Girl, 15: Flirting for England (9 page)

The bell went, bringing an end to the horror and replacing it with geography. Normally Jess hated geography, with its dreary maps of coalfields and wretched climatic zones. But today it seemed almost like a holiday compared with the awful drudgery of having a French exchange partner around. Jess drew a map of ocean currents without even feeling the faintest twinge of boredom. Perhaps she was going mad. Oh well. It would save time later.

Most of the time, the French students had separate lessons with their own teachers. In the French lesson, however, just before lunch, they had a big meeting. The French kids sat at one side of the room and the English kids at the other side.

Mrs Bailey stood at one side of the teacher’s desk and the French teacher, who was called Madame Lamentin, stood at the other.

‘Mrs Bailey’s marginally better looking,’ whispered Flora. ‘Lamentin’s got warts.’

Jess sneaked a peek at Edouard, but luckily he was not in the mood for eye contact. By now Marie-Louise must have told Edouard the news that Jess and Fred were an item. It must have been a crushing blow for the boy with the crush. Irritating though he was, Jess hoped that his little heart wasn’t too broken at the discovery that she was nearly engaged.

‘Right,’ said Mrs Bailey, ‘may I welcome our French friends to Ashcroft School.’ She turned to them and gave a sickening smile. Mrs Bailey’s teeth were as crooked as a Neolithic stone circle. Maybe when she’d been young, orthodontic braces hadn’t been invented.

‘As you know, for this last week of term, most of the time the French students will be having their own lessons with Madame Lamentin. On Tuesday they will have an all-day trip to Stratford-on-Avon, and on Thursday they will have a day trip to London.’

Thursday = bliss
, Jess wrote on her notepad, adding a smiley face.

Gerard = gorgeous?
Flora scribbled. She was looking across at the French gang.

Jess followed her gaze. The French have a reputation for being good-looking, charismatic and irresistible. But, to be honest, Jess wouldn’t have given most of them more than five out of ten. Not that the Brits were any better looking – apart from Flora.

Gerard, Jodie’s partner, was lounging rather attractively on his desk and, instead of looking politely at Mrs Bailey, he appeared to be eyeing up the English girls on the opposite side of the room.

Up himself,
wrote Jess, adding an obscene drawing of Gerard tied in a kind of knot, with his head buried in his backside. Flora got the giggles. Jodie, who was sitting in front of Jess and Flora, turned round and raised her eyebrows quizzically.

No love bites on Jodie,
wrote Flora.

YET . . .
wrote Jess. She drew a cartoon of Jodie covered with bruises, like a leopard.

Jess wondered whether anybody else in the English class would end up with French love bites. At least she’d be safe, as Fred’s token girlfriend. Some boys (Whizzer, for instance) would have made the most of the opportunity and been all over her.

But Fred was kind of weird. Jess had a feeling that Fred might reach the age of forty without sinking his teeth in anybody’s neck. Except, possibly, in a vampire play. Fred was a complete mystery and could easily ruin the whole thing with some bizarre act of defiance. Jess would just have to keep her fingers crossed.

Chapter 12

At lunch the two groups began to mix. Jess was feeling a bit more relaxed, as apart from a few predictable jokes about Hobbits, nobody had given her a hard time about Edouard being a midget. You could see how, in his photo, Edouard had managed to look gorgeous. He did have good features, and one day might become something of a babe magnet, with one enormous growth spurt and laser eye surgery.

In the absence of real teachers, Marie-Louise was like a kind of leader of the French gang. She sat down next to Flora and beckoned the other French kids to follow. Gerard swanned over, wearing sunglasses. What a poser.

Jodie made sure he sat beside her, and fussed over him in a territorial way. The message was clear:
I’m having first crack at Gerard, so the rest of you keep your distance.

‘Viens, Edouard!’ called Marie-Louise.

Jess beckoned him over, too. She was sitting next to Fred, but they’d saved a seat for Edouard. He came over, carrying a plate of chips, and sat down opposite Jess without looking at her. Once he was settled, she said, ‘Edouard – this is my friend Flora, and my boyfriend, Fred.’

Edouard shook hands with them, said, ‘’Allo!’ and gave a tight little smile.
Aaaah
! thought Jess.
Bless! He’s being so brave!
She was starting to like him, as one might grow fond of a field mouse or pet canary. Jess hoped the discovery that Fred was her ‘boyfriend’ would cure Edouard of his crush. Although maybe he had got over it the moment he saw the real Jess, in daylight.

‘I hear you’re going to be an engineer,’ said Fred in a strange, posh voice like a headmaster. Edouard frowned and clearly panicked. Conversation in English seemed beyond him. He turned to Marie-Louise and said something in French.

Marie-Louise translated for him, and he smiled back at Fred and unleashed a torrent of French.

‘He says he is very interested in ze bridges,’ said Marie-Louise. ‘To build ze bridges and ze tunnels and so on.’

‘Well, if we ever need a bridge built, we’ll come to you!’ said Fred. He turned to Jess. ‘Do we need a bridge, wife? Possibly between the sofa and the fridge?’ Everybody laughed. Marie-Louise translated for Edouard, who grinned, but in a slightly defensive way, as if he thought Fred was making fun of him.

‘Right, then,’ said Fred. ‘I’m going to eat my own weight in baked beans, and then I’m going to enjoy a brief spell of wife-beating before maths.’

