Mates, Dates and Cosmic Kisses (2 page)

‘Right,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Start scrubbing and don’t stop until your hair is back to normal.’

She handed me the shampoo and I waited for her to leave but she stood there glaring at me.

‘It’s not enough that you shame me in front of all our family and friends,’ she continued, ‘but you ruined Amelia’s special day. And
how
are we going to
explain the fact that one of the bridesmaids is missing from most of the wedding photographs?’

‘I wouldn’t have minded being in the pictures,’ I began.

‘Well Amelia minded. She was furious. Honestly, Isobel, fancy upstaging the bride on her wedding day.’

‘I didn’t mean to . . .’

‘You never think, do you? You’d have stood out a mile in every photograph.’

‘Sorry,’ I said for the millionth time that day.

‘And I won’t have you going into school looking like that either. Lord knows what the teachers would think of us and what kind of home you come from.’

I was going to tell her loads of girls have coloured hair and highlights but I know defeat when I see it so I bent over the taps and began washing.

Mum was still hovering as streams of green dye filled the bath. I could hear her sighing above the gushing water. I decided silence was the best policy so continued washing then reached for a
towel.

‘NOT THAT ONE!’ cried Mum. ‘For heaven’s sake, Isobel!’ (She always calls me by my full name when she’s mad at me.) ‘Not a white towel, it’ll
leave stains. I’ll get you a dark one.’

Mum’s very big on white towels. Once, after I’d been washing my face, she came into my room holding the towel I’d used.

‘Is it you who’s marked my towel?’ she asked, pointing to mascara blotches. ‘Towels are for drying with, not for using to remove make-up.’

Honestly. I wish she’d get some normal coloured ones so I could use the bathroom without worrying, but then she’s like that about everything. Our house is immaculate. Mum’s
immaculate. Always dressed in neat black suits for work and neat black trousers and cashmere sweaters for home. Dark hair in a neat bob. I don’t know how she does it. Never a hair out of
place. Never a scuff on her shoes. Never a mark on her clothing. Her star sign is Virgo, the perfectionist. She even cleans up before the cleaner comes in as she doesn’t want her thinking
we’re a dirty family. What
is
the point of having a cleaner if you can’t make a mess to clean up?

I wished she’d go away and let me finish doing my hair in peace but no, she plonked herself on the side of the bath and looked at me sternly. ‘Now are you going to give me some kind
of explanation?’

‘Er, I . . . I thought it looked nice.’

Sigh. Bigger sigh.

‘I didn’t mean to upset anyone . . .’ I began.

I didn’t. But I did get quite a reaction. We were going up the aisle and everyone was oohing and aahing at the bride when suddenly the guests all spotted me and the place went quiet. Then
people looked away. But not Amelia. I could see the moment I caught her eye that there was going to be trouble. Big trouble. I swear I could see steam coming out from under her veil. I kept my eyes
on the altar and prayed she’d mellow out a bit at the reception after a few drinks. She didn’t. She went completely ballistic.

Mum was still glaring at me from the side of the bath. I didn’t know what else to say.

‘Um, sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

‘Sorry? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Go to your room. I can’t bear to look at you.’

I crept into my room. Definitely in the doghouse. Definitely
persona non grata.
Again.

Chapter 2

‘And where do you think
you’re going?’ asked Mum the next day as I tried to sneak out the front door. I was hoping to escape
before I was grounded.

‘Out with Nesta and Lucy.’

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Not hungry,’ I said, stuffing my gloves in my coat pocket.

‘It’s cold and raining out there. You can’t go out without anything inside you. Come back.’

I followed her back into the kitchen and she started putting bread in the toaster.

‘Er, no thanks, Mum, I’ll just have some fruit. I don’t eat white bread any more.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since now.’

‘And why’s that?’ she asked. She was looking quite cheerful considering the events of the day before. Was I forgiven?

‘Er, no reason. I just don’t fancy any.’

‘Then I’ll do you some eggs.’

‘No thanks, I don’t fancy eggs. I’ll take some fruit.’

How can I tell her I only eat free-range now? I read how they keep the battery hens all cooped up in tiny spaces. Awful, poor little chicks. But I don’t want to go there with Mum today, it
would only start an argument.

‘Izzie, what is it with you lately? Can’t eat this, won’t eat that!’

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, see, we did a class on nutrition at school and I was wondering if, er, maybe we could have more healthy food.’

