The Real Rebecca (2 page)

Went to Cass’s after school today. I love going over there; they always have nicer bread than we do. And Cass’s room is much cooler than mine. I really, really want to redecorate my room but Mum and Dad say that I can’t
because I only got it done two years ago. As I was twelve then, it is hideous and pink and purple and not cool in any way, shape or form. Cass did her room up this year and it’s brilliant. She has a cool sort of sixties’ lamp and bedside rug from Urban Outfitters. I can’t begrudge her the nice room, though, because she is my friend and she deserves a nice lamp (although so do I, and I don’t have one.). We lay on the rug and had a very deep conversation about Life and What We Want to Do When We Grow Up (Me: Famous artist/actress. Cass: Theatre-set designer. This is a bit
mysterious
because it’s not like Cass even goes to the theatre very often so I’m not sure why she feels so strongly about designing sets, but there you go) which gradually turned into a conversation about which teachers were the
maddest
, during which I announced that I hated Mrs Harrington with all my heart. She is getting worse by the day.

Cass said, ‘I hate her too. I wish she’d stop going on about your “mammy”.’

‘Did you hear what she said today?’ I said. “Oooh, you can tell you’re your mammy’s daughter, can’t you? Such a way with words!”.’

Cass said, ‘She’s sickening.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘She’s my enemy. I think she’s turning the class against me!’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Cass. ‘She can’t do that. It’s not like anyone even likes her, and people like you.’

‘She can,’ I said. ‘Ellie O’Mahony made some stupid joke about me being a ‘mammy’s girl’ at lunch today. I mean, Ellie! What has she got against me all of a sudden? I thought we were friends. And anyway, she’s a fine one to talk about mammies.’ Ellie’s mother is a total hippie. She became a hippie in the eighties, when being a hippie was not very fashionable. But Ellie’s mum doesn’t care. She has kept on with her hippiness. Some of it has now become accepted by the rest of the world – recycling, making stuff, growing veggies – so it seems that she was right all along. In some things. But not in others. She wears a lot of paisley and fabrics that she has handwoven herself (that wouldn’t be quite as bad if she was any good at weaving, but she isn’t), and she plays the lute, and she holds rituals to praise the Earth goddess every spring in their back garden. And Ellie’s name is actually Galadriel, after the elf queen in
The Lord of the Rings
(only a few people at school know this), and she spent most of her childhood dressed like someone
from Middle Earth. So as you can see, her mocking me for having an embarrassing mother is a bit much.

‘Aw, I know it’s bad, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it,’ said Cass. ‘Ellie was only joking. I think it’ll blow over. The novelty will have to wear off. And no one will really blame you for the way that stupid loon goes on.’

But I’m not so sure. They might think I’m encouraging her. They might think I actually like the attention. They might think I’ve always wanted people to make a fuss of me because of what Mum does. They might think I really am like the horrible children in her books.

I came home from Cass’s and found my mother (source of all my woes) sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a glass of red wine. That’s the second time she’s been drinking wine this week. I hope she isn’t turning into an alcoholic. Lots of writers are, I believe. Anyway, she shouldn’t be carousing in the kitchen, she should be
working
on her next book. Her new one,
The Girl from Braddon Hall,
has been out for months and her agent Jocasta always says that she should start her next book before the new book comes out, because once the new book is out there’ll be so much fuss and interviews and stuff it’ll be harder to
get started on a new story. And usually Mum starts writing the next book practically the day after she’s finished the last one. But I don’t think my mum has started a new project yet, because whenever she starts something new she always goes on and on about her new plot ideas and sometimes she tests them out on me and Rachel by telling us about them while we’re making the dinner. But she hasn’t
mentioned
any new story ideas since she finished going through the
Braddon Hall
proofs months and months ago. I pointed this out to her and she just laughed and said there was nothing to worry about.

‘I hope that wasn’t a drunken laugh,’ I said, and left her to her lonely alcoholic revels. I met Dad on my way out of the kitchen. He was brandishing a wine glass of his own. Drinking on a Thursday night! At their age! Sometimes I think I’m the only sensible person in this house.

FRIDAY 

Brilliant day! First of all, school was okay – Mrs
Harrington
only mentioned my ‘mammy’ once, and only briefly.
We were hanging around with Ellie and Emma at lunch and Ellie was saying how much she hated Mrs Harrington, and it wasn’t just because she’d found Ellie and Emma having a nice quiet game of Hangman when they were meant to be listening to the worst teacher ever waffle on about Wordsworth and his crazed daffodil obsession. It was also because Mrs Harrington was making my life a misery with her constant ‘mammy’-ing. So I suppose Ellie isn’t my enemy after all.

Then after school Alice and Cass came over to eat
Chinese
food from the De-Luxe takeaway and then stay the night. Mum and Dad left the house really early because they were going out for dinner somewhere in Meath, so we had the house to ourselves. Well, except for Rachel, who was there until seven and was then going out with Tom, the boyfriend she nearly went to Glastonbury with until my parents put their foot down and said she was far too young to go off to a festival in another country with just her eighteen-year-old boyfriend for company. For
someone
who nearly did all that, Rachel is very straightlaced when it comes to my welfare. She gave us this big lecture on ‘not taking advantage of the free gaff’ and how we
weren’t ‘to throw a big party and drain Mum and Dad’s drinks’ cabinet’.

I said, ‘Come on, Rachel, they’re coming back at
midnight
, we’re hardly going to have a big party.’

