Girl, 16: Five-Star Fiasco

by Sue Limb

  ‘The bad news first, to get it out of the way,’ she said, folding her hands feverishly in prayer.

  ‘Don can’t make it – he’s the trumpeter. And Ian’s busy, too – he’s the trombonist. But we’ll still have piano, drums, bass and sax. We’re normally called The Martin Davies Sextet because there are six of us, so because we’ll only be four maybe we could call ourselves The Martin Davies Quartet.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ cried Jess, jumping up and down and pumping the air as if she had won Wimbledon. ‘Re-sult!’

  It really did feel like a triumph, even if it was the parents who had ridden to the rescue like the US cavalry in cowboy films. The terrible icy dread which had been rising, like dangerous floodwaters threatening to drown her, had receded. The music was sorted, the lighting was sorted, and though the food was still not organised, perhaps it was the one aspect of the evening which could be improvised by amateurs. She wanted to hug everybody in a huge frenzy of relief and thanks.

  But though her terrible icy dread was gone, Jess had another, different bad feeling buried beneath all her relief, and once she went up to bed this other black, gloomy sensation spread through her veins. Fred had let her down so badly, it was as if he really didn’t care for her. OK, they’d had rows in the past, but deep down she’d never doubted that he cared. This time she felt he’d abandoned her to the wolves, and run like mad to save his own skin. Thank goodness they’d never gone on safari together. Fred was always joking, in a self-deprecating way, that he hadn’t got a backbone. But somehow he’d always made up for it and convinced her that he was, though maddening, kind of irresistible.

  This time she had an awful sickening sense that the way he’d let her down, first in Dorset, and more significantly over the dinner dance organisation, showed a real, horrible flaw in his character. She couldn’t depend on him, and that made her feel that perhaps he wasn’t so very irresistible after all. He wasn’t just letting her down – he was letting himself down. Fred should have been better than this.

  What was he feeling now? Her finger itched to send him a triumphant text telling him that she’d sorted it. But as Fred might be suffering a certain amount of agony – at least, she hoped so – it seemed only right to allow him to go on suffering it for a little while longer. Besides, he’d ‘resigned’, so really it was none of his business any more. Jess was beginning to enjoy the feeling of independence and progress. She’d show him! As she drifted off to sleep, she began to develop some ideas about how to host Chaos, maybe as a postmodern Cinderella …

  Chapter 29

  School was going to be difficult. Jess hadn’t slept well and got up early to disguise the bags under her eyes and re-pluck her eyebrows. She wasn’t going to speak to Fred, obviously; in fact, she wouldn’t even look vaguely in his direction if she could help it. But if he looked at her, she wanted him to be stunned by her magnificent, cruel beauty. As a cosmetics project it was a huge challenge, since currently she looked like a hamster who has gone ten rounds with a Jack Russell terrier.

  Jess had been dreading seeing Fred, but at least she had sorted most of Chaos so she felt she could face all her friends who had bought tickets – before, she’d been feeling so guilty, it was as if she’d secretly murdered somebody they loved and hidden the body under her patio. However, as she approached the school gates, looking as magnificent and cruel as possible, Gemma Fawcett ran up. She was a small girl with a straight black shiny bob which Jess had always admired. If only her own hair would agree to hang quietly in one direction, instead of sticking up here and there randomly all over her head like a neglected vegetable plot in winter.

  ‘Jess!’ cried Gemma. ‘We can’t come to Chaos after all! My dad broke his ankle! Can we have our money back?’

  Jess hadn’t anticipated this kind of thing. She forgot, for a moment, to look magnificent and cruel and instead became a limp, gibbering puppet on invisible tangled strings. ‘Er, I’m not sure … uh, I suppose so … um, urgh …’

  Gemma thrust four tickets into Jess’s shaking hand. ‘Can you let me have a full refund today?’ she demanded, her perfect black bob gleaming glossily in the morning light. Jess was beginning to hate Gemma’s hair. She was making plans to smuggle a ball of recently chewed gum into it at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘Well … you see, the money’s in the bank and I haven’t got the chequebook with me.’ Jess hesitated. Gemma looked cross and surprised.

  ‘My mum said, like, you’d have to give us a full refund because it’s not for another five days and you’ll be able to sell the tickets to somebody else, right?’

