Bridesmaid Blitz (13 page)

“Long time, no see, Amy,” she adds with a grin. “I really don’t know what the two of you find to talk about. Anyway, tuck in. You may as well while you can. All that youthful energy burns off the calories. Sadly, I’m not so lucky.” She pats her curvy hips.

“I thought the brownies were for the Barnards, Mum,” Mills says. (The Barnards are her host family in Paris.)

“I did two batches,” Sue says. “The second lot has just gone into the oven. Come and get me when the timer pings.” She bustles out of the door, still in her apron. She wears it all the time; she uses the front pocket as a handbag — it sticks out from her tummy like a joey’s pouch. There are all kinds of things in there — mobile, notebook, silver pen she won in an
Irish Times
crossword competition (she’s very proud of that fact), Mills’s school timetable, shopping lists. When Mills and I were little, she also used to carry around a big bag of jelly snakes and dole them out when we were feeling blue. Actually, I think that was just me — the feeling-blue bit. Mills is pretty sunny most of the time, and if she ever does get down in the dumps, it rarely lasts long.

I spent a lot of time in Mills’s house when Mum and Dad’s marriage was going through its death throes. Even before that, I stayed over sometimes — weekends mainly, once as long as ten days — when Mum and Dad traveled without me. Dad preferred “adult” holidays for just the two of them, and Mum played along to keep him happy. (I wonder what he’ll do now that Gracie is around. . . .)

As soon as Sue’s out of the room, Mills rolls her eyes. “My suitcase is going to burst at the seams with presents for the Barnards. As well as the chocolate brownies, Mum wants me to bring them Jameson Irish whiskey and a
whole
Irish salmon. I drew the line at Barry’s Tea. I refuse to hand Madame Barnard a box of tea bags. I hope the family is nice after all this.”

“Won’t the whiskey bottle smash in your luggage?” I ask.

“She’s mummified it and the fish in layers and layers of bubble wrap. I know she’s only trying to be nice, but I do wish she’d just give them something normal like a box of chocolates. I bet Annabelle Hamilton’s mum isn’t making her lug alcohol, a whole flipping fish, and homemade brownies across the Channel.”

I smile. “Probably not. But your mum’s brownies are pretty spectacular.” My hand hovers over the plate. Then I remember something we used to do when we were kids. “Hey, Mills — one, two, three, four, I challenge you to a brownie war. On your marks, get set —”

“Wait,” she cries. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t ready. Start again.” She puts her own hand out, touching mine, and our palms jockey for space. “First to finish one,” she says.

I chicken wing my arms and go “Bwock-bwock-bwock-bwock” like a giant rooster.

She eyeballs me. “Fine. First to three. But I’ll blame you if I barf on the plane. On your marks, get set, BROWNIE WAR!”

I grab a brownie and take a huge bite, my teeth sinking into the dense, silky chocolate center. I groan. “
Mamma mia
, these are good!”

Mills wipes crumbs away from her mouth. “One down, two to go.” She picks up her second.

I cram the remainder of the first into my mouth and then swallow it down. (It’s so delish!) Then I begin to wolf down the second. I’m just chewing the last mouthful of the third when Mills yells, “I win!”

She grins, delighted with herself, a dark-brown ring around her mouth.

I shake my head and swallow. “I must be losing my touch. Any chance of a glass of milk?” I prop my bum against the kitchen table.

As she’s standing at the counter, pouring milk from the fridge into two glasses, I say, “Mills, there’s something I have to tell you — something important.”

She stops pouring, the carton poised in midair, and looks over. “Is it Seth?”

“No.”

“Bailey? Which reminds me, I must text him to say
au revoir
.”

“No!”

Mills looks puzzled. “Ed?”

“It’s not about boys, OK? Jeez, Mills, talk about mono-minded. And you have to promise not to freak out.”

Mills’s eyes saucer. “What is it? Sounds serious.”

I shake my head. “I’m not telling you until you swear you won’t freak.”

Mills giggles. “I won’t freak, Amy. I’m the epitome of calm. Always.”

I try not to laugh, and raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Fine,” she says, a little grumpily. “I swear on Johnny Depp’s life. That good enough for you?” She crosses her chest with the hand not holding the milk carton and then starts to pour again.

