Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 04] Read online

  ‘Hey,’ said Scott, leaping up and going over to her. ‘You look good.’

  Jessica was staring at me as though I’d just crawled out from under a stone.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said and jerked her thumb at me. ‘Sister?’ ‘Next-door neighbour,’ said Scott. ‘You know each other from school, right?’

  I smiled at Jessica, but she didn’t smile back. ‘Can’t say I’ve noticed her,’ she said. Then, flicking her hair as if dismissing me, she turned away.

  ‘See you later,’ winked Scott. He put his arm round Jessica, snuggled into her and whispered something in her ear. Jessica giggled and they disappeared off down the road. ‘Er… nice to meet you, too,’ I called after them. Huh, I thought. You can act as superior as you like, Jessica Hartley, but I know Scott’s got his eye on someone else. One week and you’ll be history. So there. Stick that in your diet yoghurt and eat it.

  I sat out for a bit longer. So much for my heart-to-heart with Scott. Paul was leaving and I felt miserable. Who could I talk to? Scott was a waste of time.

  ‘TJ,’ called Mum’s voice. ‘Lunch. On the table. Now’ As I got up to go in, I saw Mr Kershaw and Drule go past again. Mr Kershaw was jabbering away to Drule and the dog was looking up at him as if he understood every word.

  That’s it, I thought. I’m going to ask Mum for a dog. She said I could have a pet ages ago. A best friend of the furry kind. One who won’t leave the country.

  Why didn’t I think of it before?

  email: Outbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 9 June

  Subject: Norf London blues

  Hi Hannah

  Miss you loads.

  Idea: why don’t we run away to LA? I can write film scripts and you can be a dancer?

  Bad news: our team lost at footie. But then, you were our best player so I guess it’s to be expected. Don’t your parents realise the devastation it has caused nationally by removing you from the country?

  My bro Paul is leaving. Off to Goa. With Saskia.

  Ag. Agh. Agherama. I’m losing all my friends.

  Scary Dad is in v bad mood. It’s not my fault Paul wants to play the bass guitar and be a hippie’ instead of being a doctor. Atmosphere at home awful.

  Good news: Beat that scab Evans at arm-wrestling. Hahahaha.

  Mum says I can have a dog. Suggest you get one too if your mum will allow until you settle in at school. Dog - man’s best friend etc etc. We’re going to go next weekend to look for one.

  Paul is staying the night. Hurrah. And for Sunday lunch. After that he’s off and I will be All On My Own.

  And guess what? Jessica Hartley from Year 1O is going out with Scott. But he fancies Nesta Williams. Hahahaha.

  If another person says - you’ll soon make new friends, I vill ‘ave to keel I them.

  I am starting a collection of made-up books by made-up authors. For example:

  Medical Hosiery by Serge Icklestockings

  Modem Giants by Hugh Mungous

  Please send contributions.

  Tata for now

  TJ

  PS: Confucius say: man with no front garden look forlorn.

  email: Inbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 9 June

  Subject: Cape cool

  Hasta banana baby

  Miss you too, megalooney.

  Keep your chinola up. It’s hard for me too. Everything’s so differentio here. It’s supposed to be winter but it’s hot hot HOT. Cape Town is mega. You must come and visit. So far been up Table Mountain. Pretty cool. Though hot. Haha. And to the beach. Pretty hot though cool. Haha. There are loads of beaches here, everyone hangs out there. Boys here look more healthy than back home. All suntans and white teeth. Still stupid though if the one next door is anything to go by. His name’s Mark. He’s OK but he asked me to a barbie at his house and he eats with his mouth open and you can see all his food. Ew. Gross. He’ll never get off with anyone if he doesn’t learn to eat properly.

  Book titles. Hmmm. Let me think.

  OK.

  Pain In the Neck by Lauren Gitis

  Hahahahahaha.

