by Candy Harper
She opened and shut her mouth. Which I could kind of understand because at Aunt Joyce’s house you’re not allowed to put anything down without a mat under it, and that includes your head. Seriously, all of her pillows have got crocheted doily things on. But I had given this some thought.
‘I’m suggesting Aunt Joyce’s because then you’d be near enough to keep an eye on Sam.’
‘Sam?’
I nodded. ‘You might be called to a meeting with his head teacher, or a court appearance or something. I mean, I know you haven’t bothered much with his upbringing so far, but if you’re really strict from now on maybe you can avoid having him butcher us all in our beds.’
She snorted.
‘Was that a snort of agreement? Or is your body protesting about your vegan lifestyle?’
She snorted again.
‘Are you laughing? I thought you wanted me to take more of an interest in Sam.’
She hiccupped in a very undignified fashion. ‘Oh Faith, is this really your way of asking for a holiday?’
‘I prefer to call it an educational trip of a lifetime.’
‘Nobody could accuse you of sucking up to get what you want like some teenagers. Although if you ever wanted to go down that route, you know there’s good behaviour, washing up, foot rubs . . .’
I shuddered.
‘I just want you to know that your father and I are very open to that sort of bribery. Your dad would probably accept cash too.’
‘Due to the fact that you’ve failed to provide me with a fortune to inherit I haven’t got a lot of money, but if you say yes I might think about some washing up. With the exception of Sam’s plates. I dread to think what you could catch from his spit.’
Mum didn’t say anything.
‘So you’ll think about it?’ I asked.
‘I find myself completely unable to think about anything other than what a cheeky madam you are.’
It seems that my parents are not prepared to help me experience world culture. They would rather my brain rotted in this stifling environment. We haven’t even got any paintings by famous artists and I clearly remember that the last time I tried to express myself through dance Dad got very shirty when I knocked over some horrible old ornament.
They’re lucky that I’m naturally extraordinary.
FRIDAY 27TH APRIL
This morning Angharad said to me, ‘Becky says they’re giving out the French exchange letters this afternoon. Do you want to go?’
Well. This just goes to prove that when I told my mother I don’t need to plan for the future because the universe recognises life’s winners and takes care of them, I WAS RIGHT. My lazy parents aren’t going to organise a holiday for me, but that’s okay because I will be going on the French exchange trip. In fact, the French department are much more likely to make a decent job of it, we all know they’ve got plenty of time to sort out flights and a luxury hotel for me because it’s not like teaching French takes much out of you, is it? In my lessons Madame Badeau mostly shouts ‘Asseyez-vous, Faith!’ and fans herself with a copy of Tricolore.
I beamed at Angharad. ‘I’m definitely going. It’ll be brilliant. And frankly, it’s about time that the French department started giving back. I haven’t forgotten that they still owe me an hour in bed from that time they made us come into school early to go to that ridiculous French breakfast where all we got was watered down Lidl cocoa and a sniff of a croissant. It’s nice to see that they’ve finally started taking my needs into consideration.’
Angharad blinked. ‘Oh. I thought it might be useful for vocabulary.’
Angharad is a great girl but I do sometimes worry about her ability to focus on what’s important in life. ‘I’ll tell you what this trip is going to be useful for,’ I said. ‘For buying lovely things in fancy French shops and scoffing lovely cakes in fancy French patisseries and snogging lovely French boys in fancy French . . . er, I’m not sure where French boys like to gather, but we’re going to find out!’ I squeezed her into a hug. ‘We’re going on holiday!’
Angharad wiggled out of my arms. ‘I need to ask my mum first.’
‘Yeah, of course, me too. Either that or I’m going to have to get a lot better at forging her signature. But you do want to go, don’t you?’
She was fidgeting with her bag. ‘Yes . . . No . . . I don’t know.’
‘It’ll be fun. Croissants, cheese, shopping, maybe some sightseeing.’
‘That does sound nice, but what if I can’t understand what people are saying?’