  ‘Yes, of course!’ Jess nodded emphatically, as if this was something she dealt with every hour, even though the idea of reselling the tickets to somebody else hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘I could probably bring a cheque round tonight,’ she suggested feebly. ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘Little Granscombe,’ said Gemma. ‘It’s way out in the country past the shopping centre.’

  ‘Oh, er …’ Jess was still struggling to stay polite. ‘How about if I bring the cheque to school tomorrow?’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Gemma sounded doubtful. She pursed her lips – suddenly Jess realised that Gemma’s lips were rather horrid and pouty. She was going to pout big-time when she discovered that ball of chewing gum in her hair. ‘I’ll call my mum at lunchtime and ask. Maybe you should give us an IOU.’

  Jess’s temper almost snapped, but she knew it was important to keep customers happy. As she ripped open her school bag to find a scrap of paper, she vowed she would never again in her entire life organise anything or sell anything. A majorly terrifying thought hit her: what if Martin’s band was rubbish and Dad’s lighting blew a fuse and the buffet – wherever that was going to come from – gave everybody food poisoning? Would they all ask for their money back?

  Jess tore a page out of her rough book, scribbled I owe Gemma Fawcett £150, Jess Jordan, then handed it over. Gemma looked at it suspiciously.

  ‘It looks a bit scrappy,’ she commented disdainfully.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ snarled Jess. ‘I’ll give you another one at lunchtime on gold embossed paper, delivered on a red plush cushion by a freakin’ footman in a wig and tights!’ Then she stalked off, leaving Gemma open-mouthed. This was the best moment of the day so far.

  Jess was late for registration, and entered the classroom looking magnificent and cruel. Flora had bagged the best radiator under a window, so Jess joined her, ignoring everybody else, and sat down cruelly and magnificently. Fred was going to grovel before her grandeur!

  While Mr Fothergill droned through a few announcements, Flora leaned in close to Jess’s ear and whispered, ‘Fred’s away. Mackenzie says he’s got flu!’

  Jess felt a lurch of something: disappointment, concern and then disbelief. Fred wasn’t here? Suddenly the room felt a very different place. He had the flu? Oh yeah? Or was he just faking it because he didn’t have the nerve to face her? She shot Flora a sceptical eyebrow and sighed deeply. How absolutely typical. Still, at least she didn’t have to be magnificent and cruel all the time. It was hard work.

  At break a few people gathered round Jess to hear the latest Chaos details.

  ‘So, what’s the name of this band again?’ asked Flora, who was deeply relieved that Poisonous Trash was not going to be resurrected.

  ‘It’s The Martin Davies Quartet,’ said Jess.

  ‘How are you going to manage, now Fred’s got the flu?’ demanded Jodie melodramatically.

  ‘Oh, no problem!’ Jess assured her breezily. ‘I was organising the whole thing anyway. Admin isn’t Fred’s strong point.’ She wanted to keep things light and casual. Nobody must know that she and Fred had had that terrible bust-up. Nobody except Flora, that is.

  ‘But what about the hosting?’ Jodie persisted. ‘Wasn’t it going to be a double act? Fred’s so hilarious!’

  ‘Well, sorry, but you’re just going to have to manage with boring old me!’ Jess was trying hard to keep her temper again.
/>   ‘You’re gonna have a lot on your plate,’ said Ben Jones quietly. ‘Is there anything I could do to help?’

  ‘I thought you’d bought tickets, Ben?’ pounced Jodie, who had already spent many hours speculating which lucky girl was going to be escorted to Chaos by the divine Ben.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve bought tickets and stuff, but I don’t mind helping as well,’ said Ben casually. ‘I could, um, be on the door if you like?’ His magical blue eyes washed over Jess like a Caribbean wave. There had always been a little tiny frisson of something or other between them, once she’d got over the huge crush she had had on him a year ago. But she’d never felt like tiptoeing into that territory, even during Fred’s worst moments of foolishness. Ben was, in some ultimate way, kind of vulnerable despite his glamour, and she’d always known, since getting together with Fred, that Ben Jones was not for her. Although now it seemed that Fred might not be for her, either.

