Boy Trouble (14 page)

Mum continues, “Even then it took ages to get pregnant. So afterwards we presumed, you know…” A pink blush spreads over Mum’s cheeks.

“You didn’t think you’d be able to get knocked up again,” Clover says helpfully. “But, hey presto, along came Evie to prove you wrong.”

Mum smiles gratefully. “Something like that. It was amazing, like a miracle. We were in complete shock.” She rubs her lips together, making a little snapping noise. “So there you have it. Two babies in a year.”

“Irish twins,” Clover says with a laugh.

I’m lost for words. Hearing about my mum’s sex life is cringe-inducing to be honest, but I’m glad she’s told me. It makes sense now. And Sophie’s mum is wrong, Mum’s not irresponsible, it was an accident. Like she said, a miracle. You know, I’m glad I asked.

“Anyway,” Mum says, “none of this is anything to worry about. We won’t be having any more babies, Amy. I promise.”

That’s a relief. I might get my life back in say, twelve years. “Can we talk about something else now?” I say. “Please?”

“Of course.” Mum steers me towards the entrance, a hand on my shoulder. “Now where can we buy those boots you’re after?”

She’s obviously feeling a bit guilty for making me feel so awkward back there. But if it gets me new Ugglies, then wa-hey, it’s so worth it.

“Do
you know those girls?” Clover asks as we’re sitting in Fitzpatrick’s shoe shop, waiting for a shop assistant. Mum’s looking at some glittery gold sandals beside us, holding them up to the light and watching them gleam, like Dorothy in
The
Wizard of Oz
with her ruby slippers. She really should get out more often.

There’s a skulk of girls standing at the far end of the shop, heads together, giggling and staring over at me. It’s Sophie’s D4 gang but she’s not with them, thank goodness.

“Kind of,” I say. “They’re in my year.”

Clover glares at one of them: Nina Pickering. Nina’s wearing a denim mini and a white belly top, acres of jangling gold chains round her waist, like a belly dancer; her hip bones stick out of her skin, like a look-at-how-little-I-eat badge of honour. Nina gasps at Clover’s audacity and then nudges Annabelle Hamilton, or “Hammy” as Seth calls her because her cheeks are a bit chubby, like a hamster’s. Nina whispers something in her ear.

“Oh,
that’s
Amy.” Annabelle has a plummy voice which carries. “Sophie was right. What a loser: shopping with her mum. And what
is
she wearing?”

I cringe inwardly and stare down at the floor.

“Right,” Clover says under her breath. I look up and she’s already in front of Annabelle.

“Clover!” I hiss but it’s too late. Luckily Mum’s busy studying the soles of a pair of tall chestnut Uggs.

“Hi,
gurls
,” Clover says in a brilliant New York drawl, sticking out her hand and curling her lips into a pout. “I’m Roxie Baxter, Star Casting Agency, Noo Yawk. And Amy’s second cousin once removed. I’m in Dublin casting a teen movie and catching up with my Irish relations.”

Annabelle’s so shocked she shakes Clover’s hand and gives her a huge look-at-my-teeth beam. Annabelle has the best teeth in our year, in the whole school in fact; I’d like to say they are fake porcelain veneers, but unfortunately they’re real. “Annabelle Hamilton,” she stammers. “I do drama classes.”

Clover clasps her other hand round Annabelle’s, squeezes and then lets go. “Is that right?” she says. “Well, honey, I’m looking for actors with a bit of character, know what I’m saying? Actors who aren’t afraid to show their inner emotions, who can bark like a dog, squeal like a pig… It’s a new teen comedy series set in the Alaskan wilderness, lots of huskies and heaps of snow.”

Annabelle’s eyes light up. “I can bark like a dog,” she says eagerly. Then she starts to bark,
“YAP, YAP, YAPPETY, YAP.”
It’s actually quite impressive.

“That’s a bit too Lassie,” Clover says. “I’m looking for something wilder; give me husky, Annabelle, not Labradoodle.” I can tell Clover’s trying to keep a straight face.

