Stuck on Me (10 page)

Unlike Rosie and Vix, I’m not a vintage clothes type of girl, so we avoid the market and trawl around Camden’s high-street stores, going first into All Saints, where I can’t
afford any of the clothes I like, and then into Gap and American Apparel. I buy some shiny, red leggings, not because I need them, but because they’re bright and fun and just carrying them
around cheers me up.

Vix and Rosie treat me to a coffee. It’s a little too chilly to sit outside today, so we have our drinks inside Starbucks, where the walls are covered with a timeline of Camden history and
pictures of all the famous people who’ve been born or lived here. The place is full of tourists with backpacks; we’re probably the only locals in here. I often think how weird it is
that thousands of people come to visit my neighbourhood every weekend.

‘Have you spoken to Rich again, since last night?’ Vix asks.

‘No, not yet. I’m sure we will later.’ I smile my fakest smile. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Sure it will.’

‘It was all a misunderstanding. My fault, really. I kept going on about my stupid nose. Anyway, we’ll sort it out. We always do.’

I catch Vix giving Rosie a glance. It feels like they’re ganging up on me.

‘You’re better than him, Sky,’ Vix says. ‘You don’t need to be with someone who makes you feel bad about yourself.’

Now I feel defensive. ‘He doesn’t. Most of the time he’s lovely.’

Vix shrugs. ‘We just want you to be happy. And you don’t seem it.’

‘Yeah, well. It’s not just Rich. Anyway,’ I change the subject, ‘how are things going with Laurie, Rosie?’

‘Great,’ says Rosie, a big grin lighting up her face. ‘Really well. I might pop into the shop to see him later, on the way home. We’re going out on a date tonight –
cinema, I think.’

‘Fantastic! So when are we going to get to meet him properly?’

‘Soon, I promise. I just don’t want to get too full on at the moment. You know, after Max.’

Max is Rosie’s ex, and Rufus Justice’s brother. He came to stay for the summer holidays and Rosie went out with him. But it didn’t work out.

‘Have you heard from Max since he went back to school?’

‘We’ve chatted a couple of times online. But it’s a bit weird. Vix is in touch with him though, aren’t you, Vix?’

Vix nods. ‘Yeah, we’ve been messaging a bit. He sounds happy. I think he has a new girlfriend too. He says he misses Camden though. He might come back for a week at
Christmas.’

‘Are you cool with that, Rosie?’

‘Course,’ she says. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? We’ll be much better off as friends. That’s what we always should have been.’

I don’t say this aloud, but I can’t imagine ever wanting to be friends with Rich, if we (and it’s hard even to say this) split up. I just know that every time I saw him,
I’d want to kiss him. It’s weird: the more Rich is mean to me, or ignores me when he’s with his mates, the more I want to be with him. I always think that it’s only a matter
of time before he looks at me and remembers how special we are together.

We chat about school stuff for a while, and gossip about what’s been going on in our street lately. The Residents’ Association has been plotting to get the art collective closed down
and the police have been around a couple of times, banging on the door.

‘There’s something else I need your help with,’ I say, eventually. I tell them about my visit to the doctor’s surgery, earlier, and my embarrassing appointment with
Rosie’s mum.

Rosie is wide-eyed. ‘I wondered why my mum asked how you both were before I came out. She was like, “How
are
Sky and Vix? It’s so lovely that you’re all such good
friends.” I thought it was a bit weird.’

‘Ha! That’s because she thinks I’m a loon. She says I need counselling.’

Rosie laughs. ‘Seriously?’

I nod. ‘Yeah. Next time I come round to yours, she’ll probably have the men in white coats waiting for me.’

Vix doesn’t seem to think it’s funny. ‘You’re not mad, Sky, obviously, but she’s right: you don’t need a nose job.’

‘Yeah, yeah. So you keep saying. Anyway, I’m going to find another doctor, one who can help. I’ve got a list of clinics from the back of a magazine.’

‘Are you sure they’re OK?’

‘Course they are.
Vogue
wouldn’t let just anyone advertise in the back, would they?’

‘I guess not.’ Vix seems unsure.

‘So, I was wondering . . . I know it’s a lot to ask on top of helping me find Dad, but will you both come with me? I’m a bit nervous about going on my own.’

‘Course we will,’ says Vix, without hesitating, and Rosie agrees. But they give each other another conspiratorial look. I pretend not to notice.

‘After school, next week, would be good. I was thinking, if we all skip phys ed on Wednesday afternoon, it should give us plenty of time to see a few.’

We have another coffee, then walk back onto the High Street and say our goodbyes. Rosie’s off to meet Laurie and Vix has to go to Sainsbury’s to buy a few things for her mum.
I’ll probably go round to her house later tonight, to watch a DVD. On my way home, I take a detour past Dot’s Music Shop. Dad smiles at me from the ‘missing’ poster in the
window. I can’t help wondering – or hoping, really – if soon he’ll be smiling at me for real.

’m lucky that Harley Street, where all the plastic surgery doctors seem to work, is very close to Camden
Town, just on the other side of Regent’s Park. If we had the time and the inclination, we could walk there. But today, we’re getting the 27 bus from just behind Camden High Street
instead. And hoping we don’t bump into anyone from school or, even worse, our parents. I’ve got out of double netball by saying I had to go to the doctor (just not which sort). It was
harder for Vix and Rosie because they’re both in the same class at their school, which looks doubly suspicious. Rosie developed a ‘migraine’ and Vix said she had something
important she had to do at home. Vix has never bunked off before, but everyone knows her mum is sick, so nobody doubted her. She feels guilty, which is making me feel guilty too, because
she’s only done it for me.

