Girl, 15: Flirting for England (7 page)

‘Jess Jordan!’ called Mrs Bailey.

‘No!’ breathed Jess. ‘It can’t be! He’s just a kid.’ She didn’t move. Her mum pushed her forward.

‘Go on!’ she whispered. ‘Go and get him! The poor little thing looks shattered.’

Jess stumbled forward, as if in a dream. The French teacher placed a friendly hand on her arm and steered her towards the small boy. He’d climbed down the steps now, and he hardly came up to Jess’s nose. Forget Harry Potter! He was a Hobbit.

And what’s with the glasses?
she thought. It was sort of cheating to take your glasses off for a photo. Though Jess’s mum did it all the time. In Mum’s case it was a pathetic attempt to appear young and trendy. In Edouard’s case it was treachery.

‘Jess!’ said Mrs Bailey. ‘This is Edouard, your French partner.’

‘Hello!’ said Jess. Edouard held out his hand in an awkward, formal kind of way.

‘Hello!’ he said. His voice was kind of squeaky
.

Unbelievable
, thought Jess.
He’s a child, a mere child. I can forget all thoughts of flirting. Babysitting would be more appropriate.

At this point, Jess’s mum came forward, shook Edouard warmly by the hand and led him away to the car, talking away nineteen to the dozen in fluent French. Jess had been dreading the thought of her mum showing off her language skills, but as it had turned out, it had saved the day.

Jess followed them to the car, her heart sinking. Edouard was so small he could hardly carry his bag. Oh well. They needn’t have worried about the limited space available in the spare room. You could have accommodated a whole flock of little Edouards in there, like a kind of burrow full of meerkats.

Jess was already dreading taking him in to school tomorrow. Especially as everybody had seen his photo and was expecting a love god. Oh no! What if somebody actually laughed out loud? Jess made urgent plans to call in sick for the next fortnight.

Chapter 9

Once Jess got in the car, another major problem instantly became clear. There was a really terrible stink.

‘Don’t mention the whiff,’ said Mum, starting up the car.

‘Don’t just talk like that in front of him!’ said Jess, embarrassed.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Mum. ‘His command of our native tongue is tentative to the point of non-existent.’

‘Why are you talking in that weird way, like somebody out of a costume drama?’

‘Merely,’ said Mum, ‘to guard against the eventuality of our guest’s comprehension of certain little give-away phrases.’

‘Well, at least use language that
I
can understand!’ said Jess.

‘Don’t raise your voice to me,’ murmured Mum, turning out of the school drive and heading for home. ‘He’ll be very sensitive to tones of voice. Especially angry ones. And the poor little thing is totally shattered.’

‘We should have a code name for him,’ said Jess. ‘How about “the Queen”?’

‘Nice idea,’ said Mum. ‘Now try to be nice to the Queen. She’s had a terrible journey. At least look over your shoulder and smile at her.’

Jess looked over her shoulder and smiled encouragingly at Edouard. He looked at her and gave a kind of deranged nod.

‘We’ll soon be home!’ said Jess.

Edouard frowned and looked panicky. Surely he understood four words? One of which was ‘be’? Jess sighed – but tried to hide it.

‘Soon be home!’ she repeated, trying for a soothing tone of voice. ‘Only ten minutes!’

Edouard shrugged and looked as if he was going to cry. Jess forced a huge smile out of her emergency smile store and turned back.

‘The Queen didn’t understand a word of that,’ she reported. ‘I think she’s on the edge of a nervous breakdown.’

‘I’ve already told her it’s only ten minutes to the house,’ said Mum. ‘In French.’

‘Don’t use the F-word!’ said Jess. ‘Or the Queen will know we’re talking about her!’

‘OK, then,’ said Mum. ‘Urdu.’

‘What?’

‘Urdu – it’s an Indian language.’

‘I don’t like the sound of it,’ said Jess. ‘Sounds a bit like doo-doo.’

‘I told you not to mention the whiff,’ said Mum.

‘I’ve been trying to ignore it,’ Jess replied. ‘But I can’t help feeling majorly annoyed that the Queen is not only barely visible to the naked eye, but also smells of dog poo.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Jess,’ said Mum, in a relaxed, pleasant tone of voice which belied her vicious message, ‘if you don’t stop whingeing and start being pleasant about the poor little Queen, you won’t get any pocket money from now till Christmas.’

Nobody talked for the rest of the journey. Mum put a South African Gospel CD on to try and create a soothing atmosphere. They arrived, parked the car and went indoors. Soon they were standing awkwardly in the kitchen, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light.

