Hanging out with a cool boy, chatting and laughing.
Sitting on a beach in a warm breeze, looking out at the sea.
Unhappiness is:
One freaked-out relative going ballistic because I didn’t call to say where I was.
Getting sand in my clothes when trying to hide.
Dad telling me I am soooo grounded when I get back to London.
8
Diary of a Slave Girl
Six-thirty a.m.: I thought there was a rule in the holidays for teenagers that there is only one six-thirty in a day, and that is in the evening. My dad has sadly not heard of this rule and woke me up at six-thirty in the morning with a cup of tea. On a Saturday too. Later in the day, Pia (whose mum had also woken her at the same time) called one of those child cruelty lines to complain about being made to slave over the weekend, but whoever answered the phone told her to stop wasting their time.
I was back in London and in at the deep end work-wise. When Dad heard that I’d been out late with a boy, he and Uncle John had a big row, with Dad telling Uncle John that he obviously couldn’t be trusted to look after a teenage girl. Uncle John was so mad he put me on the first train back to London. Dad could barely speak to me when I got back and just told me that I wouldn’t be leaving the apartment block for ‘quite some time’. Luckily Connor had given me his mobile number when we were chatting in the café, before Uncle John had appeared on the beach, so I was able to call him and give him an update. I’d felt conflicted when I’d given him my number and email address as to whether I should tell him about JJ or not. I decided against it in the end. It wasn’t as if Connor had asked me out on a date or anything, so what was there to say? It might have come across as weird if I’d started filling him in on my relationship status when we’d only just met.
In prison in my own home, I texted him on the night I’d got back.
Will call you when I’m back in London, he’d texted back. Chin up.
Seven a.m.: Covered in plastic overalls and rubber gloves (not my best look unless trying to get off with an alien or person with a rubber fetish), Pia and I hosed, washed and waxed a fleet of cars whilst I told her the hiding in the sand story for the tenth time. She loved it.
‘It’s not fair though, P. I wasn’t doing anything wrong,’ I said. ‘I was only out with a strange boy late at night in a strange town. What’s wrong with that?’
Pia didn’t answer. She just gave me one of her disapproving, disappointed looks. She’d make a good headmistress.
Eleven a.m.: Coffee and a biscuit followed by a group howl, or more precisely, a duet howl by Pia and me. She’s been reading a self-help book and there’s a chapter on a method called ‘primal screaming’. The book says that it’s best to let all anxiety and stress out in a big scream rather than keep it in. We decided to do wolf howling instead of primal screaming, in fact Pia’s going to write her own book about it called Release Your Inner Hound Without Going Barking Mad. She has loads of methods for letting out stress. It felt great to yowl with no holding back. ‘AwahwoOOO—’
Sadly, Mr Sawtell appeared mid-howl (we were in his underground car park – great for echoes) and said something very rude to us about shutting up. Pia told him all about the therapy but he looked totally unimpressed. He said his therapy was ‘a pie and a pint on a Friday night’ and we were to get back to work and stop frightening the neighbours.
Eleven-fifteen a.m.: Back to work till one. My delicate lady’s hands are getting ruined.
A text came through from Keira whilst Pia and I were having a tea break. I c u r back, it said. I thought there was a strange smell in London again.
‘That’s a bit freaky,’ I said. ‘It makes it sound as if she knows I’ve been away.’
‘She’s just trying to get you to react,’ said Pia. ‘Ignore her. She’s a sad loser.’ Pia put her fists up and boxed the air. ‘Anyway, I’m here to protect you.’
I had to laugh at the idea of Pia as my bodyguard as I switched my phone off and tried to put any images of Keira stalking me out of my mind.
One p.m.: A quick sandwich and then we reported to Pia’s mum at the spa. We were given more overalls, a bucket and a mop. Pia wrapped her hair up in a towel turban and, when her mum disappeared, she began to do a mop dance – our version of pole dancing but not quite as sexy. Of course I joined in straight away. We had quite a good routine worked out, I thought. Three steps to the right, three to the left, mop in left hand, dance around it, stomp, stomp and push the mop across the floor in a smooth skidding motion.
