I find an ancient watering can rusting in a corner and track down the outside tap. I give everything a good soaking, including my trainers, because the watering can has a hole. I tie an unruly rose bush back against the fence with a few remnants of string from my pocket, then go over to the bird feeder and fill it up with peanuts bought from the corner shop earlier. The gnarled little tree may be ancient and frazzled, but at least now when she looks out of the window the old lady will be able to watch birds flitting around, perching and feeding.
I’m just about to leave when the door creaks open again and Miss Smith appears carrying the same chipped blue mug as last week. ‘Peter!’ she calls. ‘I’ve made you some hot chocolate!’
I am not sure how to explain that I am not Peter, or that I don’t trust her hot chocolate, so I walk over and take it anyway. This time it turns out to be boiled water, which is an improvement on last week’s old teabag. I take a pretend sip, smiling.
Rocket saunters across, tail wagging, soft brown eyes fixed on Miss Smith.
‘I wouldn’t leave you out, would I, Patch?’ she says, unfurling a claw-like hand to offer Rocket a broken Rich Tea biscuit. ‘Here you go. Good boy! Do you remember, Peter, when you first found Patch? A stray, he was, beaten and half-starved and full of fleas, but you were determined to give him a home. We put him in the tin bath and hosed him down with the watering can and washed him with lye soap until he was clean. I never knew a dog so loved! You’d give him the rind off your bacon, swipe the bones I’d bought for the stock pot before I got a chance to cook them and give them to Patch. And don’t think I don’t know he used to sneak on to the bed with you at night! I knew, all right. They were good days, weren’t they, Peter?’
I have no clue at all what Miss Smith is talking about, but it seems rude to say so.
‘They were the best days ever,’ I agree.
Rocket eats the biscuit carefully, politely, and allows Miss Smith to pat his head. While she is distracted, I pour the boiled water into a flower bed.
‘Do you have a lawnmower?’ I ask.
‘Of course I do,’ Miss Smith says. ‘You should know that, Peter. It’s in the shed, where it always is.’
‘Right. I’ll swing by another day and cut the grass for you, OK?’
‘Bring Patch, won’t you?’ she says.
I promise that I will.
20
Eden
I cannot remember when I last had this much fun; Andie can make me giggle with just one glance, one raised eyebrow, one word. She is ruthlessly honest but a hundred per cent on my side, and that’s the best kind of clothes shopping companion you could ever wish to have.
‘Our mission is to get some colour into your life,’ Andie declares. ‘Some cute. Trust me on this; you will look awesome.’
‘I don’t like to stand out,’ I argue.
‘You were born to stand out,’ Andie insists. ‘I promise. Don’t make me paint your face with yellow poster paint all over again.’
‘OK, OK, but not a dress,’ I plead. ‘I am really not a dress kind of person these days. And I like dark colours …’
Andie ignores me and gathers up an armful of rainbow bright garments before steering me into the changing room. She comes in too, my own personal stylist, and the shop assistant doesn’t even bat an eyelid.
‘Try it with this belt,’ she says, hauling in a scarlet prom dress with a fancy punched-leather cinch belt and a frown. ‘No, maybe not. Try this silver mini … very slinky! No, no; it’s not working, you look like you’re wrapped in tinfoil … I’m not sure why. You have the figure for it, you’re really tall and willowy; you could literally wear anything. Anything except that scarlet one. And the silver. OK, shall we try the body-con one?’
‘Do we have to?’
‘We have to.’
Struggling into the mini dress is a little bit like trying to put on a wetsuit, and the result is just as unflattering. I look like a six-year-old wearing her mum’s underslip. Not good.
‘It’s not working,’ Andie concurs. ‘Weird. Maybe with heels?’
‘Not a chance,’ I say.
‘Actually, I think it’s the hair.’ She frowns. ‘I mean, it’s interesting, but the colour drains your skin tone, looks all wrong. It just doesn’t look like you. Should we do something with it?’