‘I must get this light changed,’ said Mum. ‘It doesn’t do anybody any favours.’ Edouard’s eyes were red and his face was so pale, it was almost green.

In theory he was now able to see that Jess was not quite as ‘pritty’ as in the digitally-enhanced photo she had sent. However, he appeared to be avoiding looking at her. Jess didn’t care, obviously. So she had deceived him a bit by getting Fred to blot out a few spots and put a sparkle in her eye. Edouard had actually concealed the fact that he was a speccy nerd, smaller than the average teddy bear and stank like a dogs’ lavatory.

Mum got some bread out of the bread bin and flourished it, saying something in French, and Edouard answered, apparently in the negative.

‘Go and show Edouard up to his room, please, Jess,’ said Mum. Her voice sounded unreal. It was like bad acting.

‘No, you,’ said Jess. She couldn’t bear to be on her own with him for a split second. Not tonight.

‘Let’s all go, then,’ said Mum.

They trooped upstairs. Mum showed Edouard where the bathroom was – in French – and offered him the opportunity to take a bath, which he also declined. He clearly just wanted to be shut away in his own little burrow and cry himself to sleep.

‘Goodnight!’ said Jess with enthusiasm, waving absurdly as she turned away. The smile was very hard work indeed.

‘Goo’night!’ replied Edouard, but without a smile. It was awful, just awful.

Jess and Mum regrouped in the kitchen. Even the kitchen looked wrong and strange: it had been cleaned and tidied in honour of Edouard’s arrival. It looked uncomfortable, like somebody else’s place.

‘Let’s have a hot chocolate!’ Jess suggested.

‘I’m worried about him,’ said Mum, as she put the kettle on. ‘What a terrible journey for the poor little thing.’

‘If you call him a poor little thing one more time,’ said Jess, ‘I am going to be sick all over your nice clean floor. He’s fifteen, Mum!’

‘All the same,’ said Mum. ‘He brings out the mother hen in me.’

‘A shame I never managed that particular conjuring trick,’ said Jess acidly. She cut herself a huge doorstop of bread. It seemed ludicrous, but Jess was beginning to feel jealous of Edouard. It was as if her mum loved him more than she loved Jess. Though this feeling was plainly insane, it caused a heartache that could only be soothed by a huge cheese sandwich and a hot chocolate.

‘Doesn’t he stink, though?’ said Jess, more cheerfully after a couple of mouthfuls. ‘I can still smell it down here. What are my mates going to say? They won’t want anything to do with me.’

Mum suddenly got up from the table and crouched down on the floor. Jess was startled. This was no time for animal impersonations.

‘Mum! What are you doing?’ asked Jess. She felt her mum gingerly touch her left shoe. Mum re-emerged, looking triumphant but disgusted.

‘So much for Edouard smelling of dog poo,’ she said. ‘It’s on your shoe, as a matter of fact.’

Jess leapt to her feet in horror and examined her shoes. Mum was right! There was a horrid . . . well, never mind the details. This is what came of milling about in the dark, and not being able to see where you were going. Hastily Jess removed both shoes.

‘Clean it off! Clean it off?!’ she begged.

‘You’re perfectly capable of cleaning it off yourself,’ said Mum. ‘But I’ve got a deal. I’ll clean your shoes if you promise to be nice and friendly to Edouard for the next fortnight.’

It hardly seemed fair. Being friendly to Edouard would be two weeks’ back-breaking hard slog. Cleaning the shoes would probably only take five minutes. But faced with the horrible intensity of the pong, Jess agreed.

Later, just before she drifted off to sleep, Jess realised the ghastly fact that, just as she had assumed that Edouard smelt disgusting, Edouard’s first impression of her would have been that
she
did. The only difference was, that she really
had
. It wasn’t the greatest start to their relationship.

Chapter 10

‘Go and wake him up, Jess.’ Mum was laying the table. She had bought some croissants specially for Edouard, but now she was worried that they might be a bit stale. She sniffed them suspiciously, then put them in the microwave.

‘
Me
go and wake him up?’ said Jess. ‘What, go in his bedroom and shake him or something?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ snapped Mum. ‘Just knock on the door and shout.’

‘Shout what?’

‘Shout, “Edouard, wake up, it’s seven o’clock.” Poor little chap,’ said Mum, sighing tragically. ‘He must be so tired.’

‘What about me? I’m
shattered
!’ said Jess.