Faking It Page 13

‘OK, let’s do it,’ he says. ‘But let’s drop the Minions off at the car first, otherwise we’ll have to pay admission for them too.’

  ‘I have no idea where you’re going to keep those in the long-term,’ I say with a laugh as we head back in the direction of the car.

  ‘One of them is yours,’ he points out with a chuckle. ‘Friendship Minions.’

  He says this in a high-pitched, teenage-girl voice.

  I cackle with laughter.

  The only way I can think of to describe Marco is a handful – which is how people usually describe me. It’s nice though, not being the only messy person in the room – or the only person running along the promenade in Blackpool, in the rain, clutching a giant Minion, as the case may be today.

  It just goes to show that the days are what you make them. We might have picked the worst day to come here, at the least opportune time of year, but we’re making our own fun now. Perhaps that’s why I loved coming here so much as a kid, because it’s easy to make the best of somewhere like this. It isn’t a perfect beach in the Bahamas, it’s a roller coaster of a place, no matter what time of year it is.

  I really am so glad we came, and I’m so glad Marco came too. It wouldn’t have been the same without him.

  18

  I’ve always struggled to believe the unbelievable.

  Well, life hasn’t been too cracking, so that doesn’t exactly give me the feeling of someone watching over me, or karma seeing me right. Then there’s the fact that I am the least Virgo-y Virgo (I’m not tidy or organised or patient), so that’s got to be a load of crap, right? Statements like ‘you often wonder if you have made the right decision’ or ‘you see the weaknesses in your personality’ could apply to absolutely anyone, and be applied to absolutely any situation.

  I think psychics work in a similar way – or at least I hope they do…

  I don’t know what I expected Anderson’s Amazing Weird and Wonderful World to be, but I don’t think any leaflet could have prepared me for what it actually was.

  Weird? You bet. Wonderful? Erm… I’m not sure about that one. Imagine a cross between a fun house, a ghost train and a freak show and you’re someone in the right area.

  The place was divided into three sections: fun, future and freaks – or, as I prefer to call them, the good, the bad and the ugly.

  The fun section was fine, if not a little creepy at times. From optical illusions (which I loved) to the Room of Bears (literally a room full of creepy old stuffed toys, which I hated), yes, I suppose fun seems like a fair title.

  The future section was a peculiar combination of technology and astrology – a jarring mixture, I’m sure you’ll agree – with the star feature being the fortune-telling Mystic Molly, who looked very much like a cheap beach-side caricature of a fortune teller.

  Mystic Molly would bestow a glimpse into the future upon anyone who passed her table, and when I passed her, she simply stared into my eyes and said: ‘You’re pretending to be someone you’re not.’ Of course, the boys thought nothing of it, they were too excited to get to the freak show, but it gave Marco a little chuckle, and after the split second of horror I felt at being exposed, it was amusing to me too – and very much just one of those broad statements that apply to absolutely everyone.

  Then it was on to the freak show and the less said about that, the better. It was all models, or people in prosthetics, but it was completely disturbing. Needless to say, the boys loved it.

  After that we went for fish and chips, which we ate while it got dark – and of course there are no illuminations at this time of year, so we just bought a bunch of sweets and then headed for the car. That’s where we are now.

  Henry and Josh are in the back of the car, eating overwhelmingly sugary-smelling sticks of rock that come with a sherbet dip, that Emma absolutely would not approve of – I know this because I know my sister, but also because of the look in Henry’s eyes when I told him he could have it. He looked a combination of confused and excited, as if he were pulling a fast one. They are each holding a walkie-talkie –obviously they didn’t come with batteries, but given that they almost came without a corresponding receiver, that’s no surprise. Still, even though they’re not working yet, the boys are clutching them proudly.

  It’s a dark drive back home but I’m buzzing from such a fun day, and Marco is keeping me on my toes, so I hardly mind. Usually I hate driving at night; there’s something about the extra responsibility that makes me nervous. Of course, I’ve always driven piece-of-shit cars that break down if a slight breeze dares to brush by their bonnet, so that might have something to do with it.

  ‘Hey, did you open those eighteens-only prizes we won?’ Marco asks me in hushed tones as the boys chat away in the back.