I peer into the changing room mirror. ‘I need to touch up my roots,’ I say. ‘That might help. We’ll go to Superdrug next. But the dresses aren’t working because I just don’t do cutesy or glam; how about you let me choose?’
Andie pulls a face, but she trails back into the shop with me. ‘No black,’ she instructs. ‘You’re not in mourning, are you? And no more shapeless hoodies – this is a party. You need to get out of your comfort zone!’
In the end, I pick out a blue and white striped Breton top and a pair of faded denim shorts with bib and braces attached. Andie complains loudly about how dungarees are not a party item as we haul them back to the changing rooms, but everything together actually looks good; it’s not what I’d usually wear, but I like it, and Andie seems to approve.
‘Not bad,’ she admits. ‘You need coloured tights, obviously, but the striped top is cool and the shorts show off your legs … yep, it’s a good look. Tomboyish but cute. Very you! And I bet your crush will love it.’
‘Stop it, Andie!’ I cut in. ‘I don’t have a crush; I told you!’
Andie just raises an eyebrow, her mouth twitching into a smirk.
‘Will Ryan be there?’ she asks. ‘It’ll be weird seeing him after all this time …’
‘I don’t think Ryan does parties,’ I say, shutting down this line of conversation even though I have no clue at all whether Ryan is a party animal or not. I just don’t want anything to derail my renewed bond with Andie, and getting tangled up with Ryan seems like the fastest way to do it.
‘Hey – how come I’m the only one being dressed up and thrown to the lions here? Are you buying something new for the party?’
‘I don’t think so; I’ve already got a couple of things that would do,’ she says vaguely. ‘We’re here for you, Eden, and if I have anything to do with it, you’re going to look amazing! Look, I’m going to grab some bits and pieces to finish the look …’
I check my wallet to make sure my birthday cash is going to be enough, but everything we’ve picked is in the summer sale and I reckon I’m good. Mum would have subbed me some extra money, I know, but I haven’t mentioned Andie’s reappearance to her. I know she wouldn’t understand. When Andie went away I was in bits for ages; how would she react now that my best friend is back on the scene?
I like to think she’d be happy for me, but I doubt it somehow. She’d just think that Andie will upset me all over again, and I know that’s not going to happen.
I’m queuing for the till with the top and dungarees when Andie appears with teal-blue tights, a polka-dot scarf to tie in my hair and a whole load of beaded bangles. I take a deep breath and buy the lot, and then we head for Superdrug for hair dye.
‘Black Beauty,’ Andie says disapprovingly, reading the packet in my hand. ‘Seriously? Is this stuff aimed at people or horses? Are you sure this is your colour, Eden? Black can look really dramatic on some people, but I think it’s kind of draining on you. If you want to dye your hair, how about something brighter, more fun? Ultra Violet, or Magenta Madness, even Sizzling Satsuma; try something different. Go crazy!’
I hesitate, uncertain.
‘Or you could just go back to your real hair colour,’ Andie suggests gently, picking up a packe
t called Light Golden Brown. ‘No more roots to worry about. And we already know it looks awesome. What d’you say?’
‘But I sort of like it black!’
‘I always tell you the truth, don’t I?’ Andie says. ‘I always have and I always will. Black isn’t all that flattering on you, that’s all. It makes you look pale and washed out, kind of sad – you don’t look like you any more!’
But I am not me any more, not really. Can’t Andie see that?
‘Come on,’ she coaxes. ‘Let me fix your hair, get it back to its natural colour. It’ll look fantastic!’
‘Are you sure?’ I waver.
‘I’m sure. I’ll come over tomorrow and do it for you, and we’ll go to the party together.’
Andie gets her way, just as she always did.
I don’t mind – it feels so good to be with her again. We walk down the High Street arm in arm and I can feel myself beginning to thaw, like the Arctic tundra when spring comes around. My heart, numb and frozen for the longest time, is starting to melt. With Andie around, I’m changing, softening, coming alive once more.
