Boy Trouble (12 page)

When
the doorbell rings half an hour later I’m in the middle of changing Alex’s nappy. I give his bum cheeks one last swipe and throw the yucky baby wipe into a plastic bag.

“Stay put, buster,” I tell him. I grab another wipe, clean my hands and run into the hall.

“Sorry, Seth,” I say, opening the door, a smile plastered on my face. Even the thought of Seth makes me feel better. “I’m just changing—” I stop suddenly. It’s not Seth on the doorstep, it’s Mills.

I stand there for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. Eventually I manage, “Oh, hi.”

“Hi,” she says back. She’s holding her hands in front of her and twisting them round, the way she always does when she’s nervous. “I just wanted to—”

Just then Seth cycles up the path on a black mountain bike. The back tyre is a bit flat. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is windswept. I can’t help but grin. He looks so cute.

Mills turns, looks at him and then back at me. She’s not smiling. She raises her eyebrows. “I can see you’re busy.” She must think I was lying to her about Seth all along, which I was, I suppose.

I say, “Mills, wait,” but then Alex comes waddling out of the living room, his bum naked to the world.

“Da, da, da,” he says, clearly delighted with himself. He’s got the dirty nappy in one hand, and is trailing it behind him by one of its sticky tabs like a dog on a lead. Luckily I’d folded it into a parcel, so nothing evil is escaping. But the musky, sweet stench of baby poo fills the hall.

“Alex!” I yell, pulling the nappy out of his hand. “Gross.”

I turn round to talk to Mills but she’s halfway down the path. Seth says “Hiya, Mills” to her and she gives him a rather curt “Hi” back.

“Mills!” I shout after her. “I’ll call in later, OK? When Mum’s back.”

“Don’t bother,” she says without turning round. “I’m going out with Sophie and the girls.”

“What was all that about?” Seth asks. He gets off his bike and props it against the wall under the living room window.

“Do you have a lock?” I ask, putting the nappy in the wheelie bin. I don’t want to talk to Seth with a steaming nappy in my hand. He might think the yang is me.

“No,” he says.

“Better put it round the back then. The side gate’s open.” I point to the right of the house.

“Amy, is the baby allowed out there?” Seth asks. I follow his gaze.

Alex is sitting on the patch of rough grass on the pavement at the side of the road. He’s picking daisies and eating them. I shriek, then run out and scoop him up in my arms. “Bad baby.” I put my little finger into his mouth and hook out half a daisy head. I hope they’re not poisonous. He gives me a nip with his new front teeth for my trouble. “Ow! Alex.”

Seth is watching me, laughing.

Then I feel a warm sensation down the front of my jeans. Alex has only gone and peed all over me. That’s all I need. I walk back into the house, holding him out in front of me, his legs waggling around like a rag doll’s.

“I’ll have to change,” I tell Seth. “Sorry.”

He shrugs. “No problem. Give him to me and I’ll put a nappy on his butt. Where are they?”

“Are you sure?” I stare at him.

“Sure. I have loads of nieces and nephews that age. I’m always helping out. What is he, one?”

“One and a half.” I blow a raspberry on Alex’s neck. He loves it. Right on cue, he gives a hiccupy giggle. “This is Alex. Alex, meet Seth.”

“Hi, Alex.” Seth takes one of Alex’s little hands and shakes it.

So cute. I beam at Seth. In fact I’m having a hard time not smiling like a circus clown. It’s so lovely to see him. He wasn’t in school on Tuesday afternoon for some reason, so he missed art class. And I missed him. I haven’t been talking to him at break. I usually eat lunch sitting on the steps by the science labs with Sophie and Mills. To be honest I have no idea where Seth has lunch, I’ve never really thought about it.

When I come back downstairs Seth and Alex have disappeared. For a split second I panic. Maybe Seth’s done a runner with the baby. You hear about things like that on the news. Maybe his mum can’t have any more children and…

Then I hear Alex screaming. It’s coming from the garden. I watch from the kitchen window as Seth speeds around the grass with Alex in his arms. Alex is grinning and giggling. He’s flapping his chubby arms up and down like a baby bird learning to fly. He looks so content. I feel a lurch of happiness in the pit of my stomach and I stand, spying on them, until I’m spotted.

