Golden Girl

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Can I pass on a message?’ she asked.

  ‘No, er, yes, er . . . I’m so sorry, Mrs Lewis, but my dad says I can’t come to India with you, and Pia’s mum won’t let her go either.’

  Mrs Lewis sounded surprised. ‘You can’t come? Is there a problem?’

  ‘No problem, that is . . . well, it’s just that we have our GCSEs coming up and our parents say we have to study.’

  ‘Study? Is that right?’ She paused as if thinking for a second. ‘Yes, of course, exams are important.’

  ‘I’ve tried everything,’ I said. I felt awful. It was so generous of Mr and Mrs Lewis to have asked us. I hated having to say no.

  ‘Hey, hon, I’ve got to go, my other line’s ringing,’ said Mrs Lewis. ‘I’ll tell JJ you called.’

  She hung up and my mobile rang straight afterwards. It was Gran. She was with my Aunt Maddie.

  ‘Want to come over?’ she asked.

  ‘Can’t. Can’t go anywhere, Gran. Dad wants to lock me up forever,’ I said and I filled her in on the whole morning.

  ‘Is that right?’ she said, then came out with exactly the same line as Mrs Lewis. ‘Exams are important.’

  She didn’t seem bothered that my hopes had been dashed either.

  ‘Hey, P,’ I said. ‘Seems no-one cares that we’ve just been given the best offer of our whole lives and we’ve had to turn it down. It’s a total bummer. No way am I going to study today. I’m going to rebel.’

  ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘Let’s run away. Er . . . but maybe not forever, just for today. See, even though I hate her, Mum’s doing a roast for lunch tomorrow and I can’t miss that.’

  ‘OK, we’ll be back later today, then.’

  ‘We’re going to have to sneak out,’ said Pia. ‘Mum’s at the spa but she thinks I’m working at home.’

  ‘And Dad thinks I’m at yours working with you.’

  ‘But we do deserve at least one Saturday off, so come on.’ Pia stood up and pointed outside. ‘To the gate.’

  I went to join her. ‘And beyond.’

  We snuck out and were halfway to the tube station when the heavens opened and it began to pour with rain. Neither of us had an umbrella, so our hair was plastered to our faces in minutes and our jackets and jeans were soaked through.

  I turned my face up to the sky. ‘Hey, God, if you’re up there. We could be in India where the sun shines. Can’t you do anything?’

  Pia trudged on past me. ‘I am so miserable,’ she droned. ‘I am queen of miserableness, in fact.’

  I plodded after her. ‘Me too. What is our life? Trapped at home with two mean prison warders or out here in the rain getting soaked to the skin?’

  Pia’s mobile rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the number. ‘It’s prison warder number one. Mum. What shall I do?’

  ‘Ignore it,’ I said, as my mobile rang. It was prison warder number two. Dad. I ignored him too.

  As we walked along the road getting wetter by the second, I started to feel anxious. If Dad had realised I wasn’t working at Pia’s, he’d be well mad and I didn’t want to suffer the Wrath of Mr Strictie-Pants for the whole holiday. Pia glanced at me. I could tell she was thinking the same thing.

  ‘We’re going to be so grounded,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we’d better take the calls, then go back, otherwise we might never be allowed out for the rest of the holidays.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly. We need to handle your mum and my dad right if we’re to get any time off for good behaviour.’ When my phone rang again seconds later, I answered. ‘Dad. Hi.’

  ‘Where do you think you are?’

  ‘I think, in fact I know, where I am. I’m on the pavement outside the chemist’s.’

  ‘Less of the cheek, Jess. And what are you doing there when you should be studying – and is Pia with you?’

  I glanced in the window. I had to think fast. ‘Fish oils! We’re getting fish oils. Gran said they improve your brain-power.’

  Pia gave me a thumbs-up then took the call from her mum. She gave her the same explanation.

  After we’d squirmed our way out of not being at home with our books, we started to head back to Porchester Park.

  ‘Let’s do the misery shuffle,’ said Pia and she drooped her shoulders, turned the corners of her mouth down and walked really slowly, dragging her feet. I followed along behind, my right hand on her shoulder, as if we were in a chain gang with manacles around our ankles. ‘Woe, O woe,’ I droned.

  Pia joined in the droning with me. ‘Woe, O woe,’ she groaned.