‘We could try for the next Britain’s Got Talent with this,’ I said.
Pia nodded. ‘I can see it catching on nationwide.’
Off we went again, to the left, to the right, stomp, stomp, glide right . . . into Mrs Carlsen. A good job she’s not going to be on the panel of judges, I thought when I saw her face. She didn’t seem to appreciate our creative method of floor cleaning at all and told us to ‘stop messing about and get on with it’. A couple of residents – an American man and his wife, from the fifth floor – came down to use the pool. They totally ignored us and treated us as if we were invisible, which I found especially amazing when Pia blew up one of her rubber gloves and put it on her head.
As I continued to work and dusted and cleaned the wall of mirrors at the back of the spa, I felt quite emotional watching the residents come out of the changing rooms in big towelling gowns, because the spa is where JJ and I used to hang out. He loves to swim and when he heard that I was a good swimmer, he requested that I be allowed to join him and pace him. Dad agreed – the policy of Porchester Park is what a resident wants, a resident gets – so the spa is where JJ and I got to know each other. It’s also where he first asked me out so will always have romantic associations for me. Being there with him seemed like a long time ago now and he was so far away. I felt his absence like a dull ache in my stomach. I put the back of my hand up to my forehead à la tragic heroine. ‘O, how painful my memories are of happier times here.’ I said it in the kind of clipped English accent that you hear in old black and white movies and pronounced happier as ‘heppier’.
‘Get over it,’ said Pia and she pointed to the mirror. ‘And you’ve missed a spot.’ Sometimes she can be just like her mother and very unsympathetic.
Three p.m.: We reported to the kitchen in the hotel next door for washing-up duty. More rubber gloves. Pia and I quickly got a good system going as I washed and she dried. We set ourselves targets and tried to see how many plates could we do in a minute. It got to be quite good fun.
After hundreds of plates, it didn’t feel like such good fun.
Pia took two large plates and held them up, first behind her ears – ‘Mickey Mouse,’ she said – then positioned them in front of her eyes – ‘Elton John,’ – and lastly she held them in front of her chest – ‘Katie Price.’
After washing up, we laid tables for dinner in the dining room, then at last we were done. Pia went off to collapse and watch telly. I went home to Skype JJ. I really wanted to see his face after having been in the spa earlier. I wanted to remind myself that he was real, I hadn’t dreamt it and I wasn’t invisible to people in his world.
Seven p.m.: Make-up on, hair tied back, ready to talk to JJ. When his camera came on, he looked amazing and so did the location. A light, airy apartment looking out over the ocean. A million miles away from busy, dusty Knightsbridge. However, despite the gorgeous location, he looked stressed.
‘How’s it going with your grandfather?’ I asked.
‘He’s stable but not good. The doctors are making him as comfortable as possible.’
I wished there was something I could say to make him feel better, then I remembered how grateful I was when Mum was ill and Pia chatted away about normal stuff because it took my mind off the awfulness of the situation. I told him all about my holiday job, and after five minutes he was cracking up laughing, especially when I told him about the mop dance and Pia with the inflated rubber glove on her head.
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‘God, I miss you guys,’ he said and gave me a look that tugged on my heart.
‘Me too,’ I said. And it wasn’t just JJ I missed. Much though I hated to admit it, I missed the access he gave me to the wonderful world he lived in. I’d realised since he left how unusual the Lewis family was in befriending Charlie, Pia and I. Other rich residents and their teenagers passed us in the hall or corridor as if we didn’t even exist and I could see for certain that none of them would be inviting me up to their apartments for a freshly squeezed grape juice or evening in one of their private cinemas like Alisha and JJ had done. I was staff and to be ignored.
‘How’s Alisha?’ I asked.
‘Better since Prasad visited,’ he said.
‘Prasad has been over?!’
JJ nodded. ‘A short trip. He’s gone on to New York with his mom.’
