Girl, 15: Flirting for England (5 page)

Chapter 6

A few days later, the letters and photos started to arrive from the French exchange people. First to arrive was Jodie’s. Jodie was one of Jess’s best mates, although not quite so close as Flora. She was shortish and darkish and had terrible spots. She was always ready for a laugh and was so full of energy and enthusiasm it made Jess feel tired. When she was in a strop, Jodie could be ferocious. But most of the time she was nice, if a little pushy.

‘Guess what!’ said Jodie, bursting into the classroom before morning registration. ‘I’ve had a letter from Gerard and here’s his photo!’ Everybody crowded round.

It was a really small photo, the sort you get in passport booths. Gerard wasn’t smiling. His hair was dark and slicked back. His lips were thin and he was wearing rimless glasses. His ears stuck out a bit. The light in the photo booth hadn’t been very good and there was something just a teensy bit sinister about the image.

‘He’s obviously going to be a mass murderer when he grows up,’ said Fred.

‘Shut up, Fred!’ said Jess, punching Fred in the ribs. ‘He’s lovely. He looks gorgeous.’ Secretly, though, she had to agree – Gerard did look weird.

‘His dad’s a patissier,’ said Jodie. ‘He makes pastries and stuff. I’m going to pig out when I go over there.’

‘So am I,’ said Jess. ‘I’ll be gorging for England! Croissant overdose!’

Just then Flora arrived with a photo of her exchange partner, Marie-Louise. Everyone crowded round again. Marie-Louise was kind of cute but homely looking, with short curly black hair and a nerdy smile.

‘Three out of ten,’ said Whizzer in his usual charming way.

‘Well, you wouldn’t even get one out of ten,’ said Jess. ‘Your exchange partner will probably need psychotherapy.’

Jess was really annoyed that Edouard hadn’t bothered to send a letter and a photo yet. She hated him already.

But the next day, Edouard’s letter did arrive. It was waiting for her on the doormat when she got home. Jess ripped it open right there in the hall, with trembling hands and a thudding heart. What if he was hideous? What if he was vile? The tiny photo fell face down on to the hall floor. She snatched it up, prepared for the worst.

Wow! He was adorable! Edouard had thick dark hair, big brown eyes and lovely pouty lips. His nose was straight and his ears were tastefully close to his head, not sticking out like Gerard’s. Jess decided she didn’t hate him after all.

She unfolded the letter. It was written on paper covered with small blue squares. Edouard’s handwriting was strange and loopy, and he did his r’s in a weird old-fashioned way.

Hello Jess
, it went.
I present myself at you I am the French exchange partenaire. I am call Edouard Fenix and I lives in Chignon-sur-Forgue. My father is architect and my mother teach on the elementary school. I haves one brother Alain he has 19 years and one sister Alice she have 10 years. Our house is in the river. We have dogs two lovelys Hector et Joubert. I am looking forwards to my visit in your house. I likes the sailing, chess and entomologie. My subject favorite is the mathematique. After school I will go on the engineering college. I like England and Manchester United is my loved football team. Please say your mother I am allergic to gooseberries. Please write me all on the subject of yourself, and send foto, Good kisses, Edouard.

‘Send photo’, eh? Obviously Jess’s digitally-enhanced image hadn’t arrived yet. ‘Good kisses’! How forward! But what a sweet letter. Particularly that bit about their house being in the river. It seemed as if Edouard was going to bring them plenty of laughs. She just hoped he didn’t say anything obscene, by accident. Or rather, she hoped he
did
.

‘Mum!’ she said, ‘There’s a letter from Edouard!’

Mum was kneeling on the kitchen floor, cleaning the oven in honour of Edouard’s looming visit. If Edouard ever opened the oven, he would certainly be impressed. Actually, the spare room they were getting ready for him was so small, there would almost be more room in the oven.

‘Oooh, let me see!’ said Mum, getting up and washing her hands.

‘He’s sent a photo,’ said Jess, holding it out for her mum to see. ‘He says his dad’s an architect.’ Jess knew this fact would have parent appeal.

‘An architect? Oh good!’ said Mum. She was a bit of a snob sometimes. ‘May I read it?’

Mum was being extra polite since the row the other night. She took the letter and, to Jess’s amazement, sniffed it.

‘Stop, Mum!’ yelled Jess. ‘Gross! Don’t sniff it! What on earth are you expecting? Scent or something?’

‘No, it’s just . . . I love the smell of French paper,’ said Mum. She was so weird sometimes.