  ‘Let’s do it in Russian,’ I said.

  ‘Voe, voe, oh voe,’ we chorused in our best Russian accents.

  A few passers-by stared at us which set me off laughing. Of course this only egged Pia on. She made herself look even sadder and she dragged herself forward like she had the cares of the whole world on her shoulders.

  ‘Cheer up, love,’ called a bald man from his van. ‘It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘It is,’ called Pia after him as he drove on. ‘You have no idea.’

  By this time, I was creased up laughing. ‘Life’s too short to be miserable,’ I said. ‘Come on, my strange little friend. I have an idea. Let’s get home and get dry, then I’ll tell you what it is.’

  As soon as we got back to my house, I got out a takeaway menu and ordered chicken curry, rice and lentils. Dad always lets us have a takeaway of some sort at the weekend so he couldn’t object. I ran upstairs to get two towels to dry our hair and, while I was up there, I grabbed the sandalwood joss sticks that I bought at Camden Lock a few weeks before. A quick stop in Charlie’s room to find a CD and I was almost ready. Back into my room to rummage under the bed and I had what I was looking for – two long pieces of shiny red curtain fabric. I took my load downstairs and put the CD on. Charlie had music from every country in the world and this was his Bollywood compilation. As the vibrant music began to pulsate through the room, I threw Pia a piece of fabric and a towel. She got the idea straightaway and we both wound the fabric around us sari-style, then wrapped our hair in the towels to make turbans. She whipped out a lipstick from her bag and put a red spot on my forehead and one on her own. I lit the joss stick and soon the sweet, woody scent filled the room. ‘If we can’t go to India, then India can come to us! Curry’s on its way and maybe we can find a Bollywood movie on one of the channels on telly later.’

  Pia wasn’t listening. The music had got to her and she was too busy rotating her hips, stomping her feet and waving her arms in the air as she sang along to the CD at the top of her voice. ‘Om shanti om.’

  ‘Om shanti om,’ I joined in. We soon had a routine worked out. It was pretty good too. Thrust chest forward, wiggle, side-step, side-step, jump, stomp, push hands forward in the palm position and yell, ‘OM SHANTI OM.’ Turn, wiggle, arms up right, arms up left, stomp to the music. ‘OM SHANTI OM.’

  ‘What does om shanti mean?’ I shouted over the music.

  ‘Sort of “yo, peace, babe”,’ Pia called back.

  We didn’t hear the door open, nor Dad come in. ‘TURN DOWN THIS RACKET!’ he bawled and went over to the player and turned the music off.

  He was with Gran and Aunt Maddie who both had puzzled expressions on their faces.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ asked Dad, as Gran and Aunt Maddie took off their raincoats and hung them by the door. ‘You could probably hear that music as far down the road as Harrods.’

  I tried to straighten my face and look serious but a quick glance at Pia and I could see that she was having a hard time not cracking up. Her shoulders were beginning to shake with suppressed laughter as they always did when she knew she had to keep it together.

  ‘Um, homework,’ I spluttered, as Pia had a coughing fit next to me.

  ‘And what kind of homework involves dressing up in the curtains and screaming your head off?’ Dad persisted.

  ‘They were just letting off steam, weren’t you, girls?’ Gran intervened, ever
the peacemaker. Just like my mum used to, she liked a bit of Bollywood and I bet she would have joined in if Dad hadn’t turned the music off.

  ‘And I thought their movements were good,’ said Aunt Maddie, just as there was a knock at the door. She did a few impressive hip wiggles herself which wasn’t surprising because she did Egyptian dancing at night classes.

  Dad wasn’t amused. He went to the door to find Mrs Lewis standing there. ‘Ah. Yes. Come in,’ he said.

  Mrs Lewis stepped inside. She always looked so effortlessly glamorous with perfect glossy hair and, today, a black trouser suit. She seemed rather out of place in our messy house. But she took one look at us and burst out laughing. ‘Ah, getting ready for the trip, I see.’

  ‘Er . . . no, just . . .’ How could I explain? I always danced about like a demented whirling dervish and dressed up in the curtains on Saturdays? Probably not. And anyway, what was she on about? The trip was off.

  Dad looked at Pia and me. ‘Sit down, both of you,’ he said.

