We all glance at each other and then nod. It’s kind of hard to resist Lateef. “You first,” I say.
“Sure.” Lateef sits up. “I realized this over the summer: what I really want is to be a musician, a guitarist.” He turns to me. “And before you point out that I didn’t practise the piano enough, so why would it be different with the guitar, that’s exactly what I’m saying … that I’m going to start lessons next week and really work at it, a couple of hours every evening.” He sits back in the armchair, beaming. “I bet that’s what you want too, Beth – being a pianist, I mean. Isn’t it?”
We all look at Beth. She gulps. “Actually, I love the piano but what I would really like is to work as a carer. Maybe a nurse. But I’d stay at home for the training and do it all so I can look after Mum and Dad if Dad gets ill again or … or when they get really old.”
Lateef nods.
“That’s perfect, Beth,” I say.
Meg stares at me. “How come it’s OK for Beth to want to care for people who are sick, but stupid for me to want to look after children?”
I turn to her. Is she still upset about this? I thought we’d moved on ages ago.
“Is that what you want to do, Meg?” asks Lateef, clearly trying to avoid us having a row. “Be a teacher?”
“No, I want to look after younger kids, like I do with the Gardiner boys,” Meg says. She throws me an irritated glance. “But Jo here thinks that’s stupid.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid,” I say. “It’s just, well, if you must bring it up again, then Beth looking after people makes total sense, but you’ve always been so into styles and designs. I always imagined that after A-levels you’d go to art school, or study design at uni. I mean, whatever you choose is fine, but have you actually thought about what you really want?”
“Can you hear how patronizing you sound?” Meg’s voice rises. “What gives you the right to decide what makes sense for anyone else? It’s so typical of you, Jo, to think you know best. You can be so arrogant sometimes.”
The atmosphere in the room tenses. Beth stares down at her lap, refusing to make eye contact with either of us. In contrast Lateef is frowning, glancing from me to Meg.
“Hey, come on, this wasn’t supposed to cause a row,” he says.
“It hasn’t caused one,” Meg says, a bitter note to her voice. “Jo’s been on my case for months about what she thinks I should do, instead of actually listening to what I want to do.”
I sigh, feeling aggrieved. Mum’s words, unbidden, flash into my head:
Maybe because you feel so passionately about writing, you’ve assumed Meg feels the same about dress designing?
“So tell us, Meg,” Lateef says in his most soothing voice. “Tell us what you want to do.”
“I want to be a nanny.” Meg looks around at each of us in turn. “I’ve thought and thought about it. And it’s perfect for me – I love looking after kids.” She pauses. “I mean, I love fashion too, but in the same way that Beth loves playing the piano. And just as it wouldn’t suit Beth to have to perform in front of people, it wouldn’t suit me to have to sit down and draw designs and work out how to make clothes.”
I stare at her. I’d never thought about it like that … that to Meg, maybe those things felt like a chore.
“It doesn’t mean I can’t carry on dressing with style…” She grins in my direction. “And helping you do that too, Jo, ’cos you certainly need it.”
“Whatever.” I make a face at her.
“That’s just like how I’m going to carry on playing the piano,” Beth adds timidly. “Because I like to do that, for myself.”
“Mmmn.” Lateef raises his eyebrows. “Maybe not everyone’s like you, Jo, ready to risk it all for a dream.”
“I don’t think of writing stories as a dream,” I say. “It’s the only thing I want to do. That and travel the world having adventures and getting ideas for my next book.”
Lateef grins. “Which I can totally see you doing.”
“Me too,” Beth says, a soft smile on her lips. “You’ve got a great dream, Jo. You don’t need to worry about anyone else’s.”
She’s right.
I glance at Meg. “I’m sorry if I dissed your nanny thing,” I say gruffly. “I think you’ll be great at it. And if it’s what you want you should go for it.”
Meg sighs. “I’m sorry I said you were patronizing and arrogant.”
“Jeez,” says Lateef. “Are we still talking about this?”
