Girl, 15: Flirting for England (14 page)

‘It’s OK, leave it. We can go to the field,’ said Flora.

‘The field’s wet,’ said Jodie. ‘We always sit here. It is
so
famously our spot.’ The ginger-haired girl flushed red with anger so that, for a moment, her freckles disappeared. Her green eyes sparkled.

‘We were here first,’ she said.

‘Don’t pick a fight, Chloe,’ said the spotty girl. She turned to Jess. ‘You can sit here if you like. We were just going anyway. That assembly you did last term was amazing.’

‘It was in the worst possible taste, though,’ said Jess, charmed that this person should have enjoyed her recent performance.

‘Yeah, that’s what I liked about it,’ said the girl. ‘All those thin people in Manhattan. “Fifty pounds will keep a New York broker in cocktails for half an hour – please give generously.’’’ She laughed and got up.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Jess, amazed that her tawdry jests had, it seemed, been memorised. The red-haired friend was still sitting on the bench, and still glaring.

‘I’m Zoe,’ said the spotty girl. ‘And this is Chloe.’

‘Nice to have a friend who rhymes with you,’ said Jess. She wished it could have been a better joke, but her fan laughed anyway.

‘Come on, Chloe,’ said Zoe. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Eat my shorts!’ said Chloe, getting up and scorching past with a glare. She marched off. Zoe watched her go.

‘She’s a little touchy today,’ she sighed. ‘She had a bit of a tragedy last night with one of her poison toads.’ Zoe shrugged apologetically and walked off.

‘Well, I’m exhausted,’ said Jess, sitting down. ‘What does one have to do around here to get some respect?’

‘How much respect do you want?’ sneered Jodie, plonking herself down beside her. ‘She’ll probably come back here when we’ve gone and sit down where you sat. It’ll be a sacred spot.’

‘I just hope Edouard hasn’t got a crush on me after all,’ said Jess. ‘He shows no signs of it, anyway, thank goodness.’

Suddenly a shadow fell across the bench. Fred had arrived. He seemed taller than ever, standing there against the sun, but somehow still not sinister, only absurd.

‘So is the camping trip on?’ he asked. ‘My dad says we can have his old army tent. Just ignore the bullet holes and bloodstains.’

‘Sorry, Fred,’ said Jodie, in her brisk and rather brutal way, ‘you can’t come. My auntie says we’ve got to keep the numbers down and six is the max.’

‘Phew, what a relief,’ said Fred. ‘I was heroically going to go through with it, but to be honest I’m allergic to being outdoors. In fact, I’ve had enough of this so-called fresh air. Ah, well . . . I’m off to weep with disappointment in the loos.’ He strolled away.

‘That was a bit harsh,’ said Jess. ‘Can’t your auntie just let Fred come? Go on, let him. He’s a laugh.’

‘Nope,’ said Jodie, biting through her chicken tikka baguette with an almost crocodile-like snap. ‘Six is the max.’

‘I feel sorry for him,’ said Flora. ‘He was so sweet offering his dad’s tent and stuff.’

‘His tent sounded gross,’ said Jodie. ‘What’s yours like? State of the art?’

Flora looked startled.

‘We don’t have a tent actually,’ she said. ‘My mum refuses to stay in anything less than a four-star hotel.’

‘Have you got a tent, Jess?’ asked Jodie.

‘No,’ said Jess. ‘We sold ours years ago. But buy me the wool and I’ll knit one by Friday.’ Despite the joke, she was feeling uneasy. Surely the weekend wasn’t going to be scuppered by a lack of tents? ‘I kind of assumed you’d be providing the tents,’ she went on.

Jodie scowled. ‘Look, I’m providing the field, aren’t I? Plus, unlike you two losers, I do actually have a tent, but it’s way too small for all of us.’

‘I expect we can borrow one from somebody,’ said Flora. ‘Whizzer has a tent.’

‘He’d want something sordid in return,’ said Jodie. ‘We can borrow Fred’s.’

‘What?’ gasped Jess. ‘You can’t tell him he can’t come and then ask to borrow his tent. Have you no tact at all?’

The bell rang, bringing an end to their lunchtime idyll. A sense of uneasiness was creeping over them. Would their wonderful camping weekend have to be abandoned by a stupid thing like a shortage of tents? But, then again, how could one do camping without them?

However, when Jess got home, she discovered that something much more fundamental was threatening her divine plans.

‘Camping?’ snapped her mum, struggling with a cheese sauce (?Jess had once again mistimed a crucial request). ‘At this time of year? Forget it. We don’t have a tent. It’ll be too cold – he’ll get pneumonia.’

Edouard was sitting with Granny. He was pale with the awful aftermath of a trip to Oxford, and preparing to toy disgustedly with Mum’s leeks and bacon in cheese sauce.

It’s so infuriating
, thought Jess.
Mum hates cooking with a ferocious passion and still she doesn’t want to get him out of her hair for a weekend
.

Jess felt her heart sink down, down, down through the kitchen floor, the concrete foundations and the coldest of cold clay, until it came to a dark, dripping cavern where vampire bats roosted. Here it came to rest. The camping trip was a non-starter. This was a total, complete and utter disaster.

Chapter 19

After supper Edouard scampered upstairs, muttering something about ‘’omework’. Jess grabbed her mobile and texted Flora.
HELP! MUM SAYS NO TO CAMPING! GRIEF-STRICKEN! THINK OF SOMETHING!

