The Manifesto on How to be Interesting (18 page)

“I still have it you know. Hanging up in my wardrobe. I sometimes get it out and wonder if he'd still have come over if I'd worn the yellow crop top I'd been planning on. Whether he would have bought me that life-changing bottle of champagne if I'd worn jeans…”

Bree turned round to show her the dress and Mum instantly stopped talking.

“Ta-daa!”

“Oh, honey. I think that's the one.”

Bree turned back to her reflection and did a mini double-take. All the other dresses had been too short, too tight, too baggy, too…just
ergh
. This dress was special, though. Despite it being silk, the dress casually hung off the shoulders. It had a wide white ribbon that tied at the back, making it almost little-girl-at-a-birthday-party-ish – if only it weren't so short. It skimmed the tops of her thighs lightly, just long enough to hide her scars.

If clothing could be soulmates, Bree had just met the One.

“It's…good, isn't it?”

Feverishly, her mum said only two words:

“Get it.”

Bree turned this way and that, imagining all the future circumstances in which her dress would be there to hold her hand. She thought of its past life – sewn carefully by some determined fashion graduate, working late to impress her new boss. Maybe the dress had been waiting for a few weeks now, wondering who would come and claim it…what its future might hold. It might have even unwrinkled itself this morning and said to the other dresses,
Today is the day, I can feel it in my ribbons, I'm going to get BOUGHT today
. And now they would voyage to Hugo's party together and experience whatever it was that they'd experience there.

Her mum interrupted her thoughts. “So who's the boy then?”

Bree turned round, flustered. “Huh?”

“The dress…it's obviously for a boy.”

Bree went red.

“That blush tells me everything.”

Bree went redder. She turned to examine herself from the back, trying to dislodge the shame.

“Mum?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a boy at your school? You know…one that everyone liked?”

“You mean, did my school have a Mr Dreamboat?”

“No one says ‘dreamboat' any more, but yeah…”

Her mum lay back against the leather sofa and mock-fanned herself. “Was there ever? Francesco Biaggio. Parents were Italian. He was, as a result, GORGEOUS. He knew it, of course. They always do, don't they? Mainly because every single girl in my class was violently in love with him and flung themselves against him, usually without clothes, at every available opportunity.”

Bree screwed up her face. “Classy.”

“I can't talk. I was one of them.”

“Mother!”

Her mum laughed and put her face in her hands. “God, it was so awful. I threw a party for the sole reason it would give me an opportunity to seduce him. I thought somehow if I slept with him he would magically fall in love with me. I was so nervous I ended up downing a bottle of red wine before anyone arrived. When he turned up – late of course, though still sober as it was only, like, eight – I dragged him upstairs to my room. I told him to go into the en suite to “freshen up”, then I got a batch of tea lights and lit them all…only I was too sloshed to place them around the room. When he re-entered, he just found me half-slumped on the floor, my entire body surrounded by candles like chalk round a dead body at a crime scene, grinning at him manically.”

Bree stifled a laugh. “No way! What happened?”

Her mum laughed too, her eyes rejoicing in the memory. “Well, oddly enough, he turned down my request to ‘Make love to me and look into my eyes and tell me that you love me and look like you mean it'. He made a polite excuse to leave. At which point, I burst into hysterical tears and he put me to bed, and rocked me while I cried about how ugly I was.”

Bree had to sit down next to her on the sofa, she was trying so hard not to laugh. “Seriously, Mum?”

“Oh, how I wish I was joking. The memory still haunts me some nights.”

“Oh no, really? I was hoping all my teenage humiliations would become nothing worse than funny anecdotes over the passage of time.”

Her mum patted her adoringly on the cheek. “I'm afraid not, honey. Teen humiliation haunts you for the rest of your life. But it's good for you – it's important in life to learn how to laugh at yourself. Everyone needs a slice or two of humble pie.”

“So what happened with you and Francesco?”

She sighed, took a sip of champagne. “God, nothing. He slept with practically everyone else in my class but me. Last I heard, he'd become some hotshot banker. Don't they all really?”