21
Ryan
I’m in the park with Buzz, Chris and a bunch of lads from school, supposedly for a five-a-side footy match, but I made the mistake of bringing Rocket along, so things are not going smoothly. Rocket keeps sprinting on to the pitch and stealing the ball, which is not making me – or him – popular.
‘Get that stupid dog out of here!’ a lad called Sullie yells. ‘Ryan, get a grip! He’s wrecking the game!’
‘He’s just playing,’ I argue. ‘Don’t take it so seriously!’
‘Football is serious,’ Sullie growls. ‘D’you have to play the clown the whole time, Ryan? C’mon, this isn’t funny!’
‘It is from where I’m standing,’ I say, as Rocket shoots through Sullie’s legs and launches himself at a boy called Mitch, unbalancing him and knocking him to the ground. ‘He’s our best striker; our secret weapon!’
Sullie folds his arms, a few of the others behind him. Mitch, still sprawled on the grass, is being licked to death by Rocket.
‘I’m red-carding you, Ryan,’ Sullie says. ‘Next time, don’t bring the dog.’
Honestly, some people have no sense of humour.
‘See you after the match,’ Buzz calls. ‘Hang around, mate – once we’ve thrashed these losers, we can go have some fun. Meet you in the cafe – you can get the Cokes in!’
I just laugh and haul Rocket away, heading for the cafe. ‘You’re a liability, mutt,’ I tell him. ‘A menace. Bit like me …’
I’m almost at the park cafe when I see Eden Banks walking across the grass. She looks different – she’s striding along, swinging a couple of New Look carrier bags, her steps light. Her head is thrown back, as if she’s looking at the blue summer sky, lost in some kind of a happy dream. I remember how beautiful she looks when she’s smiling, how her face lights up from inside.
I haven’t seen her look like this since – well, not since the Heart Club broke into pieces. The sight is so bizarre that I falter and stall and come to a complete standstill.
It’s almost like seeing the old Eden again.
Rocket looks up at me like he can’t work me out at all, and then his eyes follow mine and he catches sight of Eden. His ears prick up and cogs are clearly turning in his doggy brain, because the next minute he pulls away from me and he’s off, the lead trailing behind him.
‘Rocket!’ I yell. ‘Rocket, come back!’
He ignores me, ploughing right through the middle of a carefully planted flower bed of big yellow daisy-like flowers.
‘Rocket! No!’
It’s no good, though. There are moments when Rocket lives up to his name, and this is one of them. What is going through his mind? Ice cream, I realize. He is quite a smart dog, when you think about it.
I decide to change tack.
‘Eden!’ I yell. ‘Eden, watch out!’
It’s too late, of course.
I see her snap out of the dream, her face turning towards me. Then she spots Rocket, rampaging across the grass, and before she has a chance he launches himself at her, toppling her over on to the ground.
I cringe. The Eden I know these days will not be impressed with such an unbridled display of affection.
I break into a sprint, closing the distance between us, but by the time I reach them, Eden is laughing and stroking Rocket. His tail is swishing back and forth like crazy, like a windscreen wiper on overdrive.
I launch into a whole bunch of apologies.
‘Sorry – he doesn’t mean it; he’s overenthusiastic. Badly trained, I suppose. That’s my fault. We got thrown out of dog-training classes, me for smoking round the back of the church hall, Rocket for stealing a whole trayful of dog treats …’
‘You’re a walking disaster zone, aren’t you?’ she says, looking up at me. ‘What were you smoking for?’
I shrug. ‘It was a phase I was going through. A short phase. I suppose the bad rep made it more appealing, but I stopped in the end because it was too expensive. Also, it made my fingers go yellow and my breath got stinky. Bad times.’
‘I’ll say,’ Eden agrees, getting to her feet and gathering up her carrier bags.
‘Well, sorry again,’ I say. ‘Rocket gets carried away.’
‘It’s never the dogs, always the owners,’ she comments, which seems a little harsh. ‘He’s a nice dog, actually. Friendly.’
