Blueberry Wishes (6 page)

Me and Marco went into the hallway. “I'll walk you home,” he said, reaching for his jacket from the pegs by the door.

“No, I'm fine, really – you stay with your dad,” I insisted. “Make the most of him while…” I stopped myself, but it was too late. I could tell from Marco's frown that he was filling in the rest of that sentence.

“You don't think he'll stick around, do you?” he asked.

I didn't know what to say. What
could
I say? “Well, it's just, from what it sounds like, this is kind of what he does…” I mumbled, going bright red.

“It's okay,” said Marco, squeezing my hand. “I'm not offended or anything. I don't think he'll stay either. But he says he wants to prove that he's changed. He's never said that before. So I guess we'll see.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said.

“I mean, you gave your dad another chance, didn't you? Even after everything that happened?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

“Well, then, it's the same,” said Marco.

I smiled. “Sure it is,” I said.

I gave Marco an extra big hug, and we had a kiss, but not a snog-type one, because his mum and dad (that still sounded strange) were only about five metres away after all. It did
almost
turn into a snog-type one, but then I was sure one of them would appear any minute, so I managed to use all my willpower to pull myself away from him. Then we couldn't resist hugging again, and having a kiss, and then nearly a snog-type one, and the whole thing happened about five times before I finally managed to get myself out of the door.

As I strode down the street, I found myself turning it all over in my head.

With my own dad I'd decided to try and move forward and not let the past get in the way of the present. And I'd persuaded Grace to do that too. And Saff. So why was I being so hard on Luke? Why didn't Marco deserve that fresh start? And why didn't Luke deserve another chance?
Because he's had so many chances
already
, I heard myself think.
And how many chances is too many?
When do you walk away? And when it's someone as close as a dad, do you ever?

In Media class on Thursday, Summer and I were using the opportunity to make posters for my stall at the Autumn Fayre. Strictly speaking, we were supposed to be inventing a product and each using different methods to promote it. We had seen our chance and put ourselves down to do a live event as our type of promotion. Of course, I'd created the blueberry face mask a while ago, but when I'd asked Mr. Mac if we could still use it, he'd let us because the event was for charity. I'd made a few pots of it the evening before, after finishing my History homework (finally, yippeeeee!) and brought them in to take photos.

Jess and Bex from netball were doing a web page for the sports support bandage they'd created, and Josh and Alex were working on a Facebook campaign for some kind of secret-recipe sauce they were claiming would become as big as Reggae Reggae Sauce (once they'd been on
Dragons' Den
and got the investment money of course). Raven and Selima were working on a promotional video for their mini-composters, and Jake and Max had gone off to film kids using their double yo-yo around the school.

Ben and Marco were…well, let's just say their product was still in development, so right at that moment they didn't have anything
to
promote. While everyone else was busy working on the computers along the side wall, or spreading artwork out on the big table, or running things off on the massive colour printer, the boys were being annoying and distracting me and Summer.

“Oh, come on, Abs.
Please
help us,” Ben begged. “You always have loads of ideas and we've got literally zilchio.”

“I've
had
an idea!” Marco protested. “You just won't do it, that's all.”

“That's because it's rubbish!” Ben countered.

“What was it?” Summer asked Marco. “Come on, you can tell us. Ben's opinion isn't the be-all and end-all. You might have come up with the next big thing.”

Ben pulled a face at her and she gave him two fingers.

“Okay,” said Marco, giving Ben a smug look and shuffling his chair closer to us at the computer. “You know food, right?”

Summer and I looked at each other and smirked. “Yeah, we are aware of food,” she said.

Marco ignored that. “Well, wouldn't it be good if you could have your favourite meals without doing any cooking?”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Isn't that just called getting a takeaway?” I asked.

Marco sighed. “No, I mean, in a way that's easy and cheap and you don't have to wait for? So, I'm thinking, cereal, yeah? Why does it just have to be
cereal
flavour? People eat it as a snack all day, and after a night out and stuff. So how about doing kebab flavour? Or fish and chips? You could even have a roast-dinner one. You know, little different-coloured bits in the shape of roasties and beef and carrots.”

“I think what you're describing is cat food,” I smirked.

“See?” said Ben, rolling his eyes. “This is why you've got to help us!”

