Girl, Going on 16: Pants on Fire (24 page)

‘What are you going to call the baby?’ asked Jess.

‘Dan,’ said Mr Powell.

‘A lovely name!’ said Jess. ‘Manly. What does he weigh?’ Grown-ups always ask that question. What else is there to say about a baby?

‘Eight and a half pounds!’ said Mr Powell, with evident pride.

‘My goodness!’ said Jess. ‘A whopper! Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Powell.

There was a moment’s silence. Jess did not want to push her luck, so she waited for him to make the next move, with just the hint of a captivatingly feminine but deeply remorseful smile on her horrid blotchy face.

‘You’ve caught me at quite a mellow moment,’ said Mr Powell. ‘You’re a lucky girl. I shall be on paternity leave starting on Monday. I’ve just nipped back now to clear my desk.’ He stared at Jess in a thoughtful way. ‘I think I’ll have to put you On Report for another week,’ he said. ‘Or possibly a fortnight. But you’ll have to report to Mrs Tomkins’s office.’

‘Of course,’ said Jess. She would gladly be On Report for the rest of her life. And though Mr Powell’s shouting could remove roof tiles, Mrs Tomkins, though theoretically his superior, was a bit of a pussycat really.

‘You can go now,’ he said. ‘I put your socks in that plastic bag.’

‘Thank you,’ said Jess. She picked up her bag and slipped into her shoes. Then she paused for a moment and stared at the carpet in fascination. It was completely clean – though you could tell it had been treated.

‘Yes,’ said Mr Powell. ‘You’re lucky, as I said. I’m probably the only Head of Year in the country with a bottle of carpet shampoo in my drawer. It’s called Carpet Devil.’

Satan would approve.

‘I’m a little bit obsessive that way. In fact . . .’ he pulled out his drawer and placed the carpet shampoo on his desk, ‘. . . I suppose I’d better take it home with me. We’ll be needing it a lot more often now.’

Then another thought occurred to him. He pulled out another drawer and handed Jess her phone.

‘It’s been ringing, so I switched it off,’ he said.

Jess accepted it gratefully and put it away in her bag straight away, without looking to see whose calls she had missed.

‘It was the phone that caused the accident,’ she said. ‘It rang in the drawer and I –’

‘Don’t bore me with the sordid details,’ said Mr Powell, picking up his own phone. ‘Off you go now. Report to Mrs Tomkins first thing on Monday.’

Jess almost skipped out of his office. Mr Powell was such a darling! Under the hideous yelling monsterhood he was such a sweetie-pie! And however cross he was with her in future, it would be OK, because he had secretly been nice to her, and you could never forget a thing like that. She knew about his cute baby called Dan! Why, they were almost bosom chums.

Jess checked the phone, hoping it would be a text from Fred saying something like:
why aren’t you in english? the world has turned to dust and ashes without you. fly back to my arms or i’ll punch you in the mouth
. But there was nothing from Fred. Only a couple of ads from the mobile phone company.

But the wonderful redemption of the scene with Mr Powell was encouraging. She was sure that if such a horrid situation could come right, she and Fred would surely be reconciled again somehow. She felt, for the first time, full of hope.

She didn’t even mind that Mum and Nori had gone to the Peak District. She hoped they would have lots of lovely bracing walks, and return to their hotel too tired to do anything more than fall instantly asleep. Jess walked home feeling more positive than she had felt for a long time, and looking forward to her weekend with Granny.

It started well. Granny was in a good mood and made a simple but festive dish called cinnamon toast. They had just settled down to watch TV when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it!’ cried Jess, leaping up. Who knew? It might even be Fred. And if it was Mackenzie and Ben, she’d tell them she had a headache. She opened the door. It was Flora. In floods of tears.

‘Guess what!’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve been thrown out of the play! Miss Thorn said I’d kept everybody waiting for half an hour, and I was totally unreliable, and she just went horrible and icy and cold, and told me to leave!’

Chapter 29

A tidal wave of guilt washed over Jess. She’d been so desperate about her own troubles, she had hardly been aware that Flora was supposed to be at a runthrough. Flora had been there for her, with comfort and advice. And this was her reward. Thrown out of the play for being a good mate.

‘Come in!’ she said, pulling Flora indoors. ‘It’s only Flora!’ she called to Granny, who was deep into TV murder. ‘Come upstairs!’ said Jess, and they went up to her room, where Flora continued her crying fit, lying on the bed and hanging on to Rasputin. Teddy bears are great for tinies, but they really come into their own when you reach your teens.

‘I haven’t told my dad!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t face it! He’ll give me such a hard time! My mum was so disappointed, she had tears in her eyes!’

‘Did you . . .’ Jess ventured. ‘Did you tell her it was because of me?’ She was afraid Flora’s mum would hate her for ruining her daughter’s career.

‘Yes, well, I had to explain why I’d been so late,’ said Flora. ‘But Mum’s cool about that. She was sorry you’d been so upset. She thinks Miss Thorn should just have told me off or put me on a warning or something.’

‘Oh, Flora, I’m sorry!’ said Jess. ‘I’m so, so, sorry. What can I do to make it all right again?’

Flora was coming to the end of her cry now. She sat up and sniffed and tried to breathe normally.

‘Pass me a tissue, please, babe,’ she said. Jess obliged. Flora blew her nose. ‘I don’t blame you at all,’ Flora went on. ‘I knew I would be a bit late, but I never dreamt she’d throw me out.’

