Girls, Guilty but Somehow Glorious (5 page)

‘Jade lives on a farm,’ said Donut, putting on a stupid yokel voice. ‘’Er’s a milkmaid or summat.’

‘Really?’ said Oliver, staring at me with something approaching fascination. ‘You live on a farm, Jade?’

‘Zoe,’ I said. Although why I wanted him to get my name right, in the midst of so many lies, I really can’t say. ‘Well . . . yeah.’

‘What livestock have you got?’ asked Oliver.

A random menagerie of weird animals stampeded through my brain. Antelopes, giraffes, the snow leopard.

‘Oh, the usual,’ I said. ‘You know. Pigs, cows, sheep and stuff.’

‘Really?’ Oliver looked more and more interested. ‘A mixed farm? Is it organic, by any chance?’

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ I had a feeling this would turn Oliver on even more. ‘Organic as it gets. Dung everywhere.’

‘Listen,’ said Oliver. ‘I’m going to do vet science at college. I’m looking for a farm to work on in the holidays.’ My heart performed a kind of sizzling somersault of horror and delight. Oliver wanted to work on my farm! Except I didn’t have one!

He reached inside his jacket and fished out a card. He handed it to me. Our fingers briefly touched. I would never wash my hand again.

‘That’s my number,’ he said.

I scrabbled in my bag and gave him my numbers too. My fingers brushed against his again. A thrill ran from my fingertips right down my back. This was weird, magic stuff.

‘Ask your dad if he needs extra help in the holidays, and give me a ring?’ he suggested.

I nodded dumbly.

Oliver looked eagerly down at me. His eyes were shining. But I knew it was only at the thought of my fabulous pigs. ‘Well,’ said Oliver, with perfect aristocratic grace, ‘got to go. Bye, Jade.’

‘Zoe,’ I said. ‘Bye.’

‘See you, mate,’ said Donut.

And Oliver was gone. I wasn’t sure whether it was the worst evening of my life so far, or the best. I’d spoken to Oliver! Actually had a conversation with him! And there was a way to spend the whole of the holidays with him! All I had to do was acquire a farm. I’d certainly have to put in a lot of babysitting over the next few weeks.

‘C’mon, then,’ grunted Donut. ‘Your mate’ll be dyin’ of thirst.’

Good God! Chloe’s drink! I’d almost forgotten Chloe existed. In my imagination I was romping in the hay with Oliver.

I couldn’t wait to tell Chloe I’d actually spoken to him. But I knew I’d have to wait until after her X-ray. And after we’d managed to get rid of Beast and Donut. If we ever
did
manage to get rid of them.

.

.

8

SATURDAY 11.08 p.m.

Late-night heartache in the rain . . .

As I entered the waiting room, Chloe was hopping towards me. She had that intense look on her face which I have come to dread.

‘Gimme the water!’ she hissed. ‘I’m parched!’ I handed the bottle over. She unscrewed and swigged.

‘It was a rip-off,’ I said. ‘80p. Robbery.’

‘OK, OK, I’ll pay you tomorrow,’ said Chloe. She was suddenly talking differently since she’d met Beast. She sounded somewhere between a cowboy and a gangster. It didn’t suit her. She’s supposed to be nervous and refined like the heroine of a Victorian novel. ‘Listen,’ she said, grabbing my arm. ‘My ankle’s not broken. I can, like, tell.’ In other words, it had stopped hurting. ‘And all these people need a doctor so much more than me!’ she whispered, casting a quick glance round the assembled wounded. ‘So the guys are giving us a lift home.’

‘The guys?’ I asked, cocking a sceptical eyebrow. Beast was hovering so close, I couldn’t let rip with my real feelings, which basically would have gone like this:
Are you mad? Totally mad? You know that Beast is famously the most depraved animal in the entire sixth form – and you’ve agreed to let his sub-human sidekick drive us home??? So they’ll, like, know exactly where we live???!!!

I had to find a formula which would let me off the hook, without going into quite so much detail about Beast’s reputation. He was leering at me, only centimetres away, clinging to Chloe’s arm.

‘Don’t worry, babe,’ he said. ‘You’ll be safe as houses. Donut was taught to drive by the Queen’s chauffeur’s cousin’s brother-in-law!’

Chloe laughed: a mad, whirling sort of laugh, as if she was drunk.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I have to go back to the concert. I’d arranged to meet somebody there.’

