183 Times a Year (20 page)

‘Depeche Mode I think you'll find,' Trevor says leaning across to whisper in my ear.

‘Sorry?' I reply, completely thrown.

‘Oh come on,' Trevor continues, grinning. ‘I know your charming face has aged far better than my craggy old one but I can't believe you don't remember the 80s?' I laugh, for what feels the first time in hours. Raj catches sight of us both and stares, sternly.

‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, those greedy bastards,' Raj says pointing skywards, ‘want everyone back in the good old days innit? Oppressed, working for fuck all and grateful. Well, everyone except them of course, with their expenses and their second homes and their annual bonuses. Bonuses that, may I add, would probably feed the entire African continent. Everyfing, I means everyfing,' Raj rallies, slapping the palm of
his
hand again, ‘good, honest, hardworking people has fought for in this country is gradually being eroded away – yeah? If they keep this up I'll never get away from my bloody family innit? Can you imagine me?' Raj asks, pointing at himself. ‘A little grey haired Indian still living with his elderly parents?' The room is filled with slight ripples of laughter. ‘They'll be generations of kids never being able to afford to leave home.'

I gasp inwardly; Raj's words fill me with cold terror.

Oh my god, can you imagine a lifetime of Cassie and Maisy, never leaving home?

‘Now that is madness,' I say out loud.

‘Yes my friend, madness indeed,' Raj replies, seeing another opportunity to speak.

You have to stop him
.

‘Yes, but …' I interject at lightning speed. ‘Do not forget the words of Charles William Day;

“Madness is an excited mind, indulging in the dreams of imagination, until the heated fancy makes chimeras appear real.”

Raj scratches his head and looks suitably thrown for a moment. ‘Err yeah,' he replies, ‘that err…' he trails off and scratches his head again. ‘That too,' he adds. His expression is one of amused bewilderment as he continues to scratch his head, quietly repeating my words to himself.

It's done the trick. I see my opportunity to escape and grasp it, along with – so it appears – half the staff room.

Chapter 17

LETHARGY

CASSIE

Oh my god, this must be what it feels like to die of a broken heart. That's what's happening to me. I'm dying and wasting away to nothing. I run my hands across my stomach and hips. Yep, there are definitely two bony bits that weren't there before. I don't understand why I still have a muffin top though?

Joe has broken my heart and I'll never recover from this. I can't eat, I can't sleep.

I'm mortified when I remember Chelsea's party. My phone's pings, I have a text. I lift my head out of my duvet to check it. Wow its 11am. I obviously did manage to sleep for a while. It's only been for about an hour though. That's why I have to lay in every day coz I just can't sleep. I can't eat either, although maybe some ice cream would help, just a bit.

I make my way downstairs. The house is deathly quiet. And perfectly tidy, just as Mum likes it. Worse than Monica from Friends she is. A complete and utter neat freak. Has a complete bloody eppy over a few bloody crumbs on the worktops. She really should just chill, get a life or something. I check who my text is from. Ah bless, it's Sophie. She's been like, shaaammazing since the party. A real friend; not like bloody Pheebs. Bloody cow.

Hey Babe. WAKE UP!! Job vacancies at the shop where I work. Lingerie Dept!

Whoo Hoo! Have arranged an interview 4u 4 2moz 10.30.
Loads
a fit hotties. Money in your pocket. Be there xxxxxxxxx

A job eh? I'm not really sure if I want one at the moment. I do really deserve the whole summer off considering how hard I worked for my GCSE's. I'll think about it. I suppose it'll get Mum off my back. She keeps nagging me to get a job. I told her I'd sort it. She said it's not easy given the current climate (god knows what the weather's got to do with getting a job?). I mean, really though? How easy was that? The job's virtually mine. Oh shit I have to have an interview though. What do I say? Oh well, I'll ask Mum, she'll tell me. I suppose she is good for some things.

