Nesta’s Diary
Went horse-riding today. Fabola. Simon was a brill rider and looked incredibly sexy in his riding boots. After we’d finished we went and had a cappuccino at the Dome by High Street Kensington. By now his sister and her Pedigree Chum Cressida (I think I’ll call her Watercress) had got the message and cleared orf. The way they talk is hysterical. Simon and Tanya aren’t too bad but Cressida talks like she’s got a ping-pong ball stuck in her gobbette.
Me and Simon had our first snog at the tube. Très bien. Gentle. He’s a good kisser, eight out of ten. Not bad for a start. We didn’t want to get too carried away because there was a crowd of tourists staring at us and one even took a photograph. Cheek. Of course that will be worth money in a few years’ time when I’m famous.
Chapter 4
‘But Mum . . .’
‘No buts, Nesta. I thought I’d made it clear to you . . .’
‘Yeah, but you don’t understand. It’s really important to have the right gear. I have to look the part. This is more important than anything I’ve ever done in my life before.’
Mum laughed and said, ‘N. O. No.’
‘Please, Mum. Just this and then I promise I’ll never ask for anything else. Ever. And I’ll clear up.’ I rolled up my sleeves, cleared some dishes and started loading the dishwasher.
Mum sighed and cleared away the remaining dishes from the table. ‘No, Nesta. I know it’s hard but until things are more settled, the answer’s no. You’ll be fine riding in a pair of chinos and a T-shirt.’
‘It’s not fair. Why do we have to run out of money just at the exact time I make friends with people who have loads of it?’
‘Welcome to the world, kid,’ said Mum. ‘Sometimes life isn’t fair.’
‘Mum doesn’t even try to understand,’ I said to Lucy and Izzie later when we met at Lucy’s house. ‘She could easily sell something. The car or something.’
Lucy gasped. ‘Nesta!’
‘What? What?’ I said. ‘I was only joking. Not the car. But I’m sure there’s something we could sell so I can get kitted out. You have to have the right gear to be taken seriously.’
‘Says who?’ said Izzie’s voice from behind the sofa. ‘I think all this “right gear or you’re not a serious rider” stuff is pants. Who says you have to wear this or you’re a reject? People like Cressida, that’s who. And she sounds like a right snotty cow.’
‘What are you doing, Iz?’ I asked, looking over the sofa.
In the gap between the sofa and the wall, Izzie was standing on her head. ‘Headstand.’
‘Yeah. I can see that.’
‘Yoga,’ said Iz. ‘Supposed to do ten minutes a day to let the blood flow to my brain. It’s to aid relaxation.’
Looks like it does exactly the opposite, I thought as I settled on the sofa to do my nails like a sensible person.
Yoga is Izzie’s new thing. Personally I think it’s a bit anti-social. Like, you’ll be in the middle of a conversation and suddenly she’ll start wrapping her leg round the back of her neck. Or she’ll lie on the floor and roll up on to her shoulders and you find yourself talking to her butt.
‘I think I’ve seen a pair of jodhpurs in the spare room,’ came The Voice From Behind The Sofa. ‘One of the Ugly Sisters’ cast-offs. Want me to check when I get home?’
The Ugly Sisters are Izzie’s stepsisters Claudia and Amelia. They’re in their twenties so don’t live at Izzie’s any more but both of them seem to have left clothes there for when they visit.
‘Does Robbie Williams have a tattoo? Course I do,’ I said. ‘Thanks. It really is awful being poor, you know.’
For some reason this made Izzie laugh and she lost her balance and came up from behind the sofa. ‘You don’t half talk tosh sometimes, Nesta. Poor is having no food. No home. No clothes.’
‘Exactly,’ I replied. ‘No clothes.’
Izzie tossed her hair impatiently. ‘Not designer clothes, dummy.’
‘Easy to say, but you know what it’s like at school. If you don’t have the right trainers you get slagged off.’
‘So what?’ said Izzie. ‘The people who slag you off for something so stupid as what brand of trainers you have or haven’t, are total morons.’
‘And you don’t let people like that get to you, do you?’ asked Lucy.
