Girls to Total Goddesses (14 page)

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26

‘Hi, Zoe!’ she called. ‘I’ve come to collect the artwork. I thought I’d save you the trouble of dropping by tomorrow.’

I came downstairs, trying to hide my fury. She’d spoilt my chance of seeing Beast tomorrow. OK, I might not have seen him at all, and it would only have been a glimpse, but still . . .

‘That idiot Beast left his mobile in the office,’ said Charlie, following me through to the kitchen. Dad went out into the garden to pick some herbs or something. He’s sometimes quite sensitive about leaving me private space if my friends come round. Mum hovers and eavesdrops.

‘I heard your voicemail arrive,’ Charlie went on, ‘so I checked it in case it was something important.’

‘Do you always listen to his voicemail?’ I said, trying to sound teasing and lighthearted even though I was longing to pluck Mum’s flowers from their vase on the window sill and smash the dripping stinky stalks right up Charlie’s nose. ‘You must be really close. Have you managed to tame the Beast, then?’

I picked up the envelope containing the artwork, turned and tried hard to give Charlie a taunting look. She smiled a horrid, secret, cocky smile. All my alarm bells started ringing so loud, it sounded like the Vatican at Easter.

‘I think I have,’ she smirked.

‘Only
think
?’ I tried to hide my desperation. ‘Aren’t you sure? Hasn’t he swept you up in his manly arms and said, “
Charlie, you are amazing. I must speak to your father immediately
”?’

‘Well, almost,’ said Charlie. ‘I managed to get through to Rose Quartz’s manager and I insisted that we must have a decision, and somehow or other . . . I managed to convince them!’

Charlie was taking all the credit for this, but of course I knew the whole Rose Quartz thing had been possible because Charlie’s uncle ran Major Events, and he’d been at uni with Rose’s manager.

‘So guess what! Rose Quartz has committed! She’s on board!’

‘That’s great,’ I had to admit. ‘Beast will be relieved.’

‘So relieved,’ whispered Charlie, ‘that he swept me up into a huge hug and said he didn’t know what he’d do without me!’

My heart shattered into a hundred tiny fragments which went
tinkle tinkle tinkle
on to the marble floor of my soul. I was so tempted to tell her that Beast had hugged me once, too, out on the school field, when he was in a playful mood – that there was hardly a girl in town he hadn’t hugged, especially a year or so ago when he was seriously into hugging everyone in sight.

I managed not to, though, because it was essential I mustn’t appear to be a rival. Besides, the memory of that time Beast had hugged me was particularly painful, because back then I had hated Beast, hated every second of the hug, and when he hoisted me up on his shoulder and whirled me round and round, I had been mortified and enraged and desperate for him to stop.

I felt quite dizzy now at the memory of it. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘don’t forget to invite me to the wedding, because I have a weakness for insane hats.’

‘Oh, Zoe!’ sniggered Charlie. ‘Don’t be an idiot!’ She squeezed my arm to indicate that I was, in fact, just the kind of idiot she liked. ‘So I don’t think I’m going to need you to find out what he thinks of me, after all! Isn’t it amazing?’

At this point Dad re-entered the kitchen carrying a bunch of herbs and I introduced him to Charlie. Dad’s always careful not to leer at pretty friends of mine, or say inappropriate things, but he has a certain smile which appears when he’s introduced to somebody really gorgeous and he doesn’t seem able to control it, even if Mum’s around. I saw this smile appear now.

‘Oh, a chef!’ smiled Charlie flirtatiously. ‘How wonderful! I wish I lived here!’ I stifled the desire to attack her with the meat tenderiser. Not content with grabbing my heart-throb Beast, she was now seducing my dad!

‘Oh, you wouldn’t like me as a dad,’ he assured her, moving rapidly away towards the sink. ‘Zoe will tell you about my many disgusting habits.’

‘No, I won’t!’ I assured him briskly. ‘Anyway, here’s the artwork . . .’

‘Let’s have a look at it, then,’ demanded Charlie. I pulled it out of the envelope. Her face changed. The twinkly post-flirtatious expression dropped away. She frowned. It was a maddeningly cute little frown, but welcome anyway after all that hideous leering at my dad.

