Love Bomb (7 page)

I follow him out. ‘You find Bubblegum,’ I whisper to Eric, ‘and train her to sit on the track.’

‘I heard that,’ says Bill from the stairs.

I settle myself on Bill’s bed with my feet warming on the radiator. ‘So the big news is Kat hates me,’ I say.

‘Are you sure you want to tell me about it?’ he says. ‘Isn’t that what Bea’s for? Can’t we just watch
Adventure Time
?’

‘No,’ I say, a lump forming in my throat. ‘Even cartoons can’t make me feel better.’

‘Even a cartoon with Marceline the Vampire Queen?’

‘She said I was a selfish
moo
, Bill!’

‘A selfish
moo
?’ He laughs. ‘Wow!’

‘I know. Essentially she called me a cow … Didn’t she?’

‘Yep,’ says Bill. He flops down on the floor and I tell him everything that’s happened over the past few days, how I’m singing in Toby’s band and how I had to tell Kat I was abandoning her.

‘Then she
cried
and stormed off,’ I say, ‘
and
Dad is forcing me to meet his
lover
tomorrow …
and
I want to kiss Toby Gray, but I don’t know how to because I’ve spent all my teenage years hanging out with
you
instead of hanging out with
boys
!’

‘First,’ he says, ‘I am
actually
a boy. Second, Kat will forgive you eventually, but you’ll need to do some massive girly things to make up for it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Getting her a cuddly toy or making cupcakes.’

‘That could work,’ I say, nodding.

‘Next, Poo might be the coolest woman on the planet. She might –’ Bill looks around his room for inspiration – ‘read comics, play the banjo and windsurf.’

‘You mean she might be a female version of you.’

‘Exactly.’

‘What about Toby?’ I ask, sitting up. ‘Can you sort out my love life too?’

‘
Adventure Time
?’ he asks, reaching for his laptop.

‘If you won’t help me, maybe I should consult the experts.’ I pick up a book I’ve spotted on Bill’s bed. ‘
The Greatest Love Poems of All Time
,’ I read. ‘Why’ve you got this?’ I start to flick through it. It’s full of highlighted passages. Bill may look like a chilled-out surfer, but he’s super clever. He’s probably going to get all A*s in his GCSEs.

‘In the evening,’ he says, his face serious, ‘I read love poems and think about
you
, Betty, and how you are as beautiful as the sun and moon and other romantic stuff,
and when I find a line that makes me think, that is
so
Betty, I highlight it.’

I narrow my eyes. ‘You’re doing it for school, aren’t you?’

He smiles. ‘An English essay.’

‘OK, I’ll test you.’ I select one of his highlighted lines. ‘What does “She walks in beauty like the night” mean?’

‘Read the next line.’

‘“Of cloudless climes and starry skies”.’

‘That’s by Byron –’

‘Correct.’

‘And he’s saying that there are no clouds in the sky and there are lots of stars. She’s as beautiful as a perfect starry night.’

‘Has she got freckles?’

‘You have no soul, Betty.’

‘No, I like it,’ I say, getting out my Dennis the Menace sketchbook. ‘In fact, I’m going to copy it down. I’m
going to become an expert on love.’ When I’ve finished writing, I shut Dennis.

‘Time for cartoons?’ Bill asks.

‘Time for Epic Silent Dance!’ I say. Bill groans, but after a bit more persuading he finds 50 Epic Dance Moves on YouTube. ‘I’m going first,’ I tell him. ‘You choose a song for me.’ I hand him my iPod.

‘Today you can Epic Silent Dance to …’ Bill fiddles with the iPod, ‘this.’ I press ‘play’ and ‘Your Love Keeps Lifting Me Higher’ comes on. I warm up with a few hamstring stretches.

‘Hit it,’ I say, and Bill starts the film. Getting totally into the music, I copy the guy in the pink trousers who’s demonstrating the dance moves. Bill and I have done this so many times we don’t really need the film any more. Of course, for Bill I’m dancing in silence. He tries hard not to laugh, but he breaks on move five: thrusting. I thrust with my entire body and a lot of enthusiasm.

‘Your eyes are sweet, B-Cakes. They’re the colour of Galaxy chocolate … but better.’

I’m in heaven. We’re in art and Toby is drawing my eyes and saying nice things about them.