I shrugged. Sometimes I acted braver than I felt. ‘How do you manage, Lucy?’
‘Don’t look at me,’ she said, looking taken aback. ‘We may not be rich, but we’re not poor.’
‘Nesta! Sometimes you should think before you open that big mouth of yours,’ said Izzie.
Iz and Lucy have known each other since junior school, longer than I’ve known them both as I only joined their school last September. Izzie always confronts anyone she thinks might hurt Lucy. Even me. Even me when I’m completely innocent.
‘But . . .’ I started.
‘It’s OK,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m not offended.’
‘I wasn’t being insulting, Izzie. I was asking advice. What’s wrong with that? We all know that Lucy gets less pocket money than us. And she hasn’t as much money for clothes.’
‘Yeah, but Lucy might not want it broadcasted to the whole world.’
‘Excuse me, but I am actually here,’ said Lucy, ‘like, in person. And it’s cool. I don’t mind you two knowing that my parents aren’t as well off as yours or, sorry Nesta, yours were. And you know how I manage. I make my own clothes. And sometimes I babysit. Why not try that?’
‘Oh, get real,’ I said. ‘I need a lot more money than I could earn babysitting.’
This time Lucy did look offended and Izzie gave me one of her ‘mess with my mate and you’re dead’ looks.
‘What? What?’ I asked.
‘So you’re clearly not that desperate, then,’ said Izzie. ‘Really poor people take what work they can. And for your information, you can earn quite a lot babysitting.’
Eek. The atmosphere was starting to feel really uncomfortable. There’s only one way out of this, I thought. When the going gets tough, the tough resort to being silly.
‘Oh, come orf it,’ I said, doing my best impression of the Queen. ‘One is only trying to say that one must have other options.’
Thank God, both of them laughed.
‘Look, I know it’s hard,’ said Lucy, ‘when you really want something badly and you can’t have it. You’re not the first to discover horse-riding, you know. A couple of years ago, I wanted lessons, but they cost thirty quid a time. No way Mum and Dad could pay for that.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘I had to forget about it.’
‘When I’m rich and famous,’ I said, ‘I’ll pay for you to have lessons.’
‘At least Simon can help you with that side of things,’ said Izzie, settling on the floor and criss-crossing her legs into the lotus position. ‘You don’t have to worry about lessons.’
‘I know, he was fab. I was more nervous than I let on and to tell the truth, I felt like crying when I couldn’t get on the horse and Watercress was laughing at me hopping about with one foot stuck in the stirrup. I didn’t let her see I was upset though.’
‘Why are you bothered about impressing a creep like her? Sounds like Simon couldn’t care less whether you turned up barefoot or in Gucci gumboots – and he’s the one that matters.’
‘I just want to show her that she can’t intimidate me. That I’m as good as she is.’
‘Why?’ said Iz. ‘You don’t even like her.’
‘Yeah,’ said Lucy. ‘Remember that quote on one of Mum’s Angel Cards last year. “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.” Saying you want to prove that you’re as good as Cressida means that you think she’s better than you. It’s like you’ve given her permission to make you feel inferior.’
I was getting confused. I didn’t want to talk about it any more. I thought they’d understand how I felt, but they didn’t. And to tell the truth, neither did I.
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, let’s watch the DVD,’ I said, hoping to change the subject. ‘You’re both way too deep for me.’
We spent the next half hour watching Lucy’s DVD about a man called Monty Roberts. He’s the guy that the character Robert Redford played in The Horse Whisperer is based on, only Monty does it for real. Lucy got it as a Christmas present when she was going through her horse-mad phase.
‘So the general idea is not look the horse in the eyes as that’s seen as a challenge,’ I said after watching the film.
‘Yeah. And to let him know that you’re not a threat,’ said Lucy.
‘Be friendly but confident,’ said Izzie as she tried to come out of her lotus position. Sadly, her legs had gone numb from sitting in such a strange position for so long and she couldn’t stand up. She sank back on to the carpet with her legs and arms in the air.
‘And what position is that in yoga?’ I asked. ‘The dead dog?’
