The Boyfriend Dilemma (9 page)

Chapter eleven

I didn't sleep well last night. Not because of anything bad – I've already figured out that, while I'm not overjoyed about Annalise coming to live with us, as long as I just do my thing while she does hers, we'll just about be OK. So, no, it wasn't that. It was the bubbling excitement in my stomach about Ben starting at our school.

I know he's two years ahead of me, but ours isn't a huge school and I'm bound to run into him at break. With all that teasing before the holidays, when CJ and her gang were calling me “Cow Face” because of Mum's plastic-surgery techniques, I'd kept my head down and tried not to be noticed. Now, though, I reckon it's time to open up and be a bit more outgoing.

I'm still thinking all of this over in the shower, enjoying the powerful spray and the fruity scent of my papaya shower gel. Maybe I could offer to show Ben around, before CJ and her friends get in there and scare everyone else off? After all, I've met him already, and we had that lovely afternoon in the park when the dodgems came. Of course, I know Layla likes him too. But she's already said she wouldn't even think of going out with one of Kyle's friends because the teasing would kill her. I could, though…

Going out with Ben.
What am I saying? I've never gone out with anyone in my life. I'm pretty shy around boys. Me and Layla were mates with lots of them when we were around Matty's age, when everyone played together and there was no fancying so-and-so or anything like that. We used to play a mad chasing game with Jude and a bunch of other boys from our year in the playground. But then we grew up, and all of that stopped, and you only have to
mention
a boy and everyone's saying, “Ooh – d'you fancy him?” And it's horribly embarrassing. Things were much easier, I decide, drying myself on a huge, soft towel, when we were little kids.

In my bedroom, I consider digging out one of the few dresses I own, and maybe trying to do something interesting with my long, straight hair for Layla's gran's party in case
you know who
turns up. Not that he even knows her gran – but it sounds like he's nearly always at their place. Which is a bit envy-inducing, if I'm honest. Not just because Layla gets to see a lot of him, but because I've always thought of the Burnetts as
my
second family. I mean, I think Mum's great and, even though I was teased to death, I still felt proud when she was on that programme about growing skin in a lab. But somehow, I feel more at home at the Burnetts' place, as if that's where I really belong. Our house hasn't felt quite right since Dad left. And occasionally, I wish I could swap my big bedroom with its fluffy cream rug and matching furniture – and even the balcony – for a little bunk bed in Layla's room, even if it meant sharing with Amber as well. A room of your own can feel pretty lonely sometimes.

Having decided on jeans and a new stripy T-shirt, I start blow-drying my hair instead of leaving it to dry by itself like I usually do. It flies all over the place, so I have to brush it all down and it ends up flat and straight like it always does. Why can't I have an interesting mass of curls like Layla's?

I tie it back in a ponytail and peer at my face, wondering if it's time I started wearing make-up. Some of the girls at school wear it every day, but Layla and I don't bother. Today, though, I dig out a black eyeliner and a pinkish lipstick that came free with a magazine, and carefully apply them. While the lipstick's OK, my eyes look a bit too dark – but maybe that's because I'm not used to seeing myself with make-up on? I look a bit scary, I think. Not CJ-scary, but a bit tougher than usual. That might not be a bad thing generally, but is it really the look I want for an eightieth birthday party?

“Hahaha!” guffaws Matty on the landing as I step out of my room. “You've got black stuff on your eyes!”

“It's just make-up,” I mutter, trying to get past him.

“Yeah, but what's the point?”

Of course, I'm not going to tell my brother that I'm desperately hoping Ben will be at Layla's gran's party. So I just roll my eyes and say, “You wouldn't understand,” then barge past him and hurry downstairs.

“You look like a panda” he calls after me.

“Have you looked at
your
face lately?” I yell back.

“Cow Face!” he shouts, making me stop abruptly at the bottom of the stairs. Where has he heard that? He doesn't even go to my school. And if
I'm
called Cow Face because of Mum's work, then maybe he is too? Gritting my teeth, I march into the kitchen to find Mum. I'm glad she's taken some time off work so we can have the rest of the Easter holidays together. Matty being around all the time is
less
great, but at least he's up in his room now. I can hear his Xbox game blaring and wonder if Mum will make him stick to his “thirty minutes a day” rule during the holidays. No wonder he loved being allowed on Rosalind's iPad at Dad's. I've decided that as soon as you put a time limit on something, the person starts wanting it even
more
.