  ‘I didn’t,’ I say with a laugh. ‘They’re by your feet, in my handbag, if you want to have a look.’

  Marco roots around in my bag until he finds the wrapped prizes.

  ‘Well, these two are T-shirts,’ he starts, sounding ever so slightly disappointed. ‘We’ll open those and see what’s on them later, shall we?’

  ‘Perhaps our Minions can wear them?’ I suggest.

  ‘Good shout,’ he replies. ‘This next one is… it’s a sugar dummy—’

  ‘I’ll take it,’ I interrupt quickly, memories of my childhood flooding back. ‘Can I have that, please?’

  ‘It’s shaped like a… erm…’

  Marco holds the horrendously detailed penis-shaped sugar dummy so that only I can see it.

  ‘I’ll still take it,’ I say with a shrug of my shoulders. ‘You can have whatever the other one is.’

  ‘You dirty girl,’ he teases. ‘But OK, deal, that means I’m getting… a… erm… vibrating ring.’

  I love how Marco is choosing his words, careful not to say anything that will make little ears prick up and tune in.

  ‘Well, you’ll find more use for that than me,’ I reply.

  ‘Newly single,’ he reminds me.

  ‘All the more reason,’ I insist.

  ‘Your dimples deepen when you’re being cheeky,’ he points out. ‘It’s cute.’

  ‘Well, your dimples are on show 24-7, so what does that tell you?’ I reply with a raised eyebrow.

  He just smiles.

  ‘You’re a real mystery, you know,’ I start bravely, double checking in the rear-view mirror that the boys are still finding us too boring to listen to. They’re not paying attention at all; they’re playing with some bit of tat puzzle game Marco bought them when we exited through Anderson’s amazingly expensive gift shop.

  ‘How so?’ he replies.

  ‘Well… you’re obviously a tremendous geek,’ I point out. ‘Like, you should be living in your mum’s box room, trolling people on the Internet. Not looking like Henry Cavill’s stunt double and being all cool, going around teaching people lessons…’

  ‘I mean, first of all, I’m living in my brother’s spare room, so that’s not too different, and I do get into the occasional Twitter spat, but don’t we all?’ he says. ‘And anyway, you want to check your facts, because Henry Cavill is a PC nerd – and a gamer.’

  ‘No way,’ I scoff. ‘The man is a god. There’s no way Superman plays Call of Duty in his spare time.’

  ‘Well done for naming a game, I suppose.’ Marco chuckles. ‘But honestly, he is, he builds PCs, he games – you shouldn’t be so quick to prejudge.’

  ‘Well, that’s me told,’ I say. ‘I suppose next you’ll be telling me that—’

  ‘Mummy…’ I hear Henry’s voice from behind me. My Henry, obviously, not Henry Cavill, although I wouldn’t be against that in theory.

  ‘What’s up, kid?’ I reply.

  ‘I’m going to… I think I’m going to be sick…’ he replies, absolutely sounding like he’s on the verge of chucking.

  ‘Oh, crap, OK, what do I do?’ I ask Marco.

  ‘There’s a petrol station coming up,’ he says after a few taps of his phone. ‘So, if you can just hold—’
>
  The sound of Henry vomiting fills the car.

  ‘Oh, God,’ I blurt softly. ‘Sorry, kid, I’m pulling in now.’

  I’m just finding a parking space when I hear him throwing up again.

  ‘Oh, that’s Josh at it now,’ Marco announces kind of casually.

  I stop the car and hurry out. I help Henry out of the car while Marco gets Josh. Both boys are covered in purple puke.

  I quickly pull Marco to one side.

  ‘Oh my God, do we need to call an ambulance?’ I ask, panicking. ‘If they’re both being sick, and it’s purple.’

  ‘Ella, relax,’ Marco whispers, rubbing my shoulders. ‘Josh has this thing where, if anyone throws up in front of him, if he sees sick, sometimes even if he just hears sounds like someone puking – he throws up. He’s just really sensitive. And Henry threw up because he’s eaten loads of junk, which he probably isn’t used to, and they both threw up purple because of those massive purple slushes they had with their dinner, so just relax, OK?’

