The Parent Problem (6 page)

Once Rob has gone, Mum hands over the popcorn and asks the kind of question adults always trot out when they can’t think of anything better to ask: ‘So. Which school are you going to, Finn?’

If they want to find out something about you, why don’t adults ask you what your favourite book is, or your favourite food, or your best method of torturing your younger brother? It would tell you a lot more about a person than where they go to school.

‘I’m going to start at Westfield Academy tomorrow,’ Finn says, taking the bowl. ‘Year 9.’

‘Oooh!’ says Mum, her eyes wide. It’s as if Finn has just told her he has invented a recipe for the elixir for everlasting life. ‘That’s where Skye goes,’ she coos. ‘You’ll be able to introduce him to people, Skye,’ she adds, looking extremely pleased with herself.

I curl my lip. ‘Yeah. Except I’m in Year 8. I don’t suppose Finn will want to meet a bunch of people in the year below him.’

Unless Aubrey has anything to do with it.

Finn gives a lopsided smile and shrugs.

‘Well, at least he’ll recognize a
friendly face
on his first day,’ says Mum. She gives me a pointed look as I scowl back at her.

Do adults undergo some kind of brain surgery when they become parents? I mean, how come they cannot remember how they felt at our age? Or maybe they really are a whole different species and they never felt the way we do. What is there to like about being forced to spend an evening with someone you don’t know, and then be told it will be ‘nice’ that you will recognize each other at school the next day?

Mum is now in Ultra-Hyper Mode as she prepares to leave. She has started issuing a list of instructions at top speed.

‘Now, if you need to give me a call, this is my mobile number, only I will have it on “silent” because of course I don’t want to disturb the class, but I promise I will check it regularly in case you need to get in touch, but I’m sure you won’t as Harris and Skye really are no trouble at all when they are being supervised, and Harris can show you how the TV works and Harris makes the best hot chocolate and if Pongo needs a pee then you just—’

‘MUM!’ I have to cut in before she dies from not stopping to breathe.

‘Yes?’ Mum says, panting a little.

‘It’s fine. You don’t need to tell Finn all that stuff.
I’m
here, remember? I don’t need to be “supervised”. And I know how the TV works and what to do with Pongo and my hot chocolate is pretty good too, thanks very much. So if you are going, why don’t you just go? NOW!’ I add, as Mum shifts from one foot to the other, looking anxious.

‘OK, OK,’ Mum says. She sticks a wide grin on her features and says, ‘Toodle-oo then! Be good.’ Then she leaves. Finally.

Toodle-oo?
Since when has Mum ever said ‘Toodle-oo’? I glance at Finn to see whether or not this has confirmed his opinion of my mum as a nutter. He has sat down on the sofa and is digging in to the freshly made popcorn. (Rude!)

Harris says, ‘Wanna play Mario?’

Finn says, ‘Sure.’ Then he leans over the back of the sofa and hands Harris the bowl of popcorn saying, ‘Your mum’s cool.’

‘I know!’ says Harris. ‘So are you.’

He looks at Finn the way Pongo looks at Mum when she is holding a treat above his nose. I half expect my idiot of a brother to start drooling with his tongue lolling out.

I cringe so badly I am worried I have groaned aloud.

Finn laughs. ‘Come on, buddy. Let’s play,’ he says to Harris. ‘I warn you though, I am a total legend when it comes to Mario. The heat is on!’

Harris bellows with laughter and says, ‘It’s way better having a boy babysitter! Can you come every week while Mum is out?’

‘Harris,’ I growl, ‘Finn is not our
babysitter
. He’s just come round because Milly can’t come tonight.’

‘Yeah, DUH! So he’s babysitting us instead,’ says Harris. He is doing forward rolls over the top of the sofa and on to the floor, running around the back of the sofa and doing it again. And again and again. He is sending the popcorn shooting into the air and all over the floor, and Finn does nothing to stop him, he just laughs.

Then he says, ‘Cool! Can I try?’

Before I know what’s happening, Finn has leaped over the back of the sofa in one gigantic, long-legged step and is forward-rolling over it as well, landing with a mega-bounce and catapulting the rest of the popcorn into the air.

‘Hey!’ I shout. ‘This is not a trampoline. Harris knows he’s not allowed to do this.’

Finn is out of breath from doing manic-monkey laughing, and Harris is practically peeing his pants with glee.

‘We have a trampoline outside!’ Harris squeaks. ‘Wanna see it?’

Finn grins. ‘I know you do,’ he says. ‘I saw you snooping on us yesterday while you were jumping up and down.’ Then he does another forward roll. ‘This is way more fun than a trampoline.’

‘YAY!’ says Harris, copying Finn’s every move.

‘Both of you, stop it,’ I say, scrabbling around on the floor to pick up the popcorn. ‘Pongo will sniff this out in no time and eat it all. You
know
popcorn is really bad for him, Harris.’

‘“Oooh, you
know
popcorn is really bad for him, Harris”,’ says Finn in a high-pitched sing-song voice.

