Girl, 15: Charming but Insane (17 page)

Jess got home to find Granny installed at the kitchen table. Her mum was not home yet.

‘How are you, Granny? Any mass murders in the news today?’

Jess kissed the top of her head. She smelt nicely of lavender talcum powder. Some people’s grannies didn’t. It was touch and go with old people. They could lose it and start smelling of neglected ponds, just like that.

‘There’s a mysterious virus sweeping through the hospitals in France,’ said Granny. ‘And they can’t do anything about it. It’s the Auntie Biotics,’ she warned. ‘We’re all becoming immune to our own immune systems.’

It seemed that Granny shared the family’s rather feeble grasp of the natural sciences. Indeed she might possibly have originated it.

‘It starts with vomiting,’ said Granny, looking worried. ‘Then they can slip into a coma and snuff it within 24 hours!’

‘Well, let’s be grateful we’re not in a hospital in France,’ said Jess. ‘Do you want some toast, Granny? I’m going to have some. Though you’ve almost taken away my appetite with all that tasteless talk of vomiting.’

Granny agreed to some toast, and they put the kettle on. Jess was desperate to ring Fred but she had to eat first. If she didn’t, her stomach would start this dreadful hollering: ‘
Worra! Worra! Worraworra! Worraworraworraworra!
’ Like distant thunder over the mountains.

Jess banished all thoughts of vomiting by fantasising about the shopping trip to New York. She enjoyed her toast and jam, and then, with a madly beating heart, she rang Fred. The line was engaged. She went back to sit with Granny for another minute.

‘I wonder if you’ll do a little job for me, Jess,’ asked Granny. ‘It’s fairly disgusting but I’ll pay you handsomely.’

‘I’d do anything for you, Granny,’ lied Jess affectionately. She hoped it didn’t involve anything to do with toilets.

‘I want you to put my eardrops in,’ said Granny. ‘Only I’m going to have my ears syringed the day after tomorrow.’

Instantly, Jess was back shopping on Fifth Avenue, stepping out smartly with a couple of Bloomingdale’s and Calvin Klein carrier bags. However, she agreed to put Granny’s drops in, as soon as she’d made her phone call. Until she’d managed to speak to Fred she was afraid her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. And it would be tragic – and possibly fatal – if instead of putting the drops into Granny’s ear, they went into her eye, mouth or nose.

She rang Fred again. The number was engaged. Was Mrs Parsons talking to the police?

‘My son’s description? Oh dear – tall, well, about 5’10” – fair-haired, thin, er, er, strange staring grey eyes. What was he wearing? What was he wearing? Oh heavens, I haven’t a clue. Wait! It would have been his grey hood thing and blue jeans. And I know I’m his mother, but although his eyes are grey, sometimes I feel that the blue of his jeans makes his eyes look kind of blue. Please, please, officer, bring back my baby!’

After the fifth attempt to ring Fred, Granny became suspicious. The line was constantly busy.

‘Is Flora still on the phone, dear?’ she asked.

‘It’s not Flora, Granny. It’s Fred.’

Granny’s eyes lit up. ‘Aha! A boy! Is it the one who called last night? I thought you looked a bit feverish, love. Is Fred your boyfriend, then?’ Granny smiled and winked in a lovable, though slightly obscene manner.

‘Certainly not, Granny!’ cried Jess. ‘He’s just a friend. I have no interest in boys, as you know. In my opinion they should all be herded off into wildlife parks. Apart from Flora, Fred is my best mate. I just need to ring him to get some details about homework.’

‘Homework?’ remarked Granny, looking a little sceptical. ‘It all seems a bit desperate for homework.’

Jess felt bad about lying to Granny. She wasn’t like Mum. Mum disapproved of almost everything. Boyfriends were going to be the very worst thing of all. Jess actually dreaded having a boyfriend, because of having to tell her mum.

Perhaps she would just avoid it until her mum was 80 or something, and in an old people’s home, and then Jess, who would by then be about 50, would drop by and casually remark, ‘Oh, by the way, Mum, I’ve got a boyfriend.’ And even then her mum would probably hurtle out of her wheelchair and smack her hard across the face, crying, ‘You trash! Get outta my house – I mean, my room!’ It was hard, sometimes, being the daughter of a radical feminist who hated men.

‘OK, Granny, I admit it – I lied about the homework,’ said Jess. ‘It’s not about that. It’s just a misunderstanding. I really let him down yesterday and he’s mad at me. So I just want to apologise.’

Granny nodded and winked, and tapped the side of her nose.

‘Why are you winking like that?’ demanded Jess. ‘Do you know something I don’t know?’ Or maybe Granny had finally flipped and was sinking rapidly into Alzheimer’s, or, as Jess had mistakenly called it when young, Old-Timer’s disease.

‘Just your best mate, eh?’ remarked Granny. ‘Ah well – if you say so.’ And she got up and shuffled off to the sitting room.

Jess heard the TV being switched on. Granny never missed a news bulletin. There was always something ghastly happening involving body parts.

Jess reached an instant decision. She would run to Fred’s house. She would knock at the door. She would apologise there and then – handsomely. If indeed somebody can apologise handsomely when afflicted with seventy spots.

Jess grabbed her jacket, shouted, ‘Just going out for half an hour, Granny!’ and ran out of the house.

