Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco (24 page)

‘Jess!’ cried Gemma. ‘We can’t come to Chaos after all! My dad broke his ankle! Can we have our money back?’

Jess hadn’t anticipated this kind of thing. She forgot, for a moment, to look magnificent and cruel and instead became a limp, gibbering puppet on invisible tangled strings. ‘Er, I’m not sure . . . uh, I suppose so . . . um, urgh . . .’

Gemma thrust four tickets into Jess’s shaking hand. ‘Can you let me have a full refund today?’ she demanded, her perfect black bob gleaming glossily in the morning light. Jess was beginning to hate Gemma’s hair. She was making plans to smuggle a ball of recently chewed gum into it at the earliest opportunity.

‘Well . . . you see, the money’s in the bank and I haven’t got the chequebook with me.’ Jess hesitated. Gemma looked cross and surprised.

‘My mum said, like, you’d have to give us a full refund because it’s not for another five days and you’ll be able to sell the tickets to somebody else, right?’

‘Yes, of course!’ Jess nodded emphatically, as if this was something she dealt with every hour, even though the idea of reselling the tickets to somebody else hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘I could probably bring a cheque round tonight,’ she suggested feebly. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Little Granscombe,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s way out in the country past the shopping centre.’

‘Oh, er . . .’ Jess was still struggling to stay polite. ‘How about if I bring the cheque to school tomorrow?’

‘Hmmm.’ Gemma sounded doubtful. She pursed her lips – suddenly Jess realised that Gemma’s lips were rather horrid and pouty. She was going to pout big-time when she discovered that ball of chewing gum in her hair. ‘I’ll call my mum at lunchtime and ask. Maybe you should give us an IOU.’

Jess’s temper almost snapped, but she knew it was important to keep customers happy. As she ripped open her school bag to find a scrap of paper, she vowed she would never again in her entire life organise anything or sell anything. A majorly terrifying thought hit her: what if Martin’s band was rubbish and Dad’s lighting blew a fuse and the buffet – wherever that was going to come from – gave everybody food poisoning? Would they all ask for their money back?

Jess tore a page out of her rough book, scribbled
I owe Gemma Fawcett
£
150, Jess Jordan
, then handed it over. Gemma looked at it suspiciously.

‘It looks a bit scrappy,’ she commented disdainfully.

‘Don’t worry,’ snarled Jess. ‘I’ll give you another one at lunchtime on gold embossed paper, delivered on a red plush cushion by a freakin’ footman in a wig and tights!’ Then she stalked off, leaving Gemma open-mouthed. This was the best moment of the day so far.

Jess was late for registration, and entered the classroom looking magnificent and cruel. Flora had bagged the best radiator under a window, so Jess joined her, ignoring everybody else, and sat down cruelly and magnificently. Fred was going to grovel before her grandeur!

While Mr Fothergill droned through a few announcements, Flora leaned in close to Jess’s ear and whispered, ‘Fred’s away. Mackenzie says he’s got flu!’

Jess felt a lurch of something: disappointment, concern and then disbelief. Fred wasn’t here? Suddenly the room felt a very different place. He had the flu? Oh yeah? Or was he just faking it because he didn’t have the nerve to face her? She shot Flora a sceptical eyebrow and sighed deeply. How absolutely typical. Still, at least she didn’t have to be magnificent and cruel all the time. It was hard work.

At break a few people gathered round Jess to hear the latest Chaos details.

‘So, what’s the name of this band again?’ asked Flora, who was deeply relieved that Poisonous Trash was not going to be resurrected.

‘It’s The Martin Davies Quartet,’ said Jess.

‘How are you going to manage, now Fred’s got the flu?’ demanded Jodie melodramatically.

‘Oh, no problem!’ Jess assured her breezily. ‘I was organising the whole thing anyway. Admin isn’t Fred’s strong point.’ She wanted to keep things light and casual. Nobody must know that she and Fred had had that terrible bust-up. Nobody except Flora, that is.

‘But what about the hosting?’ Jodie persisted. ‘Wasn’t it going to be a double act? Fred’s so hilarious!’

‘Well, sorry, but you’re just going to have to manage with boring old me!’ Jess was trying hard to keep her temper again.

‘You’re gonna have a lot on your plate,’ said Ben Jones quietly. ‘Is there anything I could do to help?’

‘I thought you’d bought tickets, Ben?’ pounced Jodie, who had already spent many hours speculating which lucky girl was going to be escorted to Chaos by the divine Ben.

‘Yeah, I’ve bought tickets and stuff, but I don’t mind helping as well,’ said Ben casually. ‘I could, um, be on the door if you like?’ His magical blue eyes washed over Jess like a Caribbean wave. There had always been a little tiny frisson of something or other between them, once she’d got over the huge crush she had had on him a year ago. But she’d never felt like tiptoeing into that territory, even during Fred’s worst moments of foolishness. Ben was, in some ultimate way, kind of vulnerable despite his glamour, and she’d always known, since getting together with Fred, that Ben Jones was not for her. Although now it seemed that Fred might not be for her, either.

‘On the door?’ gasped Jess. Of course! They needed somebody on the door! This was another thing that she hadn’t thought about – and nor had Fred, the lazy toad, lying cosily at home on his sofa pretending to be ill while she toiled over a hot Chaos. ‘That would be fabulous!’ She smiled gratefully. It would give the whole evening a tremendously stylish quality to have somebody as handsome as Ben Jones checking the tickets. ‘What I also need,’ Jess went on, trying to look relaxed and confident even though she was treading on thin ice, ‘is possibly a bit of help with the buffet?’