‘You’re great at French, Ang. And you can always ask them to slow down or talk English like a proper person.’
She nodded, but I could see she was still worrying.
‘It will be brilliant, I promise.’
When Lily arrived, Ang asked her if she fancied the trip. I thought Lily would be up for a holiday but after she’d thought about it for a minute she shook her head.
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘People never seem to understand what I’m saying even when I’m talking English.’
She had a point there. I wasn’t sure France was ready for Lily.
‘And I hate packing. I always seem to end up with too many spoons and not enough glue.’
‘Well, that happens to us all,’ I said.
Lily nodded as if we were having an entirely sane conversation. ‘I might give it a miss.’
Ang looked horribly disappointed.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said to her. ‘You’ll have me and Megs to look after you.’
But when I told Megs in Physics she didn’t seem that keen. I’ll have to work on her.
I’ve been walloping Sam all night to get my bashing arm ready.
SATURDAY 28TH APRIL
I went shopping with the girls this morning. As we were coming out of Topshop I spotted Ethan and Dawn getting off a bus.
‘Is that her?’ Lily asked in a whisper that was louder than most people’s normal voice.
‘Yep,’ Megs said. ‘That’s Spawn.’
‘You’ve seen her before,’ Angharad said. ‘Remember? At the club night and Faith’s birthday.’
Lily shook her head. ‘I can only really remember people’s heads if I talk to them. Then I can picture their face by thinking about the words coming out of their mouth.’
‘Okaaay,’ Megs said.
I didn’t say anything; I was too busy watching Ethan put his arm around Dawn.
‘She’s got a very nice head,’ Lily said.
‘Yep,’ I agreed. ‘Nice head. Witty banter. Charming personality. She’s pigging marvellous.’
At that moment Ethan spotted us. I hope that spitting out the words ‘Pigging marvellous’ showed off my profile in its best light.
‘Hey!’ he called and pulled Dawn across the road to speak to us.
‘Hi Ethan,’ Lily said. ‘What are you up to?’
‘We’re just heading to the Picture House, they’ve got this film festival, it’s a bit . . . arty—’
‘Farty,’ Dawn finished.
Hell, they’re at the finishing each other’s sentences stage already.
‘But today is vintage horror films. Do you want to join us?’
‘No thank you,’ Angharad said.
Lily shook her head. ‘When I watch horror films people get really annoyed with me because I keep laughing.’
‘I’m broke,’ Megs said.
Dawn looked at me. It wasn’t even in a don’t-you–dare-ruin-my-date way. She seemed perfectly happy for me to tag along, but I didn’t much fancy being a gooseberry.
‘I don’t think I’m allowed in the Picture House,’ I said. ‘Last time I was there I got into a fist fight with my granny about whether I could fit the entire contents of one of these titchy pots of ice cream into my mouth at once – which I totally can, by the way. We were removed from the building.’
Dawn looked blank.
Ethan looked impressed.
It’s lucky that my behaviour provides me wi
th an excuse not to go pretty much anywhere in this town.
‘I guess we’ll see you then,’ Ethan said and they strolled off.
We didn’t stay long after that. I was a bit distracted wondering what it would be like sitting in a dark cinema with Ethan. Plus, Megs didn’t have any money because her parents are saving up to send Grammy to Barbados to visit Megs’s great auntie, and Ang wanted to hurry home and prepare to tutor Year Sevens in maths by making sure she’s got enough squared paper or something.
It was a small comfort to me that Lily will now forever remember Spawn by picturing the word ‘farty’ coming out of her mouth.
LATER
When I got home, Dad insisted that I help him make lunch. So I pointed at things in the freezer that I thought I could eat without vomiting and he dribbled on about his boring life.
‘Where’s Mum?’ I asked, which is an indication of just how boring he was because it’s not like I had any actual interest in the whereabouts of old Patchouli Pants.
‘She’s gone to yoga with Simon.’