I smile. “
Mais oui
, my friend. Right, you’re not going to believe this, but I’m Paris-a-go-go. I’m red-eyeing out on Friday morning and staying until Sunday evening.”

“No!” Mills cries.

“Yep. I was going to surprise you by just turning up at your host family’s house or something, but I need your help — Mills, the milk!”

She looks down. Her jeans are streaked with white and there’s a puddle of milk on the tiles at her feet. “Oops,” she says, putting the carton down on the counter and mopping up the mess with paper towels. When she’s done, she dabs at her jeans. “Seriously? You’re coming to Paris next weekend? This isn’t a joke?”

“Seriously. Me, Mum, Mad Monique, and Clover. Monique and Clover have arranged everything — flights, hotel in Montmartre, even a special bridesmaid-dress shopping trip. Isn’t it fan-daby-dozey?”

Mills squeals and claps, splattering the milk everywhere again, while I grin. “I knew you’d go mental. But you can’t breathe a word to Mum. We’re keeping it a secret until the morning of the flight. And you can’t tell Seth either.”

Mills looks confused. “Your mum, I get. But why haven’t you told Seth?”

“I want him to walk around the corner somewhere — I haven’t quite worked out where yet — and just bump into me. I can’t wait to see his face. He’ll be so surprised.”

Mills’s forehead crumples. “Shocked, more like. Are you sure it’s such a good idea? Some guys aren’t all that hot on surprises. And he’s been through a pretty tough time recently.”

“He’ll love it,” I say confidently. “With Polly’s new treatment starting and everything, he’s almost back to his old self. He’ll really appreciate a good laugh.” (Seth said I could tell Mills about the clinical trial, but that was it. He said he’d tell Bailey himself.)

“If you’re sure. . . . You’ll have to pick somewhere really romantic, like at the top of the Eiffel Tower,” Mills says dreamily. Then she pauses, biting her lip. “But how will you know where he is?”

I smile. “That’s where you come in, spy kid.”

By seven o’clock that evening, Seth’s strong arms are wrapped around me in the sitting room. He obviously had a shower just before he came over, ’cos his skin smells fresh and lemony, and the ends of his hair are still a little damp. He’s holding me so tightly and has told me so many times how much he’s going to miss me that I’m starting to have serious second thoughts about keeping my Paris trip a secret. Maybe Mills is right: maybe I should just tell him right now.

“I’ll miss you, Amy,” he says softly into my hair. “So much.”

“It’s only a week,” I say, feeling terrible about lying to him.

He loosens his embrace, draws away a little, and strokes the side of my face with his hand, his fingers cool against my flushed cheek. “I know, but I wish you were coming too. So we could see Paris together.” He blows all the air out of his mouth in a feathery sigh. “That would be incredible.”

I take a deep breath. OK, I can’t do this. I have to come clean. So for the second time today I say, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

He gazes at me, his sky-blue eyes making me melt as usual, and then the
Star Wars
theme tune rings out. He whips out his mobile and looks at the screen. “Polly. Do you mind if I take this?”

“Of course not,” I murmur.

He moves to the other side of the room and talks quietly, but I can still catch some of the conversation. “Bread, milk . . . anything else? Sure you don’t want some chocolate? . . . OK, be back soon. . . . Love you too. . . .”

I smile to myself. Seth is so sweet to his mum. It doesn’t sound like anything important and I’m relieved. Whenever I ask about Polly, he always says, “She’s doing good,” and sometimes I think his standard answer is just a defense mechanism so I won’t ask any difficult questions.

“Sorry ’bout that,” he says, coming over. He takes my hand and draws me in, close again. “There’s something I want to tell you too.” His lips curl into a tiny smile and for some reason his cheeks have gone red. “I —”

“Amy!” Mum cries, suddenly bursting in, looking flustered. “There you are. Oh, hi, Seth. Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but Alex just peed all over Evie’s hair and I can’t find the baby shampoo. Any idea where it is?”

I’m trying not to laugh. “Did he do it on purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Mum snaps. “Does it matter?”

“I was only asking,” I say huffily. “It’s hardly my fault Alex used Evie’s head as a toilet.”

