183 Times a Year (25 page)

Holiday at an end, sad to say goodbye to plenty of sun, sea and #you guess the rest!!

See what you think of that Joe. Oh god, why did I have to think of him. Now I feel sad. I tap on the Facebook icon on my phone and pull up Joe's profile. My heart sinks. He's
still
in a relationship? Oh, hold on I've got some likes for the photos I've just added. I tap onto them excitedly. My heart sinks again. Four likes. One each from Sophie, Pheebs and Luke and oh god – sooooo embarrassing – Nan! I tap onto Pheebs's profile, also
still
in a relationship. Arrggghh, I'm getting angry now. Although, to be fair, she has tried to contact me loads. Said she has stuff to explain and hates not having me as a friend. I do
actually
miss her like, loads too. Maybe I will meet up with her when we get home.

I tap onto Dad's profile and, oh great, he's changed his profile picture to one of him, Sharon and Harriet with some of their favourite film characters standing behind them.

‘Arrggghh, I pissing hate the pissing lot of you,' I scream.

Before I know it Mum has swung round from her seat and is glaring at me. Simple Simon is watching me in his rear view mirror, scowling and Maisy, well, that's the first time I've seen a smile on her face since we left.

‘Oooooppps. Sor-ry,' I smirk, sinking down in my seat. ‘Forgot I was wearing my headphones.'

Chapter 21

AND THE RESULTS ARE AS FOLLOWS …

CASSIE

Honey and I are flicking through the cards at the local newsagents. We're looking for a birthday card for Lorenzo. Honey is my lesbian friend from college. She's like so tall and willowy, a bit like a model really with long, dark flowing hair. I thought Mum and Simon would be like well gayest when I brought her home for a sleepover but they were fine, treated her like normal, which she is of course; except she is a bit dumb sometimes. She's like well sick though coz she plays the saxophone and sings. All the boys fancy her coz she's a lesbian. I'm thinking of becoming a lesbian but it's a bit difficult at the moment coz I'm seeing Joe again. Sort of.

He came to see me when we got back from Perranporth and we talked a lot. He said he likes me a lot and he even still liked me when I told him I wasn't the goddaughter of a famous fashion designer. He said he'd kind of guessed that wasn't true but he wouldn't tell if I didn't. He said he set his Facebook status to “In a Relationship” coz he wanted to take some time out without being hassled by loads of girls to think about me. Me! There were rumours he was seeing a rich girl from one of the schools in the city during the summer and then she dumped him. He says not. I believe him – I think. My phone pings. I tap on it.

‘Oh my god,' I shout. Honey leans over me to look at my
screen.
‘It's a dick pic, from Joe.' We laugh like idiots, much to the annoyance of Mr Dunmore who owns the shop. I stare at the image on my screen and zoom in. It disappears after … five, four, three, two, one seconds and I laugh, really loud, when I realise it's not actually real. It's one of those freaky pictures from the internet of misshaped fruit that looks like a willy. I'm a little relieved if I'm honest, I don't really want to see Joe's willy – well, not on my phone anyway.

‘I might turn straight if I can find a cock like that,' Honey suddenly says embarrassingly loud. Mr Dunmore raises his eyebrows and tuts at us. I feel slightly mortified and look away, pretending to stare intently at the cards again.

I smile as my eyes fall on the “congratulations” section coz they remind me of the cards everyone gave me when we got back from Cornwall. Well everyone except my knob head Dad again. My GCSE and piano exam results came through. I was well chuffed with three A's, nine B's and one C for my GCSE's. But the best, most unbelievable result was my Grade Eight Piano exam. I got ninety-five percent, upper distinction.

Mum was like well pleased and like nearly hugged me to death and everything. Which I actually didn't mind. I haven't let her hold me for a while and she smelled warm and homely, sort of like fruit and garlic and hairspray and some of that looovvly Jean Paul Gaultier (isn't he a singer too?) perfume Simon bought her. She stroked my hair like she did when I was little and kept saying it had all been worth it, all the hard work had been worth it, whatever that meant? Then she ordered takeaway pizza and let me have a bit of a gathering, which was well sweet.

