Girl, 15: Flirting for England

by Sue Limb

  ‘Well, I’ve got a plan,’ said Dad. ‘Listen. I’m having an exhibition soon. It opens on the seventeenth. I’ll send you an invite with all the details. I just had this brilliant idea. Why don’t you come down here for the private view? It’s on the Saturday night, at six o’clock. Mum could put you on the train on Saturday morning. I could meet the train. You could spend Saturday night here, then we could have Sunday lunch in a lovely restaurant overlooking the harbour, then I could put you on the afternoon train home.’

  ‘Really?’ cried Jess. ‘That is totally fabulous! I’ll go and ask Mum now!’

  ‘No, wait!’ said Dad. ‘Don’t ask her now. Not if she’s vacuuming. Vacuuming is bad news. It means she’s moments from meltdown. Wait for the right moment.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself??’ said Jess.

  ‘No, no! I can’t sweet-talk her like you can!’ Dad had stopped sounding relaxed and jokey. ‘The thing is, I always sound like a … well, a bumbling idiot whenever I ask her for a favour. You can, you know – get round her with bunches of flowers, er … unexpected bouts of washing-up, you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jess. ‘I’ll get it sorted. I can’t wait. I’ll actually see your house and everything! Brilliant! Brilliant!’

  ‘Well, I think you’re old enough to travel down on your own, now,’ said Dad. ‘After all, you’re nearly – what is it? Thirty-five?’

  ‘I’ve been old enough to travel on my own for years,’ said Jess drily.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Dad, getting back into jokey mode but still sounding a bit flustered. ‘You’ve always been a lot older than me, even when you were a baby.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jess. ‘I’m an Old Soul. I know. You told me that once before. It was an attempt to make me stop singing in the car. You also said I had a voice like a crow. You old sweet talker.’

  ‘Crows are a favourite, though,’ said Dad. ‘Although ravens are more majestic. And rooks are …’

  ‘Spare me the ornithology!’ yelled Jess, laughing. ‘I’m still not interested.’

  ‘OK. I’ve got to go now,’ said Dad. ‘I’d forgotten how late it was. I know what Mum’s like about people who ring after ten. Oh no! I hope I haven’t blown it. I shall have to go and have a lie down.’

  ‘Bye then, Dad! I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve fixed it all up.’

  ‘Right! Good girl. Give my love to Mum – and have some yourself, you gorgeous creature.’

  ‘Bye, Dad! Love you!’

  Jess slammed down the receiver joyously and ran upstairs. Mum was on the landing, wearing a fixed frown and vacuuming the ceiling. Jess just knew it would be a bad time to ask. Her dad was so right. But she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Mum!’ said Jess. ‘Switch it off for a minute!’

  ‘Just now you were nagging me to do it!’ shouted Mum. ‘There’s still some webs in the corners.’

  ‘Never mind that now!’ shouted Jess. ‘Let me tell you what Dad said.’

  ‘In a minute!’ shouted her mum. ‘I’ve nearly finished.’

  Jess waited. The excitement inside her curdled slightly. Making her wait was her mum’s way of getting back at her dad. Jess had never properly understood why they had separated all those years ago. She’d only been a baby. Deep inside her most secret heart, she was terrified that one day she’d find out that they split up because of her.

  Mum switched off the vacuum cleaner. The engine sound died in an echoey way in the stairwell. Jess’s confidence wilted also. Maybe she really should wait for a better moment.

  ‘Dad sends his love,’ she said. ‘I told him you sent yours.’

  ‘OK,’ said Mum. She looked sulky, though.

  Jess made a huge effort to recapture the excitement of Dad’s wonderful invite.

  ‘Listen, Mum!’ she said. ‘It’s brilliant! Dad’s invited me down for his private view! He says if you put me on the train, he’ll meet it and I can stay Saturday night and come back on Sunday. It’ll be brilliant! Oh please! I haven’t seen his house yet and I’m dying to go down there!’

  ‘What about your homework?’ asked her mum, looking suspicious.

  ‘I’ll do it on the train! I’ll have hours and hours. I promise.’

  ‘When is this?’ demanded her mum edgily.

  ‘Er, he said soon. The seventeenth, I think he said.’

  Mum’s face sort of collapsed into exasperation. But it was a kind of satisfied exasperation. Almost as if she’d been waiting for an excuse.

