‘We’re not being killjoys,’ said Nesta. ‘We’re your mates. We’re looking out for you.
‘Hmf. Feels more like you’re ganging up on me.’
‘No, we’re not,’ said Izzie. ‘It’s just best to be prepared. To know what you’re getting into. Tell you what, let’s look condoms up on the internet. I’ll go into one of the search engines.’
She pressed a few keys and, a moment later, a whole list of website addresses came up. After a few seconds, she started laughing.
‘Ohmigod! You can get anything and everything on here. Here. Here’s the one for you! I’ll read it,’ said Izzie as she studied her screen. ‘Surprise your partner and add a new dimension to your love life with a glow-in-the-dark condom. It will make it a night to remember.'
We all cracked up. The image of Tony wearing a glow-in-the-dark condom was hysterical.
‘There’s loads more,’ said Izzie as she scrolled down her computer screen. ‘Ohmigod! I never realised there were so many types!’
‘What like, small, medium and liar?’ I asked.
‘All sorts . . .’ Izzie said, laughing, as we crowded round the computer to have a better look.
We were so busy scanning the pages and laughing our heads off at all the types that came up that we didn’t notice that the door had opened and Izzie’s mum had come in.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
Izzie almost jumped out of her skin.
‘Mum! I’ve told you to knock!’ she said as she quickly closed the site, went back to her desktop and assumed her best innocent look.
As Mrs Foster eyed us suspiciously, I felt myself starting to blush and prayed that it wouldn’t give the game away. Mrs Foster can be really intimidating when she wants to be. She’s so different to my mum, who is easy-going and looks like an old hippie. Mrs Foster looks like a proper grown-up, always in high heels and immaculate clothes, never a hair out of place.
‘What could you possibly be doing that you wouldn’t want me to know about?’ Mrs Foster asked, lifting her nose to the air
and sniffing. ‘You haven’t been smoking in here, have you?’
‘Mum,’ groaned Izzie. ‘I don’t smoke. Won’t smoke. Give me a break.’
Mrs Foster shrugged. ‘Ah well. I’m going to the supermarket and wanted to know if any of you were here for a late lunch or early supper?’
‘No thanks,’ chorused Nesta, TJ and I.
‘No,’ said Izzie, looking pointedly at me. ‘We’ve got some very important window shopping to do.’
‘What for?’ asked Mrs Foster. ‘Italy?’
Izzie tapped the side of her nose. ‘Something we learned from the Girl Guides,’ she said. ‘You know their motto: Be prepared.’
That set us all off laughing again.
Mrs Foster looked mystified. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Suit yourselves.’
Girl Guides motto: Be prepared.
Chapter 3
The Pros and Cons of Toothpaste
First stop was a pharmacy in East Finchley to get some nail polish remover for Izzie.
‘Seriously though,’ said TJ, as we made our way up the High Street, ‘you do have to think about birth control. You can’t expect the boy to take all the responsibility.’
‘I guess,’ I said. I was still feeling like the girls had put a major dampener on my mood. Part of me could see that they were right – I hadn’t really thought it through properly, but another part felt like they just didn’t want me to be the first to do something for once.
‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check out what they sell in the chemist’s,’ I said. ‘As you said, be prepared, and I certainly can’t buy them off the internet.’
‘OK,’ said Izzie. ‘Where do you want to look? The pharmacists in Cootes are really nice. I’m sure they’ll be very helpful.’
‘No way,’ I said. ‘My mum shops there. I can just imagine her popping in for shampoo or something and them letting on that her dear virginal daughter had just been in looking at condoms.’
‘There are loads of other chemists,’ said TJ. ‘There’s one right at the end of the High Street. That’s usually pretty quiet and we wouldn’t want anyone seeing us checking out the selection.’
We made our way up to the last row of shops and hovered outside the chemist’s, pretending that we were looking at the window display, that is until Izzie pointed out that we were all staring at a promotion advertising ointment for piles.
‘Hhhmmm. Fascinating, not,’ she said.
‘Nesta, please will you go in and check them out for me?’ I asked. ‘The shop assistant will take one look at me and come out with the you’re-not-old-enough line.’
‘But you’re not buying any,’ said Izzie.
