Girl, 15: Charming but Insane (26 page)

The door opened and Fred appeared. When he saw her, his face sort of crumpled with dismay.

‘This won’t take long,’ said Jess.

Evidently her presence was odious to him.

‘What is it?’ asked Fred. ‘Assassination? Go ahead. I deserve it.’

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ said Jess. ‘I only want a word.’

‘A word?’ said Fred. ‘How about antidisestablishmentarianism? It’s very popular these days. Though personally I find it a bit over the top.’

‘Stop trying to make me laugh. I’m not in the mood,’ snapped Jess. ‘This is serious. Are your parents in?’

‘My mum has gone off to groom her racehorses,’ said Fred. ‘And my dad is helping the police with their enquiries into his money-laundering in Panama.’

‘Ask me in, then, why don’t you?’ grumbled Jess, barging past Fred and going into the sitting room where Fred had so recently spent the night in a sleeping bag, watching violent movies and then sleeping like a baby. That seemed light years ago now. Jess had so loved it here. She had felt almost like part of the family. Now that would be Flora’s privilege.

Fred and Jess sat down on opposing sofas. ‘Would you like a drink or something?’ asked Fred.

‘No thanks,’ said Jess. ‘And I don’t want to watch a violent movie either.’

‘Nor do I,’ said Fred. ‘I’ve gone off them a bit lately. I prefer arty French movies now, to be honest. With subtitles. That
Amélie
is amazing. I’ve watched it seven times. She looks a bit like you, in fact.’

Jess hadn’t seen
Amélie
, so she didn’t know whether this was a compliment or an insult. But it didn’t matter anyway. It was disconcerting, being here, with Fred being his old self. Jess longed just to relax into the easy feeling and forget her mission. But she couldn’t. She had promised Flora.

There was a silence. Fred was staring at her. Jess was confused for a second, jittery. She was so preoccupied with what she had to say that she wasn’t concentrating properly. Had he just asked her something? She stared back. He tossed his hair out of his eyes and gave a tense, nervy smile.

‘Sorry,’ he said suddenly.

‘Sorry for what?’ asked Jess.

‘I dunno – sorry for everything,’ he said. ‘I always apologise to everybody whenever I meet them just in case I might have committed a nuisance upon them while engaged in astral travel.’

‘I’m the one who should apologise,’ said Jess.

‘No, I’m the one!’ snapped Fred in mock rivalry. ‘I’m sorry, OK? I’m sorry. Not you. I’m sorry but there it is – I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about ruining your mum’s birthday,’ said Jess.

‘No, it was fine,’ said Fred, but he blushed.

‘I said I’d been sick,’ Jess went on, ‘but the truth was I’d had to help my granny. She left the kitchen tap on and the water overflowed all over the ground floor, and I had to look after her and clear it all up, and I didn’t realise how late it was getting, and –’

‘Forget it,’ said Fred. ‘My mum had a headache anyway, so we decided to postpone her birthday party until the summer holidays.’

Jess felt immensely relieved to hear this. Maybe she would have a chance to get Fred’s mum a present after all – with her own money this time.

‘So you’re not mad at me?’ said Jess.

Fred grinned at her through his locks of hair. ‘I thought
you
were mad at
me
,’ he said. ‘I meant to ask you to write for the newspaper. You were the first person I thought of. I even rang you once, but your granny answered the phone. I was so freaked out by it I thought I’d wait till I saw you at school. But somehow – whenever I got the chance . . .’

‘What?’ cried Jess. ‘What?’

‘Well, you know . . .’ Fred looked a bit awkward, and began to fiddle with his trainers. ‘When someone’s going out with someone, one has to keep one’s distance.’

‘Who?’ demanded Jess, fear striking into her heart. ‘Who are you going out with?’

Fred looked startled. ‘Me?’ he asked, in a camp pose with his hand on his chest. ‘
Moi?
Going out with somebody? Like, who? An alien, perhaps? Or some kind of exotic cabbage plant?’

