Hey! Quick question – asking for a friend – if a guy gives a girl his phone number how long should she wait before calling him? S xx ps she really likes him and doesn’t want to blow it.
Rose looked at the message and started to grin. Yeah right, asking for a friend! She pressed call.
Sky looked at Leon’s number on her phone, her finger hovering over the call button. Ever since she’d got home from school she couldn’t stop thinking about him. But if she rang too soon would she look too eager? And if she rang too late would he have forgotten all about her? No guy had ever given her his number before. The sum total of her romantic experience had been holding hands with a boy she’d met at an ashram in India when she was fourteen. But this was different. Why hadn’t she given Leon her phone number? Then at least she wouldn’t have to go through this mental torture. Her phone started to ring and for a brief moment she actually thought it was him – until she realized that that was totally impossible. It was official – she was going insane. She looked at the caller ID. It was Rose.
“Hello.”
“Hey, you dark horse.” Wherever Rose was sounded noisy. Sky could hear voices and traffic in the background. “So, who is he, then?”
“Who’s who?” Sky grinned.
“The guy whose number you’ve got.”
“It isn’t for me. I was asking for a—”
“Yeah, right. Who is he? I need the deets!”
Sky lay back on her bunk. There was no point in trying to lie to Rose. She was like a pit bull when she got wind of a good story – she wouldn’t let go until she had answers.
“He’s just someone I met at the Poetry Café.”
“A poet?”
“Yes.”
“OMGenius! That’s so perfect. What’s his name? How old is he? Where does he live? Oh man, so many questions, so little time.” Sky heard the sound of a traffic crossing bleeping. “Listen, I have to get on the Tube now but will you promise to ring me later to spill all? I’ll give you a box of my finest cupcakes tomorrow.”
Sky laughed. “OK. I’ll call you later.”
“But in the meantime, I have a tip for your imaginary friend. Why don’t you – I mean, why doesn’t she – just text him? Way less stressful and then it’s down to him to call you – I mean her. OK, gotta go. Later, alligator!”
Sky stared at her phone. Why hadn’t she thought of that? It would be so much easier. She opened a new text message. But what should she write?
Hi, it’s me, Sky. It was lovely to meet you yesterday…
She paused. They’d only met yesterday. Was it too soon to text? Arrghh, this was a nightmare!
She looked at the framed photo of her mum on the wall. “I wish you were here,” she whispered. “I wish you could tell me what to do.” She listened to the water pouring through the lock gates further along the canal. Usually this sound was the most soothing thing in the world. But now she felt waves of sorrow as she thought of all the moments like this when the pain of losing her mum would come back to haunt her. Every new relationship, on her wedding day, if she ever became pregnant. Her dad was great but it wasn’t the same. Sometimes you just needed a mum. She put her phone down. It suddenly seemed pointless to text Leon if her mum wasn’t there to share any of the joy with her. Sky reached for her notebook and began to write.
Amber looked down at her well-worn London pocket map. If she’d read it right, Rose’s road should be the next on the left. She’d tried using the GPS on her phone once before on a trip to the British Museum but it had been a disaster. For some reason it thought she was in a car and had sent her on a circuitous route around the one-way system. Just like everything else, the old way of doing things seemed so much more reliable. She saw the sign for Rose’s road and turned on to it. The houses here were huge and the further she walked up the hill, the huger they got. Finally she reached Rose’s address. There was a beautiful old tree outside, its branches forming a canopy over the pavement. Amber walked up to the front door and knocked on the brass door-knocker. She wondered if Rose’s mum would be home. The world of fashion was alien to her, but even she’d heard of Savannah Ferndale. Her name regularly appeared on the covers of newspapers and magazines – usually next to words like PARTY or FUN-LOVING or, more recently, CELLULITE. She heard footsteps echoing inside and the door opened. A woman wearing a skin-tight, miniscule dress stood in the doorway, looking Amber up and down. She was tiny, with long golden hair and dramatic, Cleopatra-style eye make-up.
“Good evening. I’m Amber.” Amber cringed as she realized how formal she must sound. “I’m here to see Rose.”