  Chow bambino

  Love you muchomucho

  Hannah

  Confucius say: who say I say all those things they say I say‘

  Arf Arf

  C h a p t e r 3

  The Wrinklies

  Contents - Prev / Next

  Stay close,‘ said Mum as she pointed the camera at us in the back garden. ’Put your hand on Paul’s shoulder, Richard. And try and look as though you like him a bit.‘ Dad shuffled about behind us then finally put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. ’Might be more appropriate if Paul put his hand in my pocket,‘ he muttered.

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Mum. ‘Enough now. You made your point over lunch. This is our last day together as a family before Paul leaves for Goa. Try and act like a grown-up.’

  Paul and I tried not to laugh as Dad looked at the lawn like a naughty schoolboy. Quite an achievement seeing as he’s in his sixties, but Mum can be Scary Mum to his Scary Dad when she‘ likes. She gets a look in her eye and you know she’s not to be messed with. Hannah used to call my parents the Wrinklies because they’re so ancient. Mum had me when she was forty-five and Dad was fifty-three. They thought they’d finished having children with

  Paul. Then seven years later, along came yours truly. I think I was what is commonly known in birth terms as A Surprise. Or A Mistake. Whatever. All I know is that I have the oldest parents of anyone in school. I used to get embarrassed when there’d be all these young mums in T-shirts and jeans waiting after school, then along would come my mum or dad in their ‘comfy clothes’ looking more like my grandparents. I started telling people that Mum and Dad were actually the same age as normal parents but they’d been captured by aliens one summer and kept as an experiment on their spaceship for two days. The trauma made their hair grow white and they grew old before their time. One girl in my class actually believed me.

  Mum took her picture and Dad headed for the car.

  So much for our last day together as a family before Paul’s trip, I thought, as I watched Dad reverse his Mercedes down the driveway and zoom off towards his golf club.

  The rest of us trooped back inside and Paul and I began to clear the table. Lunch had been a strained affair with Dad giving me a lecture about ‘the importance of qualifications’ and ’a good career meaning a good start in life‘. It was so obvious it was aimed at Paul, but I tried to look as if I agreed with everything Dad said. Anything to keep the peace.

  Then he started on about how much Paul going to college had cost him. What a waste it all was.

  ‘I will pay you back,’ said Paul. ‘I really will.’

  ‘It’s not the money,’ said Dad. ‘I want you to be happy.’

  ‘I will be,’ said Paul. ‘I am. I want to see the world. Experience life. It’s going to be brilliant.’

  ‘Well, at least let me give you some decent medical supplies for the journey,’ said Dad.

  Paul sighed. ‘It’s sorted, Dad. Don’t worry.’

  Dad didn’t look convinced and, for a moment, I felt sorry for him. He doesn’t normally look his age but today he did. He looked sad and a touch weary. Sometimes he can’t accept that people have their own plans for their lives. He’s so used to people obeying his every word at the hospital, he thinks it’s going to be the same at home. Poor Scary Dad. I think he means well.

  After loading the dishwasher, Mum went to water the pots on the patio and Paul and I went through to the living-room. Paul flopped on the sofa and began flicking through the Sunday papers. At the bottom of the pile was our school newsletter, which he began to read.

  ‘There are loads of things you can do in here,’ he said after a while. ‘Art, drama, choir. Getting a hobby would be a good way of making new friends.’

&n
bsp; ‘You sound like Dad,’ I said, sitting next to him and stretching my legs out on to the coffee table, ‘organising my life. Anyway, I have loads of hobbies. Tennis. Football. Karate.‘

  ‘Sounds like you’ll meet lots of boys doing that stuff, not girls.’

  ‘Don’t be sexist. Girls do all that stuff as well.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Didn’t realise you’re a feminist,’ he teased.

  ‘I’m not. I just believe women are the superior race,’ I teased back.

  ‘Oh, look, there’s you,’ pointed Paul as he came across our class photo. ‘And Hannah.’

  ‘It was taken just after Easter,’ I said, looking over his shoulder. ‘I look awful.’

  ‘No, you don’t. What are the other girls like?’

  ‘Oh, God. All sorts.’ I pointed to some of the girls in the photo. ‘That’s Melanie and Lottie. I get on OK with them. They were at footie yesterday. Those three are the brainboxes, those two are the computer nerds, Jade and Candice are the bad girls that like to bunk off, Mary and Emma are the sporty girls, Wendy’s a bit of a pain.’

