by Mel Sparke
Turning on her heel, Anna stomped back to the counter.
“Dorothy?” she said, peering through the doorway into the kitchen at the older woman filling the dishwasher. “Could we swap for a second? I need to step out the back for a couple of minutes. Get some fresh air…”
“Of course!” said Dorothy, scurrying towards her. “What’s up? Headache?”
“Something like that,” Anna replied, patting her on the arm as they passed.
More like I need to count to ten, thought Anna, feeling the hurt and resentment at Matt flowing through her veins, before I take everything out on Sunny and ram my dishcloth in her nasty little mouth!
CHAPTER 13
CHARITY BASH
As the footballers barged up and down the pitch in front of them, the girls sat on the sidelines, chatting. The main topic of conversation was the dinner party that Maya and Alex were going to -an occasion which Maya was becoming increasingly anxious about, she realised, now the fact that they were going had finally sunk in.
“Do you think it’ll be very posh?” asked Kerry, pushing her little oval glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “You know, all fish knives and lobsters and wine-tasting and stuff?”
“I don’t know…” said Maya, feeling a knot of nervousness clutch at her stomach, even though the flat-warming dinner at Alex’s friends’ was still another five days away.
“So, Maya, what are you going to wear to this do?” Sonja asked, keeping one eye on what was happening on the field.
“I don’t know,” shrugged Maya. “I mean, what are you supposed to wear to dinner parties?”
“My mum and dad have people round for dinner a lot,” said Meg, dragging her eyes away from Joe’s footballing efforts for a second. “But all their friends are in their forties, so I don’t suppose you want to know how they dress!”
“Not really,” Maya smiled.
“Tell you what, why don’t we have a girls’ night at mine on Thursday and we’ll do a dress rehearsal with you?” Sonja suggested. “Go on - we haven’t had a girly night for ages! The Loud can do without our support for once - or we could always go round and catch the end of their set.”
“OK,” nodded Maya. “That would be fun. What about you, Meg?”
“I can’t,” Joe’s girlfriend shrugged. “It’s my mate’s birthday that night. But thanks any—”
“Oh, no! Look!” squealed Kerry, pointing at the football pitch.
While the girls had been chatting, they hadn’t noticed the bad tackle that had taken place on the pitch - or who was being ordered off through injury.
“Aw, poor Tigger!” giggled Maya as the cartoon tiger started hopping over towards her, his front two paws held up pitifully to his whiskered face.
“Do you think he’s all right?” asked Meg.
“I doubt it!” laughed Sonja. “Fred Flintstone gave him a really hard tackle!”
Tigger arrived at where the girls were standing and whined pitifully. Maya reached up to his striped head - and tugged hard.
“Ouch!” yelped Alex. “That hurt nearly as much as the crack to my shin!”
“Let me kiss you better,” said Maya, leaning over and planting a smacker on his lips. “Is that you out of the game now?”
“Yeah - the gorilla’s substituting for me!”
“Who is the gorilla?” asked Kerry, squinting at the large furry figure ambling on to the turf.
“It’s that guy who works in Central Sounds. Dylan, isn’t it?” Alex replied, hobbling on to the bench next to Maya.
“Look!” Kerry squealed excitedly. “Ollie - I mean, Batman’s - got the ball!”
The girls stared out on to the pitch as the game continued, with its unlikely collection of cartoon animals, historical figures and movie characters battling it out for goals.
It had been a huge surprise for the players (and the audience) to find out that the charity football match was to be played in fancy dress. A local party hire shop had lent them the costumes free of charge, which meant plenty of publicity from the local press. In fact, Andy, with his camera, was battling it out good-naturedly with at least two other official press photographers.
“And look now! Batman’s passing to Robin!” Meg shouted, clapping her hands together as Ollie kicked the ball over to Joe, in his red and yellow masked outfit.
“Oh, no!” yelped Kerry, bouncing up and down so much that her curly hair wobbled like a cheerleader’s pom-poms. “Elvis is down!”