Simon runs the wholefood shop next door to my mum’s shop of New Age nonsense. They’re each other’s best customers. And despite the fact he is possibly even duller than my dad, he’s the closet thing my mum has got to a friend. I looked at Dad.
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Mind what?’
‘Mum. Being friends with Simon.’
He shrugged. ‘Any friendship that gets us a discount on your mother’s beansprout habit is fine in my book.’
‘But you think it’s possible for men and women to be friends?’
‘Of course.’
‘Even if one of them fancies the other one?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything romantic between your mother and Simon.’
I’m pretty sure he’s right. I can’t imagine anyone fancying my mum as it is, but it would be absolutely impossible once you’d been forced to see her doing the downward dog pose in her shorts.
‘Anyway, he’s twenty years older than her.’
‘Is he? You old people all look the same to me.’ I switched on the oven. ‘But in general, if there was say, a really sweet, lovely, generous girl. Just a hypothetical girl. Not me.’
‘Clearly not you from that description.’
‘And let’s say Hypothetical Hannah liked this boy, but he already had a girlfriend, do you think it’s possible for her to still be friends with the boy?’
Dad opened a bag of frozen chips. ‘That depends, is this Hannah going to cry with envy every time she sees the boy? Or the girlfriend?’
‘No! That is, I don’t think Hannah is the weeping kind. More the punching kind. You know, in a sweet and generous way.’
Dad shook the chips onto a baking tray. ‘That sounds about right, now that I recall your, ahem, I mean, most young people today’s largely violent and vengeful nature.’ He slid the chips into the oven. ‘It’s probably best to steer clear of any situation that’s going to result in a punch-up.’
‘But what if Hannah thought she could control her walloping urges, even though the girlfriend’s attractive smiley face was begging for it?’
‘Then I guess I’d ask, is this girl going to flirt with the boy?’
‘Well, obviously she wouldn’t flirt. That would be very rude.’
This didn’t seem to make things any clearer for him.
‘And I’m not rude, you banana! I mean, Hannah’s not rude. She’s a model of politeness. Like me.’
Dad spluttered.
‘Well, I am when I’m outside this house,’ I sighed. I have to admit that occasionally I am a bit short with my family. ‘Sometimes I think there are evil forces in our home that drive me to door slamming and insults, and then I realise that it’s you lot.’
Dad was slicing cucumber. ‘Yes, well, thanks for the chat Faith, uplifting as ever. Overall, I would say that Hannah, and you, should be friends with whoever is prepared to put up with you. One day we’ll be legally allowed to kick you out and you should probably line up a few floors to sleep on before then.’
‘Thanks; you’ve been very helpful. I’d love to return the favour, so if you ever want someone to even out your bald spot, so that it doesn’t look so much like the silhouette of a screaming monkey, I’d be more than happy to oblige.’ Which was a nice parting shot because it meant I had the pleasure of watching Dad surreptitiously attempt to look at the back of his own head in the mirror for the rest of the day.
SUNDAY 29TH APRIL
When I came into the kitchen this morning I found Granny had popped over and that she was locked in some sort of combat with Sam. Her hands were around his throat so I assumed she was strangling him and started to back out the door.
‘Don’t mind me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see a thing.’
‘Faith!’ Granny called.
‘Don’t worry, you’re busy. I’ll come back later.’
‘I need your help, Faith.’
‘Sorry, Granny, I think it’s better that you do Sam in on your own. After all, it won’t matter much if you spend the rest of your days in prison because you haven’t got many left, whereas I’ve got my whole life ahead of me.’
‘Faith, get in here.’
So I opened the door. She was trying to put Sam in a bow tie.
‘Oh, this is even better!’ I said. ‘Please tell me you’re going to get a photo of this.’
Granny ignored me. ‘Do you think he looks smart?’
‘I think he looks like an idiot, which is much more enjoyable. For me.’