‘Thorn is a control freak,’ said Jess with venom. ‘She’s totally overreacted.’

‘The thing is,’ said Flora, ‘she’s shouted at me a couple of times in rehearsal, for whispering to Jack, and I forgot my script once, and she went ballistic. And I kept forgetting things – you know, moves and stuff. I got the feeling she was almost looking for an excuse to dump me.’

‘It’s because you’re my friend, as well,’ said Jess. ‘She hates me like poison. But never mind. We’ll have our revenge.’

Flora looked apprehensive.

‘What are you planning?’ she asked. ‘I mean – she’s such a dragon, it might be best just to keep out of her way.’

‘I’ve got to get back at her,’ said Jess. ‘Somehow. And I will.’

Flora winced and rubbed her tummy.

‘Ow!’ she said. ‘Cramps. Oh no. And they’re going to get worse. I’d better ring my sister and ask her to come and fetch me.’

Flora rang her sister, and Jess made her a hot-water bottle. While they waited for Freya, Flora lay on Jess’s bed and groaned from time to time.

‘How was Irritable Powell? You did go and see him, didn’t you?’ asked Flora, between cramps.

‘Yeah, I did . . .’ Jess hesitated. ‘Thank goodness you told me to, because he was almost OK about it. He said I’d have to go back on report for a bit longer, but he was amazingly mellow really. His wife had just had a baby. Today.’

‘I’m never going to have a baby,’ said Flora. ‘Not if this is what it feels like. My mum says labour pains are quite like period pains only worse.’

She winced again. Jess stroked her hair. She hardly ever had pains of any sort. She felt lucky. Though fear of insanity was a major concern, of course.

Soon Flora’s sister came and took her away, and she was as friendly to Jess as ever, thank goodness. But Jess still felt terrible. Being in that play had meant so much to Flora. How could Miss Thorn be so harsh?

On Monday morning Jess would get to school early, go and see Miss Thorn and beg her to change her mind. She would say it was all her fault that Flora had been late. Maybe she could get her to reconsider. But Flora had already told Miss Thorn all this, and it hadn’t worked. Jess knew how unwelcome her presence was to Miss Thorn. She suspected she would only make matters worse.

She went downstairs and made herself a cup of hot chocolate. Granny waddled into the kitchen.

‘I’ve had a feast of serial murder this evening,’ she sighed happily. ‘It’s been wonderful, dear. And now all I need is a milky drink. I should have an early night, but one of my favourite whodunnits is on at 9.30, so I might just stay up for that.’

She put some milk in a saucepan and got out her favourite post-murder night-time drink. Jess stared at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. She remembered how happy and relaxed she had felt earlier in the evening. Since Flora had come round, she now felt more deeply depressed than ever before. Guilt really was the pits.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ asked Granny. ‘You look a bit down.’

Jess opened her mouth to reassure Granny, and the doorbell rang. Granny looked startled.

‘Whoever can that be at this time of night?’ she said. It was only about eight o’clock, but at this end of the summer the evenings soon became gloomy.

‘Well, if it’s a serial killer, I’ll refer him to you, Granny,’ said Jess, getting up and walking to the door. She had an awful looming kind of dread that it was Miss Thorn, coming round to make a scene. Or Mackenzie, intent on showing her how he could present the comedy show in the character of Bugs Bunny. She opened the door, therefore, with an aggressive sneer ready and waiting.

But it was Fred. Jess was absolutely stunned. The one time she had not been expecting or hoping for a visit. She had given up hope, in fact.

‘Who is it, dear?’ called Granny from the kitchen.

‘It’s only Fred!’ said Jess.

‘Oh, good,’ said Granny, toddling down the hall carrying her milky drink. ‘We haven’t seen Fred for ages. Come in, dear!’

Thank goodness Granny was able to perform the necessary hospitable acts, because Jess’s heart was hammering so hard she couldn’t say a word to him. Fred was also silent, but he stepped inside and Jess closed the door behind him.

‘How are you, Fred, my dear?’ Granny beamed.

‘Fine, thank you, Mrs Ramsbottom,’ said Fred.

‘Good boy! You’re so tall! How tall are you now?’

‘Five eleven and three quarters,’ said Fred. ‘Mustn’t boast.’

‘Goodness me! You’ll end up well over six foot, I’m sure. I do like a man to be tall. That’s something I don’t quite like about Mr Thingumajig.’ She turned to Jess. ‘I don’t mind him being Japanese, and he’s got lovely manners, but he’s only about five foot seven.’

‘Yes, it is a bit annoying,’ agreed Jess. ‘Tell you what, let’s shoot him as soon as they get back.’

Granny chuckled. ‘I’ve decided to retire to my sty,’ she said. ‘I’m going to get into bed and if I’m still awake at 9.30, I’ll watch
my programme
on my little telly in there.’

‘Jolly good, Granny, go for it, wallow in homicide.’

Granny gave a funny little wave to Fred.

‘Give Fred a cup of coffee, dear, and a slice of my lemon drizzle cake.’

Then Granny went into her room and shut the door. Though usually Jess longed to be alone with Fred, this time she felt nervous. She almost wished Granny had stayed up to prattle on. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘Apparently I’ve got to offer you food and drink,’ she said. ‘Would you like to go into the kitchen?’ And she made a flamboyant
after you
sort of gesture.