Marco elbowed him and he almost fell off his chair.

“Sorry, but the cereal thing
is
awful,” said Summer.

“Totally yuck!” I added.

“I've thought of a product
you
definitely need, though,” said Summer, grinning at Ben. “Self-washing socks!”

“Yeah, yeah!” cried Marco. “Even better, socks that have a built-in air freshener that activates when you move! Abs, you could invent that. It could be aromatherapy,” he added, laughing.

Ben called him a word I can't really write down here, and tried to pull his chair out from under him. “Aromatherapy socks,” he said. “I know you were joking, but there's something in that. This could make our fortune, mate. We need a tag line, though.”

“Sweet Feet,” I said, just off the top of my head.

“Cheers, Abs,” said Ben, scribbling it down.

“Now we've done your work for you, could you let us get on with ours, do you think?” asked Summer, raising her eyebrows and giving Ben a cheeky grin.

“Be my guest,” he said, smiling back. They didn't stop looking at each other for ages and somewhere in the back of my brain, cogs were whirring, and thoughts were forming, and wonderings, like the ones I'd wondered in English, were being wondered.

But I didn't have time to focus on them, because Summer had brought our draft poster over from the printer and was holding it in front of my face. “Boooo-ring!” she declared.

I had to admit I could see what she meant. We'd uploaded the photos she'd taken of the face-mask pots, but even half-open to show the lovely blue mixture inside and dressed up with a few blueberries, the poster still didn't look very exciting. We fiddled with the fonts and text size, and Mr. Mac suggested changing the background colour, which we tried, but that didn't improve it very much either.

That was when Summer looked at me and did another of her cheeky smiles. “It would be more eye-catching if someone actually
wore
the face mask,” she said. She nudged me and glanced towards the boys. I grinned too – having a boy rather than a girl on the posters would be even
more
eye-catching, plus it was a great chance to wind them up.

Summer wandered over to the big table where the socks campaign was taking shape, and informed Marco that he was going to be the new face of Blueberry Wishes Face Mask.

He smirked, obviously not taking her seriously. “Why me? What about you two?”

“I'll be taking the photos and Abbie's too busy designing,” said Summer.

“Yeah, I'm too busy designing,” I called, from the computers, swooshing the mouse around and peering at the screen.

“Ben'll do it. Won't you, mate?” said Marco. “
I
can't. I'm probably, like, allergic to it.”

“It's all natural ingredients,” I told him, “so you shouldn't be.”

“Oh, come on. It's for charity,” said Summer. “You look more the sort to use a face mask than Ben.”

“Oh, cheers!” cried Marco.

Ben looked smug. “Are you saying I'm the rugged, manly type?” he said to Summer.

“She's saying you look like a tramp, mate,” I heard Marco reply. But I wasn't looking at him. I was watching my best friend. She'd gone all red and stuttery when Ben had said the
rugged-manly
thing, and she was taking a big interest in her shoes. They were
quite
interesting – I mean, they were cool DMs with little flowers painted on and one yellow and one red ribbon for laces – but they weren't
that
interesting.

“No, I just meant that Marco's got a more urban look than you and—” Summer began, then trailed off into embarrassed mumbling.

Ben was actually blushing beetroot by then, and also looking like he wanted his plastic chair to magically eject him out through the ceiling. What if Summer still liked him (hence the red-and-stutteriness) and what if he liked her now too (hence the beetroot-blushing)? (Look at me, saying “hence”! See, I'd SO been listening in English!) Well, that would be just
perfect
, wouldn't it?

To check out my theory in a scientific way, I needed more evidence, so I smiled sweetly and said, “I've changed my mind. You're doing the face-mask poster, Ben. No arguing. Summer, you get it on him while I finish this.”

Well, they both looked horrified. But they didn't argue. And there was a lot of awkward blushing and mumbling and general embarrassment as Summer applied the gloopy purple mask to his face.

Actually, I'm not sure what that proved. Perhaps Ben just felt like an idiot (everyone had cheered and done a big round of applause as she was dolloping it on him, which can't have helped). But maybe there was more to it than that. If there was, I was determined to find out for definite.

