Girls, Guilty but Somehow Glorious (11 page)

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19

MONDAY 10.55 a.m.

The moment of truth . . .

‘The thing is . . .’ Tamsin began. Then my mobile rang. My heart leapt. It was bound to be trouble. Had my truancy been rumbled already? The phone’s caller ID said CHLOE, thank God.

‘Chloe!’ I said, almost shaking with nerves. ‘Whassup?’

‘Where are you?’ asked Chloe. She sounded frantic with worry. I could hear the noise of school mid-morning break in the background, like a riot in the zoo. ‘Are you ill or something?’

My heart missed a beat. I had totally forgotten that if somebody’s absent, and there’s no call from a parent explaining why, the school will ring home and check. This is all because some girl was abducted on the way to school or something really scary. I know it’s for our own protection but it’s a complete pain.

I had to ring the school NOW and pretend to be my mum. No, wait! I could get Tamsin to do it. But first I had to deal with Chloe, and fast.

‘No, listen, I’m with Tamsin.’

‘Tamsin? What? At uni?’

‘Yeah. Just for the one night, OK? Listen, Chloe, you’ve got to do something for me. My parents are gonna think I’m staying over with you.’

‘But I’ve told my parents I’m staying over with you!’ wailed Chloe.

‘Why?’ I was outraged. Here I was on a mercy mission to my suffering if well-dressed sister, and instead of offering support Chloe was making frivolous demands.

‘It’s just something I have to do,’ said Chloe. ‘It’s an overnight thing and it’s massively important. I’ll explain when I see you.’

I just knew it had something to do with Beast. Oh God! I hoped she wasn’t doing anything so rank and tasteless as hopping into bed with him.

‘Why have you gone to see Tamsin?’ demanded Chloe irritably.

‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ I replied snappily. ‘Well, if
you’ve
said you’re going to be staying over at
my
place, and
I’ve
said I’m going to be at
your
place, let’s hope there aren’t any sudden crises or we’ll be in big trouble. I just hope whatever adventure you’ve got in mind is worth it.’

‘Don’t be so horrible!’ cried Chloe. ‘You have
no idea
what I’m doing.’

‘It’s something to do with Beast Hawkins, that much is obvious,’ I said. ‘All I can say is, you seem to have entirely lost it since you fell under his spell.’

‘Shut up, Zoe, you’re talking total rubbish! You know nothing! OK? Nothing!’ And Chloe rang off with panache.

We’ve had loads of rows over the years, of course, so normally I would only have been mildly upset. But in my present perilous situation I was terrified. I so needed Chloe on my side, making excuses for me and stitching, if necessary, whole tapestries of inspired lies.

‘Quick!’ I said to Tamsin. ‘I forgot to ring school to say I was ill. You do it – pretend to be Mum.’ I dialled the school number and handed the phone over. Tamsin tried to wave it away, and kind of panicked in a thousand different ways, like a demented wind-up clockwork student, but I thrust the phone into her hand.

‘Oh, hi . . .’ she said in a relaxed drawl, just like Mum when she’s got other things on her mind, ‘errrrm, this is Mrs Morris, I’m Zoe Morris’s mother. Sorry I didn’t ring earlier, I’m on a business trip today – uhhh, Zoe’s not well today – she’s got a tummy bug, so she’s staying at home. My husband’s looking after her. He works at home, thank God! Keep them in their place! Ha ha!’

She listened for a moment, said her goodbyes, then rang off. My heart was pounding away like a steam hammer – although I’m not sure exactly what a steam hammer is. Basically it was hammering and I was steaming.

‘What did they say?’ I stammered. ‘I was so sure they were going to say they’d already rung home and Dad had said I’d gone to school as usual, and half the police force of England was already searching for me.’

‘Well, of course, they did say that,’ said Tamsin, stirring the jasmine tea. ‘But I soon put them right.’