  Oh, here it comes, I thought. Grounded. Another lecture on the joys of studying.

  Pia and I sat down at the breakfast bar and took the towels off our heads. I almost burst out laughing again because Pia’s hair was standing straight up in wet clumps as if she’d gelled it.

  Aunt Maddie, Gran and Mrs Lewis stood in a line next to Dad.

  Dad sat on a stool at the bar with Pia and me and sighed. ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he said, and looked at the three very different women standing in front of him. Gran with her white bob, dressed in a turquoise tunic and jeans; Aunt Maddie with her chestnut hair, green cardigan and velvet skirt and Mrs Lewis, all chic and smart. ‘It seems I’ve been ganged up on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Mrs Lewis came to see me after you’d gone out today. She’s promised to personally oversee your studies each morning and make sure that you’re never out without their minder.’

  Mrs Lewis nodded. ‘Our security is the best there is and I know it would mean a lot to Alisha and JJ to have your company.’

  I glanced hopefully at Pia. ‘And your grandmother and aunt were on the phone in an instant after you’d spoken to them.’ He held up his hands. ‘I give up. One female I could possibly argue with, but three? And these three? All assuring me that they know that exams are important but so is this trip. I can’t win. All of them insist that you go to India. It’s apparently an opportunity of a lifetime that can’t be missed. What can I say?’

  I could hardly breathe. ‘You could say yes. Have you said yes, Dad?’

  Dad nodded. ‘I have, Jess. You can go.’

  I was aware of Pia sitting next to me. He’d said I could go! ‘What about—’ I began.

  ‘And you can go too, Pia,’ Dad continued. ‘I’ve spoken with your mother and so has Mrs Lewis. She’s agreed to let you go too but you must both give me your word, and I mean it, that you won’t neglect your studies.’

  ‘We promise,’ we chorused as I flicked the music back on and got up to dance the Bollywood stomp again. This time Gran joined in. A knock at the door distracted me and, when I went to open it, there was a disgruntled-looking Grace with two brown paper bags. ‘I believe someone ordered a takeaway,’ she said, and wrinkled her nose in disgust as she handed the aromatic bags over to us. ‘It was delivered to reception.’ She looked over at Dad. ‘Which is not the place for takeaways!’

  ‘No. Sorry, Grace,’ said Dad. ‘It won’t happen again, will it, Jess?’

  ‘No. Sorry,’ I said as I took the curry from her. ‘It should have come to the side gate. Mmmm.’ I turned back inside when she’d gone. ‘Brilliant. So, who’s for a samosa?’ Not even having upset Grace could spoil my mood now.

  Hah, I thought, as Pia grinned at me. Thank you, Gran. Thank you, Aunt Maddie. Thank you, Mrs Lewis. Sometimes I love Dad’s motto. What a resident wants, a resident gets. Yay! India, here we come!

  ‘The Lewis family are bound to fly first class but I expect we’ll be at the back,’ said Pia. ‘Which is OK for me because I’m titchy but you might feel cramped after ten or eleven hours sitting with your knees tucked into your chest.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ I said, as I packed the last of my toiletries. ‘I’m just so excited to be going.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Pia, ‘but I hope we get some sleep otherwise we’re going to be zonkerooed when we get there.’

  The past week had been a whirlwind of activity. Getting Pia’s passport renewed. Getting our visas fast-tracked. Planning our wardrobes – it was going to be hot, hot, hot over in India. And trying to fit in some study time amidst it all to keep Dad happy. Though it was hard to focus on schoolwork when all I could think about was the trip away.

  ‘Us in Rajasthan . . . I still can’t believe we’re really going!’ I said. Just saying the word ‘Rajasthan’ conjured up a rush of exotic images in my mind.

  I felt bad saying goodbye to Charlie because I was getting this mega treat and he was left behind in the UK, but he was cool about it. More than cool, actually – I could tell he wasn’t going to miss me one bit! On the evening that we were leaving to get the night flight, he was in such a hurry to get out the house to meet my friend Flo, he hardly even said goodbye. They were off to see a movie. He and Flo got together recently, though she’s had a crush on him for years. Pia felt guilty leaving Henry too, but he insisted that he wouldn’t have it any other way, as long as she didn’t try to get off with any Indian princes or attempt to impress people with her Bollywood dancing. He did ask her to bring him back a suitcase full of presents, though.

