by Sue Limb
‘Help!’ cried Donald faintly, and, to be honest, slimily. ‘I don’t even know where she lives!’
‘Don’t worry!’ called Lord Volcano. ‘You’ve got SnailNav! Just switch it on!’
‘But how?’ screamed Donald in alarm, as he reached ground level and scorched away through the grass like a dropped firework. Before Lord Volcano could utter a word, poor Donald had vanished.
Jess wished there really was such a thing as magic. She sent the email and stared blankly into space. If only she could order a dinner dance to be delivered to St Mark’s Church Hall on 14 February at 7.30 p.m. And it would help if she could see right into the mind of Fred. Knowing what he was thinking was sometimes so tricky. The witty banter they shared was the best thing in her life, but witty banter wasn’t always appropriate. Sometimes there was serious stuff to talk about, problems to wrestle with. Where was Fred then? In fact, where was Fred now?
She picked up her mobile and hesitated. Should she call him? They had to organise the buffet and the band, if nothing else. Maybe she should ring Dad and ask his advice. Although, strangely, since they’d started writing this book together, they hadn’t communicated by text or phone as they normally did.
She dialled Dad’s landline (he was always losing his mobile). It rang twice and then somebody picked up.
‘Hi, Phil speaking.’
‘Oh, hi, Phil. This is Jess. How are you?’ Phil, Dad’s boyfriend, was great and really, really funny.
‘Oh, good thanks, Jess. How about you?’
‘Oh, fine. Just the usual crises and fiascos.’
‘Life, huh?’
‘Yeah. Er, is Dad there?’
‘No, sorry, Jess. He’s out. Can I give him a message?’
‘No, it’s OK – just say I rang. If he rings back, remind him not to use the landline after ten or Mum goes ballistic.’
‘Will do!’ Phil laughed. There was a slight pause. ‘Sorry, Jess, but I’ve got to go now, I’m in the middle of something. Give my best to your mum.’
‘OK. Lots of love! Bye!’
‘Bye!’ He hung up.
Jess listened to the purr of the dead telephone line. It was a shame Phil had been too busy to talk properly. He’d sounded a little bit preoccupied. Maybe Dad had left a pile of dirty dishes in the sink or something.
Later that evening, after Granny had gone out to see her friend Deborah, Mum got out her laptop.
‘I’m going to give it one more go,’ she said, looking serious.
‘What?’ Jess was beginning to wonder if one last tiny slice of chocolate cake would hurt. She’d only had three very small ones, and she didn’t want Granny to think she was ungrateful.
‘This online dating thing,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t think I should give up too easily, just because Ken was a bit smelly. There’s a guy here who might be quite interesting. He actually does look passable.’
‘Let me see!’ Jess bounded over and stared at the screen. ‘Hmmm … after a nose transplant, maybe.’
‘He’s divorced with a teenage daughter,’ Mum went on. ‘That’s partly what attracted me to him.’
‘Don’t drag me into it!’ Jess backed off.
‘I thought maybe you could be friends … ?’
‘I’ve already got friends! Mum, I’m not being mean, but you should be thinking about what you want, not about me.’
‘Well, he does look rather nice. His name’s Ed and he’s a builder.’
‘A builder?’ Jess was surprised. Somehow she’d expected him to have one of those arty jobs.
‘I thought maybe he could help me with the built-in storage project for my office,’ said Mum.
‘Mum! This is a dating website, right? If you want him to fix your cupboards and stuff, that’s something totally different.’
‘Hmmm, I suppose so,’ said Mum doubtfully. She really wasn’t focusing properly on this dating business. ‘I thought maybe we could all go out together as a foursome – you know, me and you and him and, er, Polly. His daughter’s called Polly.’
‘Not Polymyalgia rheumatica? Are you sure she’s not an awful disease? Honestly, Mum, you don’t really want your date to be a foursome?’
‘You know, it’s always a bit easier if there are more than just two of you.’
‘But, Mum, you’re the one who’s supposed to be dating this guy.’
‘Well, if you like him and we all get on, maybe he and I could go out on our own at a later stage. I thought it would be nice, first, if we could all go to a movie and have a pizza afterwards.’
‘This is weird.’