“Shut up,” the three of us chorus, as in unison we each reach for the nearest cushion and chuck it across the room at him.
Chapter 3
It’s two days before the autumn term at school starts and Ringstone, like most of England, is sweltering in an unexpected September heatwave. Meg, Beth and I are lazing in the garden hoping to catch a waft of non-existent breeze. Amy will be home from her travels any minute – Mum and Dad have sent a text to say they’re on their way back from the airport.
I’m on my phone, on Twitter, composing a tweet to Rowena Riddell. She won’t remember me from the book signing – but I’m desperate for some advice. The deadline for my story for Teen Spiral is creeping ever closer and I still haven’t written a word. In the end I decide on:
Am a big fan and a writer too. Met you at Ringstone signing back in Jan. Any advice for writer’s block? Getting desperate! Thanks!
I post the tweet and lie back on the lawn. Meg and Beth have claimed a rickety lounger each but I prefer the patchy grass in the shade of the bushes.
I close my eyes, half asleep. Over the past few weeks I’ve got used to the house without Amy and all her giggly friends. What will it be like having her back? Under my fingers the earth feels dry and warm.
“She’s here!” Beth cries. “Amy!”
I open my eyes. Meg springs up from her lounger. She and Beth are already hurrying across the grass. I follow them over to the patio.
Amy is standing, framed by the kitchen door. My jaw drops.
She’s transformed. In place of her girly blonde curls is a sleek, expensively cut bob. And instead of the flouncy pink dress she departed in she is wearing a fitted white T-shirt, grey cut-offs and a soft, silk jacket the exact colour of her eyes.
“Wow!” Meg gasps, tracing her hand along the sleeve of Amy’s jacket as she pulls her into a hug. “You look amazing.”
“You look so grown up, Amy,” Beth says, offering her own, more timid embrace.
“You look like a mini version of Aunt Em,” I add, kissing her cheek.
Old Amy would have got riled at this.
New Amy simply shields her face from the sun with her hand and smiles. It’s strange. Beth is right, she does look older. But it’s not just the clothes, it’s the whole way she’s carrying herself.
“This direct sunshine is ’streemly bad for your skin,” Amy says with such an authoritative air that I almost burst out laughing. “Let’s go inside.”
She turns on her heel and Meg, Beth and I troop after her into the kitchen.
“Did you have a good time?” Meg asks, sitting down at the kitchen table and motioning Amy to sit opposite.
“Oh, yes.” Amy’s grin widens and for a second she looks like a little girl again. “I saw … just amazing things. It was brilliant!”
A little stab of envy pierces me. I open my mouth to say something sarcastic about Amy’s powers of description, but then I close it again. Amy sinks gracefully into a kitchen chair.
“What was the best thing about the trip?” Beth asks breathlessly, slipping into the chair next to Meg’s.
Amy smiles. For a moment I think she’s going to say something mean about how great it was being away from all of us – but maybe that says more about me than her. After all, getting some space apart from my family has been such a long-standing desire of mine it’s easy to assume everyone else feels the same way too.
“The best thing,” Amy says, widening her eyes for theatrical effect. “Was the day we went to a ca
twalk show in Paris.”
“Seriously?” I burst out laughing. “You went all the way to France and Italy and the best bit was watching a load of models prancing about on a runway.”
Beth and Meg stiffen, no doubt expecting to see old Amy now: a firework about to explode with righteous indignation at me for teasing her.
Instead Amy leans back, simply raising a languid eyebrow in my direction. “Actually, the show was in this amazing, modern building on the banks of the Seine. Beforehand, Aunt Em and I went to the Louvre and looked at the paintings, and after the show everyone went for drinks on the river – including all these designers Aunt Em knows and people wearing bright colours and clothes with feathers, like birds. The views were incredible and the sun was shining and Aunt Em even let me have a sip of her champagne, which was the first time I ever had any.” Amy wrinkles her nose. “Not that I liked it, but the day overall was brilliant.”
I nod, feeling uncomfortably like I’ve been put in my place.
