Boys for Beginners (24 page)

‘I'm sorry, mate.'

‘It's all right.'

‘No, really. I've been a complete idiot and I'm sorry. I've been obsessed with Charlie Notts and trying to be like Jenny Gregson, when really I should have been trying to be more like me. I mean, Jenny and Charlie are—'

‘Do you know what, Gwynnie?'

‘What?'

‘I don't want to talk about it.'

‘Fair enough.' I can understand that. We don't have to talk about everything to be friends, we just have to be there. I've been a bit lame at that these past few weeks and I'm going to get better.

I reach down and take off my heels. ‘Come on then: kick-ball. First to three.'

Paul smiles at me and passes the ball. I whack
it at the wall with superb precision and it bounces off, straight to Paul's feet. Luckily it seems I haven't lost it.

Jenny texts:

hey G u still angry with me? i no its only been 2 days but i miss u loads. pls b my friend again
.

Delete.

Charlie texts:

hi gwynnie. sorry about Saturday. how r u? at least spurs won the match!

Delete.

That was the second text I got from Charlie, and the second one I've deleted. It was the nineteenth from Jenny. Which is a lot, even for her.

Sunday was so rubbish that I didn't even leave my room. But at least Monday was a bank holiday so it gave me more thinking time. Now it's Tuesday morning. So, what to do? Go back to Old Gwynnie, or stick with New, Girlie Gwynnie?

I look at my hair and decide I can't leave the house with it looking like this. I have to straighten it. Then I do my make-up. I make sure my eyeshadow matches my blazer perfectly. I look pretty OK for someone who's had their back stabbed and heart trampled on just forty-eight hours ago.

I get to the bus stop and I see Jenny, Kimba, Melissa, Tanya and even Elizabeth in their usual spot: leaning against the railings of Becket's Park.

‘Heya, Gwynnie! We're over here!' Tanya calls me over in her puppy-like way.

Deep breath. Everyone looks at me, wondering what I'm going to do. Wondering whether I'm going to have another row with Jenny. I'm wondering the same thing.

Then I decide I don't want to give them the satisfaction. I walk over. ‘Hi, Elizabeth,' I say.

‘Hi,' she says.

Then I add, ‘Hi, guys,' for good measure.

Jenny can't even look at me. She can't look at anyone, and I notice that she is about as far away from Charlie Notts as two people waiting for the same bus can be. They must have broken up already. Is it OK that I'm really happy about that?

There's a moment of silence in the group and no one knows who's going to speak first.

‘So, Gwynnie . . . what did you get up to this weekend?' asks Elizabeth.

I smile at her to thank her for breaking the ice. ‘Not much,' I say.

More silence. This is awkward. I guess I have to say something else. ‘I watched the replay of the Spurs match on Sunday. 3–2. I could not believe it until I saw it for myself.'

The girls look at me, not really knowing how to reply. I don't think anyone talks to them about football and I've caught them off guard.

‘Tottenham are the winners of the FA Cup and it's the best thing in the world.'

I'm a bit gutted that I missed out watching it at Wembley, but in a weird way it was worth it to find out the truth about everything. I don't tell them that part though.

‘I've still got it recorded if any of you want to watch it.'

Kimba screws up her face like I've just invited her to watch a spitting tournament in the rain. ‘Why would we want to watch
football
? And if we did, we wouldn't watch it at your house. I'm
not sure if my stomach can handle Tesco-brand cola.' She's smirking.

I am just about to wipe the grin off her face when someone else steps in and does it for me.

‘Shut up, Kimba!' It's Jenny. I'm shocked. ‘Can't you give that bitch thing a rest for once?'

Kimba goes quiet. We all do.

I do a half-grin at Jenny for sticking up for me.

‘Sorry, Gwynnie,' Kimba says.

‘That's OK,' I reply. ‘What's that thing it says in the Bible about forgiving people for stuff?' I'm saying this to Kimba but Jenny knows I'm talking about her.

‘It says you should do it,' Jenny says. We smile at each other. Then she says, ‘You know, I wouldn't mind seeing the match, Gwynnie.'

‘OK.' I'll forgive her one day, but I'm not quite ready to set a date yet. ‘Elizabeth,' I say, ‘I'm going to chat to Paul and Ranj over there – want to come?'

Elizabeth follows me over to where Paul and Ranj are standing. I flinch for a second when I realize we have to pass Charlie Notts to get there. Still, I guess I have to see him some time. No turning back now.

He looks at me and dares to smile in a really sheepish kind of way. He has no one to talk to now the name Charlie Notts is written in Paul's and my bad books. He's lost his best friends.

‘Hi, Gwynnie,' he says.

I do the eyebrow-raising thing, leave it at that and walk past him.

No, I won't leave it at that.

I turn back. ‘Hi, Charlie,' I say.

‘Hi?' he says it like a question. Like he's forgotten what
hi
means and he has to check.

‘What are you going to do now the football season is over?' I ask.

He breaks into a relieved grin. ‘Only seventy-six days, seven hours and,' he looks at his watch, ‘thirteen minutes until the next kick-off.'

I can't think of anything else to say so I just smile and walk away. I'm pretty relieved when I get to where my mates are.

‘You all right, Paul? Ranj?'

‘Yeah,' they say. Ranj beams at Elizabeth while Paul looks a bit down in the dumps. We all know he's sad so we don't say anything for a second.

‘Did you see the match, Gwynnie?' Ranjit asks.

‘Oh my God, it was so cool! I was on the edge of my seat until Crouch scored his second goal . . . And what a goal! He was only about a metre this side of the halfway line. The man is a legend.'

‘Hey,' Paul says, ‘the Year 8s said they reckon they could take us in a match. We're gonna play at break time. You wanna watch?'

‘Watch?' I ask, like he's just suggested I wear an Arsenal top. ‘You need me on the wing. I'm playing!'

Paul smiles.

Ranj goes all red before he says, ‘Would you like to watch, Elizabeth?'

Elizabeth bites her bottom lip and nods. ‘OK.'

‘I warn you though,' Ranj says, ‘I'm not that brilliant at football.'

‘You can say that again!' says Paul in a jokey way.

Ranj starts going for Paul's shoelaces, trying to step on them so Paul falls over. I join in, and laugh when Paul falls on his bum.

And I can see now that everything will be exactly like old times, but also totally different. I'll be wearing my old football boots with a hole, but I will be colour-coordinating them with flawless make-up and a stunning wardrobe. New
Gwynnie and Old Gwynnie have shaken hands and called a truce. And it feels pretty good. A little bit.

THE END