‘Even so,’ I said. ‘I can’t bear to hear that you’re-not-old-enough line once more, and you do look the most grown-up out of all of us.’
‘Sure I’ll look for you,’ said Nesta. ‘I’ll pretend that I’m a character in a film and I’m about to go away with my lover on a romantic weekend to Paris.’
‘Whatever,’ I said. I was used to Nesta acting out scenes from films in her head. She wants to be an actress when she leaves school and believes in practising at every given moment. ‘The rest of us can come in with you and look at the make-up or something.’
We shuffled our way into the shop and, while the assistant was serving a customer, we scoured the shelves.
‘Over there,’ said Izzie after a few minutes, ‘to the left of the cash till.’
We waited until the customer left and the shop became empty, then Nesta straightened herself up as tall as she could and walked over to the cash till. She looked at the condoms on display, then came over to us at the other side of the shop.
‘They have all sorts: gossamer, extra lubricated, extra safe, ribbed, sheer . . .’
I pulled a face. ‘They sound horrible. Like old ladies’ tights.’
‘And they come in packs of three or twelve.’
I felt myself turning pink. ‘Twelve? Gimme a break. I wonder how much they cost. The three-pack, I mean. They’ve probably got a price written on them or you could ask the assistant.’
‘OK,’ said Nesta and made her way back to the counter. She was just about to pick up a pack, when the shop door bell binged to indicate another customer had come in. Nesta’s face was a picture. Her jaw fell open when she saw who the customer was and she quickly withdrew her hand from the condoms. At the back of the shop, Izzie, TJ and I darted behind a large display of spectacles and sunglasses.
‘Mrs Allen!’ said Nesta, putting on a big cheesy grin. ‘What a lovely surprise. Um, er, yes, menthol or whitener? It’s always such a hard decision, don’t you think?’
She picked up a tube of toothpaste and held it in front of our headmistress’s face. Mrs Allen looked at her quizzically.
‘Yes, Nesta, I suppose it is,’ she said, picking up a packet of aspirin. ‘Now while you debate the pros and cons of toothpaste, do you mind if I go ahead of you? I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Oh no, I mean, yes, please, go ahead,’ stuttered Nesta, losing her cool for a moment and glancing back at us. ‘I’ve got to get a few things.’
She raced back to our side of the shop and looked mystified when she couldn’t see us.
Mrs Allen paid for her purchases and headed for the door. ‘Behind the spectacle counter,’ she said whilst looking straight ahead.
‘What? Who?’ asked Nesta, trying her best to look wide-eyed and innocent.
‘Your mates,’ said Mrs Allen. ‘Lucy Lovering, Izzie Foster and Theresa Watts. For some reason, they’re cowering behind the sunglasses stand.’
Nesta turned and looked in the direction of the spectacle display Izzie, who had put on a large, black pair of sunglasses, poked her head out and gave Mrs Allen a half-hearted wave as she went out of the door.
‘I swear she didn’t even glance in our direction,’ said Izzie as Nesta raced over to join us. ‘It must be a job requirement for being
a headmistress. Eyes in the back of your head.’
Nesta went and peered out of the window and down the High Street. ‘She’s gone into the hairdresser’s,’ she said. ‘Coast clear.’
‘Can I help you girls with anything?’ called the shop assistant, who by now was eyeing us suspiciously.
‘Urn, yes. Just getting some make-up remover pads,’ Nesta called back.
She was about to make her way back to the counter again when, once more, the door chinked that there was another customer.
‘Not our day is it?’ said Izzie, as we all darted back behind the spectacle display.
‘No,’ I said, then indicated the spectacles on sale. ‘We can’t be seen to make spectacles of ourselves.’
TJ started giggling, then and that set me off, then Izzie.
‘Keep it together, you guys,’ hushed Nesta.
‘Who is it?’ I asked. ‘Can you see who came in? Best check it’s not Mrs Allen back for some eye drops for her extra set of eyes or something.’
Nesta poked her head round the corner of the display. ‘Ohmigod, get back,’ she said. ‘It’s Candice Carter.’
‘Oh no,’ I groaned. Candice is a mate in our year, but she’s one of the biggest gossips in the school. Tell her anything and it spreads like Asian flu.
