Mumnesia (5 page)

‘You only live once!’ Lucy grins.
‘Or in your case, twice! So what d’you want to do
next?’

‘Ugh,’ I groan. ‘Next I need
some new clothes. I cannot spend another hour in Sharon’s
drab rags.’

‘Preach!’ Lucy cries.

‘
What?
’ Now I’m totally
lost.

‘It means, I totally agree!’ She
grins as the waiter brings our bill.

Lucy pulls a credit card out of Sharon’s
purse and my pulse quickens. Is she going to forge Sharon’s
signature? Is she expecting
me
to? I
am
Sharon
after all – or will be – so it’s not
technically
forgery . . . but I’ve, like, never even
seen
my future signature before – what if I get it
majorly wrong? We could get in BIG trouble – we could even
get arrested! Holy guacamole! My palms start to sweat, but to my
surprise Lucy waves the card at a little black box that looks
like a calculator and the waiter leaves.

‘Ready to go?’ Lucy pulls on her
coat.

‘Don’t I have to . . . sign
something?’ I ask nervously.

‘Nope!’ She smiles. ‘All
done!’

‘Phew!’ I breathe, majorly relieved.
After all, future-me would be pretty freaked out if she woke up
in JAIL tomorrow!

‘Ooh, check out those funky
tops!’ Shazza cries, rushing over to a display of
skin-tight Lycra in the window of the
Simply Teen
store.
‘Aren’t they rad?’

‘Um, yeah, but . . .’ I falter.

‘But what?’

But the thought of my middle-aged mother wearing them is SO
not. ‘There’s a much better place just down
here.’ I say quickly. ‘I’ll be your personal
shopper!’

I hook my arm through Shazza’s, hurry to the biggest
department store in town and take her straight into the changing
rooms. That way a) she can’t choose any inappropriate
clothes, and b) there’s no risk of anyone I know seeing me
shopping with my mother with her mad hair and nose-stud!
#SocialSuicide

I hurry around the women’s fashion section, and deliver
several cool but age-appropriate outfits to Shazza – who
has no idea how to wear any of them!

‘This shirt’s
way
too big!’ she
moans.

‘It’s a dress!’ I laugh. ‘Try it with
a belt!’

‘But now it looks like I forgot to put any trousers
on!’

‘It’s
fashion
!’ I protest.

‘And these jeans don’t have a zip!’

‘They’re jeggings!’

‘What on earth are
jeggings
? And is this top
supposed to button up at the back?’

‘Yes!’ I sigh.

‘Ugh! Aren’t there any
normal
clothes out
there?’

‘Hang on, I’ll grab some more.’ I turn to go
– then hear a familiar giggle.

I dive back inside Shazza’s cubicle and yank the curtain
closed – just in time! I peep through a gap, and see Megan,
Nicole, Cara and Viv saunter into the changing rooms. I check my
watch. School finished twenty minutes ago. I’d no idea it
was so late.

‘What’s the matter?’ Shazza frowns.

‘Shh!’ I hiss. ‘It’s the Megababes
– the coolest girls in my year.’

‘So?’

‘So – I’m supposed to be ill! I’ll get
into heaps of trouble if they tell any teachers they’ve
seen me shopping!’

Plus if they see me buying clothes with my mother
they’ll think I’m completely lame.

We both peer round the blue velvet curtain to see Megan
twirling in front of the big mirror in the most beautiful sparkly
white dress I’ve ever seen, her perfect blonde hair fanning
out in a circle around her.

I sigh. ‘I could never pull off a dress like
that.’

‘Of course you could!’ Shazza scoffs.
‘I’ll get it for you.’

I block her way. ‘You
cannot
go out
there!’

‘Why not? They don’t know
I’m
supposed to be ill too, do they?’ Shazza whispers.

‘Well, no, but –’

With a swoosh of velvet she ducks past me out of the
cubicle.

OMG. Who knows
what
she’ll come back with?

I wander round the store, past all the
frumpy florals to a section filled with funky colours and trendy
styles. That’s
much
more like it. I find the white
dress almost immediately – it’s on display –
then gleefully grab greedy armfuls of clothes before hurrying
back to the changing rooms. The girls from Lucy’s school
have gone, so I kick her out of my cubicle while I get
dressed.

‘Can I look yet?’ she asks
impatiently.

‘No! You’ve gotta wait for the big
reveal!’

‘And Mum calls
me
a drama
queen!’ she exclaims.

‘Maybe it’s genetic!’ I laugh.
‘OK . . . now! Ta-da!’

