Recipe for Rebellion (Zodiac Girls)

by Cathy Hopkins

  Zodiac Girls –

  Recipe for Rebellion

  Cathy Hopkins

  Copyright © 2009, Cathy Hopkins

  ISBN number: 9781908426925

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One: Bat poo

  Chapter Two: Aunt Esme

  Chapter Three: Joe

  Chapter Four: Site for sore eyes

  Chapter Five: Nits

  Chapter Six: Bonkerooney Land

  Chapter Seven: Psycho woman

  Chapter Eight: Cakes

  Chapter Nine: Bad boys

  Chapter Ten: Makeover madness

  Chapter Eleven: Red planet

  Chapter Twelve: Worms

  Chapter Thirteen: Visitors

  Chapter Fourteen: Yes SIR!

  Chapter Fifteen: Conga

  Chapter Sixteen: Freaky deaky

  Epilogue

  The Sagittarius Files

  Celebrity Sagittarians

  Danu’s Delicious Five– Minute Cake Recipe

  Are you a typical Sagittarius?

  Chapter One

  Bat poo

  “Danu Harvey Jones. Can you read us the poem you’ve written about family?” asked Mr Beecham peering over his glasses at the front of the classroom. “And sit up straight, girl.”

  “It’s Dee, not Danu,” I said.

  “I think not, Miss Harvey Jones. We call ourselves by our proper names at this school. We don’t use nicknames and your given name is Danu. Now, stand up and read us your poem.”

  I stood up and took a deep breath.

  “My aunt is full of bat poo,

  My brother is a twit,

  My parents have deserted me,

  I don’t know where I fit.”

  A few girls at the back of class tittered as Mr Beecham’s mouth shrunk to look like a cat’s bottom.

  “That’s enough Danu,” he said. “Sit down. I don’t think we need to hear any more of that. See me after class.”

  I sat down. I’d probably get detention again. I didn’t care. At least there would be a few people around in there and it would be better than going back to the empty flat. Again.

  Joele Morrison was next up reading her poem. I rolled my eyes. It was about a cute kitten playing on the grass and her ickle lickle baby brother rolling into a flower bed. Blah. Vomitous and a half. My poem had at least told the truth about my situation and what else was I supposed to write? About kittens and babies? Yeah right. A kitten would die of malnutrition where I was living now and as for an ickle lickle brother, there was just no space, in fact, there was only just enough space for me.

  For the rest of the lesson as my fellow schoolmates droned on with their pathetic poems, I gazed out of the window and thought about my old life. What were my old friends doing at this moment as I sat here having to endure Death by Bad Poetry? I hated my life. I hated my new school. I hated everyone in it. My world was rotten. It wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always live in the hellhole that I do now. No. Once I had a life. A life I was very happy with thank you very much. I lived in a village down on the south coast with my dad who’s an archaeologist. He’s famous is some circles. My mum died when I was three so my dad had a lady from the village come in and housekeep for us. Mrs Wilkins. She was lovely. Kind and jolly and the most brilliant cook. There was always the smell of something wonderful baking in the oven when I got home. I attended the local school and in fact I was able to walk there from our old house. It took ten minutes, through the back field, five minutes along the coast road and there I was. I had loads of mates. Bernie, Fran, Annie and Jane. I had a dog, Snowy (he was jet black). I had a cat, Blackie (he was pure white) and I used to be able to ride our neighbour’s horse. They let me name him so I called him Spot (he was a chestnut). There were birds and squirrels in our garden. I had a huge bedroom with a bay window looking out over rolling fields and woods. I was happy.

  One day, Dad was waiting for me when I came home from school. I could tell the moment I set eyes on him that something was wrong. At first I thought someone had died or something had happened to Snowy or Blackie. But no. Nothing like that. Dad had been offered a year’s contract working on some ancient site in South America digging up old bones and stuff. Chance of a lifetime. The one he’d been waiting for. Etc etc. Blah de blah de blah. And that was the end of life as I knew it.

