Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture Page 13

  ‘And now, we’re going to meet Dad’s boyfriend,’ said Jess. She was afraid Fred might stare, or gawp, or giggle, or something, but he didn’t turn a hair.

  ‘Cool,’ he said, with a totally relaxed smile. Jess was so proud of him.

  ‘So where is Phil?’ she asked.

  Her dad was looking out to the breakwater, where about forty surfers in identical black wetsuits were riding on the waves or crashing down into the foam. They were so far away, they looked like little black dots.

  ‘Over there – he’s seen us,’ said Dad, his eyes fixed on the faraway surf. Jess saw one of the black dots coming ashore. He threw his surfboard under his arm and walked towards them. It seemed to take for ever.

  Chapter 33

  As Phil got nearer, Jess thought he seemed to have acquired some extra glamour. Mind you, emerging from the sea in a wetsuit with a surfboard under your arm would bestow a glistening charisma even on a cross-eyed nerd. He was grinning broadly as he came up to them, and held out his hand to her with supreme confidence.

  ‘Jess! We meet again! I’d give you a big hug if I hadn’t just come out of the sea!’

  ‘Hello, Phil,’ said Jess, shaking hands. ‘Dad’s told me all about you two, and I’m thrilled. He should have introduced us properly right at the start.’

  ‘And this is Fred,’ said Dad. Phil turned and shook hands with Fred, too.

  Please let Phil like me, thought Jess. And please let Dad like Fred. And please make Fred like Dad. And please make Phil like Fred. Relationships were such a nightmare.

  ‘Let’s go back home and get Timbo to cook us a fabulous meal!’ said Phil.

  Jess wondered for a moment who Timbo was. Then she realised it was her dad. It was a little bit strange to think Phil had a nickname for Dad. But then again – why not?

  ‘Your dad’s a great cook, isn’t he?’ said Phil. ‘Do you both like fish?’

  ‘I love all fish!’ said Jess.

  ‘Proper fish with fins and scales and stuff,’ said Fred. ‘But not rubbery things like squid or bits of hosepipe. My favourite fish is the tomato.’

  ‘Well, we’ll obviously start with tomato salad, then,’ said Phil. ‘How about fish pie for the main course, Timbo? With loads of crusty cheese on top?’

  ‘Boring old fish pie on an occasion like this?’ said Dad. ‘The first visit of my daughter and her – er – distinguished companion Fred? It has to be Indonesian stir-fry.’ Dad grinned, and Jess gave him the thumbs-up as they walked back up the beach.

  ‘So, Fred,’ said Dad, ‘how did you get here?’

  ‘It’s one of the sagas of British exploration,’ said Fred. He and Dad sort of went on ahead, partly because their legs were longer. Jess and Phil followed.

  ‘Are you just going to walk back like that?’ asked Jess, amazed as they reached the road and Phil was still barefoot and dripping.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Phil. ‘The soles of my feet are like a rhino’s hide. This is nothing. You should see me running barefoot through the streets in November. It’s just kind of macho showing-off. So tell me, Jess, how’s your trip been?’

  ‘Well, to be honest,’ sighed Jess, ‘it’s been a disaster!’

  ‘Why?’ asked Phil. ‘Tell me all about it. Every detail.’

  Jess launched into the whole affair. How she had wanted to go to Riverdene first, with Fred, how she’d lied, how she’d got into big trouble, and then the whole trip, with all the jealous torment about whether Fred and Flora were together. Phil listened closely and kept nodding and gasping and sympathising as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

  ‘Oh no! You poor thing!’

  She told him how Granny had got cold feet about throwing Grandpa’s ashes into the sea, and how she’d had to do a ventriloquist act to cheer Granny up. And then how Mum had chosen the very worst moment to cry on Jess’s shoulder, when Jess was just longing for a bit of sympathy herself.

  ‘Oh Jess, you’re a saint!’ said Phil. ‘You can cry on my shoulder any time you like! Not now, obviously, because it’s already soaking wet, but in general – be my guest, darling.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Jess. ‘I’m all right now, because Fred just turned up this afternoon out of the blue, which basically was the best moment in my life so far. Shortly followed by Dad telling me about you – the second best moment.’ They exchanged a grin. She decided to tease him a bit. ‘But what was all that stuff about your girlfriend running away with a bodybuilder?’

  ‘Oh, sorry!’ said Phil. ‘That was just a silly idea. We weren’t sure how you’d react. Your mum and dad have been trying to work out the best way of telling you. We’ve been discussing it for months. We didn’t want to upset you.’