Bree nodded.

Her mum put an arm around her. “So, this guy? The one you've got the dress for…”

“I never said it was for a guy.”

“Bree. Come on… I'm your mother.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay. So there's a guy… Is it some sort of scientific population requirement to have an insanely attractive guy in each school?”

“Let me guess.” She ticked the qualities off on her fingers. “Far too handsome for his own good, devilishly charismatic, annoyingly intelligent, and suffers from some sort of narcissistic disorder but everyone ignores this due to the handsomeness and charisma?”

Bree realized at that moment where she got her cynical streak from. “Something like that. Why is there one in every school? Are they all the same? What's their purpose?”

“To screw you up for life.”

“Nice, Mum.” Bree reached over and took her mum's champagne glass for a sip. “Sugarcoat it for me, why don't ya?”

“It's true. Why else do you think I remember Francesco's name?”

“Not everyone gets drunk and tries to seduce the most popular boy in school with a candle show.”

Mum raised an eyebrow. “True. But I bet every girl I was at school with still remembers his name. And what his favourite colour was – green, by the way. And what his hobbies were – violin and football. And what part of their class timetable enabled them to cross paths with him in the corridor for two seconds – Wednesdays, incidentally, just after I finished biology. He would have biology after me in the same classroom and I would walk past him on my way out. Sometimes I would fantasize about him sitting in the same seat I'd just sat on. That our bottoms were somehow in tune with each other and how this obviously meant we were soulmates.”

Bree laughed again. Her mother, making her laugh. It was happening more and more.

“So – other than the fact that you're a PSYCHO, how does the most popular boy in school ruin every girl's life?”

Her mum thought about it for a bit, picking up a few stray dresses and reacquainting them with their hangers.

“I think they teach you, at a young and impressionable age – and yes, I know you think you're really mature but you're not the fully fledged
you
yet, not quite – that attractive men don't fancy you. Because the most popular boy in school is almost always the ONLY really attractive boy in school. And they never go for you because you don't live in a Hollywood movie.” She pulled another discarded dress back onto its hanger. “And so, when you grow up, and grow into your features and become the you you're going to become…well, then whenever an attractive man shows any interest in you, you're so damn grateful, you put up with their shit out of sheer adoration of the situation.
Wow, you are attractive and you fancy me. Yes it's fine that you cheated on me, of course you did.
Because attractive men – and now, honey, this really is a life lesson…” She waggled her finger at Bree. “…They haven't usually had to eat those slices of humble pie I told you about, and that can make them not very nice people. You see, they've never once not got the girl, so they're never scared of
losing
the girl. And if they're not scared of losing you, then they'll screw you about. Find a
nice
guy, Bree…not too good-looking… They make good husbands.”

Bree couldn't decide if her mum was a genius or deranged. She thought about her parents' marriage, for probably the first time ever. Was her mum happy? How could you be happy with someone who was never there? Maybe Dad was just really super-nice when he finally got home…

“So this guy the dress is for – is he the going-to-wreck-your-life-for-ever guy?” her mum asked, interrupting her thoughts.

Bree smiled. “He's a rugby player…”

Her mum threw her arms up. “And that's all I need to know.”

Bree went back behind the curtain, shrugged her way out of the dress and clambered into her jeans, putting the silken garment lovingly on its hanger.

“It's okay, Mum. I'm in control. I know what I'm doing.”

“That's what
I
thought, kiddo. But the candle wax stains still haven't come out of my parents' carpet,” her mum called through the material. “Be careful, love.”

“I can't frickin' believe Hugo's party is actually tonight.”

Jassmine's head was tipped back as she pressed up against the mirror to apply yet another coat of mascara.

“I know.” Bree began to backcomb her hair. “We're gonna blink and it will be Christmas.”

“Ooooh, I LOVE Christmas. Baileys is, like, the only alcoholic drink where the taste is totally worth the calories.” She dabbed at her lashes again. “Bree, this mascara is, like, INCREDIBLE. I don't think I'll need to wear falsies ever again. I can't believe the swag your dad gets.”