  Alexei came down to join the others in waving us off before heading off on his own trip to Paris. I could tell that he still wished he was coming with us. He stood in the forecourt with Dad, Pia’s mum and Henry, as we got ready to get into the waiting Mercedes limo.

  Henry started messing about and pretending to cry, so Pia thumped him. ‘Ow,’ he said.

  ‘It’s how I show affection,’ she said, and gave him a big hug. Henry is built like a rugby player and Pia looks tiny beside him, but despite the difference in height, they make a great-looking couple: Henry with his square jaw and open face and Pia with her pretty pixie features.

  I gave Dad a hug, then turned to Alexei. ‘Find me an Indian princess,’ he whispered.

  Pia, who never missed a thing, turned to him and squeezed his arm. ‘What good would she be to you in India, you dozo?’

  ‘Dozo? Vot is dozo?’ he asked.

  ‘You are. Not thinking straight,’ said Pia. She pointed at her head. ‘What good would she be in India?’

  ‘My parents have private plane. No problem,’ he replied, then grinned. ‘So not so dozo.’

  I laughed. It really is another world for the Porchester Park residents.

  Any feelings of remorse at leaving Dad and the boys disappeared as soon as we got into the car. As Mr Lewis was already in India, it was just Alisha, JJ, Mrs Lewis, Pia and me sitting back in the sumptuous leather seats as the limo purred its way through the dark streets to the airport. Another car had whisked away Vanya and our luggage and I couldn’t help but be pleased to see the back of the canvas suitcase I had borrowed from Aunt Maddie. It looked so tatty in comparison to the expensive matching cases of the Lewis family. But I didn’t dwell on it.

  Pia and I had made a pact that we weren’t going to stress about what they had and what we didn’t. It was just a fact. They were loaded and we weren’t, and we weren’t going to let that spoil our holiday. As soon as we’d started packing for the trip, we’d realised that our swimming stuff was pretty shabby, we’d outgrown most of our summer clothes from last year and anything new that we’d bought had come from a sale or a second-hand shop. After an afternoon of meltdown we realised that we had a choice. Go on holiday with the Lewises and feel like the poor relations the whole time or go along and have a blast. Having a blast won.

  ‘They’re not inviting us for our money or our clothes, babe,’ said Pia when she saw me counting u
p my pocket money and the bit of cash Gran, Dad and Aunt Maddie had given me for the trip. ‘They invited us because we’re good, fun people. They like us and we like them.’

  I’d been worried that we’d have to contribute to meals or trips out and would never be able to keep up, but Pia said that none of that mattered. Her attitude was that having good pals is what makes us the richest people on the planet, not how much cash we have. I was so glad she was coming with me.

  I’d flown before but only short hops to Europe when Mum was still alive. I love travelling and airports, cruising the shops in anticipation of the flight, picking out a book or magazine to read on the journey, and I was looking forward to that stage of the trip. Also, I still hadn’t found a birthday present for JJ so I was hoping to get him something in duty free.

  It was a quiet car ride. Pia texted Henry, Alisha texted her mates in LA, Mrs Lewis was busy on her iPad and JJ had a Kindle so was reading one of the many books he’d downloaded to pass the time, books about Udaipur and the history of India. He looked over at me every now and again and smiled. At one point, he got out his phone and sent me a text saying one word.

  Later.

  I smiled back at him. I knew what he meant. We’d have time alone when we got to India. It gave me a happy glow inside that he’d texted the message. It felt like we had a secret and that, although we were with other people, there was something private happening between the two of us. I was also glad to see that the Lewises had dressed down for the flight in casual clothes and trainers – albeit pale pink Calvin Klein casuals in Alisha’s case, and black and grey Armani in JJ’s. Pia and I had wondered if we ought to wear our best clothes to travel in but, in the end, we’d worn jeans and T-shirts, figuring that if we wore our best, it would only get creased. So far, so good and no fashion faux pas.

  ‘What time does our flight leave?’ I asked Mrs Lewis.

  ‘When we get to the airport,’ she replied.

  ‘I see,’ I replied, none the wiser.

  As we reached the motorway and began passing signs for Heathrow I felt another rush of excitement. I could tell that Pia was feeling the same. She squeezed my hand and whispered, ‘And so our adventure begins!’