Cartoons blocked out for animation.
Cartoons showing all the emotions: happy, sad, sleepy, angry, determined, shocked, concerned, sheepish, gloomy. There are techniques to showing what someone’s feeling in a cartoon and they don’t take long to learn. It’s just a question of where you put the eyebrows sometimes. High on the forehead for surprised. Low and angled in towards the nose for angry. I’d put a few of them in, I decided, as they showed that I’d grasped the techniques.
I had a good collection of work. There was just one element that was missing. Caricatures. We’d only done a couple of classes on them so far and they are the most difficult of all to do.
‘People can either do these or not,’ said Mr Barnes. ‘Lots of famous cartoonists shy away from them so don’t be discouraged if it’s not your bag.’
There were a few pages of my feeble attempts at caricaturing other pupils in my class, but nothing I could put into my portfolio with any confidence. Then I remembered, there was one. It was a drawing I’d done of Gran when she started going to line dancing. I’d drawn her dressed as a cowgirl complete with boots, stetson and a lasso. I was worried about showing it to her in case she was insulted, but she loved it and hung it in the downstairs loo. She’s a right character, is my gran. She’s in her sixties but she’s not one of these stay-at-home oldies who are in every night by the telly with their cocoa and their knitting. No. She’s out most nights. Line dancing on Monday. Bridge on Tuesday. She works in the library Wednesday. Does a mobile library on Thursday. Pilates on Friday, runs a craft stall on Saturday and goes rambling with a group on Sundays. I couldn’t keep up with her. Though sometimes I wonder if the fact that she’s out so much is due to the fact that Mum, Jade and I have taken over her house.
I was so absorbed in sorting my work into piles that I didn’t hear Mum come in.
‘What’s all this?’ she asked.
‘Oh. Work. Getting my portfolio together.’
‘What for? I would have thought you had ages before you needed to get this ready.’
No time like the present, I thought as I took a deep breath and told her about my conversation with Roz.
She sat on the end of the bed. ‘Sounds good. So will they send you some photos of these people so that you can work from them?’
‘I haven’t got the job yet, Mum. I have to go and pitch. Have to go to London. But it will be brilliant on my CV for applying to college.’
‘No doubt. Sounds professional. Serious. And Mr Williams has a great reputation. Well, I suppose you could go at half-term as you were planning to go and see your father then, anyway.’
‘That will be too late. I have to go this weekend.’
‘This weekend? No. You’ve only just gone back to school. Absolutely not.’
‘But I have to . . .’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Gran, appearing in the hallway. She must be back from line dancing, I thought, as she spotted my work. ‘Can I come in and look?’
Before waiting for an answer, she was in and, with a creak, was kneeling down to examine my work.
‘Mac wants to go to London this weekend,’ said Mum and proceeded to fill Gran in on the story, as if I wasn’t there.
And then Jade walked in to join them. ‘What’s all this mess?’ she said as she plonked herself next to Mum on my bed and looked over my work. I winced – normally, I don’t like my family looking at my work and giving their opinions, and now here were three of them sifting through it like it was public property, while Gran filled Jade in.
‘If he’s going I’m going,’ she said. ‘Roz was more my friend than his.’
‘He’s not going,’ said Mum.
‘I think you should let him go,’ said Gran. ‘Not often opportunities like this present themselves.’
‘There’s no way he can go. He’s just back at school.’
‘But it’s the weekend,’ said Gran. ‘Be up and back in no time.’
‘I’d love a weekend up in London,’ said Jade. ‘We could both stay at Dad’s or with Roz.’
‘He has homework. This is GCSE year. And he wasted enough time on the film set at Easter,’ said Mum.
‘He could do it on the train,’ said Gran. ‘Three hours there, three hours back. He could get a ton done.’
‘And you’re not going either, Jade. No need to pout like that. I’ve said no to both of you and that’s my final word.’
Three generations of mad women and I have to live with them, I thought, as I watched them squabbling between themselves. What did I ever do to deserve this? Three generations of knickers in the laundry room, cosmetics in the bathroom, girlie CDs on the sound system. A weekend with my dad and my mates was just what I needed. Some solid male company.
