Over the Moon (16 page)

I said, “She’s leaving home!”

I don’t know why I blurted it out to Simon when I hadn’t even told Hattie. I mean, I tell Hattie
everything.
But Simon sounded genuinely concerned; and maybe, too, I was thinking of what Matt had told me, about Simon’s mum and dad almost coming apart at the seams after his dad had crashed the car. It made me feel that he would be sympathetic. He would be able to understand in a way that Hattie couldn’t, cos Hattie’s mum and dad are like really close. Hattie would feel sorry for me, but it wasn’t like anything she had ever experienced.

We had this long talk, me and Simon, all about parents and what it did to their kids when they fell out. Simon said that his mum and dad still weren’t properly speaking to each other, and that sometimes his dad went off for days and didn’t tell them where he was going. He said, “It’s like living in a war zone. I almost wish they’d part company and get it over with.”

“You mean, like, get divorced?” I said.

Simon said anything would be better than how it was at the moment. I said, “I couldn’t bear if it my mum and dad got divorced!”

“You still love your mum, don’t you?” said Simon.

I said, “No! I hate her!” And then I went and burst into tears and had to get a tissue and try to mop up under cover of my glasses.

“Did she say why she’s leaving?”

I told him that it was purely selfish and that she just wanted to exercise her brain. “She wants to get a
degree.
At her age!”

“Better late than never,” said Simon. “Lots of older people go and get degrees.”

“But what does she want it for? It’s stupid! She won’t do anything with it when she’s got it.”

“How do you know?” said Simon. “She might want to go off and be a teacher, or a – lawyer, or something.”

“That’s what your mum is, isn’t it?” I said. “Do you mind having a mum that works?”

“Mind?” He seemed puzzled. “Why should I mind?”

“I don’t know! It just seems nicer if you have a mum that stays home and looks after you.”

“She did when we were little. She wouldn’t want to now; she’d get bored. That’s probably what’s happened to your mum. I mean … what does she do all day?”

I thought about it. What did Mum do all day? “She used to help my dad,” I said. “But he doesn’t need it now, he can afford to employ people.”

“Well, there you go,” said Simon.

He seemed to be on Mum’s side! He said, “It’s a pity she has to go off and be by herself, but …”

“She says she needs to get sorted. She says
Dad
needs to get sorted. Dad’s never passed an exam in his life, he doesn’t see any need for it.”

Carefully, Simon said, “Well, your dad’s obviously done all right, but maybe now your mum wants to, as well.”

“You mean, like … do her own thing?”

“I’d want to,” said Simon, “wouldn’t you? Or are you going to be one of those women that just lives in their partner’s shadow?”

“Now you’re sounding like Hattie!” I said. “She’s the hugest feminist.”

I expected him to pull a face, cos most boys, in my experience, don’t much go for feminist type women. Hattie says that secretly they are afraid of them. She says they feel threatened. On the other hand, Matt had pulled a face and I could hardly believe that Matt felt threatened.

Dad pulled faces, too, but I wasn’t so sure about Dad.

“Hattie’s really militant,” I said. “She won’t live in anyone’s shadow. She’ll most likely end up as prime minister.”

“Good for her,” said Simon.

“I don’t know whether she’ll ever find a man,” I said. “I mean … I don’t even know whether she’d
want
to find a man.” I added this last bit rather quickly, in case Simon thought I was casting aspersions. Implying that Hattie wasn’t attractive enough to find one. It wasn’t what I’d meant! All I’d meant was that being so terrifically feminist, and so tremendously
focused,
she might prefer to concentrate on just having a career.

I explained this to Simon. He said, “Well, that’s OK, if that’s her choice. Nothing wrong with it. But there’s no reason she shouldn’t have both; lots of people do.”

We sat talking for simply ages. It was really interesting; I’d never been able to talk like that with a boy before. It was almost as good as talking to Hattie! I felt I could say anything, and he would take it seriously. Most boys (the ones I’ve met) don’t seem to like talking about people, or about feelings, or even just ordinary everyday life. They’re either very stiff and awkward, like girls are some kind of alien life form they’ve never met before, or they turn everything into a joke, and say things to make you blush. Matt was a bit like that. I remembered when we’d sat by the pool after Christmas. Once we’d exhausted the subject of Simon and his mum and dad, Matt had started joshing around, being flirty
and trying to make me blush. But that was OK, because that was Matt. I certainly wouldn’t want Simon to be that way! But I have to say it did make a nice change, being able to sit and talk instead of feeling all the time that I had to be girly.

When Simon had left, Mum said, “Well, he seems like a sensible young man. A bit more to him than there is to Flash Harry!” I thought, God, Mum is
so
predictable.

After that, Simon took to calling by most days on his way back from school. Officially he came to drop off my homework assignments and collect what I’d already done. It was easier for him than for Hattie, because Hattie lived way over the other side of town. She said they’d arranged to meet at the station every morning, as they got off their trains, and do an exchange: old for new.

“Like a couple of spies!” she giggled, over the telephone.

