Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said.

  They’d had a name printed in a red heart.

  CRESSIDA.

  We spent a top afternoon catching up. So much had happened. Lucy’s thinking about getting back with Tony, though she hasn’t let on to him yet.

  ‘Going to keep him guessing a bit longer,’ she said.

  ‘Serves him right,’ I laughed. ‘It’s usually his motto, treat ’em mean to keep ’em keen.’

  ‘Exactly,’ grinned Lucy.

  Izzie also had news. The talent scout had turned up to watch the bands and he’d liked what he heard.

  ‘Early days,’ she said. ‘But he’s asked us to send a demo CD in. Fingers crossed.’

  ‘And what about you?’ asked Lucy. ‘You and Simon?’

  ‘Over,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t right. I haven’t heard from him since the gig.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ said Izzie. ‘I liked him.’

  ‘So did I,’ I said.

  Later that afternoon, we all went down to watch a repeat of ‘The O.C.’. It was a really good episode and I felt over the moon to be with my friends again.

  About ten minutes into the programme, my mobile rang.

  I leapt up and answered it. I put one hand over the receiver and pointed at the phone with the other. ‘Simon . . .’ I whispered.

  I went into the hall so I could have some privacy. If I was going to have to grovel, then I wanted to do it without an audience.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hey,’ I replied, thinking I really must work on my conversation skills. I realised I was very nervous.

  ‘I’ve just got your e-mail,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch sooner – I left my laptop and mobile at the London house. I did try and ring you from Wiltshire but your number’s unlisted.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. Oh for God’s sake, get a grip, Nesta, I thought. But I couldn’t think of anything riveting to say.

  ‘I’ve got a few things I want to tell you,’ continued Simon, sounding very serious. ‘Three things, in fact.’

  Here we go, I thought. I’m going to be dumped.

  I went and sat on the stairs.

  ‘First. Sorry about my sister. I don’t know what she was thinking about, giving you all that champagne. Second, even more sorry about Cressida. Tanya told me what she said about you. Apparently you’d overheard. Lucy told Tony and Tony told me. Very very sorry about that. Personally I’m never going to speak to her again and I think Tanya’s dropping her as a friend as well. And thirdly, I’d like to keep seeing you even if you are horrid, grumpy and downright repugnant. I have days when I feel crap too. I agree that being real is all part of a relationship. Accepting the package, not just the good bits.’

  ‘But what about . . . you know?’ I said. ‘Your world, my world.’

  ‘No,’ said Simon. ‘It’s not like that. There is no my world, your world. I’m so against that stuff.’

  ‘Cressida didn’t see it that way.’

  ‘Just because we’re from the same background doesn’t mean we think the same way, Nesta. To think we do is as insulting as me thinking all Italians are the same. Or all Australians. Or all North Londoners. There’s good and bad everywhere. Open- and narrow-minded. Generous and mean. It hasn’t got anything to do with where someone grew up or what their mum or dad earns.’

  I felt like I’d had another telling-off. Point taken, I thought, as the words of John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’ popped into my head and I had to resist a sudden urge to sing.

  ‘Cressida is a snobby pain and always has been,’ continued Simon. ‘That’s why I finished with her in the first place. She doesn’t get it. It’s what’s inside a person that counts. Whether they’re nice or not. So . . .?’

  ‘So?’ I asked.

  ‘Er. So, can I see you when I come back from skiing?’

  ‘Mmm. I’ll have to think carefully about everything you’ve said. I’ll text you,’ I said. ‘Sometime.’

  ‘Oh. OK,’ he said, sounding very disappointed.

  I waited thirty seconds after he’d hung up, then sent my message:

  GetYaCoatUvePuld CUL8R XXXXXXXXX (H) (H) (H)

  He sent back:

  <3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3