Mates, Dates and Inflatable Bras

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Homework?’ said Mum.

  ‘Done it,’ I lied.

  ‘Tidy your bedroom?’

  ‘Boring . . . I’ve got nothing to do . . .’

  ‘Well I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Just don’t mope about under my feet. Anyway, I thought you were going to make some clothes. Why not make a start?’

  I spent the rest of the morning rooting through bags of assorted jumble from the cupboard under the stairs. Most of it rubbish by the look of it, all sorts of stuff that Mum’s collected over the years. Izzie says it’s because she’s Cancerian and they hate to throw stuff away. She’s certainly right in Mum’s case. There are clothes in here from when I was a baby.

  Dad got up from reading his papers in the living-room. ‘Time for a cup of tea!’ he declared. He always says it like it’s a really exciting thing. A sensational world event. TIME FOR A CUP OF TEA.

  On his way to the kitchen, he spotted the baby clothes lying on the carpet. ‘Oh. Ahhhh,’ he said and picked them up and took them in to show Mum. They stood in the kitchen like a couple of dopes, all misty-eyed, looking at the tiny pink cardigans and miniscule blue booties.

  ‘Our little baby,’ said Mum, gazing softly at me.

  ‘It seems like only yesterday,’ said Dad, looking at me, ‘when you were still in nappies.’

  ‘Errgh,’ I said. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Maybe we should have another,’ said Dad.

  I put my fingers in my ears. Yuk. I don’t even like to think about it.

  Suddenly I spied a box jammed in at the back of the cupboard and hauled it out.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes when I opened it. It was full of old dresses. I don’t mean old like worn out, I mean old in that they looked like they’d been kept for decades. Fabulous fabrics, a velvet wrap, crêpe blouses with tiny little tucks and pleats, beautifully sewn, an evening gown with exquisite beading, a top with sequins. Satin, silks. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot.

  ‘Mum,’ I called. ‘Whose are these clothes?’

  Mum came to look at the heap of clothing I’d piled out on the hall floor.

  ‘Oh, those. Those were your grandmother’s. I used to wear them in the Sixties.’ She picked up a gorgeous pale lilac crêpe jacket. ‘I haven’t looked at these in years . . .’

  ‘What are you going to do with them?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t like to throw them out . . .’ she said.

  ‘Supposed to be good Feng Shui, isn’t it?’ called Dad. ‘Clear your clutter and all that.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever wear them again,’ Mum laughed. ‘But they’re not exactly your style, are they? Maybe I could take them down to the second-hand shop or even to a costume shop for people to use in the theatre.’

  I held my breath and asked, ‘Can I have them?’

  ‘What on earth for? Are you doing a production at school?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ I said. ‘It’s just, I think I can do something with them.’

  I piled the contents of the box and bags out on to the floor and started sifting through. Some of it was junk. Cable knit sweaters that had gone hard. T-shirts with paint all over them. But Grandma’s stuff was a treasure trove.

  I made a heap of the clothes I wanted and carted them upstairs with the sewing machine. Then I leafed through a couple of magazines for good designs and set about cutting, chopping bits off, hemming and reshaping.

  After a few hours, Mum appeared at my door. ‘What are you doing? We’re all wondering where you’ve disappeared to.’

  ‘Creating,’ I said with a flourish, showing her what I’d done so far. ‘A short black velvet cross-over skirt and . . . my pièce de résistance for special occasions.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Mum, feeling the material. It was powder-blue lined chiffon with tiny pearls sewn all over it. ‘Isn’t this from one of the evening gowns?’

  ‘Yes. It was so easy to make, as it’s only a sheath dress and got no sleeves, just the back and front sewn up at the sides. It’s like one I saw Jennifer Aniston wearing in one of the mags.’

  ‘Oh, try it on, let me have a look,’ said Mum.

  It fitted like a glove.

  ‘Very pretty,’ said Mum. ‘And it looks really professional.’

  ‘I doubt if anyone makes material like this any more. And I bet Nesta won’t have anything like it from Morgan this time.’

  ‘Are you still worried about Nesta?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Not really. I’ve decided to make more of an effort with her. In fact, I’m making presents for both her and Izzie. I want to surprise them when they come over later.’

