Summer Secrets (16 page)

Chapter 27

That
evening Clover and I finally get to work on the agony-aunt letter. We do some research on the Internet and then Clover dictates a response while I type it up and add my own bits to the text. As the email’s a few weeks old, I get the feeling Clover has been holding on to this one especially.

To:
[email protected]
Saturday

Dear Clover,

I think I’m going mad. I recently started getting my periods and I feel so grumpy and exhausted just before and during them, like I’m getting flu or something.

I keep snapping at my little sister (she’s five) for no reason, and today I threw a Barbie horse at her ’cos she was annoying me so much. It hit her on the cheek and left a red mark. Mum sent me to my room. My sis has a bruise now and I feel really bad.

Is it normal to feel like this? Do other girls go crazy during their time of the month? Do you have any advice?

Please help!

Becs, 14, Sligo

Dear Becs,

First of all, please don’t worry; you’re not going mad! It’s quite normal to get tired and feel awful before your period. Some girls get spots; others feel heavy and bloated. You are not alone – a lot of girls (myself included!) get very grumpy and irritable before and during their period; this is called PMS or PMT – pre-menstrual syndrome or pre-menstrual tension.

It’s linked to low hormone levels, although there hasn’t been all that much research done on it. Personally, I think we need far more female scientists to sort out the male boffins and do research on things that really matter like PMT!
That’s my bit!

I find two things help: eat small snacks at short intervals during the day, including nips of chocolate (any excuse!), to keep your blood sugar up and give you energy; and exercise. Yes, shopping with the girls does count!

Try to rest if you’re feeling tired and grotty – I find curling up in bed with a good book can make me feel better. Maybe you could listen to your favourite music or take a bubble bath with your fave mag (
The Goss,
of course!). Or ring a good friend and have a bit of a chat – anything that helps take your mind off how rotten you’re feeling.

Finally, do tell your friends and family that you aren’t feeling great; that way if you snap at them, they’ll understand and forgive you.
Me again!

I’m always here if you have any more questions. And remember, be kind to yourself.

Take care,

Clover XXX

After reading over the letter, Clover says, “It’s almost perfect. I’m just going to add one thing.” She deletes “Take care, Clover XXX” and replaces it with “Take care, Clover and Amy* (*Amy is my niece and co-writer of the agony-aunt pages)”.

I stare at her. “You can’t do that. What will you tell Saffy?”

“The truth: that you’re giving me a highly valuable thirteen-year-old’s perspective. As long as she doesn’t have to cough up any more spondulicks, she won’t mind.”

“Thanks, Clover.” I grin at her, delighted. (Wait till Sophie and the D4 gang in school spot my name in their fave mag. Yowsers! They’ll be seaweed green.) “But shouldn’t it go alphabetically? Amy and Clover.”

“Don’t push it.” She nudges me with her shoulder.

“Hiya, girls,” Martie says as she bounces into the room. “Have you seen Prue? I promised to have a look at the blender for her. It’s not working and she wants to make hummus for the babies.”

I wrinkle my nose. Hummus? There’s no way Alex will eat hummus, and Evie’s only on baby rice.

“I think she’s upstairs,” Clover says. “Martie?”

Martie is staring at Clover’s screensaver: Matt Munroe in all his topless glory, eyes blazing emerald green with a fleck of blue just under the iris of his right eye.

“That’s Matt Munroe,” Clover says. “Gorgeous, isn’t he? In fact, I’m interviewing him in Miami. Amy’s coming too. We’re flying out tomorrow.”

Martie’s still rooted to the spot.

“Are you all right, Martie?” I ask. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

She tears her gaze away from the computer. “I have to … um … do something … in the garden, I think … or the kitchen.”

“I thought you were looking for Prue?” I say. “She’s upstairs.”

“Prue? Ah yes, Prue. Thanks for reminding me, Amy. See you, girls.” And with that she drifts out of the room.

Clover stares after her. “He’s not
that
good-looking.”

I grin. “Are you kidding? And I still can’t believe we’re going to see him in the flesh.” I squirm in my seat with excitement.

Clover smiles. “That reminds me, we’re leaving first thing tomorrow – better start packing. You stay here and email Seth, Beanie. Give me a yell when you’re finished. I need to heap love on Brains.” (He left on Sunday morning, and I know she’s missing him.)

Once Clover has skipped out of the room, I sit at the desk for a few minutes, thinking about Seth. I still haven’t told Clover what happened; I haven’t had a chance. Besides, I don’t really want to talk about it, even with her.

I know Seth and I aren’t together any more, but I really, really want to tell him my news. I know he’ll be excited for me – he’s never been to America and he’s obsessed with New York. But I can hardly contact him now, though, can I? Not after what I said – which, to be honest, I’m starting to seriously regret.

I shuffle uncomfortably. I’m sure he’s too busy to check his emails; Jin’s lithe limbs are probably cling-wrapped to his tanned torso right this second. If he wasn’t already with her, I’m sure I must’ve driven him straight into her arms. Maybe they’re kissing. My back stiffens. They’d better not be, even if we have broken up.

My fingers are itching to type. What the heck! I’ll just do it.

Dear Seth,

I know we’re not together any more and maybe you’re not too interested in hearing from me at the moment, but I thought you’d like to know that I’m off to Miami, Florida, US of A-mazing, tomorrow!!!

Can you believe it?

Lil’ old
moi
!

I nearly dropped dead when Mum said yes. I still can’t quite get my head around it.

