Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco (22 page)

‘OK, well . . . uh, good.’ George paused a second longer, sniffed and then went back indoors.

After a humongous fry-up of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and potatoes, and a very thorough washing-up session to placate Mrs Stevens, they all raced down to the beach. Gubbins trotted beside them. He’d never seen the snow before, and kept jumping up and attacking it. There was a snowball fight with the waves crashing in the background; George threw snowballs at Gubbins, then he threw Gubbins around, then he threw sticks at him.

Jess watched, thinking,
He’s not just a joker, he’s an environmental geologist
. If he was going to spend his life working on those mega issues – helping to save the planet, literally – surely he was entitled to a few little practical jokes in his free time? Though she didn’t really go for his brand of humour, it wasn’t actually evil or anything.

Jess took loads of photos with her phone – which, incidentally, hadn’t received any more texts except one from Mum which simply said:
MARTIN AND I ARE AT THE ARBORETUM!
It seemed Mum had struck lucky at last with the half-gorgeous Martin, just at the very moment when Jess’s love life had shrivelled away into nothing. Jess wasn’t sure whether she was longing to get home again, or dreading it.

Chapter 27

Jess got back home on Sunday evening. There had been room for her in the Stevens’ people carrier because Humph had gone off, hitching, to see his uncle in Bristol, or something. There had been absolutely no message from Fred at all, just a howling silence. The only way to sort this out was to go round to Fred’s and grab him. Anyway, she had to return his bag with his pyjamas, sponge bag and books.

He was the great escaper – phone on voicemail, emails ignored, texts unanswered. Jess was raging. If he had indeed managed to fix up a band – for, oh help, next
Saturday!
– she would forgive him. But she couldn’t leave it till tomorrow at school: it had to be now, Sunday night, even though it was quite late and the darkness made it seem even later. She put her trainers on and sped through the night – in a knock-kneed, porky kind of way, admittedly.

It was 9.30 when she reached the Parsons’ house. Fred’s family usually stayed up late; his dad was often glued to his beloved football till midnight. Jess rang the doorbell and prepared a polite, businesslike smile, because she knew Fred would not be the one to answer the door. As expected, it was Mrs Parsons who did the honours.

‘Oh, hi, Jess! Come in! Isn’t it cold? How are you? How’s your mum?’

Fred’s mum couldn’t have been nicer. She was always so motherly towards Jess, and seemed to think that she was a good influence on Fred. Ha! Little did she know that Jess’s influence on Fred had shrunk to absolute zero. Jess stepped inside. The familiar sound of football drifted out of the sitting room.

‘Let me take your coat,’ said Fred’s mum, her fluffy hair shining in the hall light, her friendly blue eyes twinkling. ‘Did you have a lovely time in Dorset? Fred said it was brilliant.’ Jess was surprised. Fred had said it was brilliant? What a liar! ‘He said you were partying all last night,’ said Mrs Parsons with a merry laugh. ‘No wonder he looked so shattered when he got back. He was asleep on the sofa for a couple of hours this afternoon.’ Partying all night? If Fred had been partying all night, it certainly hadn’t been in Dorset. Jess gritted her teeth and tried to carry on smiling.

‘When did he get back?’ asked Jess lightly. ‘I came back a bit later with the Stevens.’

‘Oh?’ Mrs Parsons looked confused. ‘Fred turned up about lunchtime today. He’s upstairs trying to finish off his homework. Fred! Fre-e-e-ed!’ she called up the stairs.

Lunchtime today! Jess’s brain reeled. Where had Fred been for those twenty-four hours? More than twenty-four, actually. Had he been sorting out stuff for Chaos? If so, she could forgive him. Just.

‘I need to have a word with him about the dinner dance,’ said Jess.

‘Fine!’ Fred’s mum beamed. There was a muffled thump from upstairs, the sound of a bedroom door opening and Fred appeared at the top of the stairs, looking pale and shocked. ‘Jess has come to see you,’ his mum informed him. ‘Is your room fit to entertain a lady?’

‘What lady?’ Fred raised his eyebrows in what was supposed to be a comic pose, but it had no conviction.

‘Oh, take no notice, Jess!’ laughed Mrs P, who hadn’t noticed the undertone of awkwardness. ‘Go on up! If you want a hot choc or something, tell Fred to come down and make you one. I’m trying to encourage hospitable behaviour!’

Jess stared up at Fred. He looked about as hospitable as a deer who has spotted a tiger on the horizon. As Jess climbed up towards him, he sort of flinched and stood aside.

‘Do you want a hot chocolate?’ he asked, catching her eye for a horrible moment – horrible, because there was nothing in his expression but terror and confusion.

‘No,’ said Jess softly. ‘This won’t take a minute. I just want a quick word.’

She went through into Fred’s bedroom. He followed and shut the door. Usually this manoeuvre was followed by some big hugs, but today Fred stood back, and the empty air between them made the whole bedroom seem cold and threatening.

‘So,’ said Jess, turning and facing him. ‘What happened? Why didn’t you answer my texts? Did you fix up a band? And where were you last night?’