‘Oh, please, Jess! You were so helpful when I needed to get rid of Ken. It’s a bit strange dating after all this time. It’s years and years since Dad and I split up.’
‘Fine.’ Jess shrugged awkwardly. ‘Fix it up. I’ll be there. Not the weekend after next, though – I’ll be in Dorset. I assume I’m allowed to go?’ Actually, agreeing to the foursome with Ed the Builder and Polly the Daughter was a useful bargaining tool for getting Mum on side about the Dorset trip, even though, secretly, Jess was beginning to think of the weekend at the beach as a huge obstacle to organising the dinner dance. This was such a shame – normally a trip to the sea with her best friends would have been the high point of her year.
‘All right, but I reserve the right to reorganise your travel plans if there’s any more talk of Jack driving you down.’
Jess sighed heavily. Mum’s phobias really made life hard sometimes. ‘OK, OK,’ she agreed. ‘Now I’ve got to go upstairs and answer a few emails.’
‘You have done your homework, haven’t you?’ asked Mum suspiciously.
‘Of course!’ lied Jess with a smile. Poor Mum! Little did she know that not only had Jess not done her homework yet, but that she had forged Mum’s signature in the homework book to confirm that she had done it. Mum didn’t even know the homework book existed. Jess had forged Mum’s signature every day since the start of the school year back in September. In fact, forging Mum’s signature was the nearest Jess had come to satisfying creative work recently – apart from designing the Chaos tickets.
Later on, Jess conjured up her inbox. Nothing from Dad. He hadn’t rung, either, and he probably wouldn’t now, because it was after ten and talking on mobiles was expensive – and he knew that Mum didn’t like him calling Jess on her mobile for long chats because Mum was convinced that mobiles were bad for you. He could have sent an email, though. Jess wasn’t sure Dad would have any useful input about the dinner dance anyway. And she still didn’t want to tell Mum, because she knew Mum would go ballistic.
An email from Fred suddenly popped into view. Eagerly, Jess opened it.
Maybe we should do some more work on our routine for Chaos? I’ve gone off meerkats. Any ideas?
Any ideas? Any ideas? Jess seethed with rage. Didn’t Fred understand that there were more important things to fix than their routine? How can you have a dinner dance without dinner or dancing? Jess was too furious to reply.
Chapter 10
Just as she was taking off her make-up, Jess realised that her dad hadn’t rung back. This was annoying. Usually, when she phoned Dad and Phil answered, they’d have a good old chat and then he’d get Dad to return her call the minute he came home. Jess grabbed her mobile and called Dad on his mobile. It was worth killing a few brain cells just to make sure nothing was wrong with the old boy.
‘Hi, Messica!’ He sounded just fine.
‘Dad! Or should I say, Lord Volcano?’
‘How are you, old bean?’
‘Good! But why didn’t you call me back? I rang earlier and left a message with Phil.’
‘Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot. I’ve got so much on my mind at the moment – if you can call it a mind.’
‘How’s lovely St Ives?’ Jess could easily picture his fabulous house with the sea sparkling nearby and the gulls screaming overhead. ‘And how’s Phil? He didn’t have time to talk. He said he was busy.’
‘Oh, he’s cooking up this new
project – uh – he’s thinking of starting up a new boutique in Barcelona.’
‘Barcelona?’
‘Yup. Erm, yes.’
‘Where is Barcelona again?’ Though Jess’s geography was appalling, she had a feeling it wasn’t the next village along from St Ives.
‘Spain, last time I looked.’
‘Oh, amazing! You’ll be able to have lots of lovely trips there! Is it by the sea?’
‘Yes, and it’s a wonderful city.’ Dad sounded wistful, as if he was longing to go there right now. ‘It’s got a very special cathedral.’
‘Never mind the cathedral! Lead me to those beaches! I will be able to come and see you, won’t I? Will you be moving there completely or will Phil just be going to and from Cornwall?’
‘I don’t really know. It’s all up in the air at the moment. He’s trying to raise some capital. He needs backers.’
‘Well, tell him he can have next week’s pocket money!’ Jess felt so excited about Phil’s new project. ‘As long as I can have a weekend in Barcelona sometime.’
‘Of course you can.’
