Girl, Going on 16: Pants on Fire (15 page)

She put her hand in her pocket and felt something unusual – something plastic, like a pen. She looked at it. What was it? Oh no – it was a thermometer in a kind of case! She had possibly stolen a
nurse’s
mac! Was there no end to this torment? She wondered whether she would get sent to prison if she was caught, and, strangely, she didn’t really mind. In fact, if a life of freedom was what she had been putting up with for the past few days, she hoped her sentence would be as long as possible.

Chapter 17

Someone was coming out. Help!
It was a nurse!
She was all kitted out in that nurse-style dress – in matching navy blue. Perhaps this was her
very own mac
Jess had stolen! She headed straight for Jess with a purposeful look on her face: determined, perhaps, to seize the mac and call the police. Jess’s heart started to thud. Although maybe, if she became a glamorous local criminal and was put on probation, Fred would want to go out with her again.

But perhaps not. And as the nurse approached, Jess cringed with horror. Her blood froze. She prepared a preposterous story about thinking the mac was hers.
Dear God
, she said,
I know I promised you I’d never lie again if you got me out of that waiting room alive, but could we start from, say, half an hour’s time?

‘Lovely weather!’ said the nurse with a brisk smile, and walked past Jess.

‘Mmmm! Wonderful!’ agreed Jess in a parody of relaxed late summerhood. The nurse unlocked her car, which was parked just behind Jess, and drove off to deliver more babies or dress more wounds, or fiddle with old people’s feet, or whatever nurses did.

Jess was reeling from the sheer terror of her role as possessor of stolen goods. Perhaps even walking home bare-bottomed was preferable to a life of crime. And if she was detected and arrested and taken to the police station, and searched – imagine policefolk knowing you were without pants! It might even count as another offence. Jess decided to take the mac back right now. She was sure God would approve.

So she got up off the wall and strolled back into the health centre. Once inside the doors she turned left into a long corridor. The loos were about halfway down, on the left. All she had to do was reach the ladies’ loo before she was challenged by any nurse, and replace the mac. Great! The corridor was empty.

But seconds later somebody appeared at the other end. It was Fred. Jess flinched. Just how much hassle could be fitted into one day? No, wait, this was her chance to utter those few common-sense words which would miraculously restore her relationship with him.

They locked eyes as they walked towards each other and met, predictably, right by the door of the loo.

‘So,’ said Jess, trying to sound jaunty and delightful, though her heart was being chewed by invisible mad dogs, ‘how’s things?’

These were not the few magic words she had planned. Fred shrugged and looked down at her, but he did not make the soft owly hooting noise which was part of their secret understanding. He looked as if she was someone he saw occasionally in the cafe.

‘Oh, couldn’t be better,’ he said. And then he looked up and down the corridor as if wishing to escape. ‘How’s things with you?’

‘Fantastic!’ said Jess, ignoring the pangs of misery. ‘I’m having the best time. So you’re in
Twelfth Night
. What part are you playing?’

‘Malvolio,’ said Fred. ‘I’ll just spend all my time sneering at people and being humiliated.’

‘No change there, then,’ said Jess.

‘Why didn’t you audition?’ asked Fred. ‘I somehow expected you to be there on the list. A serving wench perhaps, or grieving countess.’

‘Oh, I didn’t fancy it,’ said Jess. ‘I’m planning a comedy show, just like we always used to have. Sketches and maybe a couple of musical numbers.’

Fred’s face changed. For a split second he looked really shocked.

‘What, do you mean you’re doing it on your own?’ he said. ‘You are, of course, famous for your powers of organisation, but –’

‘I expect I’ll find somebody to help,’ said Jess crisply. ‘You’ll be too busy, I take it?’

Fred frowned. A pulse was racing in his neck.

‘Well, I suppose I will be a bit busy,’ he said. ‘The rehearsal schedule is quite terrifying. But, you know, if I can help in any small way – distributing leaflets, whatever – nearer the time . . . Assassinating Thorn . . .’

‘Thanks, yeah, whatever,’ said Jess, trying not to sound crushed. Then she had an idea. ‘Never mind about the comedy show,’ she said. ‘You can do something to help me, right now.’

‘What?’ said Fred, looking rather panicky.

‘It’s nothing illegal,’ said Jess. ‘Just lend me your jacket for an hour.’

