The Look (27 page)

She trails off. Serious Ava. She’s still not quite sure about this new aspect to her personality. I know some young cancer patients who are extremely grateful for it, though. And someone else who probably doesn’t mind it as much as she thinks.

“You look wiped out,” I say.

“Thanks. You don’t look so great yourself.”

I giggle. “It was a long flight. Tell me when you’re ready and I’ll take you home.”

“Now, please.”

With perfect timing, the nurse comes back to say that Ava’s red-cell count isn’t the problem.

“You can go, but I hope you’re not coming down with something,” she says sternly. “We need you in good form for radiotherapy next week.”

I look at Ava again. All the brightness has gone out of her. I wonder what the cure is for idiotically breaking up with the one person who gave you hope for the future. She still looks frail — not ready for London public transportation. This is when a waiting limo would really come in handy. I can’t help thinking that what Nick Spoke would do at this moment is call up the cab company and get one on his mother’s account. But I’m not Nick Spoke, thank goodness. We’ll just have to make do with a taxi, paid for out of what’s left of my travel money.

As we gather up our things, I sense that something’s bothering me. It’s to do with Nick. But so much about Nick bothers me that I can’t pin it down. Passing one of the nurses’ stations, I catch sight of our reflections in a pane of glass: two distracted warrior princesses with stuff on their minds. I’m thinking about Nick; Ava’s thinking about Jesse. Then it clicks. That cure. I know what it is — or, at least, I know what it could be.

I wait until we’re safely in a cab. The tricky bit is going to be persuading Ava to go along with my unlikely plan. I decide to take a page out of her book and try lying. I know I’m not good at it, but I think she’s still too depressed to notice, and I might as well take advantage while I can.

“There were a couple of things I needed to straighten out with Model City,” I say as casually as I can. “Do you mind coming with me? It’s sort of on the way home.”

Ava agrees without really thinking. I explain that, since it’s the weekend, Cassandra has asked to see me at her house instead of the office, and I give the driver the address near Buckingham Palace. Ava shrugs. I’m actually praying that
Cassandra
isn’t
there. I really, really don’t want to see her right now, but it’s a risk I’ve just got to take.

We don’t talk much in the taxi. Ava’s too wrapped up in her blanket of post-Jesse misery, and I have too much else on my mind. When we draw up outside the big Georgian house, I leap out and promise I won’t be long.

Please, please let him be in. Please, let him know the answer to my question. Please let his mother be out.

Eugenia, Cassandra’s housekeeper, opens the door.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Is Nick in?” I ask.

“No. Sorry.”

All the air sighs out of me. Not that I particularly want to see Nick Spoke again, ever, but I need to, if this is going to work.

“You don’t know where he is, do you? I’ve tried his phone,” which I have, in the taxi — “but I think it must be off or something.”

Eugenia purses her lips and shakes her head. “I’ve no idea. He left the house fifteen minutes ago. But they didn’t say where they were going. The other one had his bag with him, though, if that helps.”

It takes a moment for the thought to process, but then I grin at her.

“Thanks. Yes. It does.”

I rush back to the taxi and ask the driver in a low voice which station trains go to Cornwall from.

“Paddington,” he says. “Want me to take you there?”

“Yes, please.”

Back in the cab, Ava is still silent and morose. She watches the London sights pass by without showing much interest. It reminds me that I didn’t get to see much of New York, apart from the Statue of Liberty, and that’s quite a long way to go to see one statue. I’m going to have to find a way of going back again one day to fill in the gaps.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Ava says after a while. “This isn’t the way home. This is Marble Arch! Where are you taking us, T?”

She’s getting some of her energy back. Enough to stare at me accusingly, anyway. I definitely preferred tender, smiling Ava. Then she sees the road the taxi takes off the roundabout and her eyes narrow even farther.

“
I
know where this road goes. Wait! I came this way to see Jesse off last time. We’re not going to Paddington, are we?”

“Yes,” I say, as defiantly as I can manage.

“Why?”

“Because he’s there. At least I think he is. He might be. You have to see him, Ava.”

“I certainly don’t. How
dare
you, T? You swan around New York and you think it gives you the right to mess around with my life? And how do you know about me and Jesse anyway?”

“Long story,” I sigh. “But, listen, I did a lot of thinking and you need to hear him out. I bet you didn’t give him the chance to say how he felt about you.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to,” she hisses angrily. “Maybe there are some things it’s better not to hear. Turn this taxi round. I need to go home. Now. Do it.”

A few months ago, I would have done it. A few weeks ago, even. But this time I’ve had enough. This time I think my big sister needs to listen to someone other than the frightened voice inside her head.

“Talk to him,” I plead. “Don’t ask me how I know it’s worth it, but trust me. Please? Just trust me?”