At this point Mum knocked on Jess’s door. ‘Jess!’ she called. ‘Are you talking on your mobile? You know I don’t like you doing that. Your mobile is for emergencies!’
‘It’s only Dad!’ yelled Jess. Mum opened the door and peeked in.
‘Did he ring? Honestly! He knows my views on mobiles!’
‘No, no, I rang him,’ insisted Jess.
‘I’d better go,’ said Dad. ‘I can hear trouble brewing.’
Oh no! She hadn’t had time to ask Dad’s advice about organising the dinner dance, and now she couldn’t mention it with Mum standing there. Disaster! She had killed thousands of brain cells for nothing!
Once the call ended, Mum looked relieved that the brain-radiation danger was past. Instead of giving Jess a hard time about it (certainly one of her usual options), she sat down gingerly on the bed and waggled her feet about. This was always a sign that she had something slightly dodgy to say.
‘It’s all arranged,’ she said.
‘What is?’ Jess felt a spear of fear. Her mum arranging things was often bad news, involving dentists and trips to museums.
‘The outing with Ed the Builder and his daughter Molly – er, Polly.’
Jess’s heart sank. Still, she had to endure this in order to keep Mum sweet about the weekend in Dorset. Although maybe it would be a good thing if Mum said she couldn’t go to Dorset after all – then she would be forced to stay at home and concentrate on Chaos. Life was so confusing at the moment.
‘We’re going to the new James Bond film and then we’re going to have pizza afterwards,’ said Mum doubtfully.
‘Sounds perfect!’ Jess beamed. It seemed Mum needed a bit of reassurance. ‘It’ll be great!’
Once Mum had gone away, Jess lay down in bed, but she didn’t switch off her bedside light. She stared at the ceiling, haunted by the awful thought that there was so little time before Chaos. She’d been thrilled when their poster campaign, plus a lot of word-of-mouth boasting, had resulted in huge interest and the tickets had been snapped up like hot cakes. Yes, ninety-two people were going to be turning up at St Mark’s Church Hall on 14 February, all kitted out in their best and expecting a good time. And they’d paid for it. Jess so desperately wanted to put on a good show for them, but organising the details was almost driving her round the bend.
Suddenly Jess remembered the envelope bursting with cheques and cash – she must count it, and tomorrow after school she and Fred could go into the bank, open an account and stash the money safely away. She threw open the wardrobe doors and peered into the gloom. There was a tumbled heap of clothes in the bottom of the wardrobe, as usual. Jess knelt down and tossed the clothes aside. There were her best party shoes – black patent leather, with wicked heels. Her toes twinged at the sight of them. And there was her second-best pair of trainers, which she thought she’d lost! But where was the plastic box?
Jess’s heart gave a sickening lurch. She grabbed all the remaining items of clothing and hurled them backwards over her head, until the bottom of the wardrobe was quite clear, apart from shoes. The box was gone! For a mad, blind moment she thought somebody must have nicked it. Could somebody have tricked their way in here, telling Granny they were from the government’s Wardrobe Inspection Scheme? Granny hadn’t said anything about it.
For an even madder moment Jess wondered if Granny – or even Mum – had stolen the box themselves. No, no, that was insane. But where was it? Heart thumping in anguish, Jess sat back on her heels, closed her eyes and tried to remember the day she’d stashed the cheques away. All she could remember was getting into a bit of an anxious spin back then, and trying several different hiding places. She leapt to her feet and pulled out the drawers of her dressing table.
She was faced with half a bar of very old chocolate, a button off her new jacket, a ballpoint pen showing a muscle man (whose pants descended when the pen was tipped up), a teaspoon, a library membership card with tea stains on it, a miniature elephant wearing a tutu (in plastic), a key ring shaped like a sports car … so many treasures, but not the slightest trace of any cheques or cash.
Socks! Jess remembered stuffing some notes into a sock! She pulled out her sock drawer and thrust her hand into sock after sock. Wait! A crackle! Banknotes! £75, the price of a double ticket. But whose was it? Jess’s blood ran cold. Why hadn’t she kept better records?
Suddenly Mum burst in without knocking. She looked puzzled and a bit fraught.
‘Jess, turn your light off! It’s eleven o’clock! You’ve got school tomorrow!’ Then she took in the mess. ‘What on earth have you been doing?’ She gazed around, horrified.
