‘It’s a bedroom, not a temple,’ said Nesta. ‘She wants some nice cushions, some girlie nick-nacks . . .’
‘And some gorgeous fabric at the windows,’ said Lucy. ‘I used sari material in my room. That would work in here, too. If you go down to Brick Lane they have the most sumptuous colours there: reds threaded with gold, purple with silver edgings. It’s going to look great in here.’
‘Hey, I haven’t got that much money,’ I said. ‘Mum and Dad don’t really believe in spending more than is necessary.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lucy. ‘There are always ways round it. Markets, ends of rolls, shopping at sale times. We’ll make it work within your budget.’
‘Which way is west?’ asked Izzie, as she got up and pulled a book out of her bag and started flicking through the pages.
I pointed out of the left windowpane. ‘That, way, I guess – the sun goes down over there, over the lime trees at the bottom of the garden. How does this feng shui thing work?’
‘There are different areas representing different aspects of your life in each room of a property,’ Izzie explained. ‘An area for career, health, creativity, wealth, relationships and so on. You need a compass and a feng shui book to work out where they fall in each room as it depends on whether a room faces north, south, east or west. And the effect of that can make an area either positive or negative.’
It sounded incredibly complicated to me. I didn’t understand a word of it, but didn’t like to say as Izzie is so enthusiastic about these sorts of things. ‘Er . . . OK. And then what?’ I asked.
‘Well, for instance, if you have a wealth area in a negative zone where you keep all your savings, accounts, etc. you’d probably find that they didn’t do too well. But if you moved them to another room where the wealth area was in a positive space, then they’d probably multiply.’
‘Hmm, cool,’ I said. ‘So what about this room? What’s where?’
Izzie consulted her book again. ‘Which way does it face again?’
‘North,’ I said. ‘That’s why it doesn’t get as much light as the front rooms.’
‘OK. Good,’ said Izzie, flicking the pages and looking around the room. ‘Your bed’s in a positive creativity place so that’s good. You probably have some great ideas when you’re falling asleep, yeah?’
I nodded.
And then Izzie let out a soft groan. ‘Ohmigod,’ she said, as she pointed under my desk. ‘Is that where you always keep your bin?’
I nodded again.
‘Move it immediately,’ she said. ‘It’s in the relationship area of your life.’
‘So why would having the bin there be a problem?’
‘It’s in a negative zone, so it’s like you’re putting all your rubbish into your relationships or all your relationships turn to rubbish. It’s no wonder things went so weird with Luke. I should have come over and done this for you ages ago! And I would never write any letters to boys you like or take calls from over here,’ she said, going to my desk. She began to pull on the desk until it had moved a few feet. ‘Here. If we move it over here by the window it will be in a positive career area, plus you’ll be able to see outside when you work.’
I picked up the bin. ‘And where shall I put this?’
Izzie pointed under the desk. ‘You can put that in the career area as well,’ she said. ‘Just keep the relationship area empty if you can, and don’t put a mirror there as it will reflect the negativity.’ Izzie looked pleased with herself. ‘I think you might find that your relationships take a turn for the better now we’ve done that.’
Yeah right, I thought. I didn’t really believe it myself but I knew that Izzie did, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
About two seconds later, the phone rang.
A moment later, Mum called up the stairs. ‘TJ, it’s for you. Pick up your extension.’
I picked up the phone.
‘Hi,’ said a male voice. ‘Is that TJ Watts?’
‘Speaking.’
‘Ollie Axford here.’
Handy Hints for Decorating Your Bedroom
TJ: Do your research: get books and magazines on interior design to give you ideas and colour schemes. Try out paint sample pots on the wall to see how the colour looks at different times of the day, and in natural and artificial light.
Nesta: Budget. Work out how much you have to spend and save some money for one super duper eye-catching piece, like a jewelled mirror or fab velvet cushion.
