Girl, 15: Flirting for England (8 page)

She went upstairs. It seemed hard work. Each step was a mountain to climb. And this was going to go on for a whole two weeks. She paused outside Edouard’s door. Her heart was thudding. She knocked. There was no reply.

‘Edouard!’ she called. ‘It’s seven o’clock! Breakfast’s ready!’

There was an answering squeak and a scuffle within. Jess bolted back downstairs.

‘Is he awake?’ asked Mum, taking the croissants out of the microwave and sniffing them again.

‘Well, he’s squeaking,’ said Jess. ‘I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute. The smell of your magnificent croissants will lure him out of his den.’

A few moments later they heard Edouard come out of his room and go into the bathroom.

‘Thank goodness he’s still alive,’ said Mum. ‘Wouldn’t it be terrible if somebody’s child died while they were staying with you?’

Jess didn’t answer. Yes, it would be awful – in theory. But she could think of some advantages. She hoped that if Edouard was thinking of dying, he’d get on with it right away and avoid days, even weeks, of needless torment.

‘Can I have a croissant, Mum?’ she asked. ‘They’re getting cold again.’

‘NO! – Oh, all right, then,’ said Mum, looking frazzled. Hospitality was not her strong point. ‘Do you think I should put them in a warm oven till he comes down? Yes, have one, and tell me how they taste.’

Jess devoured a croissant in three enormous bites.

‘Fine! Just relax, Mum. They’re delicious,’ she said. ‘There’s ordinary bread as well, anyway. Everything’s going to be just dandy.’ Jess didn’t like to see her mum panicking. That was
her
job.

The bathroom was directly above the kitchen, and they could hear Edouard moving about. He tried to flush the loo. He tried again. Feebly. It didn’t work. Again he tried. There was a pause. Again and again he cranked the handle, but he just couldn’t get the thing to deliver.

Jess and her mum listened in frozen horror. Jess felt herself go cold all over. For a moment she imagined what it would be like to be in a strange house and not be able to flush the loo.

‘Mum! You should have told him about the loo!’ she hissed.

‘Why do I have to do everything?’ asked Mum, looking guilty. ‘I’ll put a notice up.’

‘Too late,’ said Jess grimly. ‘Why do we have to have such a stupid loo anyway? Why can’t we have a new one with an electronic flush you can set off with a mere flick of the finger? Why do we have to, like, hurl ourselves at the thing and throw all our weight on the handle? Our loo is useless.’

They heard Edouard give up on the loo and turn the washbasin taps on. Mum tried a feeble smile.

‘Well, at least he’s having a wash,’ she said.

‘Terrific!’ snarled Jess.

‘You can show him how to flush the loo tonight,’ said Mum.

‘I’m not showing him!’ snapped Jess. ‘You’re the parent, you do it! You’re so irresponsible sometimes.’

‘I wouldn’t talk to me in that tone of voice if I were you,’ said Mum, sounding dangerously brittle. ‘I could easily withdraw my goodwill and refuse to speak French to him. That would really drop you in it.’

Eventually Edouard appeared. He sat at the table and ate two slices of bread with jam. He declined eggs, bacon, tea, orange juice and, worst of all, the croissants.

‘Never mind,’ said Mum briskly. ‘More for us.’ She polished the last one off herself, but you could see she was hurt. ‘I must be careful not to descend into comfort eating,’ she added anxiously.

‘Go for it, Mum,’ said Jess. ‘I’ll join you. It might be the only way to get through this stinking fortnight.’ Then she turned to Edouard, gave him the sweetest of smiles and offered him more milk. He was drinking milk, like a baby, though not from a bottle – not yet, anyway.

Mum drove them to school, talking to Edouard in French all the way. Jess sat in the back seat, happy to switch off. OK, her mum was a spineless nerd at times, but thank goodness for her gift with languages. At school, Edouard left Jess’s side without a word and headed for the gang of French kids.

Flora came up with Marie-Louise by her side. They were both smiling. Jess felt a sharp pang of envy. Why, oh why, hadn’t she asked for a girl? She’d hoped to land a handsome hunk – Edouard’s photo had even made him look like one – but she’d ended up with a mere child. She could imagine the teasing grins at school. Jokes about cradle snatching would be her sad destiny.

‘Hi, Jess – this is Marie-Louise,’ said Flora. ‘Marie-Louise, this is Jess.’ Marie-Louise beamed, seized Jess’s hand and kissed her quite bouncily on each cheek.

‘I h’am very ’appy to meet you, Jess,’ she said. ‘I ’ave ’eard a lot about you!’

‘You speak brilliant English!’ said Jess. ‘Edouard hasn’t said a word of English yet.’

‘Ah yes!’ said Marie-Louise. ‘Edouard is your partner, isn’t he? I must tell you a secret, Jess.’ She leant in close to Jess, her eyes dancing with fun. ‘Edouard ’as a very big crush on you! Yes! Since you sent him ze beautiful photo, he is looking at it all day. We ’ave been teazzing him!’ She laughed.

A cold feeling of absolute horror spread through Jess’s stomach. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick. It was bad enough that Edouard looked about ten years old. Worse, he apparently doted on her in an unattractive infantile way. She would never live this down.

‘So you’ve pulled, babe!’ said Flora, with a grin. ‘Well done! I always said you were irresistible!’

Jess panicked. She had to get out of this trap. A horrid nursery rhyme came into her head from nowhere:
Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went, That lamb was sure to go.