Out of the corner of my eye I spot Mum and Dad in the kitchen doorway.
“The next day was when Aunt Em bought me this jacket.” Amy rubs the soft grey-blue silk between her fingers. “Isn’t it the most lovely colour?”
“It is, Amy.” Mum exchanges a worried glance with Dad. “Your aunt has been very generous.”
Dad grimaces. He’s probably wondering how on earth he and Mum will be able to pay Aunt Em back for the jacket.
“She was,” Amy acknowledges. “But she said she was happy to buy it – as a thank you for me being so helpful.” She looks through the open door out to the garden. “Wow, it’s as hot here as it was in Italy.”
Mum clears her throat. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”
“Ooh, yes.” Amy nods eagerly, looking again, briefly, like the little girl she was when she left. “Is there any cake?”
“There is.” Mum laughs. “I made a chocolate sponge with raspberry icing. Your favourite.”
“Thanks, Mum.” Amy beams as Mum fills the kettle with water.
Amy produces her presents – a large box of chocolates for me and little silver earrings for Meg and Beth. My phone pings with an alert. I glance down. Could this be a response from Rowena Riddell? Some advice about dealing with writer’s block?
But it’s just someone from school liking my Instagram pic of the spider’s web spread across the rose bush in our back garden.
Dad cooks a special dinner in honour of Amy’s return home. There’s a big lasagne with salad and a trifle – or more of Mum’s cake – for pudding. We’re just getting to the end of the meal and Dad is looking tired, as he often does if he’s been standing for too long. Mum expresses concern and Meg quickly shoos them both out of the kitchen saying the four of us will clear up.
“Including Amy,” she adds firmly.
Mum and Dad leave, while Beth starts gathering the plates and Meg and I begin washing and drying up. Amy deals with all the leftovers, covering the lasagne and trifle and putting them in the fridge.
She fits the scant remains of the chocolate cake back in its tin, then turns to face us all. “I made a will while I was away,” she says
I stare at her, the plate I’m drying forgotten in my hands.
“What?” Meg frowns, flicking a soap sud from her wrist.
“Why?” I ask.
“Are you sick?” Beth adds, leaning forward with an anxious frown.
“No, silly.” Amy rolls her eyes. “But Aunt Em was talking about her will and I just wanted all my off… my aff… all my stuff in order. I mean, it’s not an official thing, but it’s written down and signed.”
“Seriously, Amy?” I snort, rolling my eyes.
“Jo,” Meg says absently. “How many times? You sound like a man when you make that sound.”
Amy shoots me a withering glance. “So…” she continues. “I’ve left everything to Mum and Dad, obviously. But I thought you’d like to know that I’ve made separate special bisects for you three.”
“You mean bequests,” I snigger.
“Whatever.” Amy draws herself up. “I’ve given Meg any of my clothes she wants, except the pink pompom jumper which has got to go to Katy, who can also have my necklaces and other jewellery.”
“OK,” Meg says uncertainly. “You know your clothes won’t fit me, right?”
“Then Beth can have my old dolls and those slippers with the satin bow that she likes.”
I exchange a look with Beth, who, despite her love of her own old teddy bear, I’m pretty certain has no interest in Amy’s discarded toys.
Beth smiles. “Thanks, Amy.”
Looking pleased with herself, Amy turns to me. “And, Jo, you are getting my bedside lamp – the one with the shade that’s wonky because you dropped it once – and also my laptop because I’m sorry I destroyed your story that time.”
I meet Amy’s eager eyes and, though part of me is desperate to tease her about her stupid bequests, I can’t actually bring myself to do it. “Great,” I say gruffly.
“That’s sorted then,” says Amy and leaves the kitchen.
“That girl is insane,” Meg mutters.
I check my phone again. There’s still no reply from my favourite author. Which means I still have no idea how to get past my writer’s block – and that I am as stuck as ever trying to find a stupid story.
Chapter 4
I trudge reluctantly into school just as the bell rings.