‘It’s totally different!’ she gasped. ‘God . . . this is, like, not the same image at all. What is this, Zoe?’

‘It’s the winning artist’s latest thoughts on the subject of Jailhouse Rock,’ I said firmly. ‘It was impossible to recreate the other image, and we think this one’s better anyway. Much simpler.’ I gave her a challenging glare. Charlie looked dubious.

‘I don’t like it nearly so much,’ she said, giving me an irritated glance, as if I had seriously messed up.

‘Well, it’s what Beast thinks that really matters, isn’t it?’ I countered, in a sweet acidic tone of voice which made Charlie do a double take. Up till now she’d obviously regarded me as one of the other rather dull, identikit loser girls who floated hopelessly in her wake, like tiny rowing boats in the shadow of her magnificent cruising grandeur.

Now she looked sharply at me as if registering, for the first time, that I might actually stand up to her and offer her a bit of a challenge. Not romantically, of course, but in other niggling little ways which nevertheless, with any luck, could be irritating.

‘You’re right, of course,’ she recovered, and slid the artwork back inside the envelope. She gave me a false, bright smile. ‘Thanks so much for doing this.’

‘No problem,’ I shrugged, returning her gaze without flinching.

‘Great new look, by the way,’ she said, staring at my make-up. ‘Kind of Forties Film Noir.’

‘It’s for a pantomime,’ I said quickly. ‘Chloe and I are doing a video of the ugly sisters, just for a laugh.’

‘Oh, Zoe!’ she simpered. ‘You’re not nearly ugly enough for that, even with that vampy make-up on!’

‘Well, thanks for your vote of confidence,’ I said. ‘I’ll try harder to be ugly in future.’

‘You couldn’t look ugly in a million years!’ she trilled, patronising me now. She turned to my dad and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘It was really lovely meeting you, Mr . . .’ she faltered. She had forgotten our surname! She held out her hand.

‘Oliver,’ said Dad. ‘I can’t shake hands with you – mine are wet. Good luck with the concert. I don’t suppose I’ll be there. My appreciation of rock music stops with the Sex Pistols.’ I wished he hadn’t mentioned sex, or called himself Oliver (it’s a family joke about Jamie Oliver, Dad’s role model), but I was grateful to him for not shaking hands with Charlie.

I escorted her to the door. On the doorstep she turned, unexpectedly grabbed me and gave me a kiss on both cheeks.

‘Thanks so much!’ she breezed. ‘You’re a star!’

Having firmly put me in my place (servant), she flounced off down the path. I noticed her straight back. She was walking tall – well, she’d recently been hugged by Beast, so who wouldn’t? I became aware that I was standing in a vile slumped posture which suggested a sack of potatoes. I shouldn’t be watching her go, at all. Any minute now she might turn and wave. Hastily I started to close the door, and hey presto! She turned and waved just at the very moment when I had to peer through the door like a gothic retard, and I struck my hand quite hard on the door frame in my rushed attempt to wave back.

Game, set and match to Charlie
, I thought, trudging miserably back to the kitchen with my head sunk firmly between my shoulders like some kind of grotesque subhuman from a
Harry Potter
movie.

‘Well,’ said Dad as I entered the kitchen. ‘Who was that silly bimbo?’

‘Didn’t you think she was gorgeous?’ I asked in disbelief.

‘Oh, gorgeous in theory,’ said Dad, ‘but no man in his right mind would touch her with a bargepole.’

Although I’ve never been entirely sure what a bargepole is, I was grateful for this verdict, if mystified by it. I hoped that Beast would share Dad’s reaction to Charlie’s charisma overdose, but frankly, I doubted he would have the perspective. Dad likes women who treat him mean (Mum), but I was sure Beast needed all the cosseting he could get. And Charlie finally managing to get Rose Quartz to commit to the concert would have been a huge gold star in her already starry galaxy of attractions.

‘I’m going to do my homework,’ I said rather drearily. Dad didn’t need to know it was two days’ worth of homework, and that I’d forged his signature this morning to explain that the previous night’s homework had been interrupted by a ‘tummy upset’. Dear Dad! His ignorance of my intricate life made him somehow even more lovable.

