The Boyfriend Dilemma (15 page)

I inhale Mum's spicy perfume and decide it's best not to mention it. “Shall I make you some toast?” I ask.

Annalise shakes her head.

“I'll go out and get you something if you like,” I add, thinking, I'll do
anything
to try and shift her black mood. Maybe she's homesick, and missing her own mum and dad.

A small smile warms her face. “Would you?”

“I'll go,” Matty says quickly. “I like going to the shop…”

“Are you sure?” Annalise asks, turning to me. “Is it OK for him to go out by himself?”

“To the corner shop, yeah,” I reply. “Matty – take some money from the jar and get Annalise a packet of biscuits—”

“All right.” He grins, lifting down our jar of coins from the top of the fridge and stuffing a handful into his jeans pocket.

Annalise musters a proper smile. “That's kind of you, Matty. Thanks. Um … can you bring them up to my room, please? I'm feeling a bit shivery. Think I'll go back to bed.”

“Sure,” he says, already scampering towards the door.

 

Within minutes he's back, clutching an open packet of Oreos.

“Aren't those meant to be for Annalise?” I ask, frowning.

“I only had two.” He sniggers and wipes a crumb from his mouth.

“Take the rest of them up to her then,” I tell him. “Maybe that'll cheer her up.”

He grins and hurries upstairs. Not like him to be so helpful, but maybe he's feeling guilty about laughing at her when she was feeling ill? Anyway, life will be easier for all of us if we can find a way to get along with Annalise, even if she does use Mum's lipstick and perfume and lie to her dad. Mum keeps saying “we need help”, as if we were falling apart as a family before – which isn't true. I'd love it to be just the three of us again, though. Well, the
four
of us, if a miracle happened and Dad came back. But there's the baby now, so they'll be his family, not us…

I try to write more of my essay but it feels like my brain has shut down. Think.
Think
. I'm writing about the Industrial Revolution, and how children even younger than Matty were made to work long, long days in factories and were punished if they got tired. They were whipped and dunked into barrels of water and sometimes the girls had their hair cut off.

“What are
these
?” The roar from upstairs makes my pen jerk across my page. “What the hell
are
they?” Annalise yells. “Matty – come here!” I drop my pen and rush upstairs to find her on the landing, clutching a biscuit that's had a bite taken out of it. Matty's nowhere to be seen.

“Look at this,” she exclaims, jabbing it in my face.

“Er, yes – it's an Oreo,” I say.

“Don't try to be funny.”

I squint at it in confusion. “It is,” I insist. “Look – it's got the pattern stamped on…”

“I know what it is, Zoe,” she snaps, which confuses me even more. What is this – a trick question?

“Why are you asking, then?” I jut out my chin to show I'm not scared.

She rolls her eyes. “Just try it.”

“No, thanks,” I say, stepping away from her.

“Go on, have a bite and tell me what you think.”

“Why?” I'm standing up to her now, which makes me feel quite proud.

“Because it's not right. Someone's tampered with it…”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I take it from her outstretched hand. Although I'm not keen on eating a biscuit she's already bitten into, I give it the tiniest nibble.

“Ugh,” I exclaim. “That's horrible. What's in it?”

“Don't ask me.” She stomps to the bathroom, slurps water noisily from the tap and spits it out into the washbasin. From Matty's room comes a burst of hysterical laughter. Annalise's head shoots up from the sink. Barging past me on the landing, she pushes open Matty's bedroom door so hard, it slams against the wall.

“Hey,” he cries out. “You'll scare Fanta.”

“What?” she snaps at him.

He points at his fish, swimming lazily in its tank. “They don't like loud noises. They can die of shock, y'know.”

“Never mind that,” Annalise snarls. “What did you do to these biscuits?”

His cheeks redden, and now he's not looking quite so brave. He turns back to study his fish, tracing its movements with a finger on the glass.

“I said,
what did you do?
” she repeats.

“I took 'em apart and put toothpaste inside.”

At that moment, Annalise looks as if she might actually explode. She opens her mouth and shuts it again, just like Fanta in his tank. “You
are
joking,” she says slowly.

“No, I'm not,” Matty says, all cheeky again. “I took a knife in my pocket and I bought the Oreos and a little tube of toothpaste. Then I took them apart and I scraped out the whiteish middles and squirted toothpaste on them instead. Then I sandwiched them back together.”

There's a moment's stunned silence, then Annalise yells, “You horrible boy! D'you know I was nearly sick? I
hate
mint and I have a very sensitive stomach…”

“Why did you do that?” I hiss at him.