‘Do you realise what I’m going through, coming to see you like this?’ I said. I was a bit annoyed that Tamsin had made a joke of it. ‘Truanting, having a row with Chloe . . . and if Mum and Dad ever find out, I’m dead on a plate with tomato sauce.’

‘Zoe, you are an angel of mercy,’ said Tamsin, pouring the tea. ‘And I just know you’re going to get me out of this jam.’

‘What jam?’ I asked, feeling suddenly hungry. I’d been too nervous to eat breakfast and now my tummy suddenly went WORRAWORRAWORRAWORRA just like Tigger in
The House at Pooh Corner
. ‘Can I have some toast? I’m starving.’

‘Just let me fill you in first,’ said Tamsin. She sat forward and kind of held her head in her hands as if it might explode. It was scary. ‘I’ve spent my whole loan for the rest of the term,’ she said. ‘I’ve got totally into debt. I won’t be able to pay my college bills.’

‘Is that all?’ I was amazed. It was only money trouble. ‘Why don’t you just ask Mum and Dad to give you a bit more?’

Tamsin sighed, and poured the tea. ‘The thing is,’ she went on, ‘I made a bargain with Mum and Dad before I left for uni not to get into debt. So to keep from getting overdrawn at the bank, I’ve been borrowing from my friends. But now they’re getting hard up and they want their money back.’

‘Harsh!’ I sighed. ‘But what can I do?’ It seemed hopeless.

‘Well,’ said Tam, and she blushed deeply. Her face went almost puce. ‘What I was thinking . . . well, it is a terrible cheek I know, but I was hoping . . . I was hoping you could do me a bit of a loan. How much have you got in your savings account?’ she asked, urgently. I was startled.

‘Uhhh, about £137,’ I said hesitantly. ‘You know, I’m saving up for our Newquay trip this summer. With Chloe and Toby and Fergus and everybody.’

‘Well, that £137 would be fine, for a start,’ said Tamsin, looking embarrassed and ashamed. ‘I’m so sorry, Zoe. I’m so, so sorry . . .’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, though I did feel majorly shocked.

‘And then I was wondering if you could possibly have a whip-round among your friends,’ Tam went on. ‘I’d pay them back as soon as my next student loan cheque comes in. It’s only a couple of months. And I’m going to get a job in the Easter hols, so I’ll be able to pay everybody a bit back even earlier.’

I was stunned. Tamsin wanted me to go round collecting cash from my friends! How could I ever do that?

‘You could pretend you were doing a sponsored thing for charity,’ said Tamsin, looking faintly giddy and sick with guilt.

I was really shocked. I mean, I was sorry for Tamsin, but she had got herself into this jam by spending money on fab clothes and interior decor. You could hardly compare that with starving children in Africa. I didn’t dare say anything, though, because she looked so depressed. She got up and walked to the window, looked out, and sighed.

‘I hate myself,’ she said. ‘I’ve even thought of dealing drugs as a way of getting money.’

‘Tamsin!’ I shouted, leaping up. ‘NEVER say anything like that again! Don’t worry about a thing. It’ll be easy-peasy. I know heaps of people with loads of money.’ I didn’t, of course. ‘Toby and Fergus are saving up for Newquay too, and so’s Chloe. Between us we probably have about £600.’ I put my arm around Tamsin and smiled reassuringly.

At the thought of the £600 Tamsin began to look a bit more cheerful. We had an enormous hug. She squeezed me tight and tears ran down her cheeks.

‘You’re an angel, Zoe,’ she said in a snuffly, sobbing kind of voice. ‘I hate myself for asking you to do this. I’ll pay everybody back ages and ages before your trip to Newquay.’

‘Of course you will,’ I beamed. ‘No problem! Now
please
may I have some toast?’

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20

MONDAY 11.38 a.m.

A new life beckons . . .

‘Never mind toast!’ said Tamsin. ‘I’m taking you out for a pizza in the rooftop cafe, and then we’ll do the new Orlando Bloom movie, OK?’

