Girls, Guilty but Somehow Glorious (20 page)

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35

SATURDAY 10.00 a.m.

Fireworks, fireworks, fireworks . . .

I’d wasted hours worrying about the greedy money-grabbing women who might be running the Oxfam shop, but it turned out to be the nicest person in the world, although she did have a nose like an eagle. She beamed at us, listened to our story (the truth for once) and found the money in a jiffy. Two minutes later we were back out on the pavement with the sacred envelope containing the big bucks firmly grasped in my hot little hand.

‘Thank God it was my guardian angel’s shift this morning!’ I said. ‘Here, Tam, you look after it now.’ Tam put it in her bag, but there was a slightly awkward feeling somewhere in the air, because, of course, it was partly Chloe’s money, and we had come so near to losing it completely. A tingle of horror ran down my back when I imagined what it would have been like to lose it.

I had to stop brooding. Next stop was the fancy-dress-hire place. We got a bit hysterical as we walked there. I think it was the relief.

‘Why stop at hiring a tux?’ giggled Tam. ‘You two should have a sex change. I’ve always wanted a brother.’

‘I couldn’t handle having a willy,’ I said with a shudder. ‘There’s not enough room in my trousers as it is!’

‘Horrid!’ screamed Chloe. ‘Gross! A root vegetable hanging off your body! Ugh!’

Suddenly my mobile laughed. I jumped. I was kind of nervy after everything that had happened in the past few hours.

‘Hi, Zoe! This is Jackie!’ For a moment I couldn’t think who on earth Jackie was. ‘Jackie Norman. I was wondering if you could possibly babysit tonight? And we still owe you for last time. The twins are longing to see you again.’

‘I’m so sorry, Jackie,’ I said, almost unable to conceal my glee. ‘It’s the Earthquake Ball tonight and we’re all going.’

‘Oh, no!’ gasped Jackie. ‘Of course! I was reading all about it in the local paper. But that means that everybody else will be going too, I suppose? What about Chloe?’

‘Yes, Chloe’s going,’ I said. Then I had a sudden idea. ‘I do know somebody who isn’t, though,’ I went on. ‘But he’s a boy.’

‘Oh, a boy would be fine,’ Jackie assured me. She’d have been quite happy for a boa constrictor to baby-sit her horrendous offspring, if no humans were available.

‘I’ll get him to ring you,’ I said. Jackie sounded grateful. I stood right there on the pavement and found Scott, the strange fish-eyed nerd, in my phone’s address book. I rang him. OK, it was kind of mean. But on the other hand –

‘Hi,’ said Scott. He didn’t sound any more alive than when we’d tried to interview him.

‘Scott!’ I said breezily. ‘This is Zoe Morris. We were talking about the life coach thing, you remember?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Scott, sounding panicky. ‘How is – was – your dog? Did he . . . ?’

‘He survived!’ I assured him. ‘Thanks. It was just a scratch. He’s such a drama queen. But listen, Scott . . . We haven’t got the life coach thing off the ground yet, but in the meantime, I do have another job for you – only it’s tonight. You wouldn’t mind babysitting, I assume?’

‘Oh no,’ said Scott. ‘I quite like – uh – kids.’ Possibly because he was one himself.

I swiftly gave him the Normans’ number and, after a few thanks and raptures, rang off.

I felt a bit mean for a split second, but after all, he was a terrible nerd. Besides, who knows? He might just have that X factor which the Norman twins were looking for. Maybe he’d be able to quell them with one flash of his fishy eyes.

‘OK, that’s all sorted,’ I said. ‘Poor Scott is going to take a beating tonight, babysitting for the Normans, but, babes, we are the lucky ones, cos we’re going to the Ball!’

We arrived at the dress-hire place, collected some tuxedos and went off to the changing rooms. I dived into my tux, and the result was pretty amazing. I slicked back my hair, and the tuxedo and black trousers were just slightly on the large side, which was flattering.

‘A sex-change op isn’t compulsory,’ said Tam, brushing my collar, ‘but I have to admit that, if you weren’t my sister, and if you weren’t really a girl . . .’

‘Oh, shut up!’ I grinned. ‘Don’t be so vile!’ I liked the way I looked, though. It was strange. I could so easily have been born a boy. I looked a bit like a young version of Dad. How different my life would have been as a male. Chloe looked great in her tux, too.