“Hey, Amy!” Seth shouts. “We’re being a shark. Come on in, the water’s lovely.”

When Mum comes home we’re in the living room messing with my Bebo site. Seth’s showing me some really cool YouTube clips and we’ve already added one to my flashboard: this wild animal fight at a waterhole in Africa called “Battle at Kruger”. A baby buffalo is grabbed by lions and crocodiles and then gets saved by his herd.

“Hi,” Mum says, looking at Seth curiously and then back at me.

“This is Seth,” I tell her. “A friend from school.”

“Hello, Mrs Green,” he says, jumping to his feet ultra-politely. He looks like he’s about to stick out his hand to shake hers.

Mum smiles at him in a friendly sort of way. “I’m not actually Mrs Green any more.”

Seth’s face falls. “Oh, sorry.”

“Not a problem. Just call me Sylvie. And it’s nice to meet you, Seth.” Mum bends down and picks up Alex, who is playing with his Fisher Price garage, which really means rolling all the cars under the sofa and trying to crawl under to fetch them. He always gets stuck because his nappy gives him a huge sumo wrestler’s bum. “Thanks for keeping an eye on this little monster. Was he good?”

“He was fine,” I say. “Apart from weeing all over my jeans.”

She laughs. “Anyway you’re off the hook now. Evie’s asleep in her pram, try not to wake her up.”

“OK. Mum, can I take the laptop upstairs?”

“Of course. But keep the door open.” She grins. “I know all about you teenagers and your hopping hormones. I watch
The OC
.”

“Mum!” I say, mortified. “
The OC
finished years ago.”

“Oh, I must be watching repeats. They show it on one of the satellite channels at six in the morning when I’m up with Evie. Hey, there’s a Seth in that too, isn’t there? Any relation?”

I groan. “Mum. That’s feeble.”
Please
be quiet and stop embarrassing me, I plead telepathically.

“I’m only kidding,” she says. She’s in a very good mood for some reason, which is great. I hope it lasts until tomorrow: shopping with Clover day. If she stays so cheery I might just get new boots
and
new jeans.

Actually she could have been even more uncool; I’ve never had a boy in my bedroom before. A proper boy, I mean, not one of my cousins or Dave or my dad. But I know if we stay downstairs we’ll end up looking after Alex again.

Seth walks into my bedroom and looks around, taking in my Andy Warhol print of Marilyn Monroe,
Shot Blue Marilyn
,
1964
. Dad got it for me in the Guggenheim Museum of Art in New York. He went with Shelly. The whole trip was wasted on her of course, all she wanted to do was shop. He says he’ll take me there some day, but I’m not holding my breath.

“Hey,” Seth says. “The walls aren’t pink.”

“What were you expecting? Barbie’s Magical Kingdom?”

He smiles and then stares at my Georgia O’Keeffe print of a bright red poppy. “But that is a bit girlie. Polly would like it.”

“Hey, just because I don’t have Munch’s
The Scream
on my walls.” I run my finger over the poppy’s lush black centre. “Actually, I used to but it gave me nightmares.”

He laughs. “I know what you mean.” He puts his hands on either side of his head, makes his mouth into a long
O
and twists his body, giving a very good impression of the painting. “Turn off that Britney Spears music or my head’s going to fall off,” he says in this mad, ghoulish voice.

I start laughing and within seconds I can’t stop. I get these terrible giggling fits sometimes, often when I’m nervous. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m finding it hard to breathe properly. It’s so embarrassing. I’m laughing so much my stomach muscles are starting to cramp.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Seth says. “Wait till you see me do Picasso’s
Guernica
.”

I sit down on the bed, gulping for air like a guppy fish and holding my aching stomach.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “Try thinking of something sad.”