‘Just looking for something,’ said Jess, scrunching the banknotes up in her hand. She felt so guilty – but why? She was organising this thing perfectly legitimately – the money in her hand was somebody’s payment, which she was perfectly entitled to have. It was the utter chaos of her performance so far that filled her with guilt. She couldn’t bear Mum to know how rubbish she had been at organising this. Mum would have a fit.
‘Looking for what?’ demanded Mum.
‘Uh, m-my old purse,’ stammered Jess in a flap. ‘It had … my history club card in it.’
‘History club?’ Mum seemed strangely, inconveniently charmed by this idea. ‘I didn’t know there was a history club.’ No wonder she didn’t know – Jess had only just invented it.
‘Yes.’ Jess stood up and started throwing socks back into the drawer. ‘It’s boring really.’
‘History’s not boring!’ cried Mum in rapture. ‘What do you do?’
‘Oh, we have meetings and talks about historical people, you know.’ Jess tried to sound bored. ‘Sometimes there are trips to … old buildings and stuff.’
‘What old buildings?’
‘Oh, you know, churches and things …’
‘Which churches have you been to?’ asked Mum, clearly thrilled.
‘None.’ Jess hated to disappoint her, but she had to draw a veil over this fictional club ASAP. ‘I didn’t go because basically I hate churches – no offence, God.’
‘Of course you don’t hate churches!’ cried Mum in dismay. ‘Remember St Petrock’s in Parracombe?’
Jess gave her a blank stare. ‘Sorry, no.’
‘That lovely little church we saw on our way back from visiting Dad in St Ives!’ Mum raved on. ‘You said it was the loveliest church you’d ever seen!’ Jess remembered, now, how saying that had been part of a bigger plan to deserve an ice cream once they arrived in a proper town.
‘Mum, I’ll tell you more about history club tomorrow, OK? And I’ll tidy my room in the morning.’ Jess lay down in bed, yawned and tried to look sleepy, though she had never felt less dozy – the thought that she had managed to lose thousands of pounds had set off a kind of electrical storm in her tummy.
‘OK, then,’ Mum said, and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Sleep well, love!’
Jess lay down and closed her eyes as Mum switched off the light and went out. Instantly Jess’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed her phone. Under the covers she started texting away like mad.
HAVE YOU GOT CHEQUES OR CASH FOR CHAOS? MAJOR PANIC: CAN’T FIND ANY HERE!
Five minutes later a reply arrived from Fred: NO, THINK YOU HAD THE MUNS. REMEMBER YOU WOULDN’T TRUST ME WIV IT? HA HA! HAVE LOOKED EVERYWHERE, EVEN IN MY RIGHT NOSTRIL (USUAL HIDING PLACE FOR TOP-SECRET ITEMS) BUT NO LUCK. CU TOMORROW X
Honestly! How could Fred joke at a time like this? Jess threw her phone violently across the room. It landed softly, somewhere on a pile of clothes. If it rang in the night she wouldn’t be able to find it in the dark and it might wake Mum up and she’d be hopping mad. Jess clenched her eyes tightly shut. When was this nightmare going to end? What had she done with the money?
Chapter 11
At school next day Jess and Fred argued, privately (at the edge of the football pitch to avoid being overheard), about who had last had the bundle of cheques and cash.
‘Look, it’s bound to be somewhere,’ Fred tried to reassure her. ‘It’ll be in your bedroom, right?’
‘Or your bedroom!’ Jess insisted. ‘Listen, Fred, you’ve got to go home this evening and ransack your room! In fact, I’ll come and help!’
‘Ransack your own room!’ retorted Fred. ‘You’re not coming snooping about in mine! I have weapons of mass destruction stashed away in there! Anyway, I’m busy after school today – there’s chess club practice.’
‘Fred, you have to help me organise this dinner dance! Put chess club on hold for a few days!’
‘Sorry.’ Fred started walking backwards, away from her, one of his infuriating habits when cornered. ‘No need to panic for another forty-eight hours, though, is there?’ He raised an eyebrow in a way that Jess occasionally found lovable. But not now. A full-scale panic had already got going in her insides; her tum had dissolved into a kind of bubbling witch’s cauldron.
