Girl, 15: Charming but Insane (15 page)

‘Oh no!’ cried Granny. ‘I remember now! I was just about to do the washing-up! I turned the tap on and I just popped out to take the rubbish bag to the dustbin – and there was a gust of wind, and the door slammed shut behind me!’

‘It’s fine, Granny – it won’t take me a minute to mop it up!’ insisted Jess, helping Granny into the wellies.

‘Well, good luck!’ said Mrs Phillips.

Granny thanked her graciously for providing emergency accommodation, but looked relieved as the Phillips clan moved off down the path, the children wailing in disappointment.

Jess took Granny’s arm, as the hall floor was quite slippery, even in wellies. She escorted her to her own room.

‘Those children are an absolute menace, dear,’ confided Granny. ‘I’m afraid there were moments when I contemplated infanticide. Oh dear! My poor rugs! I bought those in the Lake District in 1973!’

‘They should feel completely at home, then!’ joked Jess. But for once Granny did not laugh. She just sat there looking rather pale and distressed. Jess decided to put on the DVD of
Pulp Fiction
. That would cheer Granny up.

It seemed the electricity hadn’t been affected – maybe the sockets were too high up the wall to be damaged, or something – anyway, soon Jess had settled Granny down with a cup of tea, a toasted sandwich and John Travolta brandishing a loaded gun.

Then Jess embarked on the massive task of mopping up. First she opened the back door and swept out all the water on the kitchen floor. This area was going to be easy, because it was ceramic tiles. Then she opened the front door and swept all the remaining water out of the hall. Next she started on the mop-and-bucket routine – in Granny’s room, first. Jess took the two sacred Lake District rugs out and hung them on the washing line in the back garden.

Granny’s carpet was still sopping wet. Jess ran upstairs and fetched a pile of dry bath towels. Mopping up Granny’s floor with these seemed to work a treat. Soon the carpet was just damp rather than soaked.

‘God bless you, dear, you are a good girl!’ exclaimed Granny, turning away from her beloved bloodshed for a split second.

Jess returned to the kitchen and worked her way right across the kitchen floor with the mop and bucket, and then down the hall.

She was halfway down the hall when the front doorbell rang. What now? If it was those wretched kids from next door, Jess might just scream at them. She opened the door with her mouth open and a terrible frown, just in case. But it wasn’t the Phillips children. It was Ben Jones, carrying a sports bag and holding a DVD. He took in the whole panorama: Jess frowning, wet, dishevelled, barefoot and wielding a dirty mop.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

‘We’ve had a flood,’ Jess explained. ‘It’s OK. I’m dealing with it.’

‘I’ve got to get to football practice,’ said Ben, looking awkward. ‘Otherwise I’d give you a hand, yeah?’

‘It’s fine, it’s OK, I’ve done most of it,’ Jess assured him.

‘I just dropped by to lend you that film, yeah?’ Ben handed it over. ‘I told you about it? The insects with, like, antennae that can shoot death rays?’

‘Oh, yeah!’ Jess remembered something of the kind from their conversation in the burger bar. ‘Brilliant, thanks.’ It would be impolite to mention how much she hated insects. And, indeed, death rays.

Suddenly Ben’s mobile rang.

‘Hi, yeah?’ he said. ‘Sure – I’m on my way. I’m at Jess Jordan’s – I’ll be there in five minutes . . . OK, OK. No need to hassle.’ He rang off. ‘Whizzer getting steamed up cos I’m late.’ He shook his head and grinned. ‘Gotta go. Enjoy the DVD. And . . . good luck with the – you know.’ He gestured towards the wet hall floor as he backed off down the path.

Jess waved goodbye and shut the front door. My goodness! Had she ever looked such a mess?

Jess ran to the mirror in the downstairs cloakroom. She looked like some kind of hideous sea otter who had just gone ten rounds with a killer whale. Ben Jones would never fancy her now. In fact, nobody would. Except possibly some eccentric fisherman from the Outer Hebrides. Jess wondered where the Outer Hebrides were, because she just might choose to go and start a new life there as her old life seemed to have reached a complete and utter dead end.

Jess sighed, took Ben’s DVD into the sitting room and placed it on the shelf.

‘Who was that, dear?’ asked Granny.

‘Just a friend of mine, Granny. He lent me a film.’

‘That nice boy you like, who always lends you films, dear? What’s his name? Fred?’

‘Oh no – Fred!’ Jess gasped. ‘I totally forgot! I’m supposed to be going to his mum’s birthday party! What time is it?’

Granny squinted, with agonising slowness, at her twinkly watch.

‘Twenty to seven, dear,’ she announced, eventually.

Twenty to seven? She was already forty minutes late! Jess ran out and raced upstairs, not so much to get ready – it was far too late for that – but to have a nervous breakdown in private.

Upstairs, Jess rushed into her mum’s study and hesitated by the phone. She hadn’t bought the present! She hadn’t rung to say she was going to be late! She was wet through and filthy – it would take half an hour at the very least to make herself look respectable. She needed a bath, clean clothes – she’d have to wash her hair . . . and dry it . . .

Jess faced the awful truth. There was no way she was going to make it to Fred’s mum’s party. She had totally and utterly blown it. She must ring them and explain. She reached for the phone. Then she hesitated. It seemed such a stupid excuse.