‘If you’re afraid, horses pick up on it,’ continued Lucy as Izzie lay on the floor moaning, ‘and it makes them afraid. So the trick is to be cool.’
‘Cool,’ I said.‘Confident. That’s me.’
‘Cool,’ cried Izzie. ‘Oh God. Aghhh. Now I’ve got pins and needles. Help. I’m in agony!’
So much for yoga for relaxation, I thought.
‘Shall we get another DVD?’ asked Lucy.
‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘Got a date.’
‘Where are you going?’ asked Izzie.
‘Movie. I said I’d meet Simon at the cinema on the King’s Road at six thirty.’
Izzie looked at her watch. ‘Six thirty! Nesta, it’s five fifteen.’
‘Oh pants! I lost track of time watching that film. Now I won’t have time to go home and get changed!’
‘You’d better get going now,’ said Lucy, helping Iz up on to the sofa, ‘or you’ll never make it. It’ll take you at least an hour to get there.’
Outside it was raining. I looked at Izzie and Lucy curled up all cosily on the sofa and felt really tempted to call off my date. A night here with the girls suddenly looked like a better option. Plus Lucy’s brothers would be back later and they’re a real laugh.
I quickly dialled Simon’s mobile number. ‘Pants. It’s on answer service.’
‘You’d better go,’ said Lucy. ‘You don’t want to stand him up.’
‘Come with me,’ I asked. ‘In case the Pedigree Chums are there as well.’
‘Pedigree Chums?’ asked Lucy.
‘Tanya and her horrid mate.’
Izzie looked out of the window at the rain and pulled a face.
‘We’ll walk you to the tube,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s on the way to the pizza shop. Come on, Iz. Get the brollies. Do you want to borrow a jacket, Nesta? You’ll freeze in only a T-shirt.’
She held out her silver jacket for me, but it was way too small.
‘Or you could borrow one of Steve or Lal’s?’ she said, offering me a choice of two hideously naff anoraks.
‘As if,’ I said. ‘I’m not turning up looking like a total plonker.’
Izzie put on Lal’s jacket and Lucy put on Steve’s and we set off for the tube. After only five minutes I was soaked.
‘You have to borrow a jacket,’ said Lucy. ‘You’ll freeze. Do you want the maroon or the orange?’
I had no choice. ‘Maroon,’ I said miserably. ‘Maroon! My life as a style queen is over.’
I hope Simon realises the sacrifices I’m making for him, I thought as I emerged at Sloane Street tube about an hour later. Trust me to go and fall for someone who lives on the other side of the planet.
I asked the man outside the tube selling the Evening Standard where the cinema was and he pointed to the left of the square.
‘Down the King’s Road, duck,’ he said. ‘Best get a bus in this rain.’
As I ran in the direction of the bus stop, I tried to think of an appropriate film that I could imagine I was starring in. I find that pretending to be someone else helps me to get through difficult situations sometimes, but I couldn’t think of any film where the heroine trawls over London in the rain in the anorak from hell.
The bus came after a few minutes and as I got on, I asked the driver to give me a shout when we got to the cinema. I took a seat and soon we were whizzing past shops and cafés down the King’s Road.
Living in London is still new to me. We came to live here last summer when Mum got a job reading the news on Cable. Before that we lived in Bristol, which was OK, but nothing like this. I keep discovering more and more of it – different areas, and each one has its own atmosphere. It’s brillopad.
‘Cinema!’ shouted the bus driver.
As I got off the bus I couldn’t see Simon or the Pedigree Chums. I quickly took off the naff jacket as I didn’t want them to see me in it.
A few more minutes went by. I hope I haven’t missed them, I thought. I checked my watch. I was ten minutes late. Surely they’d have waited? We’d only have missed the commercials.
Another five minutes passed. Then another five. I was freezing. So much for the coming spring; it had turned back into winter. Well, this afternoon’s been a total waste of make-up, I thought, as I put Lal’s jacket back on and started to walk back to the bus stop.
‘Nesta!’ Simon’s voice called.
I looked across the road and there he was, waving frantically. He ran across to join me.
‘So sorry we’re late,’ he panted. ‘Traffic. Couldn’t park anywhere.’