Fred hesitated. He even frowned slightly. Then he shrugged, took his jacket off and handed it over to her. It was a grey hoodie thing.

‘This new fetish about men’s clothing can be cured, you know,’ he said.

‘Thanks!’ said Jess. ‘You’ll never know how grateful I am.’

She darted into the ladies’ loo, hung up the nurse’s mac, tied Fred’s jacket around her waist by the arms so it hung down and hid her bum, and then carefully inspected her face in the mirror. Oh no! She looked like a deranged ape.

Never mind. Now was her chance. This time she really would say the magic words. She rehearsed it with what she hoped was an attractive pout.
Fred, I don’t know how we ever got into this misunderstanding, but let’s get rid of it right now and go back to how we were in the summer
.

She plucked up her courage and opened the door. Oh no! Granny had arrived and was chatting friskily to Fred.

‘Hello, dear!’ she said to Jess. ‘I was just telling Fred the doctor thinks it’s nothing serious, just my aging neck.’

‘Oh good, Granny, thank goodness!’ Jess squeezed her arm.

‘Yes – er, well – must be going,’ said Fred, backing off. ‘Got to feed my iguana or he gets restless.’

‘Has Fred really got an iguana, dear?’ asked Granny as they walked home.

‘No,’ said Jess. ‘It was just a kind of joke.’

She sighed. It seemed such a long time since she had been to Fred’s house – even though it was only a few days. Would she ever go there again? Possibly not.

‘Is everything all right between you and Fred, love?’ asked Granny suddenly, with evident telepathic insight.

‘Oh yes, Granny – just fine,’ said Jess. She was so tempted to break down sobbing on Granny’s shoulder and pour out all her woes, but it wouldn’t be fair. Granny was positively skittish now she knew her moments of wooziness were just due to her aging neck. It would be so unfair to pour out woes. It would be like tipping a lorry load of pig manure over the dear old lady. For the time being at least, it was Jess’s duty to bear her sorrows alone.

Besides, she really did have one or two things to look forward to. As soon as they arrived home, she would be able to put on a pair of knickers. This was a pleasure she would never underestimate again. Only those who have gone pantless in public will understand.

And beyond the great joy of being reunited with her lingerie, there was the delightful prospect of her interview with Mr Powell first thing in the morning.

There was, however, one really intriguing possibility which might, heaven knows, lead to something truly earth-shattering. How was she going to get Fred’s jacket back to him? Would it provide the excuse for the longed-for reconciliation? Would Fred sweep her into his arms once again? Right now she only had his sleeves wrapped round her. But it was a start.

Chapter 18

Once they got home, Jess waited till Granny was safely settled with a cup of tea in front of yet another TV murder mystery. Then she rang Fred on his mobile. It was switched off and she was invited to leave a message. She chickened out. It would take all evening to draft a message eloquent and witty enough to win his heart and restore their relationship to the bliss they had enjoyed in the summer. Jess knew if she tried to leave a message now, she would only stutter, croak and possibly choke.

OK, so his mobile was switched off. It so often was. Fred constantly forgot to charge it, or lost it under piles of DVDs. She would ring his landline instead. She didn’t want to go round to his house without any warning. She’d done that a few times in the past and been turned away by Fred’s dad, who reacted badly to any interruption of his diet of TV football and always assumed Fred was not at home.

Fred’s mum answered the phone. Jess made a huge effort to sound frothy, lighthearted and devil-may-care.

‘Oh hi! This is Jess. Is Fred in?’

‘No, sorry, Jess – he came in a while ago and just went straight out again. He may have gone to Tom’s.’

‘Fine! Thanks! I’ll try him there!’

Jess rang off, trying to sound cheery, though her heart sank. Fred was becoming more and more elusive. A couple of stupid tears broke from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. And then the doorbell rang.

Her heart leapt. It must be Fred! She panicked. She had to get rid of the tracks of her tears.

‘Can you get that, please, Granny?’ she called. ‘I really need the loo!’

She raced upstairs, locked herself in the bathroom and removed the salty streaks of mascara from her cheeks. Then Granny shouted up the stairs.

‘It’s what’s-his-name come to pick up the thingumajig he lent you!’

Jess’s heart performed a massive bounce and her face, in the bathroom mirror, glowed briefly like a lightbulb that has just been switched on.