When the pictures were done, Ben went to wash the face mask off (while grumbling about annoying girls and how we
so
owed him an iced bun as compensation at last break), and Summer came and sat down next to me to load them up onto the computer. I didn't say anything about Ben to her, though. I was too terrified about getting it wrong, like I did before the beach party, and somehow messing up our group. I'd need to be totally sure they liked each other before I said anything.

I found myself watching Ben and Summer on Friday too – I didn't realize I was, but when they were sharing a textbook in Geography, Summer suddenly did that goggly eyes thing at me, as if to say,
What are you staring at?

“Sorry, I'm miles away,” I whispered. “Just thinking about seeing Dad tomorrow.”

She looked all concerned then and asked me if I was feeling okay about that, and I felt really bad for fibbing. I realized when she asked the question that actually I was just mainly looking forward to seeing him, and I only had a tiny bit of the stomach-churning,
how-dare-you-wreck-our-family
type feeling that I used to get all the time, whenever I even
thought
of him.

I hoped Grace and Saff would be alright too. Well, I mean, they'd both sorted out their differences with him and things were all okay on the phone, so there was no reason why they wouldn't be. In a strange, non-logical way, I wished Mum could come too, so we could all be together again, and get along just like we used to. I guess what I really wanted to do was turn back time, to when we were in our cosy, happy house in Ealing, laughing and teasing and bustling about and talking non-stop.

But I'd accepted that we could never go back – and at least now we had some way of going forwards. Mum, Grace, Saff and I had Rainbow Beauty, new friends, the flat and each other. My sisters and I had Dad back in our lives. It wasn't perfect, but it was our life now, and I was really beginning to love it.

On Saturday afternoon, Dad met Saff, Grace and me at Victoria Coach Station in London and we all had massive hugs (and Dad had a couple of tears, which Saff didn't notice and Grace and I pretended not to see).

“Nice look, Dad!” said Saff approvingly, and I remembered that only Grace and I had seen him go back to being suited and booted and smelling of aftershave like he used to.

We were expecting to head back to his flat – well, bedsit – but he had a surprise for us. Massimo, the owner of a gorgeous vintage-style beauty shop called Beau, had invited us in to present the new range at two o'clock. We'd pitched to him before when we were selling our Beauty and the Beach range, and he'd ordered loads, so Saff and I were really excited.

But Grace looked horrified. “Dad, it's already twelve,” she gasped, “and we haven't even shown you the new products or gone through the pricing or anything!”

“Well, we'd better get cracking then,” said Dad, with a grin.

So we found an Italian cafe just down from the coach station and us three ordered paninis while Dad got a massive plate of Bolognese. Grace made him wear a load of paper napkins tucked into his collar in case he got any down his shirt right before the pitch. I couldn't help smiling, watching her fuss over him – I knew just how much courage it had taken her to give him another chance.

We walked into Beau at two on the dot and were greeted like old friends by Massimo himself, with the three-kisses-on-the-cheek thing that Marco's mum does. He'd made us coffee in a posh cafetière and there were long, thin biscotti with pistachios and orange peel. He told us how well the Beauty and the Beach range had gone down with his customers, and then we pitched the Rainbow range to him. He loved the concept and was especially keen on the Red Spicy Delight Bubble Bath and the Blue Massage Oil Blend. He took ten each of those and eight of everything else, as well as five of the gift packs.

Saff's eyes were popping out – she hadn't pitched with us before, so she was only used to seeing people buy one or two products at a time. Grace and Dad looked quietly pleased. Over lunch they'd agreed that sixty orders would be brilliant. Luckily I managed to control myself from going “Yes!” and punching the air or doing a happy dance or anything.

After that, Massimo spent time chatting with us and showing us some of the other new products he'd got in recently from different suppliers. “Florals mixed with citrus are trending right now,” he told us. “Here, smell this.”

“Citrus – see?” said Saff smugly to Grace, as he handed us all little bottles of hand cream.

I was soon lost in the heady scents of orange, jasmine and… “Is that rose?” I asked, breathing in the delicious scent.

“Yes,” said Massimo, looking impressed. “They're free samples. Take them if you like.”

Then he showed us a new men's range he'd ordered. “It's good quality,” he said, “but I don't like their scrub as much as yours.” (He'd displayed our Zingy Lime and Ginger Sea Salt Body Scrub in the men's section as well as the women's and now it was all sold out.)