‘Been waiting long?’ said Cressida, coming up behind him and looking like she couldn’t care less how long I’d been waiting.
‘No, I just got here,’ I said, then turned to Simon. ‘Hey, this place is great. I haven’t been down here before.’
I could see Cressida sneering again. One of these days, I thought, I really must ask her what the bad smell is that seems to be perpetually under her nose.
‘It used to be great,’ she said, ‘but Notting Hill is the place to shop now.’ She looked disdainfully at Lal’s jacket. ‘But then I don’t expect you’ve been there either, have you?’
She did look amazing, I have to say. She had a cropped white leather jacket on and the most amazing pair of black patent ankle boots – really high with peep toes. My soggy trainers looked so unglamorous beside them.
‘I only moved to London last summer,’ I said. ‘We were in Los Angeles before, so it’s all very new to me.’ She doesn’t need to know it was only for a week’s holiday, I thought.
For a second Cressida looked impressed. ‘How come you lived there?’
‘My dad’s a film director,’ I said.
‘Has he made anything we’d know?’ asked Tanya, who’d been off getting the tickets. She looked fab as well in a leather mini and DKNY T-shirt. I was starting to feel way underdressed.
‘Oh, loads. Course, it helps having Spielberg as an uncle.’
Now Cressida did look impressed. And it wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t mention I meant Leister Spielberg not Steven. He’s married to my aunt and runs a dry cleaner’s over there.
‘How did you get here?’ asked Simon.
‘Tube then bus. Took ages.’
‘You came by bus?’ sneered Cressida.
Oh, here we go, I thought. ‘Well, how else from North London?’
‘Taxi, of course.’
I wasn’t in the mood. ‘Dahling,’ I said in my best posh voice, ‘anyone who’s anyone knows that buses are the new taxi. Taxis are so nineties. Buses are the thing, the new cool way to travel.’
Simon hooted with laughter and joined in. ‘Absolutely, dahling. In fact, the number eighty-eight is my favourite.’
Even Tanya laughed, but old Watercress scowled and pulled Tanya away to queue for popcorn.
‘That’s one of the things I really like about you,’ said Simon.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Your attitude. You’re so confident. It’s brilliant.’
Just as well he couldn’t see what was going on in my head. It was f
ar from confident. For some reason Cressida really bugged me. It was weird. What Lucy said was true; I gave Cressida permission to make me feel inferior. That confident attitude Simon saw? It was acting.
Nesta’s Diary
Simon gave me a lift home after he’d dropped the Pedigree Chums off. He lives in Holland Park in a white house behind some black railings. It looked v. posh. He asked if I wanted to go in but I wasn’t up for meeting his mum or dad when I was dressed in my jeans and wearing Lal’s jacket.
Simon says they also have another house in Wiltshire where they keep horses. I told him we used to keep hamsters up until a few years ago. He completely cracked up laughing. I don’t think he realised I was serious about the hamsters.
He’s got a fab car. A black Volkswagon. He put the Manic Street Preachers on really loud and when we got to my street we sat and snogged for ages until Tony came past and knocked on the window, giving both of us the shock of our lives.
I have decided to shorten Cressida’s nickname from Watercress to WC. Tanya is much nicer than WC, much more friendly. I asked her where they got their clothes from and she said all over really, sometimes Selfridges, sometimes Gucci in Bond Street, sometimes DKNY but mostly from the designer shops around Portobello Road.
I’m going to Notting Hill tomorrow with Iz and Lucy. I’m looking forward to it as it’s another bit of London I’ve never been to and I know there’s a famous song about Portobello Road. Saturrrdayee morning. That’s it.
I wish I could afford to buy some new gear.
Chapter 5
The next day, I drew thirty pounds out of my savings and set off for Notting Hill with the girls. We got off at Ladbroke Grove tube and headed up behind the market. Tanya had told me that’s where the good boutiques were.
‘Doesn’t look as posh as Knightsbridge, does it?’ said Lucy, staring at the white terraced houses on the way.
‘No,’ said Izzie, ‘but it is. Loads of celebrities live here now.’
Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses Page 3