‘Who? You never told me!’ Chloe’s eyes flared.

‘We can pick him up,’ said Beast, with a naughty grin. ‘If your heart’s set on him, why not? The more the merrier! We could drop in at Pasquale on the way home! Who is the geezer?’

‘Nobody you know,’ I said airily. ‘He’s at St Kenneth’s.’

‘What! A posh git?’ Beast laughed a wheezy, horribly attractive laugh. ‘I say, Donut old boy, bring the Rolls round. And don’t forget the bacon!’ Donut and Chloe laughed with passionate abandon. I didn’t find the situation remotely funny.

‘Who is it?’ asked Chloe. ‘Who’s this mysterious toff you’ve got lined up, then?’ She also laughed a wheezy laugh, as if she was copying Beast’s.

‘I’ll tell you, if you promise not to reveal his identity,’ I said. I placed my lips to Chloe’s ear and shielded my mouth with my hand.

‘If you want to go mad and put yourself at the mercy of these Neanderthals, fine. But count me out. Oh, and the boyfriend’s Prince Michael of Spamelot.’

Chloe lurched away from me and started to look cross and tearful. Beast watched her like a hawk, and then turned his eyes on me.

‘OK, then,’ she said, with just the hint of a tremble. ‘You go back to the concert, and I’ll go home.’

‘We have to talk about that phone call just now,’ I said. ‘We got an answer to our ad. I said we could do the interview at your place tomorrow at two. OK?’

‘Fine, fine,’ said Chloe, flapping her hand as if what I was saying was an irritating fly. I could tell she wasn’t really listening. There was a slightly stressy atmosphere.

I managed to wriggle out of the lift back to the concert. Chloe was bundled into Donut’s old heap and they tootled off. I saw her face at the window: pale, pissed-off and accusing. From her point of view, I’d abandoned her.

From my point of view, she’d abandoned me. I hobbled down the road towards the Toilethead concert. My shoes were starting to pinch me. I took them off and walked barefoot. It started to rain.

As I reached the venue, I realised I didn’t want to go back there anyway. There was no Prince Michael of Spamelot, there was no Chloe; what was the point of piling back into that smelly crowd? I hesitated, and decided to get a taxi home. I just had to call home first, to make sure it was OK to pay on arrival. I knew Mum and Dad wouldn’t mind.

Just as I was getting my mobile out, it rang. My sister, Tamsin! Major delight! She’d be able to put all my troubles in perspective and give me tons of mature and insightful tips on how to handle Chloe’s sudden madness. And I
had
to tell her that Oliver had spoken to me! She’d be thrilled to
smithereens
!

‘Tam, you legend!’ I yelled. ‘How’s uni? What’s going on?’ She usually had some bizarre but stylish pranks to report.

‘Uhhh, hi!’ she said. She sounded a bit down. ‘Yeah, well . . . you know. Problems, problems.’

‘What problems?’ I asked. ‘Presumably it’s
lurve
?’ Hastily I racked my brains for the name of her latest beloved. Tamsin tends to flit from one flirtation to the next. Then I remembered. It was some research guy called Tom. She’d been quite smitten. In fact, she hadn’t rung me for a couple of weeks.

‘No,’ said Tamsin. She sounded evasive. Kind of mysterious. ‘It’s nothing to do with relationships. Well, not directly. Look, Zoe, can you come up for a couple of days?’

‘How about tomorrow?’ I asked. ‘Oh, no, wait, I’m babysitting.’

‘Tomorrow’s no good anyway,’ said Tamsin. ‘I’ve got an essay crisis. If I’m late with this one Gina will take out a contract on me.’

It’s odd how, when you’re at uni, you address your teachers by their Christian names but they’re still kind of frightening and stuff.

‘Next weekend, then?’ I asked. Tamsin did not reply. In the background I could hear the melancholy wail of a police siren. It made it all so much more depressing and film noir.

‘It’s ages till next weekend,’ said Tamsin edgily. ‘I need to see you, like, right away.’

‘Look, I’ll come next Sunday, right? Next Saturday’s the Earthquake Ball. I’ll come up the day after. Just look after yourself till then and give yourself lots of treats,’ I told her maternally. ‘Make yourself a cup of hot choc. Watch your Bridget Jones DVD. You know that always cheers you up.’