“RRRAAWW, RRRAAAW,”
Annabelle says.

The whole shop is staring at her, including Mum. Annabelle seems oblivious, her sights set on the Hollywood hills.

“Now pretend you’re tearing into a piece of reindeer meat,” Clover says. “I want emotion, Annabelle. Untamed, wild, free.”

“GNASH, GNASH.”
Annabelle twists her head from side to side, bearing her perfect molars.

“Good. Now down on all fours,” Clover says. She presses her lips together firmly and digs her nails into her hand to stop herself laughing.

And like a good little doggie, Annabelle drops on to her hands and knees and starts crawling around on the floor, barking and tossing her head.

Her friends stare at her in amazement.

Clover takes out her mobile phone and begins to record Annabelle’s canine antics. “Awesome, Annabelle. Show me those teeth. Now, you’re chasing a rabbit; run, Annabelle, run.” Clover picks up an Ugg boot from the display and throws it on the wooden floor. “Now, fetch.”

Annabelle races up and down the shop on her hands and feet, with an Ugg boot in her mouth.

“Here,” a spotty male shop assistant says, “there’d better not be teeth marks on that boot or you’re paying for it.”

“Now, sit,” Clover says, ignoring him. “And paw.” She holds out her hand. Annabelle is kneeling in front of Clover, her tongue lolling around in her mouth, her “paw” in Clover’s hand. I hate to admit it, but she makes a pretty good dog.

Clover drops Annabelle’s “paw” and gives her a knowing smile. She flicks her mobile shut and tucks it into her bra cup.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she says in her normal voice. “I’m not Roxie Baxter at all, I’m Clover Wildgust, a friend of Amy’s. And if you ever, ever pick on Amy or any of her friends again, I’ll put this doggie clip on Bebo. And I’ll print a picture of you being Fido in my magazine. Do you understand?”

“You’re not a casting agent?” Annabelle stammers.

“Not yet,” Clover says. “It’s on my list. At the moment I’m a journalist on
The Goss
.”

Several of the girls gasp.

“I love
The Goss
,” Nina simpers. She gazes at Clover in admiration.

“Do you understand me?” Clover asks Annabelle in a clipped voice.

“Yes,” Annabelle says. She catches my eye and glares at me.

Clover pats her hidden mobile and raises her eyebrows. “Hello? You’re forgetting something, doggie girl. Apologize to Amy.”

“Sorry, Amy.” Annabelle gives me a fake smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“That’s better,” Clover says. “Nice doing business with you.”

Annabelle flounces off, followed by her pack, all tittering behind her back. She rounds on them with an iceberg look, but I know it’s going to be all over the school by Monday. Nina has a notoriously big mouth.

“Tell me if you have any more trouble with Annabelle or any of her mini hags, OK, Beanie?” Clover says.

“What was that all about?” Mum says.

Clover shrugs. “Just something for the magazine. On your favourite animal.”

“Gosh,” Mum says staring at Annabelle’s disappearing back, “that girl took it very seriously, didn’t she?”

Clover says, “Yup. Now which ‘ugly’ boots are you after, Beanie?”

“The chestnut ones.” I point at a pair of tall Uggs.

“Good choice.” She nods in agreement. “They don’t get as grubby as the sand ones.”

“Amy, they’re so expensive,” Mum says. “Can’t you get a pair in Penny’s or something?”

“No, Mum, they’re not the same. The cheap ones go funny at the back, like an elephant’s knees. Uggs last for ages. I’ve had these ones for nearly a year, remember? And I wear them all the time.”

“I suppose.” She isn’t convinced.

“I’ll go halves with you, Sylvie,” Clover says, taking out her wallet and looking in it. “Oops, make that a quarter.”

“Please? I’ve been helping with the babies a lot,” I say hopefully. “And I’ll put some of my birthday money towards it. I still have thirty euros left.”

