Cathy Hopkins - [Mates, Dates 04] Read online

  ‘Go and see Mum, Tony,’ said Nesta. ‘It’s time for your medication.’

  ‘So what was all that about?’ I asked Lucy. The four of us were sitting on the bus on our way over to my house later that morning. ‘You know, Tony?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘We used to go out. Then we finished. Then we got back together. I don’t know where we are now.’

  ‘Muswell Hill,’ teased Nesta, as the bus went up the Broadway past Marks & Spencer.

  ‘He adores you,’ said Izzie.

  ‘That’s part of the problem,’ said Lucy. ‘See, we’re just getting on great, then he starts again . -. .’

  She caressed the air with her hands… ‘with wandering hands. I’m not ready for all that yet. I want it to be special when I go further with a boy. I don’t want to do it because I feel pressured that if I don’t, he’ll dump me for someone who puts out more easily. You know?’

  I nodded. No, I didn’t know. I hadn’t even been snogged yet.

  ‘And you saw what he’s like,’ said Lucy. ‘Flirting with you…’

  ‘Oh, I never…’ I started. ‘I would never… I mean he is gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but…’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, TJ, he’s like that with all girls. That’s another reason why I don’t give in to the wandering hands. I’d never feel as if I could trust him.’

  ‘Well, no reason to worry about me. You saw what I was like back there. Always the same when there are decent boys around. I told you, I go stupid. You know there’s that book Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus. Well, I want to write one, Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus, Teenagers are From Planet Zog’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Lucy.

  ‘It’s mad,’ I continued, ‘because, I want to be a writer but, well, I told you my problem with finding the right words at the right time. Why do they always come after, like when I’m falling asleep or something?’

  ‘That’s good, it means your subconscious mind is working on it,’ said Izzie. ‘I find that with my lyrics. You have to consider the words. Play with them until you’ve got them right. Let them come to you sometimes. It can happen in the middle of the night. I’d say that is the sign that you will be a writer.’

  ‘And if you’re from Planet Zog,’ said Lucy, ‘you can always write science fiction.’

  I laughed and punched her arm. ‘I wish I could be more like you, Nesta. I wish I could come out with great one-liners or put-downs.’

  ‘We all wish she’d be more like you’ said Lucy with a grin. ‘Think before she speaks, sometimes.’

  ‘It does get me in trouble,’ said Nesta. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘So, at last,’ said Lucy as we got to our gate. ‘We get to meet the man of the moment.’

  ‘Who? Scott?’ I said, glancing up at his bedroom window to see if he’d seen us. ‘He usually goes out Saturday mornings.’

  ‘No, silly. Not Scott,’ said Lucy, pointing at the downstairs window next to our front door where a furry face was looking out. ‘Mojo.’

  I laughed as I unlocked the door and was almost knocked over as he leapt up to say hello.

  ‘I’ve only been away a night,’ I said, as he licked my face then ran round the girls, sniffing then rolling on the floor, his tail wagging madly.

  After they’d all made a huge fuss over him, we all trooped up to my bedroom.

  ‘Fab garden,’ said Nesta, looking out of the window. ‘It’s huge and wow, a hammock. How cool. You’ve got visitors though. On the patio, your gran and grandad are here.’

  I went over to look out.

  ‘Er, no,’ I said, pulling back. ‘That’s my mum and dad.’

  Nesta looked like she wanted to die.

  ‘Mum had me late, when she was in her mid-forties’

  ‘Oh, ties Cherie Blair,’ said Izzie, going for a look.

  ‘No,’ said Nesta. ‘Ires Jerry Hall. Much more glam. Now let’s look in your wardrobe.’

  And that was it. No problem. Ires Jerry Hall and show us your clothes. I needn’t have worried at all.

  ‘I hope I didn’t offend you,’ said Nesta as she held up baggy tracksuit bottoms and put them on the reject pile. ‘You know, calling them your grandparents.’

  ‘No prob. I know they’re ancient. In fact, I call them the Wrinklies.’

