, no! There are flowers on the curtains! It’s way too feminine! What sort of curtains do boys like?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ said Mum. ‘It sounds rather a sexist notion, to be honest.’

Jess ignored her mother’s comments and ran to the phone and dialled Fred’s number.

‘Fred!’ she said. ‘What sort of curtains do boys like?’

‘Curtains? What are curtains?’ asked Fred.

Typical. Boys really were from another planet. What would it be like to have one in the house, right here in her face all the time, for a whole two weeks?

Chapter 4

Jess went into her own room, which was at the back, on the ground floor. She liked it because it looked out on to the garden. There was a fabulous bedside light in the form of a screaming skull, and she’d hung a wonderful black sequinned shawl on the wall. Her CDs were all arranged in alphabetical order (the one place where Jess had managed to be tidy) and her bald and charismatic teddy bear, Rasputin, reigned over the whole kingdom from his place on the pillow.

Jess had stuck up all her favourite posters. She’d also pinned up photos of her best friend, Flora, looking a bit baffled by her own beauty; Jodie, moving in on the camera with tongue out and eyes crazily crossed; Fred looking eccentric, with his long wispy hair and scarecrow arms.

Her letter to Edouard was ready on her desk. It had the proper stamp on and everything – for France. But it wasn’t sealed up yet. She added the digitally-enhanced photo and sealed the envelope. Then, seized by a strange impulse, she raised the envelope to her lips and planted just a tiny kiss on the back.

Oh no! There was a horrid lipstick smear! What a give-away! Hastily she opened the envelope, got a new one and put the letter and the photo in. But the special stamp was still stuck to the old lipsticky envelope.

‘Mum!’ she shouted. ‘Have you got scissors? And glue?’

She heard Mum’s footsteps coming downstairs. Jess quickly slipped the lipsticky envelope out of sight, down behind her desk, seconds before Mum burst in.

‘Please can you knock before coming into my room? It really annoys me when you do that.’

‘And please can you NOT just yell when you want something?’ Mum looked pretty irate, too. ‘I’ve told you time and time again, if you want something, come and find me and ask me politely.’

‘OK. Please may I have the scissors and the glue?’

‘At this time of night? What for?’

‘I’m making a birthday card for Michelle.’

‘Who’s Michelle?’ Who indeed? Jess had invented her – recklessly – a second ago.

‘A girl at school. Her birthday’s tomorrow and I totally forgot to get her a card today. Can you get me the scissors and glue?’ Mum’s eyes flared.

‘Get them yourself! You know where they are! Up in my study, in the top right-hand drawer of my desk!’

‘Yeah, but you just came downstairs! You could have brought them with you!’

‘Honestly, Jess! You’re too idle to get out of your own way!’

Mum stomped off to the kitchen and began loading the dishwasher with unusual spite. Jess stomped upstairs as hard as she could, hoping to dislodge plaster from the ceiling below. She pulled out the drawer with such force that all the stuff inside went flying across the floor: scissors, glue, paperclips, drawing pins, pens, pencils, staples, Post-it notes . . .

She bent down to pick them up, boiling with rage . . . and knelt down
on a drawing pin.
Luckily the pin was sideways, not with the sharp point upwards, so it was only four-star, not five-star, agony. Jess roared in pain. Mum wouldn’t hear, though. She’d got the radio on downstairs, blaring out some news programme.

I could die of drawing pins up here,
thought Jess,
and she’d never know – she’d rather catch up with the latest terrorist outrages than protect her daughter from harm in her own home.

Jess threw everything violently back into the drawer and took the glue and scissors downstairs. She went into her bedroom and slammed the door. Now she had to retrieve the original envelope addressed to Edouard, so she could cut off the stamp. She heaved at her desk to move it away from the wall. At this moment there was a knock on her door.

‘WHAT?’ roared Jess.

‘I’ve put the kettle on. Would you like some hot chocolate?’ called Mum through the door. A peace offering, evidently.

‘No!’ yelled Jess. ‘Wait – yes, please!’ There was no need to prolong the row to the point of missing out on a chocolate fix. Jess stretched her arm behind the desk and scrabbled about for the envelope. As she got up again she hit her head on a high shelf.

‘OW! OWOWOWOWOW!’ yelled Jess, rubbing her head. Was there any part of her body left to hurt? With a shrug, she cut the special stamp off the lipsticky envelope and stuck it on the new envelope with glue. Then she screwed the lipsticky envelope up and threw it at the bin. It missed. No, wait! She had to copy Edouard’s address.

Jess retrieved the screwed-up lipsticky envelope, smoothed it out and copied Edouard’s name and address on to the new envelope. Her head still hurt from the shelf, and her knee still hurt from the drawing pin.

‘I just hope you’re worth all this hassle!’ she growled to the address. Already Edouard had caused her major injury and a nasty little row between her and Mum. Although, to be honest, they were perfectly capable of whipping up a row between them without help from anyone else. Jess wondered how it would have been if Dad had stayed part of the family. Much better, probably. She sighed.

Her mum knocked at the door. Jess threw the crumpled-up lipsticky envelope into the bin, then called, ‘Come in!’ It sounded stupidly formal. Her mum entered carrying a big mug of chocolate and a ginger biscuit on a plate.

‘Lovely, thanks, Mum,’ said Jess. ‘Sorry I was grumpy.’

‘Sorry I was,’ said Mum, and foolishly hugged Jess without putting down the hot chocolate first. Some of it slopped out and landed on Jess’s arm.