Simple Simon was well sick too coz he gave me twenty quid, which I know isn't New York like Chelsea (I still can't believe her Dad's run off with a 21 year old) but it felt like it meant as much, to me anyway.

I felt like I was walking on the moon for days. Nan and
Grandad
gave me a card and a necklace with a piano on it and Maisy (still can't believe the bloody Emo freak got off so lightly with that bloody tattoo) bought me a sick photo frame with musical notes on. Connor made me a photo to put in the frame. It was a picture of me playing the piano with Alex Turner superimposed onto it to make it look like he's sitting next to me. He said he knows how much I love him and when I'm a famous superstar I can show him.

I feel like well emotional when I think about how sick everyone was. Oh and of course, Sean, Nat and Summer skyped me when Mum texted them with the good news. Summer told me she had made a new best friend called Stardust and it was like amazing coz they became best friends within seconds of meeting each other. She said they had so much in common coz they were both half-princess and half-rebel. Then, bless her, she burst out singing a song she had written for me to congratulate me. It was called
Cassie My Sassy Cousin:

Cassie my sassy cousin got her exam results today… Oooh oooh, yeah, yeah.

Cassie my sassy cousin, it's the piano she can narf play Cassie's so clever, it's so true.

Cassie I wanna be just like you – oooh oooh oooh. Cassie my sassy cousin, that's all I have to say!!

And what did that sperm donor unfortunate enough to be my father get me? Nothing, zero, zilch, naff all, that's what. As usual. He said my piano exam result was good but he was quite disappointed with my GCSE's coz he thought I was set to get straight A's. Really? Like you ever helped me with any revision, ever? And as for saying studying music was a bit arty farty – really? Let's see if you're calling me arty farty when I become the next Adele or Beyoncé, or … or … arrrggghhh! Idiot, bellend,
twat,
dickhead. Why is it so hard for you to acknowledge anything I do? Why will I never be good enough for you? What have I done that's so bloody bad?

‘Cas! Cassie babe. Where are you?' I look up to see Honey staring at me and clicking her fingers in my face.

‘Oooops – sorry. Drifted off there for a minute.'

‘I should say,' she replies smiling. ‘In a right little world of your own there weren't you hun? Was it Luke or Joe you were dreaming of shagging, maybe both?' Mr Dunmore tuts again. ‘C'mon,' Honey continues. ‘This shop's rubbish. We'll get Lorenzo a card when we go into the city for college this afternoon.'

We move away from the cards and head for the door. ‘Did I tell you Ikram was seen finger blasting that girl from the Dance and Drama group at the back of the supermarket the other day?' Honey says. I cringe, coz I know Simon knows Mr Dunmore really well and Honey only talks on one level – loud. ‘Personally, I dunno what he sees in her,' she finishes, before smiling sweetly at Mr Dunmore and striding model-like out of the shop.

Mr Dunmore shakes his head at me as I follow. I smile and put my head down. I must remember not to come back here for a few weeks.

‘It's quite a nice little town you live in isn't it? A bit boring, but nice.'

Honey lives in the centre of the city, right near college. I never really gave it much thought until I went to college but Great Tosson is quite different to the city, more cliquey and gossipy somehow. Nan and Grandad moved here from London years and years ago when Mum and Uncle Sean were little. When they grew up, Mum and Uncle Sean moved away. Then Mum came back with me and Connor when Dad left. We moved into a really small house in Honeypot Lane for a while then when Mum and Simon met we moved to a bigger house in Old Sodom
Lane.
So I live in Great Tosson down Old Sodom Lane – couldn't make that up if I tried. Dad still lives in the city but you'd think it was a thousand miles away; the fuss he makes about how much trouble and inconvenience it is to see us.