I was glad Alisha had managed to see Prasad after all, but the fact that he’d just flown over to see her was another reminder that my world was so different from theirs. The possibility of me hopping over to see JJ was not going to happen, not on my pocket money, even boosted with my recent earnings. Skype would have to do for JJ and me, but at least it meant I got to see him.
When we finished our call, I turned my mobile back on to see if Pia had been in touch, and a text came through almost immediately. But it wasn’t from Pia, it was another message from Keira.
Just 2 let u know that I haven’t 4gotten u. I will b watching u. u silly cow.
I so felt like writing something back but remembered Pia’s advice from the morning, and also earlier in the year, when Kiera had sent abusive messages. ‘Ignore her. And do NOT engage because then she’ll know she’s hooked you and got a reaction.’
I knew she was right, so quickly pressed save then turned my phone off. I really wasn’t in the mood for Kiera and her games. I sat and looked out of the window for a few moments. The text had totally ruined the good feeling I’d got from seeing JJ. I got up to look for my rucksack. It was under my desk where I’d thrown it when I’d got home on the last day of term. I remembered that the man who’d come in to school to do the talk about bullying had left us with a leaflet. I hadn’t looked at it at the time, but I pulled it out now. There was a website on the leaflet: www.beatbullying.org.
I sat back at my computer and went to the site. Right on the home page was the story of a girl who’d been bullied online. I identified immediately with her and as I read her and other people’s accounts and how they’d handled it, I felt like I wasn’t alone. The site gave some really good advice and there was also a link to another site called www.cybermentors.org.
CyberMentors – cool name for a band, I thought as I clicked through. They even sound like some kind of superhero. An image of Pia dressed in superman clothes, arriving at the scene of trouble, flashed through my mind, like, ‘Yo, CyberMentor is here,’ she would say as she knocked bullies’ heads together – kapow, kapow, schlosh, bash.
Pia would make a good CyberMentor and I knew I was lucky to have her as my own personal one.
I had a quick look around the site. It seemed there was some kind of online program to talk to someone in confidence or send a message if I wanted to. The best thing was that a lot of the CyberMentors were young people who had experienced bullying themselves, so would know exactly what I was going through. What a brilliant site, I thought. Just knowing they were there and that I wasn’t the only one to have to deal with something like this made me feel better. I thought about registering and having a chat to someone there, but Dave came in and settled at the end of my bed. ‘Good idea,’ I said and got up to find my PJs. Five minutes later, I was fast asleep.
Most of my days in slavery were the same, and at the end of the first week I went into Dad’s office, saluted and stood to attention. ‘Permission for day off, sir,’ I asked in a fake military voice.
He raised an eyebrow as if to say most unfunny. ‘Of course you can have a day off, Jess. You can stay home . . . and clean.’
I raised my eyebrow back at him in exactly the same manner he had just done to me. ‘Most amusing, Dad.’
‘Just kidding,’ he said. ‘Sure, take the day off tomorrow, you’ve earned it. I’ll get some agency people to come in and cover you and Pia.’
The next day, I slept until eleven-thirty – which was bliss! Then Pia came over and we sat at the breakfast bar chatting and drinking milky coffees. Double bliss. It felt like we were on the best holiday ever.
‘One thing about working is that it really makes you appreciate time off,’ I said.
‘Happiness,’ said Pia, ‘is to do with contrast. To have a day off when you’ve been going at it. To have a rest when you’re tired and on the opposite end, to have something to do when you’re bored.’
‘A drink when you’re thirsty, to be cool when you’re too hot.’
‘Why didn’t we get it before? This is a big realisation to add to our happiness project. Happiness is all about contrast. Mrs Callahan will be well impressed!’
After our coffees, seeing as it was a lovely summer’s day, we went out to lie in the back garden, taking magazines, water and suntan lotion with us. We put towels on the small bit of lawn out there and lay down to get well stuck in to some chill-out time.