  ‘So, who do you hang with?’

  ‘Well, Hannah before she went, obviously. And now, I suppose Melanie and Lottie a bit, but they’re a twosome really. I’m lumped in with the brainboxes seeing as I’m usually first in the class at everything. Except maths. I hate maths.’

  Paul continued to study the photo.

  ‘Now, she looks nice,’ he said. ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘God, typical,’ I said when I saw who he was pointing at. ‘She’s Nesta Williams. Only the best-looking girl in our school.’

  ‘She looks like that girl in Destiny’s Child.’

  ‘Beyonce.’

  ‘Yeah. So who are her friends?’

  I pointed out Lucy Levering and Izzie Foster.

  ‘They look like fun. Tell me about them.’

  ‘Not much to tell. I don’t know them that well outside school. They don’t do football or any of the stuff I do. Inside school, they’re sort of in the middle. Popular. Not too swotty, not too disruptive, though Izzie does ask a lot of questions in class sometimes. One teacher called her Izzie ’why?‘ Foster. But everyone fancies Nesta, that I do know. Even Scott next door. She’s in the drama group and I think she wants to be an actress. She’s probably completely self-obsessed. Anyone as gorgeous as her has to be.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ grinned Paul. ‘I’m gorgeous and I’m not self-obsessed.’

  ‘And I’m gorgeous and I’m not self-obsessed,’ said Mum, coming back in with a bunch of white roses she’d cut. ‘So why don’t you get in with this crowd?’

  ‘Oh, you don’t understand, Mum. They hang by themselves. They’d never let anyone as boring as me in with them.’

  ‘You’re not boring,’ said Mum, taking the newsletter from Paul and scanning the back page.

  ‘Don’t bother to read that,’ I said. ‘It’s completely out of touch and dull.’

  ‘Well, here’s your chance to change it,’ said Mum, handing it back to me.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There, back page. I saw it the other day when I had a look through. I thought you might be interested. It says that they’re looking for a new editor, seeing as the old one will be moving on at the end of the year. And they want to make it more of a magazine than a newsletter. Applications open to everyone from Year 9 upwards. You only have to do eight pages or so as an example.’

  ‘Not interested,’ I said, putting the newsletter back on the pile of papers.

  ‘But you want to be a writer,’ said Paul. ‘You should go for it. It would be good practice.’

  ‘Nah, people think I’m a swot as it is. If I went for that, they’d only hate me more.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ said Mum and began to root around in the cupboards for a vase. ‘But I see that Sam Denham is doing a talk for all those interested.’

  ‘Sam Denham? Where does it say that?’

  ‘Ah, so suddenly it’s not so boring.’ Mum picked up the newsletter and read from the back. ‘Monday 11 June, 4.30 in the main assembly hall. That’s tomorrow. He’s going to talk about journalism. It says he got started on his school magazine.’

  Sam Denham is a celebrity journalist and though he’s old, at least in his thirties, he’s still cute in that Ricky Martin kind of way. They always have him on the news when they want an opinion about anything. He always has something interesting or funny to say.

  And he’s coming to our school?

  ‘Maybe I will go to the talk,’ I said. ‘But only to listen.’

  email: Outbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 10 June

  Subject: Night night

  Hi Hannah

  Feeling mis. Bro Paul gone. He and Saskia are booked on the overnight flight to Goa tomorrow. Boo hoo. Everyone I care about is going away.

  Gotta go, school a.m.

  TJ

  By the way, our crapola newsletter is looking for a new editor and Sam Penham is coming to school tomorrow to do a talk. Apparently, he got started on his school mag.

  email: Inbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Pate: 10 June

  Subject: Sam the Man

  WAAAAKE UP.

  Exscooth me? Pid you say Sam Penham as in Sam Penham from the telly‘ He’s a top babe. V V jealous. Wish never left UK. Be sure to wear something short that reveals your legs as they are one of your best features. And sit on the front row.