‘Tamsin,’ I said patiently, feeling very old, ‘this is all going to cost, right? Why don’t we just stay here and have some toast? Your room is heaps nicer than the rooftop cafe anyway. Last time we went there we were ignored by that waitress with the sneery lip, remember?’

‘Oh.’ Tamsin looked a bit sad. ‘Yeah. Right.’

‘It’s a new era, OK?’ I reckoned she needed a stiff pep talk if we were ever going to get her new life off the ground. And if I was ever going to get my money back. ‘It’s called poverty chic.’ The ghost of a smile crossed Tamsin’s face as she got four slices of bread.

‘I have to take them down to the kitchenette,’ she said. ‘We’re not allowed toasters in our rooms, remember?’

We went down to the kitchenette. It was windowless and hideous with notices everywhere. PLACE RUBBISH IN BINS DO NOT LEAVE ON FLOOR, said one notice. CLEAR UP AFTER YOURSELFS, said another. Some clever dick had corrected YOURSELFS to YOURSELVES.

‘I hate that,’ said Tamsin. ‘The cleaner can’t help having poor English. She’s from Gdansk.’ Tamsin wiped all the work surfaces energetically, even though we were only using the toaster. Then she swept the floor.

‘Why don’t you get a job as a cleaner?’ I said. ‘That would bring in a few quid. Plus tips.’

‘Cleaners don’t get tips,’ said Tamsin. ‘I might get a job as a waitress. They get tips. And I could develop a sneery lip.’

The toast popped up and we carried it back to her room. It smelt great. It was cosy to be having toast with Tamsin. But there was an atmosphere of crisis all the same. It wasn’t like my previous visits to her at uni: festive and carefree. Her huge debt hung over us like a black cloud.

And beyond that, my anxiety about truanting rumbled and flashed quietly but ominously, like a thunderstorm getting closer.

We had peanut butter on the toast, and the last of the cheese. Then we drank two glasses of the designer water from her little student fridge.

‘This is the last of the bottled water,’ I said sternly. ‘We who practise poverty chic drink only water from the tap.’

Tamsin pulled a face. ‘The tap water round here is disgusting,’ she said. ‘You can taste the chlorine.’

‘Dad says you should only start to worry if you
can’t
taste the chlorine,’ I reminded her. ‘That’s when the microbes strike. Anyway, you can get those water filter jugs.’

‘I wonder how much they cost?’ mused Tamsin.

We shared her last wizened apple. Part of it was brown.

‘I’m getting a bit tired of poverty chic already,’ said Tamsin.

‘No!’ I cried, alarmed. ‘Bad girl, Tamsin!’ Sometimes I talk to her as if she’s a dog. ‘Poverty chic is only just beginning. Stop focusing on the poverty. Concentrate on the chic.’

‘I’m not quite sure where the chic bit comes in,’ frowned Tamsin.

‘We wear simple clothes in black or white or grey,’ I said. ‘Like in an old film with Greta Garbo. We wear no make-up.’

‘
No
make-up!?’ screeched Tamsin. I have counted her lipsticks, and there are over fifty.

‘OK, we only wear make-up at the weekends,’ I said. ‘And we don’t buy any more make-up until the last of the old make-up is finished.’

‘We only shop at charity shops?’ said Tamsin, trying to get into this thing.

‘No!’ I cried. ‘You really don’t get it, do you? We
don’t
shop.’

‘We don’t shop?’ Tamsin looked truly flabbergasted. It was as if somebody had told her that the sun will not rise tomorrow.

‘There are other things,’ I said.

‘What?’ Tamsin looked blank. ‘What?’

‘We walk and run,’ I said sternly. ‘We drink lots of water. We eat raw fruit and veg – and protein. We lose loads of weight, and start to look fabulous.’

Tamsin looked at me rather critically, with narrowed eyes. I was on tricky ground here.