‘She’s probably come in for more of that colour she puts on her hair,’ said Izzie. Candice was always experimenting with her hair colour. Lately it had been a bright raspberry red.
‘No. No, I don’t think so, as the hair colour is at the front of the shop,’ said Nesta. ‘She’s . . . oh, I think she may be buying condoms – she looks pretty nervous. She’s looking round to check that no one’s watching.’
We all stayed very still while Nesta tried to see what was going on.
‘Oh Lord,’ she said after a few minutes. ‘You’ll never guess what she’s bought.’
‘What?’ I asked, as at last the door chinked that Candice had gone.
‘A pregnancy test!’ said Nesta.
‘You’re kidding,’ said Izzie. ‘Candice?’
‘Ohmigod,’ I said. ‘I wonder if she is. Pregnant, that is. She has been going with Elliot, a boy from Wood Green High, for months now. I wonder if they’ve done it.’
‘I’d say most definitely from the look of things,’ said Nesta.
We stared at each other in silence for a few moments.
‘Girls,’ called the shop assistant suddenly appearing round the corner of the display, ‘have you made your minds up yet? Do you want to buy something or not?’
Nesta looked at me and raised an eyebrow. ‘Lucy?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Um, do you sell chastity belts?’
Position of Headmistress: Only those with an extra set of eyes need apply.
Chapter 4
Mrs Finkelstein
I was on the Jerry Springer show, trying to balance my three giant babies on my knees but wasn’t succeeding, and one of them kept slipping down on to the floor. I looked terrible. Haggard, pale and spotty with bedraggled, unwashed hair
‘What are the babies’ names?’ asked Jerry.
‘Nesta, Izzie and TJ,’ I sobbed. ‘I named them after my mates at school.’
‘Even though the babies are boys?’ asked Jerry.
I nodded sadly.
‘And when exactly did you turn to drink, Lucy?’ asked Jerry.
‘When the father of my babies deserted me for a Hollywood starlet and left me living in a dustbin,’ I whispered and the studio audience gasped in horror.
‘Well, tonight, we’re going to hear from Tony,’ said Jerry. ‘He’s been waiting backstage to tell his side of the story. Come on out, Tony.’
Tony appeared at the side of the stage and the audience booed loudly. He looked gorgeous, clean, radiant, at his most handsome. I began to hit him round the head with one of the babies, which had now turned into a pillow.
‘Lucy,’ said Jerry. His voice sounded strange. Feminine. ‘Lucy . . .’
‘Wha . . .?’ I opened my eyes to find Mum leaning over me.
‘Come on, love, get a move on. It’s time to get up,’ she said. ‘Bathroom’s free.’
‘Urggh,’ I said from the depths of my duvet. I took a deep breath and willed myself to wake up properly. It took me a moment to realise that I’d been dreaming. It was such a relief to wake up and find myself safe and babyless.
‘Lucy, you’re miles away,’ said Dad at breakfast. ‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said, turning pink. I couldn’t tell him about my dream. No way.
‘It’s not possible to think about nothing,’ said Steve, my swot-box brainy brother, as he tucked into a slice of toast and peanut butter. ‘I’ve tried. Even if your mind goes blank, you still think the thought, my mind is blank.’
‘Whatever,’ I said. I pushed away my half-eaten bowl of muesli and got up from the table.
‘Aren’t you going to finish that?’ asked Mum.
I shook my head. ‘Not hungry.’
‘Then take an apple to school,’ said Mum as she went to collect the mail that had just plopped on to the mat in the hall.
Dad looked at me kindly. ‘Is something bothering you, Luce? You’re very quiet this morning.’
‘No, not really, that is, well . . .’
‘I knew there was,’ said Dad. ‘So spill. What is it? You’re on drugs, become a compulsive gambler? What?’
‘Yeah, right.’ I smiled weakly. ‘No, er . . . just had a bad dream and . . . there’s the school trip next month to Florence. Nesta, TJ and Izzie are going and I wish I was going with them, that’s all.’ That should put him off asking about my dream, I thought. I have to be careful with Mum and Dad sometimes. Both of them love to analyse dreams and they have a way of getting information out of you before you know it. Mum – because she’s a counsellor and works all day getting people who don’t want to talk to open up, and Dad – because he’s so chilled and unjudgemental. Like Mum, he’s a bit of an old hippie with his ponytail and liberal views about everything. This time however, I didn’t think he’d be so liberal. Dads can come over all protective of their daughters when it comes to boys. And having triplets.
