Girl, 15: Flirting for England (4 page)

‘Ow!’ shrieked Jess. ‘Ow! You’ve burnt me now!’

‘Sorry, sorry!’ said Mum, hastily putting down the mug. Some more of it slopped out right on to the letter to Edouard – the new, clean envelope!

‘Oh no!’ cried Jess, whipping a tissue out of the box and mopping the chocolate off the letter and her arm. ‘Everything’s going wrong! Just everything!’

‘It’s only a little bit on the corner,’ said Mum guiltily. ‘Anyway, French people love chocolate.’

‘I’m not sure they love it on their actual letters,’ snarled Jess. ‘Why is absolutely everything going wrong today?’

‘Mercury’s retrograde,’ said Mum darkly. Like most old hippies, she was seriously into astrology. ‘The car wouldn’t start this morning.’

‘The car wouldn’t start because it’s a heap,’ said Jess.

‘Never mind that,’ said Mum. ‘Show me your card.’

‘What card?’

‘The card you were making for Michelle.’

‘I’ve decided to leave it to the morning,’ said Jess. ‘I’m too tired. My brain’s asleep already. I don’t like Michelle much anyway. I might just not bother.’

‘Oh, no. Do make her one in the morning,’ said Mum. ‘You won’t regret it. I think her mother comes into the library.’ Mum kissed Jess and went out.

Jess smiled to herself. Michelle was a fiction, a complete invention, a person who simply did not exist. Yet Mum already imagined she knew Michelle’s mum by sight.

Please God
, Jess prayed,
let Mum not be too eccentric while Edouard’s here
.

After she’d finished the hot chocolate, she took the mug out to the kitchen, where her mother was wiping down the worktops and still listening to the news. Jess put the dirty mug in the dishwasher. Her mum watched in amazement.

‘What’s this?’ she asked. ‘Why aren’t you just shoving your dirty mugs under your bed as usual?’

‘I’ll ignore that remark,’ said Jess. ‘We’ve got to keep the house clean and tidy while Edouard’s here. I’m starting the new regime now. And will you please get rid of all those spiders’ webs, Mum.’

‘You know I like spiders,’ said Mum. ‘They catch flies. Flies are really revolting. You wouldn’t tolerate a visitor who pooed in the sugar bowl, would you?’

‘Never say anything like that again!’ said Jess. For a split second she hadn’t been able to stop herself thinking about Edouard as the visitor who . . . The image would haunt her all her life. ‘Anyway,’ Jess went on, ‘please get rid of those webs! It looks like the Addams family home up on the landing.’

‘All right, all right!’ said Mum. ‘Stop nagging. And if you want the place spotless for when Edouard comes, you’ll have to lend a hand.’

‘Of course!’ said Jess. ‘You do the spiders, though. You know I’ve got a thing about them.’

Suddenly the phone rang. Mum frowned and looked at her watch. She hated people ringing after ten o’clock. Jess immediately felt guilty, even though it was only ten past. Maybe it was Flora or Fred. She grabbed it.

Chapter 5

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Hello, you fabulous creature! This is your ancient dad!’

‘Dad!’ Jess almost whooped with joy. ‘It’s Dad!’ she said to Mum.

‘I had worked that one out,’ said Mum rather sarcastically, and went out of the kitchen looking as if she had something important to do.

‘Mum sends her love,’ said Jess.

‘Give her mine, give her mine,’ said Dad, sounding a bit nervous. Her parents were such idiots. OK, they were divorced, but they still acted strange around each other. Jodie’s parents were divorced, but they actually all went on holidays together, even though Jodie’s dad had a new wife and a baby and everything. Jess wished her parents could be a bit more relaxed.

‘So how are things in gorgeous St Ives?’ asked Jess. ‘I’m so jealous! I wish I was there. I want to hear the seagulls! Hold the phone out of the window.’

‘It’s dark, dumbo!’ said Dad. ‘The seagulls are all asleep.’

‘Don’t call me dumbo,’ said Jess. ‘It’s a bit too close to jumbo.’

‘I refuse to discuss diets, weight or whether your bum looks big at the moment,’ said Dad. ‘Thank goodness I can’t see you. All I can say is, you sound beautifully slim.’

‘That’s only cos I’m holding my voice in,’ said Jess. ‘But does my bum sound big?’

‘I’ll ignore that!’ said her dad, laughing. ‘I rang up for a civilised conversation about the arts, and all I get is obscenity.’

Out in the hall, Jess’s mum started up the vacuum cleaner. How typical. It was as if she wanted to blot him out.

‘What’s that noise?’ asked Dad. ‘It sounds as if a flying saucer’s landed.’

‘It’s only Mum vacuuming,’ said Jess. ‘Hang on, I’ll close the kitchen door.’

She put the phone down on the table and shut out most of the noise. It was so great talking to Dad again. If only Mum could join in.

‘Are you still there?’ said Jess, picking up. There was silence. ‘Dad?’ she said, puzzled. ‘Dad? . . . DAD?’

‘Only joking,’ said Dad. ‘I was playing hide-and-seek. It’s much easier by phone.’

‘I could hear your strange snorting breath,’ said Jess. ‘I thought you’d fainted or something.’

‘No, no,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll be fainting soon, though, with all the stress.’

‘Yeah, right! The stress of your amazingly relaxed life by the sea. I’ve got to come and visit! I’m so jealous! I haven’t even seen your new house down there, yet.’

‘Well, I’ve got a plan,’ said Dad. ‘Listen. I’m having an exhibition soon. It opens on the seventeenth. I’ll send you an invite with all the details. I just had this brilliant idea. Why don’t you come down here for the private view? It’s on the Saturday night, at six o’clock. Mum could put you on the train on Saturday morning. I could meet the train. You could spend Saturday night here, then we could have Sunday lunch in a lovely restaurant overlooking the harbour, then I could put you on the afternoon train home.’

