Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco (14 page)

‘Jess! Flo! Come here and listen to Mackenzie doing a Homer Simpson!’ Jodie bawled.

Fred turned towards her and Jess waited for a sign from him that things were OK. But somehow he seemed to fix his gaze on Flora instead, hesitating, his mouth half open, a quizzical frown hovering above his elusive grey eyes.

At this point the bell rang, and they trooped towards the door. Jess managed to position herself alongside Fred. They weren’t alone, but it was the next best thing.

‘Great about the band!’ she whispered. ‘But have you found the muns?’

‘I keep telling you.’ Fred turned and stared into her face for a split second, his eyes wide and panicky. ‘
You
had it!’

‘But I’ve turned my room completely upside down!’ insisted Jess, her pulse racing. ‘There’s no sign of it! I know I did have it for the first few weeks, but then you took it – I’m sure.’

‘I did have some of it for a while,’ admitted Fred. ‘But then I gave it to you with all the paperwork – don’t you remember?’ He still looked jittery, though. Jess’s panic spiralled downwards. Her heart was hammering away like mad. What if they never found it? They’d have to cancel the whole thing and spend the rest of their lives working to pay people their money back. Aargh! She would never organise anything ever again. It was misery.

After all that, the French test was almost a blessed relief. For the rest of the day, Jess hardly had a chance to speak to Fred at all. At break she was in detention (history homework had caught up with her at last); at lunchtime Fred had yet more infuriating chess club practice, and after school he had to go off with Mr Dickson and the chess team because there was a match against St Benedict’s. Honestly! Why couldn’t he put the dinner dance first, just for a few days? Jess hadn’t had a chance even for a brief moment of shared hysteria.

She packed her bag with a heavy heart (not literally – she wasn’t into offal) and, sighing, wrapped her fave stripy scarf around her throat. It was another dark, frosty afternoon.

‘Come on,’ said Flora. ‘Let’s go to Jack’s.’ Jack had left school early for a dental appointment. ‘He’s texted me to say his face is still numb and he wants some TLC.’

‘Blokes are such wimps,’ sighed Jess. ‘Anyway, I should go home really.’

‘Just come for a few minutes,’ urged Flora. ‘It’s on your way. You’ll love Jack’s house. It’s amazing, but in a kind of unusual way. And it would be good for you to meet his mum before we go to Dorset.’

‘OK.’ Jess, though tormented, was still clinging on to the basics of politeness. Besides, she rather liked the idea of not going home right away – since Dad had arrived, there had been An Atmosphere. He hadn’t revealed his plans for what to do next, and it seemed he might be camping out in her bedroom for some time.

Normally Jess went home, ran upstairs, dived into her lovely welcoming chaotic den, flung her bag in the corner and jumped on to the bed with her teddy and her laptop. Not having her own room waiting for her made her feel a bit like a refugee – she wouldn’t be able to escape from Mum and Granny and, much as she loved them, she realised that having her own private space was essential to her sanity.

‘So did you get a chance to talk to Fred?’ asked Flora gently as they set off through the frosty white twinkling streets. ‘Has he got a band organised?’

‘Well,’ said Jess cautiously, ‘he
said
he’s fixed up a band at last – Frenzy, apparently.’ She still hadn’t told Flora about the missing money, because it seemed so completely and utterly lame.

‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Flora. ‘I’m sure they’ll be terrific! Plus there’s always the DJ and the disco! Cheer up, babe – it’s going to be brilliant!’

‘I know, I know!’ said Jess, trying to shake off her secret angst about the missing money. ‘Sorry to be such a moody cow.’

‘The Moody Cow!’ repeated Flora, with a nervous trying-too-hard kind of smile. ‘Sounds like a pub. Maybe we should run a pub when we’ve left school.’

‘Maybe,’ said Jess listlessly. It was hard to join in the joke – she was so anxious, she felt as if she’d drunk a whole barrelful of icy water.

‘Jack’s house is along here,’ said Flora, turning into a street of big terraced Georgian houses like in a Jane Austen movie. The door was dark green with a gleaming brass knocker shaped like a pineapple.

‘I don’t think I’ll come in,’ said Jess, beginning to back away. But then a blonde middle-aged woman, evidently Jack’s mum, opened the door and flung her arms wide.

‘Flora!’ she trilled, embracing her.

‘This is Jess,’ said Flora shyly.

‘Jess! How lovely to meet you! I’m so glad you’re coming down to Dorset with us next weekend! Come in! Come in! Have some tea!’ She hustled them indoors. ‘Jack!’ she called upstairs. ‘Jack! Flora and Jess are here!’ There was a muffled reply from upstairs.

‘Come through to the kitchen and get warm!’ Mrs Stevens went on. ‘Gubbins will be thrilled to see you!’ Jess wondered who Gubbins was. Although Jack’s family seemed to be incredibly rich, she wasn’t sure they had a butler.

The kitchen was a long room sort of tacked on at the back of the house. There was a huge cream range cooker with tea towels hanging from its bar, French windows showing a wintry garden of clipped evergreen shrubs and a starry tree that seemed to be flowering even in January, and a huge table strewn with cookery debris. Above the table there was a big window in the ceiling so you could look up and see the sky.

A little Jack Russell terrier leapt out of his basket, did a couple of growly excited barks and flew to greet the girls, jumping up and wagging his tail. At the same time Jack arrived.

‘Hello, Jeff,’ he said, smiling lopsidedly at Jess. ‘I can’t talk properly so I’m afraid you’ll have to have a fex-change.’