‘It's okay I suppose,' I continue, ‘everyone sort of knows everyone and yeah it is a bit boring. Except in January.'

‘What happens in January?'

‘We have a whole weekend dedicated to the Straw Bear. It's like a pagan festival where we burn the Straw Bear.'

Honey looks dumbfounded ‘What? Burning Bears and nut festivals?'

‘Eh? What do you mean nut festival?'

‘You said Pecan Festival? I like pecans, but what exactly is a pecan festival?'

‘No, you idiot,' I reply laughing, ‘I said pagan, a pagan festival. It takes place every January, a couple of weeks after New Year. There's like loads of street dancing and stories and a man dressed as a huge straw bear is followed around the streets that are all closed off to cars and traffic. It also involves lots of drinking; lots and lots of drinking actually. People come from all over the country. Some people even travel from abroad, Germany and stuff. The whole town is heaving with people. Then on Sunday afternoon we burn the bear.' Honey looks shocked.

‘Really? You burn the man dressed up as a straw bear? Isn't that like murder or illegal or something?' I slap my forehead with the palm of my hand – ouch, a little too hard.

‘No Honey,' I begin to say, ‘we burn the straw of the bear, like the costume, not the man who wears it.' Honey looks confused. ‘Oh never mind.'

For a brief moment I suddenly realise what it might be like for Mum when she's talking to me sometimes.

LIZZIE

It's fairly quiet today in the library so Amira has assigned me with the challenging task of making an eye catching display to draw more young adults to our non-fiction books. Thankfully I'm still here and have managed to hold onto my job – this time. The idea of trying to snare teenagers, disposed to and distracted by an array of technological gadgets, to a book display, seemed a little daunting at first but I've actually been inspired by my own young adults at home.

The first couple of books to sit on my display are about tattoos. One is a vivid and fascinating illustrative guide to a selection of some of the many thousands of designs available; the other is a history of permanent inking.

To say I was slightly shocked when I first saw Maisy's indelible inking would be an understatement. However, it has grown on me over the last couple of months. I've become used to seeing the full length of the side of one leg marked with the delicate but definite etching of the trunk of a tree. Subtle browns and dark greens climb the length of her leg and culminate into an explosion of pinky reds and whites as the full bloom of a cherry blossom tree spills across her thigh and up across her waist. It's both beautifully designed and executed but if I were totally honest I'd have preferred it if she'd had something much smaller.

Simon, for once, actually came out of this particular ruckus in a much less favourable light than usual and was quickly demoted to bad cop for a change. I on the other hand was promoted, albeit very briefly, from wicked step monster to understanding parent, at least in Maisy's eyes. To Cassie I was just the cow that let the Emo freak off
again.
It wasn't so much that Simon was pissed off, he'd said, but more that he was disappointed she hadn't discussed it with us first. And of course
he's
worried about future implications it might have with jobs and people's attitudes towards her. I reminded him times have changed and whereas tattoos maintain a largely homologous relationship with deviant behaviour for older generations, people from a variety of backgrounds now choose to modify their bodies through permanent body art.

I reminded him of the many major not to mention minor celebrities that display their body art with pride. ‘Many of them, strong, independent women,' I said.

‘Hmmmph,' Simon responded unconvinced. ‘Tattoos certainly seem to disseminate across all racial groups but I'm not so sure about class. I don't think we'll ever see the day Royal Family members have “his n hers” matching tattoos do you?'

‘Stuff class,' I replied. ‘Anyway I hate to break this to you but as much as we all like to believe in fairy tales, I don't think Maisy or Cassie will be meeting and setting up home with a prince anytime soon, at least not the blue blooded variety.'

I was hardly in a position to criticise Maisy. The night we discovered her inking Sean had sat for at least an hour beforehand explaining the story of his life marked out in intricate artwork across both arms. Sadly though, I quietly agree with Simon and think the social costs are still greater for women. Hopefully that will change over time though. Maisy said she doesn't care what people think and won't conform to bigotry. Good for her.