I was hoping my enthusiasm would be infectious, but I can tell that Rosie and Vix have been discussing my nose ‘fixation’ again and plotting about how they can talk me out of having
surgery. I can tell by the sympathetic glances they keep giving me. Honestly, I think they only agreed to come with me because they’re worried that someone might give me a nose job this
afternoon, on the spot, and they want to make sure that doesn’t happen. If only.

The afternoon isn’t going well. So far, we’ve been to three of the clinics I found through the magazine listings, and I haven’t got past the reception desks. It’s always
the same story.

‘I’m here to see a doctor about my nose,’ I tell the receptionist.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No, I didn’t know I needed one.’

‘A referral letter?’

A what? ‘Um, no, sorry.’

The receptionist eyes me suspiciously. ‘How old are you, dear?’

‘I’m nearly fifteen,’ I say.

‘I very much doubt any of our surgeons will operate on you at your age. And the doctor certainly won’t agree to see you without a parent present, I’m afraid. I suggest you ask
your mother to give us a call and make an appointment.’

‘Look, we might as well go home,’ says Vix, when we’re outside on the street again. ‘Like they all keep saying, you’re too young for surgery. It’s a waste of
time.’

‘They might not all say that. Someone might think I’m a special case.’

Vix sighs. ‘OK. Where to next then?’

‘Just up the road. Number 14B. The Metamorphosis Clinic.’

I like the name. It makes me think of caterpillars turning into beautiful butterflies, or ugly ducklings into swans. I’m dying for my chance to become a swan.

The Metamorphosis reception area is very plush, like a posh hotel, with huge leather sofas and an antique wooden table. Just being there makes me feel like I’m someone important. The table
is covered with leaflets showing before and after pictures of smiling, satisfied patients.
Trust Metamorphosis for a perfect result
, they declare.

‘Hello? Can I help you?’ asks a heavily made-up woman with huge lips from behind the desk.

‘Yes, I’m here to see someone about a rhinoplasty.’ This time I call it by its proper name; I’m sure it makes me sound older and more serious. I’ve decided that if
anyone asks my age again, I’ll say I’m sixteen. If I’m going to have a nose job it doesn’t matter if lying makes my nose grow a fraction (and I’m starting to doubt
that it makes any difference); there’ll just be a tiny bit more to shave off. By the time I have the actual operation, I’ll have persuaded Mum to give her consent.

The receptionist pouts at me. It’s probably the only expression she can manage. Her lips are so big that she can’t close her mouth properly.

‘The thing is, I don’t have an appointment. Can somebody see me now?’

‘Yes, you can have a preliminary consultation.’ She stares at me for a moment and I think she’s trying to work out if I’m old enough. ‘Right. Well, the consultation
fee is one hundred pounds. If you’d just like to fill in this form.’ She hands over a questionnaire, attached to a clipboard.

A hundred pounds? I don’t carry that kind of money around with me. I thought I wouldn’t have to pay anything until I had the actual operation, which would have given me heaps of time
to come up with a plan. ‘Can I pay later?’

‘No, I’m afraid you have to pay upfront. You can use a credit card if you like.’

Credit card? ‘No, it’s OK, I’ll just go to the cashpoint. Is there one nearby?’

She directs me to a bank, five minutes’ walk away.

‘Did you see her lips?’ Rosie says, taking my arm, as we march back up Harley Street. ‘They were like two lilos stuck in the middle of her face!’

Vix giggles. ‘Yeah, she’s not a very good advertisement for the plastic surgeon. She couldn’t move her eyebrows either.’

‘Yeah, well,’ I say. ‘She had a nice nose, though, didn’t she?’

‘We’re not actually going to the cashpoint, are we?’ Vix asks. ‘I mean, do you have a hundred quid?’

‘Just about. Luckily my card is in my purse for emergencies.’

Out of the corner of my eye I see Vix and Rosie exchange one of their concerned glances. ‘Are you sure about this?’ asks Vix. ‘It’s a lot of money just to see a doctor
when you don’t —’

I don’t let her say, ‘don’t need to’. ‘I know. But it’ll be worth it.’

We’ve reached the cashpoint. Anxiously, I put my cash card in the slot. I’m not meant to use it; the account has my birthday money and savings in it and Mum only got it for me in
case of emergencies. (Which this
is
, kind of.) I think I’ve got about two hundred pounds left. But, if I’m careful with my allowance for the next few months, and do a bit of
babysitting for the neighbours, I should be able to replace the money before Mum notices it’s gone. It takes me a moment to remember my PIN but then I punch it in and the machine makes a
whirring sound, before dispensing five crisp twenty-pound notes into the slot. ‘Right,’ I say, folding up the money and putting it into my purse. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Listen, we really don’t have to go back, Sky,’ says Rosie. ‘We could just walk through Regent’s Park, have a coffee, or even an ice cream, and then go
home.’

‘No.’ I’m determined. And nobody’s been able to buy me off with an ice cream since I was about eight. ‘You can go home if you like. I’m going to see the
doctor.’

Rosie shrugs. ‘OK, then, we’re coming too. We’re not letting you do it alone.’

We walk back to the clinic in silence. I hate knowing that my best friends aren’t on my side; I’ve always thought they understood me completely. I hurts that they think I’m
stupid or even crazy to want to have my nose fixed, and it makes me feel terribly alone.

I hand over my money and Big Lips passes me the questionnaire again. It asks me all kinds of questions about my health – most of which I can’t answer – like whether I have any
allergies, or if my relatives have heart problems. I fill in what I can, remembering to alter my birth date by two years.

Big Lips glances at the form and files it away in a tray. ‘Right, Miss Smith. Take a seat. The doctor will be with you soon.’