They say that miserable women console themselves with food, and I was looking forward to my high-calorie supper in a way that was slightly ominous – it didn’t bode well for the goddess project.

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27

‘Well, we certainly learned our lesson yesterday,’ said Chloe, as we strolled along the high street after school the next day. For a moment I wasn’t sure what exactly she was referring to, since yesterday had been so crowded for me, I could hardly hold it all in my memory banks simultaneously.

‘What lesson?’

‘Getting some harpy from the beauty department to redesign us along the lines of a Bette Davis horror movie,’ sighed Chloe. ‘And she forced us into buying all that expensive stuff, too.’

‘Yeah – especially as we’re supposed to be saving up for our fabulous goddess dresses,’ I sighed.

‘How can we get the muns together in time?’ Chloe grumbled. ‘I’m totally broke.’

‘Maybe we could borrow some,’ I pondered. ‘Tam owes me a couple of favours – maybe she can dig into her student loan.’ However, I knew this idea was hopeless. Tam’s more of a borrower than a lender – in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if she called me this evening asking me to bail her out of some new financial disaster. It wouldn’t be the first time.

‘There’s always babysitting,’ suggested Chloe gloomily, even though she never babysits, because basically she’s afraid of babies.

We turned into Market Street, and suddenly disaster struck: round the corner came Beast, carrying a pile of important-looking envelopes. My heart came flying out of my mouth, did two circuits of the marketplace and came to rest on his right shoulder, although he didn’t seem to notice.

‘Hey!’ he grinned. ‘Zoe! Chloe! How goes it, Chloe? Haven’t seen you in a while.’

‘Good, yeah,’ said Chloe, looking a bit uncomfortable. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, going mad, of course, but Rose Quartz is back on board,’ said Beast.

‘The Jailhouse Rock thing?’ said Chloe. ‘Cool! She’s a legend.’

‘She’s also a pain,’ sighed Beast. ‘Never mind. I suppose she’s entitled to be a prima donna.’

‘Well, I can’t wait to see her,’ said Chloe. Beast turned to me.

‘Zoe – the poster!’ he said. ‘I like it better than the other one. It’s simpler. Well done! It’s at the printer now and we should be able to start distributing it at the weekend. Are you up for that?’

‘Uh – yes, I guess so,’ I replied.

‘Great. Well, I’ll be in touch,’ said Beast. ‘Gotta go and catch the post.’ He gave us a quick little wave, and was gone. I was expecting Chloe to say something edgy, but she smiled mischievously at me, which was a surprise.

‘If only Beast would pay us to distribute the leaflets! I’d join the team right away.’ She really didn’t seem bothered by running into him, at all. I was the one who’d secretly imploded and was now a pile of singed feathers. I would have to come clean about the state of my heart to Chloe one of these days, especially now that she was clearly less bothered about seeing him. And anyway, since he was now apparently falling under Charlie’s spell, Chloe and I were in the same boat: losers. Maybe we should form a grumpy little club and enjoy making bitchy remarks about Charlie. But first I had to come to terms with the idea myself: Beast and Charlie, an item? It hurt like hell.

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Luckily this week coincided with a quiet patch on the Jailhouse Rock front. There were no meetings: we were all waiting for the posters and leaflets to become available as there had been some hold-ups at the printer.

I needed these few days anyway, to try and sort out my feelings for Beast. It was clear that he and Charlie were either an item, or about to become one. I desperately needed to get over him so I could struggle through the next few weeks without too much anguish. I was going to be seeing him occasionally: it was unavoidable.

I tried all the usual tricks. I imagined him sitting on the loo. He looked like a king on his throne. I looked up ‘
How to get over a crush
’ on the Internet. It was full of useless things like ‘This person didn’t ask you out: get over it.’ But Beast had asked me out, last summer, and I’d rejected him in the rudest way possible. ‘Get interested in somebody else’ – that was another genius web suggestion. I watched the first of the
Pirates of the Caribbean
films, that joyous hunk fest. But, though Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom are wonderful eye candy, they didn’t cause dolphins to leap across my inner oceans as Beast did.