‘No, Mac,’ said Mum as the three of them finally remembered that I was there and turned to me. ‘That’s my final word.’
‘You go, Mac,’ said Gran. ‘Show them what you’ve got.’
‘And I’m coming with you,’ said Jade.
‘And where would you get the train fare? I’m not made of money,’ said Mum.
‘It’s your birthday soon. I’ll give it to you,’ said Gran. ‘Early present.’
‘Shall I check out train times?’ asked Jade.
A drawing was beginning to form in my head. I wanted them out of the room so that I could start it. My gran, my mum and my sister as the three mad witches in Macbeth. Hubble bubble, toil and trouble. Three mad blondes. One old, one young, one in the middle. The three of them cackling and stirring a big pot over a fire. And sitting in that pot was me . . .
When I’d finally got rid of them, I tried Dad’s number but it was on answerphone. I tried his mobile but it was on voicemail. I didn’t leave a message as I knew he’d agree to let me stay. He was the easy part of the deal. Being an artist himself, he was bound to see the opportunity and he’d always been supportive of my work.
I began to draw the three witches. Just as I’d sketched Mum, Gran popped her head round the door and gave me the thumbs up.
‘Sorted,’ she said and handed me fifty pounds.
‘Wow. Thanks. But how?’
Gran tapped her nose. ‘I have my ways.’
I laughed. ‘Thanks, Gran.’
‘You just get up there and show them what you can do. If it’s anything like my “lasso lady in the loo”, you’re in business.’
Brilliant, I thought as she closed the door. London, here I come.
‘TOM MACEY. ARE YOU AWAKE?’
It sounded as if someone was breaking my door down so I pulled my duvet over my head and snuggled down deeper into bed.
‘I’m up. I’m up. And I’m not deaf.’
I heard Mum’s sarcastic snort and footsteps retreating. I poked my head out of the covers and glanced at the clock. Oops. Overslept. I hauled myself out of bed and stepped carefully over the mass of drawings and collection of used mugs that were still all over the floor from last night. Over on my desk was the drawing of the three witches of Anderton. Jade would kill me if anyone from school saw it. Heh, heh, I thought as I let myself out of my room and padded along the wooden floor to the bathroom. I could get to like this caricature business. It was a great way to let off steam.
Mum was busy feeding a couple of B&B guests in the dining room when I got down, so I took my mobile, went out the french windows in the living room and into the back garden where I could phone Dad in private. He picked up immediately.
‘Dad. It’s me.’
‘Mac. How are you?’
‘Fine. You?’
‘Fine. It’s rather early to be calling. Where are you?’
‘Sitting under the rose pergola at Gran’s.’
‘Something the matter?’
‘No. Well, yes. I need to talk to you about something.’
‘Oh . . . Can it wait? I’m just about to take Tamara to school.’
I couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy. He never used to take Jade or me to school when we were up there and we’re his real kids.
‘Won’t take a moment,’ I said and quickly filled him in on the cartooning job.
‘Sounds good. You go for it. Look . . .’
‘I will. I’ve started drawings already. But can I stay at yours? Saturday? I know Tamara’s in the spare room but I can crash in your office or on the sofa.’
There was an awkward silence at the other end of the phone. ‘Oh, Mac. Any other weekend, but Tamara’s got a sleepover planned for this Saturday. Eight mates, God help us. There will be bodies everywhere. Isn’t there anywhere else you could stay? Max or Andy? One of your old pals?’
Yeah right, I thought. Like I’m going to tell them that my own father won’t put me up. It would be one thing asking my mates to meet up in the day, another having to admit that I’d been usurped by an eight-year-old.
‘Not really.’
‘Listen, son, I really do have to get going. You know what these school runs are like. Sonia will kill me if I’m late.’
‘OK. Er . . . Dad. Just one more thing. I . . . I . . . You know this is GCSE year. I wanted to put something to you. I’ll be quick. I want to apply to colleges in London. What about I stay with you for my A-level years? No need to decide this morning. Just think about it?’