I sit my phone in its docking station and play the Artic Monkeys
R U Mine
at full volume, purely to drown my sorrows of course, and dance away all my heartache. I love the Arctic Monkeys, especially Alex Turner – even more than Joe actually – and I'm going to marry him one day. He doesn't know it yet though of course.

It's a beautiful day; the sun is streaming through the kitchen window; another perfect reason to eat ice cream. Well, that and I really need to eat to keep my strength up. I really can't let my depression affect my appetite. I am virtually wasting away after all, even though the bathroom scales don't indicate it. I think they must be broken.

Oh my god, someone's knocking at the door. My heart beats really fast. What if it's Joe? Please let it be Joe. Oh god no! On second thoughts don't let it be Joe. I look a complete mess. I'm only wearing a skanky pair of shorts and an old tee shirt, and, oh my god, no make-up! I rush up the stairs, three steps at a time, narrowly missing kicking Romeow, who is, was, sleeping on his usual favourite step, about half way up.

‘For god bloody sake Romeow,' I shout, ‘are you trying to bloody kill me?' He looks completely terrified and flees to the bottom step before looking up and scowling at me. He then
saunters
away, very slowly, in search of a new sleeping place. Why do we have to have such an anti-social cat? He hasn't sat with me once through my recent trauma. Selfish cat.

Oh god the doorbell is ringing again. I grab my false eyelashes and, squeezing out too much glue, attempt to put them on. Only problem is I now have glue all over my fingers and the lashes are sticking to them instead of my eyes. Arrrrrrggghh! After several desperate attempts I manage, somehow, to get the falsies on top of my own lashes. I pinch some colour into my cheeks, slap some lip-gloss on my lips and run my hands through my limp hair. I grab Maisy's huge square brush and desperately try to give my hair some body by back combing it. Only, now I look like I have limp hair with a bird's nest on top.

Oh bloody hell; whoever's at the door is now knocking – loudly. Whoever it is, they are clearly desperate to see me. Unless it's the bloody postman of course? I look out of the upstairs hallway window, squinting and shielding my eyes from the sun with my hand but I can't make out who it is. Oh well, this will just have to do, birds nest and all.

I make my way back to the top of the stairs. Be still my beating heart. I smooth my hands across my stomach (why do I still have a muffin top?) then down across my legs. Shit! I don't have a bra on. He, whoever it is, will see my odd sized boobs. I reach for my bargain Primark padded, ultra-lift, electric blue bra. I must be ambernextplus or something coz somehow whilst running down the stairs I manage to slip my bra on under my tee shirt. I reach the front door, take a deep breath and clear my throat. I'm planning to open the door and speak in my best sexy voice – soft, low and slightly husky, like Ruby was with that waiter. I press the handle downwards, my heart beating loudly in my chest.

‘Yes,' I say, all hot and breathy. My heart drops. I feel it thump into my stomach. ‘Oh, it's you,' I say to Luke. Why does
he
keep coming round to see me? Although, he does appear to be holding a tub of ice cream in his hand, so maybe I will let him in, even if it is the third time this week.

Luke flinches slightly and looks positively perplexed.

‘Umm, you seem to have something crawling down your face,' he says pointing to my cheek.

‘Eek, what the hell is it?' I scream, waving my head and my hands simultaneously. Luke takes hold of my hands and pulls me towards him. He looks at me and smirks then brushes something from my cheek.

‘Here,' he says holding it in his hand, ‘I'm not really sure what it is?' I look at the black, many legged thing sitting in the palm of Luke's hand and realise it's one of my falsies.

‘Oh, it's just my eyelashes,' I explain. ‘And, err,' he says grinning.

‘What now?' I snap.

‘Your top seems to be twisted in your …' he coughs and turns slightly pink. ‘Your um, bra,' he continues.

I look down and see I'm clearly not as amberdextplus as I thought I was. ‘Oh whatevs,' I reply, genuinely not bothered. It's only Luke, no-one important, no-one to impress. ‘Come in then,' I say.

