Rebecca Rocks (3 page)

‘But I still feel weird when I get a mail or a message from him,’ I said. ‘And whenever anything really reminds me of him I feel a bit sad. And I really, really don’t want to know if he’s going out with someone else. Does that mean I’m still moping?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Cass. ‘I think it would be weird if you’d, like, totally forgotten about him. And I think maybe you always feel a bit odd when you hear someone you used to go out with is going out with someone else. It doesn’t mean you’re still madly in love with him or pining after him or
anything
like that. It’s just normal.’

Cass may not be personally experienced in the ways of love, but she is certainly full of wisdom. Sometimes, anyway. And then we stopped talking about love and talked about ways we could earn money over the holidays in order to pay for a
practice
space. Cass suggested we could make sweets like fudge and sell them at farmers’ markets.

‘There’s one in Saint Anne’s Park in Raheny on Saturdays,’ she said. ‘We could take our wares there and sell them among the farmers.’

This seemed like a very good idea.

‘Ooh, yes,’ I said. ‘And we’d stand out because we’d be the youngest people there, and everyone would be really impressed. And we could call our sweet company Hey
Dollface
and sell the sweets at our gigs!’

‘Yes!’ said Cass. ‘And the whole thing would hardly cost anything. I mean, I bet we could get little bags or boxes in
a supermarket for a euro or two. And then the ingredients wouldn’t cost very much. What do you need to make fudge?’

‘Um … I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Sugar, probably.’

‘Vanilla essence,’ said Cass knowledgeably. ‘And … um … butter? Maybe eggs?’

And then we realised that neither of us have ever made fudge before. Or any sweets. In fact, the only sugary foodstuff I’ve ever made was a slightly soggy lemon drizzle cake over the Christmas holidays. But, as I told Cass, it was quite delicious even if it was soggy (and despite the fact I got slightly nervous whenever I turned on the electric hand mixer in case I lost control of it and it sliced my fingers off, even though Mum kept saying that wasn’t going to happen).

‘Can we actually sell soggy cake, though?’ said Cass. ‘Or whatever the fudge equivalent of soggy cake is?’

‘Well, I bet we’d get the hang of it with a little bit of
practice
,’ I said. I mean, how hard could it be?

I mentioned my and Cass’s plans to become artisan farmers’ market sweet makers to my mother, and she LAUGHED. She
does nothing but crush my dreams.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ she said when she’d stopped laughing. ‘It’s just that I think you might need a bit more practice before you can sell sweets at that market. And possibly some sort of food production licence.’

Honestly, the way she goes on about how much she and Dad spend on me and Rachel, you’d think she’d welcome my plans to earn my own money, but no! Talent and initiative are not encouraged in this family.

My father has abandoned us! But only for a few days. He has gone off to a conference in Oxford. Dad is an academic, which in his case means he is basically a fancy history teacher, and every so often he goes off to England or New Jersey or Istanbul for conferences where he meets lots of other history teachers, and they all stand around talking about Early Modern
European
History, which is Dad’s supposed ‘speciality’. And what they call Early Modern European History isn’t very modern at all. It’s, like, six hundred years ago, which makes no sense. But
I shouldn’t expect something to make sense if my dad, a man who once played the part of a dancing pirate on stage while wearing gold harem pants, has anything to do with it.

He’s gone to some college in Oxford called Shrewsbury which used to be an all-female college. As I am in an all-girls school and never get to meet any boys ever I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go to an all-girls college afterwards (unless they liked girls, obviously), but when I said this to my mum she said that women’s colleges had a fine tradition in educating girls and that actually girls sometimes do better when there are no boys around, which is fair enough. But I still think I would like to go to a college with boys in it. I know I said I quite like not having a distracting boy in my life right now, but I have to admit that sometimes I worry that I’ll never go out with anyone ever again. And the chances of that happening would be higher if I went straight from an all-girls school to an
all-girls
college.

Anyway, Dad is going to spend a few days at Shrewsbury listening to all his history mates blathering on about wars and other such nonsense. He is flying into London, and Rachel started giving him a list of things to get her in the duty free, including a replacement for the amazing Chanel lipstick that
suits everyone and which I am fond of borrowing myself
without
telling her (which is possibly why it’s run out and she needs a new one).

‘And who, pray tell, will be paying for all this?’ he said.

‘Early birthday present,’ said Rachel hopefully.

‘No,’ said Dad. But he took the list anyway so I bet he’ll end up getting her one thing. I hope it’s the lipstick, for selfish reasons. He turned to me. ‘Do you want anything from England, Bex?’

Perhaps he is not so bad after all. Right now I can’t help thinking he is being nicer than my dream-crushing mother.

But, of course, as soon as he made this kindly offer I couldn’t think of anything I wanted so I said I’d text him. I need to take advantage of this unusual generosity so I will have to have a think.