  ‘I nicknamed my step-father The Lodger when he first arrived,’ said Izzie, flopping on the bed next to Mojo. ‘I couldn’t relate to him any other way, although we get on better now. But the thought of him sharing a bed with Mum, you know, eew…’

  ‘Huh,’ said Lucy. ‘You think you’ve got problem parents? Mine get the pri/e. Why can’t they be normal instead of mad hippies? They’re so embarrassing sometimes.’

  ‘My brother’s a hippie. You know the one who’s abroad. I could introduce him to your mum and dad when he’s back.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Lucy. ‘They could have a soya bean party or something and talk about vegan shoes.’

  ‘Vegan shoes?’ I asked.

  ‘Plastic. No leather. Dad sells them at the shop.’

  ‘I think your mum and dad are great,’ said Izzie. ‘I really like them.’

  ‘Well that’s because you are a very strange person,’ said Lucy.

  Izzie retaliated by throwing a cushion at her.

  Not wanting to be left out, Nesta grabbed one of my pillows and bashed both of them over the head with it. ‘Oh, behave’ she said in her best Mike Myer’s voice.

  Both of them picked up cushions and began pelting her.

  If you can’t beat them, join them, I thought as I reached for a second pillow.

  It was hysterical. Even Mojo joined in, jumping on whoever he could and barking his head off.

  Five minutes later, Lucy was face down on the floor with Izzie sitting on her back. Izzie was tickling her under her arms. ‘Repent, repent. Say I am the most fab fabster in the world, no, the universe!

  ‘Never,’ cried Lucy into the carpet.

  Whilst they battled it out on the floor, Nesta and I were using my bed as a trampoline.

  ‘I’m Xena, Warrior Princess,’ cried Nesta as she leapt in the air and whacked me over the head with a pillow.

  ‘And I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ I yelled as I delivered a nifty whack to her knees. ‘Die, you pathetic imbecile.’

  Just at that second, my bedroom door opened.

  ‘What in heaven’s name is that din?’ shouted Dad above the racket. ‘It sounds as if someone’s being murdered.’

  We all froze on the spot as if playing a game of statues.

  Dad was definitely in Scary Dad mode and I prayed he wasn’t going to make a scene.

  ‘Aren’t you a bit old for this tomfoolery?’ he asked.

  Nesta and I got off the bed and Lucy and Izzie got up off the floor. We stood in line, looking sheepish and not knowing what to do next. Lucy was staring at the floor, Izzie was grinning at my father like an idiot and Nesta was looking at her nails, trying to pretend that she wasn’t there.

  Then I noticed Lucy’s shoulders going up and down in silent laughter. This set me off. Then Izzie. Then-Nesta, as all of us exploded into a fit of laughing.

  Dad looked to the heavens in exasperation. ‘Fourteen, TJ. Isn’t it about time you started acting like a young woman?’

  I nodded furiously, but tears were falling down my cheeks.

  ‘I’m going to my club for a bit of peace’ said Dad, going out and slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Oops,’ I said, then started sniggering. ‘Iz, Lucy, Nesta meet my dad. Oh dear…’

  ‘Sorrysorry,’ said Nesta. Then she picked up one of my bras from a pile of ironing on the desk and put it on over her T-shirt.

  ‘Guess we’re going to have to work on our refined and well behaved bit, huh?’ she said, sticking her chest out.

  I nodded. ‘Demure and wotsit,’ I said, picking a pair of knickers from the pile and putting them on my head.

  ‘And vewee vewee mature,’ said Lucy in a little girlie voice as she
sprang up on my bed and jumped up as high as she could.

  email: Inbox (4)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 22 June

  Subject: Cape Town boy babe

  Mambo bandana baby. Bin bisy bee. Fabola barbie last night and I have neeews. I met a boy. 1 seriously think he may be the One. I may even have to phone you for a yabgyaba. He is Drop Dead Divine. A bronzed Adonis. His name is Luke. We had devine tucker and deep talk.

  H X

  PS: Luke (swoon swoon) has a book title for you. Romantic Fantasies by Everly Night. Heehee. Double arf.

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 22 June

  Subject: Scary Dad

  Where are you? I phoned and got Scary Dad who said you were at a sleepover. Then he grilled IDC about whether my mum and dad knew I was phoning. Don’t dare phone again. Get thine holy finger out and email me as SOOON as you get in. Loooooooooaaaaaaaaaaads to tell you.

