Girls to Total Goddesses (8 page)

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14

‘OK,’ sighed Chloe in a martyred way. Still, at least she was on board. ‘What do you want me to do?’ I pretended to think for a moment.

‘Vacuuming?’ I suggested, walking through to the cupboard under the stairs. ‘It’s terrific exercise and I read somewhere it develops the bust, which is why I’d rather not do it myself as my boobs are getting a bit unmanageable. I turned over in bed last night and one socked me on the jaw and almost knocked me out.’ Chloe giggled.

At this very moment – only two minutes too early, my moby rang again. And this time the magic word HARRY flashed up – Beast’s real name, and the one he’d used when he entered his number into my phone, back in Newquay. Yes, his divine hands had once touched this phone . . . And now his divine voice was going to enter my ear with Chloe right next to me, standing there eavesdropping.

‘Oh, hi!’ I tried to sound casual, as if I’d forgotten he existed, but was slightly pleased to have been reminded.

‘Hi!’ said Beast. ‘Uh, Zoe. Sorry I missed you this morning.’

‘Oh, errr, it doesn’t matter.’ If Chloe hadn’t been eavesdropping, I could have said that I was really sorry to have missed him, too. But I had to keep my replies short and non-committal. I was already planning to try and disguise this, for Chloe’s benefit, as another call from Dad – I was going to say he’d forgotten something and had rung back. The trouble was, this meant I couldn’t say much except for the odd non-committal grunt, and from Beast’s point of view, it might make me sound like a moody cow.

‘Yeah, Zoe . . . I just wanted to say I’d really like your help with the poster competition. We’re trying to draw up a shortlist. Could you do that for me?’

‘Sure! What does it involve?’

‘Oh, just looking through about a hundred kids’ paintings, choosing the best five and then bringing them to a meeting at the office on Wednesday. It’s an evening meeting – seven-thirty. Could you make that?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ I said airily, as if my diary, though full, would admit one more tiny appointment. Whereas really my diary was a howling vacuum of nothingness and I would walk barefoot through fire for half an hour with Beast, even if other people were going to be there.

‘Great, thanks,’ said Beast briskly. There was a little silence, as though he was wondering what to say next.

‘So how are things? OK?’ he asked. ‘Has Tam gone back to uni?’ Oh no! He wanted to talk. And I, more than anything, wanted to
talk
to him. But how could I, with Chloe following every word? As I was pretending he was my dad, who already knew Tam had gone back, I couldn’t provide any details.

‘Oh, yeah, a few days ago.’ There was another tingling little pause.

‘Zoe . . . are you OK?’

‘Yes, fine!’ I assured him in a rush. I suddenly knew that Beast had realised there was somebody with me, and of course he might think it was that wretched fictional boyfriend Dan, who was still hanging round in the atmosphere ruining my reputation for availability. I had to tell Beast there was no Dan. But I couldn’t mention it now. I couldn’t mention anything – and being so tongue-tied, I was certain to be giving out all the wrong signals. ‘I’m just about to clean out the fridge!’ I added randomly, in a vain attempt to make it sound as if I was talking to my dad.

‘Oh, right,’ said Beast, sounding a bit mystified. ‘Good idea. I must do that one day. Anyway . . . I’ll bring the paintings round first thing in the morning, OK?’

‘Fine,’ I drawled, trying to sound cool, though I was stunned at the news that Beast would be on my doorstep at dawn, or shortly thereafter.

‘See you then,’ he added. ‘Bye!’

‘Bye!’

‘Who was that?’ hissed Chloe right away.

‘Oh, only my dad again,’ I sighed, as if I’d just had the most tiresome and boring conversation in the world, even though it had made my heart pound and my blood boil.

‘Really?’ Chloe peered into my face. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure it was my dad!’ I snapped, guilty and edgy. I hate lying to Chloe.

‘You just sounded a bit weird.’

‘He was being weird about paying me and stuff.’

‘What was that about when you said, “Oh, yeah, a few days ago”?’ Chloe was irritating me big time now, even though I was the one in the wrong.

‘Oh, that was just about had I done my homework, etc., that history essay . . . you know. Mum didn’t want me cleaning the house if I hadn’t got round to doing homework yet.’ I sighed, as if annoyed by parents whereas really I was fighting off an urge to hit my dearest friend. ‘Anyway! Bor-ing! Let’s get this show on the road!
How Clean Is Your House?
I’ll be Kim, you be Aggie! If only I had a pair of rubber gloves with feathers on!’

I handed over the vacuum cleaner and asked Chloe if she’d mind vacuuming.

‘Oh no!’ she grinned joyfully. ‘Not if it develops my bust! I’ll do the whole house!’ She decided to start at the top, leaving me to clean the kitchen whilst I tried to calm down after that excruciating call from Beast. But instead of calming down I became more and more agitated.

Oh my God! Beast was going to drop round tomorrow first thing! But what was first thing on a Sunday morning, exactly? In my world, it’s a quarter to twelve, but Beast is a sporty type who plays rugby and probably goes jogging at dawn.