‘Your horoscope, madam,’ said Pia as she lay back and opened her Girl in the City magazine. ‘Uranus is at a strong angle to Jupiter, bringing unexpected news that will expand your horizons. Be open to the changes it brings.’
Just as I’d got comfy and Pia was about to read her stars, Dad appeared at the back door.
‘Jess?’
I sat up. ‘Yes.’
‘Come inside a moment,’ he said. ‘I need a word with you.’
I groaned, wondering what I’d done. ‘Oh God, here we go.’
‘The unexpected,’ said Pia. ‘Let it begin.’
Jess and Pia’s latest rules of happiness:
Time with mates is v. important.
Contrast brings happiness:
To get warmed up when you’re freezing.
To cool down when you’re hot.
Time off when you’ve been busy.
To have a project when you’ve been bored.
Time alone when you’ve had days with loads of people.
Time with loads of people when you’ve been alone.
Contrast, yeah? Get it?
9
Star-studded Opportunity
I left Pia in the garden and went in to talk to Dad.
‘I’m aware that car washing and dish washing aren’t really your thing,’ Dad said when I got inside.
I nodded in agreement. ‘Not my life’s choice.’
‘So you’ll be pleased to know that I have something else to offer you.’
I tried to read his face. ‘I’m not very good at ironing either.’
‘Nothing like that. No. Stephanie Harper,’ he said. ‘She came to find me this morning. There’s been a last minute problem with the arrangements for her book tour this week. The girl who was supposed to be accompanying her has broken her ankle so Stephanie’s looking for someone to take her place.’
‘Take her place?’
‘Personal assistant for the week sort of thing, I think. She wants to see you about it. She’ll fill you in.’
‘She wants me to find her a PA? I . . . I wouldn’t know where to start.’
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘She wants you to be her PA.’
I felt a rush of anxiety. ‘PA? Me? But, Dad, I have no experience of anything like that.’
‘I think you could do it. It’s only for a week. Could be great work experience for you, Jess. She wants you to go up to see her in the Lewises’ apartment and have a chat about it as soon as you can.’
‘I’ll get changed and go now,’ I said and quickly went back outside to let Pia know what was happening.
‘She must think I’m older than I look or something,’ I said. ‘I won’t be able to do it.’
‘No. It’s so cool,’ she said
. ‘Find out what she wants before you decide you can’t do it. She might want you to make her sandwiches, get her coffee, something simple.’
‘God, I feel so nervous.’
‘Imagine you’re Lady Gaga or someone mega confident while she’s interviewing you.’
‘Yeah right, maybe I should wear a dress made of ham like Lady G did once,’ I called back to her. ‘Will you come and help me get ready?’
‘Course,’ said Pia and she got up to come to my room and chat to me.
I got changed into my jeans and a shirt and looked in the mirror.
‘Will this do?’ I asked.
Pia glanced me over. ‘Perfect, but ask Stephanie how she’d like you to dress for the job so it shows that you’re willing to dress smarter if she feels it’s required.’
I took a deep breath then went downstairs where Dad was waiting for me. I followed him into the reception where he telephoned up to Ms Harper that I was going to go up in the lift. I still felt so nervous. There was no way that someone like her would give me a job once she realised that my only work experience was car washing, babysitting and floor mopping.
Ms Harper opened the door to the Lewises’ apartment and invited me to follow her into the living room. She was dressed in an ankle-length kaftan and another of her fabulous necklaces, this time a huge jade stone set in silver.
The place smells different, I thought as I went in. When the Lewis family were there, the apartment smelt of an ocean breeze; now the scent was heavier and muskier, like fig or sandalwood. It felt weird to be there without JJ or Alisha, and I felt a wave of sadness at missing them, but told myself to smile and look positive. Stephanie indicated that I should sit on one of the cream sofas. I did as I was told and noticed that the usual glossy magazines on the coffee table had been removed and replaced by astrology magazines and various books about the stars and planets.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ asked Ms Harper. ‘A glass of apple juice, a herbal tea or do you want a cup of your English tea?’
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