‘They’re so high,’ I whispered, but Lewis wasn’t looking. He was making serious faces, holding up two Euro ’96 annuals, like he was deciding between them.
The bald man behind the counter peered at me. ‘Yes?’
I panicked. ‘I’ll have’ – I picked up a local paper – ‘this, please.’
The man folded over a paper and gave it to me. I handed him the last of my change, furious with myself for panicking like Lewis. I was doing this research because I needed more money, not less.
‘Something else?’
‘I’m just looking.’
The man followed my gaze to the shelf with the magazines. He looked back at me.
‘At my gentlemen’s recreational magazines?’
‘No. Though, now you mention them, what age’ – I trailed my hand along the counter – ‘do you have to be to buy those magazines?’
He stared at me. ‘Eighteen.’
‘And anyone can buy them? Boys and girls?’
‘Yes,’ he said finally.
‘Great!’ I gave a beaming smile. ‘Thanks.’ I waved my newspaper in goodbye and trotted out of the shop, Lewis slotting his annuals back hurriedly in the rack.
On the way out, he knocked a pack of crisps off the shelf with his rucksack. He put the pack back with hands as slippery as a squid in a bath.
Lewis and I stayed in the park for a while. When I got home, Mum was already back from her driving lesson. She was at the peninsula with the sewing machine out, making another pair of curtains.
‘Good day?’ Mum asked through the pins in her mouth.
I threw the newspaper I’d bought down next to her. ‘Sweet.’
‘Sweet?’ Mum took the pins out of her mouth. ‘Is that a new school saying?’
‘No, I’ve always said it.’ I felt my face going red. Sweet was a new school saying.
She looked at the paper. ‘Was that put through the door?’
‘No, I bought it.’
Mum gave me a funny look. She watched me as I got five digestives from the biscuit barrel to keep the wolf from the door.
‘It’s fine. I’m not on a diet yet,’ I said, leaving the room.
After a moment, Mum shouted, ‘Yet?’
I was nearly at the top of the stairs, so I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how to, anyway. I wasn’t sure of the rules when girls have to go on diets – whether it’s something you get to decide yourself or if you get instructions at school. Or a letter through the post. Skimmed milk. It’s time.
I sat on my bed, eating, realising I was making crumbs. I was about to shake the duvet off but I got distracted. By a brilliant idea.
Yesterday, Mum said When you’re an adult, living an adult life, you can choose to go to the fair yourself.
And today, when I threw that accidentally bought newspaper down, she looked at me like I’d confused her. Like she saw me in a different light.
So maybe there was something I could do to change Mum’s mind about the fair, after all?
At the idea, the tips of my fingers and toes went light and fizzy. I put the last biscuit in my mouth in one go, and reached for my book of lists.
Things I Can Do to Make Mum and Dad Think I’m More Grown Up
1.Let them see me reading the newspaper
2.Put my dirty clothes in the washing basket every time
3.Use more long words
4.Get new friends. Better friends, older ones.
5.Take drugs
6.Get some condoms and leave them round my room
7.Get flashed at
8.Ask to listen to the news in the car
9.Change a lightbulb without being asked
10.Wear my glasses all the time, not just for distance stuff
11.Ask to watch a foreign film, with subtitles
12.Get a new name
13.Get pregnant
14.Get a job. Not a paper round. A grown-up job, like a police person or nurse
15.Act interested in Gardeners’ World – and snooker
6
A good spy always carries a notebook, in case he needs to pass on a secret message.
The Junior Spy’s Secret Handbook™
Thirty-six days till the fair
School news!
Mademoiselle Brun, the student language teacher that all the lads fancy – her real name’s Miss Brown – brought in a special French meal for her Year Ten class. Baguettes, smelly cheese, tablecloths. And there was a massive food fight!
Massive. Brie in hair and shredded baguettes down jumpers. Quiche on the walls! By the end, the carpet was covered in bits, like the bottom of a hamster cage.
Mrs Parton, the stern old lady French teacher, came in to see what the trouble was, and Mademoiselle Brun told her in a wavy voice that she had the situation all under control. Behind her, a clump of pâté fell down a 3D display of the Eiffel Tower.
Mrs Parton shouted at everyone and dragged three cheese-covered kids to the New Head. Then the bell rang and all the kids ran out, leaving Mademoiselle Brun to clean up the mess.
And when someone saw Mademoiselle Brun in the corridor later, she’d been crying.
And there was more school news! School news about me!
Kids stopped and whispered now as I walked down the corridors. Normally, I jumped over the feet of the bigger kids who lined the benches at the side of the corridors and tried to trip people. But no one stuck their legs out as I walked past. Not that breaktime.
One older boy with an undercut stopped me. ‘Fiona Larson?’
‘Yes?’ I said carefully.
‘I’ll give you a fiver for the lot.’
‘If you want them, be at the car boot sale.’ I might have tossed my hair. ‘A week on Saturday, Festival field, two p.m. Look for the blue car that says Gail Larson, Driving Instructor. You know the one.’
And I walked away.
I’ll be honest – I hadn’t wanted to tell Sean about the magazines. But now I had, it felt pretty good.