It was chillingly clear to me what I had to do. First, I had to be ready at 7.15 a.m. looking effortlessly glam and goddess-like. But where was I going to find fifty human heads for my necklace? And how was I going to make sure Chloe wasn’t awake and eavesdropping – or even worse, gawping – at my sacred visit from the love of my life? And of course, as Beast used to be Chloe’s heart-throb, I obviously had to keep it totally secret from her for her own sake as well as mine.

My mind was whirling so wildly my head felt hot, so I opened the fridge to enjoy a cooling blast of air and was enveloped in a zoo-like stink that made my eyes water. My dad has a weakness for smelly French cheeses, and he has a horrible habit of just chucking them in the fridge without putting them back in the plastic cheese-box.

There was a horrible culprit oozing evil grey scum, so I grabbed it, wrapped it in plastic and shut it firmly in the cheese-box. But its stink seemed to have infected everything else. Although maybe that was a different disgusting smell? Bending down, I warily ransacked the salad drawer and found a plastic bag of salad leaves that had formed a slimy purée all by themselves.

‘Yeaugh!’ I yelled, reaching for the rubber gloves. There was also a rotten half-cabbage down there and a cucumber that had gone grey and mouldy and had liquified inside its horrid plastic sheath. The smell of all this rotting veg was diabolical. I fetched the compost bucket and slopped it all in, gagging and cursing my parents for not being able to keep a clean fridge and for exposing their darling daughter to untold health risks. All the time my mind was racing.

As I scrubbed out the fridge with detergent, I tried to draw up a plan. I could not,
absolutely
could not bear it if Chloe was up and about when Beast came round tomorrow morning. So basically I had to tire her out so completely and utterly that she would go to bed very, very late and totally exhausted.

But while it was important to tire Chloe out, if I was shattered next morning when Beast came round, it would be a disaster. I had to be gorgeous and full of energy and dazzling and irresistible – for the first and probably the only time in my life.

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15

Half an hour later Chloe arrived in the kitchen, beaming. I was scrubbing the wall behind the cooker, which was coated with grease. Once I’d cleaned the fridge out (in itself a heroic task, equal to anything the army had had to do in wartime), I’d discovered the oven was even more revolting, and that in turn had led to this wall . . .

My goddam parents! What irresponsible old hippies! This kitchen was a pit of filth! Mum always looked so swish with her Jimmy Choo shoes and her smart suits, but if her clients could take a peek inside her fridge they’d have a fit.

‘I enjoyed that,’ said Chloe, looking perky. ‘I’ve put the vacuum cleaner away. What next? It’s weird, I’m really getting into this housework thing.’

‘How about scrubbing the kitchen floor?’ I suggested recklessly. Somehow I had to wear Chloe out. Right now she looked fresher than ever.

‘Brilliant! Great idea!’ Chloe grabbed a broom and swept the floor, then she found the dustpan and brush and scooped up the debris, then she got out the mop and bucket. Meanwhile, I was struggling with what seemed to be a moth omelette glued to the wall behind the cooker. My arm ached with scrubbing – possibly because the only scrubbing I’d ever done before in my life had been with a make-up remover pad.

‘God!’ I gasped. ‘I think I’ve strained my shoulder!’ Chloe started mopping away, singing as she worked. She didn’t look even remotely tired yet, whereas I was seriously flagging.

‘We could start a house-cleaning business at weekends!’ trilled Chloe, pirouetting around her mop and flicking water in all directions.

‘Calm down!’ I grumbled. ‘This is a chore, not some kind of cabaret performance!’

‘We could start a cabaret act based on housework!’ yelled Chloe. I began to wonder if my special olive and anchovy salad was affecting her. They say fish is good for your brain and I somehow associate olives with wisdom (it’s nothing to do with Popeye’s wife Olive, either). Maybe her brain had gone into some demented anchovy-inspired overdrive. ‘We could choreograph a whole series of moves based on vacuuming and mopping and stuff!’ Chloe went on, waltzing across the kitchen on a waft of lavender’n’herb-scented eco floor-cleaner.

‘Why don’t we do the hip-hop workout when we’ve finished this?’ I suggested, even though just the thought of it made me want to lie down.

‘Excellent idea!’ trilled Chloe. ‘I’m nice and warmed up now from the vacuuming and mopping!’ Chloe may have been warmed up, but I was washed up and burnt out.

‘OK,’ I said wearily, scraping the last of the gunge off the hotplates. ‘Let’s get the DVD and do it.’

First I had to change into clean clothes: my current outfit was smeared with filth and grease. I put on a loose T-shirt, shorts and trainers. We pushed back the furniture and let rip until our hips were hopped, our bellies blasted and our groins gasping for mercy.

‘Phew!’ I gasped, sinking down on to the sofa. ‘I’m never ever going to be able to move again! My legs have turned to spaghetti!’ Chloe flopped down beside me.

‘Mine have turned to custard!’ she panted. ‘Great, though, wasn’t it?’

‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘Hey! We should have taken videos of ourselves doing it! That would be such a laugh! We should do that now before we start to seize up!’ I grabbed my digital camera.