“'Cause she's horrible to us. She's grumpy and moany and she swears—”

“C'mon, Matty,” I say, grabbing his hand and leading him downstairs. I know he can be the most irritating boy ever, but I don't want her shouting at him any more. In fact, it's a relief when she stays up in her room. Matty and I while away the rest of the day watching TV and messing about in the garden when the rain finally stops. I even agree to a game of hide-and-seek to keep him happy. And when Mum comes home, I decide it's best not to make a big deal of what happened today, because I don't want Matty to get into a whole heap of trouble. In fact, I only tell her because she keeps asking why we're so quiet.

“That was a horrid thing to do, Matty,” she says over dinner. “Whatever made you play a trick like that?”

Matty jabs his fork into a heap of mashed potato. Luckily, Annalise reckoned she was “too ill” to come down and eat with us. “
She's
horrid,” he blurts out. “She threw my breakfast in the bin!”

“What?” Mum frowns.

“And she's been using your perfume,” I add. “She must've been in your room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I'm positive!”

She tuts and shakes her head. “I have to say, it sounds like you're both looking for things to pick fault with.”

“Mum, that's not fair,” I shoot back. “We're just trying to tell you what's been going on.”

She rubs her tired eyes. “Well, I hope you'll both try and be more positive from now on. I really don't have the energy for all this.”

I nod glumly.

“She swore as well,” Matty adds.

Mum places her knife and fork neatly on her plate. “You mean Annalise swore at
you
?”

“No,” he replies, “at the beansprouts.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” she says, sounding really exasperated now.

“It's true,” he insists. “She
hates
our food…”

With a huge sigh, Mum gets up from the table. “You two load the dishwasher, OK? I'm going up to have a little chat with her.” As she leaves the kitchen, Matty and I exchange startled looks. Although we try to listen in, we can't make out what they're saying upstairs. Then there's laughter. They're actually
laughing
together, like old friends. This doesn't suggest that Mum's telling her off, or warning her that she'd better not insult our vegetables again.

Moments later, Mum reappears with a big smile. “What a fuss over nothing,” she says, clicking on the kettle. “She thought the biscuit prank was quite funny actually.” She chuckles again.

“But, Mum—” Matty protests.

She places her hands on his shoulders. “Listen, I can't have this, being hit with a whole list of complaints every time I come home from work. I need both of you to make a real effort from now on, OK? Honestly, I don't know what's got into you two.”

Chapter twenty

Annalise stays out of our way now that Zoe's mum's not at work. “She says she's exhausted from taking us out all week,” Zoe laughs as we lounge in her room, “and so am I. Anyway, Mum doesn't expect her to work at weekends.”

“Thank God for that,” I laugh, just grateful for the chance to hang out together. It's slightly odd, though. Annalise is free to do whatever she wants, but she seems to hang out in her room all the time.

“It feels like our house isn't ours any more,” Zoe admits, and I know what she means: it's definitely changed around here. Zoe seems quiet too, as if something's on her mind. I want to talk about Ben, and what it'll be like seeing him at school on Monday, but don't want Zoe to think I'm obsessed. I've never held back my feelings like this before. So it's almost a relief when Monday morning rolls around, knowing he'll be there, just another boy at school, and things will start to feel normal again.

I love getting dressed when it's not for school. I can throw all kinds of colours together and know that no one else looks like me. But school uniform is different. White shirt, grey sweater, grey skirt and black blazer – even our shoes have to be plain black with “no embellishment”, as they put it. It's like stepping into a black-and-white world.

Breakfast is bacon toasties, which should feel like a treat, but even the bacon turns out black today. Gran wandered off while Mum was in the middle of grilling it and so she asked me to keep an eye on it while she and Kyle went out to look for her – only I sort of forgot. It wasn't entirely my fault. I was too busy with Amber, who kept moaning, “My gym kit's still wet,” and waving a pair of shorts in front of my face, as if I might be able to dry them with a magic stare.

Kyle and Mum are back now, with a confused-looking Gran, who says, “I just wanted to go to the shops. I thought I might buy myself a nice cardigan.”

“The shops aren't open yet,” Mum says, shaking her head.

“Ew, what happened to the bacon?” Kyle exclaims.

“I burned it,” I mutter.

“Oh, Layla,” Mum groans.

“And my gym kit's damp,” Amber says, “
and
it's all smoky in here…” Agh, get me out of here, to the sanctuary of school. I say a quick goodbye, shrug on my jacket and head out without any breakfast. On my way, I text Zoe to say I'm early as I had to get out of the madhouse. She's waiting for me at our usual corner, outside Norelli's, looking super neat with her blonde hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. I haven't even managed to
brush
mine, and there's a bacony whiff hanging around me like a cloud.