Izzie: Rule number one in feng shui is clear out the clutter, so get rid of old books, clothes and magazines in order to make way for new ones! Don’t forget to make sure that your room smells wonderful. Scented candles and sprays can be used for this. Orange blossom is my current fave.
Lucy: Think carefully about your colour scheme, remembering that light colours can open up a room and make it look more airy, whereas dark colours can close it in and make it look smaller but cosier. Gorgeous fabrics can be draped at windows or made into cushions for that finishing touch.
Colour Ideas
Cool Colours: blue and green.
Warm Colours: red, orange and yellow.
Minimal: white, or shades of white.
Bright: vivid pink, lime, yellow, orange and turquoise.
Fairy Tale: pastel colours, like pink, pale blue, lilac, lavender and turquoise.
Romantic: shades of pink and red.
Exotic: spice colours, such as shades of red, all shades of yellow, honey gold and orange.
Stark: black and white.
‘So did he ask you out?’ asked Lucy.
I laughed. ‘You mean you weren’t eavesdropping?’
‘As if,’ said Nesta. ‘No. We respect your privacy. Besides, we couldn’t hear through the door when we tried. So did he ask you out?’
‘He asked if I could meet him on Wednesday night . . .’
Nesta punched the air. ‘Result! Excellent. What will you wear?’
‘Well, er . . . I told him I couldn’t.’
‘Couldn’t? Why not?’ asked Nesta.
‘I want to go up to the bookshop in Muswell Hill. Leila Ferrin is talking. She’s one of my favourite authors . . .’
‘Let me get this straight. You’re going to miss a date with a buff boy because you want to go and hear an author talk?’ she asked. ‘Er, why?’
‘Because I love her books and, as you know, I want to be a writer and . . . oh, a million reasons. I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.’
‘Good for you,’ said Izzie, then turned to Nesta. ‘There is more to life than boys, you know, and you should take a leaf out of TJ’s book. Don’t drop everything because a boy you fancy comes along. Sometimes they like it when a girl is independent and doesn’t just fall at their feet.’
Lucy started laughing. ‘A leaf out of TJ’s book! Good phrase, seeing as she wants to be a writer!’
Nesta looked peeved. ‘I haven’t fallen at William’s feet,’ she said. ‘You know I haven’t. I’ve played it pretty cool with him. But there’s a time to be cool and a time to say, “Hello, sailor, mine’s a Diet Coke”. And anyway, since when have you been the boy expert round here? That’s my job!’
It was true. Boy expert was Nesta’s post, and usually she was spot-on with advice.
‘Exactly,’ said Izzie and bowed. ‘And you have taught us well, O master. Pity thou canst not follow thy own advice.’
Nesta thumped Izzie over the head with a pillow. ‘I am sooooo misunderstood,’ she said.
‘Did he suggest another time?’ asked Lucy.
I shook my head. ‘No. Well, actually I probably didn’t give him the option. I said that I had friends round so couldn’t talk for long. Do you think I’ve I blown it? I have, haven’t I? I’ve just blown it.’
Nesta shook her head. ‘No. If he’s interested he will be in touch. That’s always the rule. It may take a while, but you’ll hear from him again. And actually it might work in your favour that you said no.’
‘How?’<
br />
‘Shows you’re not desperate,’ said Nesta. ‘Most boys hate desperate. So without meaning to, you have played hard to get. Miss Über-Cool. He will probably now see you as a challenge to be conquered. Be prepared to hear from him again.’
‘Really?’ I said. ‘Cool.’ I felt chuffed. I thought I couldn’t play hard to get if I tried, but there I’d gone and done it without even knowing.
‘Anyway, we have work of our own to do in the boy department,’ said Nesta. ‘Got to go and put our bins in the right place. Come on, Izzie, and bring that fong bong shu book with you.’
‘Feng shui,’ she said.
‘Whatever,’ said Nesta. ‘I can’t risk things going wrong with William, and if it means turning to hocus-pocus, just call me Tabuga the Teenage Witch.’
