Lottie Project (31 page)

Jamie let himself go a bit too much. His arms and legs shot out all over the place. I had to stay well back to stop myself getting clouted. But I suppose he was trying.

Lisa was standing near us. I prepared myself for some ultra-sarcastic comments. But Lisa’s eyes were a little too bright, her smile showing too much teeth. She wasn’t watching Jamie and me. She was watching Angela and Dave.

‘Hey, Jamie. I want to dance with Lisa for a bit,’ I said.

‘Good! I need a rest,’ Jamie puffed.

So I danced with Lisa for a bit. And then I danced with some of the other girls. And some other boys. So did Lisa. And at long last Dave Wood came slithering up to her, because he’d been elbowed away from Angela by the rest of the boys. I expected Lisa
to
send Dave Wood off with a flea in his ear. I’d have added a swarm of stinging wasps and a buzz of killer bees. But would you believe it, Lisa just gave him this stupid smirk and danced with him devotedly. Lisa has got a very pretty head but it contains
no brain whatsoever
.

‘Do you want to dance again, Charlie?’ Jamie asked eagerly. ‘I think I’m getting the hang of it now.’

He was a little optimistic. But we had fun all the same. The party ended at three and we were allowed to go home then.

Lisa and Dave Wood went off together, so she was happy.

Angela went off with half the boys in our class, so she was happy.

I decided to go back to Jamie’s house because I was still a bit peckish in spite of my Charlotte Russe (the other refreshments weren’t up to much) and I fancied one of his brother’s toasted cheese sandwiches. We walked along Oxford Terrace together. I peered up at all the attic rooms right under the roofs and imagined Lottie looking out.

Jamie kept walking closer and closer to me, so that his schoolbag banged my shins several times. I turned to tell him off – and he kissed me on the cheek!

‘What are you playing at?’ I said furiously.

‘I – I – well, you kept sticking your chin
up
and looking up in the air so I thought you wanted me to kiss you,’ Jamie stammered.

‘Well, you got it seriously wrong, matie,’ I said, giving him a shove. I scrubbed at the little wet patch on my cheek with the back of my hand. ‘You do that again and I’ll clock you one,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ said Jamie. He sighed. ‘I wish I could figure girls out. I especially wish I could figure
you
out, Charlie.’

‘It’s part of my deeply mysterious feminine charm,’ I said, chuckling.

Jamie’s brother came up trumps with another toasted sandwich and his mum asked if Jo and I could go round to their house on Boxing Day. They have a party every year. Jo got a bit worried when I told her and said she didn’t think it sounded her cup of tea – well, glass of punch – but she’s agreed to come with me because I’ve been astonishingly agreeable about
her
Christmas plans.

I shall give Jamie his Christmas present then. I’ve bought him a big fat paperback Victorian novel.
Jane Eyre
– by Charlotte Brontë, and inside the cover I’ve written:
This is a present by a Charlotte, from a Charlotte!

I’m going to make Jamie’s mum a special cake to eat at her party. I’ve got it all worked out. It’s going to be a square cake, iced all over with a cake lid on top and marzipan ribbon, so it looks like a special gift box – for Boxing Day, get it?

I’m going to be so busy busy busy
making
cakes in the Christmas holidays. I’ve got to make one for Grandma and Grandpa when Jo and I go over there on Christmas Eve – yuck! I had all sorts of good ideas but Jo talked it over with me and she thinks they’d like an ordinary conventional Christmas cake, white icing and
HAPPY CHRISTMAS
, boring boring boring – but I’ve said I’ll do it.

I’m making one more cake – and this one’s a special one.

Jo fixed a beautiful red breakfast in bed for us on Sunday (ruby grapefruit and raspberry Danish pastries and cranberry juice). When we’d eaten it all up we cuddled down in bed again and I started up one of our games and Jo tried to join in but I could tell she wasn’t concentrating.

‘Jo? What is it, eh?’ I could feel her tense.

‘Well . . . I want to talk to you about something,’ she said.

I felt as if all the delicious red food inside me was being whisked in a blender. This was it. I knew what she was going to say. I wriggled away from her and lay stiffly in bed, waiting.

‘It’s about . . . Robin,’ she said.

‘And Mark,’ I said, through clenched teeth.

‘Well. Yes, I suppose so. Oh, Charlie. I don’t know how to say this.’

‘I’ll say it for you,’ I said. ‘It’s easy-peasy, simple-pimple. You
and
Mark are going to get married and Robin’s going to be my little brother and you’ll be giving up all your jobs to look after him full-time and we’ll have to sell our flat and go and live with them and I expect you want me to make you a flipping wedding cake as well, but if I have to come to your wedding I warn you, I won’t throw confetti, I’ll start throwing rocks at you,’ and I turned over on my tummy and started to cry.

‘What?’ said Jo. ‘
What?
’ And she started to laugh.

‘It’s not funny!’ I sobbed. ‘I want to stay here. With you. Just the two of us.’

‘So do I,’ said Jo. She shoved my tangled hair out of the way and said it straight into my ear. ‘
So do I!
That’s what we’re going to do. Now listen, Charlie! You’ve got it all wrong. Mark and I aren’t getting married. He’s still too fussed about his first marriage – and I don’t think I ever
want
to get married. OK?’

‘So you don’t love him?’

‘I don’t know what I feel. I just want to let things develop. Slowly. In their own time. I hope I’ll still see a lot of Mark and Robin – but I might not carry on working there. You know this Christmas job?’

You
don’t know about the Christmas job. Jo’s stopped working at the Rosens’. The last big electrical goods shop in the town advertised for part-time staff to help them out over their busy Christmas trading time. Jo jumped in there and they took her on right away, working from nine to three. So we’ve got enough to keep up the mortgage
payments
–
and
a bit over.
That’s
what I was hinting at earlier.