I go cold. But turns out he’s happy. Which is the main thing. Apparently, he sat at the kitchen table at breakfast, all spruced up in tailored shorts, ready to talk, but Mum was getting ready for work and Miss Mint wasn’t eating but stressing ‘bout what to wear so he’d had breakfast well early at his but he made all these crepes in Mum’s kitchen, with blueberry compote, whatever that is, sprinkling icing sugar over like snow, and Miss Mint and Mum watched him make four and put tiny
Stars from a jar
Leftover from Christmas last year
On the top.
And just before Mum left she said,
“Josh, that’s lovely; really and truly. I love jam and craps.” And she’d tried to get Miss Mint to eat them, but that obviously wasn’t happening, so she’d promised to have them when she got in, but looked a bit worried they’d keep and he’d said,
“My boyfriend Felix will have them.”
Miss Mint goes, “it was awesome. Your mum’s jaw was hanging.”
And I think, Mum’s cool; she knows Josh’s gay, but yes. Yes. I can imagine. (I also think, we need to do something about your vocabulary, my girl).
“And the letter?”
“He thanked me, but took the piss. Basically he just thought it was weird.”
“So you read it?” I knew it. I’m livid.
“ No ,” she says, spinning so fast I believe her. “I wouldn’t do that. But it’s pretty obvious what you put.”
And the scent of blueberry disappears from my nostrils ‘cos I had more faith in Josh than that. But he’s in love, so I guess I’ll forgive him.
“What about Kai?” I’m still trying to process the longing looks; the lingering; the basic obsession.
Miss Mint puts her chin in the pads of her fingers and holds it.
“Was Felix with him? Kai, I mean? When Josh mooned over him?”
I nod, slowly.
“I think Josh was scared,” she says, wisely. “He knows the whole school worships Kai and Felix’s not out yet so he’d be scared too. Kai, was cover for Josh and Frankee for Felix. It’s just like one of those weird celebrity shows, or Shakespearean drama,” her eyes roll. “I think it’s amazing, but sad in a way,” and she shakes her head, sadly. “Hidden love sucks.”
Yes, I know, I think. “And you’re with Kai now.” I’m testing. I’m soft; I am raw. I don’t know if I’m ready to find that out for sure.
She takes a deep breath and then holds out her palms. “I think so,” she says. Then she crosses her arms. “But really I’m doing you a favour.”
“Oh? How come?”
“Well when we swap our lives back, the deed’s already done.”
“What do you mean?” Dread scuttles like beetles all over my neck. I think what I’m hearing is the last thing I want.
“Kai and I having sex.” There, she’s said it. The harmony’s
broken.
Mr Morlis will be so disappointed.
* * *
Now we’re trying to think of ways to help Mum. ‘Cos she’s not baking or making; her spending’s got out of control. I see where I get it from now.
Mum’s stuck on internet shopping like tartar to teeth, Miss Mint says, which is quite witty for her.
I think of the short, black dress price. What a fool. What was I thinking? Eighty quid! I could pay for Mum’s heating for a month. Go to Paris with Taff. Like a grown up. Which would be a million times more fun than Courtney’s party.
Miss Mint says it’s easy.
“All your mum needs to do is to realize there’s more to life than home trimmings and sewing. She needs an event. Something fun. To dress up.”
That won’t be easy, I think. You don’t know my mum. But then I remember she does. I tell her about the dress and me lying and she goes kind of quiet and says, “well, let’s give it to her.”
“What?”
“She said it’s grown up, right? The dress, I mean?”
“Yeah.”
“So she’s a grown up. So we’ll just say it’s hers now.”
I’m not sure quite how that will help, but the power of clothes is something I’ve come to believe in recently. She’s nothing to wear it to though, I think meanly. Quite seriously. If there’s a neighbourhood party, Mum says she won’t go, which I think is ridiculous. Mum’s forty two. If she doesn’t start partying, what will she do? End up all lonely and take up bowling?
“OK, she can have it.” Mum does need some bling. “You think that will help, though?” I’m still not convinced. Last time Mum wore Lycra, like, everyone winced. It was Easter and Dad had just left the country. Mum went on a bender of SATC meetings-up and it all came to a sticky end when she threw a tea party.