‘Feng shui isn’t witchcraft,’ said Izzie. ‘It’s about working with the elements to create harmony . . .’
‘Sounds like witchcraft to me,’ said Nesta, as she gathered up her bag and headed for the door.
After the girls had gone, I got the bus to Homebase and spent my pocket money on little pots of paint samples of all the spice colours that I’d imagined my room in. When I got back, I had a great time painting squares all over the walls. It was amazing because when the paint dried, the colours looked nothing like the shades on the paint chart. They changed colour again as the sun went down and the light faded in my room.
I looked over at the bin in its new position. Funny that Ollie called as soon as we’d moved it. But if my relationship hopes were going to come true as Izzie had promised, then shouldn’t it have been Luke who called, not Ollie?
On Wednesday evening, Mum dropped me at the bookshop and told me to call her when the talk had finished to arrange a lift home, as sometimes these events can go on well after the advertised time. A crowd was already inside milling about, chatting and drinking the wine that was left on a table in the centre of the shop. I helped myself to an orange juice, then went to find a seat in the area at the back of the shop where chairs had been set out in front of the bookshelves. Already most of the good places had been taken, and jackets put on chairs for friends that were late. I should have come earlier, I thought. I should have known a writer as popular as Leila would draw a crowd.
‘Hey,’ said a voice behind me. ‘I was looking for you.’
I turned round and found myself looking into a pair of cornflower-blue eyes. Cute face, too, with a wide smile and a dimple on his chin
It was Ollie Axford. He grabbed my elbow and ushered me to the second row.
‘I got here early and nabbed us a good spot,’ he said as he pointed to two chairs, one with a jacket on it and the other with a copy of Leila’s latest book. We squeezed past people who were already sitting and took our seats.
‘But . . . nihwee . . . uh . . . how . . . what are you doing here?’ I asked, as inwardly I told myself to calm down. The last thing I wanted was to turn into Noola, my alien alter ego in front of him.
‘Come to listen to Leila Ferrin, like you.’
‘But . . . how did you know where she was on?’
‘You said she was giving a talk on Wednesday night. I bought her book. Called her publisher. They told me where she was talking. Easy.’
‘But you didn’t mention that you liked her when we spoke on Sunday.’
Ollie grinned and flicked a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. ‘No. But I do like one of her readers.’
I felt myself blush – he didn’t take his eyes off me when he said this. A moment later, the man who ran the bookshop called for attention and, when the room fell silent, he introduced Leila Ferrin.
I’d seen photos of her on her book covers, but she looked different in the flesh. Older and with salt and pepper hair, but prettier. She was probably in her late fifties or early sixties, with grey-blue eyes. She put on a pair of glasses and scanned the room, taking everyone in.
Once everyone was settled, she spoke for about fifteen minutes about how she got started as a writer, and then did a reading from her latest book, The People Who Live In My Head. It was so brilliant I’d read it in three nights. It was about a woman who went on a self-awareness-type course and did an exercise where she had to write down her sub-personalities and give them all names – all the different people she was in different situations. I thought it was a great idea because it’s true – our behaviour does change depending on where we are and who we’re with and we almost become like different people. In Leila’s book, one of the sub-personalities tries to take over and suppress the others and, in the end, all her alter egos gang up on her and then they go into therapy together. Some parts of it were very funny and made me laugh out loud, and other parts made me think. I knew all about sub-personalities because of Noola, the inner alien girl that lives in my head and makes an appearance whenever a cute boy is around. It can be so embarrassing as I start to talk gibberish or alienese.
After the reading, Leila asked the audience if anyone had any questions. I had loads, but felt shy to put my hand up as even just thinking about asking a question made my heart beat faster. Plus Ollie was sitting next to me. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself by saying the wrong thing or going blank.
Ollie, on the other hand, wasn’t at all shy. His hand shot straight up. ‘Were the sub-personalities in your book made up or were they actually yours?’