Everyone gasped as they saw the white jumpsuited figure lying spreadeagled on the grass. But, after a second getting his breath, Elvis pushed himself to his feet, adjusted his black sunglasses and shrugged his shoulders in the air to show that The King was all right.
“Elvis lives!!” screamed Sonja from the sidelines.
In response, Elvis curled up one side of his top lip and held two thumbs aloft to show he was fine. But just as quickly, with a loud “Oumph!”, he was back down on the ground as a Viking from the other team charged headlong into him.
“Poor Matt!” Kerry sighed, realising that inside Elvis’s tacky outfit, their friend must be amassing a formidable collection of bruises.
“And poor Billy!” said Maya. “He must really have drawn the short straw, ending up in that Tarzan outfit…”
“Don’t you believe it!” laughed Alex, rubbing his injured leg. “Billy organised this whole fancy dress thing - and he got first pick of what to wear!”
“And he chose that?!” exclaimed Sonja. “A loincloth and some fake tan?!”
By coincidence, right at that moment, Tarzan scored a goal, letting out an almighty “Ahhh-ah-ahhh-ah-ahhhhhh!” and beating his chest with his fists. Two seconds later, he was swamped as Elvis, a gorilla, Batman and Robin and other unrecognisable team-mates tumbled on top of him, cheering.
“Pity I got injured,” said Alex, placing one Tigger paw on Maya’s arm. “It’s a real laugh out there!”
“It looks it,” smiled Maya. “And it’s good to see Matt - sorry, Elvis - having a laugh too, considering how flat he’s been since he got back from Ibiza.”
“Speaking of flat, are you OK?” asked Alex, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. It had obviously been hot under his Tigger head.
“Me?” asked Maya. “‘Course I am. Why?”
“Don’t know,” Alex shrugged. “When we were driving over here, you went a bit quiet when I was talking about your entry for the photography competition.”
Maya flicked her eyes to one side to see if any of the girls were listening in, but they were too busy whooping at the antics on the pitch.
“It’s nothing, really,” she said, although the business with Ashleigh had been troubling her since Wednesday - and all last night, too. “It’s just that I’m worried about the photo club. I mean, about you and me. Well, about people thinking I get treated differently because of us going out…”
“But we never make a big thing of it!” Alex reasoned. “Nobody’s got any excuse to think that way!”
“I know, but they do. Remember I told you about those remarks from Ashleigh?” Maya reminded him. “Well, what if it’s not just Ashleigh that thinks that way? She and Jane are really good buddies, and if Jane—”
“Whoah, there!” said Alex, holding up a Tigger paw. “Come on now, Maya - aren’t you getting all this out of proportion? Anyway, even if she did mean something, it’s not worth worrying about, is it - it’s just pointless little schoolgirl stuff!”
Maya felt a wave of annoyance.
That patronising tone was what she normally expected to hear from her parents, or from some of the teachers at school.
But being spoken to like that by her boyfriend was really bad news.
CHAPTER 14
MATT FLIPS
“Oi, Batman!” yelled Billy, dropping the scrunched-up can on his heel and kicking it over to Ollie.
Ollie lunged at it and missed. The can clattered against the pale blue wall of Matt’s den, sending a few last trickles of Coke
dribbling down it.
“Hey, watch the paintwork!” said Matt, stomping down the last few steps into the basement, his arms clutching a variety of cans of Coke, Tizer and beer - nicked from the huge fridge up in the kitchen to replenish the dwindling supplies in the den’s own fridge.
“Sorry!” grinned Billy. “I was just trying to see if Ollie could play any better now that his girlfriend isn’t watching!”
After the charity match had finished, the girls had wandered off together - Maya helping a limping Alex to his car - leaving the lads to relax and have a laugh with the opposing team and the game’s organisers. But once the costumes had been handed back and everyone was packing up for the day, Billy and the others hadn’t been in the mood just to drift off home. So here they all were, continuing the celebrations back at Matt’s.
“OK, Billy, just ‘cause you fancy yourself as David Beckham, since you scored those two goals today!” Ollie retorted, pushing his long floppy hair off his face. “Anyway, I was still better than Alex!”