Bree looked at the cosmetics littering Jassmine's bed. Her father had certainly outdone himself. He'd just secured a new load of Marvel in their spring/summer range. She wasn't sure what that meant, but she did know that Jassmine was pretty close to licking her face in appreciation.

“It's awesome, isn't it? You look like Bambi. Bambi on MDMA.”

Jassmine giggled.

It had been Jassmine's idea to get ready together and, oddly, she hadn't invited the others. They were meeting them at the party. It seemed like Bree had won the position of right-hand man. Well, woman. Girl? Right-hand girl? Either way, it was just the two of them. Bree had brought the make-up. Jassmine had brought the cocktail shaker and collection of spirits. They'd made cherry cocktails, topped up with Diet Coke, and were already on their third. Which explained…

“Ouch, I just got myself in the eye with the brush.” Jassmine blinked madly and tears poured out of one eye, carving a trail through her foundation like pioneers.

“Eeech!” Bree winced. “Are you okay?”

“NO!” she wailed. “I'm wrecking my make-up.”

“Keep looking upwards. Hang on, I'll get a tissue.” She grabbed a cleansing wipe from her toiletry bag and held it under Jassmine's eye. The top of it tinged black with her mascara-ridden tears.

“Just keep blinking…”

“Frickin' mascara…”

“Hey, watch it. That's Marvel you're talking about.”

“Okay then. Frickin' cherry cocktails making me crap at applying mascara.”

“That's better.”

Jass kept blinking and Bree could see the worst was over. She mopped up the last of the oozage, brandished a powder brush and covered up the tear trail on Jassmine's face.

“Thanks, Bree.”

“Don't mention it.”

Recovered, Jass took a medicinal sip of her cocktail and stared at Bree over the rim of her glass. “You're actually quite nice, aren't you?”

No I'm not. I'm horrible and I'm going to hurt you and try and seduce your boyfriend and I'm sorry but I have to.

“Don't tell anyone, will you?” she deadpanned.

“I'm being serious.”

Bree couldn't look at her. The wretched feeling bubbled in her tummy again. She'd never got ready to go out with a girlfriend before. It was yet another social rite of passage that had passed her by while her head had been stuck in a Sylvia Plath book. It surprised her how fun it was – savouring the anticipation of a big evening, making it part of the event. In fact, she would rather this
was
the event. Then she wouldn't feel sick with guilt. And fear.

“Hugo talks about you a lot…”

“Huh?” Bree's thoughts were interrupted by the curveball comment. She tried to look nonplussed, though her heart started banging like a rock concert. “It's only cos I give him hell.”

“No…it's not just that. He says you're ‘different'.” The cautious way Jassmine spoke revealed that this hadn't been casually brought up. It had been planned. Engineered.

Tread carefully.

Bree flipped open a hand mirror and closed it again, making it click. “Well, I'm new to your group, aren't I?” She had to look in Jassmine's eye now, otherwise it would be so obvious.

Judas, Judas, Judas…

Jassmine isn't Jesus, Bree. You're not stabbing someone saintly in the back. Just the most popular girl in school. Who trolls people on the internet.

She changed the subject as carefully as she could. “What have you got him for his birthday? Men are so hard to shop for!” Although she'd never struggled with Holdo's birthday presents. He was always ecstatic with his book tokens.

Jassmine's face relaxed. “Aren't they just? I've been panicking for weeks. What do you get Hugo? I mean, the boy's got everything. But I think I've cracked it. Do you wanna see?”

Bree nodded.

“It's a bit cheesy.”

Really, Jass? With your purple bedroom and fairy lights.

“I'm sure it's lovely.”

Jassmine scampered over to her bedside drawer and yanked out a small velvet box. It was a lush deep purple and had some silvery logo on it.

“Oooh, looks posh.”

“It is. I owe my parents money until, like, 2095.”