‘Come on, girl – show me your moves!’ I insisted, switching the DVD back on. This was an attempt to get Chloe to do more hip hop while I restfully videoed her from the sofa.

‘Aw, no!’ groaned Chloe. ‘I am like totally shattered! I’m gonna have a nap!’ And she rested her head on a cushion and closed her eyes.

‘You so are not!’ I shrieked, panicking. Chloe mustn’t go to sleep now! I had to keep her awake for hours and hours so she’d sleep late tomorrow morning, leaving me glamorously alone when Beast called. ‘Chloe!’ I knelt by the sofa and prised her eyelids open. ‘Don’t leave me like this! Let’s do something! I feel so pumped up! Let’s go for a run!’

Chloe sat up, looking puzzled. ‘A run? But we’ve only just done the hip-hop routine. And before that we did all that housework.’

‘But we’ve got to get fit!’ I insisted. ‘To become goddesses! I feel so much better already! We could just jog round the block!’

‘You said you didn’t want to go jogging,’ objected Chloe. ‘After we ran round the school field you said Never Again. And it’s dark now.’

‘Precisely!’ I cried, like a conjuror producing a rabbit from a hat. ‘So nobody will be able to see our flab flapping! Come on – just once round the block!’ I pulled Chloe off the sofa and towards the front door.

‘Oh, all right, then,’ she agreed. ‘Just once round the block, though.’ I grabbed the front door key and we plunged out into the night. Chloe shot off like a rocket – she can be such a show-off – and I puffed gamely along behind her. It was one of those gloomy, dripping November nights when each street lamp creates little doomed pools of lurid light. I saw Chloe race through these, one after another, like a twinkly little fairy, and disappear round the corner.

And then I heard it – behind me. A sinister padding and panting. Oh my God! Maybe there were werewolves around, after all! I whirled round, and through the murk I was terrified to see a big dog loping towards me. There was no sign of an owner (people are so irresponsible) and the dog looked mean, as if it knew I wasn’t what you’d call canine-friendly. I do know one thing, though: if a strange dog comes up to you, the very worst thing you can do is turn your back and run.

Of course, that’s exactly what I did. I ran like hell – and behind me I could hear the dog barking joyfully as it bounded after me, its teeth bared and its eyes fixed on my mountainous bum. And then the worst possible thing happened. I tripped. A bit of uneven pavement did for me. I literally left Planet Earth for a few seconds and went hurtling forward through the air like a small but plucky jumbo jet. I didn’t take off, though, as a goddess would have done, soaring up into the clouds and leaving the dog panting admiringly in her wake. Instead I cringed in horror as the pavement loomed up and I executed a ghastly crash landing, copping the full force of the fall on the palms of my hands, my knees and, most disastrously of all, my chin.

And then, to add insult to injury, the goddam dog jumped on top of me and stuck its nose in my neck.

‘Boris!’ I heard a distant voice cry. ‘Boris! Come here! Bad dog!’

If life were a movie, of course, the dog owner would turn out to be a handsome stranger who would chivalrously help me to my feet, escort me home, bathe my wounds and stare, enchanted, into my eyes.

Instead the dog owner was a bad-tempered middle-aged woman who said abruptly, ‘Are you all right?’ as I crawled to my feet.

‘Absolutely! Totally!’ I nodded, getting up hastily and backing off. Boris still seemed intent on either marrying me or devouring me – I wasn’t quite sure – and I was relieved when I saw his owner grab his collar and attach his lead again.

I hobbled off. Running was impossible. Although I’d told Boris’s owner I was
absolutely
all right, I was, in fact, completely destroyed. I could feel blood trickling down from my grazed knees, my palms were stinging like mad, and when I touched my chin there was blood all over my fingers. I decided to abandon the plan to do a circuit right round the block, and I limped back home the way I’d come, snivelling to myself in desperation. It seemed everything was against me.

Chloe arrived home around the same time, bounding up from the other direction having completed her circuit of the block. She was looking bright-eyed and fighting fit, but her face fell when she saw me.

‘Oh, Zoe, babe!’ she cried in horror. ‘Whatever happened?’ We went in and Chloe took really good care of me: she bathed my knees and my palms and my chin with antiseptic and we found some plasters in the First Aid box. ‘Poor Zoe!’ she cooed. Chloe can be so nice when people are hurt. I think she should be a nurse when she leaves school. ‘At least it’s Sunday tomorrow! You can take things easy.’

If only she knew. As I surveyed myself in my full-length mirror I saw a casualty from a natural disaster. The bandaged knees meant a miniskirt wasn’t an option; the bandaged hands were hardly going to bewitch Beast even if I applied some ravishing pearly-pink nail varnish, but my face was the worst catastrophe. Not only had I acquired a red beard of bloody scabs, but I was clearly developing a black eye from where Chloe had elbowed me in the changing booth that morning.

Normally it would have seemed an impossible job to make myself look like a goddess, just starting out in my natural state. Now I had a mountain to climb just to transform myself into a human being.