I don’t believe it. I think Vanessa and Karen might have solved our band issues! Apart from finding us a manager, obviously. But the practising and the gigging and stuff. In fact, they
might have solved our entire summer. In theory I feel I should thank them but I can’t bring myself to do it.

It happened during the morning break today. We were
sitting
around in our classroom talking about our plans for the summer, which in most people’s cases were non-existent, apart from Emma who’s going to the Gaeltacht with her best friend from home. Vanessa was sitting around the next desk with what I am appalled to say is now her gang − her old sidekick Caroline, of course, and now Karen ‘Bitchface’ Rodgers, my nemesis. She and Vanessa have become all chummy since they both got starring roles in the musical. Luckily, Caroline and Karen’s friend Alison have sort of teamed up. Both of them are nicer than Karen and Vanessa and, in fact, would be
completely
fine if they just stopped hanging around with them. So we hoped that they would break away completely and form a gang of their own. But sadly that hasn’t happened yet, and the four of them are hanging around together.

ANYWAY. Emma was talking about going to the
Gaeltacht
, and Ellie said, ‘I wish you could go to, like, summer art college instead of Irish college.’ And then Vanessa, who never minds interrupting other people’s conversations (although of course I am glad she did in this case), said, ‘God, haven’t you
heard of the North Dublin Arts Camp?’

And we all stared at her in surprise, because we hadn’t.

‘What’s that?’ said Ellie.

‘I can’t believe you don’t know about it,’ said Vanessa, smugly. ‘I’ve had my place in the drama group booked for weeks. So has Karen.’ And both of them looked so pleased with themselves I thought I was going to get sick.

‘But what is it?’ said Cass, through what I could tell were gritted teeth.

‘It’s, like, a summer school for, like, teenage actors and
artists
and musicians and stuff,’ said Vanessa. She said it was in the big college down the road, and that it started in June. ‘You don’t stay overnight, but you go in every day and have
workshops
and put on, like, shows and exhibitions.’

‘Me and Bernard – that’s my boyfriend – are going to get to act together at last,’ said Karen. ‘He’s doing the acting school too.’

I felt as if a light bulb had lit up over my head. Not at the thought of Karen’s stupid boyfriend Bernard − who she met when he was employed to play a fairy-tale prince at Vanessa’s party and who we’ve all heard enough about over the last few months − but at the words ‘musicians’ and ‘shows’.

‘So what sort of musicians can do it?’ I said. ‘Like, classical musicians?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Karen loftily. ‘I only care about the theatre.’

But then Vanessa said, ‘God, Karen, you don’t pay attention to anything’. Which was a bit rich, coming from her. I don’t think she’s ever consciously listened to anyone else in her life. ‘They’re doing some sort of thing for, like, bands,’ she
continued
. They’re calling it a rock school. They’re going to put on, like, little gigs and stuff.’

Cass and Alice and I looked at each other. I knew we were all thinking the same thing. We had a half day today (hurrah) because the teachers were having some sort of meeting (
probably
plotting all the horrible tests they’re going to give us), so Alice was going round to Cass’s house to wait for her lift. I went there too so we could all look up the camp online. And it was true, there was a rock school! Where proper grown-up bands would come in and, like, coach you! And you got to learn how to record and put on shows and everything! It was like the answer to our prayers.

‘We must go to this!’ said Cass. ‘I just hope it’s not too late.’

‘Let’s all ring our parents and see if they’ll let us go,’ said
Alice, sensibly. ‘And then we can book our place right now.’

So that’s what we did. Luckily, I had enough credit on my phone (for once). I was sure that Mum would make a fuss, as she normally does everything she can to stand in the way of my happiness, but to my surprise she didn’t.

‘Well, that does sound like a good idea,’ she said. ‘It’s quite good value too. And it’ll save me and Brenda giving you and Cass lifts. I’ll have to check with your dad, though.’

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’ I said. ‘You’re the best mother in the world!’ Which is not what I think most of the time, but I did mean it when I said it. Anyway, she rang Dad in Oxford, and, luckily, he wasn’t listening to people
blathering
on about history at the time and could answer his phone. Then she rang me straight back.

‘Your dad says yes,’ she said. ‘Now don’t say we never do anything for you.’

I ran into Cass’s kitchen, and her parents and Alice’s parents had all said yes too (though Cass’s mum said that if she did badly in her summer tests she was still going to have to go to a maths school. I don’t think this will happen, though, as Cass has actually been studying quite hard and, really, she’s pretty good at maths when she actually tries).

‘Now we just have to hope there are spaces left,’ said Cass. And she took a deep breath and tapped the number of the Arts Camp office into the phone. ‘Go out of the room!’ she hissed at me and Alice. ‘I’ll get nervous talking to the camp people if you’re watching.’

So we went out into the hall. A minute later we could hear Cass going, ‘I’m ringing to see if there are any more places for bands on the North Dublin Arts Camp’ and ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ and ‘Okay’ and ‘Thanks very much’.

‘This could be good or bad,’ said Alice nervously. But then Cass came out, and she was beaming.