The woman smiled. She was stunningly beautiful, with finely chiselled cheekbones and full lips, just like Rose’s. “Come on in, Amber.” She spoke in a slow, Southern drawl. “Come on out of the cold.”
Amber stepped into the hallway. A huge chandelier, formed from hundreds of glass dewdrops, hung from the ceiling.
“Rose, honey, your friend’s here!” Savannah called up the wide staircase. Then she turned back to Amber. “I love that whole masculine vibe you’ve got going on, it’s seriously cool. Where did you get that coat? And the shoes. Are they vintage?”
Amber nodded. She’d never been told she had a “vibe” before. “I got them from Retro-a-go-go – the vintage store I work in on Brick Lane.”
Savannah smiled. “Oh, Brick Lane’s awesome, isn’t it? Here, let me take your coat.”
Amber took off her coat and handed it to her, praying Rose would hurry up.
“And that suit is divine.” Savannah stared at her. “Have you ever done any modelling? You have such a great look. Such a distinctive jawline.”
“Leave her alone, Mother. She came to see me, not get recruited for a catwalk campaign.”
Amber felt a rush of relief as Rose came running downstairs, barefooted, in a pair of fleecy pyjamas. She linked her arm through Amber’s and led her over to the stairs.
“Have you guys eaten?” Savannah asked. “Would you like me to order you some – pizza?”
Rose stopped and stared down at Savannah, her mouth wide open in shock. “Pizza?”
Savannah nodded. “Yes. I can order you some before I go to Margot’s book launch.”
“What, like real pizza, with cheese and gluten and everything?”
“Yes! It’s good to have a treat every now and again.”
“Sure, that would be great.” Rose turned to Amber and whispered, “Quick, let’s order now before she changes her mind.”
They ordered their pizzas and then Rose led Amber along the landing into her bedroom. The room was a riot of recipe books and clothes and CDs strewn everywhere. “’Scuse the mess.” Rose cleared a space on her king-sized bed and gestured at Amber to sit down. “So, we are gathered here today because, as I told you in my text, I found one of my mom’s psychometric tests in her study.” Rose picked up a folder from the top of a heap of books on her desk. “She got obsessed with these things a couple months ago when the press started going on about her cellulite and she was thinking about ditching modelling for another career.”
Amber settled back against the pillows. “So, what are they exactly?”
“They’re tests that figure out what kind of person you are and what kind of career you should be doing. Companies use them all the time when they’re hiring people. But do you still need help with that?” Rose sat down on the bed, next to Amber. “I saw you started blogging again. Great post, by the way.”
Amber frowned. “Yes, I do, and no, it wasn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t honest enough in the blog. I just skated around the issue. The writing didn’t flow. It was like – like having creative constipation!”
“Yeah, but at least you made a start.”
Amber shook her head. “I still don’t know if I should be blogging. I still feel really blocked.”
Rose handed her the folder. “OK, looks like you do need this.”
Amber opened the folder. She w
asn’t entirely convinced that a test would give her the answers she was seeking but at this point she was willing to try anything.
“All you have to do is answer the questions as quickly and authentically as possible. So don’t try to figure out what they want you to say – just answer from the heart, OK?”
“OK.”
“And while you do that I’ll just have a little browse for some recipe ideas.” Rose opened up her laptop.
As Amber began to read the questions her heart sank. They were all so dreary and unimaginative. Who cared if she strongly agreed, moderately agreed or disagreed with statements like “I enjoy repairing things” or “I adapt well to change”? She thought of Oscar Wilde and what his response would have been if someone suggested he do a test like this. She was certain it would have been something withering and dripping with sarcasm. She began circling answers randomly. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to find out who she truly was but she knew for certain that the answer didn’t lie in a multiple-choice quiz.