  Why couldn’t he go and leave me with Mrs Wilkins as usually happened when there was a dig? I asked. But he wouldn’t hear of it. Other digs had been for a weekend, a fortnight at the longest. This was the big one and would take him away for a whole year. I begged to be able to stay at the house but he’d already arranged for it to be rented out for the year. Nothing I could say or do could persuade him to let me stay. I tried to fix it so I could live with one of my mates but no-one had room. I’d be “just fine,” said Dad. He’d arranged for me to attend a boarding school near where his sister lived. He’d be back to see me in the holidays and my aunt would keep an eye on me in the meantime. I was a grown up girl. I’d soon adjust. That was the time I realized that he cared more about a load of old dead bones than he did about me, his living daughter.

  “Danu, Danu,” said a stern voice in my ear. It was old Beecham again. What did he want now?

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you been listening to anything that is going on in this lesson?”

  “Yes, sir. Kittens. Ickle babies.”

  Mr Beecham sighed then went back to the front of the room. “Class dismissed,” he said.

  I got up to go with the others.

  “Not you, Harvey Jones. I want a word.”

  I slumped back down into my chair. I was very popular with the teachers at this school. They were always keeping me back for “a word”.

  Mr Beecham waited as the rest of the class filed out. A few of the girls turned and stared at me then whispered to each other. I stuck my tongue out at them.

  When the others had gone, Mr Beecham came and sat at the desk opposite and looked at me with concern.

  “So Danu. How are you settling in?”

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  He sighed again. “And how’s life at home?”

  “Not at home…”

  “Ah yes, I meant your home now. I believe you’re living with your aunt?”

  I shrugged again. “Yeah.”

  “And are things all right there?”

  “Yeah.” I wasn’t going to tell him the truth. There was no point. Nobody could do anything to get me out of there.

  Mr Beecham coughed. “Well Danu… I’m afraid we’re going to have to do something, aren’t we? About your attitude.”

  I shifted my feet and looked out of the window.

  “Have you got any suggestions?” Mr Beecham persisted. “And please look at me when I’m talking to you.”

  I turned back to him. “Whatever.”

  “Whatever is not an answer. I have your records from your past school, Danu, so you don’t fool me. You were a straight-A pupil and now your highest mark is D. What are you going to do about it?”

  “Work harder,” I muttered. I had no intention of working harder. My plan was to get expelled and then with a bit of luck, I could go back to my old school. Even if it meant living in the dog kennel with Snowy, I wouldn’t mind.

  Mr Beecham stood up. “I hope so Danu. I hope so. We’re here to help you know, not hinder, so I’d appreciate a bit of an effort on your part. And… I also need to talk to you about… well about your hair…”

  “What about it?” I asked. It had taken me months to get it into decent dreadlocks. As my hair is fine and reddish blonde, it had taken weeks and weeks of twirling and twirling before the coils stayed but at last they were sta
rting to look the business. I’d even wound some green and pink wool through some of them. My dreadlocks were part of my plan. I had to look the part of a rebel as well as act it.

  “Well… don’t you ever comb it?”

  “No way.”

  “But that can’t be hygienic.”

  I shrugged. “Is there a rule that says I can’t wear my hair like this?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “It makes you look, well, how can I put this… rather unkempt.”

  “Do you tell other girls how to wear their hair?”

  “No. I don’t make a habit of it.”

  “Right then. Can I go now?”

  Mr Beecham sighed. “I suppose so.”

  I made my way out of the school and through the playground to the bus stop. Girls were still hanging about, chatting, having a laugh. I kept my head down. I wished I had a mate here. I wished I had someone’s house I could go to and hang out in, gossiping about the day, about fellow pupils. But no, the only place I had to go back to was the prison of a flat where I lived with my aunt, the warden.

