The Boy I Loved Before (19 page)

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Authors: Jenny Colgan

BOOK: The Boy I Loved Before
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‘OK then. The wolverine might disappear and I might get the old Flora back,' said Ol. ‘And I'll get to chuck her. You're right. I like that much better.'
‘Well, what I mean is …' Clelland was tentative, and he must have known what I might be thinking of, however much he seemed to be pretending, in his new role as grown-up, that I was merely a paranormal phenomenon. ‘ … if there are some things you didn't do first time round, some fun you didn't have; do some good things you could have enjoyed.'
I couldn't say it. I couldn't say: what, all the things I missed when you went to Aberdeen?
‘Well, maybe this is the time to do them,' Clelland finished. ‘You may only have a month.'
He looked at me with his big grey eyes and I felt all funny inside. I noticed Olly darting him, and then me, suspicious glances.
‘Enjoy the fact that there's no tomorrow, that's what I mean. Because you've done this already. You've done the hard work. You've built a life. This is a holiday. Take it.'
I noticed Tashy looking at Olly. She was patting him on the hand. She was a good friend to us.
The breakfast table was quiet. Too quiet. My mother and father were silently eating toast as I tentatively sat down. There was a long pause. Then my father coughed a little and cleared his throat.
‘Flora Jane,' he said. If there's anything more indicative of trouble ahead than your parents using your full name, I don't know what it is.
‘I'm sorry,' I said immediately. ‘I'm a mouthy teenager with no impulse control. I'm really, really sorry. Mum, I really am. I only went to a friend's. I just needed to get out.'
My mother didn't even look up. Which was more like the mother I knew.
‘We've been talking about you,' my dad said, which is hardly a surprise, as that's all parents ever do. ‘And, we've decided … well, I think perhaps this family needs to do more as a family together.'
The seething hypocrite! This family needed to do a little less secretary banging, all told.
‘So, erm, from now, I think we all have to make more of an effort. I'll try and be home earlier.'
Ooh, good.
‘And we'll try and do more things as a family.'
Ooh, not so good.
‘Flora Jane, I want to see more of an effort around here and I don't want you out gallivanting at all hours of the day and night.'
Getting seriously to the state of extremely ungood gallivanting was pretty much all I had left. And if Clelland was right about the time loop, I had rather a lot to fit into quite a small space of time.
‘And we'll all help your mother a lot more. OK. Speech over.'
 
 
‘What would you do,' I said, trying to sound jolly as Stanzi and I surreptitiously shared a Twix bar in Miss Syzlack's class, ‘if you thought you might be scheduled to disappear or, um, die three weeks on Saturday?'
I'd been thinking a lot about what Clelland had said: it made my brain want to jump out of my ears. The idea, though, of either bumping into myself or spontaneously combusting had a curiously unreal quality to it. Frankly, I was more depressed at the possibility of seeing my thirty-two-year-old self from the back than ceasing to exist, and, even, bringing the entire universe to an end in some kind of anti-matter paradox calamity.
‘I'd eat nothing but shortbread and offer myself up to Ethan,' whispered Stanzi.
‘That's quite useful,' I said. ‘Thanks.'
‘Why? What is matter with you?'
‘Is there anything you two are saying that's more important than
Middlemarch?'
said Miss Syzlack.
‘Flora thinks she's going to die, miss,' said Stanzi helpfully.
With typical school compassion, the rest of the class started pissing itself.
‘Die of what?' said Miss Syzlack. ‘Too much talking, or too much detention?'
‘I'm sorry,' I said. ‘I was just speculating. Like, er …' It was years since I'd read
Middlemarch.
‘ … That character that can't have sex, ma'am.'
‘That's enough,' said Miss Syzlack, going pink.
‘Well, it's true,' I said sulkily.
‘It's also not the way we talk about literature in this class.'
‘What, the true way?' I said, half under my breath.
‘Flora Scurrison, when I want you to answer me back I'll ask a question.'
‘Ooh, Flora's going over to the dark side!' came a voice I identified as Fallon's from the back of the class.
‘Eyes down, everyone.'
‘What – Fallon cheeks me and it's OK, but I say one true thing about this book and it's serious trouble?'
‘Drop it,' said Miss Syzlack. ‘Please, just drop it,' and I looked at her face. Tired, weary; worn out from too many people that didn't want to learn. She was so brave, she really was. And I felt so sorry for her. I felt so sorry for grown-ups. You never believed for a second it was tougher going as a grown-up, but there were times when it bloody was.
 
