Cathy Hopkins is the author of the incredibly successful Mates, Dates and Truth, Dare books, and has recently started a fabulous new series called Cinnamon Girl. She lives in North London with her husband and three cats, Molly, Emmylou and Otis.
Cathy spends most of her time locked in a shed at the bottom of the garden pretending to write books but is actually in there listening to music, hippie dancing and talking to her friends on e-mail.
Occasionally she is joined by Molly, the cat who thinks she is a copy-editor and likes to walk all over the keyboard rewriting and deleting any words she doesn’t like.
Emmylou and Otis are new to the household. So far they are as insane as the older one. Their favourite game is to run from one side of the house to the other as fast as possible, then see if they can fly if they leap high enough off the furniture. This usually happens at three o’clock in the morning and they land on anyone who happens to be asleep at the time.
Apart from that, Cathy has joined the gym and spends more time than is good for her making up excuses as to why she hasn’t got time to go.
Thanks as always to Brenda Gardner, Yasemin Uçar and the ever fab team at Piccadilly. To Rosemary Bromley at Juvenilia. And to Georgina Acar, Scott Brenman, Becca Crewe, Alice Elwes, Jenni Herzberg, Rachel Hopkins and Olivia McDonnell for answering all my questions about what it’s like being a teenager these days.
First published in Great Britain in 2003
by Piccadilly Press Ltd,
5 Castle Road, London NW1 8PR
This edition published 2008
Text copyright © Cathy Hopkins, 2003
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978 1 85340 969 1 (paperback)
eISBN: 978 1 84812 284 0
3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Typeset by M Rules, London
Set in Garamond and Fineprint
Cover design by Simon Davis
Cover illustration by Susan Hellard
Contents
1. Valentine’s Day
2. Mystery Admirer?
3. Disco
4. Party Time
5. Picked On
6. A Turn for the Worse
7. First Date
8. Junk Mail?
9. Negotiation Time
10. Teen Queens and Has-beens
11. Becoming Invisible
12. Gutted
13. Vicars and Tarts
14. The Last Straw
15. Role-play Nightmare
16. Real Friends
17. White Flag
18. Kiss
‘POST IS HERE, Lia,’ Mum called as she went past my bedroom.
I looked out of the window to see the post van zooming away down the drive to the left of the house. It was a lovely clear day and the view from my window was stunning. Terraced lawns, then acres of fields leading down to the sea and our private beach. Although I’ve been officially living at home for almost eight months now, opening my curtains in the morning is still a thrill and such a change from the apartment block that I looked out on when I was at boarding school up in London.
‘Be right down,’ I called back, then went into my bathroom to find my make-up bag. I wasn’t in any great hurry to go downstairs. Not today. It was Friday, February 14th. Valentine’s Day. That meant cards and I knew there wouldn’t be any for me.
As I slicked on some lip-gloss, I thought back to this time last year when I was still a boarder. I’d got loads of cards then. I had loads of boyfriends too. Jason, Max, Elliott, Leo, Edward. None of them were major or soulmates or anything serious, just part of the gang that used to hang out together. But there had been dates. And cards. We’d send them to each other just for a laugh or so that no one missed out.
Life is so different since I moved down here to Cornwall. New school, new friends, new everything apart from romance. Not one single date since I changed schools. Hence the lack of expectation when it came to Valentine’s cards.
I pottered around in my room getting ready for school, then my curiosity got the better of me. Maybe there’d be one card from some mysterious stranger who was secretly pining for me. An admirer who will later reveal himself to be the next best thing since pecan fudge ice cream. Yeah, and there’s a yeti living in my fridge, I thought as I grabbed my rucksack and headed downstairs.
Mum was sorting through a pile of envelopes at the counter in the kitchen when I got down. She glanced up and by the look in her eyes, I could tell that I’d been right. Nothing for me.
‘It’s cool,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t expecting any.’
Mum shook her head. ‘They all need their heads examining, these boys down here.’ She pointed at a jug on the counter. ‘I’ve just made some juice. Beetroot, orange and raspberry. Help yourself.’