When Mum learnt that Simon went home to an empty house every afternoon she insisted that he stay and have tea. She said, “It’s all right, you can have it by yourselves, I won’t interfere.” I was glad Mum left us alone, because we just had so many things to talk about – including Mum herself. She was going off any day now to start living in her rented cube, as she called it, and although I kept up a cold front of hostility, I was actually quite frightened. How could she do this to us? How were we going to survive? In all my twelve years, Mum had never been away from home even just for one night! I’d told Hattie by now, thinking she would be as shocked and horrified as I was, but Hattie said she could understand why Mum felt she had to get away for a bit. She said, “I like your dad, but he is a bit, sort of … stifling.”

I didn’t think Hattie had any right to say that about my dad. It didn’t help! But talking to Simon made me feel a bit less scared and a bit more hopeful. He said he didn’t think I should shut Mum out.

“I know she’s the one that’s doing it to you, but she’s probably feeling quite gutted, too. And you do want her back again, don’t you?”

I said, “Yes, I do! I don’t want her to go in the first place!”

“I think you ought to tell her,” said Simon. “At least she’ll know you still love her.”

“She already knows that!” I said.

“Yeah, well, OK, maybe, but it wouldn’t hurt to tell her.”

I couldn’t; I still couldn’t bring myself even to talk to Mum, let alone tell her that I loved her. Dad wasn’t saying much, either, so life at home was really pretty miserable. And I was
still
hiding behind sunglasses. It was Hattie who nagged me, now, not Mum.

“When are you coming back to school? You’ll have to come back some time! You can’t still be looking like something out of a horror movie?”

I said, “No, I just look like a pickled walnut!” My eyes were still crinkled and I still had dry patches on my face. I wasn’t going back to school in that state!

“Well, it’s up to you,” said Hattie. “But you’re going to find it really difficult, making up for lost time.”

So what?
I would go back when I was good and ready, and not before. Hattie had no right to bully me! Friends weren’t supposed to bully each other. And then, wouldn’t you know it? Simon started on at me! He said, “Tell me, how much longer are you going to go on behaving like a leper?”

I snapped, “Until I’ve stopped looking like one! I look like a pickled walnut!”

“I don’t believe you,” said Simon.

I said, “Oh, really? And how would you know? You haven’t got the faintest idea
what
I look like if I take these glasses off!

That was a mistake, cos he immediately said, “Well, go on, then! Do it! Then I can see.”

“I don’t want you to see! I don’t want anyone to see!”

“Your mum’s seen. She says you’re just making a fuss about nothing.”

“Yeah, well, she would, wouldn’t she? She just wants to
pretend
that I’m OK so she can go waltzing off and not have pangs of conscience!”

“What about Matt?” said Simon. “He’s getting worried. There’s only a couple of weeks to go to
Founder’s Day and he still doesn’t know whether he’s going to partner you or not. I’m supposed to be reporting back! He’s nagging me to know if you’re presentable. What am I going to tell him? She’s still in hiding and won’t let anyone see her?”

I said, “Now you’re trying to blackmail me.”

He didn’t deny it. But sort of apologetically he said, “You know what Mart’s like.”

I said, “What d’you mean?”

“Well— ” He shrugged.

“What do you mean?
Know what Matt’s like
?”

So then Simon looked a bit uncomfortable and mumbled, “If you’re not going to be able to go, he’ll probably go with someone else.”

“Someone else?” I felt my heart began to hammer in my rib cage. “Who?”

“I don’t know who.”

“Has someone else asked him?”

“I dunno! Well – yeah. I think so. I’m not sure. He just told me to check you’re going to be OK.”

“I am going to be OK!”

“So what do I say when he asks me if I’ve – like – well! Seen you,” said Simon.

There was a silence. My heart was still hammering. Who was it who had
dared
ask my date to go with her
to Founder’s Day? Instead of me! Who else did Matt know?

“Thing is,” said Simon, “he’s used to, like, having his pick. Been spoilt, I guess.”

Well, and so had I; I was used to having
my
pick. But I would just die if Matt were to go to Founder’s Day with someone else!

“Be brave,” said Simon. “Just take them off … I’ll tell you if you look like a pickled walnut. Honest! Give you my word. If I say you don’t, you can trust me … you don’t!”

I took a breath, trying to stop my heart going at it like a bongo drum. Slowly I said, “All right … I’ll make a bargain with you. I’ll take my glasses off if you’ll come in the pool.”

Oh! That was different. He didn’t like it when I turned the tables on him.

“I told you,” he muttered, “I don’t swim.”

“Matt said you did. He said you
could.
He said you just wouldn’t, cos of being scared people would stare. That’s as pathetic as me not taking my glasses off. It’s just vanity. Like anybody
cares
how you look. Actually, it’s worse for me cos Matt
does
care how I look. So if I’m going to be brave then you ought, too!”

“But I haven’t got any bathing trunks.”

“No problem! We’ve got loads, we keep them specially. You won’t get out of it that way!”

He agreed, in the end. I could tell he wasn’t happy, but I stood firm. He was being mean to me, I would be mean to him! It wasn’t till I’d changed into my swimsuit – in my bedroom – and taken off my glasses and studied myself up close in the mirror, that I started to feel a bit guilty. I really
didn’t
look too bad. I almost began to feel ashamed of all the fuss I’d been making. It had been horrendous at the beginning, but Mum was right: I could have gone back to school days ago.

I went racing downstairs and into the pool room, and banged on the door of the changing cubicle.