Leila smiled and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I’d be giving away a lot if I admitted that they were all mine, wouldn’t I? And people might think I was crazy and a half.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ said Ollie. ‘I think we all have lots of different sides to us.’
Leila smiled again. ‘OK, then let’s just say that the characters in the book aren’t that far removed from the ones that actually do live in my head.’
Ollie had broken the ice with his question and, after that, loads of people put their hands up asking different things: where she got her inspiration from, how long it took her to write a book, what was she working on next and so on. In the end, she didn’t have time to answer all the questions people had, and urged those who hadn’t had a chance to speak to her to get in touch through her website.
Excellent, I thought, as I jotted down the website address in the notebook I’d brought. I’d have no problem e-mailing her my question, asking for her top tip for wannabe writers.
After the talk, Ollie and I walked out to the pavement to discover that it had started raining whilst we were inside listening to Leila. Ollie looked over at the café next to the bookshop. ‘Got time for a coffee?’ he asked. ‘My treat.’
I nodded. I could hardly say no after the effort he’d made to see me. I felt flattered that he’d gone to the trouble of not only tracking down where I was going to be, but also doing some homework and buying Leila’s book. No boy had ever spent that much time on my behalf before.
‘So . . . did you actually read the book?’ I asked after we had found a table in the café and put in our orders.
Ollie smiled. ‘I do like reading. I read a lot, but it’s always good to get a recommendation for a new writer – well, new to me if you know what I mean. You sounded such a fan of Leila’s when you spoke about her on the phone. And yes, I did read and enjoy her book.’
The next half an hour flew by as we talked about books, our families, school, our mates and our goals. His life was so different to mine. He was a boarder at a private school in Kensington and his parents live in what sounds like an amazing place down in Cornwall, in a mansion with acres of land. They even have a housekeeper.
‘It sounds soooo glamorous,’ I said. ‘Your dad a rock star and your sister a model and your mum an ex-model. Mine are so boring. Both of them are doctors and their idea of a fun time is listening to Radio Four on a Sunday and pottering in the garden.’
Ollie smiled. ‘That’s not too far removed from what my mum and dad like to do. We live a pretty quiet life down there apart from the odd party. Mum loves to throw parties. You should come down sometime, we have loads of spare roo
ms. You met Star at the do last week, but you could meet my other sister, Lia. She’s only a year younger than you.’
Your family are so different from mine, I thought. I couldn’t imagine ever inviting Ollie to stay with us. For one thing the spare rooms are full of junk and, for another, my Scary Dad doesn’t even like my girl friends being over, never mind a boy.
I told Ollie that I wanted to be a writer when I left school and he told me that he was still undecided but might study drama and go into acting. He was so easy to be with, charming and interested in me. Not at all how I’d imagined him when I first met him. I’d thought he might be full of himself, the way some really good-looking boys are.
‘So . . .’ said Ollie as he paid the bill when we’d finished our drinks. ‘You want to be a writer. Have you written down your SPs?’
‘SPs?’
‘Sub-personalities.’
I laughed. ‘Might have done.’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘In the cab on the way up here.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. ‘Want to look?’
‘How many are there?’
‘Eight,’ he said, and began to read his list. ‘“Son”, because I’m one person with my parents. “Friend”, because I’m definitely different with my mates to how I am with Mum and Dad. “Casanova” . . .’’
‘Casanova?’
‘Yeah, my sister Lia calls me that. Casanova with the girls. She’s only teasing . . .’
‘So why does she call you that? Are you a Casanova?’
‘Me. Nah. OK, maybe a little. I like girls’ company, that’s all. I like talking with them. Boys can be pretty stupid sometimes, and you can have a good conversation with most girls. No crime in that, eh?’
No, I thought. No crime, but I hoped that he wanted more than just a conversation with me.
‘OK, so that’s three,’ I said.
‘And then there’s “Sports Jock”, in fact that personality would be called Jock, then there’s my studious side . . .’
Mates, Dates and Sizzling Summers Page 2