‘Um, think I’ll stick with plain orange,’ I said going to the fridge and helping myself to a carton.
Juicing is one of Mum’s passions – partly for health reasons, partly for beauty. She’s forty, but only looks thirty, which she puts down to juicing. She says it takes years off people and improves their skin no end. Some of her concoctions are fab, but some of them are strange with a capital S. I looked over at the dark crimson liquid in the juicer. ‘You’re not going to serve that at the party tonight, are you?’
Mum laughed. ‘No. Course not. We’ll be having Bellinis as the theme is Venetian.’
‘That’s champagne and peach juice, isn’t it?’ I knew because my sister Star likes them. She always has a bottle of champagne and a carton of peach juice in the fridge in her tiny flat in Notting Hill. She makes me laugh as sometimes that’s all she has in her fridge and, when I go to stay with her, I have to go and buy proper food myself. It’s not that Star doesn’t eat, she does, it’s just that she eats out most of the time and is hardly ever home.
Mum nodded. ‘There’s a place near St Mark’s Square in Venice called Harry’s Bar. It’s famous for its Bellinis.’
‘Harry’s Bar? Doesn’t sound very Italian. Sounds more like a café in the East End of London.’
‘I know,’ said Mum. ‘But then there’s probably a famous café in the East End called La Dolce Vita that sells the best cup of tea in the city.’
I laughed. Mum was in her element planning parties. If she ever had to work, that would be her perfect job as she’s always throwing a do or planning the next. Always over the top. Always with a theme and always no expense spared. This time, the party planners have been here for weeks recreating Venice for a masked ball to be held in a marquee in the top acre of the garden. I felt like I was living in a hotel with all the catering vans outside and people buzzing about carrying vast flower arrangements, swathes of fabric or lights.
‘Any cards there for the Cornish Casanova?’ I asked.
The Cornish Casanova is my elder brother, Ollie. He boards at school up in London, but he comes back about once a month and has a long list of admirers down here, including my mate, Cat.
Mum counted the cards. ‘Three. But most girls know to send his to his school as he’s there in the week.’
‘I guess,’ I said. ‘In fact, the post office probably had to hire an extra van to cope with the load addressed to him.’ Ollie’s always been a girl magnet. He’s got Mum’s great bone structure and blue eyes but with dark hair lik
e Dad, not blonde like Mum and me. As I drank my juice, I wondered if Cat had sent a card to him. She and Ollie have had a bit of a ‘thing’ since last summer. Nothing official, but you can see that they’re really into each other whenever they’re together. She knows that he’s commitment-phobic so doesn’t expect too much. I think that’s one of the things that he likes about her and why she’s lasted so long. She’s cool about him, whereas other girls have virtually camped on his door to try and pin him down. Perfect way to get him to back off, which is why Cat is playing it just right.
‘I got one from Dad.’ Mum smiled as she put an enormous flowery card on the kitchen counter. ‘And he’s got his usual sack full.’
My dad is Zac Axford, lead singer of the rock band Hot Snax. They were big in the eighties and he still has a bunch of faithful followers who never forget him, even though most of them are in their forties now. I tease him that he’s like Cliff Richard with his middle-aged fan club, but with his faded rock star looks, his tatty jeans, leather jackets and shoulder length hair, he’s more Mick Jagger than Cliff.
I went out into the hall, grabbed my jacket and went to wait outside for Meena, our housekeeper, to bring the Mercedes round to take me to school. Max and Molly, our mad red setters, came bounding up with their usual morning greeting of licks and paws on the shoulder. At least you love me, I thought as Max almost knocked me off my feet.
I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that there wasn’t one card for me even though I’d told myself that there wouldn’t be. Get over it, it’s no biggie, I told myself. So I haven’t got a boyfriend down here, so what? At least I’ve made good mates – Cat, Becca, Mac and Squidge. They’re really cool, though different to the London crowd in that their relationships seem to be more long-term. Becca has been going out with Mac for about six months, and Cat went out with Squidge for a few years until they broke up last summer, when she fell under the spell of the Cornish Casanova. The longest that I or any of my London mates ever lasted in a relationship was about three months. No one wanted to get tied down to one person.
