Wedding Belles (13 page)

“Does Mum know?” I ask him.

“No, I didn’t want to give her false hopes. She has enough on her mind with the wedding and everything. Other managers were interested at first, but they’ve all turned me down. One of them thought I was too old for the children’s entertainment market. Old? I’m only thirty-two.”

“That’s ancient,” I quip. “But don’t worry, the meeting can be our big yellow Dinoduck secret.”

“Thanks, Amy. And thanks for coming with me this morning too. It was fun. We should hang out together more often.”

“Sure,” I say, and I mean it. I’m lucky — it’s pretty cool having two dads to spend time with, even if they are both a bit bonkers.

When we get home, Mum calls down the stairs. “Is that you, Dave?”

“No, it’s me, Mum. Dave’s getting Alex out of the car.”

“Oh, good. Come on up quickly, Amy. I have something exciting to show you, and I don’t want Dave to see it. I’ll be in my room.”

Curious, I run up the stairs and walk through the doorway to her bedroom.

“Ta-da!” Mum says, doing jazz hands. “What do you think?”

She’s wearing an icy-white off-the-shoulder wedding dress. It has a curvy sweetheart silk bodice and a full, net-covered skirt dotted with silver sequins. It’s nice and everything, it’s just not really Mum.

“I got it for a song at the thrift shop. Eighty euros, can you believe it? What a bargain.” She does a twirl, the skirt puffing out around her. “You’re very quiet, Amy. What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“I know it’s not the perfect dress, pet, but the dress isn’t all that important.”

Is she kidding? Even I know that choosing your wedding dress is a serious business.

“I’m marrying Dave, that’s the important bit,” she adds.

I’m still not persuaded. Yes, I know that ultimately marrying the right guy is the most important thing, but it’s Mum’s special day and she deserves to feel like a princess.

I really need to talk to Clover.

I’m in Clover’s car a week later, driving toward Dundrum Shopping Centre to meet Lia, the girl who wrote to us asking for fashion tips. We’re taking her shopping. Clover’s calling it our “retail mercy mission.” And Saffy managed to wangle a mega-shopping voucher from Dundrum to cover it.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Mum about the whole wedding dress thing?” I ask Clover as we pull away from the house.

“Yes. And she’s firmly set on wearing the thrift shop bargain. She’s determined not to spend any more money on the wedding. But let’s not worry about that today. Sorry I’ve been incommunicado for a bit. Anything new with you?”

I tell her all about Seth’s text and our phone call, and also what Dave said about Seth changing his mind about the breakup if I give him some time.

Clover thinks about this for a moment and then asks, “How were things in school this last week? With Seth, I mean.”

“OK. We talked a little bit. Mainly about Polly and how she’s doing. And about classics homework. Nothing major. But he was pretty nice to me.”

“It’s hard to know with boys, Beanie, but it sounds like Dave could be right. Hang in there. I think you just have to play the waiting game for now.”

I sigh deeply. “I know, but it’s so hard.”

“My heart goes out to you, Glum Bean, really it does. But maybe today’s shopping spree will help take your mind off things. There’s nothing like spending someone else’s moolah to put a smile on a girl’s face.”

When we get to Café Rua, a sweet little redbrick tearoom near Harvey Nichols, where Lia has arranged to meet us, the door is shut. There’s a sign on it that reads,
SORRY, CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE FUNCTION.

Clover looks puzzled. “Lia said Café Rua, right?”

I try the door, but it’s definitely locked. I try to peer in through the window, but the blinds are down. Just then the door swings open, and standing there, wearing a long white-blond wig, is Eloise Oliphant. What is she doing here? And what’s with the wig? Last autumn Clover and I helped Eloise overcome her fear of boys by inviting her to meet Alex, Seth, Dave, and Gramps, and Felix from the Golden Lions.

“Surprise!” Eloise says, breaking into a huge grin, her brown eyes twinkling. “In case you’re wondering, there is no Lia. That was just a ruse to get you here today. Come on inside. The other girls are dying to meet you.”

“Beanie?” Clover whispers to me. “Are you in on this? What’s going on?”

“No idea, boss. Honest.”

Inside, the place is packed with girls my age, all wearing exactly the same blond wig as Eloise. Most of them are also wearing sparkly tights, shorts, and biker boots, but a handful are dressed in black skinny jeans and stripy tops. The girls are staring at Clover like she’s a movie star and whispering and giggling among themselves.

“Look!” I tell Clover excitedly. “They’re dressed up as you! What is this, Eloise? Some sort of strange Clover Wildgust cult meeting?”

Eloise laughs. “I’ll let Alanna tell you; it was her idea. She’s been planning it for weeks with your editor’s help. Alanna!”

A tall girl wiggles her way through the bodies and then claps her hands together to get everyone’s attention. I recognize her from a video clip I watched last spring. She was modeling in a
Goss
magazine teen fashion show, sashaying up and down a catwalk in a swishy red dress. It was one of the things Clover set up for her after she had been the victim of horrible cyber-bullying. We wanted to fix things for her by giving her a starry, über-cool online presence that no one could tease her about ever again. From the way Clover is staring at Alanna, it’s clear that she’s recognized her too. And then the penny drops: every girl in this room is someone that Clover has helped in the agony-aunt pages of the
Goss
. Clover is still looking confused, though. I don’t think she’s figured it out yet.

Alanna claps her hands again. “Girls,” she says to the room, “as you’ve probably guessed by now, this is Clover Wildgust from the
Goss
magazine, and her niece and co-problem-solver, Amy.”