“Sorry, sorry. Everything’s going wrong today. I’m just . . . I just can’t . . .” Mum tails off and her eyes start to water. Oops, Mama Meltdown. I’d better get Seth outta here, pronto.

Luckily, Seth is on my wavelength. “I’ll see myself out,” he murmurs. “I’ll give you a call later, Amy.”

I nod, mouthing “Sorry” at him over Mum’s shoulder. He just smiles at me and lifts his hand up in a “don’t worry about it” kind of way.

Once he’s gone, I turn back to my now-sobbing mother. “Did you check the swimming bag?”

She shakes her head, her tears splattering the carpet. “Why didn’t I think of that, Amy? I bet you’re right.”

“I’ll go and check, then you can wash Evie’s hair while I deal with Alex.”

“Thanks, Amy.”

Just before eleven, my mobile beeps. It’s a text message from Seth. We already said our final good-byes on the phone earlier. It wasn’t easy keeping the secret: when he told me, yet again, how much he’d miss me, I almost blurted it out, but I stopped myself just in time. I couldn’t tell him something like that on the phone, so in the end I left it.

LK OUT UR WINDOW,
the message reads.

My window?
What’s he on about? I consider ignoring it — I’m all warm and snuggly under my duvet, rereading
Twilight
for the third time — but, hang on, what if he really is outside? I jump out of bed, run to the window, and pull back the curtains.

I rub my eyes and stare down at the road that is glowing orange in the streetlight, half expecting to see Seth waving up at me. Nothing. My eyes sweep toward the pavement. Again nothing. I’m disappointed.

I’m about to text back, asking him to explain his cryptic message, when I notice something white on the pocket of grass Mum laughingly calls “the front lawn.” Leaning forward and squinting up my eyes, I can just about make out something: a white shape on the grass. It has a wobbly top and a pointed end. Hang on a minute, it looks like . . . it is — a heart! There’s a big heart in the middle of the lawn.

I instantly feel a popping sensation in my tummy, like it’s full of fizz bubbles from a glass of Coke, and my mouth bananas into a wide grin. Seth created a giant heart just for me. How cute can you get? I can’t wait to thank him — maybe he’s still down there.

I pull on my runners and creep down the stairs. The house is deathly quiet, apart from a few hicks and gulps from Evie and Alex’s open door. (Evie hiccups in her sleep.)

It’s breezy outside and there’s a chill in the air. I wish I’d thrown a hoodie on over my pajamas. Hugging my chest, I crunch over the gravel and onto the lawn, looking around all the time — but there’s no sign of Seth.

I’m standing at the edge of the heart now. What on earth is all the white stuff? It looks like bits of tissue paper crumpled up into little balls. Crouching down, I touch the heart with my fingers, just as a gust rolls some of the pieces across the grass. Hang on, I know exactly what it is. It’s popcorn! And it’s already starting to blow away — the right side of the heart is loose and baggy. And once the hungry morning birds gorge on it for breakfast, it’ll have no chance. But maybe it’s just as well: Mum and Dave would never let me hear the end of it.

I take one last look around for Seth and then, shivering, go back inside. Seth hearts me! SETH HEARTS ME! Lying in my bed, warming up under the covers, I text Seth back.
I HEART U 2! AMY XXX

School is weird on Monday without Mills and Seth to hang out with, and by lunch break I’m starting to feel like a stray dog. From the minute I stepped onto the DART this morning, I felt lonely, a dull ache that seems to be lasting all day. It’s the first time they’ve both been out together. Seth’s often off school, but Mills is rarely sick, and even when she is, she soldiers on, battling through coughs, colds, and chest infections that most of us would use as an excuse to wallow in bed. (In primary school she won the prize for best attendance, year after year.) She hates missing classes; she thinks it’ll ruin her academic career. She’s aiming high — medicine — and with her tenacious work ethic, she’ll get there too.

“What’s wrong, Green?” says a voice. (I’m sitting on the steps outside the biology lab.)

I look up. Sophie is standing in front of me, hands on her hips. Nina and some of the other D4s are sniggering behind her. (Annabelle’s in Paris, so Sophie’s in her element as D4 Queen Bee for the week.)