Mum smiles. “Oh go on, then. But they’d better last you.”

“Thanks, Mum,” I say. “You’re the best.”

Clover gives a little cough. “Ahem.”

I grin. “You too, Clover.”

Dave nearly collapses when he sees the multicoloured fan of shopping bags in each of our hands.

“How much did you spend?” he asks Mum.

Mum waves her hand in front of her face and giggles. Her cheeks are flushed. She dumps her shopping bags at the bottom of the stairs, almost falling over one in the process.

“Have you been drinking?” Dave stares at her. “Sylvie, you’re breastfeeding! What about Evie?”

After shopping Mum treated us all to pizza in Milano’s and as she wasn’t driving for a change, she had two glasses of wine. Clover practically forced them on her.

“Go on, Sylvie, live a little,” Clover had said.

But Mum’s not used to drinking and I think it’s gone to her head.

Clover looks a little guilty. “I have to run. Thanks for the pizza, Sylvie. Talk to you tomorrow.” She skips out the door.

“Look at my new underwear,” Mum says and lifts up her top to show Dave her lacy pink bra. She liked it so much she changed into it in the pizza place and insisted on wearing it home. “Isn’t it sexy?”

“Mum!” I say, horrified. “Pull your T-shirt down.”

Dave is just staring at Mum as she shimmies and trips around the hall. At first he looks a bit shocked, but then his mouth twitches into a smile and his eyes start to shine.
Eeew!
Get me out of here.

“Night,” I say. “I’m off to bed.” But they completely ignore me. They’re staring at each other as if they’ve just met. I live in a madhouse.

We
have no school on Friday as there’s a teachers’ meeting in the morning and an important soccer match against Monkstown College in the afternoon. I was looking forward to hanging out with Mills, but the way things are, that’s not going to happen. She’s probably off to jiggle around on the sidelines in her hitched-up hockey skirt with the other D4s to “support” the boys and to distract the opposition – it’s an old St John’s tactic. It only works on the teams from all boys’ schools.

I rack my brains. Who can I hang out with? Who has less than no interest in soccer? Then it comes to me. Seth! But then I remember. I was pretty shabby to him yesterday in art class. I had been upset about Mills and Sophie, and had taken it out on him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Now I have zero friends. Unless…

*   *   *

This can’t be the place. There’s graffiti everywhere and rubbish lies in layers against the concrete wall surrounding the low-rise flats, like a crisp packet snowdrift. A beer bottle rolls gently in the wind at the bottom of the steps to the ground-floor flats, making a hollow ringing noise.

I read Seth’s text again. N
UMBER
3, E
DEN
H
EIGHTS
, B
ALLYVALE.
This is Eden Heights all right. I scan the row of doors on the ground floor and then I find it, number 3 – glossy red, you can’t miss it. It’s the only door that isn’t faded and cracked. The only door that actually has a number on it.

I ring the bell. I hear muffled voices and then the door swings open. Seth is standing there, his face expressionless, his hand still on the catch.

“This had better be good,” he says. Then he turns away from me. “Polly, I’m going out,” he calls and goes to shut the door behind him. But she’s too quick.

“Bring your friend in, Seth,” she says. “I’d like to meet him.”

“Him?” I whisper.

Seth rolls his eyes. “Pay no attention – my mum’s a bit mad.”

“Listen,” I say before I chicken out. “I’m so sorry about yesterday. About art class. Mills and Sophie were horrible to me at break and I took it out on you.” I hand him the sea green carrier bag from the bookshop. “I got this for you. Peace offering.”

He takes the bag from me, pulls out the large paperback and strokes the cover with his hand. “
Rothko
at the Guggenheim
. This must have cost a fortune. Thanks, Amy.” He can’t help but smile.

I’m so glad he likes it, I had to borrow the money off Dave – Mum never has any money in her wallet – and now I owe him several hours’ worth of babysitting. “So I’m forgiven?” I ask hopefully.