‘Your lashes are massive,’ he says, peering over his sheet of paper. ‘But you’ve got some gunge in the corner of your left eye.’ Quickly, I wipe it off with my sleeve.

Obviously Kat wouldn’t draw anything that belonged
to me. She’s doing Bea’s on the other side of the room and is officially not speaking to me. This has worked out quite well, because I got paired with Toby and right now he’s staring deeply into my eyes. Miss Summons actually said, ‘
Stare
deeply into your partner’s eyes.’ This is my best lesson
ever
, even better than when a drunk Japanese man taught us history and he wasn’t even a teacher … or supposed to be in the school.

‘Don’t move,’ says Toby. ‘I’m doing the folds of your eyelids.’

Hmmm.

‘They’re like petals …’

Better.

‘… on a rose.’

Boom!

‘My dad’s making me meet his new girlfriend tonight,’ I say.

‘You’re moving.’

‘Sorry.’ I try to freeze my face. ‘The thing is, I don’t want to go. It’s just been me and my dad for years.’

‘My stepfather lets me drive his Range Rover on the downs.’

‘Poo hasn’t got a Range Rover. She’s got a Fiat.’

‘Bummer. That won’t get you up the hills. You need four-wheel drive.’

I think he’s missing the point. He makes some bold strokes with his charcoal then disappears behind his paper. When he reappears, he’s drawn a huge, swirling moustache on his own face and written ‘T-Dog’ on his forehead. His face is deadly serious.

‘I like it,’ I say, laughing.

‘You’re moving again.’

‘Sorry … it’s just, it feels weird that my dad has this new best friend who isn’t me.’

‘Forget about it,’ he says, smiling and making his moustache wiggle. ‘Think about our rehearsal tomorrow. We’re going to rock, B-Cakes.’

I try to forget about it all day, but it’s hard to forget about it when I’m walking into Pizza Express and staring straight into Poo’s face.

Despite a ridiculously long shower, ‘losing’ one of my Puma trainers and going back into the house to kiss Mr Smokey goodbye, Dad has managed to get me here. She’s not like I was expecting. Her hair is neat and short, not long and tangled, and she’s wearing a spotty blouse. There are no beads or flowing skirts, but I do smell a hint of joss stick when I sit next to her.

‘Betty,’ she says, beaming like she’s my number-one fan. She has a clean-looking face and pale pink lipstick. Her hands are gripping a napkin and, curiously, each of her nails is painted a different shade of grey. Her little fingernails are painted a deep, sparkling black.

I force my lips into a gesture of a smile. Dad glares at me from behind his menu so I add a small, ‘Hello.’

We order our food –
just water for me … no doughballs … I want a child’s pizza … no extra pepperoni …
I don’t always have extra pepperoni!
Annoyingly, Dad is set on turning the meal into a celebration.

‘Your dad has told me all about you,’ says Poo as she destroys a bowl of olives. I take a sip of water. ‘He described how beautifully you’ve painted your bedroom. I’d love to see it.’ I take another sip of water. I can’t think of anything I could say right now that isn’t mean.

‘Tell Rue about what you’re doing in art at the moment,’ says Dad. ‘Rue’s an artist. She does amazing woodcut prints.’

‘Of animals wearing clothes,’ adds Rue.

I don’t tell her what I’m doing in art, instead I say, ‘Why are you called Rue?’ Dad’s eyes suggest I may have used a rude tone, but I honestly can’t make my voice any friendlier.

‘Well, I’m actually called Tanya. Rue is my middle name. It’s a plant.’

‘It’s a stupid name.’

Dad breathes in quickly through his nose and opens his mouth, but Rue gets there first, ‘I know! My dad chose it and he had bad taste in everything. See,’ she puts her hand flat on the table, ‘look at this.’ On her third finger is a ring shaped like a ram with curling horns and swirling wool.

‘That’s gross,’ I say.

‘Isn’t it? But it’s the last thing he gave me before he died so now I’m stuck with it.’ She holds it up in front of her face and studies it. ‘I’d be a right cow if I didn’t wear it.’