That was when I happened to glance at Grace and found her doing a goggly eyes thing at me. After a few seconds, I caught on to what she was getting at. “Oh, I'm sure we can make you some more, no problem,” I told him.

“That would be fabulous,” said Massimo. “Put me down for ten.”

“Thank you. We really appreciate your support,” Dad said.

“It's a great product,” said Massimo. “And it's a pleasure for me to encourage new talents like Abbie. Young people like her are the future of the beauty business.”

Erm, the FUTURE of the BEAUTY BUSINESS? Me? OMG, with bells on. It really hit me then – I'd started off creating a few products at the kitchen table to try and cheer up Mum and my sisters, and now I was standing here selling them to one of the smartest beauty shops in London. I stared at a wall display of moisturizers and tried to act normal and not have a total hysterical freak-out.

“Do men spend a
lot
on tarting themselves up then?” I heard Saff asking, when I came round from my OMG moment.

“On
grooming
, yes,” Massimo said, giving her an amused smile.

“That's something we should look into for the future,” said Grace thoughtfully. “We could do a whole men's range.”

“Well, it's probably just in London,” said Saff. “I bet some of the hippy blokes down where we live don't even use
soap
!”

“Oh, you'd be surprised,” said Massimo. “Male grooming is big everywhere now.”

“Maybe we could market some of our products as unisex and sell to men too…” said Grace, thinking aloud.

“You remind me of myself at your age,” Massimo told her, “always looking for the next business opportunity.”

“And me. Like father, like daughter,” said Dad proudly.

While Grace was blushing about a zillion degrees but trying to look cool about the compliments, Massimo said, “I'm creating an autumn display themed around berries or spices for the men's window, and if you can provide something along those lines, I'll include it. I really like your Red Spicy Delight Bubble Bath, but it's a bit too sweet for men, and they don't really buy bath products, as such.”

We all gaped at each other. Being asked to make a bespoke product – what a massive opportunity! Then I realized that Dad and my sisters were staring at me, not just to go “Wow!”, but because they were waiting for me to come up with something on the spot.

I know a lot of things my mouth comes out with on its own are embarrassing, but for a change it said something sensible, i.e., “We could make it into a shower gel instead.” As Massimo nodded approvingly I found myself thinking of Marco's spicy, woody smell. “And, erm, we could keep the frankincense and ginger as they're the deeper notes from the Red bubble bath you like, but swap the sandalwood for cedarwood, and bring in some musk and cinnamon.” I managed to stop myself from adding,
Which is how my BOYFRIEND smells.

Massimo grinned. “I wouldn't have thought of that combination, but it sounds divine. If you do develop something, send me a sample and we'll go from there.”

“Okay, great…thanks,” I stuttered.

Massimo had to head off to a meeting then, so when the orders were written up and the deposit paid, we said our goodbyes and stepped out into the street, walking on air.

“That was amazing!” cried Saff. “He really loved the products, and our brand, and
us
!”

“Great, isn't it?” said Dad. “When it goes well, sales is the best job in the world! And he was right, you
are
all really talented.”

“Well, if you don't mind, I'm off to be really talented somewhere else,” said Saff, pulling a little mirror from her bag to check her hair and make-up. “I'm meeting Sabrina on Kensington High Street and then we're having dinner out with the rest of the Arts Ed lot, so don't cook anything for me.” She slicked on some more lip gloss. “See you guys about nine-ish?”

“Sure,” I said, giving her a big hug. “Have fun.”

“Watch your bag on the Tube,” said Grace gravely. “This
is
London.”

“Yes, where I
have
lived for most of my life,” Saff told her, pulling a face.

Me and Grace were going straight back to Dad's with him. I had thought about meeting Em and Zo that afternoon but I hadn't called them in the end. Last time I'd seen them we hadn't gelled like we used to, and I'd found myself wishing the time away. It was like our lives had gone in different directions. They weren't the same, or rather,
they
were – but I wasn't.

Luckily Emily had loaned Saff her old phone for the weekend, so Dad told Saff to text him when she got off the Tube and he'd walk up and meet her at the station. Then we all saw her onto the right bus and waved her off.