Another awkward silence. ‘A-levels?’ he said after a few moments. ‘Doesn’t time fly? But ... bit short of space up here, you know that. Look. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. We’ll talk about it in the half-term when you come up. Things might be different by then. Have you talked to your mother about it?’
‘No.’
‘Right . . . OK. Got to fly. We’ll talk about it. I’ll call you.’
Yeah sure, I thought as I put the phone down. Message received loud and clear. I’m not wanted there. Talk about let down. I felt totally deflated. Ah well, I told myself as I shuffled back into the house to grab my school bag, maybe I’ll just buy a new pair of jeans with the fifty quid Gran gave me. I need a new pair.
‘You’ve got to go for it, man,’ said Squidge after I’d filled him in at break at school. You’d be mental not to.’
‘Nah. Roz would have me for breakfast if I stayed there. You don’t know her. One of those girls who will always get their way. She’ll probably be prime minister by the time she’s thirty.’
‘And your dad said no to you being up there for your A-levels?’
‘Dad never says no exactly. He just gives vague answers until you give up trying. Mum, on the other hand, gives you a ten-point plan of action. No wonder they split up. I think Dad’s indecisiveness was one of the reasons Mum got so fed up him. She found it took less time to do things herself while he dilly-dallied about making up his mind. Trouble was, in the end, she was doing everything. Accounts, main breadwinner, running the house. My theory is that that is why he had the affair. He felt emasculated.’
‘Ooh, get you and your big words,’ said Squidge.
‘No. Seriously. I read about it in one of Gran’s Good Housekeeping mags. An article about how when women become the main earners, it can leave their men feeling like failures and often leads to them going astray to assert their masculinity.’
Squidge cracked up. ‘Since when have you been reading Good Housekeeping?’
I punched his arm. ‘Well, there’s bugger all else to do down here in the winter.’
‘Oh, get a life, saddo,’ said Squidge. ‘Someone offers you a chance like this and you’re acting like a limp lettuce. Oh, my dad doesn’t want me, oh, my mum’s an ogre.’
‘Talking of which,’ I said as I pulled my latest drawing out of my bag, ‘I have something to show you. What do you think?’
He took the paper and laughed out loud. ‘Brilliant. Hey, Mac, this is seriously good. Has Jade seen it?’
‘No way. She’d kill me.’
Squidge scrutinised the drawing carefully. ‘No, mate. I mean it. This is good. You have to go to London. So this girl double dared you, did she?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yeah.’
‘And you know the rules . . .’
‘A trillion years bad luck if I don’t do it.’
‘I was going to say a million but I guess as it’s a double dare, she’s probably right, a trillion. Listen. Do a few more drawings like this and I reckon you’ll be in with a good chance. I know caricature is hard but it looks like you have the knack. Draw everyone we know. And do a few of famous people so the editor bloke can see how good you are.’
It was great having Squidge to talk to about stuff like this. I respect his opinion and he understands. He wants to do photography or film directing when he leaves school and although they are different mediums to cartooning, he knows about capturing images in different ways. We have great plans about going to the same college and getting a babe magnet flat with a pinball and juke box and loads of people passing through (mainly girls). I could feel my enthusiasm beginning to return.
‘Yeah, good idea. Do a few celebs. If I pick a few with strong features, they shouldn’t be hard to do.’
‘Yeah, like Prince Charles with his sticky-out ears.’
‘Or Brad Pitt with his strong jaw.’
Squidge knew the rules as I did. With caricature, you took someone’s features and exaggerated the hell out of them. The ones that worked best were of people with easily identifiable features like Jack Nicholson with his mad eyebrows, Michael Jackson with his high hair line and tiny nose or Mick Jagger with his wide rubbery lips. The hard ones to do were of people with even features or bland faces as there was nothing to take to extremes.
Suddenly, I smacked my forehead. ‘Carumba. I’ve just had the most brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of it before? Roz said that there was loads of room at her parents’ house. You could come too. Be my chaperone in case Roz gets any funny ideas. You up for it? You must have some money left from working on the film set. What do you say? I could show you London.’