‘Would you like to see the beards and moustaches?’ asked the assistant. We screamed with delight at the idea of facial hair. At least, facial hair as a fashion choice. Not, obviously, the wiry stuff that grows out of warts.

I selected a stylish goatee, and the best thing of all was that it totally covered up Nigel and his evil flashing. Chloe chose a ginger moustache to match her hair.

We left the dress-hire place loaded down with big cardboard carriers and cute little boxes for the beards and stuff. I have rarely felt more divine. We went back home to while away the time before we had to start getting ready. It was going to take a fraction of the time it usually took, because we wouldn’t have to bother about shaving our legs, or getting our eyebrows just right, or trying on and discarding six hundred different necklaces.

We shared a pizza for lunch, watched a DVD, and eventually it was time to get ready to go out. I got back into my tux and waxed my hair. I was almost a babe-magnet as a boy. Weird! I’d never been a boy-magnet as a girl. I sighed. Life was harsh.

But I didn’t want a sex change, because Oliver Wyatt was a boy. Boy, oh boy, was he a boy. Would he be at the Ball? Even if he was, he was sure to blank me. I still hadn’t had a chance to explain about the lie I’d told about living on a farm. He obviously regarded me as a bizarre fantasist.

Toby and Fergus arrived and fell about when they saw us.

‘Wow!’ grinned Toby. ‘You’ve got more testosterone in your little finger than I have in my whole body!’

‘That’s not saying much.’ I grinned. ‘But hey! Who were those girls you dumped? Were they blondes? How did you wriggle out of that one?’

‘Oh,TheyDidn’tMind,’ said Fergus with a cunning grin. ‘TheySaidThey’d JustAsSoonStayInTheirBoxes.’

‘Their
boxes
?’

‘Yeah,’ explained Toby, ‘they said they’d just as soon stay at home and not be inflated.’

‘Inflated?’ screeched Chloe. ‘Not blow-up dolls?’

‘Yeah.’ Fergus grinned. ‘WeHadThisIdea,Right? TakeACoupleOf Blow-UpDolls, Fill’EmWith Helium AndLet’EmGo!’

‘Where on earth were you going to get them?’ asked Chloe in disgust.

‘Gary said he’d get a couple for us,’ said Toby. Gary is Fergus’s cousin. He’s about twenty-two, and should know better.

‘Well, thank God we saved you from total disgrace!’ said Chloe. ‘What could be more tacky and gross?’

The Ball was taking place at the Eastdene Country Club a few miles out of town. Buses had been hired to pick up everybody from our school and take us all there. Dad drove us to school.

The buses arrived, right on cue. I sat across the aisle from Jess Jordan, who was wearing a leopard-print shrug over a black dress. Her eyebrows didn’t match, but she still looked completely charming, if slightly insane.

‘Save the last dance for me, Jess,’ I said, giving her a seductive grin and waggling my eyebrows about in a parody of masculine ogling.

‘You complete and utter legend, Zoe,’ said Jess. ‘I
so
wish I had thought of that! I feel so lame in this boring old dress. I love your goatee!’

The Ball was magnificent. The buffet was to die for, the band was fabulous, and we all, well, had a ball. Loads of people kept coming up and saying what a great idea it was for us to go in tuxedos. And Flora Barclay told me the whole thing had raised thousands of pounds for the earthquake victims, which was good – although it did briefly make me feel intensely guilty for being at a ball at all.

I bumped into Jess again at the buffet, where we were both loading our plates with chicken wings.

‘Flora says she fancies you in your tux,’ whispered Jess, ‘which is a tad worrying! But what I want to know is: which loos do you go to?’

‘The girls’, of course,’ I said. ‘I still haven’t mastered the art of peeing standing up.’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Jess. ‘I’ve often wished I could do that! Country walks would be so much easier.’

I was really enjoying being in my tux. Boys’ clothes are so restful. My shoes were flat black lace-ups, of course, and no matter how much I boogied, my feet felt one hundred per cent wonderful. In a dress I’d have been constantly thinking about my appearance, and after half an hour of teetering about on heels my poor toes would have been raw hamburger. Boys had it really lucky, in a way. Wearing a tux was liberating.