“Honestly,” she says, laughing, when I tell her the story, “you don't smell of anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says, nudging me as CJ appears across the street with Sadie, Kim and Anja. They're her devoted followers and tend to move in a pack. Right now, they are cackling wildly and don't seem to have noticed us.

“My clothes are too big as well,” I hiss at Zoe. “I've got a belt on to hold this skirt up, and look how baggy and shapeless this jumper is.”

“There's nothing wrong with it,” she reassures me.

I kick a polystyrene takeaway carton out of our way. “Mum insisted on buying a bigger size. Said it's best to have some growing room – the way you do when you're seven years old…”

Zoe glances at me. “You look fine. Stop worrying. Anyway, what d'you think everyone at school'll make of Ben?”

What can I say? “He's going to be so popular, he won't even glance in our direction,” I reply with a shrug.

She smiles at me. “He's got your number, though…”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“Yes, it does,” she says firmly.

I force a smile, sensing my face is boiling up. She's going to notice and want to discuss him some more, which'll make it even worse. I
never
felt awkward around Zoe before Ben moved here. Sometimes I wish things were the way they used to be, before the Easter holidays, or even further back when boys were just boys – sometimes annoying, sometimes nice, but not so different from us.

“Hey – Layla!” CJ's voice rings out across the street.

“Ignore her,” Zoe mutters as we walk on.

“
Layla!
” CJ shouts again.

“I wish she'd stop yelling,” I hiss at Zoe.

“Yeah, let's hurry up…” As we quicken our pace, CJ breaks away from the others and tears across the street towards us. I glance at Zoe, sensing her fear that all that cow-face stuff might blow up again. I know she's been hoping that everyone's forgotten about it during the holidays.

“Wait,” CJ calls out, scampering towards us.

We both stop and look at her. “What is it?” I ask.

Pink blotches have formed on her cheeks. “D'you know anything about that poster?” She points across the street, where her friends have gathered around a noticeboard. No one ever puts up anything interesting, unless you're keen on flower-arranging classes or church outings.

“What poster?” Zoe asks with a frown.

“Come and look.” She smiles expectantly, and for a moment, I wonder whether there's another – nicer – CJ underneath.

“All right,” I say cautiously. We cross the road and peer at the noticeboard. The usual posters about toddler clubs and Sunday school events all fade away because there, in the middle, is Ben's face, staring out at us.

“Oh!” Zoe exclaims.

“You know him, don't you?” CJ says, turning back to gaze at the poster.

“A bit,” I say with a shrug.

“He hangs out with your brother, doesn't he?”

“Sometimes,” I say, giving Zoe a quick look.

Kim starts giggling. “Can you introduce us?”

Sadie snorts into her hand. “Bet they want to keep him all to themselves.”

“Don't be stupid,” Zoe retorts.

“Oh,” Anja crows to the others, “I forgot that Zoe thinks she's better than us 'cause her mum's been on TV…”

“Shut up,” I snap, seeing my best friend's face fall. All this, and we're not even at school yet. I'm filled with an urge to say,
Come on, let's grab our bikes and cycle far away, to Dean House, and hang out in the tree house all day…
Instead, I cut CJ and the others out of my vision and read the poster:

Save the Acorn!

Fund-raising concert featuring singer-songwriter

Ben Rawlings*

(*Yeah, in massive type like that. Underneath there's a black-and-white photo of him –
just Ben by himself
– looking wistful and gorgeous with his hair mussed up, strumming an acoustic guitar.) I look at Zoe. She looks at me. Beneath the photo it says:

Saturday 4th May, 7.30 p.m. at the Acorn Theatre

Adults £5, Children £3

Plus!!! Want to be a guest singer on the night? Auditions for vocalists will be held at 2 p.m. on Saturday 20th April in the garage at 17 Hunter Crescent. All welcome!

Danny and Jude's place. Wonder how Jude feels about that? “Why's it just Ben in the photo?” Zoe blurts out.

“I don't know. I thought the others were playing—”

“Who cares about the others?” CJ sniggers. “I've seen him around. He was at the vintage market, wasn't he? The day we—”

“Yeah, OK,” I snap, not wanting to be reminded of the most humiliating day in my life to date.

“Well,” she goes on, smirking at her friends, “all I can say is, no wonder it's just him on the poster and not the others.”

“What's wrong with the others?” Zoe asks sharply.

CJ bursts out laughing. “That bunch of losers? Who'd want to watch
them
?”

I'm furious now, and I can tell Zoe is too. That's my brother she's talking about.