  ‘On the door?’ gasped Jess. Of course! They needed somebody on the door! This was another thing that she hadn’t thought about – and nor had Fred, the lazy toad, lying cosily at home on his sofa pretending to be ill while she toiled over a hot Chaos. ‘That would be fabulous!’ She smiled gratefully. It would give the whole evening a tremendously stylish quality to have somebody as handsome as Ben Jones checking the tickets. ‘What I also need,’ Jess went on, trying to look relaxed and confident even though she was treading on thin ice, ‘is possibly a bit of help with the buffet?’

  ‘I thought you were getting caterers in?’ demanded Jodie.

  ‘Oh yes, of course – we are,’ lied Jess hastily.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Jodie. Jess couldn’t help thinking that Jodie’s hair, as well as Gemma’s, might benefit from some chewing gum.

  ‘It’s a new company,’ said Jess, casting around desperately for a name that would suit an exciting young business venture, ‘called, uh, The Eating Machine.’

  ‘Horrid name,’ said Jodie. ‘They should change it.’ Jess made hasty plans to buy several packs of chewing gum.

  At lunchtime, Flora had a music lesson so Jess hid away in a quiet corner of the library and worked on her hosting script. So Fred was ‘hilarious’, was he? She was going to be twice as hilarious as he had ever been! Her mind was racing with indignation, and she scribbled down masses of ideas.

  Cinderella was perfect territory. I’m not supposed to be here, she wrote. I wasn’t allowed to go to the ball. My fairy godmother turned up and promised me a makeover, but she’s so disorganised – she’d forgotten to charge her wand … There were lots of possible jokes about ugly sisters and pumpkins and mice and glass slippers and that needy nerd Buttons, who was always hanging about … Jess was having more fun than she’d had in weeks.

  Chapter 30

  Jess walked as far as Flora’s house with Flora and Jack. Because Jack was there, she and Flora couldn’t embark on really sensitive subjects.

  ‘How’s Fred?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Oh, fine,’ said Jess, gritting her teeth. ‘Although he’s got the flu, I expect it’s the very best sort. How’s George?’

  ‘He’s good,’ said Jack. ‘In fact, he said he might like to come to Chaos if you’ve got four tickets spare?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ muttered Jess, her heart going into overdrive. If George and the guys were there, they might undermine everything with some stupid stunt. She’d enjoyed working on her script so much at lunchtime that she couldn’t bear the thought of being upstaged by those idiots. ‘I think we’re all sold out, I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ exclaimed Flora with a puzzled little frown. ‘Didn’t you have some tickets left anyway? And you told me Gemma Fawcett returned her four today, so that makes how many … ?’

  ‘So would there be six spare?’ asked Jack. ‘George’s girlfriend is at St Benedict’s, and Tom wants to bring somebody called Rhiannon.’

  ‘And Humph?’ said Jess, accepting the inevitable – the tomfoolery crowd were coming to ruin her event. They would certainly pull some dreadful stunt to hijack the occasion. ‘Does Humph have a girlfriend? It’s kind of hard to imagine.’

  Jack laughed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘He’s a bit mysterious … maybe he’ll come with Gubbins.’

  ‘Six tickets, then?’ said Flora enthusiastically. Jess wished Flora would keep her nose out. Having George and Co coming to Chaos revived Jess’s feelings of terror and nausea.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jack. ‘I’ll bring the cheque in tomorrow. That’s how much exactly?’

  ‘Over to you, brainbox,’ Jess said acidly to Flora.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty-five pounds,’ said Flora. ‘Big bucks! Oxfam will be thrilled!’

  ‘Wow! Big money talks!’ said Jack, putting his arm around Flo and turning to Jess with a smile. ‘I’m only after her millions, you know.’

  ‘You’re heading for a big disappointment, then,’ said Flora. ‘My dad’s really worried about his business – he said he might go bust before the end of the summer.’

  ‘What?’ cried Jess in alarm. ‘But I thought your dad’s business was rock solid. Everybody needs bathrooms!’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Flora, looking a bit serious now. ‘Apparently nobody’s having bathroom makeovers these days. They’re making do with their tired old bathrooms from three years ago.’

  ‘The tight-fisted swine!’ exclaimed Jess. ‘How dare they? We should break into people’s houses at night and trash their bathrooms!’

  Flora smiled, but only faintly.