We were all having a breather and a quick drink at our table near the band, when suddenly a gruesome foursome loomed up: Beast, with Lauren Piper clinging to his arm, and Donut wrapped round a bottle blonde whose roots needed re-touching.

‘Hi, guys!’ said Beast cheerily. ‘I’m looking for a couple of extra blokes for a rugby match next Wednesday – a flanker and a hooker.’

‘If it’s a flanker and a hooker you want,’ I said, ‘I suggest you look in the mirror.’ I don’t quite understand rugby talk, but it sounded something like a put-down.

Beast laughed, winked at me, and moved off. Lauren looked triumphant.

‘She’ll soon find out what he’s like,’ said Chloe, and sighed. And then – she blushed! Again! I was going to have to watch her, and no mistake. What’s more, the blush clashed with her ginger moustache. Pink and orange are a bit too lively together, in my opinion.

However, Chloe’s tuxedo seemed to be offering some protection: I didn’t think even Beast would have the nerve to hit on her while she was in boy’s clothing, especially as he had another girl actually attached to his arm.

‘I’m going to the loos to check on my moustache,’ said Chloe. It seemed as if she wanted a moment by herself. I decided to go out on to the terrace to get a bit of fresh air.

As I arrived outside, an explosion of fireworks lit up the country park: the lake, the woods, the sky. Everything seemed very beautiful. The whole evening was just divine. I was so glad we’d made it.

‘Hi there,’ said a voice in the dark. I turned round. It was Oliver.

My heart performed a double somersault, my face boiled, and my braces burst, but luckily some fireworks went off at the same time, and the darkness covered my blushes.

‘Nice tux,’ he added. The ghost of a smile crossed his handsome face.

‘Listen,’ I said. The time had come. ‘I’m sorry. It was all a lie about living on a farm. For reasons which must remain private.’

Oliver was quiet. We watched a few more rockets soar above the woods. My heart was racing.

‘Well, curiously,’ he replied, ‘I was also lying about wanting to be a vet. For reasons which must also remain a mystery.’

There was a long, long, pause. Before, just my heart had been racing, with panic and excitement. Now my brain was whirling as well. What was he trying to say? Something? Anything? Nothing?

The firework display came to an end, and there was a gunpowdery smell on the night air.

‘I’d ask you to dance,’ said Oliver, ‘but people would talk.’

I grinned, although I wasn’t completely sure what I was grinning at. Just then, with disastrous timing, Toby and Fergus lurched out of the ballroom behind us.

‘Hello, chaps!’ Toby grinned. ‘How’s the goatee holding up, Zoe – or should I call you Joey?’

I muttered some rubbish about how I was going to wear it for the rest of my life. For once, I wished Toby and Fergus would get lost. If they’d known I had a crush on Oliver, they might have tiptoed off tactfully instead of ruining my almost-magic moment.

Oliver didn’t stay long after Toby and Fergus appeared. He just said, ‘See you,’ gave me a secret kind of nod – or was it, perhaps, just an ordinary nod? – and strolled off into the darkness.

Toby and Fergus were arguing about whether all vodka comes from Russia, or something equally ludicrous, but I found it impossible to concentrate on anything anyone said. That amazing revelation from Oliver just kept whizzing round and round in my head. It seemed to give off dazzling sparks. He’d been lying about wanting to be a vet? What on earth had he meant by it? I hardly dared think.

The fireworks had been a sign that the evening was over. But it also felt like a prelude, as if something was beginning. Or was I imagining things? On the bus on the way home, I slipped into a kind of dream. Had Oliver been trying to tell me something? If so, what?

Maybe he was gay – and he only fancied me if I was dressed as a boy! A terrible thought. But I was quite willing to become a transvestite if that was what was required. A transsexual, even.

Mum and Dad had gone to bed when I got home, but Tam was still up, and we had a cup of hot choc together. I told her what a fantastic time we’d had, and about Oliver’s mysterious words.

‘It must mean he was only
pretending
to be interested in being a vet,’ said Tam, ‘because he fancied you so much, and when he heard you lived on a farm he saw it as a chance to get to know you.’

‘God, no, Tam!’ I said, my heart looping the loop, ‘No, no, that can’t be true! Do you really think so?’