Signs of Love - Love Match (17 page)

‘I’ll cheer him up,’ I promise brightly.

I have to fall off the tilt-table twice to make him laugh, but it’s worth it. Mum’s lying down, Dad’s cooking supper. Ben’s lying on his table looking pale. His nebulizer made him throw up earlier, but he’s giggling now. Just about. I want to grab him and hold him close, as if hugging him can keep the germs away from his fragile lungs. But hugging won’t help; it’ll only let him know I’m scared.

I can hear Dad singing downstairs. He’s grilling burgers.

Has Ben learnt to spot the brittle happiness we fake whenever he’s ill? I wonder if he feels the shift in gravity as our universe tightens around him.

‘Ready?’ I haul myself to my feet and roll up my sleeves for the pummelling.

Ben shifts on the table. ‘Yep.’ His breath is shallow, as though moving is an effort.

I start gently thumping his chest. He feels warm. He must be running a fever.

I carry on, my mind drifting with the rhythm of the pummelling. Then I have an idea. I could write an article about this; what family life is like when someone has a serious medical condition. No one knows how I live; what I think or feel when it comes to Ben. They don’t know that I actually don’t care whether every day’s a Great Hair Day. I complain about my dumb curls but I know, deep down, that straight hair doesn’t really matter.

It suddenly feels important to share. Important for me and important for the webzine’s readers. We’re all trying to appear so perfect, but life’s not perfect –
we’re
not perfect – and the best Hair Day in the world won’t change anything that’s truly important.

But how will I ever persuade Cindy to publish a serious article when she knocks back my ideas like a Wimbledon champ swatting tennis balls?

The next morning Ben’s infection hasn’t got any better. But it hasn’t got any worse, so Mum tells me not to worry and sends me off to school. Before I go I make her promise about fifty times that she’ll text me if there’s any change.

When Treacle and I get to school, we pass a couple of Year Ten boys who are huddled by the gate, deep in conversation.

‘It’s Jessica Jupiter,’ I hear one of them say and I freeze. How does he know I’m Jessica?

‘Apparently, she said that Taureans have to play the field or something, so Michelle told me she can’t see me any more.’

I breathe a sigh of relief. They don’t know it’s me. Then I think back to my horoscope for Taurus:
Time to stop being a bull in a china shop and start playing the field.
I had been thinking about the school playing fields and Jeff coaching Treacle at the time.

‘Well, she told my sister that she needed to take up knitting! Now, rather than buying me a birthday present, she’s planning to make me something “special and unique” to wear to my party. It’s going to be awful, I know it!’ the other boy says with a look of horror on his face. I do a quick mental scan of this week’s horoscopes and realise his sister must be a Gemini.
A stitch in time will save ninety-nine
, I had written, while trying to think of a Jessica-style saying and hearing the chimes of the ice-cream van outside the school.

‘Why do girls believe in all that stuff?’ the first boy asks.

‘Cos they’re dumb,’ the second one replies. ‘Wanna game of crab football?’

‘Sure.’

After they’ve gone, Treacle looks at me and grins. ‘Looks like Jessica has a lot to answer for!’

I link arms with her and we make our way across the rain-slicked playground. ‘Well, as long as a certain Year Ten football coach believes what she says, that’s all that matters.’

The day passes slower than a tortoise with arthritis. Treacle and I are both a bundle of nerves – me about Ben and her about the afternoon’s semi-final. Just before the end of last period I get a text from Mum.

Ben’s temp almost back to normal
Have fun at the football! x

‘It’s a lucky omen,’ I say to Treacle as I show her the text. ‘Ben is getting better and you’re going to win.’

Treacle gives me a nervous smile. ‘I hope so. Great news about Ben though.’

When the bell rings, Treacle races off to the PE Department to get changed and I head to the webzine HQ. The match isn’t starting for another half an hour and I need to get this week’s horoscopes finished.

I’m relieved to find the HQ empty. I sit down at Will’s PC, finally able to bag the fastest processor. I’ve hardly time to unpack my jotter before it’s asking me for my login.

I open my Inbox and blink in surprise. Cindy has sent me an email with the login details for Jessica Jupiter’s new email address. I login, surprised to see the amount of mail in there already. Excited, I open the first mail.

I sit back and drum my nails on the desk. I’ve not bitten them in two weeks and they’re already long enough to click against the Formica. Jessica’s voice echoes in my head and I start typing.

I click Send and open the next message.

I grin as I type.

Enough fan mail. I look at my watch. Fifteen minutes till kick-off. There’s still time to write a few horoscopes. I’ll start with Jeff’s.

In a blank document, I start typing.

Capricorn

You’ve had a busy week, Star-ling. Jessica knows from experience that sharing your gifts with others is tiring. But you will be rewarded. The stars sing of victory, both in sport and in love. The number ten holds the key to your happiness. Look out for it, because it’s the one number you can count on this week.

Only an idiot would miss a hint like that. Ten is the number on the back of Treacle’s football shirt. A nervous flutter hits my stomach. Will Treacle think I’m being too obvious?

I shrug. Jeff’s a boy. He’s not going to overanalyse. He probably won’t even
analyse
.

I start work on Savannah’s horoscope. She needs cheering up. That’s obvious from the extra make-up she’s been wearing. Josh’s low blow has knocked her confidence.

Pisces

Star-ling, last week may have felt like a disaster. But whether it was love, work or family that let you down, you made the right choice. Now the way ahead is clear. Swim forward happily, dear Pisces. The stars are gazing down kindly upon you this week. And treat yourself to something special. You deserve it.

I hit Return and keep typing. Cindy’s not going to get such an easy ride.

Scorpio

With such a nasty sting in your tail, you’d better move with care. You’re more poisonous than you think. Try to be gentler with those around you, particulary those younger than you. They lack your barbed backside and can’t sting back.

I stare at the words on the screen. Although it made me feel a whole lot better typing them, Cindy will hate it and then she’ll make my life at the webzine even more miserable. I pause, then delete, then start typing again.

Scorpio

A fresh idea will come from an unexpected source. Treat it sweetly. You’re smart enough to know that honey works far better than poison.

I know Cindy won’t take Jessica’s advice; not when she knows
I’m
Jessica. But I’ve worded it tactfully. Perhaps my words can slip beneath the ice shield.

I imagine Cindy back on her perfect pink bedspread, proofing my column. Her gaze drifts thoughtfully over Scorpio – she’s reading, she’s smiling, she’s dialling Barbara. ‘You know, Barbara,’ – her gaze turns thoughtful – ‘I think I’ve underestimated Gemma Stone.’

Stop dreaming!
I look at my watch. Five minutes left. I can cram in a last paragraph.

Libra

My sign. And Mum’s. I know I can’t actually make the stars do what I want, but there’s no harm in hoping.

You may feel the scales haven’t tipped in your favour this week. But don’t fret, Star-ling. Good fortune will be linked to a young man with a three-letter name.

Ben.

I send a silent prayer to the stars as I power down the PC.
Please let him get better soon
.