She looks at me sadly for a long time, before reaching out a hand to stroke my smooth, shiny hair.

“It’s too late,” she says. “But thanks for trying, I suppose. There are just a lot of things you don’t understand.”

The driver pulls up outside Paddington Station and, after paying out most of my travel money to him and dragging my suitcase out of the cab, I manage to persuade Ava to come as far as the station concourse with me. She doesn’t have much choice, because I don’t think either of us has enough cash left to pay for a taxi home from here. In fact, when we get inside she heads slowly for the entrance to the Underground, reaching into her bag for her metro card. Meanwhile I wildly check the departures board. There’s a train leaving for Penzance in seven minutes from Platform 3. That must be the one.

“Wait!” I call to her.

Ava turns to look at me. I’m guessing I have about one minute to spot Jesse in the crowd of people heading for the train before she heads down the escalator to the Underground and out of sight.

I look around frantically for Jesse’s sun-bleached hair and tanned face. Thank goodness he’s the kind of guy to stand out in a crowd. Except … he isn’t in this one. Wherever I look, there
are just pale-skinned, dark-haired people. Loads of them. He would shine out like a beacon if he were here, but —

“Ted?”

I whip around.

Nick Spoke, one of the pale-skinned, dark-haired people, has materialized from the crowd and is gaping at me like I’ve just landed from space or something. I’d sort of forgotten he’d be here, too — or at least tried to keep it out of my mind. But here he is, in a thick navy coat and scuffed boots, looking sad and tired behind his glasses.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Looking for Jesse,” I say desperately. “Ava’s here, but not for long. Where is he?”

Nick glances over my shoulder and catches sight of my ghostly sister, hovering in the middle of the concourse, about to turn and go.

“Hang on!” he shouts.

Ava sees him and looks surprised. She looks even more surprised when he darts off and leaps over one of the ticket barriers, swiftly pursued by a station official in uniform, before running full tilt down the side of the train. We both watch as he slows about halfway down the train and starts peering into the windows of the car. He beats his fists on one of them and shouts loudly. Moments later, Jesse appears with a big duffel bag, jumping down from the train doorway and tearing back up the platform with Nick in his wake.

At this point, the station official catches up with Nick and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder. Nick urges Jesse on, and he quickly heads back through the barriers, spotting first me and
then Ava. He rushes toward her as if he’s about to rescue her from an oncoming train. Meanwhile, the one he was supposed to be on pulls slowly out of the station in the opposite direction.

Ava doesn’t move. She stares at Jesse, utterly confused. He throws his bag down and squeezes all the breath out of her.

He bends his head to ask her something, but before she can answer he shuts her up with the longest, sloppiest kiss I’ve ever seen my sister publicly indulge in. She tries to resist at first, but soon she gives in to the inevitable, and after a while she’s kissing him back, fiercely, making up for all that time when she was … well, when she was incredibly stupid and didn’t realize how much he loved her. But that’s the thing: Sometimes you just don’t know how much other people need you. Sometimes it takes someone else to make you understand.

It hurts, I know, until you realize where you’re wanted. If Nick hadn’t called me in New York, I wouldn’t have found out what Ava was going through in time. He was still mean and pigheaded and didn’t know what he was doing. But it’s thanks to him that we’re here, I suppose.

He extracts himself from the clutches of two very burly officials, and heads in my direction.

“Right,” he says with an embarrassed cough, still panting slightly. “So, you’re back.”

“Yes,” I say tightly. I am “evil,” after all.

“Good time in New York?”

“No.”

“You’re home sooner than I expected.”

“Really?”

He pauses. I glance across at him. Even his
coat
has flecks of paint on it. What does he do? Work in the garden? Use his studio as a closet? What?

“Look, Ted, I’m sorry if I said things … Anyway, it worked out. He’d waited all this time … Thank you for bringing her.”

Yes, it worked out. The way Jesse is kissing my sister, there is no way he ever looked twice at any of the Red-Bikini Babes. Even now Ava looks gorgeous, in a big, furry vintage coat of Mum’s and a massive red wool hat. It helps that she’s melting into the arms of a stunning blond surfer god, of course. They make a gorgeous couple.

Nick and I stand there, waiting, while they finish their reunion. Then they smile at each other, Ava giggles, and they come over to join us.

“Well, I’ve totally missed that train,” Jesse says, “so I might as well enjoy London. Where shall we go?”

“Come back to my place,” Nick suggests. “Mum’s working, as usual. But Eugenia’ll cook for us. We can hang out there all day if you like.”

Ava grins. Right now, she’s happy to be anywhere that Jesse is. “What do you think, Ted?”

“Enjoy it,” I tell her, picking up my suitcase. “I’ll see you at home later.”