Still, this new crowd have been brilliant and have made me feel really welcome. I felt petrified that first day of term last year and began to wonder if I’d made a huge mistake asking to change school. It wasn’t that I didn’t like my old school, I did, and I had great mates there – Tara, Athina, Gabby, Sienna, Isobel, Olivia and Natalie. It was after Mum and Dad bought the house down here that everything changed. I had to be a boarder and as my mates were all day pupils, it was a bit lonely some evenings. On top of that, getting home at the weekend was a long way to travel. I felt like I never saw Mum and Dad properly, as I was forever on a train going back and forth. It didn’t bother Ollie. He wanted to stay as a boarder, but I told Mum I’d like to go to a local school and live at home. She didn’t object or try and talk me out of it, not even for a second, as I think she missed me as much as I missed her. She spoke to the headmistress down here and it was agreed. I’d move after Year Eight.
When I got to the new school, everyone seemed to know each other so well, all chatting and catching up after the summer, all totally familiar with where classes were, who the teachers were, who their mates were. And then there was me, the new girl in Year Nine, wondering where I fitted, if anywhere. All the cliques and friendships had clearly been established long ago and I wondered if I was destined to be a loner for the whole year, standing on the outside looking in. Not my favourite time, plus I really missed all the old gang back in London. Cat was my saviour. She offered to show me around the school and we clicked immediately. She’s one of the nicest, most genuine, unpretentious people I’ve ever met. Her mum died when she was nine and I think it made her grow up over night. Whatever, it’s made her sensitive to people when they’re a bit lost, maybe on account of feeling lost herself when her mum first went.
I heard the car toot outside the garages, so I took a deep breath and prepared myself for the inevitable inquisition at school.
EVERYONE WAS hanging out in the corridor by the assembly hall when I got in. All the talk was about the school Valentine’s disco and cards, with lots of whispering, giggling and secret looks as people tried to guess who’d sent which card to who and who’d left which card in whose locker or rucksack.
‘So, how many did you get?’ asked Becca.
‘Oh, way too many to count,’ I replied, trying to laugh it off. I started to count on my fingers. ‘One from Robbie Williams, one from Tobey Maguire, one from . . .’
Becca’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
Cat punched her arm. ‘No, she’s kidding you.’
I laughed. Becca was so gullible. She thinks that because Dad’s in the music business that we know everyone. ‘How many cards did you get, Bec?’
‘Just one, I guess it’s from Mac,’ said Becca, as she pulled her long red hair into a ponytail. ‘At least it better had be seeing as I sent him one. What about you, Cat?’
‘One. Don’t know who it’s from. At first, I thought it was from Squidge as we’ve sent each other cards for years, but it’s not his writing. I’d know his scrawl even if he tried to disguise it.’
‘I think people ought to sign Valentine’s cards,’ said Becca. ‘It would save a lot of grief knowing who they were from.’
‘They do in some places,’ I said. ‘One of my mates at my old school was American and she said that sometimes they sign them there.’
‘Yeah, but it would take the mystery out it,’ said Cat. ‘It’s fun trying to guess.’
‘Did you send Squidge a card?’ I asked.
Cat shook her head. ‘It’s not like that with us any more.’
‘Did you send Ollie one?’
‘Nah. I reckon his head’s big enough as it is and no doubt he’ll get a sack-load despite me. But seriously, Lia, how many did you get?’
I made my finger and thumb into an O.
‘I don’t get it,’ said Cat. ‘I mean, look at you. You’re stunning, tall, long blonde hair, silver-blue eyes . . . you’re most boys’ fantasy girl! Boys visibly dribble when you enter a room, and no, don’t shake your head, I’ve seen them. By my reckoning, half the school is madly in love with you.’
‘Yeah, but some of the boys here like to act really hard,’ said Becca. ‘You know, they think that they’d look like soppy Sarahs if they did anything remotely romantic like send a card. Pathetic, isn’t it? Doesn’t mean that you haven’t got loads of boys interested in you, though, Lia.’