“This isn't what Ben had in mind,” I mutter to Zoe. “He said the band would play. Ben, Kyle and Danny—”

“And Jude,” Zoe adds, grabbing my arm and forcing me to walk away.

“No, he left the band, remember?”

“No wonder,” CJ sniggers behind us. “He's
embarrassing
…”

I spin around to face her. “No, he's not. He's a brilliant guitarist
and
he has a great voice. What would you know, anyway? You've never heard him play—”

“He's a nerd,” she snorts, “who hangs around with his big brother 'cause he hasn't got any mates of his own.”

I glare at her, wondering how I could have thought, for even a brief moment, that she's actually OK. “C'mon,” I say, nudging Zoe. “We're going to be late.” We start walking faster, my too-big skirt swishing around my legs. And although I'm trying not to listen, little fragments of conversation ping into my ears:

Kim: Are you going to the auditions, CJ?

CJ, pretending she couldn't possibly: Ooh, no. I'd never sing in front of an audience. I'm far too shy.

Sadie: You should, you know. Your voice is amazing. More people should hear it.

CJ: I'd just die!

Anja: Honestly, people would pay just to see you! You're bound to get picked. How many is he gonna choose, d'you think?

All goes silent behind us. “Ugh, I'm glad we've got nothing to do with this,” I whisper to Zoe.

“Me too.”

Then from behind us, CJ blasts out, “Bet those two losers are going to do it 'cause they were in that pathetic junior choir…” Zoe and I look at each other in horror as they all burst into song – something we learned at choir when we were about eleven. We had to perform it in front of a packed theatre and I was so proud, especially as Zoe and I were asked to sing one verse all by ourselves, as a duet. Mum, Dad, Gran and Kyle came to see us (Amber too, although she just played with her Beanie Babies on the floor). Zoe's mum and dad were still together then, and sat next to my family on the front row. It went so well we were asked to perform the duet again at school.

And now, CJ and her tribe are wailing moronically behind us… “They think they're the best singers in school,” she cackles. “Remember that duet they did last Christmas? It's always the two of them, stuck together, killing our ears!” There's a gale of rowdy laughter.

“For God's sake,” Zoe mutters.

“They're so stupid” I mutter, my cheeks burning as we walk even faster to get away from them. Gradually, the snide voices fade. Zoe tries to cheer me up by describing Matty's prank with the Oreos, and I tell her that Amber's salmon purse is still festering away in its plastic box in our yard, and that no one's allowed to throw it away because it's “art”.

“Imagine what'll happen,” Zoe says, “when someone finally takes the lid off.” We giggle over this, but both of us are faking it really as it's hardly been the best start to the day.

“Look!” Zoe exclaims as we approach the school gates.

At first I don't know what she's talking about. “Look,” she hisses again, “it's him!”

Ben, she means, a little way ahead of us. “He seems a bit lost,” I suggest as he wanders into the grounds, that burgundy rucksack he had on the day we met in the tree house now slung low on his back.

“Let's say hi,” she says.

I swallow hard. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Why not?” So we hurry ahead, leaving CJ and the others behind us as we catch up with Ben.

“Hey,” he says, grinning.

“Hey.” I smile, adding, “First day, huh?” It's all I can think of to say.

“Yeah.” Although he sounds relaxed and confident, there's a flicker of something else in his eyes. Like he's not quite as at home here as he'd like to be. At least, not yet.

“Kyle'll be here soon – he normally cuts it a bit fine,” I add. “I'm sure he'll help you find your way round.”

“Great,” Ben says as the three of us head towards the main entrance.

“D'you know where you're supposed to go?” Zoe asks.

“Er … the office, I guess?”

I smile. “They
are
expecting you, aren't they?”

“Yeah, of course…”

“Which teachers did you meet when you were shown round?”

He doesn't reply for a moment. “I, um … I wasn't really.”

Zoe squints at him as we push open the glass doors and go inside. “D'you mean you haven't actually been here before?”

“Er, nope.”

“Didn't your parents look around,” I ask, “to check it's OK?”
To make sure it's up to boarding-school standards
, is what I mean.

“They didn't have time,” Ben says quickly.

“Oh.” I force another big smile. “Well, that's the office over there…”

“Thanks,” he says, making his way to the glass partition that separates Mrs Owen, one of the office ladies, from us pupils. Zoe and I hang back and watch. Ben has already attracted admiring looks from a few girls, although he doesn't seem aware of it. He's too busy explaining who he is to Mrs Owen, who nods and gives him a warm smile. I can't help noticing him glancing around, as if wondering how he's going to fit in.