‘Hello, Gubbins!’ Flora picked up the dog and he thrashed his tail wildly, licking her face in the most tickly way. ‘Don’t go mental, you naughty pup!’ she gasped. ‘Oh! My mascara!’ She burst into uncontrollable giggles and passed him to Jack.

‘Gubbins is a lovely name!’ said Jess, rubbing the pup’s tummy. ‘I think I’ll be a little old spinster one day with a terrier and some knitting.’

‘You won’t be a spinster!’ beamed Mrs Stevens. ‘The chaps will be fighting over you, young lady! And how is the lovely Fred? I’m dying to meet him.’

‘The lovely Fred is at a chess match,’ said Jess lightly, not wishing to go into the details of her present delirious happiness. ‘Your kitchen is wonderful – so cosy!’

‘It’s a great room for parties,’ said Mrs Stevens. ‘But not as good as our house in Dorset. In fact, we’re having a little lunch party down there on the Sunday – it’s our wedding anniversary. Nothing special, just roast beef and apple pie and then possibly charades around the fire. I’ve heard how brilliant you and Fred are at charades, Jess. I can’t wait to see you perform!’

Chapter 18

As she arrived home and closed the front door behind her, Jess could hear her mum moving about in the kitchen, and she could tell by the way she was clattering the plates that her mood wasn’t good. Had she heard from Martin today? Or had he vanished at the first hint of a challenge? Was Dad moving back in? Were they a family again? Jess rather hoped not. Things had been just fine as they were. This was all so disturbing. And it had been a bit of a shock to realise that Dad’s beautiful house by the sea didn’t actually belong to him.

Dad peered out of the kitchen door, smiled delightedly to see her and came out and gave her a hug.

‘I’ve made a fish pie!’ he announced breezily. ‘Of course, the fish can’t compare with what I used to get in St Ives. But I did my best.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be delish!’ Jess assured him. ‘It smells great!’

‘The fish you buy in St Ives has been caught literally a few hours before,’ mused Dad with a faraway look – about two hundred miles far away. ‘You can’t get any fresher.’

‘Yeah, yeah, spare us the commercial break,’ said Jess, moving towards the kitchen.

Her dad remained in the hall for a moment, fondly remembering an eel he had once bought.

Mum was unloading the dishwasher with a bad-tempered frown. Speedily Jess cosied up to her and gave her a kiss.

‘Have you heard from Martin?’ she whispered urgently.

‘No,’ said Mum, trying to sound as if it hadn’t crossed her mind as a possibility.

‘The fish pie smells nice.’ Jess tried to cheer her up.

‘I don’t particularly like fish pie,’ said Mum, giving Jess a fishy stare.

‘OK, well, never mind. I’ll just go up and change,’ said Jess, fantasizing about soft, warm tracksuit bottoms instead of school uniform, ‘and maybe do my homework.’

‘There’s no time for homework now,’ said Mum. Jess stared in amazement. This was the first and probably the only time this sentence would ever pass Mum’s lips. ‘Apparently this fish pie has to be eaten right now or it’ll be ruined.’ Mum looked a little exasperated. Jess felt sympathetic, but she hoped she would manage to stay positive. Dad would probably move on in a day or two.

‘Well, I’ll just go up and get changed at least,’ said Jess. ‘I’m in the mood for pyjamas or something cosy.’

She raced upstairs, but when she stepped inside her room, her tummy somersaulted with shock. Dad had tidied her room! All her papers had been gathered up off her desk, which was now shiny and organised. Where were those precious papers? They’d included a sketch of Mr Fothergill, the English teacher, morphing into an elephant, plus a very amusing dialogue about octopuses getting married, which she and Flora had secretly written in the French lesson when they should have been doing their translations. And the floor – it was visible! All her clothes had been picked up and hung in the wardrobe, or even, who knows, possibly folded up and put away in the drawers . . . She would never be able to find her stuff again.

It was bad enough that her suddenly homeless dad should move into her bedroom so she had to share with Mum – who read novels half the night, by the way, keeping Jess awake; it was bad enough that he should show no signs so far of moving on or moving out. But to tidy her room behind her back? That was a crime against humanity! Jess was fuming.

He’d had all day to pick over her personal stuff, read her private notes, even – Jess’s heart gave a terrible lurch – devour her diary, which she noticed was tidily placed on her bedside table. He’d definitely touched it, then – it normally lived under her pillow. Disaster!

Jess ran from her room in disgust, thundered downstairs and burst into the kitchen, spitting venom. Dad was straining some peas and Mum was laying the table. They both looked up in alarm at Jess’s dramatic entrance.

‘Dad!’ she screamed. ‘You’ve tidied my room! You’ve been messing about with all my private stuff! That’s so totally out of order! How could you?’

Some strange expressions flitted across Dad’s face. He shared a quick glance with Mum.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said, his tone strangely light-hearted. ‘But maybe you should find somewhere a little safer for this.’ He picked up a big bulging envelope from the dresser and held it out. Jess’s heart gave a leap. She grabbed the envelope and peered inside – it was the money! A big sheaf of cheques and bundles of cash! She flung herself gratefully into Dad’s arms.

‘Oh, Dad! You’re such a legend! Sorry I was in a strop about the tidying! Where did you find it?’

‘Down the back of your desk – between the desk and the wall,’ said Dad. ‘I couldn’t quite work out whether you’d put it there deliberately, or if it had just dropped down.’