Bridesmaid Blitz (16 page)
I laugh. “Great idea.” Alex would spend all day every day on a bus or train if he could. “What time are you back, Mum?”
“Sixish. I’ll get some fish and chips on the way home. I can’t be bothered to cook.”
“Cool.” I try not to sound too excited. This is all most excellent news indeed.
“You OK?” she asks. “You sound a bit funny.”
“I’m fine — honest,” I say, trying to keep the bubbles of joy under control. “See you later.” I click off my mobile and sink back into the sofa.
It’s only half two. More than three hours of peace and Sky box. Bliss! Watching telly means I don’t have to think about Mills or Dad or Clover and how useless they all are. Plus, only one more lunch break to endure before Paris.
Things are finally looking up.
I’m in my room later that evening when my mobile rings. It’s Clover. “Hey, Beanie. Anything up? Sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday, but Saffy was breathing down my neck. I was late with my piece on love potions and spells for the Halloween issue. I found this white witch in Wicklow called Olywena and got her to write it for me. Said she’d do it if she could plug her new book at the end. But her spelling and grammar were appalling. I practically had to rewrite the whole darn thing. Took me ages.”
“Hey, Clover,” I say, smiling to myself. (Only Clover could find a white witch in Wicklow willing to do her dirty work for her.) My anger melts away. I guess she can’t always be there for me when I need her.
I must still sound a bit peeved with her, though, because she says, “You sound a bit glum-dum-dum. You OK, babes?”
“Not really. I had another rubbish day in school.” As I tell her what’s been happening since Monday, a lump starts forming in my throat. I gulp it back. “With Mills and Seth both away, I have no one to talk to, and the D4s have decided it’s pick-on-Amy week. I feel like such a reject. Even Dad’s too busy to see me — he canceled today’s visit. Took Pauline shopping instead. Shelly needs cushions for the nursery, apparently.”
She tut-tuts. “Sorry to hear that, but I’m afraid your dad’s a bit of a marshmallow when it comes to what Shelly-darling wants. And once Seth and Mills are back, I’m sure the D4s will find another target for their evilness. You’re nearly there — only one more day, Beanie. Besides, being alone isn’t always such a horrible thing. You have to learn to be cool with it — it’s an acquired skill. There’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely.”
She clicks her tongue and then goes on, her voice a little flat: “Brains is working his little tush off these days and I barely get to see him, but I’ve had to learn to deal with it. Sometimes I throw myself into work, or read, or watch telly, or check Facebook, or chat to you. And you know what really keeps my mind off it? Helping other people. I get a real kick out of answering the problem-page letters and giving readers a leg up. Even though I spend a lot of time in my office, alone, I’ve chosen not to be lonely. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“I think so.” I sigh — a big, hopeless, raggedy sigh.
“No one said being a teen was easy, my friend,” Clover says. “But whoa, horsey, enough of this serious stuff. You looking forward to Paris on Friday, babes?”
“Can’t wait.”
“How are Mills and Seth getting on?”
“Seth’s fine but Mills is having a small
garçon
problem. What’s new? She’s staying with a host family and she snogged the son, Eriq.”
Clover giggles. “Way to go, Mills! Guess she’s over Ed, then.”
“Guess so. But Annabelle Hamilton told him some stories about Mills — embarrassing stuff, like the time she wet her knickers in Junior Infants — and now he won’t speak to her.”
Clover gasps. “No! That Hamilton girl’s nasty, nasty. And the French-fry guy doesn’t sound much better. Tell Auntie Clover everything. And I mean every juicy little morsel. Methinks Mills is looking for advice, am I right?”
“Yep. I don’t know all that much, but I’ll tell you what I do know. . . .”
When I’ve finished telling her all about Mills and Eriq, she launches into loads of fab suggestions as to how Mills can fix things. I smile again. Clover’s right: helping people does make you feel better.
“Hey, Beanie,” Clover concludes, “this would make a great
Goss
problem-page letter. Can we publish it if the names are changed?”
