Over the Moon - Jean Ure

Скачать книгу

am,” I said.

      “No, you’re not,” said Hattie. “You’re having a complete re-think. Change of heart. Reformed character!”

      Somewhat alarmed, I assured her that I was exactly the same character I had always been. “All this change of heart stuff … it’s only temporary!”

      “That’s what you think,” said Hattie.

      What did she know?

       All this effort is really draining me. Paying attention. Showing willing. Doing homework. I can’t relax for even two seconds without Hattie’s beady eye zooming in on me. This morning I was so utterly exhausted that I drifted off in the middle of French. Just a quick nap – Mrs Kershaw would never have noticed. But before I know it Hattie’s angrily jabbing at me with a ruler from across the gangway, pulling a face like a demented gargoyle.

       Then when I got in a perfectly justifiable strop with Mr Hinckley, who has had the nerve to give us a THIRD LOT OF HOMEWORK in the same week, she stamped on my foot under the desk and hissed, “Attitude!” I felt like stamping right back, but just in time I happened to catch sight of Tanya simpering away on the other side of the room like a little saintly sunbeam, so instead of stamping I thought very hard of Founder’s Day and stretched my lips into a big smile of gratitude and anticipation, like, thank you S0 MUCH, dear, DEAR Mr Hinckley!

       I am S0 looking forward to doing yet another load of history homework!

       I really don’t know if I can stand the pace. I am already worn to a frazzle.

      Mum was hugely impressed when I started settling down to my homework every evening without any of the usual nagging. The Scarlett-what-about-your-homework-I-can’t-believe-you’ve-already-done-it-and-don’t-try-telling-me-you-haven’t-got-any kind of thing. Leading, inevitably, to Big Bust Ups. Resentment and surliness (according to Mum) on my part, and frayed temper on hers.

      “This is so good!” she said. “I’m so pleased! I know it’s a lot of hard work, but Scarlett, it is so important.”

      To which I responded with a churlish grunt. I mean, I knew it was churlish but I didn’t want Mum exulting too much; it could only lead to disappointment. This was not the real me! This was just a temporary kind of me. I was glad that Mum was happy, but I feared it was going to make it all the harder when we went back to frayed tempers.

      While Mum approved, Dad wasn’t quite so sure. I could tell he was a bit puzzled by the new me and all the sudden sunshine radiating from Mum. He was more used to him and me being in league against her, like winking and joking and taking the mickey when she was trying to be serious. He told me that I didn’t want to work too hard.

      “You know what they say … all work and no play!”

      “Frank, for goodness’ sake,” said Mum. “Don’t discourage her!”

      “Well, but she’s at it every night,” said Dad. “For crying out loud, what do they expect of these kids?”

      “She’s got a lot of catching up to do,” said Mum. “She spent the whole of her first year messing around … I’m just glad she’s come to her senses in time.”

      Dad muttered, “In time for what?”

      I said, “In time for Founder’s Day!”

      Mum got it immediately. There aren’t any flies on Mum! “Oh,” she said, “so that’s what it’s all about … I might have known there was an ulterior motive!”

      Dad still hadn’t caught on. He said, “What’s Founder’s Day got to do with it?”

      “The Dinner and Dance?” said Mum.

      “I want so much to go!” I said.

      “Well, you will,” said Dad. “Of course you will!”

      “Not if she’s not selected,” said Mum.

      “She’ll be selected!”

      “Dad,” I said, “I won’t.”

      “What do you mean, you won’t? Don’t sell yourself short!”

      “Frank, they do it on merit,” said Mum. “Merit marks. Right?”

      “So? She can get merit marks! Brains aren’t the only thing. What about looks? Don’t they count for something?”

      Dad was just blustering; it’s what he always does when he’s pushed into a corner. Mum made an impatient tutting sound and turned away.

      “You don’t get merit marks for the way you look,” I said.

      “Well, you darned well ought to!” said Dad. “You’d be a credit to the school!”

      I said, “Hattie will be a credit to the school.”

      “In her own way,” said Dad. “In her own way.”

      He knew better than to come straight out and say anything derogatory about Hattie’s looks; Mum would have been down on him like a ton of bricks. It’s true that Hattie is not beautiful. It is also true that she is a rather solid kind of person. Sort of square-shaped. But she has a really good face, very strong and full of character, and it wasn’t kind of Dad to say some of the things that he did. He never dared in front of Mum, cos he knew she wouldn’t stand for it, but sometimes when it was just him and me he’d have these little digs like, “Poor old Hat, she’s as broad as she is long!” Or one time, I remember, he said that she would make a great sumo wrestler, which is totally unfair, as sumo wrestlers are fat. Hattie is not fat.

      It always used to make me feel uncomfortable: really disloyal to Hattie. I know I should have said something. I should have told Dad that I didn’t like him making these sort of remarks about my best friend; but I never did. Cos me and Dad were in league. We used to point people out to each other when we went anywhere, like when Dad drove me to school in the morning. “Good grief!” Dad would go. “Get a load of that!” Or I would say, “Just look what that girl is wearing! Some people have no dress sense!”

      It was our thing that we did; we enjoyed it. Mum said it was very superficial, judging others by the way they looked, but me and Dad never took any notice. We just laughed.

      All the same, I did agree with Mum on one thing: I certainly didn’t need Dad discouraging me from doing my homework. I was having enough of a struggle as it was.

      Mum said to me later that I mustn’t let Dad put me off.

      “You know he has a problem with women asserting themselves.”

      I really didn’t think I could be accused of asserting myself, just doing my homework, but Mum reminded me how Dad had been brought up. His mum had been quite old when he was born and had these really old-fashioned views, like a woman’s place being in the home and men not having to lift a finger to help with domestic chores. Dad wasn’t as bad as that, but I had to admit, he wasn’t exactly a modern man.

      “You just stick to your guns,” said Mum. “I don’t care what your reasons are; anything that motivates you has to be a good thing. I’m speaking here from experience. It’s taken me the better part of thirty years to get motivated. I wasted

Скачать книгу