Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco (8 page)

‘This is weird.’

‘Oh, please, Jess! You were so helpful when I needed to get rid of Ken. It’s a bit strange dating after all this time. It’s years and years since Dad and I split up.’

‘Fine.’ Jess shrugged awkwardly. ‘Fix it up. I’ll be there. Not the weekend after next, though – I’ll be in Dorset. I assume I’m allowed to go?’ Actually, agreeing to the foursome with Ed the Builder and Polly the Daughter was a useful bargaining tool for getting Mum on side about the Dorset trip, even though, secretly, Jess was beginning to think of the weekend at the beach as a huge obstacle to organising the dinner dance. This was such a shame – normally a trip to the sea with her best friends would have been the high point of her year.

‘All right, but I reserve the right to reorganise your travel plans if there’s any more talk of Jack driving you down.’

Jess sighed heavily. Mum’s phobias really made life hard sometimes. ‘OK, OK,’ she agreed. ‘Now I’ve got to go upstairs and answer a few emails.’

‘You have done your homework, haven’t you?’ asked Mum suspiciously.

‘Of course!’ lied Jess with a smile. Poor Mum! Little did she know that not only had Jess not done her homework yet, but that she had forged Mum’s signature in the homework book to confirm that she
had
done it. Mum didn’t even know the homework book existed. Jess had forged Mum’s signature every day since the start of the school year back in September. In fact, forging Mum’s signature was the nearest Jess had come to satisfying creative work recently – apart from designing the Chaos tickets.

Later on, Jess conjured up her inbox. Nothing from Dad. He hadn’t rung, either, and he probably wouldn’t now, because it was after ten and talking on mobiles was expensive – and he knew that Mum didn’t like him calling Jess on her mobile for long chats because Mum was convinced that mobiles were bad for you. He could have sent an email, though. Jess wasn’t sure Dad would have any useful input about the dinner dance anyway. And she still didn’t want to tell Mum, because she knew Mum would go ballistic.

An email from Fred suddenly popped into view. Eagerly, Jess opened it.

Maybe we should do some more work on our routine for Chaos? I’ve gone off meerkats. Any ideas?

Any ideas? Any ideas? Jess seethed with rage. Didn’t Fred understand that there were more important things to fix than their routine? How can you have a dinner dance without dinner or dancing? Jess was too furious to reply.

Chapter 10

Just as she was taking off her make-up, Jess realised that her dad hadn’t rung back. This was annoying. Usually, when she phoned Dad and Phil answered, they’d have a good old chat and then he’d get Dad to return her call the minute he came home. Jess grabbed her mobile and called Dad on his mobile. It was worth killing a few brain cells just to make sure nothing was wrong with the old boy.

‘Hi, Messica!’ He sounded just fine.

‘Dad! Or should I say, Lord Volcano?’

‘How are you, old bean?’

‘Good! But why didn’t you call me back? I rang earlier and left a message with Phil.’

‘Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot. I’ve got so much on my mind at the moment – if you can call it a mind.’

‘How’s lovely St Ives?’ Jess could easily picture his fabulous house with the sea sparkling nearby and the gulls screaming overhead. ‘And how’s Phil? He didn’t have time to talk. He said he was busy.’

‘Oh, he’s cooking up this new project – uh – he’s thinking of starting up a new boutique in Barcelona.’

‘Barcelona?’

‘Yup. Erm, yes.’

‘Where is Barcelona again?’ Though Jess’s geography was appalling, she had a feeling it wasn’t the next village along from St Ives.

‘Spain, last time I looked.’

‘Oh, amazing! You’ll be able to have lots of lovely trips there! Is it by the sea?’

‘Yes, and it’s a wonderful city.’ Dad sounded wistful, as if he was longing to go there right now. ‘It’s got a very special cathedral.’

‘Never mind the cathedral! Lead me to those beaches! I will be able to come and see you, won’t I? Will you be moving there completely or will Phil just be going to and from Cornwall?’

‘I don’t really know. It’s all up in the air at the moment. He’s trying to raise some capital. He needs backers.’

‘Well, tell him he can have next week’s pocket money!’ Jess felt so excited about Phil’s new project. ‘As long as I can have a weekend in Barcelona sometime.’

‘Of course you can.’

At this point Mum knocked on Jess’s door. ‘Jess!’ she called. ‘Are you talking on your mobile? You know I don’t like you doing that. Your mobile is for emergencies!’

‘It’s only Dad!’ yelled Jess. Mum opened the door and peeked in.

‘Did he ring? Honestly! He knows my views on mobiles!’

‘No, no, I rang him,’ insisted Jess.

‘I’d better go,’ said Dad. ‘I can hear trouble brewing.’

Oh no! She hadn’t had time to ask Dad’s advice about organising the dinner dance, and now she couldn’t mention it with Mum standing there. Disaster! She had killed thousands of brain cells for nothing!

Once the call ended, Mum looked relieved that the brain-radiation danger was past. Instead of giving Jess a hard time about it (certainly one of her usual options), she sat down gingerly on the bed and waggled her feet about. This was always a sign that she had something slightly dodgy to say.

‘It’s all arranged,’ she said.

‘What is?’ Jess felt a spear of fear. Her mum arranging things was often bad news, involving dentists and trips to museums.

‘The outing with Ed the Builder and his daughter Molly – er, Polly.’