‘My granny left the tap running.’ ‘I had to mop up some water.’
Oh, for goodness’ sake
, she thought,
get a life!
Or at least get an excuse that works
. Jess felt sick with horror. Sick, sick, sick.

That was it! She’d say she was ill! Hastily she dialled Fred’s number. Her heart was thudding away so fast, it felt as if it might explode.

‘Yes?’ said a voice. It was Fred’s.

‘Oh, Fred! I’m so sorry!’ gasped Jess. ‘I’ve been really, really ill! I’ve been sick like sort of non-stop ever since I got home! I’ve been, like, lying on the bathroom floor by the loo for hours! I didn’t even dare to come to the phone till now!’

There was a silence from the other end. Jess cringed. Her story had sounded so transparently a lie.

‘Oh well,’ said Fred, rather coldly. ‘Never mind. We’ll start without you.’

So they’d been waiting for her! Oh no! Sort of sitting around sweetly feeling embarrassed and looking at the clock!

‘Oh, Fred, I’m so terribly terribly sorry!’ Jess was almost sobbing now. ‘And you haven’t got a present for your mum or anything. I’ve really let you down. I’m so sorry!’

‘It’s OK,’ said Fred. ‘It’s fine. Get well soon.’ But he sounded hurt. Fred would normally never just use two or three words when a hundred were available.

‘I hope you have a really great party, anyway,’ said Jess forlornly. How she longed to be there.

‘Sure. OK. Bye!’ Fred rang off and was replaced by a horrid electronic buzz.

Jess ran into her room and threw herself face down on her bed.

‘Oh, Rasputin! I’ve totally blown it!’ she sobbed. ‘I’ve let Fred down in the worst possible way! I’ve ruined his mum’s birthday! And he’s all cold and hurt!’

Rasputin looked startled, but he stroked her cheek with his velvety paws. ‘Cry on my shoulder, me dear, help yourself,’ he seemed to say. ‘After all, that’s what we teds are for.’

Jess burst into tears, seized Rasputin and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried and cried. And cried. Bitterly. And then she cried some more. Rasputin had to be placed on a radiator afterwards, where he steamed gently for some time.

Chapter 17

Later that evening, Jess’s mum came back from Oxford, and Granny went into raptures about how heroic Jess had been, dealing with the flood. Her mum came up to Jess’s room to tell her how pleased she was. It was obvious Jess had been crying.

‘What’s the matter, love?’ asked her mother gently.

Jess shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just felt a bit upset by it all.’

‘You’ve been brilliant!’ said her mum, and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll take you into town at the weekend and we’ll do some clothes shopping!’

Jess ought to have been grateful. She knew her mum hated clothes shopping only slightly less than she hated war. But Jess couldn’t think any further ahead than school tomorrow. How on earth was she ever going to be able to make it up to Fred? And why had she told that stupid lie about being sick? She wanted to confide in her mum, but she knew if she did, her mum would want to sort it out for her. She might even ring Fred’s mum and discuss the whole thing at horrible length. Jess cringed at the thought of her mother still trying to organise her social life for her. This was her mess, and she’d sort it out herself. If, indeed, it could be sorted.

Fred hadn’t shouted at her. He had been much too furious for that. A couple of polite words, and then he had hung up on her. She was desperate to see him. She just had to apologise, explain and think of ways to make it up to him. Until she’d made it up with him, she’d never be able to think about anything else.

Morning lessons were science and maths, which added another sort of anguish to Jess’s situation. She was in a different maths set from Fred, and as she hadn’t seen him yet, she would have to wait till lunchtime and try to track him down in the library. Normally, the library was a delightful sanctuary: warm in winter and cool in summer. It was also quite dark. One’s spots were not too obvious. It smelt quaintly of books, unlike the gym, for instance, which smelt of sweaty pants.

Mrs Forsyth was in charge of the library, and boy, was she fierce. There was a serious ‘No Eating, No Talking’ rule. Just spending half an hour in such a strict atmosphere became a kind of secret gameshow. Trying to snack unobserved was a major challenge, especially if it involved crisps or cheesy biscuits. You had to summon up a huge amount of saliva for a start, slip the crisp into your mouth while pretending to scratch your nose, and soak the crisp in spit for about a minute before daring to risk a chomp.

You could only chew when Mrs Forsyth was not looking in your direction – and she had the eyesight of an eagle and the hearing of a spy satellite. She could hear people eating crisps in China. Jess’s greatest triumph had been to open a bottle of Pepsi under the table, while Fred blotted out the ‘
FFFFFFophphphsttttt!
’ sound with an attack of dramatic death-bed coughing. Fred and Jess had had some great illegal lunches there. But would they ever again? Or were they finished as a double act for ever?

When the bell went for lunch, Flora appeared.

‘I’ve told Mackenzie and B.J. we’ll meet them in the gym gallery,’ she said. ‘How are you getting on with Ben? Whizzer says Ben was at your place last night. That’s why he was late for football practice. So what’s going on?’

Flora was grinning – like an idiot. But Jess didn’t want to tell her anything about it. Revealing what a disaster it had been would mean that Jess had to relive the whole painful story. Instead she would tantalise Flora by revealing absolutely nothing.

‘He dropped by to lend me a DVD,’ she snapped. ‘It was a major non-event.’

Flora’s face changed. Jess could read her disappointment.

‘Let’s go to the gym gallery, anyway,’ said Flora hastily. ‘They’ll be waiting for us.’