I sweep back the curtain and Lucy’s jaw
drops.

‘OMG! What are you
wearing
?’
she squeals.

‘Aren’t they gorgeous?’ I grin,
stepping out and twirling in front of the big mirror. I’m
wearing a lime-green crop top, pink miniskirt and studded leather
jacket. ‘
Much
better!’

‘But . . . but you can’t wear
those!’ Lucy gawps. ‘They’re for
teenagers
!’

‘I
am
a teenager!’ I protest.
‘Well . . . almost.’

A woman checking her outfit in the mirror behind
us looks at me strangely. Oops!

‘Ha ha! Not for about twenty years,
Mum!’ Lucy laughs awkwardly, shoving me back into the
cubicle and snapping the curtain shut. ‘You have to get
changed. Now.’

‘But,
Lu-cy
, I don’t
want
to wear frumpy
mum
-clothes!’ I whine,
slumping on to the stool.

‘Shazza, you
are
a mum!’ she
retorts, hands on her hips. ‘You’re
my
mum!’

‘Doesn’t mean I have to act like
it!’ I stick my tongue out at her.

‘You cannot go out in
public
like
that!’ Lucy wails. ‘Please!’

‘Why not?’ I demand, folding my arms.
‘Do I really look that bad?’

‘Well . . . no, it’s not that you
look
bad
. It’s just . . .’ she hesitates,
‘you won’t fit in with other women your
age.’

‘Pah!’ I scoff. ‘Who wants to
fit in anyway?’

‘I do,’ she whispers.

I frown. ‘You don’t want to be in
that
Megababy
gang, do you?’

Lucy sighs. ‘It’s the Megababes. And,
yes,
everyone
does. They’re so pretty and
popular.’

‘You’re pretty too!’

She rolls her eyes. ‘Not
Megan
-pretty.’

‘Rubbish!’ I cry, hunting through my
pile of clothes till I find the sparkly white dress. ‘Come
on, there’s a spare cubicle now – put it on. I bet
you’ll look just as good in it as that Megan did – if
not better!’

‘I couldn’t!’ Lucy protests,
hugging her arms. ‘It’s too short and too clingy and
. . .’

‘Try it,’ I urge. ‘I
dare
you.’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘You
dare
me?
How old are you?’

‘Twelve.’ I giggle. ‘Come on,
no one will see!’

Lucy hesitates, then smiles. ‘OK. But only
if you
promise
not to buy that skirt and crop
top!’

‘Fine!’ I pout. ‘But I’m
keeping the jacket!’

‘All right!’ Lucy laughs.
‘Deal!’

As she disappears into another cubicle, I
hurriedly try on another outfit. Lucy’s
bound
to
love this hot-pink jeans, fluorescent-orange minidress and
high-heeled boots combo!

She doesn’t.

‘My eyes!’ She winces, peeking out
from her cubicle, and my shoulders slump. ‘The boots are
cool though!’ she adds quickly. ‘Try that black lacy
top with the pink jeans instead.’

‘OK,’ I say doubtfully. ‘What
about you? How’s the dress?’

‘Er . . . just give me a minute.’

But even when I’ve got changed again,
Lucy’s still not ready.

‘Do you need help getting it on?’ I
call, wedging a black fedora on top of my red curls.

‘No,’ she mutters. ‘I’m
going to take it off, it’s no good—’

‘
What?
’ I yank back her
curtain.

‘Shazza!’ Lucy shrieks shrinking into
the corner. ‘See – I can’t wear this dress
– it’s far too short!’ she moans, plucking at
the hem, trying to pull it lower. ‘And too
tight!’

‘Rubbish!’ I cry. ‘It fits you
perfectly!’

‘You really think so?’ she says
quietly.

‘Lucy, look at yourself!’ I drag her
in front of the big mirror. ‘You’re totally
gorgeous!’

The dress is beautiful. It’s fitted at the
waist, then flows gracefully down to just above Lucy’s
knees, shimmering like sunlight on water as she moves. Lucy
smiles shyly at her reflection, then at me. ‘Well
you
look gorgeouser.’

I beam. I love the outfit Lucy suggested –
especially teamed with my new leather jacket and the funky fedora
– I feel like Madonna!

She helps me put together a few more fab outfits.
Then suddenly Sharon’s handbag buzzes loudly!

‘There’s a bee in my bag!’ I
screech, backing away. ‘And where’s that weird music
coming from?’ I look around, confused as a pop song starts
playing.

‘It’s your mobile,’ Lucy says,
hurrying into my cubicle carrying her dress.