Mum's not in the kitchen or the living room, so I wander out to the garden and find her crouching down on the patio, putting some plants into pots. “Hi, love.” She looks up and smiles, but if she notices my make-up, she doesn't say anything about it.

“Hi, Mum.” I perch on the chunky stones that edge the flower border. As I watch her pressing a bright red plant into place, I realize her eyes are a bit pink and sore-looking. “Is something wrong?” I ask.

“No, I'm fine. D'you think it's going to rain, Zoe?” She glances up at the dark clouds.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She smiles tightly and eases another plant from its tiny plastic container. “Mum … have you been crying?” I ask hesitantly.

She shakes her head but doesn't answer. It's obvious that she has. “There's just … stuff going on at the moment,” she says in a wobbly voice. “It's nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart.”

But if she's worried, then I am too. I swallow hard and look out on to the garden that's been trimmed and tidied by David, the gardener we have occasionally. The grass is cut short, like velvet, and all the bushes have been given a haircut.

“Is it work stuff?” I ask.

She bites her bottom lip. “It's just …
stuff
.”

“They're not closing down the hospital, are they?”

Mum laughs gently. “Darling, I know it might seem as if I'm obsessed with work sometimes but it's nothing to do with that. It's, er … I had a phone call from Dad this morning.”

“Is something wrong with him?” I ask, alarmed.

“No, no – it was about him and Rosalind…”

Her name sounds strange coming out of Mum's mouth. Normally, she avoids saying it. “Are they getting married?” I ask, picturing Olivia looking smug in a flouncy pink bridesmaid's dress. Layla and I have already agreed to be bridesmaids at each other's weddings, and there'll be
no pink.

“Not that I know of,” Mum says, sounding all choked. “He called to tell me, er … they're-having-a-baby.” She says it so fast, the words all bunch up together.

“Dad's having a baby?” I gasp.

“Well, no,
she
is.” Mum sniffs and jabs at the soil in the pot.

“Yes, I do know that, Mum,” I say, more snappily than I meant to. “I know the biology of it all.”

“Of course you do, love.” She takes my clean hand in her soily one and squeezes it.

“Isn't he too old to be a dad?”

Mum blinks at me, and her eyes go all moist again. “Well, old-
ish,
but she's
much
younger, obviously…” She winces as if she's caught a whiff of off milk. I swallow hard. So was he thinking of sharing this vital info with
me
at any point? It would have been nice if he'd told me himself, instead of expecting Mum to break the news. Or was he waiting until I couldn't fail to notice that Rosalind's stomach was about five times its usual size, and a mountain of new cuddly toys had suddenly appeared in their house?

A scene pops into my mind: of the one time Mum met Rosalind. “Met” isn't even the right word. Dad had taken Matty and me back home after a visit and had walked us up the front path. When Mum opened the door to find him on the doorstep, looking all nervous, and Rosalind and Olivia sitting in his car outside, she lost it. “I hope you're bloody proud of what you've done!” Mum screamed at the car, pulling me and Matty into the house and banging the door so hard a chunk of wood flew off it. Since then, Dad has always picked us up and brought us home on his own, and he never even gets out of the car.

“How d'you feel about it, darling?” Mum asks now.

How do I
feel?
Maybe she'd expected me to burst into tears, or be furious or something. The truth is, I just feel kind of flat.

“I don't really know,” I mutter. “Just shocked, I guess.”

Mum brushes her dirty hands on her jeans and sits on a large stone beside me. Every now and again I see Matty at his bedroom window, peering out with this toy telescope he uses to spy on David when he's gardening. I will him to stay up there and not come down and interrupt us.

“You know,” Mum continues, “I've ever expected me and your dad to get back together or anything. That's all history now… But having a baby, with
her
…” She rubs at an eye with a bunched-up fist, leaving a grubby mark on her face. “It's pretty final,” she adds.

I nod miserably and put my arm around her narrow shoulders. Another baby: a little half-brother or -sister for Matty and me. How weird will
that
be? Will they be like us – the Harpers – or a mini Olivia?