‘I’m sick of Bridget Jones,’ sighed Tamsin.
Sick
of Bridget Jones? Tamsin must be seriously depressed. ‘I’ve just got to find a way out,’ she went on, in a funny kind of flat voice, as if she was almost talking to herself. ‘I’m just going to walk and walk all night in the rain . . .’

‘Don’t be stupid!’ I said. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold and get mugged, raped and murdered.’

‘No, no, I’ll be fine,’ said Tamsin in a faraway voice.

‘Now listen, Tam,’ I said urgently. I was earning a gold star for motherliness. ‘If you do that, I won’t be able to sleep all night. I’ll tell Mum and Dad, and they’ll go mad with worry.’

‘Don’t you DARE mention anything about this to Mum and Dad!’ snapped Tamsin, suddenly wide awake and right in my ear. ‘Promise me you won’t say anything at all! Don’t even mention my name!’

‘OK, OK,’ I said, rattled. Why wouldn’t she tell me what was bothering her? It sounded really serious: she didn’t want Mum and Dad to know. I was starting to feel sick with worry.

‘Where are you now?’ I asked. ‘Right now?’

‘Uhhh . . .’ There was a strange blast of sound. I think it was Tamsin blowing her nose. ‘Down by the river.’

My blood ran cold. The river!
Please, God, don’t let her throw herself in
, I prayed.

‘Listen to me, Tam!’ I yelled. ‘Go back to college and go round and see Parvati. She’ll look after you.’

‘Parv’s got glandular fever,’ sighed Tamsin. ‘She’s gone home.’

‘Well, somebody else, then,’ I went on. ‘Emma. Laura. Jemima.’

Tamsin’s only reply was another huge sigh, then suddenly the phone went dead. I tried to ring back but got through to her voicemail.

‘Call me back,’ I said. ‘Any hour of the night and day. Go back to college now and have a cheese sandwich. You know it makes sense. Love you!’

Phew! So much for my big sister being wise and composed and putting everything into perspective for me. I leaned thoughtfully against the wall of the leisure centre and put my shoes back on. This evening seemed endless, and my heart was heavy as lead.

‘Hey! Zoe!’ I looked round and saw two familiar figures: one small and pixie-like, the other looming large with flicked-up fair hair and an earring. Toby and Fergus. They glared grumpily at the night sky.

‘Hi, guys!’ I said. ‘Share a taxi home?’

‘Sure,’ said Toby. ‘Where’s Chloe?’

‘She pulled,’ I said grimly.

‘Oooo, nice!’ said Toby. ‘Anyone we know?’

‘Only Beast Hawkins,’ I said. Toby and Fergus looked amazed.

‘He’llHaveMadeHerIntoAPieByNow!’ said Fergus.

‘Almost certainly,’ I said, hailing a passing cab. ‘But that’s not our problem. So: what did you think of the concert?’ I asked as we piled in.

‘ItSucked,’ said Fergus. ‘ToiletheadHaveGoneDownThePan. Appropriately.’

‘Plus we got
nul points
for seduction,’ said Toby. I stared. Were Toby and Fergus on the pull?

‘Did you have anyone special lined up?’ I enquired.

‘Nope,’ said Fergus. ‘WeWeren’tFussy,BelieveMe. AndWeStillDidn’tScore. AlthoughIDoThinkThatGirl InTheTarpaulinFanciedYou,Tobe.’

‘Yeah,’ said Toby. ‘She was gagging for it. But she was covered with lovebites and smelt like a chicken farm, so regrettably I had to suppress my lust.’

‘Hey! Never mind, guys,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ It was kind of weird, imagining little Fergus and camp old Toby actually chatting up girls.

For the rest of the journey I lapsed into a thoughtful kind of trance. I stared out of the taxi windows. The rain was lashing down in the dark. It streamed across the glass like tears down somebody’s cheeks. I was anxious about Tamsin. I rang her again, but her phone was switched off.

Once Fergus and Toby had been dropped off and I’d got the taxi to myself, I took out Oliver’s card. It didn’t give his address: just his mobile number and email address. I instantly memorised them, and tucked the card down inside my bra, next to my heart. I would kiss it later (the card, not my bra or heart) once I was alone in my room. I didn’t want the taxi driver to see me actually snogging cardboard.

When I got home, I went straight up to my room, turned on my PC and went online. I did a search on farms for sale. The cheapest I could find was around £450,000. It looked really nice and had two big barns for the pigs that Oliver adored. And the good news was, I would be able to afford it. I just had to babysit for 288 years, first.