‘What do you mean, more healthy food?’

‘Like maybe fresh food rather than frozen, free-range eggs, maybe organic . . .’

‘And what’s wrong with what I give you?’

‘Er, nothing wrong with it but we could be eating better.’

‘Nonsense. We eat very well here. There’s always plenty of food in the cupboards.’

‘But Mum . . . I’m not talking about quantity, I’m talking about quality . . .’

‘Are you saying my food isn’t good quality?’

‘No, NO . . .’

This wasn’t going well.

I decided to try another angle. ‘You know how you like everything to be immaculate in the house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, see, that’s all external. What I’m talking about is what’s inside. You are what you eat and the more fresh and healthy the food is that you eat, the better you
feel and the more immaculate you are on the inside. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

It was worth a try. She seemed to be considering what I’d said.

My stepfather Angus looked up over his
Financial Times.
‘What Izzie’s saying is she wants to go green!’

Very funny. Not.

Thanks, Angus, I thought, last thing I need is someone reminding Mum of yesterday.

‘No. Not green. I’m not talking about the environment. Although that’s important too. I’m talking about not eating rubbish.’

Oops. Me and my big mouth. Didn’t mean it to come out like that. Mum’s stern expression returned in a flash.

‘Why can’t you be like normal teenagers, Izzie? Most girls your age want nothing but pasta and chips. Why do you always have to be different?’

‘You can get organic pasta. Lucy’s mum and dad buy all organic food. In fact, Mr Lovering sells it at his shop.’

‘Well they’re welcome to it. We don’t live like them.’

Wish I did, I thought. Lucy’s house is so different to mine. It’s lived-in, cosy.
And
they have coloured towels in their bathroom so you can get them as dirty as you like.

‘But Mum . . . it’s a well-known fact that fresh produce is better for you than all that stuff you eat. Out of the freezer and into the microwave, full of preservatives . .
.’

‘Don’t speak to your mother like that,’ said Angus.

I can’t win. I wasn’t speaking to Mum like
that.
I thought we’d all benefit from my health suggestions but I’d wanted to pick my time for bringing it up. Escape
seemed the best plan.

‘Can I go now?’ I asked, getting up.

‘Not before you eat that toast,’ said Mum.

‘Whatever. I’ll take it with me. I’ll eat it. Promise.’

I wrapped the toast in a napkin and made a dash for the door. I’ll feed it to the birds, I thought.

But I bet even they prefer wholemeal.

Lucy and Nesta were waiting for me at Camden tube station, standing by the ticket machines, munching on Snickers bars.

‘We match,’ I said, seeing we were all dressed in black.

‘When in Camden,’ said Nesta, ‘do as the Camdens do . . . or something like that.’

Everyone in Camden seems to wear black or grey. Maybe it’s to fit in with the December weather which as usual is dull and rainy.

‘So how was the wedding?’ asked Nesta as we fought our way through the Sunday crowds to the indoor market at the Lock. ‘I see your hair’s back to normal.’

‘I know. Mum went ballistic and made me wash the green out as soon as we got home. Amelia was furious when she saw me. She banned me from most of the wedding photos and said she’ll
never speak to me again.’

‘Good result, then,’ grinned Nesta. ‘She was never your favourite person, was she?’

‘Not really,’ I laughed. ‘And I don’t think I ruined the day as much as everyone made out. The wedding was quite sweet in the end. Specially when one of the pageboys read
out The Lord’s Prayer. He was so cute, only six. “Our Father who are in Devon,” he said. “Harold be Thy name.” It was hysterical.’

‘Any boys?’ asked Lucy.

‘Don’t even go there. Nah. Well, one; he tried to chat me up. But he’s Jeremy’s younger brother so he must be a total nerd.’

‘What did he look like?’ asked Nesta.

‘About seventeen. Quite nice-looking. Little John Lennon glasses. But wearing an awful suit that didn’t fit him properly. Jeremy made him get up on the stage at the reception and
play the piano. It was awful. Songs from the shows. All the oldies were singing along to
The Sound of Music, Singing in the Rain, South Pacific
. All that “Take my hand, I’m a
stranger in paradise, lost in a wonderland” stuff is so naff . . .’

‘My dad’s got the DVD of
South Pacific
. My brothers do their own version of that song,’ said Lucy, then began singing: ‘Take my hand, I’m a strange-looking
parasite, all wrapped in a wonderloaf . . .’