‘I thought you might like this?' Luke says holding up a huge tub of cookie dough ice cream as he follows me into the kitchen. ‘I know it's your favourite and I thought it might cheer you up, what with Joe and his Facebook status and everything.'

I swing round to look at him. ‘His FB status, what do you mean?' He suddenly looks very sheepish.

‘Shit,' Luke says squirming. ‘I just assumed with you being so upset about him and everything. Well, I thought you probably followed him and …'

I grab my phone and jab my finger at the Facebook icon. I click onto Friends and find Joe. I hunt for his profile, my eyes
rapidly
scanning and searching for information. Then I see it, his status, in huge black letters, for the entire world to see, and screaming at me:

IN A RELATIONSHIP!!!!!!!!

Oh my god. This is serious. Since the party and up until the early hours of this morning his status was single. I'd hoped beyond stupid hope that if he was having some fling with Pheebs (I still can't believe she'd do that to me?), it wasn't anything important; a meaningless, temporary, physical release that would leave him empty and in no doubt that I was the one. But now he's in a fully-fledged relationship, my hope as crushed as my poor fractured heart. I look from my phone to Luke then back to my phone again, speechless. I click off Joe's profile and onto Pheebs's. A recent selfie of her smiles back at me.

‘Arrggghh, I want to claw her eyes out,' I yell. Luke jumps back, slightly alarmed.

I look at her status and there it is, bold as brass as Grandad would say:

IN A RELATIONSHIP!!!!!!!!

‘I saw Pheebs the other day,' Luke says. ‘She said she's been trying to get hold of you, to explain…'

‘Don't,' I reply, ‘ever mention her name to me again, okay?'

Luke's expression is like Connor's when I tell him to shut up. ‘Okay,' he replies. ‘Oh god, I feel sick,' I say pacing the kitchen, ‘I'll never eat again.'

‘So you don't want this ice cream then?'

‘Don't be an idiot,' I say grabbing two spoons from the cutlery draw, ‘do you think I'm going to let a tub of perfectly good ice cream go to waste?'

Between the two of us, Luke and I manage to polish off the whole tub of ice cream. Well, Luke eats more of it than me, if I'm truthful, but the very small amount I did eat has made me feel a bit better. He's brought his guitar with him. He sets it up
next
to my piano and we practice a few songs together.

He's actually a really good friend and one of the only people from school that thinks playing the piano isn't weird. He asks me if I've seen Chelsea and did I know she was in New York? Who the hell doesn't know from her zillions of tweets every three seconds?

Chelsea Divine is looking from the top of the Empire State Building #Awesome! Chelsea Divine having Breakfast at Tiffany's #Charming

And so it continues, Chelsea Divine, blah, blah blah, hash tag more blah. Not that I'm jealous. I nearly could have gone to New York too, if we had the money. Chelsea wanted me to go with her, she asked her Mum when they found me and my sick in the guest room Joe left me in. Oh god my face flushes up at the mere morose memory of it all. Why did Chelsea ask her Mum then? When I'd vomited over her very expensive tiled flooring? I couldn't look at Chelsea or her Mum but I could see Chelsea's Mum, using my profiterole vision. She was all stern faced and glaring, mouthing a definite NO to Chelsea. I don't care. Chelsea's only friends with me coz she thinks my godmother is Francious Libert. As if. I can't believe she honestly believes that. I don't think she does really. She's just hedging her bets in case. She'll drop me like a ton of bricks when she finds out the truth. And she will find out, sooner or later, and then I'll have to face her and Joe and Pheebs at Sixth Form in September.

‘Oh god, I don't want to go to Sixth Form,' I wail at Luke, just as we finish playing
Rolling in the Deep
by Adele.

‘Why don't you study music at College with me. I mean, like me?'

‘What,' I reply, ‘I didn't know you were going to college?'

He smiles. ‘I did tell you, about six months ago. You obviously weren't listening.'