‘Then why are you all dressed up, then?’ said Rachel. She’s so suspicious. She’s worse than our parents, and she’s only sixteen.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I suppose we should wear our school uniforms even when we’re not in school, should we? Or sacks?’

Rachel sighed, in an annoying way. ‘Don’t break
anything
,’ she said, and then she went off to meet Tom.

She’s such a cow. We weren’t dressed up at all. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and my favourite pink
Converse
, which is hardly fancy. Although I had put on some mascara and nicked some of Rachel’s nice new lipgloss before she put her make-up bag in her handbag. . And it’s not as if we could have had a proper party anyway, we don’t know any boys and I can’t imagine any of our school friends would be able to just come round to my house at the last minute. Anyway, we ordered a lovely feast from the takeaway and when the doorbell rang about twenty
minutes later we were sure it was the food so I ran out to get it.

And standing on our doorstep was the best-looking boy I HAVE EVER SEEN IN REAL LIFE. I was so astounded I couldn’t even speak. I just stared at him for what seemed like about ten years. The poor boy seemed slightly
unsettled
by this and we kind of stared at each other for a bit longer, until he said, ‘Um, I’m from Smyth’s the
newsagent
– I’m here to collect the paper money …’

He was the new paperboy! We get the papers delivered at the weekends and the paperboy always comes around on Friday evenings to collect the money for them. But the paperboy didn’t usually look like this. The usual paperboy is all squat and blotchy and wears a tracksuit. Paperboy II is tall and skinny with short, sort of curly dark brown hair and green eyes. Instead of a tracksuit, he was wearing really cool battered jeans and a nice band t-shirt. A gorgeous boy! On my doorstep!

Anyway, once he said who he was, I regained the power of speech and said, ‘Oh, right, um, the money’s round here somewhere ….’ And while I was trying to think of
something
snappy and witty to follow that profound statement
Cass and Alice came out to the door, all ‘where’s our food?!’ and ‘come on, Bex, hand it over!’ And then they too saw Paperboy and, like me, were STRUCK DUMB by his radiant beauty. I wonder does this happen to Paperboy all the time? It must make life rather awkward, if so. Anyway, luckily I noticed a fiver on the hall table next to a note from Mumwhich said ‘MONEY FOR PAPERS’ in large letters. So I gave the fiver to Paperboy and the three of us stared at him like love-struck loons as he counted out the change and gave it to me. I said, ‘Thanks!’ and he said, ‘See you next week’ (!!!!!) and I smiled and closed the door and then we ran into the sitting room and went ‘squeeeeeeee!’ And Alice said, in a very grand voice, ‘I am in love.’ Which was quite unexpected, because Alice is supposedly already in love with this bloke from St Anthony’s Boys’ School who goes past us on a bike every morning on Calderwood Road. She has fancied him for a year now, which is a long time to love someone you’ve never spoken to. But just one glimpse of the handsome paperboy was enough to make her forget the boy she has yearned for all year! Such is his power.

Anyway, I think Alice will have many rivals for
Paperboy’s affections. Me and Cass, for example. And we have a big advantage, because we live around here, and Alice lives off near Kinsealy, far from Paperboy’s paper round. In fact, Alice basically lives in the countryside. She used to live down the road from me on Glandore Road, but her family moved out to the wilds a few years ago. Her mum drops her near the top of my road on her way to work every morning and she walks to school with me and Cass, when we reach her road. So she will never see Paperboy unless she’s in my house on a Friday evening. But neither Cass nor I pointed this out to her, because it might look like gloating.

Then the doorbell rang and for a split second I thought Paperboy might have come back because he was so smitten by our (or preferably just my) charms, but it was the
Chinese
food. Which was no substitute for Paperboy, but still, not bad. So we had a feast and we all kind of ate too much and felt a bit sick. But we recovered in time to watch our favourite old film,
Ten Things I Hate About You,
on DVD, which was brilliant even though none of the boys in it are vaguely as cute as Paperboy, our new love. Then we put on Beyoncé and danced on the couch, which was fun until
Cass fell off. Her glasses fell off in a different direction from the rest of her, and we couldn’t find them for ages.

Now it’s about one o’clock and the others have fallen asleep. Usually when we stay over in someone’s house we stay up all night, but we’re all exhausted tonight. I suppose it is the stress and strain of being back in school. And
talking
about Paperboy.

I wonder what his name is?

SUNDAY 

Went out to Alice’s house. I wouldn’t like to live so far away from town, but it’s really gorgeous out there. We went for a walk (a proper country walk) and saw a fox and some rabbits, which was cool. The fox just ran out of a clump of bushes, stared at us, and ran back in again.

It was a lovely sunny day – no rain, hurrah – and it almost made me wish that I lived out among the wonders of nature instead of among three- and four-bedroom semi-detatcheds. We walked through this little bit of wood and it was all very pretty and peaceful. Alice isn’t very
observant, though. I kept seeing rabbits and squirrels and things, but every time Alice turned to look at them they had disappeared. Eventually she got cross (for Alice) and told me that she’d seen plenty of rabbits before and I didn’t have to shriek like a banshee every time I saw one. I think she’s just jealous because she lives out there right among the rural wildlife and keeps missing them when they emerge from their burrows, whereas I, the city slicker, could see them straight away. Maybe I will be a famous zoologist instead of a famous artist. I can present
programmes
on TV like David Attenborough, except younger. And a girl.