  TJ, you must go for editor. You’d be brilliant at it. And it would take your mind off missing me and Paul. I’ve read all about this kind of thing in Mum’s mags, The agony aunts are always telling people to ‘keep busy’ and ‘throw yourself into your work’. I think this is a godsend. Your destiny.

  And you think you’re miserablahblah! Try being me. In a new country. With no friends at all. Not even Melanie and Lottie. No, young lady, you don’t know you’re born, as Dad would say. Yours truly Your

  Agony Aunt Hannah

  PS: Few more for the book collection

  Over the Cliff by Hugo First

  The Cat’s Revenge by Claude Bottom

  Arf arf arf arf arf arf!

  C h a p t e r 4

  A Lonely Little Petunia

  Contents - Prev / Next

  ‘I’m just a lonely little petunia in an onion patch, an onion patch, an onion patch,’ sang the record in my head. It was going round and round, louder and louder, as I sat eating my lunch in the school playground the next day.

  I was on my own because Melanie suffers from awful hayfever and thought that sitting outside would make it worse. Course, Lottie had to stay in with her to keep her company and hand her tissues. I was going to explain that as pollen is airborne, it could get anywhere, so it wouldn’t make much difference where she was, but I didn’t want her to think I was a Norma Know-It-All. Too many people thought that already. In fact, lately I’ve found myself holding back when I know the answers to things in class. Let someone else be the one who always gets it right. It doesn’t win you any prizes in the popularity stakes.

  Perhaps I should have stayed in with them, I wondered, as I looked around at all the groups of friends. It is definitely possible to feel lonelier in the middle of a crowd than when on your own.

  Most of the school was out making the most of the heatwave. Everyone in pairs or three or fours. All busy talking, laughing, having a good time. I always used to sit with Hannah at lunch and I felt really self-conscious sitting on my tod. Like, everyone must be staring, going, ‘Oh, poor TJ, she’s got no mates.’

  I continued munching my peanut butter and honey sandwich like I didn’t care, but I did care. I didn’t like this feeling of being the odd one out.

  ‘Hey, TJ,’ called a voice near the bike shed.

  I turned round to see Wendy Roberts. ‘Hey.’

  ‘You heard from Hannah?’ she
asked, as she perched herself on the bench next to me and lowered the straps of her top so the sun could get to her.

  I nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ve had a few emails. I think she’s missing England.’

  ‘You must miss her, too,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I do,’ I replied, wondering what was going on. Wendy never normally gave me the time of day, so why this sudden interest in Hannah? Sensitive and caring are not words that come to mind when I think of Wendy. Mean and self-centred more like. But, no one else had it.

  asked about Hannah or how I was, so maybe I’d got her wrong.

  ‘You going to the talk tonight?’ she asked. ‘Sam Denham?’

  I nodded.

  ‘He is gorgeous, isn’t he? I saw him on morning telly last week. He was so funny. I wonder if he’s got a girlfriend? Are you going to go for editor?’

  I shook my head. I wasn’t going to tell her, but Hannahs email had made me think. Maybe I should go for editor, it would be perfect to take my mind off things, plus, as Paul had said, good practice for when I’m older. But I didn’t want to tell Wendy. I didn’t want her thinking I was getting ideas above my station and anyway, I might not even get the job.

  Wendy got out her mirror and applied some lipstick from her bag. ‘Great colour, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Natural with a hint of gloss. Good for us brunettes. Want to try some?’

  ‘No, ta.’ Us brunettes‘? What is all this matey, let’s bond over a lipstick act, I wondered. What does she want?

  ‘Er, TJ…’

  ‘Yeah…’

  ‘You know that exercise we had to do for maths…?’

  Ah. So that was it. I felt my face drop. I couldn’t help it. For a split second I thought someone was being friendly because they might have cared about me. Obviously not.

  ‘Well I meant to…’ Wendy continued.

  ‘You want to copy my homework?’ I interrupted.

  ‘Oh, TJ, could I? You’d be doing me the most enormous favour and you know what Mr Potts can be like if anyone hasn’t done it…’