Harris shrieks and jumps even higher on the sofa.

I growl and turn to leave the idiot boys to it and am almost flattened by Pongo, who has burst through from the kitchen exactly on cue – he must have heard his name or smelt the popcorn. He immediately begins scoffing as many pieces as he can while I shout at Finn to hold him back. Both boys are completely useless with laughter by now. They are rolling around on the sofa like a pair of puppies themselves, squashing popcorn into the fabric and making even more of a mess.

Suddenly I wonder why I am bothering trying to get them to calm down. It is not
me
making the mess and it will certainly not be
me
clearing up Pongo’s poo or sick or whatever he does as a result of eating the popcorn.

I get up off the floor and brush the crumbs off my jeans. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘If you two want to behave like animals, you can deal with
that
animal when it all goes wrong.’ I point at Pongo who has turned into a canine Hoover, his face pushed as flat to the floor as he can, so that he can get as much popcorn into his mouth as quickly as possible. ‘I am going upstairs,’ I say.

‘OoOOOOooo!’ says Finn. ‘She’s going
upstairs
. I’m scared, Harris – what about you?’

Harris is squealing like a piglet now. He is bright red in the face and has reached that point of over-excitement I like to think of as ‘danger-point’, which basically means that Pongo might not be the only one having an accident of some sort this evening.

I smile to myself. Finn will just have to find that one out for himself, won’t he? After all, he is being paid to
babysit
.

I leave the two boys and the dog wrestling in the sitting room and go up to my room to read. I think about texting Aubrey to tell her what a nightmare I am having, but then I think again: she might invite herself round if I mention Finn is here.

No-way-José am I going to introduce Finn to Aubrey. It is bad enough that he has ganged up on me with my own brother. There is no chance in a million years that I am going to let him come between me and my best friend as well.

I woke up this morning with a sense of dread sitting heavily on my chest. It took my sleep-logged brain a while to crank into action. I couldn’t think what was making me feel like that. I made a huge effort to open my eyes and try to shift and stretch.

Then I realized the heaviness was actually caused by Gollum, who was sitting on me in her favourite position, her face pushed into mine. She was purring loudly and drooling on my neck. She is my own personal furry (and dribbly) alarm clock.

She hissed when I complained. Now she is miaowing loudly, making it clear I am supposed to be up and getting her breakfast.

Well, tough, Gollum. I can see by the clock next to my bed that it is still only 6.30, so you’ll have to wait.

Hang on a minute. I have just remembered what day it is: the first day of a new term. And the first day of going to school with my new next-door neighbour, who is an A-grade annoying boy, but who my best friend thinks is a ‘hashtag gorgeous babe’.

I can feel the heaviness in my chest returning as I write, and this time it has nothing to do with Gollum.

I’m going to have to get up and face the day sometime, I suppose. Maybe it won’t be that bad after all. Maybe I am worrying over nothing. Maybe . . .

I follow my cat downstairs. On the way into the kitchen I pick up my mobile which I left on charge last night.

I think back to Mum coming home from her dancing class. She was irritatingly happy. Even the fact that Finn was vacuuming the sofa did not stop her from grinning. You would think that seeing a teenage boy using a Hoover would ring some alarm bells, but she just beamed and asked him what had happened. He said that
I
had given Pongo some popcorn and that it had made a mess, but that Mum didn’t need to worry, because he had cleared it all up now. Mum then thanked him for being so thoughtful and handed him a wad of banknotes! She wouldn’t listen when I told her I had nothing to do with the mess. If only she had seen the state of the place five minutes earlier: furniture rearranged into an obstacle course, popcorn squashed into the cushions, and dog-sick on the carpet.

If I hadn’t felt so outraged, I would have felt admiration for the amazing job Finn did at hiding the evidence. However, my blood was almost literally boiling after the comment about Pongo. How could he drop me in it? It was bad enough that Harris had made him into some kind of hero. Not only is Finn turning my own family against me, he is prepared to tell lies about me as well.

I feel all the anger from last night surge through me again as I scrape some cat food out of the tin and into Gollum’s bowl. Then I take my phone with me into the garden as I let Pongo out for his morning pee. Maybe I should text Aubrey to warn her what Finn is really like.

Aubrey has beaten me to it – and boy, has she been busy! She has sent not just one text, but hundreds. I smile as I scroll back through them. What have I been worrying about? I went to bed last night almost convinced she would be dumping me today at school. There is nothing wrong between us, I think, as I see how many times she has texted: this is the Aubrey I know and love. I will tell her about Finn and everything will be OK. She will see my side of the story. She is the only person in the world who truly understands me.

I feel guilty as I realize I should have checked my phone last night while Finn was here. Maybe I should even have texted her to tell her right there and then what a loser he is. She will think I have been blanking her now.

I feel less guilty as I scroll back and read all the texts from the beginning, though: most contain questions about the new neighbours rather than any worries about why I haven’t texted back. They pretty much all look something like this: