Mates, Dates and Cosmic Kisses (3 page)

She hauled Lucy away to another stall, but not before turning back and giving me the thumbs up. Remind me to kill her later.

I looked back at the boy and grinned stupidly.

‘I’m Mark,’ he said, then looked in Nesta’s direction and shrugged. ‘Mates, huh?’

‘Yeah, mates,’ I said. ‘I think she forgot to take her medication today. Or I forgot to take mine.’

Mark laughed. ‘So you know about all this stuff, do you? Oils and that?’

‘A bit. I use some of them at home, like lavender for relaxation. And eucalyptus when I’ve got a cold. Do you know a lot about them?’

‘Not really. A bit I’ve picked up from my mum. I help her out here sometimes.’

‘It must be great working here,’ I said.

‘It’s OK,’ shrugged Mark, then looked right into my eyes. ‘You get to meet some
interesting
people sometimes.’

Gulp. Did he mean me? I think he did because he did that flirting thing that Nesta is always on about – holding eye contact then smiling. I felt my stomach tighten again as I looked back
into his eyes.

‘Look,’ continued Mark, ‘if you like all this stuff, there’s a fair on at Alexandra Palace next week. Mind, Body and Spirit. Mum’s got a stall there. Give me your
number and I’ll call you with the details.’

I handed him one of the cards I made in Art last term. I’m quite proud of it. I did it on turquoise paper with silver writing.

‘Izzie Foster,’ he said, reading the card. ‘Cool. So I’ll phone you later.’

Result! A date with wonderboy.

As I wandered back to the tube station with Nesta and Lucy, Christmas lights were coming on in the street and in the shops and Camden looked colourful and strangely magical. I felt like I was
walking through a film set. Dusk in a perfect street in a Walt Disney world.

We linked arms and sang at the top of our voices. ‘Take my hand, I’m a strange-looking parasite, all wrapped in a wonderloaf . . . thinking of yoooooou!’

Chapter 3

‘When a boys says
he’ll phone you later, what does that mean?’ I asked Nesta and Lucy as we made our way to class the following
Wednesday.

‘Ah,’ said Nesta, ‘tricky one.’

‘It means later,
much
later, not like a girl,’ said Lucy. ‘When a girl says I’ll phone you later, she means later, like that night. But boys have a language all of
their own.’

‘I take it Mark hasn’t phoned yet?’ said Nesta.

I shook my head.

‘Early days,’ said Lucy, looking at me sympathetically. ‘He’ll phone. He said he would.’

Nesta shook her head. ‘That means nothing in boy speak. “I’ll phone you” could mean anything. I’ll phone you in a week, in two weeks, next month. If I
remember.’

I groaned. ‘Oh no. It’s agony and it’s only been three days. I stayed up late every night hoping he’d call but zilch.’

‘He’d never phone that soon,’ said Nesta, ‘not if he’s cool. It would make him look too keen. Give it a day or so and even then don’t hold your
breath.’

I do love Nesta but sometimes I wish she wouldn’t say
exactly
what she means all the time.

‘A watched phone never rings,’ said Lucy sagely.

‘Tell me about it,’ I said as I took my place at my desk. ‘But he has to phone in the next couple of days as the fair at Ally Pally is on Saturday.’

School has been a riot this week and a welcome distraction from waiting for the phone call. We have a student teacher called Miss Hartley standing in for our regular PHSE and
RE teacher Miss Watkins. As usual, poor thing, she’s live bait for some of our class who like nothing better than to give trainee teachers a hard time.

First class she took was Religious Education. I usually enjoy RE as we’ve been doing all the different belief systems from all over the world. I find it fascinating finding out what
different cultures think. Last term I was a Hindu. They believe that you have many lives, not just one, that our souls change bodies when we die and we come back as someone else.

I made a badge saying Reincarnation’s making a
come-back
, which I wore to school until Mrs Allen saw it and told me to take it off. It was nice though, thinking I might have known
people in another life. One day I asked Nesta if she thought we had known each other before.

‘Oh definitely,’ she said.

‘What, as your sister or something?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she said, ‘you were my pet frog.’

Then Lucy piped up in her daft Scottish accent, ‘What does a Hindu?’ She waited for our answer. ‘Lays eggs,’ she giggled. ‘Geddit?
Hen-
du?’

Nesta and Lucy think it’s all one big joke and don’t seem to realise that I really want to know about stuff like why we’re here and what it’s all about. Though I have
decided to stop being a Hindu and be an agnostic until I decide for definite.

Miss Hartley coughed to get our attention then began. ‘OK, class, today we’re going to talk about God. What do we know about him?’

‘Omnipresent, omnipotent, omniscient,’ said Jade Wilcocks.

‘Very good,’ said Miss Hartley.

‘Best-selling author,’ said Mary O’Connor. ‘He wrote the Bible.’

The class started sniggering so I put my hand up.

‘Izzie?’

‘Well actually, miss, I have a question about God.’

I’d been thinking about it ever since the wedding on Saturday when the priest had said, ‘Here we are gathered in the presence of God . . .’

‘If God is omnipresent, that means God is everywhere, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Miss Hartley.

‘Then why do people go to church to pray? If he’s omnipresent, wouldn’t we be in his presence everywhere? In the cinema, at home? Everywhere? Why go to a church?’

‘Good point, Izzie,’ said Miss Hartley. ‘Anyone else like to comment?’

‘Miss, if he’s everywhere, does that mean he’s watching you when you go to the toilet?’ asked Candice Carter.

Oh no. They were off. Wind-up time and I was hoping to get some answers to my questions.

‘Why do people pray to the ceiling if he’s everywhere?’ said Joanne Richards. ‘You could just as well pray under the sink.’

Quite right, I thought. I put my hand up again.

‘Miss, if he’s omnipresent and people are always praying to him, how does he hear everyone at the same time? Does he have an exchange system? It must be hard with all the millions of
prayers coming in in all the different languages. He may speak only Swahili for all we know.’

Miss Hartley was beginning to look a bit flustered.

‘Anyone else got anything to say?’

I put my hand up again. I had loads to say as I think a lot about things like this.

‘Do you think maybe God is in a bit of a bad mood because being omnipresent isn’t as much fun as it used to be when the world was new and fresh? Like, being everywhere all the time,
he has to watch
all
the repeats of “Neighbours” every day, plus all the repeats, in all the languages, in all the different countries, for eternity. It must get very
boring.’

‘Is eternity like a Sunday when it’s raining?’ asked Lucy.

‘Good questions,’ said Miss Hartley, avoiding the answers. ‘Maybe you could write an essay for next week on how you see God. Now get out your Bibles.’

I was still wondering how God answered prayers. But maybe he’s like Mark. Doesn’t call back. Now that got me thinking again.

I stuck my hand up again. ‘Miss, why do we call God a he? Why not a she? Or an it?’

‘I think we’ll call you Izzie Why Foster from now on,’ said Miss Hartley. ‘Why why why?’

She obviously doesn’t know as she didn’t bother to try to answer. ‘Now, class, who can name some of the famous characters in the hymns we sing in assembly?’

‘Gabriel,’ said Mary.

‘Lucifer,’ said Jade.

‘Er, no,’ said Miss Hartley, ‘that’s another name for the devil. He was a fallen angel.’

‘Fallen from where?’ I asked before she could tell me to shut up.

‘Heaven,’ she said.

‘Devon,’ whispered Lucy behind me. ‘And Harold is his name.’

I got the giggles then and decided to give up on my next question which was, ‘And where exactly is heaven?’

‘I’ve got a character out of a hymn,’ said Candice Carter.

‘OK,’ said Miss Hartley.

‘Hark, miss.’

‘And in which hymn is there a reference to a character called Hark, Candice?’

‘Hark, the Herald Angel, miss.’

There was no stopping the class after that. Even Nesta joined in.

‘I’ve got one, miss.’

‘OK, Nesta, go ahead.’

‘Gladly, miss.’

By now poor Miss Hartley was looking as though she wished she could be anywhere else but that classroom.

‘Gladly,’ she said wearily. ‘Who was he?’

‘Gladly the cross-eyed bear, miss.’

The whole class fell about laughing as we all know Gladly well, but being new to the school, Miss Hartley didn’t get the joke.

Candice put her hand up. ‘It’s one of the ancient hymns we sing in assembly, miss. It starts, “Gladly the cross I bear”.’

Miss Hartley still didn’t laugh. The bell for break went a moment later and she was out of the class and down the corridor before any of us.

At lunch-time, I checked my mobile. No messages, so I called home and punched in the code numbers to check the answering machine. Nothing. Then an
awful
thought struck
me. Mum got me a new mobile a month ago and I made the cards
two
months ago.
Oh no
. The mobile number on the card I gave Mark was the old one.

‘He won’t call in the day,’ said Lucy. ‘He’ll be at school.’

‘You’re right, though he might have a mobile,’ I sighed. ‘But he’ll probably call tonight.’

‘But tonight you’re coming back to our house with Nesta, aren’t you? Mum and Dad are going to a movie and we’re going to watch a DVD.’

‘Sorry, Lucy, I don’t want to miss the call.’

Lucy looked disappointed. ‘You haven’t been back one night this week. Oh, come on, Izzie, the machine will keep any messages.’

I thought Lucy of all people would understand, being so in love with Tony. But she didn’t.

Chapter 4

Wednesday night:
no call.

Thursday lunch-time: no call.

Thursday night: no call.

Friday morning: no call.

I’m
going out of my mind. Perhaps he lost my number? Perhaps he put the card in his jeans and his mum washed them and it got soaked? Perhaps he
didn’t mean to call at all and saying he would was a way of getting rid of me? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

It’s time to consult the oracles.

I sent Lucy a note in English.

Will you come back to my house tonight? I want to look at my horoscope and do the tarot cards to see what they have to say about Mark. I know Nesta’s busy with drama but can you
come?

Sure
, Lucy wrote back.
But it’s my turn to feed the dogs. We can do it on the way. I won’t be long.

‘Izzie Foster, Lucy Lovering, pay attention,’ said Mr Johnson, ‘and get out your folders. Today I want you to write something about school. How you feel about it. It can be in
any form you like: an essay, a poem, whatever. You’ve got twenty minutes. And no talking.’

I spent the first ten minutes gazing out of the window, hoping for inspiration, but all I could think about was Mark. I was trying to picture what he looked like, as already his face had gone
blurry in my mind. Maybe he wasn’t as good-looking as I remembered. Maybe I’d see him again and it would be like, Yuk, what did I ever see in you? I wondered what he’s really
like. What kind of music he’s into.

‘Izzie Foster, have you written anything yet?’ asked Mr Johnson.