 
‘I have to nip out at lunchtime,' I said. ‘And maybe longer. I have a free period after lunch and I need to do something in town.'
‘To kill yourself,' said Stanzi immediately. ‘No!'
‘No,' I said. ‘To make some mischief.'
‘Can I come?'
Let me see. I could do with a partner in crime.
‘Yeah, alright.'
‘Hooray!' said Stanzi. ‘That's almost as good as being invited to Justin's party.'
‘Oh yes, I forgot to say. We're invited to Justin's party.'
No wonder Darius looked tired. I was nearly swept away as a tide of tiny Italian gave me a lurcher-style running hug.
 
 
‘What are we doing?'
I could see Stanzi was slightly worried about the imposing building we were standing in.
‘It doesn't matter,' I said. ‘Consider yourself a special operative, working undercover.'
‘We're wearing the uniform of our school.'
‘Trust me, adults can't tell the difference between different school uniforms.'
‘Really?'
‘It's true,' I said.
‘Huh …' said Stanzi, looking confused.
‘OK, are you ready?'
We leaned over the plant-filled atrium we'd sneaked in to when I knew Jimmy, the reception guard, was off watching the
Matthew Wright Show.
As usual, grey faces were streaming in and out of the doors. When did someone tell all men they
had to wear checked blue shirts and purple ties? It wasn't as cheering an effect as you'd think. And the man who runs Pret à Manger must have more money than God. But there was one bald pate … one odious, arrogant, unpleasant head I was waiting for more than anyone else's …
‘Fire!'
We dropped the water-filled balloons solidly on Mr Dean's head.
‘That,' I said, under my breath, ‘is for when you made me make the coffee for those clients.'
Perfectly, both balloons hit their target: one on his dandruff-flecked suit, one right on his bald bonce.
‘Ohmigod!' screeched Stanzi in surprise, as I dragged her into the tiny store cupboard I happened to know was up there, because Mr Dean had tried to drag me into it when he'd had a few too many at the 1998 Christmas party.
We waited till we heard the cross noises die down, then emerged from under the butler's sink in the cupboard.
‘Who now?'
I hushed Stanzi as I rapidly took off my tie and my blazer.
‘What are you doing?'
‘I have to pass for staff,' I said. ‘Just for a minute.'
‘I'd get rid of the satchel,' said Stanzi.
‘OK.'
She took her tie off too.
‘No,' I said. ‘This is a solo mission.'
‘So I just have to hide here and panic while you do something naughty? How is that fair? What if I get caught? I'll have to give them your name under torture.'
‘Don't worry about it,' I said. ‘It's going to be fine.'
I snuck out of the cupboard, clutching the maths folder
I'd removed from my bag. It should look like work. Then I spotted someone I recognised: Mike, a bearded timeserver who never knew what anyone was up to.
‘Mike!' I shouted jovially, head up. ‘It's Rachel from M&A. We must have a word about the Phillips case.'
Mike looked bemused, but, as I hoped he would, immediately panicked that this was something he hadn't done and, without pausing, started to nod and stutter and automatically waved his security pass at the door.
‘Are you new?' he asked finally.
‘Work experience,' I said. ‘I'm hoping to shake up the whole place.'
‘OK …' He looked worried, as if a teenager might be able to do his job better than he could. Which was true, and not just this teenager either.
‘I'll call Margo later, set up a meeting,' I said, worryingly.
‘Um, yes, very busy, but …'
I peeled off to the left. The door to Mr Dean's office was open.
‘It's just so disrespectful,' he was saying to his long-suffering PA, shaking down his jacket. ‘I just don't understand it.'
I knocked on the door. ‘I'm sorry … Mr Dean?'
‘Yes?' he said abruptly, trying to hide what he was doing.
‘I'm Rachel – John's new work-experience person in Mergers and Acquisitions.'
‘Yes?'
I looked at the ground. ‘I'm really sorry, sir. I don't quite know … he sent me up to tell you …'
‘Yes? What?'
‘That someone's tipped paint on your car, sir.'
‘WHAT!?'
Dean grabbed his soaking wet jacket and tried to put it on. The material twisted and grabbed onto his neck, and he was a ridiculous sight, trying to force himself into something that clearly wouldn't go.
‘Shit, bugger. What the hell is happening to the world?' he grumbled, face red and sweaty with exertion. As he struggled, I could smell some familiar BO from his damp shirt. His PA was trying to hide her giggles.
‘Sorry,' I said, leaving, as he half tripped, half ran out of the office. Now the coast was clear.
 