  It was weird to get this grown-up perspective on herself for a moment.

  ‘You idiots.’ She grinned. ‘Still, I do appreciate it.’

  ‘And you did arrive all of a sudden, a day early,’ said Phil. ‘I suppose we panicked.’

  ‘Dad could panic for England,’ said Jess.

  They arrived back at Dad’s house and everybody waited while Dad rummaged in his pockets for the keys, panicking for a moment in case he’d lost them.

  ‘He always loses his keys,’ confided Phil. ‘Especially when my feet are freezing.’

  Eventually Dad found them and they all piled in. Phil went off upstairs for a shower, and Fred asked, rather awkwardly, if he could use the loo. There was one on the ground floor, and when Fred had gone, Dad turned to Jess and whispered, ‘Fred is funny! I like him very much.’

  ‘And I adore Phil!’ said Jess. ‘Thank goodness! We like each other’s boyfriends!’ And they shared a quick, ecstatic hug.

  ‘Right,’ said Dad. ‘I’m going to cook supper, but you’re going to help. Chop these onions.’

  ‘Does Phil live here?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘We moved down here to St Ives to be close to his mum. She lives up in Channel View. He keeps an eye on her – he drops in every day, and stays the night if she’s poorly. He’ll probably stay with her tonight, because she wants her porch light fixed.’

  Fred reappeared, looking round the house appreciatively.

  ‘Isn’t Dad’s house lovely!’ said Jess.

  Fred nodded. Jess wondered if she and Fred would have a house together one day. If so, she wanted it to be high and white and blue and cool like Dad’s house.

  ‘OK, Fred, chop these tomatoes, please,’ said Dad.

  Once cooking, Dad became strangely confident and relaxed. He threw things about, sang to himself and stirred and fried with panache. His silver ring flashed – the new one that Jess had noticed earlier. She understood now. It was a badge of happiness – without any nasty young wives or rival babies being involved. Perfect!

  When it came to cooking, Fred was ham-fisted. His first tomato exploded and covered him with pips, and his second sailed across the room and splatted against the fridge door. Jess found this immensely lovable, but made secret plans to send him away on a cookery course as soon as she’d made her first million. Or maybe they would have a personal chef.

  Eventually Phil reappeared in jeans and a checked shirt. He had a 150-megawatt smile. It lit up the room.

  ‘You’ve seen me in my surfing gear, now you see me in my lumberjack gear,’ he said, adopting a butch posture. ‘Now then – glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, anybody?’

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ said Jess. ‘It might help me get rid of my spots.’

  ‘You have no spots! What about you, Fred?’ said Phil, pouring out a glass for Jess.

  ‘No thanks,’ said Fred. ‘I prefer Coke, actually. I like to stoke myself up with explosive gas at every opportunity.’

  ‘Glass of wine, Timbo?’ Phil asked Dad.

  ‘Mere wine?’ said Dad. ‘On the occasion of my only daughter’s first visit to her old pilchard of a parent? I suggest Buck’s Fizz.’

  ‘What’s Buck’s Fizz?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Orange juice and champagne!’ said Phil,
opening the fridge and getting out some of the freshly squeezed juice.

  ‘You can have a glass each,’ said Dad. ‘I don’t want any teenage drunkenness. Actually I don’t want any middle-aged drunkenness either.’

  Phil mixed the Buck’s Fizz with style, pouring orange juice with his right hand and champagne with his left, and not spilling a drop. He deserved a Nobel Prize for Cocktails.

  ‘Were you ever a barman, Phil?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve done a bit of everything, darling,’ he replied, getting to grips with the Buck’s Fizz. ‘I design things. Cocktails, weddings, fast cars … they don’t all get made, mind you.’

  ‘Phil used to be a designer in London,’ said Dad. ‘He used to make fabulous costumes for the carnivals there. In fact, when we met all those years ago, he was dressed as a kangaroo.’

  ‘I love carnivals,’ said Phil. ‘Sequins, feathers, outrageous wigs, earrings that flash …’

  ‘I love dressing up,’ said Jess eagerly.

  ‘Well, you’ve come to the right place!’ said Phil. ‘I’ve got a whole trunk upstairs. Full of stuff. Timbo uses the costumes to inspire his paintings sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, can we have a look?’ asked Jess. ‘After supper?’

