After Iris: the Diaries of Bluebell Gadsby

by Natasha Farrant

  And it would have worked, except that Flora was giggling so much she crashed into the cherrywood table on the landing and smashed the Chinese bowl full of dried rose petals. And then Zoran arrived and tripped over her with Twig’s hot milk, and then Dad came home, also drunk, and thought we were all playing a game, which he tried to join in by shouting I’m it! I’m it! and counting to fifty to give us time to hide.

  Which we did.

  In our beds.

  Dad went out early this morning. He said he needed to work. Zoran told him that was all very well but he was due a day off, and he had told Mum who may not have passed the message on to Dad but he was sorry and he really had to get on with some of his own work, in other words his thesis. He said that at the rate he was going he would be lucky to finish it by the time he was thirty. And then Dad said of course, of course and you musn’t change your plans but he couldn’t stay either and then he beamed and said it didn’t matter because Flora was here and she could look after the little ones.

  ‘Flora?’ we all said.

  ‘She’s sixteen,’ said Dad. ‘In some countries she would already be married.’

  He left before any of us could protest.

  ‘Unreal,’ I said.

  ‘You know, Blue, in some countries you could be married,’ said Zoran.

  ‘Fine,’ I snapped. ‘I’ll look after the Babes. It’s not as if I had anything else to do today.’

  ‘Tell your sister to call me when she wakes up,’ said Zoran.

  I have no idea when Flora woke up. Zoran told me we weren’t to go out further than the park, so as soon as he left I raided the housekeeping jar, bundled the Babes into their coats and took them down to the Electric Cinema where they were showing a rerun of the first Pirates of the Caribbean. Jake texted me to say he was bored and what was I doing today. He met us at the cinema, and afterwards we went to Home Sweet Home, where we saw Ash and Pretty and Ash’s boyfriend, who is covered in tattoos and kept taking Pretty outside to show her off to people he knew walking by in the street (and also to lots of people he didn’t know).

  We stopped in the park on the way home. Tom and Colin were on the skateboard ramp, and a bunch of older kids I’d never seen before pulled these incredible stunts, turning somersaults in the air and stuff like you see in films. Jake tried but he just sort of fell out of the sky halfway through his turn. I felt sorry for him because I could see he was trying not to cry, but Twig and Jas laughed their heads off and asked him to do it again, which cheered him up a bit. Night was falling by the time we got home. Dad was asleep. Flora and Zoran were out. I made tea and put some toast on, then sat down with the Babes to watch Pirates of the Caribbean 2 on DVD, and it felt cosy and peaceful.

  I don’t think Dad said anything to Flora about last night, but I know Zoran gave her a lecture. They came back while we were watching the film and I overheard them in the kitchen when I went in to get more toast. Flora was saying, but it was fun, almost like she was begging, and Zoran said something completely Zoranish about staying true to yourself and not straying off the rightful path, and then they both stared at me like they were making it clear I had no business listening to their conversation, so I left.

  Monday 21 November

  On the way to school today, Dodi told me that she had just seen Joss and Flora snogging under the railway arches.

  ‘Yuk,’ I said.

  Dodi said she thought they looked cute together.

  ‘Dad’s got an iPhone,’ I told her to change the subject. ‘And long hair, and he has secret meetings in dinner jackets on Friday nights.’

  I asked her what she thought it meant. I’d forgotten how serious Dodi can be. She thought about it for quite a long time, then she said that last year her father had spent six weeks in a monastery on a Greek island where they don’t allow any women except chickens, and that her mother had called it his mid-life crisis.

  ‘Not that chickens are actually women,’ she added. ‘Just, they need them for the eggs.’

  I went to the library at lunchtime. I sat in the armchair right at the back, where it’s so dark you can hardly see a thing, and I closed my eyes because I felt so tired and tried to do what Grandma once told me to do, which is imagine my life exactly how I would like it to be. I thought, I’ll imagine Joss, that he loves me. I haven’t done that before, because it felt pointless and also a bit sad, but today my mind had its own ideas. Instead of a happy place with Joss it took me off to Devon, where I was about five years old and hiding on the window seat with Iris, with Twig a fat podgy baby taking his first toddling steps towards Flora, who was holding out her arms and laughing and Jas asleep in a basket. It seemed like a bit of a wasted daydream, when I could have dreamed of anything I wanted, but Dad always says you can’t control how your mind works. He was at home when I got back, drinking tea and reading the paper.