Here’s what happened… This journo on Clover’s mag was supposed to be interviewing Matt Munroe, but she hurt herself, so Clover’s taking over. Clover managed to change her first-class ticket for two normal ones, and I’m going to share her hotel room, so it won’t cost a thing. Isn’t she a doll?

Miami, here I come.

I’ll tell you all about it when I get back. Don’t be too jealous – at least you have sun over there in pasta-ville.

Toodle-pip – or should I say,
hasta luego
, baby!

And sorry for forgetting to say happy birthday the other day (I hadn’t forgotten, honestly!), and sorry for all that other business on the phone and everything. I hope you don’t hate me.

Best,

Amy

“Amy?”

I whip round. Kit’s standing behind me. Clicking off my Hotmail account, I swing round on the chair.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he says, “but there was no one in the kitchen. Jack got into one of the bins. He was trying to eat a nappy when I caught him. I cleaned it all up and put a brick on top of the bin to stop him doing it again. Tell yer mam to replace the brick every time she uses the bin.”

I laugh. “Eating a nappy? Yuck! I’ll tell her, no problem.”

Kit looks over my shoulder. “Who’s that?” he asks, pointing at the screensaver. “He looks familiar.”

“Matt Munroe. Big Hollywood film star. Actually, I’m flying to Miami tomorrow to interview him with Clover.”

He whistles. “Didn’t know you were a journalist. Impressive.”

“I’m not really. I just help Clover out sometimes. She works for a magazine in Dublin.”

“Miami, eh? I’m jealous. Travel safe.” He smiles at me and I melt inside.

Matt Munroe, eat your heart out.

Chapter 28

And
how does Mills feel about the imminent arrival of her very best friend in the whole stratosphere? Is she leaping around the place with excitement? I have no idea. You see, we’re going to surprise her. Ria and Rex Costigan (Mum says they used to be plain old Rita and Ron before they became such big shots in the movie world) are in on it too. Clover has sworn them to secrecy.

Ria was the one who finalized the interview details with Clover over the phone. She also promised Mum she’d keep an eye on me; otherwise Mum would never have let me go.

At first, Ria wasn’t convinced that Clover should be doing the
Goss
interview at all (she obviously remembers Clover’s babysitting incident vividly), but Saffy managed to convince her that, although Clover may not be all that reliable with children, she
is
one of Ireland’s most talented young journalists.

You should see Clover’s face as she repeats what Saffy said – for the third time – while we’re on the plane to Heathrow. It’s as if she’s floating on air. (Technically speaking, I suppose she is!)

“Saffy thinks I’m talented, Beanie. Isn’t that cool?”

“Clover, you’re seventeen and you’re writing for a national magazine. Of course you’re talented.”

“Us writers need a lot of encouragement,” she says dreamily. “We have very low self-esteem. It comes from all the rejection.”

I stifle a snort. Clover and low self-esteem don’t belong in the same aeroplane, let alone the same sentence. And rejection? Ha! When was the last time Clover was rejected?

We’re flying over the Irish Sea, towards Heathrow, and Mills still has no idea that we’ll be standing on her doorstep in, oh, about twelve hours’ time – although they’re five hours behind the UK in Miami, so we’ll actually see her in seven hours. I explain this to Clover, but her eyes just glaze over.

“Wake me up after the geography lecture,” she says, yawning. “I’m taking a nap.”

Clover isn’t a huge fan of flying. She gripped my hand tightly as we took off. Luckily, the flight to London is short and there hasn’t been much turbulence, so she’s settled down now.

She clicks her seat back without checking behind her first and there’s a
CRUNCH
, followed by a loud “Ow!”

She turns round to beam at the male passenger in the seat behind, who is clutching his knees. “So sorry,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.

He softens up and smiles back. “No problem.”

Clover could get away with murder.

The air above Heathrow is buzzing with planes waiting to land and we have to circle twice before descending.

Clover stares out of the window anxiously. “We’re very close to that Ryanair plane. I hate this bit. I wish he’d just get on with it and land.”

“
She
,” I say. “The pilot’s a woman. Weren’t you listening to the safety messages?”

“Course not; I was reading my mag.” She stares at me. “
Siúcra
, I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Why?”

“Men are much safer pilots.”

“Clover! Do you really believe that?”

She nods and then gulps as we drop a little in the air. “See?” she says, her knuckles white from clutching the arm rest.

“That was just a pocket of low air pressure,” I reassure her. “There’s nothing wrong with women pilots. They’d hardly be flying planes if they weren’t qualified. Women drivers are far safer than male ones; that’s a scientific fact. I bet it’s the same with pilots. You’re being very sexist, Clover, and it’s not like you.”

“I know, I know, but when it comes to flying, I’m not logical.”

We drop again and she gasps and screws her eyes shut. I hold her hand and squeeze. “Nearly there.”

If she’s this bad on a short hop to London, what will she be like on the nine-hour flight to Miami? I’m starting to feel nervous myself.

We land safely in London. Clover is mightily relieved and crumples in her seat as soon as we come to a standstill beside the terminal building, as if she’s a puppet and someone’s just let go of her strings. “Phew,” she says, letting out a long, snaking sigh. “One flight down, one to go.”

I don’t like to point out that it’s actually one down,
three
to go – the return flights.

We join the queue for the exit. The air inside the plane is warm and smells of sweaty bodies and curry, and I’m relieved when we thank the air stewards and step outside into fresh oxygen.