  ‘Typical!’ she said. ‘That’s the weekend when the French boy will be here! It’s impossible. Just typical of your father. I sent him an e-mail telling him we had this exchange coming. In fact, I asked him if he could come up here for the weekend and help to entertain Edouard. I don’t suppose he mentioned that.’

  ‘No,’ said Jess. She felt desolate, crushed, defeated. The wonderful plan of going to see Dad seemed to wither and writhe away into ashes, like a poem written on a burning piece of paper. A huge ball of tears welled up inside her. She felt like screaming. Why was her life such utter poo?

  ‘I’m going to bed, then,’ she snapped. She didn’t even kiss Mum goodnight; she stormed back downstairs to her room and slammed the door.

  Once she was in bed, and the worst of her rage had subsided, she started to fantasise that she had better parents. If only she could do a swap … Eventually Jess drifted into an uneasy sleep, and dreamed her dad was the prime minister.

  Next morning breakfast was a bit tense, but neither Jess nor her mum mentioned the night before. The radio did most of the talking. Jess kissed Mum goodbye before she left for school, and Mum sort of clutched pathetically at her sleeve.

  ‘Love you, despite my awfulness,’ said Mum gruffly.

  ‘I love you despite your awfulness, too,’ said Jess. It was an awkward truce, as usual. If only Dad had realised the date of his exhibition clashed with Edouard’s visit. If only they’d talk to each other properly instead of this constant ‘ask Mum’, ‘tell Dad’ business.

  Jess sighed. She had to sort her parents out, get them to be proper friends, shape up and stop being such losers. She also had to find out what was happening with Granny. But first, looming large on the horizon but as yet without a face or identity, she had to confront the enormous, exciting enigma of Edouard.

  Chapter 6

  A few days later, the letters and photos started to arrive from the French exchange people. First to arrive was Jodie’s. Jodie was one of Jess’s best mates, although not quite so close as Flora. She was shortish and darkish and had terrible spots. She was always ready for a laugh and was so full of energy and enthusiasm it made Jess feel tired. When she was in a strop, Jodie could be ferocious. But most of the time she was nice, if a little pushy.

  ‘Guess what!’ said Jodie, bursting into the classroom before morning registration. ‘I’ve had a letter from Gerard and here’s his photo!’ Everybody crowded round.

  It was a really small photo, the sort you get in passport booths. Gerard wasn’t smiling. His hair was dark and slicked back. His lips were thin and he was wearing rimless glasses. His ears stuck out a bit. The light in the photo booth hadn’t been very good and there was something just a teensy bit sinister about the image.

  ‘He’s obviously going to be a mass murderer when he grows up,’ said Fred.

  ‘Shut up, Fred!’ said Jess, punching Fred in the ribs. ‘He’s lovely. He looks gorgeous.’ Secretly, though, she had to agree – Gerard did look weird.

  ‘His dad’s a patissier,’ said Jodie. ‘He makes pastries and stuff. I’m going to pig out when I go over there.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Jess. ‘I’ll be gorging for England! Croissant overdose!’

  Just then Flora arrived with a photo of her exchange partner, Marie-Louise. Everyone crowded round again. Marie-Louise was kind of cute but homely looking, with short curly black hair and a nerdy smile.

  ‘Three out of ten,’ said Whizzer in his usual charming way.

>   ‘Well, you wouldn’t even get one out of ten,’ said Jess. ‘Your exchange partner will probably need psychotherapy.’

  Jess was really annoyed that Edouard hadn’t bothered to send a letter and a photo yet. She hated him already.

  But the next day, Edouard’s letter did arrive. It was waiting for her on the doormat when she got home. Jess ripped it open right there in the hall, with trembling hands and a thudding heart. What if he was hideous? What if he was vile? The tiny photo fell face down on to the hall floor. She snatched it up, prepared for the worst.

  Wow! He was adorable! Edouard had thick dark hair, big brown eyes and lovely pouty lips. His nose was straight and his ears were tastefully close to his head, not sticking out like Gerard’s. Jess decided she didn’t hate him after all.

  She unfolded the letter. It was written on paper covered with small blue squares. Edouard’s handwriting was strange and loopy, and he did his r’s in a weird old-fashioned way.