‘So why haven’t I had one single date since I got here then?’
‘Beneath the hard act, most boys are chickens,’ said Becca. ‘They’re intimidated. You’re beautiful, a five-star babe and most of them know that they’re not in your league. Boys hate rejection more than anything, so I reckon most of them daren’t ask you out for fear of being turned down.’
‘I agree,’ said Cat. ‘Anyway, you’re not missing much. Our school isn’t exactly Talent City.’
Becca punched Cat’s arm. ‘Er, excuse me. Mac?’
‘Yeah, course,’ said Cat. ‘And Squidge, but I don’t count them. They’re mates.’
I didn’t say anything, but privately, I think I could fancy Squidge if I let myself. But I don’t go there seeing as Cat and he were an item for ages and they’re still really close mates. I don’t know how she’d feel about me being into Squidge and I don’t want to mess up anything between us. So I’m happy to just be good friends with him. Besides, I don’t think I’m his type. I’m tall and blonde and Cat is petite and dark, plus he’s never given the slightest indication that he feels the same way about me.
‘There’s always Jonno Appleton,’ said Becca glancing at a tall boy with spiky dark hair from Year Eleven, who was standing by the doors. ‘He’s a nine out of ten in anybody’s book.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I do fancy him, but who doesn’t? Anyway, he’s taken by Rosie Crawford, so it’s hands off. Boyfriend stealing is against my rules.’
‘What do we care?’ said Cat. ‘Isn’t Ollie bringi
ng that Michael guy down from London with him tonight?’
I felt my face flush. ‘Yeah. Michael Bradley.’
‘Does Ollie know that you like him?’ asked Becca.
‘No way,’ I said. ‘And you mustn’t say anything. I’d die. No, I’d never tell Ollie as he might think he could do me a favour or something and try and fix us up. No, I want it to happen naturally.’
I’ve known Michael since I was knee-high and had a crush on him since I was seven. Not that he’s ever noticed me, not in a big way. I’m just Ollie’s kid sister, someone to thrash at tennis and throw in the swimming pool in summer. But tonight I intend to change all that. We haven’t seen each other for nearly a year and when Ollie told me that he was bringing him down for Mum’s party, my imagination went into overdrive. My plan was to persuade Ollie to come with Michael to the school disco with the rest of us. That way, I could show Michael off a bit and prove to the school that I am not totally repulsive to boys. Then later at Mum’s do . . . well, who knows what a romantic night in Venice might bring?
When the last bell went in the afternoon, school emptied in a flash. Doubtless everyone had their plans. Home, shower, dress, make-up, back to school. Our plan was to meet at Cat’s, get dressed there, go to the school disco for an hour or so, then up to my house for Mum’s latest extravaganza. She said that I could invite anyone I liked from school, but I’d only invited Becca, Cat, Squidge and Mac.
It’s funny, but since I came down here, sometimes I feel a bit awkward about how rich my family are. It’s like I don’t want anyone to think I’m showing off or flaunting it. All I’ve ever wanted was to be normal and be accepted and that was easy at my old school because most people’s parents were loaded or famous. There was even a princess in Year Ten. Down here, though, people aren’t as well off and sometimes all they see are the flash cars, the big house and my dad’s fame. What they don’t know is that Mum and Dad lead very quiet lives most of the time. Both of them are real homebodies. Mum loves nothing better than pottering in the garden growing herbs and vegetables and Dad is happiest in his studio listening to sounds or watching the telly. But that’s not what the public see. They see Dad on telly whenever he does interviews, which is rarely these days. Or in videos on MTV. They think that he’s the wild man of rock and roll. The Cornish Ozzy Osbourne. I can’t help being his daughter, and down here, I want to be Lia Axford – not Lia, Zac Axford, famous rock star’s daughter. There’s a difference, and sometimes it gets in the way of people’s perception of me at my new school. I guess that’s why I try to keep my family history quiet and in the background, so to speak.
Teen Queens Page 1