I was feeling so good that I didn’t even tell Sean off for blabbing when he sat with us in the computer room that lunchtime.
We sat in a line in front of the computers, playing Ninja Combat (Sean), Rhino Rampage (Lewis) and Park Ranger (me), but I wasn’t concentrating.
‘I’ve decided.’ I spun my chair round to face the boys. ‘I need Mum and Dad to think I’m more grown up. Then they’ll let me go to the fair.’
Lewis pushed his chair away from his game. He pulled a can of drink out of his bag. ‘Your parents know how old you are though.’
He opened the ring pull and drink splattered on him.
Sean and I both laughed. Lewis shook his shirt out, sending drips onto the floor.
‘Jizzed on yourself,’ Sean said.
‘So childish. And it’s called premature ejaculation.’ I took my book of lists to the other side of the computer room and opened the book to look at my list from the night before.
‘What are you doing? Homework?’
‘No, Sean!’
He ripped the book off me anyway.
Lewis let his rhino die and peered over Sean’s shoulder, both reading.
I felt my face flush. ‘Not all the ideas are good ones. It’s an early list.’
‘Get new friends,’ Lewis said. ‘You mean rather than us?’
‘Not rather than you,’ I said. ‘As well as you.’
‘Get pregnant?’ Sean said. ‘Who’s going to want to get you pregnant?’
I snatched my book back. ‘I knew I shouldn’t let you see this. I knew you weren’t mature enough.’
‘Your parents are never going to think you’re older,’ Lewis said quietly. ‘Whether you’re wearing your glasses or not.’
I scratched the back of my neck and looked at m
y list again.
I underlined 14. Get a job. Not a paper round. A grown-up job, like a police person or nurse. Then I underlined 12. Get a new name.
I turned to Lewis and Sean. ‘From now on, you have to call me Fi.’ I paused. ‘That’s what other people call me. People from other schools.’
I waited for them to catch me out, but Lewis just shrugged. Sean said, ‘OK.’
Lewis was watching me.
‘What?’
‘Are you going to put your glasses on now or later?’
After school, Mum made me go to the Co-op but, for once, I didn’t mind. The Co-op had a pinboard for lost cats and step classes – and adverts for grown-up jobs.
I walked with Mum and her big shopping bag down the road.
‘You’ve got your inhaler?’ Mum asked.
‘Yep. I should really have stayed at home. All this is going to change when I’m twelve.’ I waved my arms to show all this. ‘When you’re twelve, you’re allowed to be home alone.’
‘We’ll talk about it then.’
We reached the precinct. I got a trolley from the nest and pushed it through the Co-op doorway. I waited till Mum was in the fresh food aisle, choosing vegetables, then snuck over to the pinboard.
I glanced past the cards for coffee mornings and lost cats.
Babysitting Opportunity. Two evenings per week. Two well-behaved primary-age children and one small dog. Requires . . .
Kid’s job.
Paper Rounds available for motivated, responsible teenagers. Enquire at Paper Rack. Applicants need to be early risers, reliable . . .
Kid’s job. And with the Paper Rack man? No way.
I looked up, to check I was safe. Mum was heading over to a kid in a Co-op uniform, stacking baskets of oranges. I recognised the kid from school.
‘Excuse me,’ Mum said.
I glanced at the next advert.
Hairdressing Assistant required. Must be presentable with good customer service skills and . . .
A girls’ job, but it couldn’t be helped.
I got out my spy notebook and wrote down the details. I hurried back to Mum and grabbed the trolley handle again, like I’d never been gone.
‘Like I said, we do usually have cherries.’ The kid stacking oranges noticed me and blinked. ‘Are you Fiona Larson from Year Seven?’ He glanced at Mum and back. ‘Have you got a sec?’
I gave the boy not now eyes. I turned hurriedly to Mum. ‘Shall I tell you about my day? Do you know blood makes up seven per cent of the weight of the human body?’
But, out of nowhere, Mum jammed her hands on the trolley and swerved into the fridge aisle.
I skittered along after her, still holding the trolley. Surely she couldn’t have worked out about the magazines from . . .
Mum leaned down. She kept her face there, too close to mine. ‘So what did you learn at school today?’
‘I was just telling you. Seven per cent of the human body weight is blood.’
‘Seven per cent? Wow! So heavy! And what’s in blood, is it plasma? Tell me about—’
‘Hi, Gail.’
Mum raised herself to an upright position.
A man with a ponytail stood in her path, a half-smile on his face.
‘Hi.’ Mum got her house keys out of her bag. ‘We’re in a bit of a hurry, I’m afraid.’
The man’s basket held a four-pack of lager and some chewing gum. ‘It’s been a long time.’
She gave a tiny nod. ‘I thought you’d moved to Bristol.’
‘My mother died a couple of weeks ago.’
The hard line of Mum’s mouth didn’t change.
‘I’m not back properly, just living in the house while I sell it.’
‘Right.’ Mum put her hand on my shoulder. ‘We need to go. I think I’ve left the iron on.’
A piece of hair fell out of her clip and into her mouth. She pulled the hair away roughly as she turned to me. ‘Just leave the trolley.’
We hurried out of the shop.