When we got back to Dad's place, I was impressed to see that it was still looking as good as Saff and me had left it after our cleaning spree. Mum had given me the pay-as-you-go phone to bring, and I rummaged in my bag for it. I burst into a huge grin when I saw that there was a text from Marco.
Look in the side pocket of your bag
, it read, in texty language. So I did, and found a bag of lemon drops hidden there, like in “Somewhere over the Rainbow”. I smiled and popped one into my mouth before offering the bag to Grace. It really did feel like my troubles were melting away, like it said in the song – we'd dealt with the new spa opening, and the London orders would be piling in soon enough. Perhaps we'd be able to pay Mr. Vulmer
six
months' rent in advance rather than three – that would give us even more security.

We were really hungry by half five (even Dad, even after the ton of spag bol he'd eaten for lunch), so I got inventive with his half-empty fridge and made some cheese-and-mushroom omelettes with loads of toast.

After we'd eaten, Grace and Dad went back to designing the web page. I helped them as much as I could by writing out all the product information for the new range, as well as coming up with a few lines introducing the Rainbow Beauty brand. But at about half eight I collapsed in front of the telly, happy to see them working so closely together, both with the exact same looks of frowny concentration on their faces.

We were all surprised when the bell rang an hour later and it turned out to be Saff. Dad went to let her in, and followed her back to the sitting room, saying, “But, love, why didn't you text? I said I'd come and meet you.”

“It's no big deal,” she mumbled.

When she asked who'd like tea, Grace and I said “Hi” and “Yes please”. But from the way she was banging around in the kitchenette, I started to wonder what was up. Grace didn't seem to notice anything, though, and soon she and Dad were side by side at the little table, engrossed in the website stuff sgain. Saff came in and put the tea down, glanced at them and went out again in silence. I thanked her for mine but she didn't even seem to hear. Then suddenly, completely out of nowhere, she stormed back into the main room and went into meltdown.

“Well, I didn't think
you'd
forget so quickly, Grace,” she snarled. “Don't you feel like you're betraying Mum, cosying up with
him
?”

“Saff, what's going on?” Grace asked, looking uneasy.

But Saff didn't reply. Instead she turned on Dad.

“Oh, you think it's all fine now, don't you?” she snapped. “You've got us all back, like nothing happened. And now you're getting in on
our
new business too – how
perfect
for you!”

For a moment Dad just stared at her, and I thought he'd say something to calm her down. But then he just exploded. Grace and I stared at each other in alarm. It was so unlike him to fight back.

“No, I'm not having that!” he shouted. “Nothing's
fine
. Nothing's
right
. I miss you three every second of every day. I'm even missing you now you're here because I know that tomorrow you'll be gone and God knows when I'll see you again.”

Saff looked really taken aback. “Dad, I—” she began.

But by then words were pouring out of him. “I regret
everything
that's happened, and I feel so, so guilty and I wish I could change things, but I can't, and that kills me. And if you want to know why I'm so engrossed in YOUR business, it's because I'm desperate to do everything I can to help make it work for you. And…and…” He faltered, and shook his head, like he'd decided not to say anything more.

But then Grace spoke. “Go on,” she said gently.

Dad sighed. “And because I'm terrified that if I don't get up and showered and shaved and started on all this the second I wake up in the morning, I'll go back to where I was before I got this chance. Back down that black hole. Feeling pathetic and useless. Or worse, feeling nothing at all, some days. And that was a very dark and scary place, where I never want to be again.”

My heart started pounding, hearing him say that. I thought back to how the bedsit was when I first saw it – filthy and dingy, with rubbish everywhere and the curtains closed in the middle of the day. Dad had been a mess too – unshaven, with dirty old clothes on and hardly able to make himself a cup of tea.

Saff had been there too, had seen the state of him, and now she looked horrified. “Dad, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it,” she gabbled. “I had no idea I even
felt
that way. I mean, I don't feel that way, not usually. All that just came out…”

Dad sighed. “I'm not telling you this to try and get sympathy,” he told her. “You've every right to be angry – to feel
however
you feel. I'm just saying it because it's a fact.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Look, I'm going for a walk. Just for a few minutes. I need a bit of time alone, okay?” And with that he strode out without even picking up his jacket. I think he was about to cry, and he didn't want us to see.