Jess’s heart sank. Still, she had to endure this in order to keep Mum sweet about the weekend in Dorset. Although maybe it would be a good thing if Mum said she couldn’t go to Dorset after all – then she would be forced to stay at home and concentrate on Chaos. Life was so confusing at the moment.

‘We’re going to the new James Bond film and then we’re going to have pizza afterwards,’ said Mum doubtfully.

‘Sounds perfect!’ Jess beamed. It seemed Mum needed a bit of reassurance. ‘It’ll be great!’

Once Mum had gone away, Jess lay down in bed, but she didn’t switch off her bedside light. She stared at the ceiling, haunted by the awful thought that there was so little time before Chaos. She’d been thrilled when their poster campaign, plus a lot of word-of-mouth boasting, had resulted in huge interest and the tickets had been snapped up like hot cakes. Yes, ninety-two people were going to be turning up at St Mark’s Church Hall on 14 February, all kitted out in their best and expecting a good time. And they’d paid for it. Jess so desperately wanted to put on a good show for them, but organising the details was almost driving her round the bend.

Suddenly Jess remembered the envelope bursting with cheques and cash – she must count it, and tomorrow after school she and Fred could go into the bank, open an account and stash the money safely away. She threw open the wardrobe doors and peered into the gloom. There was a tumbled heap of clothes in the bottom of the wardrobe, as usual. Jess knelt down and tossed the clothes aside. There were her best party shoes – black patent leather, with wicked heels. Her toes twinged at the sight of them. And there was her second-best pair of trainers, which she thought she’d lost! But where was the plastic box?

Jess’s heart gave a sickening lurch. She grabbed all the remaining items of clothing and hurled them backwards over her head, until the bottom of the wardrobe was quite clear, apart from shoes. The box was gone! For a mad, blind moment she thought somebody must have nicked it. Could somebody have tricked their way in here, telling Granny they were from the government’s Wardrobe Inspection Scheme? Granny hadn’t said anything about it.

For an even madder moment Jess wondered if Granny – or even Mum – had stolen the box themselves. No, no, that was insane. But where was it? Heart thumping in anguish, Jess sat back on her heels, closed her eyes and tried to remember the day she’d stashed the cheques away. All she could remember was getting into a bit of an anxious spin back then, and trying several different hiding places. She leapt to her feet and pulled out the drawers of her dressing table.

She was faced with half a bar of very old chocolate, a button off her new jacket, a ballpoint pen showing a muscle man (whose pants descended when the pen was tipped up), a teaspoon, a library membership card with tea stains on it, a miniature elephant wearing a tutu (in plastic), a key ring shaped like a sports car . . . so many treasures, but not the slightest trace of any cheques or cash.

Socks! Jess remembered stuffing some notes into a sock! She pulled out her sock drawer and thrust her hand into sock after sock. Wait! A crackle! Banknotes! £75, the price of a double ticket. But whose was it? Jess’s blood ran cold. Why hadn’t she kept better records?

Suddenly Mum burst in without knocking. She looked puzzled and a bit fraught.

‘Jess, turn your light off! It’s eleven o’clock! You’ve got school tomorrow!’ Then she took in the mess. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ She gazed around, horrified.

‘Just looking for something,’ said Jess, scrunching the banknotes up in her hand. She felt so guilty – but why? She was organising this thing perfectly legitimately – the money in her hand was somebody’s payment, which she was perfectly entitled to have. It was the utter chaos of her performance so far that filled her with guilt. She couldn’t bear Mum to know how rubbish she had been at organising this. Mum would have a fit.

‘Looking for what?’ demanded Mum.

‘Uh, m-my old purse,’ stammered Jess in a flap. ‘It had . . . my history club card in it.’

‘History club?’ Mum seemed strangely, inconveniently charmed by this idea. ‘I didn’t know there was a history club.’ No wonder she didn’t know – Jess had only just invented it.

‘Yes.’ Jess stood up and started throwing socks back into the drawer. ‘It’s boring really.’

‘History’s not boring!’ cried Mum in rapture. ‘What do you do?’

‘Oh, we have meetings and talks about historical people, you know.’ Jess tried to sound bored. ‘Sometimes there are trips to . . . old buildings and stuff.’

‘What old buildings?’

‘Oh, you know, churches and things . . .’

‘Which churches have you been to?’ asked Mum, clearly thrilled.

‘None.’ Jess hated to disappoint her, but she had to draw a veil over this fictional club ASAP. ‘I didn’t go because basically I hate churches – no offence, God.’

‘Of course you don’t hate churches!’ cried Mum in dismay. ‘Remember St Petrock’s in Parracombe?’

Jess gave her a blank stare. ‘Sorry, no.’

‘That lovely little church we saw on our way back from visiting Dad in St Ives!’ Mum raved on. ‘You said it was the loveliest church you’d ever seen!’ Jess remembered, now, how saying that had been part of a bigger plan to deserve an ice cream once they arrived in a proper town.

‘Mum, I’ll tell you more about history club tomorrow, OK? And I’ll tidy my room in the morning.’ Jess lay down in bed, yawned and tried to look sleepy, though she had never felt less dozy – the thought that she had managed to lose thousands of pounds had set off a kind of electrical storm in her tummy.

‘OK, then,’ Mum said, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, love!’

Jess lay down and closed her eyes as Mum switched off the light and went out. Instantly Jess’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed her phone. Under the covers she started texting away like mad.