‘He says he’s allergic to gooseberries,’ said Jess. Her mum didn’t answer. Her eyes flashed down through the lines. Being a librarian, she could read at lightning speed.

‘It’s a shame about the gooseberries,’ she smiled, folding up the letter and giving it back. ‘I was planning to include them in every meal. Bacon, egg and gooseberries for breakfast . . .’

‘Tomato and gooseberry sandwiches for lunch!’ added Jess.

‘Gooseberry pizza . . . oh well, never mind. He sounds very nice.’

‘What’s all that “good kisses” rubbish?’ said Jess, blushing.

‘Oh, the French say that to each other all the time,’ said Mum. ‘
Bons baisers.
It’s what you write at the end of a letter. It doesn’t matter whether you’re writing to your crazy aunt, your aged grandpa or your English exchange partner.’

Jess felt deeply disappointed, but tried to hide it. She wondered what Edouard would say if – or when – he was really mad about her, and how long it would take to get him there.

It was going to be quite tricky getting up close and personal with Edouard. At school her mates would all be around. And at home Mum would constantly be hovering, playing – er – gooseberry.

Suddenly a brilliant, brilliant idea shot across Jess’s mind. She almost choked with excitement. But before she could take it any further, she had to make a phone call to her dad. A confidential one.

Chapter 7

‘I’m just going outside to deadhead the daffodils,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll be dark soon.’

Brilliant! A perfect window of opportunity! It was almost as if God was on her side. ‘Thanks, Old Boy,’ Jess whispered to the Divine One, and waited and watched till her mum went out. Then she raced upstairs and grabbed the study phone.

‘Dad!’ she yelled, the moment he picked up. ‘You know I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it down to your exhibition because of the French boy?’

‘Don’t tell me!’ said Dad. ‘He’s been slightly run over. I’ve been to the witch doctor but I wasn’t expecting it to have worked so soon.’

‘No, no,’ laughed Jess. ‘Listen! I haven’t got much time, because Mum’s out deadheading the daffodils and I don’t know how many there are!’

‘Believe me,’ said Dad drily, ‘there will be hundreds.’

‘Well, listen up!’ said Jess. ‘How about this idea? I come down to your private view, but I bring Edouard with me!’ There was a brief and rather horrid pause.

‘Er – would I have to talk to him?’ asked Dad. ‘In French? I’m not at my best with foreigners.’

‘You won’t have to say a word!’ promised Jess. ‘I’ll do all the talking. He can speak English anyway. I’ve had a letter from him, and it was all in English. There won’t be a problem.’

‘Uh – where could he sleep?’ pondered Dad, the drivelling fool.

‘The sofa!’ yelled Jess. ‘You must have a sofa! He can sleep under the kitchen table! Anywhere!’

There was another silence, this time even longer, punctuated only by strange ‘
um
’
s
and ‘
ahh’s.

‘Oh, come on, Dad!’ begged Jess. ‘Just say yes! This means so much to me. I can’t bear the thought of missing your exhibition. And I’ll be so proud of you, with Edouard there.’

In Jess’s imagination, she and Edouard mingled attractively with a throng of elegant people sipping champagne, while her dad, with slightly more hair than usual and better teeth, was interviewed for a TV arts programme by a charismatic woman in black leather. Edouard stared down at her and whispered, ‘Your fazzair is so vairy talented. But zen, so are you, Jess . . . darlingue.’ And because the room was packed with celebs, they were forced so close together that his breath almost melted her mascara.

‘OK,’ said Dad. ‘But you’ll have to run it past the Boss.’ This was clearly a reference to Mum. Jess heard the back door open downstairs.

‘Great!’ she whispered. ‘She’s just come in from her deadheading. I’ll ask her now.’

‘Good luck,’ said Dad. ‘You’re going to need it,’ he added ominously.

‘Rubbish!’ said Jess. ‘Order an extra ton of canapés for the private view, cos we’ll be there!’

She rang off and raced downstairs. This was such a brilliant idea! She would have hours and hours of private time with Edouard! They could wander around the quaint streets of St Ives, hand in hand. Or sit on the beach, staring at the surf, with their arms round each other. And there would be that long train journey down, hours and hours of it. And the long journey back again . . . They could stare into each other’s eyes all the way. Jess’s eyes watered in anticipation.

‘Mum!’ she said. ‘You know Edouard’s visit coincides with Dad’s exhibition? Well, I’ve thought of a brilliant idea. Edouard could go down there with me! Dad says it’s fine by him. Edouard can sleep on his sofa. And Edouard will be company for me on the train, and everything – it’ll be safer if I’ve got somebody to travel with, won’t it?’