  Fred looked a bit dubious. But Phil grinned and winked roguishly at Jess.

  ‘Excellent idea!’ he said. ‘I even managed to get Timbo to dress up on his birthday. We had a fancy-dress party. He came as a turbot.’

  ‘I didn’t have a proper tail, though,’ said Dad. ‘Just sort of silvery, scaly trousers.’

  ‘And what about you, Fred?’ asked Phil. ‘Do you like dressing up?’

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Fred. ‘I was born fully clothed in a smart suit made of grey flannel.’

  ‘Don’t be a wuss!’ said Jess. ‘I’d love to dress you up as a girl.’ Jess was addicted to comedy shows on TV, especially ones involving drag acts.

  ‘You can keep your pervy ideas to yourself,’ said Fred, with a grin.

  ‘No, go on, Fred, be a sport!’ insisted Jess, laughing. ‘I think you’d look hilarious – you know, with a long blonde wig. Have you got any blonde wigs, Phil?’

  ‘I’m not one to boast,’ said Phil, ‘but I’ve probably got the best collection of blonde wigs in the county.’

  ‘He’s also a lifeboatman, you know,’ said Dad, dishing up the dinner. ‘He’s not all froth and bubble.’

  ‘A lifeboatman!’ said Jess, in awe. ‘You mean you risk your life to save people?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing heroic like that,’ said Phil, as they all sat down at the table. ‘It was just the oilskins that attracted me.’

  ‘He does risk his life on a regular basis,’ Dad went on. ‘He won a medal last year.’

  ‘Oh, stop it, Timbo!’ laughed Phil. ‘You’re not my agent! Get the dinner on the table, missus!’

  The supper was divine – a kind of seafood stir-fry, with oriental rice. It was about a thousand times more delicious than anything Jess’s mum had ever cooked.

  ‘Anybody for pud?’ asked Phil, getting up and clearing the plates. ‘What would you say to some home-made strawberry ice cream, Fred?’

  ‘I’d say, “Pleased to eat you,”’ said Fred.

  ‘With meringue?’ added Phil.

  ‘Fred loves meringue!’ said Jess. ‘You should see him with a lemon meringue pie. He’s like a lion with a dying wildebeest.’

  ‘We’ll make one tomorrow, then, eh, Timbo?’ said Phil.

  ‘Sure,’ said Jess’s dad. He smiled quietly to himself.

  Jess felt this was the happiest evening of her life. She had at last got to the bottom of the mystery of her parents’ marriage break-up. Her dad seemed blissfully happy and Jess was sure that once her mum knew that she was OK about it, she’d relax and start enjoying life, too. Wouldn’t she?

  Chapter 34

  After supper Jess and Fred did the washing-up – badly, in Fred’s case. He had been very inadequately trained by his mum, even if she did look like a teddy bear.

  ‘There’s still gunge on this plate, Fred!’ scolded Jess. ‘Wash it again!’

  ‘Domestic drudgery is rather beneath me, I’m afraid,’ said Fred with a maddening smile. Jess whacked him with the tea towel. Washing-up had never been so divine. Maybe it was something to do with the Buck’s Fizz.

  Dad and Phil made some coffee and took it up to a sort of deck, perched among the rooftops.

  ‘You can just see the sun setting on the sea if you dislocate your neck,’ said Dad.

  Seagulls flew around, calling, and some sparkly little birds strutted their stuff along the balustrade.

  ‘What are they?’ asked Jess.

  ‘Starlings! Aren’t they beautiful!’ said her dad. ‘Don’t say you’re getting interested in birds!’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Jess. ‘I was just thinking how nice they would look, stuffed, on a hat.’ She didn’t mean it, though. What she really wanted was a live starling on her shoulder. ‘Have you got any hats with birds on?’ she asked Phil.

  ‘Are you mad?’ whispered Phil. ‘I wouldn’t dare – living with an ornithologist.’

  Dad pulled a fierce, bird-protecting frown.

  ‘Can we go and see the carnival costumes?’ asked Jess. ‘Oh please!’

  ‘Sure!’ said Phil, finishing his coffee and jumping up. Jess followed him indoors.

  ‘You two have got to come as well!’ she said, glaring at Dad and Fred as she passed. They groaned in unison, but Jess could see they weren’t going to let her down. The Buck’s Fizz had helped. Everyone felt festive.