Chapter Seventeen
As soon as Maali’s alarm clock went off on Saturday morning her eyes were drawn to her shrine. Get up and pray, her inner voice urged, it’s a new day. Start it afresh, as you mean to go on. But it was as if doubt had pinned her to the bed. What if you don’t exist? she thought, looking at Lakshmi. What if it’s all an illusion? From downstairs she heard the sound of a door opening. Her mum was getting ready to go back to the hospital. Soon Auntie Sita and Uncle Dev would be arriving to open up the shop. She used to love it when they came over because it meant laughter and good food and fun. But now it meant illness. Maali’s gaze fell upon her bedside cabinet and the piece of paper she’d propped there before she went to bed. She’d written HOPE AND LOVE on it in huge capitals, to remind herself to stay positive. With a heavy sigh she got out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown.
She found her mum downstairs in the kitchen, sitting at the narrow table, resting her head in her hands.
“Morning,” Maali said, pretending she hadn’t noticed the way her mum’s shoulders were drooping, as if they carried the weight of the world.
“Morning, pet.” Normally her mum would spring up and begin to make tea and pop bread into the toaster, but not today. She just sat there, staring into space. Worry started gnawing at Maali’s mind. Was there something she wasn’t telling her? Did she know why her dad wasn’t getting any better? Was he going to get even worse? She went over to the sink and filled up the kettle.
“Do you need me to do anything in the shop before we open?” Sometimes her mum liked her to make a window display of boxes of burfi. It would be good to do something creative – to take her mind off everything else.
But her mum shook her head. “We’re going to need you to take care of Namir today while Auntie Sita and Uncle Dev work in the shop.”
“Of course.” Maali opened the kitchen cupboard and stared blankly at the breakfast cereals. It felt as if the filter on her world had been turned to black and white. Everything that had once brought her joy and filled her life with colour was fading fast.
By the time Rose’s alarm went off she had already showered, grabbed a cup of coffee and dried her hair. She’d been way too excited to sleep. Today was the day she got her first taster of running her own cake-making business. OK, so it was only a stall in a market and it wasn’t actually hers, but she would be in charge. Or at least she would be if she proved herself to Francesca. She flung open her wardrobe doors and stared at the rails of clothes inside. She didn’t just want to prove herself to Francesca, she wanted Francesca to notice her. She wanted Francesca to be attracted to her. Rose shook her head and laughed. She had never, not ever, gotten like this over a guy. When she’d been seeing Matt, she usually dressed down in a bid to stop him pawing at her. Now the opposite was true. As she took in the row of skirts and dresses she imagined Francesca’s gorgeous chestnut eyes gazing at her and wondered which outfit she’d like best. Rose held on to the wardrobe door to try and get grounded. She had to get a grip.
She finally decided on a short gingham skater dress with thick woolly tights and her beloved biker boots. She applied a coat of lipstick in exactly the same ruby red as the check in her dress and grinned at her reflection. “Ooh, Rose, mon chéri,” she said, mimicking Francesca’s French accent. “You are looking so kissable!” She grabbed her phone and bag and headed downstairs.
Although it was only six o’clock, Savannah was up and sitting at the breakfast bar in her bathrobe, poring over her laptop. “Hey, honey, where are you off to so early?” She glanced up. “You look awesome!”
Rose grinned. “Thanks, Mom. I’m off to work on the cake stall in Spitalfields. Remember me telling you? The owner of the cake shop has asked me to run a stall there for her.”
“Oh yes, of course. Sorry, I forgot.” Savannah looked back at her laptop and Rose felt a wistful pang. It must be so cool to have parents who actually paid attention to what you were doing, who actually showed an interest, like Liam did with Sky.
“Entertainment Today are saying that your dad and Rachel have gotten engaged. Is that true?”
Rose shrugged. “How should I know?”
“Well, did they say anything to you when you were in New York?”
“No.”
“Did they seem like they might be about to get engaged?”
“What? Like, was Dad permanently getting down on one knee?”
“No! I don’t know. Did they seem more in love? No, scrap that. I don’t want to know.” Savannah snapped her laptop shut. “I think I’m going to go back to bed. Have a good day, honey. I’ll see you later.”
Rose watched as Savannah walked out into the hallway. Then she gave a huge sigh, trying to exhale all the confusion, shock and disappointment that were now threatening to engulf her excitement. Were her dad and Rachel engaged? And if so, how come the internet knew about it before she did? She thought about giving Jason a quick Google on her phone but then she remembered her New Year’s resolution. Her parents were not going to ruin today. She wasn’t going to let them. Today was all about her and achieving her most heartfelt dream.