She had a kind of wide-awake nightmare in which she was Mary and Edouard was the lamb, complete with wool and little black hooves. He trotted after her, bleating pathetically, a pink bow round his neck, his eyes shining in a grotesque lovesick manner behind his cute little glasses.

‘What a shame!’ Jess sort of exploded out of the hallucination and grasped wildly at something – anything – that would offer an escape. ‘Because I’ve already got a boyfriend.’ Flora looked amazed and puzzled, but luckily Marie-Louise didn’t notice. ‘Fred and I are an item. We’re practically engaged.’

Flora, standing slightly behind Marie-Louise, looked over her shoulder at Jess and silently and hilariously mouthed, ‘
Fred???!!
’ Jess gave Flora a stern look, warning her not to rock the boat.

‘I’m really sorry about Edouard,’ Jess went on. ‘I didn’t encourage him or anything, I just sent him my photo.’ Well, that was almost true. The photo had been digitally enhanced to make her look irresistible, of course, but so what?

‘Here comes Fred, now,’ said Flora, sniggering in an irritating way. ‘Jess’s fiancé – well, nearly.’

Fred was indeed gangling towards them, his hair sticking up foolishly, as if he hadn’t combed it since he got up. Never mind. He may have been a ludicrous, panicky choice as honorary boyfriend, but at least he was tall.

Jess went over to him immediately, grabbed his tie and looked up into his face.

‘Try and look pleased to see me,’ she hissed. ‘From now we’re officially going out together. Just for the next fortnight.’

‘What?’ said Fred, going rather pale. ‘Nothing personal, but I’d rather eat a dead dog – without ketchup.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jess. ‘You won’t have to kiss me or anything gross. It’s just that, to protect my honour, I have to have a pretend boyfriend while Edouard’s here, and you were the first guy who came into my head.’

‘Fred tried to look flattered,’ said Fred. ‘But he was secretly making plans to flee to South America.’

Jess looked across at the crowd of French students. Edouard had his back to her, but one or two of the others were looking across.

‘Come on, Parsons!’ she hissed. ‘Do this one little thing for me. Try to conquer your revulsion and be attentive. Win an Oscar.’

Fred backed off, but Jess held on tight to his tie. Would Fred play ball, or would she have to strangle him first?

Chapter 11

‘Now listen, Fred!’ said Jess. ‘We’ve got to walk past the French kids holding hands. Or at least ogling each other.’

‘Will the torment never cease?’ said Fred. ‘I would rather eat a whole porcupine – raw.’ And he ran off.

Jess chased him, trying to laugh and make it all look terribly flirtatious. Their own mates looked amused. Most of them didn’t know what was going on. But Jess Jordan and Fred Parsons had provided many a hilarious novelty over the years. Maybe this was their latest comedy stunt.

Whizzer, seeing Fred fleeing, deliberately stepped into his path and grabbed him. Fred struggled, cursing. Whizzer held on tight with his large thug-like arms.

‘Let him go, Whizzer,’ said Jess. ‘No need for mindless violence.’

‘Shall I nut ’im for you, darlin’?’ asked the revolting Whizzer, leering at Jess.

‘No, thank you,’ said Jess.

‘Do you want to be her boyfriend for a fortnight?’ said Fred, still trying to escape from Whizzer’s meaty hands.

‘What? Yeah! What’s it, like a dare or somefing?’ said Whizzer.

‘Fred’s just trying to escape from his responsibilities!’ said Jess. ‘Fred’s agreed we should have six kids!’ Whizzer looked startled, let go of Fred and backed off.

‘What shall we call our first baby?’ demanded Jess, loudly enough for the French to hear. Fred was retrieving his bag from the ground.

‘Don’t try and drag me into it,’ said Fred. ‘I can’t even think of a name for my gerbil, and he’s been dead for two years.’

‘Do you think the name Archimedes will ever come back into fashion?’ asked Jess. ‘Archimedes Parsons . . . it has a certain ring.’

‘I’m not going to have children,’ said Fred. ‘I’m not even going to have another gerbil. The school fees were punishing.’

They walked into school and waded into an immense sea of pupils milling around in the main lobby.

‘Fred, you were hopeless,’ said Jess. ‘Is it too much to ask that you just smile indulgently at me for once in your life?’

‘I would rather walk barefoot through a trough of slugs,’ said Fred, ‘than go out with you for a split second. I have my reputation to think of.’

‘Your reputation could only be enhanced by a rumour that you were my beau,’ said Jess.

‘Alas, no,’ said Fred. ‘My identity is based on solitude and eccentricity. I am what they call the “ragged philosopher” type.’

‘What’s the point of that?’ asked Jess. ‘What ragged philosopher? He sounds like a loser.’

‘My mum took me to a homeopath once when I had a cough,’ said Fred. ‘And the homeopath said I was the “ragged philosopher” type. I have my own homeopathic remedy. It’s sulphur. I sprinkle it on my sandwiches.’

Just then the French kids came past in a gang and were led away by a French teacher. Jess smiled as they passed, but Edouard didn’t smile back. He only gave her a strange nod.

‘He’s such a little sweetie,’ said Fred. ‘I don’t see what the problem is. Surely there are huge advantages in having a boyfriend who can fit in a matchbox. You could take him on holiday with you without your parents even knowing.’

Jess just felt sick. Before Edouard had arrived, she’d been fantasising about spending hours alone with him – even taking him off for a romantic weekend in St Ives. Now even passing him in the school corridor seemed like an angsty ordeal.