  I puff air from my cheeks.

  ‘Whew, you’re right, OK,’ I reply.

  ‘Look at them,’ Marco says, turning me to face the boys, who are laughing at each other’s sick-covered clothes. ‘See, they feel much better now they’ve puked.’

  ‘They’re still covered in it though,’ I point out.

  ‘Chuck me those T-shirts we won,’ he suggests. ‘I’ll take them into the gents, get them cleaned up. We’re not far from home anyway.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say gratefully – of course it does leave me with the job of cleaning the car.

  Remarkably, despite the car stinking of sick, I can’t actually see any, so I wind down all the windows and leave it to air out a bit.

  I plonk myself down on the kerb and meaningfully suck on my penis-shaped sugar dummy, hoping a sugar hit will make me feel better, but I possibly suck it a little too meaningfully, as a man in a Volvo drives ever so slowly past me. I wait until he’s gone before having any more.

  Eventually Marco returns, with a nine-year-old in each arm.

  ‘You don’t waste any time,’ he jokes, nodding towards my sweet.

  I shove it back in its packet and chuck it in the nearest bin.

  As Marco places the boys down on the ground, I notice they’re wearing matching ‘Suck my Blackpool rock’ T-shirts.

  ‘They haven’t noticed,’ he whispers to me with a smile as he chucks a carrier bag full of vomit-stained clothes into the boot.

  As we strap the boys back in, Henry yawns.

  ‘Why don’t you two snooze the rest of the way?’ I suggest.

  They don’t take much convincing.

  ‘Thanks for sorting that out,’ I tell Marco quietly once we’re back on our way.

  ‘Ah, don’t worry about it,’ he says. ‘My last trip to Blackpool ended exactly the same way for me.’

  I laugh quietly.

  I still don’t know if Marco is a bad good guy or a good bad guy, but I don’t suppose it matters. He’s a good person, no matter whatever else he gets up to.

  We drop Marco and Josh at their house before making the short journey home.

  I lift Henry out of the car, although he is nine, and I’m nowhere near as strong as Marco, so I don’t find it quite so easy.

  ‘About today…’ I start as we head for the front door.

  ‘Today was the best,’ Henry replies, his walkie-talkie clutched tightly in his hand. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

  ‘You’re welcome, kid,’ I reply, smiling to myself.

  As long as the kids had fun, that’s all that matters, but I now fully understand why my mum started taking us to the Bahamas instead.

  19

  Another weekday, another early morning start, another rude awakening by The Beach Boys, another failed attempt at getting Millie to eat any breakfast. It was cereal combos for Henry – and he’s up to five different cereals now – so his sickness was short-lived.

  I get changed before I head downstairs now, which means no more frantically getting dressed to take the kids to school in the few minutes before I need to set off, and the school run itself goes without a hitch, now I know which lane I’m supposed to stay in.

  What’s different today is that I have a meeting at Henry’s school. A Parents’ Association meeting about (do keep in mind I’m having to figure it out as it’s happening) the fundraiser for the drama department.

  Yes, I find it baffling too, that Emma and Rich pay so much money to send their kids to private school, but that they still need to hold fundraisers to pay for things. Of course, I don’t mind too much, because the head of the drama department/deputy head of the school is chairing the meeting – Christian.

  My good friend Jessica is here, of course, motor-mouth herself, trying to hijack the meeting any chance she gets. Most of the mums and dads are keeping quiet – I get the feeling she’s the queen bee, and that everyone is sort of scared of her. Even Christian seems to back down when Jessica wants to speak.

  ‘So, we’ve got the outdoor quad and the main hall space,’ Christian explains.

  God, he’s handsome. Even when he’s talking about boring shit like this, it’s hard not to start playing out hot-single-dad fantasies in my head. There’s something about maturity that’s so sexy, isn’t there? Then again, maybe I just find the stability attractive because I usually only date men who let me down and mess me around.

  ‘We’ll have food and drinks,’ he continues. ‘A band, a dance floor – and I think Jessica wanted to make a suggestion for the theme.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ she says, pulling herself to her feet to speak, yet again, even though there’s only like ten of us here. ‘So, as you all know, my ancestors are the famous Lord and Lady Darnbrocke, so I thought that might make a pleasant theme.’