  ‘Are you having a mid-life crisis?’ I asked him.

  Dad spat out his tea. I mean he really did. All over the kitchen table.

  ‘Well, are you?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘At least, I don’t think I am.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. I told him about Dodi’s dad and the Greek chickens, and he said that didn’t appeal to him at all.

  ‘Though I suppose I have been a bit cryptic lately,’ he added.

  ‘You’ve been rubbish, Dad,’ I said. ‘And I miss you.’

  Zoran came into the kitchen while Dad was hugging me, looking preoccupied, but he smiled back when I smiled at him, and mouthed, should he leave me and Dad alone? I shook my head.

  ‘I promise I’ll explain soon,’ Dad was burbling. ‘Soon, all will be revealed and hopefully – hopefully – you’ll start seeing a lot more of your old dad. But what can I do to make up for things in the meantime?’

  Behind him, Zoran opened the fridge and sighed. My brain almost exploded with inspiration.

  ‘A present!’ cried Dad. ‘A book? A necklace? A dress?’

  ‘A piano,’ I said.

  ‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘I was not expecting that.’

  Behind Dad’s back, Zoran smiled.

  I grinned back. Poor Dad just looked baffled.

  Tuesday 22 November

  Sometimes when I think of Joss it makes me cross, but then he does something nice and it’s almost worse.

  My timing was off this morning and I couldn’t avoid leaving with them. Joss was waiting at the gate. He beamed at both of us, then slung his arm round Flora. She nestled into him and gazed into his eyes like she never wanted to stop. He rubbed her nose with his and kissed her on the lips. She giggled and nuzzled his neck. I looked away and tried not to be sick.

  Obviously, that wasn’t the nice bit. The nice bit came later, after their argument. I was walking ahead of them so I didn’t hear it all, but basically it involved Joss accusing Flora of behaving like a prima-donna because she doesn’t want his friends to come and see the show, presumably because she wants to make a good impression on them and doesn’t think she is likely to do that in a play involving the nation’s favourite fairy-tale characters eating each other for breakfast.

  ‘It’ll be a laugh,’ Joss said. ‘We’ll see the play then we’ll have a few beers and go to a club. Just because you’re not . . .’

  Flora told him to shut up. Joss started to laugh and said, ‘Bluebird, you think my friends should come and see your sister’s show, don’t you?’ and I said, ‘Of course I do’, and he said, ‘There, you see? Blue agrees with me,’ and then he put his arm round me.

  It lasted all of three seconds and I KNOW I’m pathetic, but still.

  It was almost a hug.

  ‘Promise you’ll tell them not to come,’ said Flora.

  Joss laughed and pulled her into his arms. It was just like in a film, where the actress says no, I hate you and the leading man says but I love you so much and the actress goes oh all right then. Nauseating, but Joss winked at me as he was kissing Flora and I couldn’t help grinning back at him because he looked so wicked.
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br />   ‘Do those two ever stop?’ Dodi joined us at the traffic lights and stared at Flora and Joss wrapped around each other, pressed up against the railings.

  ‘They have to drink each other’s saliva to stay alive,’ I tried to joke. Dodi narrowed her eyes.

  ‘He’s an idiot,’ she announced. ‘Jake’s way nicer.’

  ‘Jake’s a bit young for Flora,’ I said.

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about Flora,’ said Dodi.

  *

  We all have different reasons for going to the Christmas extravaganza. Twig is desperate to see the burning slippers and the Three Little Pigs. Zoran says he has always been fascinated by fairy tales, and Jas doesn’t want to feel left out. Dad says we have to go because it’s culture of a kind, and Mum (who is in Buenos Aires) says we have to go because it’s Flora. Even Grandma is coming up from Devon.