She approached her mum in the kitchen while she was loading the dishwasher. Jess knew this was not a good moment. First she had to ingratiate herself by doing chores. Jess put the salt and pepper away in the cupboard. She wiped down the work surfaces. She washed the baking tray
by hand
, and then even dried the thing and put it away, instead of just ‘leaving it to drain’ – her usual cop-out. OK, she’d been saintly. Now she just had to let rip.

‘Mum!’ she burst out recklessly. ‘You have to change your mind. This camping trip is going to be the
best
time. Plus it gets Edouard out of your hair for a whole weekend. Me, too, of course. I promise I’ll look after him. If it rains for even a split second, we can go into Jodie’s auntie’s house.’

Mum stood up and, as she did so, catastrophically banged her head on the cupboard door which Jess had left open. She then staggered round the kitchen, rubbing it and swearing so horribly that if she’d been a football player, she’d have been shown the red card and told to leave the field. Jess tried to fuss over her and console her and massage her head, but this kind concern only seemed to inflame Mum more. Jess did the only thing possible. She ran away.

Granny was in the sitting room, watching the TV news. Jess dived down beside her on the sofa and snuggled up close.

‘A headless corpse has been found in the Thames,’ said Granny gleefully. ‘And strangely, it was wearing fancy dress.’ She was such a homicide addict.

‘What kind of fancy dress?’ asked Jess, desperate for distraction.

‘It was a man wearing a 1940s cocktail frock,’ said Granny.

Mum stuck her head round the sitting-room door and announced that she was going up to her study to do some paperwork. She ordered Jess to do her homework or there would be big trouble.

‘I promise I’ll start in five minutes!’ said Jess, and snuggled up closer to Granny. The news had moved on to less exciting topics – something to do with tax.

‘So what’s the matter, dear?’ whispered Granny, once Mum had gone. Swiftly Jess outlined the fabulous camping plan, and Mum’s hostile reaction to it.

‘I can understand you all wanting to be together in a big field,’ said Granny. ‘It sounds lovely. Why don’t you ring your father and see if he can put in a good word for you?’

‘Granny, you’re a genius!’ said Jess, kissing the old dear vigorously on the cheek. ‘But first – how are things with you? Are you still under house arrest?’

‘Something marvellous happened today, dear,’ said Granny, leaning in close. ‘While I was mending Edouard’s trousers.’

‘What? What?’ gasped Jess.

‘I heard Grandpa speak to me,’ Granny hissed. ‘I heard his voice out loud, right in the room, as if he was sitting in that chair.’

Goosebumps zipped up and down Jess’s back. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said, “You don’t need that Gina, sweetheart. You can talk to me any time you want.”’ As a message from the Beyond, this was both reassuring and economical.

‘Don’t tell your mum, though,’ Granny went on, ‘because she’ll think I’m losing my marbles. I’m just going to say that I’ve seen sense, and I promise not to have any more readings with Gina. And you must back me up, dear.’

‘Of course, Granny! And you back me up about the camping.’

Granny sighed and shook her head. ‘I don’t think she’ll take any notice of what I say, dear,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best, though.’

‘OK – I’m going to phone Dad right now,’ said Jess. She ran to the kitchen and picked up the phone. Thank goodness Mum was not talking to anybody from her study upstairs. Jess had to use the landline, but it wasn’t always completely private. She’d promised never to phone her dad from her mobile except in emergencies. Although this was an emergency, in a way. She dialled. He answered. Jess let him have the whole drama, down to the last tentpeg.

‘So you’ve got to persuade Mum to say yes!’ pleaded Jess. ‘Everybody else is going and it’ll be dire if Edouard and I are stuck here together on our own all weekend. He just, like, totally can’t speak English and I can’t speak French. He’s only happy when he’s got his French friends around.’

‘I see the problem,’ said Dad. ‘But does it have to be camping?’

‘Yes, it does have to be camping!’ said Jess. ‘It’ll be wonderful! Granny thinks it’ll be lovely!’

‘What if it rains?’

‘The weather forecast says there’s going to be a mini-heatwave! Flora’s dad says so and he’s never wrong.’

‘What are the sleeping arrangements? How many tents are there?’

‘Honestly, Dad! You’re supposed to be my groovy, artistic, easy-going parent, who cheerfully says yes to all my delightful plans!’

‘Sorry,’ said Dad. ‘But I am concerned . . . You know, I don’t want to tread on Mum’s toes . . . and I share her worries about your safety.’

‘Safety!’ exploded Jess. ‘We’ll practically be in Jodie’s auntie’s garden! What could happen?’

‘Don’t ask me to speculate!’ said Dad, sounding nervous. ‘My blood runs cold at the thousands of terrible things that could happen.’

‘You wimp!’ said Jess. ‘I was going to ask you to plead with Mum on my behalf, but don’t bother.’ She was really angry with her dad now. ‘How’s everything going for your exhibition? OK?’ But she said it in a really cross, sarcastic voice.

‘Never mind the exhibition,’ said Dad. ‘We were talking about this camping trip. To be honest, even if I did think it was a good idea, I don’t think I’d have any influence on Mum. In fact, asking me to back you up might be the worst move you could make. What sort of mood is she in?’

‘She’s just banged her head on the cupboard door,’ said Jess. ‘Plus Edouard left most of his leek and bacon in cheese sauce. And Granny is going through a slightly crazy patch – hearing the voices of the dead, that sort of thing.’

‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘Not only is it a bad thing in general, getting me to ask Mum to let you do something, but at this moment in particular I’d say it was sheer lunacy for anyone to say anything to her, except possibly, “Mum, would you like me to bring you a cup of tea?”’