I take another raggedy breath and Shelly’s face floats in front of my eyes. I had a laughing fit the first time I met her. It was awful. We were in an Italian restaurant in Dalkey, the kind with checked tablecloths and real Italian waiters in very tight black trousers. Shelly kept giggling and flirting with one of them, a curly haired man in his twenties with a gold St Christopher medallion nestling in his black chest hairs.

I remember thinking it was a bit off, wasn’t she supposed to be in
luurve
with my dad? She’d split Mum and Dad up, so it had better have been for a good reason. I looked at Shelly, really looked at her. I suppose I could see the attraction if you liked that kind of thing – obvious – all blonde flicky hair, skinny white jeans and dazzling teeth the size of piano keys. She was also a lot younger than Mum and a lot more glam.

I was really nervous and then Dad made this lame waiter joke.

“A guy goes into a restaurant, looks at the menu and asks the waiter, ‘How do you prepare your chickens?’ And the waiter says, ‘We just tell them straight out that they’re going to die.’”

See, told you it was lame. It was so lame I started laughing and I just couldn’t stop. Shelly pushed my glass of Coke towards me and said, “Try taking a sip.” So I did but the bubbles went the wrong way and I ended up snorting it all over the tablecloth and all over Shelly. I was mortified. Shelly had to excuse herself to wipe snorted Coke off her bare arm.

Dad gave me a quick smile and said, “Don’t worry, it could happen to anyone,” but from the way he was dabbing at the table with paper napkins, sighing and making a funny clicking noise with his tongue, like a tap dripping, I could tell he was annoyed with me. When Shelly came back, Dad told me they were moving in together. Mum and Dad had only been separated for two months. Two months! Officially that is. I’d heard Mum talking to a friend on the phone and saying she reckoned they’d been at it for a lot longer. Something to do with Dad joining the gym and buying new boxer shorts and aftershave.

I just stared at Dad. Luckily my pizza arrived, so I didn’t have to say anything. It was a very quick meal.

Thinking of that day, the bubble bursts and I stop laughing. Seth must think I’m such a sap.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, still a little breathless.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m a funny guy.”

I smile at him. “You look more like a mushroom to me. Get it, fun-gi?”

Seth groans and rolls his eyes.

I’m dreading seeing Mills in school tomorrow. I tried ringing her after Seth left, but she wasn’t answering her mobile and when I rang her house her mum, Sue, said she couldn’t come to the phone right now.

“Is she still annoyed with me?” I asked. You can ask her things like that. Sue’s a bit mumsy, always making flat fairy cakes which you can only get your teeth into when they’re hot, but generally she’s cool.

“Yes. Give her till tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll have calmed down by then.”

Calmed down? That didn’t sound good.

Mills
and I are in different classes on a Thursday morning so I don’t see her till breaktime. As I walk towards the science lab steps I spot her sitting with Sophie, their heads bent together, chatting intensely. We always hang out and eat here when it’s cold or raining (which, being Ireland, it usually is!). Otherwise we’re outside working on our tans, and in Sophie’s case, showing off rather a lot of leg. She thinks they’re fit but she’s delusional.

The steps are covered with grey carpet tiles to match the grey walls. Being in school is depressing enough: you’d think the designers would have injected some blue or green or red into the equation. But oh no, St John’s is fully mouse-greyed up from floor to ceiling.

Different groups and years hang out in different areas of the school. Except the Emos. I never see them at lunch, which is strange. Maybe they go underground, like moles.

Mills and Sophie both look up and stare at me silently, looking slightly guilty. I get the feeling they were just talking about me.

“Hi, Mills. Hi, Sophie,” I say. I’m really nervous and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. Stop it, I tell myself. It’s only Mills and Sophie.

Sophie drops her chin and gives me a bemused look. “We thought you’d be in Emo Land,” she says. “With your
boyfriend
.” She gives me a twisted smile.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say.

“Ooooh, get her,” Sophie says to Mills. “That’s what they all say. Is he a good snog? Or is his lipstick a bit sticky?”

I glare at her. “He doesn’t wear lipstick. And how should I know? We’re just friends.”

“Friends?” Mills says. “Like us, Amy?” She seems upset.