Boy Trouble (19 page)

“Sylvie’s a lot older than you,” Dad says. “You’ll get your figure back in no time.”

This annoys me, Dad’s no spring chicken himself, plus he’s years older than Mum, so I say, “Actually, you’re wrong, Dad. Mum says babies wreck your figure. She’s been running miles every day on her new running machine but it’s not making any difference. She’s talking about getting a tummy tuck.”

Shelly wails and tears prick her eyes. “You see, Art? I’m going to be fat for the rest of my life. I knew this was a bad idea.” She gets up from the kitchen table and runs out of the room.

“You’re the one who wanted a baby in the first place,” he shouts after her.

“Dad!” I say, shocked. “That’s not very nice.”

He puts his head in his hands. “Sorry, I know.” He looks up. “She’s just being impossible at the moment. She’s not rational; she cries at
EastEnders
and the ads about the African babies.”

I smile. “It’s only her hormones. Mum was like that before she had Alex and Evie. It’s perfectly normal.”

He shakes his head a little. “When did you get so clever, Amy?”

I shrug. “When you weren’t looking, I guess.”

He grins and gives a laugh. Then he looks at his watch. “I’d better run or I’ll be late for golf. Are you sure you’re OK with this? I can drop you home if you like.”

It’s lovely and quiet in Dad’s place and he says I can order Domino’s pizza for lunch and use the Internet all day. Go back to the madhouse or stay here? Hmm, diffi-cult one, even if it does mean avoiding The Secretary…

“I’ll be fine here,” I say. “You can drop me back after golf. But are you sure I won’t be in the way?”

“Of course not. Shelly plans to rest. You won’t even see her.”

Excellent, I think to myself.

*   *   *

After two hours on the Internet I get bored and decide to take Justin for a walk round Phoenix Park. Shelly’s delighted and tells me to take my time. He tries to run after a deer, but I hold the lead tight. His little legs are still going, like he’s riding a bike, but his body stays still. He’s hard work but very cute, a bit like a baby I suppose. He only poops once and I use a cardboard pooper scooper like a good citizen. It’s only fair. I’ve stood in enough dog poo in my time to know how annoying and stinky it is.

When I return there’s a funny smell in the hall that makes my nose tickle. I put Justin in the back garden and go inside to investigate. I walk up the stairs and hear music. It’s Shelly. She’s singing along to an old Abba song on the radio, badly, while running a yellow paint roller up and down a wall. She’s wearing one of Dad’s old work shirts, white with a blue pinstripe and splattered with paint, and her hair is scraped back off her face. She looks younger than Clover.

I watch her for a few minutes before she notices me.

“Amy.” She gives a nervous smile. “How long have you been standing there?”

I say nothing. I turn away.

“Amy? Amy?” She follows me into the hall. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere I’m actually wanted.”

I run down the stairs, open the front door and walk straight into Dad.

“Where are you off to?” he asks me in a cheery voice. He must have won his golf game.

“Home,” I say flatly.

“What’s going on? I said I’d drop you back. Where’s your bag?” And then he says gently, “Why are you crying?”

“My bag is in my room, or should I say the
baby’s
room,” I say, blinking back the tears. I don’t want to cry, I just can’t help it. “She’s painting it yellow. I hate yellow!”

“I don’t understand. Who’s painting your room?”

“
She
is.”

“She’s
what
?” Dad’s eyes spark and his nostrils flare, like a pony’s. I know it’s petty but I’m delighted to see how annoyed he is. He drops his golf clubs with a clatter on the marble tiles in the hall and runs up the stairs, taking two at a time. I follow closely behind him.

Shelly is standing at the top of the stairs.

“What are you doing, Shelly?” he demands.

She looks very sheepish. “I just thought…” She’s standing statue-still with the yellow roller in her hand. It starts to drip on the beige carpet in the landing. Dad grabs it off her and thrusts it into the paint tray in what used to be my room.

“This is Amy’s room,” he says, waving his arms around at the walls. “It will always be Amy’s room. End of story. We’ve discussed this, Shelly. The baby is going to have the attic room.”

“This one is nicer,” Shelly says. “The light’s better and the attic’s miles away from our room.”

“But it’s Amy’s room,” he repeats. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I need to drop Amy home.”