‘You were rude to that ponytail man, Mum,’ I said. ‘You didn’t say you were sorry his mother died.’
‘I just didn’t feel like talking.’
I looked behind me. The man was outside the shop now, smoking a cigarette. He smoked quickly, barely finishing one puff before starting the next.
‘Don’t you like him?’
Mum adjusted her clip. ‘Not really.’
I looked behind again, but the man had gone. ‘Why, what’s he done?’
‘Nothing.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He’s strange. That’s all. Now, tell me again – what was that you were saying about blood?’
Mum asked about my blood project all the way home.
And it turned out she hadn’t left the iron on – it was still in the cupboard! When I pointed that out, she hit herself on the forehead and said, ‘Aren’t I the prize numpty?’ and we both laughed at her silliness.
Adult Sayings
1)Keep the wolf from the door
2)SHIT THE BED!
3)Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition
4)Single supplements
5)A preposition shows relation, like on the bridge or at the station*
*I saw this saying on a wall at school, but no kid would ever say this, so I’m calling it an adult saying.
Adult Words
1)Paradox
2)Catalyst
3)Provisional
4)Antidisestablishmentarianism
5)Secondment
6)Foreplay
7)Clitoris
8)Premature
9)Ejaculation
10)Asterisk
7
The Scottish kids should hope England beat Scotland tomorrow.
(paradox)
Thirty-five days till the fair
I waved to Lewis and Sean as I walked towards the lamppost, bouncing a little as I walked. It was getting warmer so I didn’t have a coat with me, which made everything feel lighter. I actually had a plan to get to the fair now, a sweet, sweet plan – and now the sky had decided to cheer up too and stop raining.
We all turned to walk towards school. Lewis stepped to cross the road and—
‘See, you’re doing it again!’ Sean’s face was bright, like he’d caught us out. ‘Crossing in the same place! Like robots!’
I looked at Lewis. We gave each other little oops smiles.
‘And look,’ Sean said, pointing. ‘There’s a man in the house you never walk past.’
I turned towards the house, 56 George Street. There was usually an old lady behind the net curtains, sitting on the sofa at all times of day, but she wasn’t there now. Instead, there was a shape right behind the netting. A man, looking out.
‘Do you think he’s looking at us?’ I asked.
‘Definitely,’ Sean said.
‘Maybe because we’re staring at his house?’ Lewis said.
The man hadn’t moved from the window. It was like a Mexican stand-off, but with no guns.
I felt a shiver of something both good and bad up my spine. ‘Do you think he’s a flasher?’
Lewis snorted. ‘You and your flashers.’
‘And you have your mercenaries. We all have our things, Lewis.’
It’s not that I want to be flashed, exactly – it’s just something that happens to the older girls. It happened to Selina Baker in the cut-through down the side of the newsagent’s. Selina had to cancel her driving lesson so she could look at photos of flashers at the police station, on what sounded like the best day ever.
‘I wonder if it’s him back?’ Sean spoke thoughtfully, like he was holding a conversation with himself, but I knew it was an act. His words were definitely for us. ‘I know why your mum doesn’t walk in front of that house, Fi – I
remembered. My dad told me once what happened at number fifty-six.’
Lewis and I glanced at each other. We both knew something big was coming.
Sean put his hands on his hips. ‘That’s the axeman’s house. A man went mad there and cut all his brothers’ heads off once. On Halloween.’
My neck went colder. ‘That can’t be true.’
‘You wouldn’t have only just remembered that now,’ Lewis said.
‘The man must be due out of prison around now. He’ll be back to get revenge on the village for grassing him up.’
I stared at the man in the window. ‘Shut up.’
‘How many brothers’ heads?’ Lewis asked.
‘After the man cut off their heads, he cut up their bodies in the shed. He buried bits of his brothers all around the village.’
‘That’s not true,’ I said.
‘My uncle Neil found a foot in the fresh food aisle at the Co-op.’
‘Now that’s definitely not true,’ I said.
‘The foot was in with the bananas,’ Sean said. ‘Still wearing a flipflop.’
The three of us stood there, staring.
‘Shall we go and ring the doorbell?’ Sean said.
‘NO!’ Lewis had never sounded surer. ‘You’re so stupid, Sean!’
Lewis started walking towards school, his arms pumping. After taking one last look at the house, Sean and I followed.
Thing is, you can know something isn’t true and still be a little bit scared.
I was starting to wish we met at a different lamppost.
I forgot about Sean’s axeman story as the day went on. The school corridors were buzzing with football talk, and things were getting worse for the Scottish kids. Even Lewis, who usually piped up ‘I’m one-eighth Scottish’ whenever he could, was very quiet now about his great-granddad from Aberdeen.
It made me worry about my grandma up in Glasgow. An English person, all alone.
Grandma moved to Glasgow before I was born, to live with Kenneth, her old boyfriend from school. She hadn’t seen him in forty years, but he sent her a letter after Grandpa John died. And now she’s married to Kenneth. And that’s fine because the first time Grandma was with Kenneth, she hadn’t met Granddad John. And the second time, Grandad John was dead.
So no one minded. It was all fine.
All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart Page 5