‘How much do you weigh at the moment, Zoe?’ she asked. ‘If you don’t mind my asking?’

‘It’s a secret,’ I said. ‘But by next month I’ll be way thinner, thanks to poverty chic.’

‘There’s no need for you to go through all this poverty chic business,’ said Tamsin. ‘I’m the one with the massive financial probs.’

‘Uh, sorry?’ I said. ‘I thought the idea was that I give you a loan – and get all my friends to as well?’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Tamsin. She looked sick with guilt.

‘Right!’ I said. ‘Let’s go for a walk, and every time we pass a guy, we give him marks for sex appeal. That costs nothing.’

‘Great idea!’ Tamsin jumped up and grabbed her coat.

It was a sparkly day. There was the faintest hint of spring in the air. She took my arm, and we walked through the streets of the old town, with their pretty spires and courtyards. Then we walked down to the river.

Tamsin asked me what was going on in my life, and I told her about our fruitless quest to find beaux to escort us to the Earthquake Ball next Saturday, and our disastrous interviews with Matthew and Scott. When I got to the bit about the outbreak of farting, Tam laughed out loud. It was a lovely sound. I realised it was the first time she’d laughed since I’d arrived. Poor Tamsin! She’d really got herself into a miserable trap with this money thing. I was determined to rescue her.

I also told her how Oliver was hoping to work on our dad’s farm, and how he’d rung me in the middle of the interview with Scott.

‘Pants,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Why don’t you ring him back?’

I kind of shuddered and cringed. ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘I feel kind of terrified. I will, though, I will . . . but not today. I’ve got enough to worry about already.’

‘And how’s Chloe?’ she asked. I told her about Chloe’s strange infatuation with Beast Hawkins. Tamsin frowned. Of course she knew Beast, because she’d been in upper sixth last year, when he’d been in lower sixth.

‘Hmmm, watch out for him,’ she said. ‘He’s really, like, dangerous, you know?’

‘What do you mean, exactly?’ I asked. ‘What does he do?’

‘Ohhhh – he’s bad news, Zoe. He’s a heart-breaker. A seducer of innocent maidens. He’s got that fatal charm. You have to resist it.’

‘I find him repellent,’ I said. ‘His hair is the wrong shade of dark brown. Plus he acts as if he owns everybody. But I am really worried about Chloe.’

We walked down by the river. A professorish type walked past us. He had a scruffy beard, terrible old medieval glasses and a bright red nose.

‘Two,’ I said as we passed him.

‘Minus two, Zoe!’ said Tamsin. ‘You’re such a soft touch! Two, indeed!’

So far nobody had scored over five. We took particular pleasure in marking down very handsome men.

A glorious fair-haired pin-up jogged past. He was tall and blue-eyed, with muscular shoulders and long, strong legs.

‘Four,’ said Tamsin. ‘Frightful hairy legs like an aardvark.’

‘Smelt like an aardvark, too,’ I giggled. ‘Plus you could tell he had a tummy button like a gigantic prune.’

Tamsin laughed. We strolled on. A tiny little old man tottered along. He must have been about 186 years old. His three hairs were plastered carefully across his bald head, and a glittering drip hung from the end of his nose.

‘Now you’re talking!’ said Tamsin. ‘What a babe-magnet! Nine and a half.’

‘Oh, certainly,’ I agreed. ‘Shall we kidnap him and keep him as a kind of pet in your room?’

‘We’re not allowed pets,’ said Tamsin. ‘But there’s nothing in the rules about not having a sex slave.’

Tamsin seemed to be feeling better. I didn’t think there was any danger now of her throwing herself in the river.

‘Right,’ said Tamsin. ‘We’ve walked so much my legs are completely hollow, so we’re going to have a hot chocolate in the Cosy Dive. I totally insist. But don’t worry, we’ll use money which I would have spent on lipstick – in the bad old days.’ I secretly wondered whose money we were going to use, and suspected it was, in some bizarre way, mine.