  She lives in a small flat on the fifteenth floor of a tall block in a new development area. No grass, no trees, no animals and no outside access except for a tiny balcony with one dead pot plant on it. Aunt Esme earns good dosh at her job but she chooses to live in this no man’s land because it’s an easy commute to her work. Okay for her as she’s never home. I felt like I was suffocating there. There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to go as it’s not safe after dark because of its proximity to a rough estate. I was going to end up like that poor geranium on the balcony. Dead.

  I caught the bus and sat looking out at the gloomy winter’s night. The clocks had gone back last week so it was dark early. On the streets, people were huddled into their coats rushing to get home out of the cold. I got off in the square where Aunt Esme lives and sloped over to her block. Up the steps, into the door, into the lift that smelt damp, of boiled cabbage, and up to her floor. It was like being in some sci fi film about the future where all traces of natural life had been destroyed and all that was left was concrete.

  I let myself into the flat, turned on the lights and went into the sitting room to turn on the TV. I always did that the minute I got back as the sounds of people on the telly made me feel as if I wasn’t totally alone. I slumped down to watch. No point in going to the fridge. Aunt Esme didn’t buy proper food, only posh assorted lettuce in polythene bags. And sometimes there was a lemon in there for her gin and tonic drink. She never cooked at home as she ate out most evenings with her job or grabbed something at the office where she usually worked late.

  At six o’clock precisely there was a knock at the door. It was Rosa bringing my supper. She works as Aunt Esme’s cleaner and when I moved in, she was hired to bring me my supper every evening as well. She’s Polish, about twenty, and hardly speaks any English.

  She came into the hall and pointed towards the kitchen.

  “Shall put in microwiv?” she asked.

  “No, I’ll take it,” I replied. “Thank you.”

  She handed me the dish then left.

  She wasn’t a bad cook actually, although her repertoire was somewhat limited. Some sort of goulashy thing with carrots and beans every night. Still better than soggy lettuce, I thought as I heated it up and took it back to eat while I watched TV.

  I’d heated it up too much and the first forkful burnt the inside of my mouth. I felt tears prick the back of my eyes.

  “Bat poo,” I said to the empty room.

  I had never felt so alone in all of my life.

  Chapter Two

  Aunt Esme

  “Danu, come and clear up this mess this instant,” called Aunt Esme from the sitting room the following morning.

  I was in my bedroom emailing my old mates. I switched off the computer and went to face the firing squad. What did she want now?

  In the living room, Aunt Esme was dressed in her usual black business suit, white shirt, dark hair tied back in a neat bun and she was busy dusting the shelves. She was mental. She cleaned up after Rosa had been and before she came.

  “What mess?” I asked. The room looked fine to me. It always did. Okay, the carpet was a bit faded but there wasn’t anything to mess up. One L-shaped cream Italian sofa still with its polythene wrapping on (in case anything got spilled on it). A faded cream carpet (Aunt Esme said she’d get round to replacing it one day but at the moment was too busy, busy, busy). White walls with no pictures. A set of bookshelves with only a Yellow Pages directory and an A – Z on it. A glass coffee table. One square glass vase in an empty fireplace. No flowers in it. I hated the place. She hadn’t even got round to putting any curtains or blinds up at the windows. It was the coldest room I’d ever set eyes on, not the kind of place you could curl up and be cosy in, but then Aunt Esme never did that. All she did was work, work, work. She’s a lawyer in the city and lives and breathes her job.

  Aunt Esme pointed at the supper dishes which were still on the coffee table from last night.

  “I’ve told you before about clearing up after yourself. It’s really not too much to ask is it? You know I don’t have time when I get back from work,” she glanced at her watch, “and I certainly don’t have time now as I have to go into the office.”

  “And a good morning to you too,” I said.

  “No need to be sarcastic,” said Aunt Esme.

  “I was going to do the dishes. Honest. Give me a break.”

  Aunt Esme made an effort to force a smile but it came out more like a grimace. “So what are you going to do with yourself today?”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing to do.”

  “Homework?”