I nod. “I’m sure Mills wouldn’t mind if we protect her identity. We gave her advice on how to make Ed notice her in the
Goss
, remember? And she loved that.”
“Awesome.” Clover layers on her best Noo Yawk accent. (She’s amazing at accents.) “Let’s give her a kickin’ reply to her man woes. The agony aunt dream team is back in action, so help me,
Gawd.
”
And this is what we came up with:
Dear Paris,
The guy you’ve described sounds like a real skank monkey. Turning against you on the word of just one girl. For all he knows, she’s lying to get into his
pantalons.
Humiliating stories shouldn’t be regurgitated like that — it’s just not cricket. But we all have embarrassing tales to tell, believe me. No one’s past is squeaky-clean. So hold your head up high, girl. You have nothing to be ashamed of.
First things first: are you sure you want this boy-creature from the black lagoon back in your life, girlfriend? Supa sure? If so, we think we can help. You want to make him fall head over heels for you again? Then here’s the plan:
Spice up your image.
Show him how fab and original you really are, and prove dumbo-girl wrong. Demonstrate your cool credentials. Add a sprinkle of pizzazz, a dollop of glama. Be original — how about a hat and some killer biker boots teamed with shorts and sparkly tights? If you look cool, you’ll feel confident and sassy.
Pretend to forget his name, or get him mixed up with someone else.
Act as if you couldn’t care less about him. Surround yourself with friends, and smile and laugh, especially if he’s near. Pretend you don’t give a hoot, and back he’ll shoot.
Ignore him completely!
Nothing makes a boy’s blood boil more than the silent treatment. If he confronts you, say, “Little old
moi
? I’m not ignoring you; I just don’t have anything to say to you. You believe that girl over me, you must be stupid, and I don’t like guys with straw for brains.” Ouch! Gotta hurt!
Flirt with another boy.
For safety’s sake, pick a friend or someone you know won’t take it too seriously. What you don’t need is even more boy trouble, my friend.
Do all this and he’ll soon realize he can’t live without you! But here’s the thing — maybe when he does come crawling back, you’ll realize you
can
live without him. Think about it! Life’s too short to date a creep unless he’s honestly, truly changed.
Good luck!
Love and bubbles,
Clover and Amy XXX
After I put down the phone to Clover, I’m in a much better humor. I go downstairs and check my Facebook messages. Nothing from Mills, but this from Seth:
The
Mona Lisa
For Amy
I’m staring at the
Mona Lisa,
But all I can think of is you.
The way your eyes shine when you laugh,
The way your nose crinkles when you’re angry,
The way you kiss your fingers and blow them at me,
At me.
And the way you look at me, really look at me,
As if I’m the center of your world.
The way you smile,
A smile to light up the universe,
To set a body free.
How can I admire the
Mona Lisa’
s smile,
When yours is the one that truly matters?
Can’t wait to see you Monday. Everything’s black-and-white without you.
Love,
Seth X
I read the poem again. It’s not exactly Seamus Heaney but it’s heartfelt and it makes me smile. It’s the second poem Seth’s written for me — the first one was last summer, when he was in Italy and I was in West Cork. I print it out for my diary and then hug the paper against my chest.
On Thursday evening, my mobile rings. “Amy, are you in your room?” It’s Dad and for some reason he’s whispering.
“Yes, why?” I’m sorting through my clothes for Paris and keeping out of Mum’s way. (Dave’s working extra hours again this evening and she’s not happy about it.)
“Where’s your mum?”
“Bathing the babies.” I can hear the shrieks and splashes through my door.
“Good. Think you can sneak outside? And don’t let your mum see you, understand?”
“Outside? Dad, what’s going on?”
“Shush, keep it down — she’ll hear you. I’m parked opposite the Starrs’ place. Hurry!” He hangs up.
OK, none of this is making any sense. Dad’s behaving very strangely, but I’m intrigued.
I sneak out of my room, past the bathroom, down the stairs, and out the front door, closing it quietly behind me. Outside, it takes me a second to spot him. His car’s parked behind a van and he’s slumped down in his seat. I head toward him.