  I’d showed Mum the bandero top I’d started out of red sequin material for Nesta, then I was going to do a halter neck for Izzie with the leftover black velvet from the skirt.

  Mum pulled a black ostrich feather out of the bag. ‘Why don’t you use this to trim Izzie’s top?’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘I could hem it along the bottom.’

  By the time I’d finished, both tops looked so good I was tempted to keep them for myself. But no, I wanted to give them something to show I can be a good friend.

  ‘Lucy, phone!’ called Steve from downstairs.

  I was so absorbed in my sewing I hadn’t even heard it ringing.

  ‘Lucy,’ said Izzie’s voice as I picked up the receiver. ‘I’m so sorry, I just called home and Mum said that you’d left a message.’

  ‘Oh right. And I sent you an e-mail too. I wanted to know if you and Nesta wanted to come over tonight for a girlie session.’

  ‘What, now?’ said Izzie. ‘Isn’t it a bit late?’

  I looked at my watch. I couldn’t believe it. It was nine thirty. I’d been sewing all day.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I asked. ‘In fact, where are you?’

  I could hear music and voices in the background. It didn’t sound like she was at home.

  ‘Hold on,’ she said. ‘I’m going into the bathroom. I’m on the mobile.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Lucy, please don’t be mad when I tell you.’

  I immediately felt apprehensive.

  ‘See Nesta went into Hampstead this morning and . . .’

  Nesta again. I might have known she was with her.

  ‘Yes, and?’

  ‘Well she bumped into Michael Brenman and one of his mates and he asked her if she wanted to do something.’

  ‘Right . . .’

  ‘Well she didn’t want to be hanging around with two of them. She really likes Michael and wanted a bit of time on her own with him so she called me on her mobile and begged, begged me to go and meet them. Please understand, Lucy, we didn’t mean to exclude you but we couldn’t ask you as well. I mean, we’d have looked like a right load of twerps if we’d all turned up.’

  ‘I know,’ I said grimly. ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd.’

  ‘No. It’s not like that, not exactly,’ said Izzie. ‘In fact, I wish you had come as well. I’ve got lumbered with Michael’s mate. We’re back at his house and he’s a right Kevin. I’m going home in a minute if I can drag Nesta away from snogging Michael. I’d rather have spent the day with you honest, honest, Lucy. You’re not mad, are you? I had to meet Nesta. As a friend. And I did spend all last week with you trying to meet the Mystery Contestant. I didn’t want to let Nesta down . . .’

  ‘Yeah, if you want a friend, you have to be a friend,’ I said, looking at the presents I had waiting for them and the face-packs and make-up all laid out ready for the girls’ evening.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Izzie. ‘Oh, hold on a minute, Nesta’s just come in. She says, come over to her house tomorrow after school. And oh, she says Michael is the worst snogger she’s ever met. I suppose that means we can go home now.’

  Chapter 10

  First

  Kiss

  Monday morning I overslept. I’d been up so late chopping up fab fabrics for future use, I was late for school and didn’t get a chance to see Izzie or Nesta before lessons. I was feel
ing a bit wary of them both after Sunday.

  Izzie gave me a little wave as I scrambled into my place in class then in came Miss Watkins with a large shopping bag.

  ‘I have a little homework for you all,’ she smiled mysteriously as she took what looked like three dozen eggs out of her bag. I could tell by her face it was going to be one of her mad ideas.

  ‘Now then, Candice,’ she said. ‘I want you to hand out the eggs. One to each girl.’

  Candice did as she was told as we all looked at each other, mystified.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about your career prospects,’ Miss Watkins said as she perched in her usual position on the desk corner. ‘There’s one choice that none of you mentioned. It’s full-time. It’s demanding as well as rewarding. It means total, and I mean total, commitment. It’s days, nights and weekends. And sometimes no time off. Can any of you guess what I’m talking about?’

  She looked around hopefully

  ‘Doctor,’ said Tracy Ford. ‘They’re on call day and night sometimes.’

  ‘OK, good,’ said Miss Watkins. ‘But they get holidays. No holidays with this.’

  ‘God,’ said Candice.

  Miss Watkins laughed. ‘Not a job available to most of us,’ she said. ‘Any other suggestions?’