“I know this is a lot for you to take in,” Mum adds, “and I'm sorry if I've been grumpy lately…”

I glance over at her, hardly daring to ask. “D'you mean … you've changed your mind about the au pair?”

“Oh, I think we need someone, love. We can't really cope any more, just the three of us.” She gets up and turns back to her new plants, pressing soil around a geranium. I watch her hands at work, the long, slim fingers with the neatly clipped oval nails. And I imagine those hands not easing baby plants into position but working on the faces of children, putting new skin into place and making tiny stitches so there'll barely be a scar.

It's so engrossing, watching Mum's hands at work. And when I see the first droplets land on the soil, it takes me a moment to realize it's not rain that's falling, but her tears.

Chapter twelve

Everyone jumps up from their seats and starts clapping and cheering as Gran walks into the hall. She looks like an exotic bird in her peacock-blue dress and shimmery green cardie and her hair is freshly curled. Clutching Mum's arm, she looks around, delighted, at all the faces. Of course, the rest of us are here already – Dad, Kyle, Amber and me, and all of Gran's friends. Plus Ben – he showed up at our place just as we were getting ready to sneak off to the village hall, and asked if it would be OK to come along.

“Of course,” Mum replied with a big, sunny smile. “If you lot set off now, I'll drive round in about twenty minutes with Gran.” She handed us plastic boxes of sausage rolls and sandwiches, plus banners and bin liners filled with blown-up balloons, and we all set off.

It shocked me that, actually, I
did
mind him coming, just a tiny bit. Oh, I could look at Ben all day long, but even so … my gran's party?
This is her
day
, I thought as the five of us made our way along the tree-lined street towards the hall.
It'll be full of old people and
y
ou won't even enjoy it
… Then, as we all filed into the building and started to set out the buffet, I decided he's only trying to fit in around here. Not many fifteen-year-old boys would spend an afternoon of their Easter holiday at an eightieth birthday party. And of course, Gran doesn't mind. She's surrounded by all her favourite people and being given hugs and cards by everyone. Kyle and Ben have been nominated to take charge of the music, with strict instructions from Mum to only play songs sung by dead people. Gran hasn't seen her cake yet – it's hidden in a huge square tin on a shelf – but I can't wait till she does.

Hanging back by the doorway, I check the time on my phone for about the thirtieth time. Still no Zoe. She knows we were all arriving at three, and it's now almost half past. So where
is
she?

“You OK?”

I swing round to find Ben at my side. It's funny, seeing him in a roomful of old people. He's wearing dark skinny jeans and a pale blue T-shirt and is munching happily on a sausage roll. “Just wondering where Zoe's got to,” I explain. “She said she'd be here at three.”

“Have you called her?”

I nod. “Her phone's off. Can't understand it. She really wanted to see Gran's reaction when we present her with the cake.”

“Maybe she's forgotten?” he suggests.

“Zoe doesn't forget important things,” I say, thinking,
Unless it's picking up her little brother from holiday club. But that's only because she was distracted by you, which is totally understandable really…

“She might be ill,” he says with a frown.

“Maybe, but surely she'd have called…” I glance at him, wondering if he'll ever mention the fact that he actually asked me out. At least I
think
he did. Maybe I read way too much into it and I'm just his new mate's sister, that's all. I wish I could discuss all of this with Zoe, but how can I when she's crazy about him too?

“You look great today,” Ben ventures.

I blink at him in surprise, then glance down at my vintage purple beaded top, which I decided to wear with denim shorts and turquoise tights because I love clashing colours. “Thanks.” I can sense my cheeks flushing. “Er, I think Kyle's looking for you,” I add, spotting my brother across the hall.

Ben nods, but makes no move to rush over. I wish I could make use of this brilliant opportunity, and chat and be witty and find out all about him, but my mind's gone blank. All I can think is,
For God's sake, hurry up, Zoe!
and,
Oooh, Gran, I wish you wouldn't do that…

She's snatched her friend Rose's red feather boa and wrapped it around her own shoulders, and now she's grabbed her for a twirly dance. The sight of them waltzing around the hall is making my teeth feel funny, as if bits of tin foil are stuck in the gaps. I glance at Ben, expecting him to look shocked or be snorting with laughter, but he's just watching with interest. Anyway, I remind myself, it's Gran's birthday. She can do whatever she likes.