  Me, I just want to be in the same room as Joss. It’s sad, I know, but I just can’t help it.

  Thursday 24 November

  I don’t know what to think.

  Or rather, I do, but I can’t believe it. And I don’t know how I feel about it. I was right when I wrote that something was up but I never in a million years would have guessed what it was.

  I went to the park after school again today with Dodi and the boys. When I came home, the Babes were sitting on their own in the living room with all the lights turned off, eating crisps and watching Twilight.

  ‘Zoran put Madagascar on,’ said Jas. ‘But this is way better.’

  ‘He won’t mind,’ said Twig. ‘Not a single person has died yet.’

  ‘Where is Zoran?’ I asked.

  ‘With Flora,’ said Jas.

  ‘She’s crying,’ said Twig. ‘She didn’t want to talk to him but he said he wasn’t leaving until she told him what was wrong.’

  ‘We’re not supposed to know,’ said Jas.

  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It just sort of happened, because even though Flora’s bedroom door was closed I could hear her inside, sobbing. And then I heard Zoran say things like in the kitchen on Sunday night, like take responsibility for your actions, and it would be best if you came clean and told them and Flora sobbing and saying please don’t tell my parents, please don’t, please! And then Zoran saying, really quite passionately, I will kill that boy with my bare hands, and Flora crying more quietly and saying no, Zoran, don’t be cross with him, it’s my fault.

  My heart was beating like crazy when I looked through the keyhole. Flora was on her beanbag and Zoran was sitting at her desk. I couldn’t see his face but I heard him ask her ‘How are you feeling?’ and she started to cry again and said ‘I’m so scared and I feel sick all the time’, and then she threw herself into his arms and he hugged her and she sniffed and said she would be fine and I tiptoed away.

  Zoran wouldn’t say anything later when I asked him, but I’m not stupid. I’ve seen Juno and read Dear Nobody and sat through about a hundred cringe-worthy sex education classes at school. I can guess why she is scared and feels sick all the time.

  Flora is going to have a baby.

  Friday 25 November

  I still can’t believe it.

  I don’t think Joss knows yet. Today I waited on purpose to go to school with them and he didn’t seem to treat her any differently from usual. Same arm slung around her shoulder. Same nuzzling. An old lady tutted because they were kissing in the street and Joss just laughed and flipped her off behind her back, which didn’t strike me as very prospective parent behaviour. I suppose that now we will be linked by ties of blood, which is quite romantic in a hopeless sort of way. To be honest I have no idea how Flora managed it. CFS start the whole sex education thing when you’re practically still in primary school. What we don’t know about contraception probably doesn’t exist. And of course, I can totally see why teenagers shouldn’t have babies. All that dropping out of school and ruined prospects and getting fat and benefit queues. But still – a baby! That’s just . . . huge. It’s momentous.

  A baby could change everything.

  I could help look after it. I could take it to the park and to Home Sweet Home to meet Pretty. If it’s a girl, and I hope it is, we could call her Poppy or Lily or – no, not Iris. But a flower name, anyway, and a real one, not something stupid like Bluebell.

  A baby right now would be perfect.

  I shouldn’t have said anything, I know. But when Dodi said ‘All right then, spill the beans’ at lunchtime, I couldn’t help it.

  ‘What beans?’ I asked.

  ‘You’ve been completely distracted all morning.’

  I didn’t really tell. I said I’d had some big news but it was secret, and then I told them it was family news, and then the boys lost interest but Dodi kept on asking questions until she guessed and said ‘Oh my God, Flora’s pregnant’ and the boys were all no way and actually it was nice to have people looking at me like I had something interesting to say for once. They are sworn to secrecy, of course. As my friends. I think I can trust them. I hope so.

  I still can’t believe it.

  Friday 2 December

  Tonight was the opening night of Flora’s play.

  We all went, like we said we would. We arrived at the theatre super early. Flora doesn’t like to be interrupted before a show, but I saw Zoran slip backstage and I went after him with the camera. I wanted to film the show, and also people getting ready for it, if they let me. I love that – the craziness of everyone running around half-dressed, actors with their hair plastered down ready for their wigs, the pots of thick make-up, stagehands in black tearing around carrying things. It seems completely improbable, half an hour before a show that it will ever actually happen.