  No one had a better idea.

  ‘I’m talking about being a mother,’ she said. ‘And it’s something you should all think about carefully.’

  Blimey, I thought. I’m only fourteen. Give me a break. I haven’t even got a boyfriend yet.

  ‘Everyone always says it won’t happen to me but it only takes one time,’ Miss Watkins continued as half the class went scarlet and the other half went giggly, ‘and it can change your life for ever. I know you’ve all had classes about contraception but this little exercise I want you to do will help you realise the responsibility you’re undertaking if you don’t use it.’

  My mind was boggling. Contraception? One night that can change your life for ever? Responsibility? What is she going to make us do with the eggs? I thought we were trying to decide our GCSE subjects.

  ‘I want each of you to take the egg home,’ she continued as Candice placed one in front of each of us. ‘That’s your baby for the week. I want you to bring it back next week in one piece, not broken.’

  Easy, I thought. I’ll put it in the fridge.

  ‘I want you to take it everywhere with you,’ said Wacko. ‘To the shops. To your friends’ houses. To the bathroom.’

  What? Mad, she’s completely mad.

  She hadn’t finished.

  ‘And while we’re at it, there’s some leaflets on all the types of birth control available. I want you to pick one up from my desk at the end of the class so you can read through it at home. Any questions, ask your parents, or please come to me whenever you like.’

  Does she think we’re sex mad in this class?

  Clearly the answer is yes.

  Nesta, Izzie and I met up after school. With our egg babies. And our leaflets.

  We read them on the bus to Nesta’s house.

  ‘It’s weird, isn’t it?’ said Izzie. ‘One minute everyone’s telling you not to grow up,’ she put on her snotty cow accent, ‘to enjoy our youth. Next minute, it’s all grow up, decide what you want to be and think about babies.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nesta. ‘But she must think we’re a right load of plonkers if we don’t know all about contraception by now.’

  ‘So what’s oral contraception, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Talking your way out of it,’ said Nesta.

  ‘You only have to say one word,’ said Izzie. ‘No.’

  I got the feeling neither of them had a clue. Best to ask Mum. She’s always too happy to fill me in on all the gory details.

  ‘This coil thing sounds painful,’ I said, scanning the leaflet. ‘It goes in your womb. Urgggh.’

  ‘More painful for him more like,’ giggled Izzie. ‘Imagine, what if his thingy touches it, bdOING . . . argghhhhh!’

  Once we started laughing we couldn’t stop.

  ‘My brothers found Mum’s sanitary towels once. Of course they didn’t know what they were,’ I said. ‘Lal put one on over his head then pretended that he was a brain surgeon.’

  ‘When I was little I found my mum’s. I used them as hammocks for my dolls,’ said Izzie. ‘She hid them after that.’

  ‘My mum uses a cap,’ said Nesta, reading her leaflet. ‘I found it in her bedside drawer when I was about eight and thought it was a toy frisbee. So we had the conversation, you know, when they get all embarrassed and tell you the facts of life.’

  ‘The whole business sounds very messy to me,’ I said.

  ‘Not as messy as having a baby,’ said Izzie, getting up suddenly and screeching. ‘I’ve just sat on mine.’

  Egg yolk dribbled off the bus seat on to the floor and that set us off laughing again.

  ‘Egg on your face,’ sang Nesta, ‘egg on your face . . .’

  ‘Not my face,’ grimaced Izzie, wiping yolk from her skirt. ‘Oh, my poor baby.’

  ‘Can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, oh,’ moaned Izzie. ‘I’m a terrible mother. Look at you two. You’ve still got yours.’

  ‘I know,’ I said, looking at Nesta. ‘And I know exactly what we should do with them.’

  ‘What?’ said Nesta.

  ‘Let’s go home and boil them.’

  ‘Great idea,’ said Nesta.

  Somehow I don’t think any of us are ready to be mothers just yet.

  When we got to Nesta’s, she made us big cups of frothy coffee on her dad’s cappuccino maker and we went into their gorgeous living-room. No sign of Tony.

  ‘So why was Michael such a rotten snogger?’ I asked Nesta. I was intrigued to know what a rotten snog was, not having being snogged at all so to speak.