Mum sighed as she came back in with the mail. ‘Did I hear you talking about the Florence trip? I am sorry you can’t go with the others, Lucy, but you know how things are at the moment. Steve needs a new winter jacket, Lal needs trainers, the car insurance is due this month, the mortgage payments have just gone up, we’ve had a ginormous phone bill . . . It’s never-ending, so I’m afraid money for school trips is out of the question.’
‘I know. That’s why I haven’t gone on about it.’
‘Our school is going on a skiing trip,’ said Steve. ‘I’d love to do that one of these days, years, lifetimes.’
Dad didn’t say anything; he just looked at Mum, rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.
Mum sat down at the head of the table and started to go through the post. ‘See,’ she said, holding up the wad of envelopes to us, ‘nothing but bills, bills, bills.’ She put the pile in front of her and sifted through until she came to one that looked like a personal letter. ‘Oh, what’s this one?’ She opened the envelope and read. ‘Oh dear,’ she said after a few moments.
Dad got up and looked over her shoulder. ‘What is it, love?’
Mum glanced anxiously at Lal. ‘Mrs Finkelstein.’
‘What?’ said Lal, as Dad read the letter, then also looked in his direction. ‘Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.’
‘It’s from Mrs Finkelstein’s solicitor,’ said Dad.
Lal went white. ‘But . . . but . . . it was ages ago that I broke her window. Last year. And I went and apologised. Even paid for it out of my pocket money. Remember?’
Everyone knew Mrs Finkelstein. And her house. She’d lived in the large detached one at the end of our street as far back as I could remember. It was a dingy, spooky-looking place, straight out of a horror film, with an overgrown garden at
the front and shabby curtains at the windows. Curtains that never opened. She never had visitors. In all the time I’d lived in this area, I’d never seen anyone, except for her cat, go in or come out. When I was in junior school, Izzie and I used to think her house was haunted and that Mrs Finkelstein was a witch. Instead of taking the short cut to school through the alley to the right of her house, we used to walk the longer way to avoid passing in case she came out and put a spell on us and we were never seen again. I used to have nightmares about her. She was almost bald and always dressed in a faded black coat and her slippers, and pushed a battered old pram. One day, Izzie and I decided to be brave and made ourselves walk close so that we could see what was in the pram. It was full of old newspapers. Sometimes you’d see her in the shopping area shuffling around, putting discarded papers in the pram. Weird. As I grew older, I realised that she was a harmless eccentric and she didn’t scare me so much. Even so, I kept out of her way if I saw her approaching on the same side of the pavement as me.
‘So what does her solicitor want?’ asked Steve.
‘He doesn’t say,’ said Mum. ‘Just that Lal should be at his offices with one of his parents on Friday.’
‘Are you sure you haven’t done anything, Lal?’ said Dad. ‘I won’t get angry if you tell us, but we need to know what we’re dealing with.’
‘No, honest,’ said Lal. ‘I haven’t done anything, honestly. I know she’s a mad old bat, but I never hassle her. In fact, last time I had anything to do with her was on the High Road. Some kids were laughing at her and calling her names and I chased them off. Remember how she always used to shove old newspapers in the pram she pushed around? Well, after I’d seen the kids off, I gave her a few old papers that were lying on a nearby bench. Weird, I know, but it was the first time I’d ever seen her smile. After that I never had anything to do with her. Honest.’
‘Nothing?’ asked Mum. ‘Think. Think carefully. Something you’ve forgotten?’
Lal was quiet for a few minutes. ‘No. I saw her around, but that was the last exchange we had, if you can call it that. I do talk to her cat though. I always stop to talk to him when I pass her house. He likes to sit on the wall in front and is always up for a tickle under his chin. He’s a sweet old boy, blind in one eye with a gammy leg. I feel sorry for him.’
Mates, Dates and Great Escapes Page 2