‘Can’t I just wear my jeans?’ Sam asked. Along with his bow tie he was wearing the suit Mum bought him for Aunt Joyce’s wedding two years ago. It showed off his ankles nicely.
‘No,’ Granny snapped. ‘Mrs Moore’s grandson never wears jeans.’
Sam pulled at his shirt collar. ‘I don’t want to go any more.’
‘Of course you do. You like taking care of your elders, don’t you?’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Do you mean you’ve got Sam waiting on you and your friends?’ I turned on Sam. ‘How come you’ve never done that for your loving sister?’
‘You never said you’d pay me.’
Granny frowned. ‘Don’t tell Mrs Moore that, I’ll never hear the end of it. Try to look like you’re doing it because you enjoy serving the community.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ I said, unwrapping a Twix that I’d just found in Granny’s handbag. ‘You’re trying to use Sam to make you look good.’
‘Well, obviously not Sam just as he comes,’ Granny said. ‘An improved version.’
‘I’m standing right here!’ Sam protested.
‘I’m not sure that sticking a bowtie on him is going to turn him into an asset. It’s a bit like putting a wig on a pig.’
Granny went at Sam with a comb. ‘He’s only got to hand round plates. Obviously, I’m not going to let him speak.’
‘Obviously. Are sure about the plates? Have you considered just letting him hold one big silver platter like those butlers made out of wood? He could do that convincingly. In fact, you could forget about Sam and just go with the wooden butler.’
‘Still here,’ Sam said.
I licked my chocolatey fingers. ‘Who are you trying to impress anyway?’
‘I just want people on my over-fifties committee to know that Mrs Moore isn’t the only one with grandchildren. She thinks she’s so wonderful; pretending her teeth are still her own and always parading her grandson about as if she’s personally responsible for his grade eight in piano –’ She swung round to look at Sam. ‘You can’t play the piano can you?’
‘I can do “Kumbaya” on the tambourine.’
Granny turned back to me. ‘He’ll have to do.’
‘What’s your committee doing today?’ I asked. ‘You’re not putting on a show again, are you? I haven’t recovered from you doing the cancan yet.’
‘I did give a powerful performance, didn’t I? But we’re not planning t
he show today; we’re discussing our carnival float.’
Now, you’d think that making a carnival float would be a nice safe activity for the elderly, but my granny manages to make a spectacle of herself whatever the occasion. Last year, her over fifties-group’s float had a caveman theme and Granny wore a furry mini-skirt and a bone in her hair.
‘Would you like some suggestions for your float?’ I asked. ‘How about a Victorian theme? The Victorian liked nice long skirts, didn’t they?’
‘I think we’ll go for something a bit more jazzy.’
‘How about space and astronauts?’ Sam suggested.
‘That’s a great idea,’ I said. If Granny’s head was inside an astronaut’s helmet no one would even know it was her. But she didn’t seem keen.
I fished about for some more chocolate in Granny’s bag but there wasn’t any so I had a look through her makeup instead.
Granny sent Sam to polish his shoes then looked me up and down.
‘I don’t suppose you’d ever consider helping your old grandmother out?’ she said in a low voice.
I’ve got to admit that I had been wondering why she was bothering wheeling Sam out when clearly I’m a much more impressive specimen.
‘Does this mean that you recognise what a charming, intelligent credit to the family I am?’
She took back her lipstick in an unnecessarily grabby way. I hadn’t even finished putting it on.
‘It means that I know what a good liar you are,’ she said.
‘Thanks. It’s genetic.’
‘Does that mean you’ll consider helping me?’
I pocketed her blusher. ‘I’ll email you a list of my prices.’
LATER
Ang rang me to say that her mum has agreed she can go on the French trip. ‘I made a list of the all the ways I would benefit from the trip,’ she said. ‘And I added a list of things I could do around the house to earn it.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Have you asked your parents?’
‘Yep. Yesterday at tea I said, “Mum, Dad, third person I’m forced to share a house and a blood type with, whose name escapes me, I’m going to France.”’