“Well, obvlously!” said Billy, grabbing a can out of Matt’s arms before he’d even made it over to the fridge. “You know the only reason I roped him in was that he’s the tallest guy I know, and the only one who could fit the Tigger costume. The local paper’s bound to show it on the front page!”
“Just as well he got injured out then!” laughed Andy, who’d snapped Alex when he was doing his whimpering pussy-cat act as he hobbled over to Maya. “At least Dylan got another goal in!”
“Thank you, thank you,” grinned Dylan, bending over into a bow from his seat on Matt’s sofa.
“Yeah, well, not that it made much difference, considering we got beat 10-3…” muttered Joe, with a wry grin.
“Ah, never mind! It was all for charidee!” shrugged Billy good-naturedly. “Thanks again, lads, for lending your support!” He held up his arm to the boys, still clutching his Coke, and Matt, Dylan, Joe, Ollie and Andy held their half-drunk cans up too, returning his salute.
“What’s this? The six musketeers?”
The boys swivelled their heads round towards the doorway of the den. Cat, dressed in a cropped top and shorts, with a pair of yellow-lensed sunglasses propped on her blonde head, made her way down the wooden stairs into the den.
She was, Matt noticed, looking a little flushed. All over. She must have spent the day lying out in the sun at the back of the house, gently barbecuing, he decided. So much for all the information about skincare she must have covered on her Beauty Therapy course.
“Just giving ourselves a toast, Cat!” Billy explained brightly.
“What for? And what’s wrong with your face?” said Cat, squinting at him. “It’s all orange!”
That was a bit rich, coming from someone who was prawn pink, but it was true. The other boys guffawed with laughter - they deliberately hadn’t told Billy that he’d forgotten to wash the orange make-up off his face. Now, dressed in his normal T-shirt and jeans, he looked less like Tarzan and more like a Tango advert.
“Aw, thanks, lads! Thanks very much!” said Billy, hauling up the bottom of his T-shirt and scrubbing at his face with it.
“Well?” said Cat, standing with her hands on her hips. “Anyone fancy letting me in on the joke?”
“The charity football game today,” Joe began to explain, being the first to stop laughing. “It turned out it was a fancy-dress thing. Billy was Tarzan.”
“The charity football game?” Cat repeated, staring at them all.
“Yeah! How come you weren’t there?” asked Dylan, yanking at the ring-pull of a new can. “Didn’t you fancy it?”
“I might have fancied it, if anyone had bothered telling me about it!” Cat barked, her eyes flashing dangerously.
“But I told Matt to let you know about it!” Billy protested. “You know, since you guys live together and everything…”
Cat spun her gaze around to Matt, who was leaning nonchalantly up against the fridge.
“Sorry,” he shrugged. “Forgot…”
“Forgot?” snapped Cat, her eyes blazing. “Oh, yeah. I understand. I couldn’t possibly expect anyone with only a couple of brain cells to rub together to do anything useful like remember stuff!”
And with that, she turned on her floral flip-flops and flapped her way angrily back up the stairs. A few sharp intakes of breath accompanied her exit as all eyes fell on Matt.
“Did you go to Ibiza Town when you were out there, Matt?” asked Andy.
“Me and Kerry went there!” Ollie chipped in. “It’s the old walled city - it’s really beautiful. I’ll have to dig out the pictures and show you guys…”
“I was talking more about the nightlife, actually,” laughed Andy. “I heard there’s some brilliant gay clubs and bars.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know,” Matt grinned. “Not quite my scene, Andy!”
“I know,” Andy nodded. “It would just be good to hang out somewhere like that for a change, where nobody bothers about what you are.”
“Is something up?” asked Ollie.
“Nah, it’s nothing. It’s just that I got called a poof today,” Andy shrugged.
“Who by?” frowned Billy.
“A bunch of girls,” Andy smiled, in spite of himself. “Your ex, in fact…”
“My ex?” Billy frowned, puzzled.
“Sunny Joshi,” Andy replied, grinning broadly now as the other guys started to laugh. At least teasing Billy made him laugh about the situation.