  Hx

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 23 June

  Subject: Alert alert. Lost TJ Watts.

  Okela. Ista no joke no more. Ou est you? Ou Ou OU?

  Hx

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 23 June

  Subject: hols

  Hey, little sis. Hope it’s all going well and Scary Dad not giving you too hard a time. Life here is truly wonderful. Did a day with a holy man, amazing as he is out here in India, but is really from Kilburn. Lots of stuff happening with my third eye. Plus he’s re-energised my chakras.

  Did two-day meditation session with holy man. Nice group. All gelled well. Fairy-story landscapes and sunsets. Friendly people but Saskia has got amoebic dysentery.

  Rock on. Stay true.

  Paul

  PS Please can you ask Ma to go to the Embassy and get me a new passport. Mine was nicked when I slept on the beach the other night. Ta. Plus some peppermint oil and sulphur and pulsatilla homeopathic stuff for the runs.

  email: Outbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 23 June

  Subject: Friday night

  Hey H

  Glad you met boy. Luke. I want details. Height? Weight? Snogged yet? Level of snogging? Marks out of ten for snogging? etc.

  Me had fabola time at sleepover with Nesta, Izzie and Lucy. Nesta’s bro is divine, but taken by Lucy. Sort of. He has wandering hands apparently, which Nesta says is a disease a lot of boys in North London suffer from. She’s going to do a make-over on me for the magazine. Before/after kind of thing. They all came over to go through my wardrobe but couldn’t find anything. Quelle surprise. Oh and Mum bought me the dress from hell. Lucy said I had to be honest with mum so I was and she’s given me the receipt so I can change it. Thank de Lord. After we’d been through my wardrobe, we went into the garden as we are having uno heatwave here. It was nice and relaxed as Dad had gone to his club for A BIT OF PEACE. (He caught us being un peu silly and making a lot of noise and well, you know what he can be like.) Nesta had a go on the hammock under the cherry trees. Scott came running over the minute he spotted her from his bedroom window. He leapt over the fence with a flower, trying to impress her, but he gave her the shock of her life and she fell out of the hammock. Then Mojo dumped all over her. It was very funny. Scott was all over her, all dopey with big cow eyes. I felt a bit jealous, although I know that she has a boyfriend and she said after that Scott wasn’t her type. Still. I wish a boy would be all over me. I think I may be the only girl in our class who hasn’t been snogged - Maybe I’ll never get a boy ever. Maybe I’m just not the sort boys like.

  TJ

  Email: Inbox (1)

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Date: 23 June

  Subject: you don’t ‘alf talk rubbish sometimes

  TJ

  You’re not the only girl who’s never been snogged in Year 9. I know for a fact that Joanne Richards and Mo Harrison haven’t been and unless Mo sorts out her halitosis, she never will be.

  Luke. Height 6ft at least. Blonde. Body like a god. Snogged yes. Level 3. OK, 4. Well, he is a god. Marks out often for snoggability? 9. But practice will make perfect.

  think it’s great, those girls doing a make-over. You are gorgeous, but don’t make the most of yourself. I’ve always said this. I like the sound of Nesta, Iz and Lucy and often thought that if 1 hadn’t been friends with you, I would like to have been friends with them.

  Tata for now

  Hannah. South African goddess of luurve

  Books: Are you still doing this?

  Run to the Loo by Willie Makeit

  C h a p t e r 1 0

  My Fair Lady. Not

  Contents - Prev / Next

  ‘You’ll never do it,’ I said, beginning to feel desperate. ‘It’s hopeless. I am Ugly Git from Uglygitland.’

  ‘Roma wasna builta in a day,’ said Nesta, tugging her way through my hair.

  ‘The darkest hour is just before dawn,’ said Lucy, who was kneeling on the floor next to me, retouching my nails.

  ‘Suppose,’ I said, looking gloomily at my reflection in the mirror in Nesta’s bedroom. My hair was a frizzy mess, I had an aloe vera face mask on that made me look like a ghost and a big spot threatening to erupt on my chin.