‘Don’t bother to translate that,’ said Jess to Marie-Louise. ‘Fred’s just being silly.’ She was beginning to feel safe now. Fred was, in his own ludicrous way, pretending to be her boyfriend. She could relax. It was working – sort of.

‘So,’ said Marie-Louise, ‘how long ’ave you two been going out togezzer?’

‘Oh, for years,’ said Jess.

‘Oh, since last Sunday,’ said Fred – the idiot. Jess blushed. It seemed a bit early to relax after all.

‘Never believe a word Fred says about anything,’ she said. ‘He’s just trying to make me look a fool.’

‘You can do that yourself, sweetie,’ said Fred, ‘without any help from me.’

‘So,’ said Marie-Louise, ‘tell me all about it. ’Ow you met, ’ow you got togezzer . . . ?’

Jess took a huge breath. She was going to have to dig deep. She kicked Fred under the table, as a sign he should shut up. But would he?

‘We met at playgroup,’ she said. ‘We were about three years old or something. We had a fight over an inflatable bus.’

‘So . . .’ Marie-Louise said, ‘you ’ave been togezzer since kindergarten?’

‘Yes,’ said Jess, surprised to discover just how long she had known Fred. The bit about the playgroup was all true. ‘But Fred’s still three years old in some ways.’

‘I still hurl sand about and dribble gravy down my shirt,’ admitted Fred.

‘And do your parents get on wiz each other?’ asked Marie-Louise. She was beginning to be a bit tedious. What was she, a pre-marriage guidance counsellor?

‘Oh, my mum hates Fred,’ said Jess. ‘She can’t stand the way he spits when he talks. And she would have preferred me to have a sporty boyfriend. Joe Collins, the rugby captain, or something.’

‘Ah!’ said Marie-Louise, clapping her hands. ‘I adore ze rugby!’

‘Oh yes!’ said Flora. ‘The French rugby team is brilliant. I know cos my dad watches it on TV all the time. Maybe we could all go to a match together this weekend?’

‘Great idea!’ said Jodie, barging in rugby-style. ‘Do you like rugby, Gerard?’

‘
Bof?!
’ said Gerard, and shrugged.

‘We’ll take that as a
no
, then,’ said Fred. ‘Anyway, there aren’t any rugby matches this weekend. It’s almost the end of the season.’

‘It would be nice, though, to go somewhere, all of us together,’ said Flora thoughtfully.

Too right
, thought Jess. Apparently there wasn’t anything special laid on for the French kids this weekend. They were supposed to enjoy ‘quality time with their host families’, according to Mrs Bailey’s schedule. Jess couldn’t imagine getting through a weekend at home, just her, Mum and Edouard, without them all going stark raving mad in separate rooms, hiding under their duvets and silently eating their pillows. Some kind of communal event would certainly help pass the time. It was a lot easier getting along with Edouard when there were plenty of other people around.

‘I know!’ said Flora. ‘We could go camping!’

‘Excuse me!?’ said Jess. ‘Did you say
camping
? You’ve never been camping in your life.’

‘I know, but I’ve always wanted to!’ said Flora. ‘My mum always insists on staying in hotels, but I’d absolutely
adore
to go camping.’

‘Camping!’ cried Marie-Louise. ‘It’s really a marvellous idea!’

‘But it’ll be freezing!’ said Jess, who
had
been camping once, in Wales, in the rain, with a mum who was having a migraine.

‘We can have a campfire!’ said Flora. That did sound rather attractive. ‘And besides,’ Flora went on, ‘my dad was talking about the weather yesterday, and apparently there’s going to be a mini-heatwave at the weekend. Perfect for camping.’

‘Where would we go, though?’ said Jess.

‘My auntie Rose lives on a farm,’ said Jodie. ‘She’s got loads of fields.’

‘It would have to have a shower block, and toilets,’ said Fred. ‘I’m not urinating behind any hedges.’

‘Don’t say urinating,’ hissed Jess. ‘It sounds gross.’

‘If we went to my auntie’s,’ said Jodie, ‘we could use her downstairs bathroom. And they’ve got an outside loo.’

‘It would be bliss to get away from my dad for a few hours,’ sighed Flora. ‘He’s always showing off, speaking French and waving his arms about.’

Jess privately agreed. OK, camping might be a bit cold and weird, but it would be great to get away from fussing old parents for a while. This camping idea was growing on her.

Edouard, who had been trying to follow the conversation while eating his chips, asked Marie-Louise something in French. She explained, and Edouard looked surprised, then pleased, then suddenly worried. It was strange how many facial expressions he had when talking French. At home, his face was a numb mask of torment.

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Jess.

‘Edouard is worrying about his hay fever,’ said Marie-Louise. ‘But I told him it is too early in ze year. Zere will be no – how you say?’

‘Pollen,’ said Fred. ‘A lovely name for a gerbil, now I come to think of it.’

Later Jess and Flora enjoyed a brief tête-à-tête in the loos, because whenever they had any free time, Edouard and Marie-Louise were always tagging along.

‘We’ve lost our privacy,’ Jess hissed, as they washed their hands at adjacent basins. ‘The Frenchies are always around. M-L is lovely though.’

‘She’s a bit like a parent,’ said Flora thoughtfully. ‘She’s kind of middle-aged. But really nice.’

‘The camping idea is brilliant!’ said Jess. ‘Only problem is, we haven’t got a tent, let alone two.’