‘Oh, I thought you meant
you
were going out with somebody,’ said Jess, feeling rather breathless all of a sudden.

‘No, I meant
you
,’ explained Fred patiently, as if to a very young child or forgetful old person.

‘
Me?
’ gasped Jess. ‘
I’m
not going out with anybody!’

‘But,’ faltered Fred, ‘what about Ben? Everybody says you’re going out. I see you everywhere together. Walking home, sitting on the wall, in the library at lunchtime, in the canteen . . . Whizzer said . . . he said Ben was over at your place the day of my mum’s birthday thing.’

‘That was nothing!’ said Jess. ‘He just called by to lend me a DVD. I didn’t even want to watch the stupid thing. I just didn’t want to be rude. He didn’t even come indoors.’

‘So you’re not going out with him?’ asked Fred. His eyes were starting to sparkle in a truly festive way.

‘Of course we’re not going out!’ Jess assured him. ‘He just talks to me a lot because Mackenzie’s always with Flora – I mean, we both had time on our hands.’

‘Oh,’ said Fred.

Another silence sprang up. This one seemed a bit more relaxed than the previous silence, and yet a bit more dangerous. Jess scrambled to fill it. She must, she must, deliver her message.

‘But things have changed, anyway, because Flora’s split up with Mackenzie,’ she said.

‘Oh well,’ said Fred. ‘So?’

Jess hesitated. Now she was coming to the breathless moment.

‘Flora says it’s not fair on Mackenzie to be going out with him, because she really wants to go out with somebody else.’

Fred shrugged and pulled an ape-face.

‘The thing is, Fred . . . she wants to go out with you.’

Fred kind of leapt back on the sofa as if he’d been shot. His eyes were huge with amazement. For once, he could not say anything. He just stared at Jess, open-mouthed.

‘Yeah,’ Jess went on. ‘Apparently she’s been crazy about you for some time. She thinks you’re a comic genius.’

Fred shook his head, then rubbed his face, then scowled at the carpet, then shook his head again.

‘No,’ he said. ‘No . . . no . . . no . . . no! It’s absurd. I don’t want to go out with a girl who thinks I’m a comic genius. I’d rather go out with a girl . . .’ He peeped at Jess through his locks of floppy hair. ‘I’d rather go out with a girl who thinks I’m an owl. I mean, swooping about at night and ripping the heads off small rodents – that’s achievable.’

Jess’s heart did that hurtling-out-of-her-mouth trick, performed a circuit of Fred’s sitting room, bounced off the window and re-entered her body at speed through her bottom. Had Fred said he wanted to go out with her?

‘Are you saying . . .’ She had to be bold and seize the moment. ‘Are you saying you want to go out with me?’

‘Yeah, all right then, why not give it a whirl,’ said Fred quickly, as if they were discussing whether to have a new sort of sandwich. ‘I’m not proposing marriage, mind you. I’m not the marrying kind.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Jess. ‘Nor am I. In fact, I’d rather be marooned in the Gobi desert and groomed to death by meerkats than marry you.’

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ said Fred. ‘I’d rather be deep-fried in egg and breadcrumbs than be married to you for even a split second.’

‘Thank goodness we’ve got that clear, then,’ said Jess.

There was another silence. This time it was just intensely delicious.

‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for some time,’ said Fred. His eyes were dancing.

‘What?’ asked Jess.

‘Well . . .’ Fred picked up a cushion and hugged it. ‘It’s kind of hard to say, really . . . it’s just, you know: three little words.’

Jess was on her guard. Maybe there was a trick coming. Or maybe this was the happiest moment of her life so far.

‘What three little words?’ she said. ‘
You’re an idiot?
’

‘No,’ replied Fred. ‘
Cut my hair
.’

‘Cut your hair?’ exclaimed Jess. ‘What a brilliant, brilliant idea! I’ve wanted to cut your hair for about a thousand years. But we’ll have to wash it first.’

They went up to the bathroom together and surveyed Fred’s mum’s immense range of desirable shampoos.