‘A much better version,’ I said as we made our way through the market. ‘So to the serious business of shopping. What do we want to look at?’

‘Boys,’ said Nesta.

‘I’d like to get some earrings for my date with Tony,’ said Lucy.

‘And we must get something new for the end-of-term disco,’ said Nesta. ‘You never know who might be there.’

‘I heard King Noz are playing,’ said Lucy.

‘Who are they?’ I asked.

‘Oh they’re fantastic. They’re in the Sixth Form at my brother’s school. Lal’s got a demo CD of theirs and said they may even have a recording deal.’

‘Well, anything’s got to be better than songs from the shows,’ I said.

Camden Lock sells all sorts of paraphernalia: books, frames, joss-sticks, essential oils, crystals, jewellery, mirrors, clothes, hats, pottery, music. You name it, they sell
it. The place was heaving with people browsing, buying, or meeting friends.

I wanted to do a bit of pre-Christmas shopping so I steered the girls upstairs to the New Age stalls. I thought I’d buy everyone aromatherapy oils this year.

Lucy was soon stuck in at a stall selling jewellery and Nesta was trying on sunglasses so I wandered over to a corner stall selling essential oils. I picked out the rose and jasmine bottles and
had a good sniff. They’re my favourite scents but also the most expensive so I haven’t been able to afford them yet for my collection at home.

‘Hi,’ said a voice. ‘Can I help?’

I glanced up and found myself staring into a pair of conker-brown eyes. Something very peculiar happened to my insides. Like someone had tied a knot in my stomach and tightened it. This boy was
gorgeous. I mean
seriously
gorgeous. A wide smiley mouth and silky black hair flopping over his face.

‘Er, no thanks, just looking,’ I blustered, then turned and ran.

I pulled Lucy and Nesta into a corner behind a dress stall. ‘I’ve just fallen in love,’ I said breathlessly, leaning back against the wall.

‘Who with?’ said Nesta, sticking her head round the wall.

I pulled her back. ‘Don’t! He’ll see.’

Lucy immediately stuck her head round the corner. ‘There’s a boy looking over here. Is he the one by the stairs? In a white T-shirt and jeans?’

I stuck my head out and the boy at the stall grinned and waved.

‘Oh no,’ I groaned, darting out of sight. ‘He’s seen us. He’ll think I’m a complete dork. Come on, we have to go.
Now.
Downstairs. He’ll think I
fancy him.’

‘But you do,’ said Nesta. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing,’ I said and walked back into the crowds, studiously avoiding looking back at the oil stall.

When I got downstairs, Nesta and Lucy came charging after me.

‘If you like him,’ said Lucy, ‘go and talk to him.’

‘I can’t. I don’t know what to say. Oh God. I’m so stupid. He’ll think I’m stupid.’

‘No he won’t,’ said Nesta. ‘Tell you what, we’ll have a look round down here then we’ll go back up and Lucy and I will go and look at the stall then kind of
casually call you over to look at something.’

‘Good plan,’ I said. ‘But you browse. I’m going to the loo to comb my hair.’

Lucy laughed. ‘I told you it would happen one day, Izzie. Never say never.’

After an excruciating fifteen minutes of pretending to be interested in stalls on the ground floor, we made our way back up to the top level. I peered over the crowds and could
see the boy serving someone so I went and stood with my back to him at a neighbouring stall.

Nesta and Lucy made their way over towards him.

‘Lucy,’ said Nesta in a mega-loud voice, I want to look at some aromatherapy oils.’

God. She’s
so
obvious.

Lucy and Nesta were soon occupied sniffing bottles. Then Nesta said, again in her stupid loud voice, ‘Izzie, come over here. Isn’t one of these oils supposed to be an
aphrodisiac?’

OhmyGod. Subtle is not a word in Nesta’s dictionary. I turned towards them and made my way over, trying to look as cool as I could.

The boy looked up and grinned. ‘Ylang ylang,’ he said, offering me a bottle of oil. ‘It’s supposed to be a real turn-on.’

‘And what do you do with it?’ asked Nesta.

The boy smiled suggestively. ‘Whatever you like.’

‘You put a few drops in the bath,’ I said sternly and sounding embarrassingly like my mother.

Nesta pulled on Lucy’s arm. ‘Come on, I want to look . . . er . . . over there.’