  ‘Wait, what?’ I blurt.

  Suddenly everyone’s eyes are on me. I don’t think that was a very Emma outburst.

  ‘Emma, what’s wrong?’ she asks seriously.

  ‘Sorry, I’m just confused. The theme is like, what, your gran and grandad?’ I ask.

  ‘Emma, you sound like a stroppy teenager,’ she points out. ‘Did they remove your filter when they gave you that midlife-crisis haircut?’

  I notice Christian wince, just a little, at her words. Of course, no one says anything, they’re all too scared. The room is so silent you could hear a pin drop. It’s like a scene from a western.

  ‘I’m just baffled by your non-theme,’ I persist, because I’m not scared of her. ‘How would it even work? What do we wear?’

  ‘I mean, first of all, they’re not my gran and grandad,’ she says, mocking my voice. ‘And we would wear period wear.’

  ‘What’s that, big knickers and sweatpants?’ I joke. I get a few quiet laughs from around the room but Jessica has a face like thunder.

  ‘I suppose you have a better idea,’ Jessica says.

  It’s more of a statement than a question but I can’t help but wonder how much Emma would want me to get involved in this. I’m sure the brief told me to just turn up to these things and smile and nod but…

  ‘I’m thinking,’ I start. ‘If this is for the drama department, why don’t we have a drama theme? Like musicals!’

  ‘Emma, that’s nasty, and tacky, and I won’t plan it,’ she tells me firmly. ‘If that’s what you want, but I won’t facilitate it, and there’s only a matter of weeks to go…’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I suggest. ‘If everyone else likes the idea…’

  I glance around the room at the few nervous smiles. It’s as if people want to speak up but they daren’t.

  ‘Perhaps we could have an anonymous vote?’ Christian suggests. ‘Everyone write down which idea you prefer on a piece of paper and we’ll go with the majority.’

  ‘Sounds fair to me,’ I say.

  ‘OK, fine,’ Jessica says, reluctantly taking a piece of paper and a pen from Christian.

  Everyone folds up their paper and drops it into the cardboard box that Christian has fo
und for the occasion. He takes them out one at a time before announcing the result.

  ‘I’m really sorry, it’s nine votes to one,’ he announces.

  ‘Ha!’ Jessica cackles.

  ‘No, it’s nine votes for the musical theme,’ he corrects her, and I haven’t seen a human that shade of purple since Henry puked that purple slushie down his front.

  ‘Well, like I said, I’m not lowering myself,’ she eventually comments, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  ‘I meant what I said. I’ll do it,’ I say with a shrug.

  ‘You’ll do it?’ she asks angrily, looking right at me now. ‘You’ll do all of it alone? Or are you going to make all these busy parents take on even more?’

  I shrug again. How hard can it be?

  ‘I’ll help her,’ Christian offers, quickly adding: ‘If it’s what the group want?’

  ‘That’s settled, then,’ I say.

  ‘OK, well, this was the final meeting, so if I don’t see you before, and everyone knows what their individual jobs are, see you on the day for the event prep,’ Christian says. ‘Class dismissed.’

  I hang back, until it’s just the two of us in the meeting room. The second we’re alone together Christian drops to his knees and bows down theatrically at my feet.

  ‘Oh my God, Emma, what was that?’ he asks.

  ‘What?’ I laugh.

  ‘You, finally standing up to Jessica,’ he says excitedly. ‘You’re a hero. Her theme sounded crap – yours actually sounds fun. We’re actually going to have a fun fundraiser for once.’

  Christian looks so excited and it only makes him all the more attractive.

  ‘Thanks for saying you’ll help,’ I say.

  ‘Hey, anything for the hero of the hour,’ he replies, grabbing my hand to give it a playful, meaningful shake.

  My hand is only in his for a second but, I swear, it sends a little tingle through my body.

  ‘Do you want to go for lunch with me?’ I blurt.

  ‘What, me?’ he replies.

  ‘Yeah… you know, to talk about the fundraiser,’ I say, backtracking a little, because what the fuck am I doing asking him out for lunch?