‘What sort of hair have you got?’ demanded Jess.

‘Hair that hasn’t been washed for decades,’ replied Fred. He sat down on the bathroom stool. ‘Have a look,’ he invited her.

Jess touched his hair. It was soft and clean. It had so clearly been washed yesterday. But she didn’t say a word. It was just great to be doing this.

‘I recommend your mum’s coconut and cinnamon shampoo,’ she said.

‘Go on, then,’ said Fred. ‘Wash it.’ And he stuck his head over the washbasin. ‘Our shower head’s broken,’ he mumbled. ‘You’ll have to use a glass.’

Jess made sure the water was just right: warm, not hot. Ever so gently, she wet his hair. Then she applied the shampoo and massaged it in. Then she rinsed it, stroking the streams of warm water out of Fred’s long floppy locks. It took ages, just using the glass. Halfway through the rinsing, Fred put his arm round her waist.

‘I’m frightened of water,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to excuse me.’

At last Jess had finished, and they went downstairs. Fred had a towel round his shoulders like a tennis player.

‘I’d better cut it in your utility room,’ said Jess. ‘Where you’ve got those ceramic tiles. If we did it in here, the hair would stick to the carpet.’

‘That’s what I love about you,’ said Fred. ‘You’re so sensible.’

They went into the utility room. Fred sat down. Jess found some scissors in the kitchen, and propped a large mirror against the wall, on top of the washing machine.

‘So how do you want it?’ she asked.

‘Whatever you like,’ said Fred cheerfully. ‘I’m sick of the stuff. The shorter the better.’

Jess had never cut anybody’s hair before, but it seemed easy. A lot of hair fell on the floor. Fred’s head emerged. It looked crisp and cool. Better defined. So completely and utterly Fred. It was as if all the irritating things about Fred had dropped away on to the floor, as well as the hair. And all the bad times they’d had, also.

‘You know what hairdressers always say?’ said Jess. ‘
Going anywhere nice for your holiday?
’ She put on a camp hairdresser’s voice.

‘Well, I was torn between Ibiza and Berlin,’ said Fred. ‘But I suppose we could have quite a good time down the road, in the park.’

A glorious summer in the park with Fred began to shimmer in Jess’s imagination.

‘I’d really like to write some comedy with you,’ he went on. ‘That stand-up of yours was the funniest thing ever. Do it for me now – go on!’

‘Certainly not!’ said Jess playfully. ‘Things have moved on in the Lonely Hearts department. That stand-up routine is So Last Season.’

‘OK, then,’ said Fred. ‘But could we write some stuff for, like, a double act? You and me?’

‘Yeah,’ said Jess. ‘We could create a couple of old codgers called Doris and Arthur. You could play Doris and I could play Arthur.’

‘We could even go somewhere on a trip,’ mused Fred.

‘Yeah!’ said Jess. ‘We could go and see my dad down in St Ives! And my other project for the summer is, I’ve really got to find out why my mum and dad split up.’

‘I’ve really got to find out why my mum and dad
didn’t
,’ sighed Fred.

The haircut was finished.

‘Wow!’ said Jess. ‘You look a bit like a bushbaby! Can I stroke your head?’

‘Please,’ said Fred. ‘Be my guest.’

Jess stroked it. It did feel a bit like the fur of an animal.

‘I shall start purring in a minute,’ said Fred. ‘You can stroke my head any time you like. In fact, I shall get rather annoyed if you don’t stroke it every day.’

Jess, standing behind Fred, put her arms round his shoulders. Fred reached up and held her hands in close to his heart. Jess could feel it racing. She rested her head on top of his head. They looked at themselves in the mirror.

‘What an ugly couple,’ said Fred.

They stayed like that for quite a while, just grinning at each other in the mirror. All around them, on the floor, Fred’s hair shone in the sunlight. It was going to be one terrific summer.

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u
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a
’s at orchestra practice. So please, please, do me a ginormous favour and visit my fabulous, dazzling, low
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