‘Make a list of his faults,’ advised the Internet. I got out a pencil. I wrote:
He used to think he was God’s gift to women and would flirt with everybody in sight.
The trouble was, that was in the past tense. Beast
used
to be like that. Tam told me that when she was at school he’d been a famous serial love rat. But he really seemed to have changed in the last few months.

I tried to think of one thing to add to the list.
His nose is slightly crooked.
Big deal. His nose was, of course, crooked in a way which made all straight noses look rubbish.

The best method of getting over my crush, the only thing that worked, was imagining him with Charlie. Cuddled up on her sofa watching TV . . . Beast kissing her goodnight under a street lamp . . . running his fingers through her hair . . . I forced myself to watch endless steamy imaginary videos of him and Charlie getting up close and personal, and if nothing else, it did prepare me for what I strongly suspected was the reality of the situation. I had rejected Beast when he’d asked me out, and now I had to watch him romancing somebody else.

Charlie kept us all posted about the Jailhouse Rock situation. She sent out texts with the latest about Rose Quartz. She was mildly misbehaving in LA; she fell over outside a nightclub in Hollywood and blamed the pavement; she attended a premiere dressed in a cobweb covered with raindrops; she got out of a cab and flashed her knickers at the paps. I suppose that was a good sign. At least she was still wearing some. It’s always slightly worrying when celebs give up on underwear.

Although I spent ages peering at celebs’ outfits, one of my biggest tasks was to earn enough money to buy my own. I decided to approach Mum. She was in a mellow mood after detecting a false insurance claim in Lincolnshire (that’s her work, by the way, not some bizarre hobby). I made her a cup of Earl Grey and presented it with a distinguished Prince Charles Duchy biscuit.

‘Mum.’ I smiled persuasively. ‘If I cleaned the house from top to bottom, would you give me £50? After all, you said I made a good job of the kitchen last weekend.’

Mum raised her eyebrow and bit daintily into Prince Charles’s Lemon Crunch.

‘Why would I do that,’ she enquired, ‘when every Tuesday Magda does it for forty?’

‘But I’m your daughter!’ I moaned. Mum dipped her biscuit in her tea.

‘It’s a lesson we all have to learn,’ she said. ‘You can’t buck the market.’

A couple of hours later I cornered Dad in his study. ‘Dad.’ I wrapped my arms round his shoulders (he was sitting at his PC) and attempted to strangle him with devotion. ‘Could you possibly give me my Christmas present early?’

‘I smell a rat,’ said Dad, rather unpleasantly. ‘What is this present anyway?’

‘A dress . . .’ I told him dreamily. ‘The perfect dress . . .’

‘You’ve got five thousand dresses already,’ he said with a laugh. ‘If you want it that badly, go and earn some money. Oh, there was a phone call earlier, from Jackie Norman.’

Oh no! The dreaded Norman twins! I would literally almost rather never see Beast again in my whole life than have to babysit for the Norman twins. Chloe used to come with me, but after the fiasco last time, which involved the twins peeing on us from a great height, we had vowed
Never Again
. I sighed. I knew I had to return Jackie Norman’s call, at least. It would be rude not to.

I dialled the dreaded number. One of the twins picked up. ‘HARROW! HOARROW!’ it yelled.

‘Please could I speak to Mrs Norman?’ I asked.

‘HOOOOOO IS IT?’ shouted the creature.

‘Zoe Morris,’ I informed it.

‘It’s ZAAAAAAAAAAWY!’

There was a brief but blessed pause. Then Mrs Norman picked up.

‘Oh, Zoe,’ she said, ‘we never paid you after the last time you babysat for us – way back in the summer, I think it was – so we owe you £15. You must call by and pick it up.’

‘Oh yes! Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll drop by.’ Surprisingly, she didn’t ask me to babysit, so I emerged unscathed from a call I’d been dreading.

£15 wasn’t much, but it was a start. I had to have that dress. And if Beast was going to be Charlie’s squeeze from now on, I would at least be able to take his breath away for a split second, and make him realise what he was missing. I so
had
to have that dress.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again.

‘Hi,’ droned a familiar voice. ‘This is Paolo. Great news! The leaflets have arrived and you’re leafleting with me tomorrow.’

Great news indeed. Leafleting with Matthew. I could hardly wait.