  “Done it.” I hadn’t but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Then do you want to go and get a couple of DVDs from the corner shop?”

  “Again? I think I’ve seen everything they have there. I’d hoped maybe we could do something. Go somewhere.”

  “Danu, I can’t. Really. I have a major case on at the moment and it’s taking every minute I’ve got.”

  I slumped down on the sofa.

  “Feet, feet,” said Aunt Esme swatting my legs off her sofa.

  “I’ve got clean socks on,” I objected. “And the sofa’s covered.”

  “I don’t care. We don’t put our feet on the furniture in this house.”

  “Don’t do this, don’t do that. It’s like living in a prison there are so many rules.”

  Aunt Esme sighed. “My house, my rules. You knew that when you came here.”

  “It’s not a house. It’s a flat.”

  “Oh don’t be difficult, Danu. You know what I meant.” She glanced at her watch again. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “Like you care.”

  Aunt Esme sighed. “Actually I do care. Have you had something?”

  “Yes. I had dried yak’s buttock and a slice of lemon. It was all that was in the fridge.”

  “Very funny. Rosa will be in this evening as usual with your supper but what about lunch? I’ll leave you some money and you can get yourself something.”

  “Whatever.”

  Aunt Esme put on her jacket and found her bag. “Right then. See you later.”

  I flicked on the TV. “Later.”

  Aunt Esme hovered for a minute. “Look I know I’ve been busy lately and I’m sorry. Haven’t you made any new friends at the school you can see?”

  “They all hate me.”

  “I’m sure they don’t.”

  “Do.”

  Aunt Esme sighed again and rooted round in her bag for her purse. “Look I can’t get into this now. Here’s twenty pounds, get yourself some lunch. In fact, make it thirty. Take ten for some pocket money. And oh, can you get a couple of lemons while you’re out.”

  “Whatever…” Pocket money. Pfff, I thought. What was I going to spend that on round here?

  “And stop saying ‘whatever’. It’s driving me ma
d.” She picked up her bag and for a moment hovered at the door. She looked awkward. “Er… um… Danu… I… I also wanted to mention something. Um. Week after next I have to go to New York…”

  “New York! For how long?”

  “Oh not long. Only a week.”

  “But… the week after next is not just any old week. It’s half term. What about me?”

  Now Aunt Esme did look uncomfortable. “Half term. Oh god I didn’t realize. Listen. Don’t worry. I’ve asked Rosa if she can stay while I’m away and she’s agreed so you won’t be on your own.”

  I crossed my arms over my stomach. “Like anyone cares.”

  A look of exasperation flashed across Aunt Esme’s face. “What else can I do Danu? It’s part of my job. I’ve always had to travel from time to time and I told your father that before you came here.”

  “He doesn’t care either,” I said. “Go to New York. I don’t care at all. In fact I hate you. And Dad. I hate everyone.”

  “We’ll talk about it later,” said Aunt Esme and she was out the door in a flash, leaving me alone once again. Huh, I thought, go to New York. It’s not as if you’re here and we spend any time together when you’re in England. I don’t care. I won’t care. I gazed at the telly. Saturday morning TV. My new friend, I thought as I flicked channels. My only friend. I never used to watch telly down in Dorset at the weekend. I had too many things to do. Places to go. Jaunts out with Bernie, Jane, Annie and Fran. A ride through the village on Spot. A walk over the fields with Snowy. I hoped that Snowy and Blackie were all right with their new owners. The family that had taken over our old house had children and they loved pets so it was decided that ours should stay so that they didn’t get disrupted. Huh. Not that I begrudged them being allowed to stay as I wanted them to be happy but it seemed that even the animals’ feelings were taken into consideration more than mine.

  I watched TV for an hour or so, did a bit of homework. Emailed my mates again. Then sat and stared at a wall. I remembered seeing a film once where the woman in it talked to the wall in her kitchen. Shirley Valentine, that’s what it was called. I thought she was mad at the time but now, I could totally relate.