“Your family's great,” Ben says.

“You think so? They're a bit mad really.”

“In a good way,” he adds with a smile. “Honestly, you don't realize how lucky you are.”

What does he mean by that? “S'pose so,” I say with a shrug. There's a small pause, and I'm itching to ask about
his
family, but want it to sound natural rather than as if I'm desperate for personal info. “So, is your gran anything like mine?” I ask lightly.

“No, not really.” There's another small silence, more awkward this time, and his expression has turned flat. What a dumb thing to ask. Maybe his grandparents aren't even alive. Dad's parents aren't, or Mum's dad – we only have Gran left. Although the party's in full swing now, with everyone chatting and dancing and stuffing their faces with food, it's starting to feel really awkward with Ben standing here…

“Quieten down, everyone!” Mum calls out as Kyle hushes the music. I hurry towards her as she beams around the room. “I'd just like to say—”

“Mum, don't do the cake yet,” I hiss, aware of everyone staring at me, wondering why I've interrupted her big announcement. And right now, my purple top and turquoise tights feel too, well …
clashy.

Mum frowns. “Why not?”

“Because Zoe's not here yet.”

“But, darling, it's getting late—”

“Please, Mum! Just wait a few more minutes…”

Mum rolls her eyes and sighs. “OK, as long as she's here soon.” She turns back to the guests. “So, er, all I'd like to say is … our resident DJs Kyle and Ben are happy to take requests, so don't be shy!” She beams at everyone. “Oh, and as you know, Mum didn't want any birthday presents today, but there's a bucket at the entrance for donations to the Save the Acorn Fund. Let's do our best to rescue our beautiful theatre, everyone!” Amidst a round of applause, she flits off to offer drinks to some late arrivals. Dad's chatting to friends and relatives, and Amber's showing off, performing acrobatic moves in the middle of the floor and exposing her pants in the process. No one notices as I sneak out of the hall to look for Zoe.

She's nowhere to be seen. I call her mobile and landline again, but they just go to voicemail. This is so weird – something must be wrong. I know I shouldn't leave Gran's party, but I can be at her house in under ten minutes if I run.

 

It's Zoe's mum who answers the door. “Oh, Layla! How are you?” she asks, not looking like her usual self at all. Normally, her short hair is neatly combed and her reddish-brown lipstick is perfect. Not today, though. Her hair is tousled and what's left of her lipstick has spread beyond the shape of her mouth. Her eyes are bloodshot too, as if she's been crying.

“Er, I'm fine,” I murmur. Something serious has obviously happened, and I feel like I shouldn't be here. “I, um, was wondering where Zoe is,” I add. “Gran's having a party in the village hall and she said she'd come…”

“Oh, that's lovely.” Her mum steps back into the house, beckoning me in, then shouts, “Zoe? Can you come downstairs, love?”

We both wait awkwardly in the living room until Zoe appears. “Hi,” she says flatly.

“Er … are you OK?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, a shade too brightly, then glances at her mum.

“Well, I'll leave you girls to it,” her mum says, hurrying away to the kitchen.

“What's going on?” I whisper.

Zoe widens her pale grey eyes and pulls a
where-do-I start?
sort of face.

“Has something bad happened?”

“Kind of,” she says. “I can't really talk…”

“It's just … it's Gran's party. I thought you wanted to be there, with the cake and—”

She clasps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. I forgot.” She runs through to the kitchen and says, “Mum, is it OK if I go to Layla's gran's party now? I'm already late…”

“Of course it is,” she exclaims, reappearing in the doorway. “Layla, I'm really sorry. This is all my fault. There's been…” She shakes her head. “Well, Zoe can tell you on your way there. And wish your gran a happy birthday from me.”

“I will,” I say as Zoe and I race out of the door.

I don't know what I'm expecting as we speed-walk back to the village hall. Maybe that Zoe's been in trouble for something else, or that someone in her family has fallen ill. The last thing I'd have guessed is that she's going to have a little half-brother or -sister. “It's so weird,” she exclaims. “Like, they'll be
parents
together.”