‘So am I,’ I point out. ‘Although not a dog, obviously. I’m human. Slightly accident-prone, attracted to trouble, but basically well-meaning and almost always friendly.’
Eden sighs, unimpressed.
‘Tell that to the little old lady you threw a javelin at,’ she says with a sniff.
‘That story was wildly exaggerated,’ I argue. ‘In my defence, the javelin went into the pond. The pond had no fish; nobody was scared or harmed. And the little old lady and me are best mates now, as a matter of fact. I’ve been tidying up her garden for her. I don’t suppose you have access to a strimmer, do you? Or a hedge trimmer?’
‘You’re weird,’ she says.
‘You and me both,’ I retaliate. ‘Embrace it, Eden. Weird is the new cool.’
She pats Rocket again, throws me a disdainful glance and walks away, shoulders back, carrier bags swinging. There is a definite spring in her step; I can see it.
‘Hey – are you going to Lara’s party tomorrow?’ I shout after her. ‘Hope so! See you there, Eden!’
‘Not if I see you first,’ she yells over her shoulder, and I have a feeling she means it.
22
Eden
It’s Friday, and Mum reminds me she won’t be home till late; she’s going out with Jo and the girls after work.
‘I’m going out, too,’ I say. ‘A party at Lara’s house. You remember Lara, from primary?’
Mum’s eyes open wide, as if I’ve just told her I will be headlining at Glastonbury.
‘A party?’ she echoes. ‘You’re going to a party?’
‘Yep, that’s right. You were saying earlier in the week that I should get out more, mix with people a bit. I just decided you were right, that’s all!’
Mum is floundering, ‘But … oh, Eden, that’s brilliant, really, but when will you be back? Who will you be with? Do you need a lift home? I wish you’d mentioned it earlier!’
‘It was kind of a last-minute decision,’ I say. ‘I knew you were going out, so I decided I’d get brave and go. I thought you’d be pleased!’
‘I am pleased! What are you going to we
ar? Shall I meet you afterwards, bring you home?’
‘It’s all sorted, Mum,’ I tell her. ‘I bought a few bits yesterday in town with my birthday money, and I’m going with a friend. I think we’re getting a lift back, but if not, I’ll text you, OK?’
‘Which friend?’
Mum’s face is shining with relief and happiness, and I know that a mention of Andie would wipe that smile clean away. A little white lie won’t hurt, will it?
‘I’m going with Chloe and Flick and Ima,’ I say. ‘They’re lovely – you’d like them.’
‘Oh! OK! Well, then, have a great time, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘I’m so pleased you’re going, really I am – I’m proud of you, Eden. You’ll have fun, you wait and see!’
I’m not having fun a few hours later, though. My hair is coated with sticky dye and wrapped in tinfoil to avoid drips. While I’m helpless, Andie is painting my nails a rich turquoise shade, complete with glitter sprinkles.
I feel like Cinderella being transformed for the ball. The way Andie is going, nobody will even recognize me, but that idea is strangely exhilarating. I imagine myself running away on the last stroke of midnight, leaving one solitary Converse trainer on the garden path. ‘Who was that girl?’ they will ask themselves. ‘Where did she come from?’
An alarm starts to buzz on my phone and Andie drags me back to the sink to wash away the hair dye. When she’s finished, she shows me how to blow-dry my hair upside down, scrunching to make the most of the waves. My hair feels strange, but she drapes a towel over the mirror so I can’t check on progress, then takes the straighteners from my dressing table and drops them in the bin. I fish them out again, exasperated, and hide them in a drawer.
‘Your hair is perfect just the way it is – or was, before your dodgy Goth phase,’ Andie scolds. ‘And now we’ve staged a rescue, you have to resist the temptation to dye it black and straighten it. Seriously, I’m all for experiments, and Goth can look awesome, but I’m telling you the truth here. It didn’t suit you, Eden. You looked like Morticia from the Addams Family!’
Broken Heart Club Page 8