 
My desk was almost exactly the same as I'd left it. No, it was tidier, that was for sure. Instead of a model of Bart Simpson looking annoyed, there was a model of Calvin and Hobbes looking annoyed. The picture of Tashy and Max and me and Olly, on holiday in Italy, had gone, of course, replaced by one of two couples who looked remarkably similar.
My doppelganger was looking at her computer screen but, with the skill of long practice, I could tell she wasn't working. Her hand clicked at her mouse occasionally. Every so often she'd click on something, lean back and look at the screen. That must be her latest spreadsheet. She was probably doing what I'd used to do at work: know what had to be done, but be staring at it in incomprehensibility that she actually had to, good salary or no good salary.
She let out a quiet sigh. I didn't have long until Dean came back. I walked up to her desk and stood in front of her.
‘Hello?' she said, not unpleasantly, very quickly switching applications, I noticed. ‘Can I help you?'
I looked straight at her. ‘You wouldn't believe me,' I said, ‘if I told you who I really was.'
She looked to the side. Fair enough, I did sound completely dopey, and not in a good way.
‘I'm a ghost of the future. I'm here to tell you you hate your job and you should go and do something else.'
‘What?'
‘But I knew you wouldn't believe that.'
‘I don't hate my—'
‘And I'd think very seriously about that boyfriend of yours.'
‘I'm sorry, I think … who are you?'
The politeness of the English when confronted with insanity had emboldened me. ‘I told you,' I said cheerfully. ‘A warning from your future. Or past, I'm not sure.'
Her brow lowered.
‘Yes, and I'm Johnny Vegas. Can you excuse me, please?' She turned back to her work. I didn't move. ‘Or I'll have to call security.'
‘I knew you wouldn't believe me,' I said. ‘So I thought the best thing I could do would be to give you a day off.' And I picked up my specially secreted bottle of Tippex and poured it into the vents on her computer.
‘What the
hell
are you doing?' she screeched, standing up suddenly.
But I was away. I'd never done anything even slightly bad before, and the pounding feeling of adrenalin was kicking me into gears I didn't know I had. At the door, I could see Dean steaming up the stairs looking furious. I couldn't go out that way – it would have to be the fire exit. And on that note …
I hit the glass window as hard as I could. Ow! This was why they had tiny hammers, damn it!
The woman was encroaching on me now, pointing me out to the secretaries, who were shaking their heads. Dean was behind me, his face puce with fury. I found the hammer and banged as hard as I could against the glass.
‘DDDDDRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR …'
The noise shocked even me, and caused everyone to pause. I paused for less time, though, as I'd been expecting it, and I had the reaction times of a peak-fitness teenager. I sprinted across to the fire exit and bombed it down the stairs like a wet cat, as the hubbub of an unexpected time off at lunchtime came rising up behind me.

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