I nod, trying to imagine. It's impossible, though. Dad might annoy Mum with his open-mouthed snoring on a Sunday afternoon, but I can't imagine them ever breaking up, let alone having more kids with other people. No, that would be horrible. Anyway, she usually wakes him up with a poke and says, “Christ, Kevin, we can all see your tonsils!” I link Zoe's arm as we walk, desperately trying to think of something to say to make her feel better. “Maybe it'll be OK when the baby's born,” I suggest, “and you've had time to get used to it.”

She nods glumly. “S'pose I'll have to. What else can I do?”

“And you did once say you wish you had a little sister…”

“Yeah, I meant like a real sister. Not an extra person with half of Rosalind's genes, who'll grow up into the sort of kid who screams the place down until she gets the special magnetic horse blanket with her name embroidered on—” She laughs bitterly.

“And little toddler jodhpurs,” I add, trying to coax a
real
laugh out of her.

“Yeah, and a teeny riding hat like, er…”

“Half a tennis ball,” I suggest. “And a specially-bred miniature pony that's about the size of CJ's Alsatian…” Which actually does make her laugh.

“Anyway,” Zoe adds, “it's your gran's birthday. Let's not talk about it any more, OK?” As we step into the hall, I sense her eyes lighting upon Ben across the room. My heart lurches.

“You didn't say he was here,” she whispers, eyes wide.

“Yeah, because we were talking about your dad—”

We stop as Ben strides towards us. “Hey, I've missed you!”

“Have you?” Zoe asks, flushing bright red. I look at her, then at him. Did he mean Zoe or me?

“Yeah,” Ben says, “and your mum wondered where you'd gone…” Ah, he definitely meant me then. “And we thought you must've forgotten about the party, or maybe you were sick…” Now he's talking to Zoe. It's
horribly
confusing…

“Layla!” Mum calls out. “There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry, Mum,” I mumble.

She shushes me with a finger, grabs a glass and taps it loudly with a teaspoon. “Kyle,” she calls out, “music off, please.” The room falls silent until Mum's first loud, clear notes ring out: “
Happy birthday to you…”

The whole room joins in, and the back door opens revealing Dad stepping out of the tiny kitchen. He is holding a tray with the cake on it, and it feels as if the whole room is holding its breath as he walks towards Gran.

“Oh, my!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling like sequins as she stares down at the glowing candles.

“How many are there?” Zoe whispers into my ear.

“Not eighty,” I reply. “We couldn't fit that many on.”

“She'll never know,” Kyle says with a grin. Then Gran blows them out with a big puff of breath – at least, big for a tiny old lady – and everyone cheers as Mum reaches towards it with a long knife.

“Don't cut it yet!” Gran shrieks.

“Why not?” Mum asks.

“Because…” She looks round at me, “I can tell you made it, Layla, and I want to admire it for a little longer.”

“It was Zoe too,” I say quickly.

She jabs a finger towards the little icing figure perched on her patchwork rug. “Oh, you girls are so clever. Is that me, having a picnic?”

I chuckle. “Yes, it is.”

“D'you remember the picnics we used to have? Up by the quarry near my old house?”

“Yes, I remember, Gran,” I say.

“I'm moving back there soon,” she announces with a mischievous grin. I glance at Mum, not knowing what to say.

“I thought you liked it with us?” Mum says, putting an arm round her shoulders.

“Oh, I do.” She smiles down at the cake. “And this is a perfect day and – stop that, Kevin!” Dad is reaching to pick off the icing picnic basket until Mum bats his hand away. I want to look around to see what Ben's doing now, but force myself not to. Instead, I fetch plates while Mum is finally allowed to cut up the cake into dainty pieces. I can't help smiling when Kyle sneakily grabs our icing “Gran” and gives to it Zoe, who pops it straight into her mouth. I was sure she used to have a crush on him. She never said; I could just tell, the way she acted when he was around. A bit more edgy and shyer than usual. Not today, though. The two of them are laughing away together, then the music starts up again and Gran pulls off her best party shoes (flat and red with tiny bows on the front), followed by her socks which are more like knee-high tights really. “Don't say she's showing off her bunions again,” Kyle guffaws.