  ‘Lack of self-esteem,’ said Izzie. ‘That’s your problem, TJ. You are a babe, but you don’t know it. Look, you have fabulous hair that you always scrape back in a plait, long long legs that you never show, a fab figure that you hide in baggy tracksuits and a great mouth that all those thin-lipped models who have collagen injections would die for.’

  Always one to accept compliments graciously, I said, ‘Humphh. And you clearly have the observational skills of a brain-dead gnat.’

  We’d already done the ‘before’ shot in the morning at Lucy’s house. Steve had offered to be photographer with his new camera and it was hysterical. I’d worn the ‘dress from hell’ that Mum had bought me and Izzie had done my hair in two bunches high on either side of my head. Lucy had stuck dog hair from Ben and Jerry’s brush on to my legs with Evostick so that I’d look like I had hairy legs (I put my foot down when she got carried away and tried to stick some on my upper lip to give me a moustache though.) And Nesta had given me some lessons in bad posture so I looked even more frumpy.

  ‘All beautiful women have great posture,’ she’d said. ‘It’s one of the first things they teach at modelling school. To stand up straight. So for these shots, stoop, like you have round shoulders.’

  Lucy raided her mum’s jumble sale bargain bags and produced some seriously tasteless jewellery. Big dangly earrings and an Indian necklace.

  ‘But they don’t go with the dress,’ I’d said.

  The girls had looked at me as if I was stupid.

  ‘And the object of this exercise is? said Nesta.

  By the time they’d finished, I looked like a sack of old potatoes. With hairy legs.

  ‘You look awful,’ Steve’d said approvingly when I came down the stairs, then walked across the hallway like a duck. A round-shouldered duck.

  ‘Yeah, like Waynetta Slob from Harry Enfield’s show,’ laughed Lai.

  ‘I want to do the shots round the back garden near the bins,’ said Steve.

  ‘What, like I’m on the scrap heap?’ I asked.

  Steve gave me a look as if to say ‘yeah’, then he grinned. ‘You don’t look that bad,’ he said. ‘It’s only that dress that makes you look like a frump.’

  ‘But the bins in the background give a sort of subliminal message, like I’m a load of rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Steve. ‘Exactly. We’ve been doing it in film class, all about how surrounding images register with the subconscious and can reinfo
rce what you’re trying to say without people realising.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ said Lucy. She did an enormous yawn as though bored out of her mind, but I found what he was saying interesting.

  We had a great laugh as Steve clicked away and I assumed the most unattractive positions and facial expressions I could.

  At one point, Mr and Mrs Levering came out to see what we were up to. They watched for a moment as I cavorted for the camera doing my sumo-wrestler position, then a bit of karate chopping. They looked very puzzled to hear Steve say in a French accent, ‘And look as miserable as you can. Like your durg ’as just died and gone to durgee ‘eaven avec les autres chiens. That’s it. Eh bien. Marvelleuse mon ooglee legume… Diable mon sooth, chins up, chins down. Mais oui, bien sur. Degoutantamont.’

  Clearly languages were not his thing, I thought, as his parents both shrugged and went back into the house.

  The second part of the make-over wasn’t a laugh. Oh no-ho, not at all. The girls were taking it seriously. As in mega-seriously. They were on a blooming make-over mission.

  I was plucked, waxed, massaged, moisturised, conditioned, manicured, pedicured, blow-dried, made-up, made-over and dressed.

  ‘OK, you can look now,’ said Nesta, removing her dressing gown from the mirror where she’d draped it so I couldn’t see.

  The reflection of a brunette Barbie doll gazed back at me. I was wearing one of Nesta’s dresses, a short pale blue number and her mum’s Jimmy Choo grey strappy heels. Nesta had given me ‘big’ hair, loose and flowing over my shoulders and Lucy had made up my face with a little shadow, blusher and rusty lippie.

  ‘You shall go to the ball, Cinders,’ said Nesta. ‘You look fab.’

  ‘Yeah, a top babe,’ said Lucy. ‘Do you like it?’

  I wasn’t sure. I did look good. And I had to admit that my legs looked really long. But I wasn’t sure that looking like such a girlie girl was me. Mind you, I didn’t know what was me.