  Flora hadn’t even started on her make-up. She was leaning against a wall, looking quite alarming, waving a dagger in front of her while she listened to Zoran.

  ‘This is not the end of the world,’ Zoran was saying. ‘Smile! Try to enjoy it! We’ll figure out what to say later.’

  I crept up and stood by Zoran, but Flora didn’t even look at me. She heaved herself off the wall and said she had better get on with things then, even though she would rather walk barefoot on broken glass through a raging blizzard.

  ‘I know what’s going on,’ I blurted. I couldn’t help myself. She looked so sad.

  ‘You do?’ Flora looked terrified.

  ‘I think it’s brilliant,’ I announced, which was only partly true. Huge and momentous are not the same as brilliant, and even though I truly was excited, I’m still not sure a baby is a good idea when you’re at school. ‘I’m really, really happy,’ I added, because Flora was looking at me like she just couldn’t believe her ears.

  ‘You little cow,’ she hissed. She snatched the camera out of my hands. ‘I should smash this,’ she snarled. ‘I should break this on your head!’

  ‘That’s enough!’ shouted Zoran.

  Flora glared at me. I tried to glare back. She turned to Zoran.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she said.

  ‘Give Blue the camera and go.’

  Flora went. ‘What was all that about?’ asked Zoran.

  ‘The baby,’ I mumbled. I couldn’t even look at him when I said that but pretended to check my camera for Flora damage instead.

  ‘What baby?’

  ‘You know,’ I mumbled. I held the camera up to my face. ‘Flora’s.’

  In the viewfinder, Zoran turned white as a sheet.

  And then Joss’s friends stumbled in. Their names are CJ, Sharky and Spudz, and they were waving beer cans and shouting. Julian, who is married to Craig, the Players’ director, ran in after them and said they had to leave, but the one called CJ burped in his face and said, ‘Make me.’ Zoran looked dazed and said he’d rather like to find Joss himself, and then Joss turned up looking gorgeous in stagehand black and said, ‘Lads!’ like them being there was the best thing that could ever have happened in his life and they were all, We came to see your panto and your new girl, and CJ burped again and they all hugged and punched
each other. And then Flora turned up and cried ‘No, you promised!’, and the boys were all so this is the lay-deee and man that hair is bad and Joss had to run after Flora who stormed off, and Julian said we had to go and find our seats now.

  ‘What on earth do you mean, Flora’s baby?’ said Zoran as we walked back to our seats. ‘And for God’s sake put that camera away.’

  ‘I heard her telling you.’ I put the camera down. It’s more difficult than it looks to film while walking through a crowded room.

  ‘What? When? Wait, here are your parents. Tell me when we’re sitting down.’

  We spent the next few minutes squeezing over people’s knees to get to our seats, then squeezing back again because we got the wrong row, then annoying everyone behind us by changing where we were all sitting so that Jas and Twig could see over the people in front. Zoran and I sat at the end of the row. Joss’s friends sat a few rows behind us.

  ‘Well?’ said Zoran.

  Several seats down from us, the parents and Grandma were poring over the programme, looking puzzled.

  ‘In her room. Last Thursday. She was crying.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Zoran.

  ‘I don’t understand!’ said Dad.

  The lights went out.

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ I asked Zoran.

  ‘Shhh!’ said an old lady sitting behind us.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘And what do you mean, ah?’

  ‘You’ll find that out too.’

  ‘Will you be quiet!’ hissed the old lady. ‘My granddaughter is about to sing.’

  The Clarendon Players Christmas Extravaganza follows pretty much the same pattern every year. The curtain went up. A choir of primary-school children dressed as peasants rejoiced that it was Snow White’s birthday. The Wicked Queen strode on, followed by a girl in a red coat carrying a knife who was meant to be Little Red Riding Hood being the Huntsman. A singing mirror was wheeled onstage, pushed by the Three Little Pigs. Twig, Jas and all other members of the audience under the age of eleven watched with rapt attention.