Unfortunately, she met her mum by the gate, and she could tell by her face that she had had one of those days. Occasionally people came into the library and peed, pooed or got drunk and started shouting abuse. Drunks and vagrants went in to sleep in the Reference section. Once, a very old man who lived on the streets had died on the
Oxford English Dictionary
. You may think that being a librarian would be a quiet, cushy job, but sometimes it seemed that the library was really a nightmarish extension of The Mean Streets and that librarians were just cops and paramedics disguised in tweedy cardigans and long dangly parrot earrings from the charity shop.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ demanded her mum, in cop mode.

‘Just to Fred’s – just for a moment – to borrow something.’ Jess tried to dodge past her mum, but her arm was seized with frightening strength. She should never have suggested her mum start going to the gym. They struggled briefly by the gate.

‘Have you done your homework? Get back indoors!’ cried her mum, in a ferocious bad mood even by her standards.

‘I’ll only be half an hour and I can’t do my homework till I’ve got these notes off Fred!’ cried Jess in despair.

Summoning her last shreds of strength, Jess pushed her mum back against the wall, struggled free and ran off. She realised that when she returned she would be in big trouble, but she had to see Fred now. She ran all the way and, when she arrived, rang the bell immediately instead of waiting till she had got her breath back. The door was opened by Fred’s dad. Jess could hear football on the TV indoors, and though Fred’s dad didn’t exactly look furious at her arrival, he was clearly planning to deal with her enquiry with ruthless speed and return to the screen within seconds.

‘Is – Fred – in?’ panted Jess, hopelessly out of breath. She was going to have to work out, one of these days.

‘No,’ said his dad. ‘Sorry. He’s out.’

‘Could – you – ask – him – to ring – me, please?’

‘OK,’ said Fred’s dad, obviously hoping that was all.

‘Thanks!’ gasped Jess, and turned to go.

It was only when she was halfway home that she realised that perhaps Fred’s dad had been lying. That Fred was ‘out’ rather than out. Refusing to see her. On the other hand, he might be halfway to Paris with Mr Fothergill by now. When she was three-quarters of the way home she realised she should have apologised to Fred’s dad about not turning up to his wife’s birthday party. But she was fairly sure that, given a choice, Fred’s dad would rather return immediately to football than endure passionate speeches of guilt and shame.

A hundred metres from home, Jess’s mobile bleeped. She grabbed it, hoping it was Fred. But it was only a text message from Flora. THE GARAGE IS BRILLIANT! RING ME FOR DETAILS! Jess switched off her mobile, shaking her head in disbelief. As if a mere garage could be of any interest. Flora really should get herself a life.

Chapter 20

Jess’s mum was waiting, wrapped in a ferocious glare.

‘Sorry!’ said Jess. ‘But look – I’ve only been twenty minutes. In fact, eighteen. A mere nothing in evolutionary terms. The blink of an eye.’

‘This is my house!’ said her mum, spitting fire.

‘So?’ Jess tried to keep the mood light, playful. She didn’t want to tell her mum about how she had ruined Fred’s mum’s birthday party and was desperate to apologise to the whole Parsons family. It was her major crime in life so far and she knew her mum would be deeply upset to hear about it. ‘I love it. It’s a great house.’

‘Don’t you start being cheeky on top of everything else!’ hissed her mum. ‘This is my house, and I want some consideration from those who live here! After the day I’ve had, what I want is somebody to make me a cup of tea and tell me they’ve got an A in English. Instead, I get beaten up on my own doorstep.’

Jess ran to the kettle. It was hot.

‘Too late!’ said her mum grimly. ‘I’ve made it myself. So where are the precious notes?’

‘The precious notes?’ repeated Jess, unable to remember for a split second what on earth her mum was talking about. That was the problem with lying. If you lied extensively, as Jess usually did despite constant New Year’s Resolutions, you could never remember what it was you were supposed to have done.

‘The notes you went to Fred’s to borrow.’

‘Oh, I couldn’t get them. Because he was out. His dad said so.’

‘You could have saved a lot of trouble and time by ringing him first.’

‘She did ring him first, dear.’ Granny was watching from the doorway, evidently hoping this row might develop into a full-scale murder, possibly involving severed body parts. ‘She tried several times. She made me some tea and toast as soon as she came in, Madeleine, and we had a lovely chat about her friend Frank.’

‘Fred,’ corrected Jess. Although she adored Granny, and was deeply grateful for her support right now, if she called Fred ‘Frank’ again, Jess would scream aloud and might just have to throw custard over her.

‘Fred, Fred, Fred, I’m sick of hearing about him!’ snapped Jess’s mum. ‘He rang the other day, and straightaway you were off out to meet him. Haven’t you got any dignity? Any pride? Or will you just run off out at the beck and call of any Tom, Dick, or Harry?’ Her mum looked cross and ran her fingers through her hair in a tragic and fatigued way.

‘What happened then, Mum?’ asked Jess, making a huge effort to control her temper. ‘Sit down. Let me make you some soup.’ Jess pushed her mum down into her chair.

‘I’ll open a tin of that lovely tomato soup, dear,’ said Granny. ‘I need a bit of exercise.’

‘So what happened in the library?’ asked Jess.

‘Was anyone taken ill?’ asked Granny eagerly. ‘I was in the post office once when a man fainted – with a terrible gargling noise. We had to call an ambulance. I never knew what happened to him. It’s always worried me rather, but I suppose I’ll never know now, because it was in 1974.’

‘Oh, nothing happened in the library really,’ said Jess’s mum. ‘Just some teenagers messing around with the computer and being cheeky. Alison didn’t come in because she’s got flu, so we were short-staffed, and I didn’t even get a lunch break. And then a smelly man came in and asked me to explain the system to him. I had to explain it three times and it was only halfway through the third time that I realised he had dementia.’