‘I have a
baby toy
in my bag?’
I frown. ‘OMGA!’ My heart stops dead in utter horror.
‘Do I . . . do I have a
baby
?’

‘No!’ Lucy laughs. ‘It’s
a phone!’ She pulls out a tiny metal object.

‘But that’s dinky! And it’s
singing
!’ I stare at it, gobsmacked.

Lucy looks at the screen. ‘It’s
Dad.’

My eyes widen. ‘I had no idea Danny was
such a good singer!’

Lucy smiles. ‘No, that’s the
ringtone, numpty. It’s Dad
calling
.’

‘Oh. OH!!’ I stare at her, panic
coursing through my veins. ‘What should I say to him?
Should I tell him what’s happened?’

‘No! I’ll talk to him,’ Lucy
says quickly. ‘Just give me a minute.’ She drops the
dress on my pile of clothes and hurries back into her own
cubicle, pulling the curtain closed.

This is SO bizarro. I can’t believe my
future husband is talking to my future daughter on a singing
phone the size of a credit card!

Ooh, that gives me an idea . . .

I check Lucy’s still busy talking, then add
her dress to my ‘have-to-buy’ collection, tiptoe
carefully past her cubicle and hurry to the till –
she’s going to be so surprised!

‘I’m keeping these on!’ I tell
the assistant, indicating my funky new outfit. There’s no
way I’m ever wearing Sharon’s frumpy clothes
again!

He sighs heavily – I don’t know why,
as
I’m
the one who has to be a major contortionist
so he can scan all the labels! As he bags up my other clothes I
pull out Sharon’s shiny credit card. I love being a
grown-up! I wave it like a magic wand over the little black
calculator-box like Lucy did – this is so much fun!

‘Insert your card, please,’ the
assistant says.

I blink. ‘What?’

‘Insert your card into the Chip-and-PIN
machine, madam.’

I look around, but I can’t see a pinball
machine anywhere, and what have chips got to do with
anything?

The assistant sighs AGAIN, then takes my card,
slides it into the calculator-box and looks at me expectantly. OK
. . . now what? Am I meant to add up my own bill?

‘Now put your PIN in,’ he says slowly
and loudly.

I stare at him. Pin? What pin? A hairpin? My
hands fly to my hair. I don’t have one! What kind of bogus
system is this? ‘Can’t I just sign something?’
I ask anxiously.

He shakes his head, and a woman in the queue
behind me huffs impatiently.

‘Do you have a pin I can borrow?’ I
ask her desperately, and she looks at me like I’m
crazy.

‘Ms Dawes, this lady’s forgotten her
PIN!’ the assistant calls loudly.

I panic. What’s going to happen? What do I
do? Where’s Lucy?

Am I going to jail after all?

Where’s Shazza?

I swear I was only on the phone for five minutes tops, but
there’s no sign of her!

‘Shazza!’ I call, hurrying through the changing
rooms. Has she gone into another cubicle?
‘Shazza!’

I spot a flash of neon pink and yank back a curtain.

‘Hey!’ a half-dressed woman yelps.

‘Sorry!’ I try more cubicles until I’ve
searched the whole of the changing rooms and am doing my best not
to panic.

She can’t have gone far. Right?
Right?

I hurry back to the shop floor and scan the teen section. No
sign of her.

I try the women’s department. Still nothing.

Finally I run to the exit, hoping, wishing, praying she
hasn’t wandered off and got lost! OMG, what if she’s
lost her memory again? What if—

‘
Lucy!
’

I spin around and spot an enormous queue by the till, headed
by a red-faced Shazza. Thank goodness!

‘There you are!’ I cry, hurrying over. ‘What
were you
thinking
, wandering off? I was so worried!’
I feel like we’ve swapped roles like in
Freaky
Friday
after all!

‘I’m sorry!’ She flies into my arms.
‘I-I wanted to surprise you, but everything’s just .
. . just so confusing!’

‘Why?’ I ask, glancing at the flustered sales
assistant and an older woman whose badge says
‘Manager’. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Madam, if you can’t pay, you need to return the
products,’ the manager says tightly. ‘Including the
ones you’re wearing!’

‘Fine!’ Shazza says miserably, unzipping her
beloved leather jacket.

I stare at her. Is she going to strip off? In front of
everyone?!

‘Shazza, stop!’ I cry. ‘What’s going
on?!’

‘I’ve searched through the whole handbag but I
can’t find any pins!’ she wails.

‘What?’ I frown.
Pins?