  ‘Onions,’ she said. ‘He’d had a hot dog. And it was all sloppy. Wet.’

  Sounded awful. ‘Have you snogged many boys?’ I asked.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘About seven.’

  Seven? She’s so experienced!

  ‘The best was Alessandro,’ continued Nesta dreamily. ‘I met him last year when we were in Tuscany. He did it fabulously. Soft. Tender. Why? How many have you snogged?’

  True to form, I went red. ‘None,’ I said. ‘I’ve never seen anyone I liked.’

  ‘Except Mystery Boy,’ said Izzie. ‘Don’t forget him.’

  ‘How many have you snogged?’ asked Nesta, turning to Izzie.

  ‘Two,’ she answered. ‘Peter Richards when I was seven, so I don’t suppose that counts. And I can’t really remember how it was. And Stuart Cameron last year. He was OK but he kept trying to grope me as well and I didn’t really fancy him. No, I’m waiting for someone special. Not one of the local nerds, thank you very much.’

  Just at that moment, Tony appeared with a huge grin on his face. Oh, God. He’d been in the house all the time. How much had he heard?

  He came in and flopped on the sofa next to me. ‘The art of kissing,’ he said. ‘My speciality.’

  ‘You wish,’ said Nesta. ‘What do you know? Nothing.’

  ‘More than you think, actually.’ He turned to me. ‘Never been kissed, eh?’

  Red turned to scarlet turned to purple.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Izzie.

  ‘I was just going to offer to show her how it’s done,’ said Tony. ‘Then she’ll have something to measure it against in the future.’

  Aaarghhhh. I didn’t know what to do. What to say. He was sitting so close. His long gorgeous legs in jeans stretched out in front of me. And he smelled nice, clean, not like Michael Brenman’s overpowering pong. My breathing went all funny like someone had just pulled a belt across my chest.

  ‘Yeah, she’ll know what it means to be kissed by a huge show-off big-head . . .’ started Nesta.

  ‘You want to try?’ he said, turning to Izzie.

  She tossed her hair. ‘In your drea
ms.’

  So he turned back to me.

  ‘Lucy. Do you want to learn from the Master?’

  ‘The Master . . .’ guffawed Nesta.

  This only seemed to egg him on. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, tilted my face up to his and looked into my eyes. My insides melted into warm honey.

  ‘Tony . . .’ warned Nesta.

  ‘Close your eyes . . .’ he whispered.

  ‘TONY . . .’ Nesta again.

  Too late. He was kissing me. I didn’t care that Nesta and Izzie were there. My first kiss. Little firecrackers were exploding inside me. Nice. Very nice.

  Suddenly a hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt. ‘In the kitchen,’ said Nesta harshly. ‘NOW.’

  He laughed and got up to follow her.

  Izzie looked at me as they disappeared. ‘You OK?’

  I nodded. I giggled stupidly. OK? I was in heaven.

  ‘The cheek of him,’ said Izzie.’Who does he think he is?’

  ‘Just going to the loo,’ I said and crept out into the hall.

  I could hear Nesta’s voice in the kitchen. ‘You stay away from her, do you hear?’

  My heart sank. Why was she saying that to him? He’d kissed me, surely that meant he liked me, and now she was ruining everything again. Why should he stay away from me? I didn’t want him to. Not now.

  There was only one thing for it. I’d tell Izzie and Nesta that he was my Mystery Contestant. And I was very happy to kiss him.

  The doorbell rang and Tony came out of the kitchen. As he went to answer it, he gave me a wink.

  Nesta obviously thought I wasn’t good enough for him. But he did like me. I knew he did. He couldn’t have kissed me like that if he didn’t. Why did she always have to spoil everything?

  Standing at the door was one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen, tall with long auburn hair and all dressed in black.

  She pecked Tony’s cheek, gave me a hands-off look and followed him down the hall into his bedroom.

  Just before he went in he turned back and grinned. ‘Homework,’ he said, then disappeared.

  ‘His girlfriend,’ said Nesta, appearing at the kitchen door.

  And more kissing lessons, if you ask me.

  ‘Come on,’ said Nesta. ‘Let’s go and make a plan for meeting that boy you like.’