Nick looks as if he’s about to say something, but he just stares. First at my eyes. Then at my gleaming gold hair. It’s time to go.

I wish them all good-bye and head for the Underground by myself, dragging my suitcase behind me. Ava calls after me, but I pretend not to hear her. Now that she’s OK, I finally realize
how bone-tired I am. I need sleep and I need to be by myself. I certainly don’t need to spend any more time hanging out with rumple-headed, paint-flecked boys in glasses who think I “take the cake.”

It’s only lunchtime, but it’s already been a very long day.

W
hen I get home, I curl up in Ava’s bed. I always thought I’d hate sharing, but the room now seems so empty without her. I spend most of the afternoon sleeping. In the evening, I briefly give Mum and Dad a few more details about the shoot. I was sure they’d be furious with me for being unprofessional and walking out on a job, but instead they seem … impressed.

“Darling, you’re amazing!” Mum grins at me over supper (where my plate is loaded with extra potatoes, just because I can). “After we stupidly let you go all that way on your own. I can’t believe that woman talked us into it. But look at what you did, all by yourself. I had no idea you were so strong.”

She wouldn’t be saying that if she’d actually been there. I didn’t feel particularly strong as I sat shaking on the Staten Island Ferry afterward.

“I wouldn’t recommend it as a regular career strategy,” Dad adds with a twinkle in his eye, “but I’m proud of you, love. I really don’t like the sound of that photo from the way you describe it. That’s not you at all.”

No, it isn’t. The girl Rudolf wanted would never sit at home with her parents, loading up on carbohydrates and worrying
about being sued by a top photographer. She would be lying around, smoldering somewhere, or off on another plane to a new location, ready to do it all over again. She would be getting rich and famous, and one day maybe she’d have a house as big as Cassandra’s, and an über-wardrobe, and possibly even a yacht.

She was never me. I have so many other things to do with my life.

Ava gets home late from Nick’s house, just as I’m getting ready to go back to bed. I’m not sure what she and Jesse did all that time, but her lips look sore and chapped, and her eyes have got some of their sparkle back.

“I didn’t really thank you properly,” she says, popping her head through the bathroom door where I’m brushing my teeth. (With my pajamas on, I might add. I am not a naked teeth-brusher. I didn’t know anybody was until I went to New York.)

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

“Jesse said to thank you, too.”

“Cool.”

Nick probably pointed out that I’m an evil, selfish diva, just like Sheherezade. Actually, worse. He must be the person who put Jesse off models in the first place. But she doesn’t mention that bit.

“By the way,” she adds, “Dad says you’ve got an e-mail from Model City. It’s probably important. D’you want me to read it to you?”

“No, thanks.”

I’m really not in the mood to hear how much Rudolf’s suing me for right now. But Ava ignores me. She comes back five minutes later.

“Here it is. I’ve got a printout. It says —”

“Stop! I don’t want to know.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s not that bad. It’s from Frankie. She says she tried to get you on your phone but she couldn’t.”

“I turned it off.”

I sensed that my old phone was filling up with messages I didn’t want to see. So, apart from trying to call Nick in the taxi, I buried it in the bottom of my Mulberry handbag, and I’ve been avoiding it.

“Well, anyway,” Ava continues, “Frankie says Cassandra’s pretty annoyed with you, but not to worry, it will blow over. She says she had a girl last week who missed a whole shoot because she booked her own ticket and she flew to San Diego in California, instead of Santiago in Chile. That’s quite funny, actually.” She pauses to snicker.

“And?” If she insists on reading this thing out, I might as well hear the “getting sued” part.

“She says she’ll contact you later in the week. Apparently, Rudolf Reissen has a certain reputation and she thought you might not be ready for him yet. Cassandra could have said so at the time, but there we go. Anyway, she’ll take care of things. Oh, and she remembers me and she wants me for
Vogue Italia
when I’m better.”

“REALLY?”

“No! Of course not, you idiot! God, Ted … sometimes …” Ava shakes her head in despair and her scarf wobbles
dangerously. “Anyway,” she adds, “I’d call her back tomorrow, if I were you. She’s worried about you.”

I call first thing in the morning, and Frankie tells me to delete all texts from Tina without reading them — she is famous for her texts to people who have displeased her — and wait for further news. I’m still pretty tired, so the “do nothing” option works for me. Besides, I have Ava’s final week of treatment to worry about, and dealing with all the weirdness at school, so my brain feels pretty overloaded as it is.

When I get to Richmond Academy, the day seems to pass by in a jet-lagged dream. If anything, the weirdness is worse. For some reason, Cally Harvest looks dazed and upset, and spends most of the morning passing notes to her posse. Half the girls in the class stare daggers at me during gym. It can’t just be because I went to New York. Boys give me strange, shy looks in the corridors, and high-five each other when they think I’m out of view. Cally’s in floods of tears at lunchtime. Weirdest of all, Dean Daniels keeps grinning at me for no apparent reason.