The start of a new school year has never felt less appealing. For one thing it’s my GCSE year, which means hard work and high expectations and having to study loads of stuff that doesn’t interest me. On top of that, I’m going to have to face Sallie Gardiner and Zoe Carpenter, who I haven’t seen since we got back from the festival and who have probably told half the school that I’m only friends with Lateef because he’s rich.
To make matters worse, neither Meg nor Beth have made it into school today. Amy’s here – she’s just skipped past me, all smiles and giggles, with Katy and their other friends – but Beth isn’t well enough.
“The doctor says she could do with a bit more time,” Mum said. “She’s not coming on quite as quickly as they would like.”
As for Meg, she claimed this morning to be unwell herself, turning over in bed when I prodded her to get up. She’s been huddled in secret conversations with Mum and Dad for the past week. I’ve asked what they’re talking about, but Meg just keeps saying she’s not ready to explain yet.
I don’t know what she’s up to, but I’m certain she’s not ill. What’s more, I’m also certain Mum and Dad know it. So why are they putting up with it?
And why is Meg shutting me out?
The bell rings as I make my way along the corridor to the hall. There’s a full school assembly before our new form teachers take us off to our new form rooms and give us our timetables. I spot Amy on the end of a row as I pass. She’s still deep in conversation with her friends and doesn’t notice me.
Lateef waves as I get close to my own year. He’s standing next to Tiny with Sallie Gardiner on the other side. I hesitate, then give them a friendly wave and drop into a seat a couple of rows back. I can’t face Sallie right now. I keep my eyes on the stage, where the head is shuffling papers, adjusting the microphone on its stand.
“Aren’t you going to say hello?”
I turn to find Zoe standing next to me, Sallie at her side. Lateef is still in his place a few rows ahead, chatting and laughing with Tiny.
“Oh,” I say. “Er – hello.”
“How come you didn’t say hi just now?” asks Sallie. Then a look of fake comprehension comes over her face. “Oh my God. Were you jealous? Of me talking to Lateef?”
I frown. “I have no idea what…”
“She’s really in denial, isn’t she?” Zoe’s lips curve into a sneer. “Poor Lateef.”
“I was only talking to him,” Sallie says with a roll of her eyes. “Jeez.”
I stare at her, bewildered.
“It’s not just her,
it’s that younger sister too,” Zoe says, pointing in Amy’s direction. I can see her blonde head close to Katy’s dark one. “That one has such a crush on him. Ha! You know what, Sallie? If one sister doesn’t get her hooks in him the other will.”
“Shut up!” The words shoot out of me and I see a few people look around in surprise. My cheeks burn. After a lifetime with three sisters I know enough about teasing to have learned that it’s best ignored. But that’s impossible. It’s bad enough Zoe and Sallie being nasty to me, but no way will I put up with them picking on Amy.
Sallie flinches but Zoe smiles like she’s won something.
“Looks like we touched a nerve,” she says smugly.
“Leave me alone,” I say coldly. “And leave Amy alone too.”
The head taps the microphone on the stage and calls for everyone’s attention.
“Please, be seated,” he intones.
Zoe disappears, Sallie scuttling in her wake.
I sink back in my seat, listening to the head drone on and feeling more despondent than ever. What on earth just happened?
It’s a long first day back. Thankfully I’m in a different form room from both Zoe and Sallie and can take a locker next to Lateef’s without worrying about their mean comments.
I don’t see either girl again until lunch break. They’re in a different set for maths and science and, unlike me, aren’t taking history.
Lateef also has different lessons from me for most of the morning. He seeks me out at the soup bar in the canteen at lunch break to tell me that this year’s school play is going to be My Fair Lady.
“I just saw Mr Peterson putting up a poster,” he tells me, grabbing a clutch of bread rolls. “You should audition, Jo, you’d be brilliant.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m only half listening, my attention mostly on Zoe across the room. She’s chatting to Sallie and a few other girls from our year, pointing over at us. They all burst out laughing and I flush.
Becoming Jo Page 16