‘Really?’ cried Jess. ‘That is totally fabulous! I’ll go and ask Mum now!’

‘No, wait!’ said Dad. ‘Don’t ask her now. Not if she’s vacuuming. Vacuuming is bad news. It means she’s moments from meltdown. Wait for the right moment.’

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself??’ said Jess.

‘No, no! I can’t sweet-talk her like you can!’ Dad had stopped sounding relaxed and jokey. ‘The thing is, I always sound like a . . . well, a bumbling idiot whenever I ask her for a favour. You can, you know – get round her with bunches of flowers, er . . . unexpected bouts of washing-up, you know the sort of thing.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jess. ‘I’ll get it sorted. I can’t wait. I’ll actually see your house and everything! Brilliant! Brilliant!’

‘Well, I think you’re old enough to travel down on your own, now,’ said Dad. ‘After all, you’re nearly – what is it? Thirty-five?’

‘I’ve been old enough to travel on my own for years,’ said Jess drily.

‘I know, I know,’ said Dad, getting back into jokey mode but still sounding a bit flustered. ‘You’ve always been a lot older than me, even when you were a baby.’

‘Yes,’ said Jess. ‘I’m an Old Soul. I know. You told me that once before. It was an attempt to make me stop singing in the car. You also said I had a voice like a crow. You old sweet talker.’

‘Crows are a favourite, though,’ said Dad. ‘Although ravens are more majestic. And rooks are . . .’

‘Spare me the ornithology!’ yelled Jess, laughing. ‘I’m still not interested.’

‘OK. I’ve got to go now,’ said Dad. ‘I’d forgotten how late it was. I know what Mum’s like about people who ring after ten. Oh no! I hope I haven’t blown it. I shall have to go and have a lie down.’

‘Bye then, Dad! I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve fixed it all up.’

‘Right! Good girl. Give my love to Mum – and have some yourself, you gorgeous creature.’

‘Bye, Dad! Love you!’

Jess slammed down the receiver joyously and ran upstairs. Mum was on the landing, wearing a fixed frown and vacuuming the ceiling. Jess just knew it would be a bad time to ask. Her dad was so right. But she couldn’t help herself.

‘Mum!’ said Jess. ‘Switch it off for a minute!’

‘Just now you were nagging me to do it!’ shouted Mum. ‘There’s still some webs in the corners.’

‘Never mind that now!’ shouted Jess. ‘Let me tell you what Dad said.’

‘In a minute!’ shouted her mum. ‘I’ve nearly finished.’

Jess waited. The excitement inside her curdled slightly. Making her wait was her mum’s way of getting back at her dad. Jess had never properly understood why they had separated all those years ago. She’d only been a baby. Deep inside her most secret heart, she was terrified that one day she’d find out that they split up because of her.

Mum switched off the vacuum cleaner. The engine sound died in an echoey way in the stairwell. Jess’s confidence wilted also. Maybe she really should wait for a better moment.

‘Dad sends his love,’ she said. ‘I told him you sent yours.’

‘OK,’ said Mum. She looked sulky, though.

Jess made a huge effort to recapture the excitement of Dad’s wonderful invite.

‘Listen, Mum!’ she said. ‘It’s brilliant! Dad’s invited me down for his private view! He says if you put me on the train, he’ll meet it and I can stay Saturday night and come back on Sunday. It’ll be brilliant! Oh please! I haven’t seen his house yet and I’m dying to go down there!’

‘What about your homework?’ asked her mum, looking suspicious.

‘I’ll do it on the train! I’ll have hours and hours. I promise.’

‘When is this?’ demanded her mum edgily.

‘Er, he said soon. The seventeenth, I think he said.’

Mum’s face sort of collapsed into exasperation. But it was a kind of satisfied exasperation. Almost as if she’d been waiting for an excuse.

‘Typical!’ she said. ‘That’s the weekend when the French boy will be here! It’s impossible. Just typical of your father. I sent him an e-mail telling him we had this exchange coming. In fact, I asked him if he could come up here for the weekend and help to entertain Edouard. I don’t suppose he mentioned that.’

‘No,’ said Jess. She felt desolate, crushed, defeated. The wonderful plan of going to see Dad seemed to wither and writhe away into ashes, like a poem written on a burning piece of paper. A huge ball of tears welled up inside her. She felt like screaming. Why was her life such utter poo?

‘I’m going to bed, then,’ she snapped. She didn’t even kiss Mum goodnight; she stormed back downstairs to her room and slammed the door.

Once she was in bed, and the worst of her rage had subsided, she started to fantasise that she had better parents. If only she could do a swap . . . Eventually Jess drifted into an uneasy sleep, and dreamed her dad was the prime minister.

Next morning breakfast was a bit tense, but neither Jess nor her mum mentioned the night before. The radio did most of the talking. Jess kissed Mum goodbye before she left for school, and Mum sort of clutched pathetically at her sleeve.

‘Love you, despite my awfulness,’ said Mum gruffly.

‘I love you despite your awfulness, too,’ said Jess. It was an awkward truce, as usual. If only Dad had realised the date of his exhibition clashed with Edouard’s visit. If only they’d talk to each other properly instead of this constant ‘ask Mum’, ‘tell Dad’ business.

Jess sighed. She had to sort her parents out, get them to be proper friends, shape up and stop being such losers. She also had to find out what was happening with Granny. But first, looming large on the horizon but as yet without a face or identity, she had to confront the enormous, exciting enigma of Edouard.