Squidge didn’t hesitate. ‘Yeah. Sure. I’d have to ask Mum and Dad but, hey, yeah, I’d love it. Just what we need after a first week back at school.’
‘Cool. So staying at Dad’s is out? Who needs him? We revert to plan B. You call your folks. And I’ll call Roz.’
We quickly got on to our mobiles and five minutes later, Squidge was smiling.
‘Result?’ I asked.
‘Result. Took a bit of persuasion but everyone has their price.’
‘Which is?’
‘I promised to babysit Amy next week. You have any luck?’
‘Left a message on her voicemail. Shouldn’t be a problem though. She said there was loads of room. And she’ll love you.’
Excellent, I thought as the bell rang and we went back into class. Having Squidge for company would make the journey all the more enjoyable, and he’d be a safety buffer between Roz and me.
I spent the rest of the day sketching teachers in my notepad when they weren’t looking. By the time we were let out in the afternoon, I had one of Mr Barnes looking like an overstuffed and smiley little mouse, one of Mr Daley sitting on the branch of a tree looking like an angry eagle and one of Mrs Ross looking like a frog with big bulging eyes behind her glasses.
My interview material was coming together nicely.
‘So what’s all this about a trip to London?’ asked Becca, appearing out of nowhere as I stood at the bus stop after school.
‘Oh, hey, Becca,’ I said, suddenly realising that I hadn’t thought about her all day. How was I supposed to behave? ‘Yeah. Squidge and me.’
‘And who’s this Roz?’
The Asian flu has been spreading as usual, I thought, as I tried to decide what to tell her. No doubt, Squidge had told Lia, Lia told Cat, Cat told Becca. Same old story. Just at that moment, my mobile rang. It was Roz. She sounded flustered.
‘Mac. I’m so sorry. When I told Mum you might be coming last night she went into a panic. Apparently, she’s invited a pile of people this weekend. Hadn’t got round to telling Dad. I’m so sorry. I’d love to meet Squidge. I could book him into a hotel if you like?’
That cracked me up. ‘Doubt if he’d have that kind of money, Roz.’
‘But you can still stay if you don’t mind sleeping on the sofa-bed in the office downstairs.’
‘Let me talk to Squidge.’
‘Call me tonight.’
‘OK.
‘About eight.’
‘OK.’
I clicked my phone shut to see that Becca had been listening in.
‘So was that her?’
I nodded.
‘Well, you don’t waste any time, do you?’ she said, pouting.
Oh God, I thought. She’s upset. Maybe she regrets having dumped me.
She flicked her hair and gave me a flirtatious look. Oh God, I thought in a sudden panic. She wants me back.
‘Roz is an old mate. I’m maybe going to be staying with her.’
‘And how old is she?’
‘Your age.’
Becca looked miffed so I put my arm around her. ‘She’s not a patch on you,’ I said, to try and make her feel better. ‘You don’t need to think I’ll be getting off with her.’
Becca wriggled away from my arm. ‘Oh, but I think you should,’ she said. ‘I’ve been feeling sooo responsible since yesterday. Another girl will help you get over me so I just wanted to say, you carry on. Don’t worry about me at all.’
Jesus almighty. Talk about ego. If there was an Olympic prize for it, Becca would win the gold.
‘Thanks I will,’ I said. If she was going to be like that about it, then I wasn’t going to tell her that the truth was that Roz was no way fanciable.
Luckily, we were saved by the bus and as it came round the corner, Squidge came flying out of the school gates and we both exited fast.
‘Girls,’ I said as we sat at the back. ‘I’ll never get what goes on in their strange heads.’
‘Don’t even try,’ said Squidge. ‘And talking of which, Lia. She wants to come to London with us. So . . . slight change of plan. She’s going to ask her sister, Star, if I can crash at her place in Notting Hill Gate with her. She’s asking her parents tonight.’
‘Do you ever feel that your life is taken over by women?’ I asked.
Squidge rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
Double Dare Page 3