* * *
The loud honking of geese woke Sky with a start. She burrowed further down in her bunk as they splashed about in the canal right outside the boat. As she gradually came to, she took a moment to see how she felt. Was today going to be a good day or bad? It was weird how you never quite knew what mood you’d be in when you woke up. Last night she’d felt so down, thinking about her mum, but today … yes, today she was definitely feeling lighter. Instead of texting Leon, she’d ended up writing a letter to her mum. This was something Liam had recommended she do shortly after her mum died. “You can still talk to her,” he’d said. “You can still tell her how you’re feeling.” Sky knew that Liam sometimes did this when he was meditating. He talked to her mum inside his head. But to her, writing had felt a more natural form of communication. So every now and then, when the pain of missing her got too much to bear, she would pour her love out onto the page. She sat up in her bunk and looked out of the porthole. A group of ducks huddled together on the far bank, their beaks tucked under their wings, fast asleep. She loved the view from this side of the boat, away from the tow-path. It was easy to imagine you were in the middle of the countryside instead of the heart of London. As she looked out a thought popped into her mind, perfectly formed, as if someone else had placed it there: there’s no need to be afraid of texting a boy. If he’s the one for you, he’ll be happy to hear from you. A smile spread across Sky’s face as the full meaning of the words sunk in. Of course – it made perfect sense. If a boy liked you he’d be happy to hear from you. And if he wasn’t happy to hear from you, it meant he wasn’t for you after all. She grabbed her phone from the floor and began composing a text.
Amber had been dreaming that she was a shepherd but every time she tried to round up a sheep the ghost of Oscar Wilde started bellowing at her. “You are a Moonlight Dreamer not a sheep-rounder-upper! A
dreamer by moonlight, not a rounder-upper by daylight!”
“But this is what the test told me I should do!” Amber cried.
“To hell with the test. Tests are for fools!” Oscar retorted. Then he started singing “Morning Has Broken”, his voice growing louder and louder. Halfway through he continued, “Pancakes are cooking, down in the kitchen, coffee is brewing, come and get served.”
What the hell? Amber sat up and rubbed her eyes.
“Is anyone alive in there?” Gerald called from the other side of the door.
“Yes! Was that you singing?”
“Of course it was. Who did you think it was? Pavarotti? Although that would be an easy mistake to make, I have been told I sound just like one of the great tenors.”
Amber slumped back on the bed.
“Darling?” Gerald called. “Are you getting up? Don’t forget you’ve got work today.”
“Yes, I’ll be down in a minute.” Amber took a deep breath. It was OK. She wasn’t a shepherd – despite that stupid test of Rose’s telling her that her ideal job would be working on a farm – it was only a nightmare; she still had time to find her true dream.
Chapter Eighteen
Spitalfields Market buzzed with the low hum of chatter as the traders began setting up their stalls for the day. Pale sunlight filtered in through the glass panels in the roof high above them. It was Rose’s favourite type of winter’s day, cold and crisp with a forget-me-not-blue sky. She took this to be a good omen. As she adjusted the tray of orange, caramel and mocha cupcakes she imagined that this was her own stall. The first day of her brand-new business. Francesca had gone back to her van to get the final tray of cupcakes so Rose was all alone. She took a look around. A girl dressed all in black with an asymmetric curtain of purple hair and a silver nose ring was setting up on the stall to her right, unlocking trays of jewellery. The stall to her left was still empty. It was larger than the rest and had a banner over it saying: THE MAD HATTER. Maybe it was a stall for Alice in Wonderland memorabilia. Rose came out from behind her stall and looked at the cake display. Should the red velvet surprise go next to the banana and butterscotch or would they be better by the lemon meringue? Before she could decide she heard a loud clattering and turned to see a wiry, middle-aged man pulling a trolley towards her loaded with boxes. What was left of his hair was shaven and white and he was wearing a perfectly pressed, pale-grey suit and the shiniest shoes Rose had ever seen.
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