‘I stayed at Mackenzie’s,’ muttered Fred, looking sheepish and kicking an imaginary sock about. ‘On his floor – no mattress, on just the bare boards. He hasn’t got a carpet because of his dust allergy. It was like sleeping on concrete. I got, like, five minutes’ sleep.’

‘Why didn’t you come home?’ asked Jess, though she suspected she knew the answer.

‘I’ve got no guts at all.’ Suddenly Fred looked right into her eyes, and shrugged. ‘No need for the parents to know their son is a coward and will be shot for desertion.’

‘You’re not necessarily going to be shot for desertion,’ said Jess carefully. ‘Not if you and Mackenzie really did crack the music problem. Presumably you spent all night researching bands?’

‘No,’ admitted Fred, putting his hands in his pockets and kicking the imaginary sock again. ‘We did try for a while, but it was hopeless. So we had to cheer ourselves up by playing computer games.’

‘Computer games?’ hissed Jess, exploding with anger. ‘Fred! You told George you were coming home early to sort out the band!’

‘Well, I had to say something.’ Fred looked shiftily at the floor. ‘I could hardly tell him I’d got sick of their stupid macho messing about and that, yes, I was the spineless nerd they had suspected.’

Jess’s heart gave another huge dismayed lurch. So Fred hadn’t come back to fix the music up at all! He’d left because he just couldn’t hack it!

‘Fred! They liked you, you idiot! They didn’t think you were a spineless nerd! They thought you were really funny! And George said he was sorry if their messing about had got up your nose!’

‘Big of him,’ said Fred sourly.

‘But, anyway, that’s not the important thing!’ Jess raced on. ‘In six days’ time a huge crowd of people is going to turn up at St Mark’s Church Hall, ready for a good time, and because we’ve taken their money, we’ve got to lay it on for them! So what are we going to do about the music? You promised to sort it, remember?’

Fred shrugged. ‘Goldilocks have dumped on me again,’ he murmured. ‘How about Poisonous Trash?’

‘No way!’ yelled Jess. ‘You know Poisonous Trash are rubbish!’

‘Ironical, huh?’ Fred performed a little ghost of a joke. ‘Great name!’

‘Fred, this is serious! Parents and uncles and things can’t dance to Poisonous Trash! Nobody could dance to them! Nobody could bear to listen to them for a split second! Flora has refused to get up on a stage and sing with them ever again!’

‘Well, that’s good news, of a sort,’ quipped Fred.

‘Oh, stop it, Fred!’ snapped Jess. ‘Just be serious for once! We need a band and you said you’d find one.’

Suddenly Fred sat down on his bed. It was as if his long spindly legs had just buckled under him. He leaned back and stared grimly into space.

‘I’ve failed,’ he said emptily. ‘I did try – slightly. I did ring some bands, really. But they already had gigs . . . I’ve let you down. You’re right. I’m useless. I resign.’

‘What do you mean you resign?’ Jess was furious, but had to keep her voice down. She didn’t want to upset lovely Mrs Parsons by horrid yelling on a Sunday night.

‘I resign from the Chaos committee,’ said Fred.

‘Committee? What committee? You and me, you mean? So you’re just leaving it all to me, then?’

Fred shrugged again. Honestly, he was like a clockwork shrugging machine! Those shoulders were up and down so often they could have generated electricity.

‘I still think we should cancel,’ he repeated dolefully. ‘It’s the only sensible thing to do.’

‘Fred, we can’t just do that!’

‘Why not? We could give people their money back. We could say it had to be cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances, like I said before.’

‘Yes,’ seethed Jess. ‘The mysterious absence of a backbone.’

‘Quite true.’ Fred almost smiled, maddeningly, as if he didn’t really care what she thought any more. ‘Cancelled due to illness, if you like – absence of a pulse. You decide.’

‘Oh yes, convenient, isn’t it – letting me decide all the time!’

‘Well, it was your idea originally,’ said Fred, sidling away from any responsibility even for the concept. ‘I just went along with it.’

‘I don’t believe this! How can you be so totally useless?’ cried Jess. ‘You can resign from organising it if you like, but I’m going to go ahead. We owe it to Oxfam. I’m not going to have starving kids on my conscience. I’ll organise the freakin’ music, the food, the lot! And it’s going to be such a mega success, you’ll be ashamed you bailed out on it. It’ll make you wish you’d never been born.’

‘I already wish I’d never been born,’ said Fred gloomily.

‘Oh, spare me your self-pity!’ snapped Jess. She headed for the door.

‘Wait!’ said Fred, lurching up off the bed. ‘I’ll see you at school tomorrow anyway, right?’

‘My eyes may in some vague way register your presence,’ sneered Jess, ‘but I shall be far too busy trying to sort out this mess to spend any time with invertebrates.’

Softly, she slammed his door; gently, she stomped down the stairs and grabbed her coat; discreetly and with velvety care, she closed the front door behind her; cautiously, she stepped out on to the icy, iron pavement. And then she burst into tears.

Chapter 28