At that, the girls all start cheering and whooping and throwing their arms in the air like they’re at a field hockey game.

Alanna turns to me and Clover. “And as you’ve probably guessed by now, we’re just some of the girls you’ve helped over the past year. And we’re all here today to say a great big thank-you. You guys have turned our lives around. You might not know our faces but you may remember our names. And some of the gang would like to say a few words. Dominique, would you like to go first? I know Clover and Amy’s help meant a lot to you.”

“Sure.” A petite girl breaks away from the crowd. Under the wig, which looks huge on her head, she has beautiful coffee-colored skin, like Brains’s, long, sweeping dark eyelashes, and striking hazel eyes.

“I wrote to you last December about my brother, Happo,” she says, her voice surprisingly big for such a small girl. “I have to tell you all what these two did for me — it was amazing. Happo was taking this stuff called creatine. He’s into rugby, and it’s supposed to bulk you up. Anyway, he has a heart condition and I was worried — I thought it might hurt him, you know. So I wrote to the girls, and they set up a fake drugs test for Happo’s team. It was a brilliant idea. It scared the living daylights out of them.” She gives a laugh. “And from that day on, none of the guys have touched creatine or steroids or anything like that. It was a miracle. Clover and Amy may have saved Happo’s life. I’m so grateful — ” She breaks off as she brushes tears out of her eyes. “Sorry,” she says to us. “It’s just you don’t even know me, and you cared enough to help. It really is something.”

“We love helping people,” Clover says. “Don’t we, Beanie — sorry, Amy?”

I smile at her. “Sure do. It was our pleasure to help, really.”

“And you know that Dundrum voucher that Saffy gave you?” Alanna says. “It’s for you both. From all of us.”

“Seriously?” Clover gasps. “Girls, that’s so sweet of you. You really didn’t have to.”

“We wanted to,” Dominique says firmly.

“Boy, do you deserve it,” says a girl with cornflower-blue eyes. “I’m Wendy, and you helped me take down a guy named Brett Stokes. Remember him? He told everyone I kissed like a washing machine. And you kissed him, Clover — actually kissed him — at a Sinister Frite Night and told everyone that he’d bitten you. His nickname is still Bram after that
Dracula
guy, and he hasn’t spread false rumors about any girl since. You deserve a medal for what you did, Clover. You’re incredible.”

“And, Amy, I’m Carrie,” one of the other girls says. She’s even smaller than Dominique, with pale, creamy skin and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose. “When my parents split up, you wrote me an amazing letter telling me about your own parents’ separation. It made me feel less alone. Thank you.”

One by one, each girl tells her own story, including Hannah, the swimmer who hated her body; Frizzy, who had three frenemies that didn’t deserve her; and even Bethan, whose letter sparked my recent article about kissing. It’s such a surreal but happy experience to listen to their stories and know that we really did make a difference to each and every one of them.

When they’ve finished talking, Clover says, “I don’t know what to say, girls. I’m glad things have worked out for you all. I want to add my own thank you now. I couldn’t have done any of this without Amy — she’s my teen-problem-solver extraordinaire. She writes a lot of the letters, you know, and comes up with loads of great feature ideas too. She’ll be taking over from me on the
Goss
any day now. Mark my words, she’s got super smarts, that one. We’re both so pleased we could help you. Meeting you all in person is amazing. How on earth did you find everyone, Alanna?”

“Through Saffy,” Alanna explains. “She asked some clever techy guy who used to work for the magazine to find our original letters on the
Goss
mail server, and then she helped me contact everyone. And here we are.”

Clover laughs. “That techy guy is my boyfriend, Brains! I knew he was hiding something.”

“He’s in the Golden Lions, isn’t he?” Wendy pipes up. She’s blushing. “I’m a huge fan. I can’t believe he’s your boyfriend. He’s so cute. . . . He’s always talking about you on their blog.”

“Is he now?” Clover tries to look cross, but I can tell she’s secretly thrilled.

“You have a rock-star boyfriend too?” Alanna says. “Clover, are you the coolest girl in the universe or what?”

“You’re mighty, Clover,” Dominique agrees.

She’s right. Clover really is something.

Everyone cheers again, and then they all start chanting, “Clo-ver, Clo-ver, Clo-ver . . .”

Over the next two weeks nothing much changes between me and Seth. I talk to him at school and on the phone, but it’s always about schoolwork and Polly. I never say what’s really on my mind — how much I miss him, how I wish we could get back together. He never mentions anything about us either. It’s all very friendly but reserved. I know everyone’s told me to be patient and to give him time, but how much time exactly? Days? Weeks? Months? I’m not sure I can wait that long — not knowing what he’s really thinking is doing my head in. And not being able to share with him how I truly feel is exhausting. I know he’s having a tough time with Polly and everything, and I’m doing my best to be there for him — to listen to him when he needs to talk, to tell him that everything’s going to be all right — but it’s so hard. I’m not sure I can go on like this for much longer. Being close to him but not
with
him is agony.

On Friday in art class, Mr. Olen pairs everyone up to draw each other’s faces. “Amy and Seth, I guess you’ll want to gaze at each other, as usual, so you’d better team up together.”

“Sir! That’s unfair,” I say instantly, my cheeks burning. Mr. Olen clearly hasn’t noticed that Seth and I no longer even sit together. Besides, we were never a lovey-dovey couple! We’re not Mills and Bailey!

“Just get on with it, please,” he says. “I want you to take it in turns to draw each other. Study your partner’s face, especially their eyes, and try to re-create the emotion you see there in your sketch. Find the essence of that person and translate it to paper.”