  ‘When we bought these tickets Dad said that it would be the last family treat for some time,’ added Flora edgily.

  ‘No!’ Jess was dismayed. But she wasn’t just shocked for Flora, because her comfortable lifestyle might soon come to an end (her big house with all mod cons, her silk-clad mum sprawled on a huge cloudy white sofa, beautiful sisters wearing designer jeans and playing the flute, father sucking indigestion pills while booking holidays in Antigua …). Jess also had a more personal concern. If Chaos was to be the Barclay family’s last treat for a while, and it turned out to be a five-star fiasco, Mr Barclay would be just the kind of guy to demand his money back – loudly, right there and then, in front of everybody. Jess felt horribly uneasy.

  She left Flora and Jack at Flo’s house, which now looked strangely forlorn despite the big posh front door and the matching bay trees in pots on either side. Flora had invited her in, but Jess had stuff to do – most importantly she had to get home and ask Granny if Deborah was up for organising the buffet. And she couldn’t wait to get cracking on her hosting script again. For a split second she wondered if anyone – not Fred, literally anyone – had sent her a text, so she checked her phone. Nothing.

  ‘Hi, Jess!’

  She looked up and was startled to see Polly the Goth, with her red hair and metal-studded chalky-white face, daughter of Mum’s second worst date, Ed the Builder.

  ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch,’ said Polly. Jess remembered that they had exchanged contact details.

  ‘Oh, sorry I haven’t,’ said Jess hastily. It was so odd with goths, Jess thought, they look rather scary, but they’re usually incredibly polite and gentle.

  ‘How’s your mum?’ asked Polly. ‘I thought she was really, really nice – much too good for Dad.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ said Jess with a wry smile. ‘I thought your dad was awesome – much too good for Mum!’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’ Polly shook her head vigorously, causing a tinkling sound. ‘Your mum was really, really interesting, and my dad’s stuck with these really Stone Age attitudes, like, you know what he said after our evening?’

  ‘What?’ enquired Jess fearfully. She hoped Ed the Builder hadn’t said anything insulting about Mum – that was Jess’s job.

  ‘He said he thought your mum was really nice,’ said Polly, ‘but he never felt comfortable with clever women. He said they made him feel inadequate.’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of a compliment for Mum,’ said Jess, relieved
.

  ‘Yes, but it shows how his mind works! He’s going out with a shelf-stacker now,’ grumbled Polly.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with shelf-stackers,’ suggested Jess thoughtfully. She had a feeling that, if her comedy career didn’t take off, she might stack shelves herself one day.

  ‘No, I know, but your mum is so interesting! A librarian! She reads all these amazing books! The shelf-stacker just smokes and drinks and watches those TV shopping channels.’ Polly gave a contemptuous snort.

  ‘But your dad must believe in educating women,’ Jess pointed out, ‘because you’re at college, right?’

  ‘That’s mainly my mum’s influence.’ Polly shrugged. ‘And he just has to accept it. Plus he thinks it’s OK because my course is Hospitality Supervision NVQ Level 3 – what he thinks of as women’s work. If I wanted to be an astronomer or a surgeon or something, he’d be sneering and making jokes about it all the time.’

  ‘Dads!’ sighed Jess with a smile.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ asked Polly. ‘He sounded really cool.’

  ‘He’s fine, thanks,’ said Jess. She didn’t want to go into all that now. There was a brief silence.

  ‘Well, nice meeting you again,’ said Polly. Then she hesitated. ‘I don’t suppose you’d like to come out on Saturday? See a movie or something?’

  Jess was tempted. ‘That sounds really nice,’ she mused. ‘Aaaagh! No! Wait! What am I thinking of? I’m organising a dinner dance on Saturday night!’

  ‘Really?’ Polly’s eyes widened. ‘Where?’

  ‘At St Mark’s Church Hall,’ said Jess. ‘It’s called Chaos.’

  ‘I’ve seen the posters!’ Polly nodded in recognition. ‘They were great. Who designed them?’

  ‘I did,’ admitted Jess, embarrassed.

  ‘Wow! Well, you’re very talented, Jess!’ insisted Polly.

  Jess shook her head and felt awkward. ‘Well, I must go,’ she murmured. ‘Got loads to do. Nice seeing you.’