‘There are a few places left!’ she said. ‘Apparently they only added the band bit of the camp at the last minute so it hasn’t been as well publicised as the art and drama things. So I’ve booked us in, and our parents have to ring and pay by next week.’

‘A few places left!’ said Alice. ‘Maybe Richard and the Wicked Ways would like to do it too!’ She wanted to ring him straight away, but then she remembered that he didn’t have a half day.

‘Maybe Bad Monkey could do it too?’ I said.

‘Nah,’ said Cass, looking a bit disappointed. ‘Liz and Katie
are going to be in Irish college for the first two weeks of it.’ But she cheered up when we started looking at more details about the course on the website.

‘Just think,’ she said. ‘This is just what we need. A place to practise. Mentors to teach us the ways of rock!’

It is all very exciting. I couldn’t stay for too long because I was meant to be coming straight home after school and Mum was making dinner early, but Alice texted me later to say that Richard and the Wicked Ways had managed to get a place too. It’s a pity about Bad Monkey not being able to do it, though. Liz is really nice and funny. She and Cass see each other a lot, and it is proof of how much I like her that I don’t really feel jealous, even though Cass has found a new friend. Well, I only sometimes feel a bit jealous. In fact, we’ve all made friends this year. Like Jane, who we met at Vanessa’s terrible party and who ended up saving the day at our musical.

Ooh. Maybe she’d like to do the arts camp too? She could do the drama thing, it’s not like she’s not used to putting up with Vanessa. I will text her now and cross my fingers.

Oh God. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I have got even more stuck in my web of lies to Mrs Harrington. After
English
today she nabbed me when I was trying to sneak out of the classroom and said, ‘So, Rebecca! Did you have a chance to ask your mammy about my character? I don’t want to be any hassle, but I’d just love to know!’

And I realised I just had to tell her the truth. Or, okay, not the actual whole truth, which was that I had been lying all the time, but the truth that my mum wasn’t going to be putting her in a book. I could tell her that Mum − no, even better, Mum’s publisher – had decided she was never going to put any real people in books in case any of them sued her for libel and that she couldn’t even make an exception for Mrs Harrington. I took a deep breath.

‘There’s just one thing …’ I said. This was it. I knew Mrs Harrington would be disappointed, and she might even take it out on me in class (though I had a feeling she wouldn’t − she’s incredibly annoying but she’s not intentionally mean). But I couldn’t let this madness go on any longer.

‘Yes?’ said Mrs Harrington.

And just as I opened my mouth, I realised I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. I am a total chicken.

‘Um, my mum wanted to make sure she’s got the spelling of your name right,’ I said. ‘How do you spell it again?’

‘Just the usual way of spelling Patricia Alexandra,’ said Mrs Harrington. ‘So, well, P-A-T-R-I-C-I-A and then A-L-E-X-A-N-D-R-A.’

Good heavens. I did not expect her to have a name like that. I thought it would be a lot more … ordinary. And Irish Mammy-ish.

‘Patricia Alexandra?’ I said without thinking, in a very
surprised
voice. ‘Really?’

Mrs Harrington looked slightly bemused, as well she might at my suggestion that she didn’t know her own name.

‘Um, yes,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to spell it again?’

‘Oh, no, that’s okay,’ I said.

‘Well, I can’t wait to read all about the fictional Patricia Alexandra Harrington!’ said Mrs Harrington happily. ‘Let me know how it’s going!’

There is only one thing to do. I have to make sure Mum actually puts this character into her next book and names her Patricia Alexandra Harrington, without telling her about my
web of lies. I will have to drop lots of helpful hints. The only problem is − well, actually, there are a lot of problems, but one of them is that the last time I tried to suggest plot points to my mother she didn’t take them seriously. In fact, she might have even been laughing at me, like the ungrateful woman she is. But I have to give it a try. I can’t do anything about it right now as she is off at her
Oliver!
rehearsal. Dad was a bit worried about missing it, though, as Rachel kindly told him, the absence of one chorus member won’t really make a huge difference (even if that member of the chorus is
understudying
the Beadle). She had a point − I mean, I was in the chorus myself in
Mary Poppins
. And even I have to admit that I could have missed one rehearsal without the whole show collapsing. Anyway, Mum can tell him what he’s missed.

Even though we’re being made to work all the time, I am
getting
very excited about the summer camp. Ellie is going to do the art course, to hone her dress-designing skills, and Jane has managed to get a place on the drama bit! Her best friend from
school, Aoife, is going to visit her aunt in Australia for most of June so she was expecting to be very bored all month and this has cheered her up. Even though Vanessa and Karen will be doing it too.

‘I think I might be immune to Vanessa at this stage,’ she said on the phone last night. ‘After all, we were in that drama class together and then the musical.’

I think she might be a bit too optimistic. After all, I’ve seen Vanessa almost every day for two years of school and I’m
definitely
not immune to her yet. But maybe Jane is made of
sturdier
stuff than I am.