I fall asleep during math and Daisy has to prod me awake with her pencil. By the end of the day, I’m just desperate to get home and rest.

But on the way to the bus stop, a now-familiar pair of legs falls into step beside mine. Dean gurgles and coughs. The prelude to a conversation.

“So, like, they’re saying you turned down this mega-job and, like, you lost a hundred grand,” he begins.

“A hundred grand?”

“So, did you?”

“No! Of course not!”

It wasn’t
that
much.

“So you kept it? Cool. That’s, like …” He pauses, searching for the right word.

“Sick?” I offer.

“Yeah, sick. And Ted,” he rushes on, before I can correct him about the money, “I’ve been thinking. About you and me.”

Oh, dear. This sounds very bad. He turns to look at me with the same lovesick-puppy expression Dad has when he thinks about Claudia Schiffer.

“What about ‘us,’ Dean?”

“Well, like, things between me and Cally haven’t been … you know. And she’s, like, a bit … So I dumped her yesterday. And, you know, you and me … We’re, like, similar, you know? Like with art and jokes and stuff. And you’re hot, so … What I mean is …”

We reach the bus stop. I put my bag down. He looks at me hopefully.

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“You called me Ted just now, which was nice. I think that’s the second time, ever, that you’ve used my name. Do you remember when you first met me, five years ago?”

“Er, just about.” He looks shifty and fiddles with a buckle on his backpack.

“You called me E.T.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. And then I grew two inches and you changed it to Freaky Friday. And everyone else called me that, too. In fact, I think there are still some people in our class who don’t know my real name.”

“Er, right.”

“And I didn’t like those names, Dean. I really didn’t. Whereas Cally … Well, Cally has your initials tattooed on her neck.”

“So?”

He can see this is leading somewhere — he’s just not sure where.

“So, what I’m trying to say is that Cally is probably still the girl for you. And no, I didn’t keep a hundred grand. I didn’t get any money. I’m not a model, OK? I never really was. And to be perfectly honest, I fancy someone else. Not that it matters.”

“Oh, right. Cool.” He won’t catch my eye, but he looks, if anything, slightly relieved. I think I came across as a bit scary. I am, after all, the girl who reminds her own mother of a Royal Marine.

“But no hard feelings?” he says, perking up a bit. “You can’t blame a man for trying. ’Cause you’re, like, quite a cool chick now, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“No hard feelings, Dean. And no, I don’t mind you saying.”

He holds out his hand. This feels totally bizarre, but I shake it. Then he wanders off and leaves me standing at the bus stop, staring after him, wondering if I really just said all that stuff. And how come, if I’m such a cool chick now, I still feel so depressed?

When I get home, Dad’s sitting at the dining table, trying to fix the toaster.

“Dad! What happened this time?”

He grins at me. A huge grin. Much too big for someone who’s just broken one of the most vital pieces of family equipment.

“I was making a celebratory grilled cheese sandwich. I forgot that cheese melts. Don’t worry, it won’t take me long to fix it.”

“Celebratory?”

“Yes.” He grins smugly some more. “I’ve just booked our vacation.”

“What?”

“Our New Year’s vacation. In Polzeath down in Cornwall, so Ava can remain glued to that boy she’s obsessed with. At a lovely hotel overlooking the sea, with plenty of room for all of us.”

He grins even more, waiting for me to ask for more details, but my blood’s running cold. Meanwhile, Ava comes in and asks for an update, so he tells her, too, including the name of the hotel.

“Ooh, swanky!” She grins back. Then she sees me. “Ted? What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go?”

Normally Ava picks up on things before I do, but she seems to have missed a massive problem this time. I sit down at the table.

“Dad,” I say quietly, “you do realize they won’t be paying me?”

“For what?”

“The shoot. I know I mentioned trips and things, but that was before I messed up. I still don’t know if they’re going to sue me.”

He’s staring at me, doing his trademark hand-in-hair stance, still not getting it.

“What’s your shoot got to do with it, love?”

So I explain how I was planning to pay for a big vacation, but I can’t now, and the blood drains out of Dad’s face. Ava looks pretty shocked, too. I hadn’t realized they were counting on the money so much. I thought I’d be saving most of it for university, or to get Rose Cottage back. Maybe I
was
being selfish by walking out on Rudolf. I should have gone through with it after all.

“Ted!” Dad says. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I just couldn’t —”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m paying for this trip. For God’s sake, Ted. I thought you realized by now. We’d never ask you for money.”

“So where …?”

I’m so confused.

Which is when Dad explains about the attractive assistant producer he met during my “very nothing” TV job. And how she told him she was working on a new history series.