I nearly smile. It’s funny seeing this petite, tidy lady saying that word so sweetly. But there is no way I’m going to laugh. Then Poo starts telling us some story about her dad and a thought pops into my head. What if she’s telling me about her dad so that we’ll bond, because we’ve got something in common, a
dead-parent
thing in common?

‘So we’re at this wedding and there was no one dancing,’ she says, ‘and the bride was begging people to
join her, but no one would.’ As she talks, she tears a piece of garlic bread into crumbs. ‘Suddenly, my dad comes back from the toilets, walks into the middle of the empty dance floor and starts pogoing like mad.’ Rue turns to me. ‘I was your age, Betty, and I wanted to die of shame, but after a couple of seconds of people staring, open-mouthed, everyone got up and soon the dance floor was heaving!’

She finishes her story and her face is sparkling with the memory. Dad is gazing at her. They look like me and Toby in art.

‘Marguerita?’ A steaming pizza is put in front of me. I look at it and I know I’m going to cry. I don’t even think I can get to the toilet before Dad and Rue notice.

‘Pogoing looks like this,’ says Dad, and he starts jerking his head up and down like a chicken.

‘Black pepper?’ the waitress asks, looking at Dad out of the corner of her eye.

I ignore her and turn to Poo. ‘Are you saying that we
have something in common because your dad is dead and so is my mum?’

‘Betty,’ says Dad, ‘watch it.’

‘Because we have
nothing
in common. You have a
stupid
name,
horrible
jewellery and …’ I pause and look up at Dad’s horrified face, but nothing can stop me now, ‘an
embarrassing
dad.’

‘Betty,’ she says, pointing at the Pingu necklace round my neck and then looking at Dad, whose hair is still sticking up from the pogoing, ‘I think we might have a little bit in common.’ She’s not embarrassed, or even annoyed.

That’s it. A tear rolls down my cheek. I get up, grab my coat and run out of the restaurant.

Dad catches up with me at the end of the road and pulls me round by my shoulder.

We stare at each other in silence. I’m shaking and so is Dad. His mouth is a tight line. ‘Right now, I don’t like you very much, Betty,’ he says. Then he turns and walks back to the restaurant.

It’s the worst thing he has ever said to me. It’s the worst thing anyone has ever said to me. I walk home, wiping the tears off my face.

I hope Dad will jump in the car and try to catch up with me so he can say sorry, but he doesn’t. When I walk into our house, I know he’s chosen Poo and a pizza over me. Mr Smokey must be out terrorising small mammals. I’m totally alone.

I flop face down on my bed and let a wave of anger sweep through me. I think about ringing Bill or Bea, but instead I pull the Puma box out from under my bed and take out Mum’s letters. I shuffle through them until I find the one I’m looking for:
The one where my mum gets a boyfriend.
Pulling the duvet round me, I rip open the envelope, pull out three sheets of paper and start to read.

Dear Plumface,

At some point, Dad will get a new girlfriend. This is fine and the thought isn’t making me feel very, very
sick at all. If he meets her when you’re little you might not even realise she is a new girlfriend and you will grow up calling her ‘Mum’.

That hurts.

I think I’m going to focus on what’s happening right now and the past. When I think about the future, I find it hard to breathe. What’s happening right now, is that you’ve gone to the park with Dad so I can pack for hospital. The doctors have decided I’ve got to go back in because I’m not doing so well at the moment. Actually, let’s just focus on the past.

Here’s the story about when your Nanna got a boyfriend. I was thirteen, Kate was eight and Mum’s ‘special friend’ was a policeman. The first time I met him, he picked us up in his red van and took us to the seaside. I wore a T-shirt that had ‘Happy Days’ written over a rainbow. I was wearing it to be sarcastic, but nobody got it. Plus it
was so cold I had to do up the zip on my fake suede jacket.

Auntie Kate was a very lovable child, and amazingly this affection that she felt for everyone and everything even extended to Mum’s policeman, who giggled and had long white hairs curling out of his eyebrows. The more Kate romped with him – skimming stones, running away from waves, drawing faces in patches of sand – the crosser I got. Mum (aka your Nanna) sat next to me on the pebbles and kept saying things like, ‘He’s great with her, don’t you think?’ and, ‘Just listen to those two!’

I had no choice. Their high-pitched giggles were being lifted high on the sea breeze and slammed into my face, repeatedly. Kate was such a traitor.