  She followed Phil into Dad’s studio. He threw a rug off a huge trunk and pulled it out from the wall. Then he opened it. Inside was a treasure trove of fabulous clothes: sequinned numbers from the 1930s, silk evening dresses, ancient petticoats, embroidered Chinese dressing gowns, amazing wizards’ cloaks.

  ‘The wigs and hats are all in this cupboard,’ said Phil, walking to the far end of the studio and opening some wardrobe doors.

  ‘Oh, it’s amazing!’ said Jess. ‘Look at this! It’s like the dress Marilyn Monroe wears in Some Like It Hot.’

  ‘Try it on, try it on!’ said Phil. ‘There’s a screen over there. I’ll find a wig for you.’

  Jess went behind the screen and wriggled into the pink sequinned dress. Fred and Dad came into the room.

  ‘OK, you two!’ said Phil. ‘What’s it going to be? Animal, vegetable, mineral? Wizards or pirates?’

  ‘The trouble is,’ said Jess from behind the screen, ‘my boobs aren’t nearly big enough for this dress.’

  ‘Borrow these falsies, then, darling!’ said Phil, and a weird reinforced bra came sailing over the screen. Jess put it on, giggling uncontrollably. Then she emerged from behind her screen and Phil offered her the perfect Marilyn Monroe wig.

  ‘You’ll have to pin your hair up first,’ said Phil, passing her a tin full of hairpins and some hairspray. There were several mirrors in the room. Jess set to work.

  ‘I am definitely NOT going to dress up as a woman,’ said Fred, and immediately began to try on long blonde wigs.

  ‘OK, Timbo, what’s it to be?’ asked Phil. ‘A bird? A fish? A scarecrow?’

  ‘I’m in a wizardy sort of mood,’ said Dad, grabbing a grey beard. ‘The great thing about being a wizard is you never have to show your legs.’

  ‘Oh, Fred, you’re so Alice in Wonderland in that wig!’ said Phil. ‘I’ve got a miniskirt somewhere you’ve just got to try!’

  So, in a flurry, they all started to get dressed. Phil fiddled with some CDs and put on some disco music.

  Jess had found a pair of pink high-heels that matched the dress. She teetered about, laughing. She had never had so much fun in her life.

  Pretty soon her dad was peering out charismatically from under a pointy, slouching hat. The long robe, the grey beard: he was a role model for the newly retired who wanted to dabble a little in Good vs Evil.

  Fred was looking frighteningly convincing as a leggy b
londe, and Phil had slipped into a lime-green rubbery suit and a pair of froggy goggles and had taken on the complete personality of Kermit.

  Some thumping disco music got going and they all started dancing, led, of course, by Phil, who seemed to know loads of snazzy moves.

  Then suddenly, a strange noise broke through above the music: BANG BANG BANG! They all stopped and looked at one another.

  ‘It’s the front door,’ said Dad, looking scared.

  ‘Ignore them!’ said Phil. ‘They’ll go away.’

  They all stood and listened. Phil turned the sound down on the CD. Then it came again: BANG BANG BANG BANG!

  ‘The thing is,’ said Dad, shivering a bit, ‘they sound as if they mean business.’

  ‘No!’ said Phil sternly. ‘We ignore them. They’ll get bored.’

  They waited. Then the huge door bell rang – it tolled away, the sound rolling along all the walls in the house. Deafening.

  ‘I hate that bell,’ said Dad. ‘I’m going to take it down. Tomorrow.’

  Again the person at the door rang the bell. DING A LING A LING A LING! it went, echoing up and down the whole street.

  ‘OK,’ said Dad. ‘Look, Jess, you go. You’re the only one of us who looks normal.’

  ‘Normal!?’ said Jess. ‘I mean, look at me! I almost feel like a drag act myself!’

  ‘Go on, love,’ urged Dad. ‘Just see who it is, tell them we’re out and ask them to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘And keep your wig on!’ said Phil.

  Jess realised she would have to – under the wig, her hair was all pinned and sprayed close to her head. She kicked off the ludicrous shoes and ran quickly downstairs, barefoot, and opened the door.

  There stood her mother, carrying a bag, and smiling. As she took in Jess’s sequinned dress, monstrous bosom and louche blonde wig, her smile faded and her eyes just got wider and wider.

  ‘Jess!’ she said, almost speechless for once. ‘What on earth … ?’

  ‘We’re just dressing up, Mum,’ said Jess. A terrible sinking feeling was spreading through every one of her vital organs. ‘I thought you weren’t coming till tomorrow?’