“Oh, come on!” pleaded Billy. “That’s not funny - calling her my ex ‘cause I made one small mistake!”
“Like forgetting to look at the girl you were kissing?!” Joe chipped in.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Billy, taking it all good-naturedly. “Anyhow, she shouldn’t say stuff like that to you, Andy!”
“Aw, forget it. Sometimes, though, it just gets to you. Anyway, got any more news, Matt?” said Andy, keen to move on. “You were going to call those club owners out in Ibiza?”
“No yet - it took me ages to find all the cards I’d collected.”
That was easy to see. Typically, Matt hadn’t exactly rushed to unpack his bags and a corner of the den looked a bit like a controlled explosion on a luggage carousel, with clothes, tapes, magazines and other detritus from his trip scattered all over the floor.
“Well, let’s face it - you’re a great DJ,” said Billy, “but it could take you years to make it in this country. If you’ve got a chance to make a name for yourself out in Ibiza then you’ve just got to go for it!”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” nodded Matt.
Today had been good for Matt - the best since he’d been back. Mucking around and having a laugh with his mates at the football match, sitting here going over the whole Ibiza experience again, it was brilliant.
Well, almost. If Cat hadn’t come down and done her little huffy scene earlier it would have been better.
Not that Matt was letting it bother him too much, and he certainly wasn’t allowing himself to feel guilty about not passing the message about the match on to Cat. For a start, he’d just assumed she’d hear about it from one of the others during the week. And for another thing, he hadn’t particularly wanted her there. It was bad enough knowing she was invading his space at home, without being joined at the hip socially, on top of it all.
“Hey, Matt, sorry, but have you got anything to eat? I’m starving…” Billy grumbled, rubbing his stomach.
“Sure,” Matt nodded, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll stick some pizza in the oven.”
“Want a hand?” Billy shouted after him as he disappeared up the stairs.
“Nah - it’s OK!” Matt yelled back, taking the stairs two at a time.
His head was racing with thoughts: Ollie and the other lads’ enthusiasm for his plans to go back out to Ibiza was really getting him revved up about the idea.
I’m bound to be able to pick up a job somewhere - even if it’s just as a DJ at one of the bars to get started. And once I’m out th
ere for a while, I could try and get to know some of the promoters at the really big clubs, he mused, padding into the kitchen. Maybe I could do a try-out for some of them - unpaid. It could work out brilliantly - I might even get offered a contract for next year!
“Pizza, pizza, pizza…” Matt mumbled to himself, yanking open various freezer drawers.
A noise suddenly caught his attention - or rather, two noises. The first was a giggle - or maybe a gasp. The second was a squelch, which must have come from the sofa in the living room. That was the catch with leather: sit on it the wrong way and it would give out an unnerving farty sound.
Dylan? wondered Matt as he walked towards the living room door.
His friend, he’d realised, had been gone from the den for ages since he’d left to pay a visit to the loo. And whoever was squelching in the living room, it couldn’t be his father or Sylvia - both their cars had been missing from the driveway when he’d arrived home with the boys.
Tentatively, Matt pushed the door open and peered into the room.
The giggles, gasps and squelches suddenly made sense. Even if Matt couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“What the—?” he bellowed, causing Dylan, in his alarm, to fall off the sofa - and also off Cat.
“Get out!” Cat yelled, pushing herself up on to her elbows and narrowing her eyes at Matt.
Dylan said nothing as he scrambled over to the safety of the armchair, pulling down his rumpled T-shirt.
“Me, get out? This is my house, if you haven’t forgotten!” Matt yelled back.
Cat had shoved herself up into a sitting position and was angrily brushing aside stray blonde tendrils that had escaped from her hair clasps during her steamy snog-session with Dylan.
“It’s my house too now, Matt! Get used to it!”
“Yeah? Well, if you’re staying, I might as well go - there’s plenty of big clubs in Ibiza that would hire me like that!”
“Right! Go then!” said Cat, calling his bluff. “You won’t be missed here. Even the band won’t miss you - Dylan here did the sound engineering just fine while you were away!”