Shelly looks at me and then at Dad. Her bottom lip starts to quiver and her eyes are hazy with tears. “I’m sorry, Amy,” she says, dropping her head. “I’m so sorry. I just want the baby to be happy. And I’m worried I won’t hear it cry. You hear all these awful things about cot death.”

Dad takes her hand. “Shelly, the baby’s going to sleep in with us for the first while. And after that we’ll buy the best baby monitor on the market. He doesn’t need Amy’s room.”

“He?” I ask. “Is it a boy?”

Dad says, “If it’s not, we’re sending it back.”

Shelly lets out a wail. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Oh for goodness sake, Shelly,” Dad says. “I’m only joking. Come here.” He takes both her hands in his and squeezes them. “I’d be delighted with either, honestly. Don’t go upsetting yourself over nothing. Amy says it’s perfectly normal to feel a bit weepy at the moment. It’s your hormones, isn’t that right, Amy?”

“Yes. Mum was always crying,” I say grudgingly.

“Sylvie hates me.” Shelly sniffs.

“What?” I say, surprised. “She doesn’t hate you.” I want to add, “She should, but she doesn’t,” but I stop myself.

Shelly is insistent. “Yes, she does. And I don’t blame her. She’s so capable and so together. She makes me feel such a ninny.”

“Sylvie doesn’t hate you,” Dad tells her, backing me up. “You heard Amy. Everything’s fine.”

“Maybe Sylvie doesn’t,” Shelly says. “But Amy does. She won’t even say my name. I have noticed you know; I’m not stupid. I know I shouldn’t have stolen her room like that – I don’t know what came over me.” She looks at me, her eyes still flooded with tears. “I’m so sorry, Amy. It was just a fit of madness.”

“But you bought the paint,” I point out calmly. “And you waited until me and Dad were both out of the house.” I’m not going to let her get away with it that easily. I’m not stupid either.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

I say, “You obviously had it all planned. But I came back early and ruined it for you.”

Then she starts bawling again. She’s such a drama queen. “I’m so sorry,” she sobs, “I just wanted—”

“You just wanted your own way, Shelly,” Dad says curtly. “What’s new?”

I look at Dad and then back at Shelly. They both look miserable. Suddenly I start to feel a bit sorry for her. She’s all over the place at the moment and for a total control freak that can’t be much fun. And Dad can be quite sharp with her sometimes. Unlike Mum who always fought back, Shelly just seems to take it.

What is it about this family? Can’t anyone be happy?

Then suddenly I remember what Clover said about being the bigger person. I visualize the attic. It’s actually a really big space, with two roof windows and an en suite. Then I surprise myself by saying, “You know, Dad, maybe she’s right. The baby should be near you. I like the attic. There’s more room up there and if you put in a telly and a sofa it would make a cool den.”

Dad stares at me. “Are you sure, Amy? You don’t have to decide now.”

I shrug. “It’s only a room. The baby’s more important than a room.”

“Amy Green,” Dad gushes, “what a lovely thing to say. I’m so proud of you.” He puts his arms round me but I shrug them off.

“Dad, get a grip.” Not him as well.

Shelly wipes away her tears and looks at me. “Thanks, Amy. I really am sorry.” She’s holding her stomach protectively.

I look back at her. I just nod. My own stomach doesn’t feel clenched and anxious like it usually does when I talk to her. It feels, well, normal. I realize now she’s just trying to do her best, even if she is the most selfish and annoying woman on the planet. I also realize she’s a bit under Dad’s thumb. Why is everything always so complicated?

And you know something, being civil to Shelly doesn’t feel all that bad. It’s a hell of a lot easier than being nasty to her. Let’s get this straight, I don’t like her or anything but I don’t hate her either. It’s far too exhausting. I’ve been blaming Shelly for my parents’ break-up for four years. It’s hard to let go of something like that. But maybe it’s time.

And I’m secretly pleased about the attic room. I can watch telly and surf the net all night and Dad will never know. And if I ask him now, when I’m Miss Popular in his eyes, he might even buy me my own laptop!

*   *   *

Dad drops me off at the gate. He kisses me on the cheek. “Better get back to Shelly,” he says. “Before she paints more of the house behind my back. And thanks again, Amy. I know she can be quite difficult sometimes, but she means well. Thanks for making an effort. I know she’s not exactly your favourite person.”