  Hello Jess, it went. I present myself at you I am the French exchange partenaire. I am call Edouard Fenix and I lives in Chignon-sur-Forgue. My father is architect and my mother teach on the elementary school. I haves one brother Alain he has 19 years and one sister Alice she have 10 years. Our house is in the river. We have dogs two lovelys Hector et Joubert. I am looking forwards to my visit in your house. I likes the sailing, chess and entomologie. My subject favorite is the mathematique. After school I will go on the engineering college. I like England and Manchester United is my loved football team. Please say your mother I am allergic to gooseberries. Please write me all on the subject of yourself, and send foto, Good kisses, Edouard.

  ‘Send photo’, eh? Obviously Jess’s digitally-enhanced image hadn’t arrived yet. ‘Good kisses’! How forward! But what a sweet letter. Particularly that bit about their house being in the river. It seemed as if Edouard was going to bring them plenty of laughs. She just hoped he didn’t say anything obscene, by accident. Or rather, she hoped he did.

  ‘Mum!’ she said, ‘There’s a letter from Edouard!’

  Mum was kneeling on the kitchen floor, cleaning the oven in honour of Edouard’s looming visit. If Edouard ever opened the oven, he would certainly be impressed. Actually, the spare room they were getting ready for him was so small, there would almost be more room in the oven.

  ‘Oooh, let me see!’ said Mum, getting up and washing her hands.

  ‘He’s sent a photo,’ said Jess, holding it out for her mum to see. ‘He says his dad’s an architect.’ Jess knew this fact would have parent appeal.

  ‘An architect? Oh good!’ said Mum. She was a bit of a snob sometimes. ‘May I read it?’

  Mum was being extra polite since the row the other night. She took the letter and, to Jess’s amazement, sniffed it.

  ‘Stop, Mum!’ yelled Jess. ‘Gross! Don’t sniff it! What on earth are you expecting? Scent or something?’

  ‘No, it’s just … I love the smell of French paper,’ said Mum. She was so weird sometimes.

  ‘He says he’s allergic to gooseberries,’ said Jess. Her mum didn’t answer. Her eyes flashed down through the lines. Being a librarian, she could read at lightning speed.

  ‘It’s a shame about the gooseberries,’ she smiled, folding up the letter and giving it back. ‘I was planning to include them in every meal. Bacon, egg and gooseberries for breakfast …’

  ‘Tomato and gooseberry sandwiches for lunch!’ added Jess.

  ‘Gooseberry pizza … oh well, never mind. He sounds very nice.’

  ‘What’s all that “good kisses” rubbish?’ said Jess, blushing.

  ‘Oh, the French say that to each other all the time,’ said Mum. ‘Bons baisers. It’s what you write at the end of a letter. It doesn’t matter whether you’re writing to your crazy aunt, your aged grandpa or your English exchange partner.’

  Jess felt deeply disappointed, but tried to hide it. She wondered what Edouard would say if – or when – he was really mad about her, and how long it would take to get him there.

  It was going to be quite tricky getting up close and personal with Edouard. At school her mates would all be around. And at home Mum would constantly be hovering, playing – er – gooseberry.

  Suddenly a brilliant, brilliant idea shot across Jess’s mind. She almost choked with excitement. But before she could take it any further, she had to make a phone call to her dad. A confidential one.

  Chapter 7

  ‘I’m just going outside to deadhead the daffodils,’ said Mum. ‘It’ll be dark soon.’

  Brilliant! A perfect window of opportunity! It was almost as if God was on her side. ‘Thanks, Old Boy,’ Jess whispered to the Divine One, and waited and watched till her mum went out. Then she raced upstairs and grabbed the study phone.

  ‘Dad!’ she yelled, the moment he picked up. ‘You know I thought I wouldn’t be able to make it down to your exhibition because of the French boy?’

  ‘Don’t tell me!’ said Dad. ‘He’s been slightly run over. I’ve been to the witch doctor but I wasn’t expecting it to have worked so soon.’

  ‘No, no,’ laughed Jess. ‘Listen! I haven’t got much time, because Mum’s out deadheading the daffodils and I don’t know how many there are!’

  ‘Believe me,’ said Dad drily, ‘there will be hundreds.’

  ‘Well, listen up!’ said Jess. ‘How about this idea? I come down to your private view, but I bring Edouard with me!’ There was a brief and rather horrid pause.