‘I thought you were getting caterers in?’ demanded Jodie.

‘Oh yes, of course – we are,’ lied Jess hastily.

‘Who are they?’ asked Jodie. Jess couldn’t help thinking that Jodie’s hair, as well as Gemma’s, might benefit from some chewing gum.

‘It’s a new company,’ said Jess, casting around desperately for a name that would suit an exciting young business venture, ‘called, uh, The Eating Machine.’

‘Horrid name,’ said Jodie. ‘They should change it.’ Jess made hasty plans to buy several packs of chewing gum.

At lunchtime, Flora had a music lesson so Jess hid away in a quiet corner of the library and worked on her hosting script. So Fred was ‘hilarious’, was he? She was going to be twice as hilarious as he had ever been! Her mind was racing with indignation, and she scribbled down masses of ideas.

Cinderella was perfect territory.
I
’m not supposed to be here
, she wrote.
I was
n
’t allowed to go to the ball. My fairy godmother turned up and promised me a makeover, but sh
e
’s so disorganised – sh
e
’d forgotten to charge her wand . . .
There were lots of possible jokes about ugly sisters and pumpkins and mice and glass slippers and that needy nerd Buttons, who was always hanging about . . . Jess was having more fun than she’d had in weeks.

Chapter 30

Jess walked as far as Flora’s house with Flora and Jack. Because Jack was there, she and Flora couldn’t embark on really sensitive subjects.

‘How’s Fred?’ asked Jack.

‘Oh, fine,’ said Jess, gritting her teeth. ‘Although he’s got the flu, I expect it’s the very best sort. How’s George?’

‘He’s good,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, he said he might like to come to Chaos if you’ve got four tickets spare?’

‘I’m not sure,’ muttered Jess, her heart going into overdrive. If George and the guys were there, they might undermine everything with some stupid stunt. She’d enjoyed working on her script so much at lunchtime that she couldn’t bear the thought of being upstaged by those idiots. ‘I think we’re all sold out, I’m sorry.’

‘No, you’re not!’ exclaimed Flora with a puzzled little frown. ‘Didn’t you have some tickets left anyway? And you told me Gemma Fawcett returned her four today, so that makes how many . . . ?’

‘So would there be six spare?’ asked Jack. ‘George’s girlfriend is at St Benedict’s, and Tom wants to bring somebody called Rhiannon.’

‘And Humph?’ said Jess, accepting the inevitable – the tomfoolery crowd were coming to ruin her event. They would certainly pull some dreadful stunt to hijack the occasion. ‘Does Humph have a girlfriend? It’s kind of hard to imagine.’

Jack laughed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘He’s a bit mysterious . . . maybe he’ll come with Gubbins.’

‘Six tickets, then?’ said Flora enthusiastically. Jess wished Flora would keep her nose out. Having George and Co coming to Chaos revived Jess’s feelings of terror and nausea.

‘Yeah,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll bring the cheque in tomorrow. That’s how much exactly?’

‘Over to you, brainbox,’ Jess said acidly to Flora.

‘Two hundred and twenty-five pounds,’ said Flora. ‘Big bucks! Oxfam will be thrilled!’

‘Wow! Big money talks!’ said Jack, putting his arm around Flo and turning to Jess with a smile. ‘I’m only after her millions, you know.’

‘You’re heading for a big disappointment, then,’ said Flora. ‘My dad’s really worried about his business – he said he might go bust before the end of the summer.’

‘What?’ cried Jess in alarm. ‘But I thought your dad’s business was rock solid. Everybody needs bathrooms!’

‘Hmm,’ said Flora, looking a bit serious now. ‘Apparently nobody’s having bathroom makeovers these days. They’re making do with their tired old bathrooms from three years ago.’

‘The tight-fisted swine!’ exclaimed Jess. ‘How dare they? We should break into people’s houses at night and trash their bathrooms!’

Flora smiled, but only faintly.

‘When we bought these tickets Dad said that it would be the last family treat for some time,’ added Flora edgily.

‘No!’ Jess was dismayed. But she wasn’t just shocked for Flora, because her comfortable lifestyle might soon come to an end (her big house with all mod cons, her silk-clad mum sprawled on a huge cloudy white sofa, beautiful sisters wearing designer jeans and playing the flute, father sucking indigestion pills while booking holidays in Antigua . . .). Jess also had a more personal concern. If Chaos was to be the Barclay family’s last treat for a while, and it turned out to be a five-star fiasco, Mr Barclay would be just the kind of guy to demand his money back – loudly, right there and then, in front of everybody. Jess felt horribly uneasy.

She left Flora and Jack at Flo’s house, which now looked strangely forlorn despite the big posh front door and the matching bay trees in pots on either side. Flora had invited her in, but Jess had stuff to do – most importantly she had to get home and ask Granny if Deborah was up for organising the buffet. And she couldn’t wait to get cracking on her hosting script again. For a split second she wondered if anyone – not Fred, literally anyone – had sent her a text, so she checked her phone. Nothing.

‘Hi, Jess!’

She looked up and was startled to see Polly the Goth, with her red hair and metal-studded chalky-white face, daughter of Mum’s second worst date, Ed the Builder.

‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ said Polly. Jess remembered that they had exchanged contact details.