I look at him for a moment. “No, I still think Shelly’s—” I stop myself. “Look, it doesn’t matter. But the baby does matter. I’ll get used to her.”

He smiles at me.

“What?”

“It’s the first time you’ve used her name.”

He’s right. I shrug and smile back. “Just a momentary lapse. See ya.”

As I walk up the path, Mum swings open the door. She doesn’t look too happy. What now? Dave is standing behind her.

“You’re in big trouble, young lady,” she says as I walk into the hall. “Antonia rang earlier and you have some serious explaining to do.”

“Who’s Antonia?”

“Sophie’s mum.”

Then the penny drops – Mrs Piggott must have been spying on me and Seth in the garden. “We were only kissing!” I say quickly. “I swear. Nothing happened.”

Mum looks confused. “Kissing? What are you on about? Antonia’s pearls are missing. She’s says you stole them. Is it true?”

I’m horrified. “Of course not!” I say loudly.

“All right,” Mum says. “I hear you but Antonia is insistent—”

Dave cuts in. “It’s best to tell the truth, Amy. If you did take them and you give them back, she says she won’t press charges. Otherwise she’ll have to report it to the guards.”

I stare at him. “I don’t believe this. You think I took her pearls, don’t you? You believe that old witch.”

“Amy!” Mum says.

“I’m sorry, but she’s horrible. You should hear what she says about you, Mum.”

“Amy,” Mum says, “that’s quite enough. Of course we don’t believe her. Come into the kitchen and we’ll talk about it. Evie’s asleep.”

In the kitchen I tell them the whole story, how I had to use the loo, how Mrs Piggott had found me in the hall upstairs.

“But I didn’t go near her pearls, Mum, honestly. I didn’t even see them.”

“She says she had them on the morning of the party, then she changed later that day and put them in the drawer of her dressing table, where she always leaves them. She was quite specific about the details. When she went to look for them this morning, they’d gone. She says no one’s been near her bedroom since the party.”

Dave mutters, “I can believe that all right.”

I snort a laugh and Mum glares at him. “Dave!”

He says, “Sorry, sorry.” But he doesn’t look very sorry.

“You’re not being very helpful,” she tells him.

“I’ll just go and check on Alex then.” He walks out of the room in a bit of a huff.

“Look, Amy,” says Mum, getting back to business, “this is serious. Antonia claims you’re the only person who was upstairs during the party.”

“But I was using the loo!” I tell her again.

“She also told me about your fight with Sophie and Mills. Apparently it’s been going on for weeks. Is that true?”

“Yes. I suppose so.”

“So you weren’t at Mills’s house yesterday?”

“No. I was at Seth’s. And before you say anything, yes, his mum was in. You can ring and ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“We’ll deal with that later. Right now, there are more important things to worry about. Amy, Antonia’s very upset. Like Dave said, she’s talking about going to the guards. If you tell me you didn’t take the pearls, I believe you. But do you understand how serious this is?”

“Yes! Why on earth would I take her pearls? I don’t even like pearls. It doesn’t make any sense. If I wanted to get back at Sophie, there are plenty of ways I could do that, believe me. And it wouldn’t involve stealing her mother’s stupid pearls.”

Mum shrugs. “You’re right. It doesn’t make any sense. But she’s calling round first thing in the morning. I don’t know what I’m going to tell her.”

I feel physically sick. And poor Mum, a visit from Antonia Piggott is the last thing she needs.

“I didn’t take them,” I say again.

“I know, pet. But somebody at that party did.” She pats my hand. “Do you want anything to eat? We’ve had dinner. There’s some roast chicken and potatoes left if you fancy it.” Mum’s always trying to feed me. Even at odd times like this.

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m not hungry.” My stomach is in knots and I have no appetite. “Mum, if Mrs Piggott’s serious about calling the guards, and they don’t believe me, what will happen?”

“Try not to worry about it. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s all pure speculation at this stage. Maybe the pearls will turn up.”

At nine o’clock I hear a clattering noise on my bedroom window. I look out. It’s Mills. She’s standing in my back garden, throwing pebbles at the glass. I open it.

“What are you doing?” I whisper loudly.

“I know who took the pearls,” she hisses up at me. “I have a plan. Come down. And wear black. Won’t be difficult for you. Your wardrobe is full of funeral gear.”

I grin. The old Mills is back. Suddenly I start to feel a whole lot better.