  ‘Er – would I have to talk to him?’ asked Dad. ‘In French? I’m not at my best with foreigners.’

  ‘You won’t have to say a word!’ promised Jess. ‘I’ll do all the talking. He can speak English anyway. I’ve had a letter from him, and it was all in English. There won’t be a problem.’

  ‘Uh – where could he sleep?’ pondered Dad, the drivelling fool.

  ‘The sofa!’ yelled Jess. ‘You must have a sofa! He can sleep under the kitchen table! Anywhere!’

  There was another silence, this time even longer, punctuated only by strange ‘um’s and ‘ahh’s.

  ‘Oh, come on, Dad!’ begged Jess. ‘Just say yes! This means so much to me. I can’t bear the thought of missing your exhibition. And I’ll be so proud of you, with Edouard there.’

  In Jess’s imagination, she and Edouard mingled attractively with a throng of elegant people sipping champagne, while her dad, with slightly more hair than usual and better teeth, was interviewed for a TV arts programme by a charismatic woman in black leather. Edouard stared down at her and whispered, ‘Your fazzair is so vairy talented. But zen, so are you, Jess … darlingue.’ And because the room was packed with celebs, they were forced so close together that his breath almost melted her mascara.

  ‘OK,’ said Dad. ‘But you’ll have to run it past the Boss.’ This was clearly a reference to Mum. Jess heard the back door open downstairs.

  ‘Great!’ she whispered. ‘She’s just come in from her deadheading. I’ll ask her now.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Dad. ‘You’re going to need it,’ he added ominously.

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Jess. ‘Order an extra ton of canapés for the private view, cos we’ll be there!’

  She rang off and raced downstairs. This was such a brilliant idea! She would have hours and hours of private time with Edouard! They could wander around the quaint streets of St Ives, hand in hand. Or sit on the beach, staring at the surf, with their arms round each other. And there would be that long train journey down, hours and hours of it. And the long journey back again … They could stare into each other’s eyes all the way. Jess’s eyes watered in anticipation.

  ‘Mum!’ she said. ‘You know Edouard’s visit coincides with Dad’s exhibition? Well, I’ve thought of a brilliant idea. Edouard could go down there with me! Dad says it’s fine by him. Edouard can sleep on his sofa. And Edouard will be company for me on the train, and everything – it’ll be safer if I’ve got somebody to travel with, won’t it?’

  Jess waited for her mum’s response
. She felt poised between a glorious world full of golden light, and a black abyss. It was possibly a bit like what happened after you died, with Mum playing God. Mum’s eyes flashed and for a split second Jess almost heard the distant rumble of an angry thunderbolt getting warmed up.

  ‘No!’ The thunderbolt whizzed past her right ear, slightly scorching her hair. ‘It’s out of the question! It’s a ridiculous idea!’

  ‘But you said you wanted Dad to take some responsibility – help out with Edouard!’

  ‘No! Stop it, Jess! It just won’t wash! Who’s going to pay for his train ticket, for a start? Have you any idea what it costs, going all the way down to St Ives by train?’

  ‘I’ll pay for it!’ said Jess. ‘I’ll use my savings money.’

  ‘No, you will not!’ said Mum, flames blazing from her nostrils. ‘I have to countersign for that account, so you can forget it. What? Fritter away your precious savings on a crazy wild goose chase like this? Edouard won’t want to go anyway. He won’t want to be separated from his French friends. He’ll want to spend some time with them over the weekend. They’ll probably have things organised for them.’

  Jess’s heart sank. She felt herself slipping into the black abyss.

  ‘But Dad was so much looking forward to meeting Edouard,’ said Jess lamely.

  ‘If he’s so keen on meeting him, tell him to come up to town and take us all out to dinner or something,’ said Mum. ‘Now, that would be helpful.’

  ‘But Dad was so looking forward to seeing me!’ whined Jess.

  ‘He knows our address,’ said Mum with horrid, crisp sarcasm. ‘I’m going to have a bath.’ She went upstairs. Jess’s wonderful fantasy was over. Her heart was full of cinders.

  She rang her dad, from the kitchen this time, so as not to be overheard by her mum in the bath.

  ‘Dad!’ she said quietly. ‘I’m gutted. Mum says it’s out of the question.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Dad. ‘I thought so.’ He didn’t sound quite as devastated as Jess had hoped. ‘Sorry, old bean.’