And Baby Makes Two - Dyan Sheldon [11]
I was about to kiss Les back, but at that moment someone came into the shop. He pushed me away.
“No fraternizing on company time,” he whispered, giving me another squeeze.
A thrill ran through me. It was like having a secret no one else knew. How grown up could you get?
The other guy didn’t show up till nearly six, so by the time he was settled, and Les and I had said goodbye, and I’d walked home, it was after seven.
She was in the kitchen, drinking a beer and making a curry.
She turned as I reached the doorway.
“Where’ve you been?”
“Out.”
I hadn’t told her about Les, of course. It was my private, personal life and had nothing to do with her. She’d only try to ruin it for me. Plus, she’d probably want to meet him, you know, check his teeth and his intentions and stuff like that. The mind boggled. Even if Les didn’t get scared that I was going to turn into an old bag with dyed hair and the dress sense of a tramp – and even if she didn’t tell him how old I really was straight away – she’d be sure to tell him enough of my faults to put him off for good. I could just hear her. “Did you know she cuts her toenails over the living-room carpet? Have you seen the state of her room? She’s violent, you know. She threw the remote control through the front window last winter because I told her to do her homework…” That’s what she was like. Moan, moan, moan. Worse, though, was the fact that if she knew I had a boyfriend who came round after work on the nights she went to Charley’s, she’d stay at home. I knew her. She was mean. Anything to spoil my fun.
She put down the knife she’d been chopping carrots with.
“Out where?”
I threw my bag on the table and draped my jacket over a chair. “Doing my science project with Shanee. How long till we eat?”
She gave me her mind-reading stare.
“I had a call from Mrs Mela.”
She said it like it was some kind of threat. Which I suppose it was.
I took an apple from the fruit bowl. “Have I got time for a shower?”
She leaned against the counter, her arms folded in front of her in typical telling-off mode.
“She says your work is slipping.”
I bit into the apple. “Shakespeare’s boring. I don’t understand it.”
I could see the tip of her tongue between her lips.
“That’s why you’re doing Shakespeare at school. So someone can tell you what it means.”
“Yeah … right…” I took another bite. “Well, I am doing it at school, aren’t I?”
“Apparently not,” said Hilary Spiggs. “Apparently you’re writing notes and making jokes at school.”
I started to ease back out of the kitchen. “I’m going to have a shower before sup—”
“You’re going to stay right here and tell me what’s going on.”
I met her eyes, my face expressionless. “Nothing’s going on. I don’t like Shakespeare.”
“Mrs Mela says it’s not just her class.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
Old stone-face didn’t even blink.
“Something’s going on,” she informed me. “Ever since your birthday you’ve been acting oddly.” She narrowed her eyes into two dark, probing slits. “Are you seeing someone, Lana? Is that what it is?”
I didn’t think my mother was the stupidest person on the planet, but I definitely thought she was one of them. I mean, she knew nothing about life or love or anything like that. And if she’d ever been younger than thirty she’d blocked it out completely. But sometimes she surprised me. Like now. How could she tell?
“Of course I’m seeing someone.” I smiled very sweetly. It drove her mad. “I see dozens of people a day. Shanee, Amie, Gerri, Meryl, Lisa—”
“Please,” said the Grand Inquisitor. “Spare me the list. You know what I mean. Are you seeing someone? A boy?”
I tossed my apple core into the bin. “It’d be pretty hard not to see a few hundred of them. It’s a mixed school, remember?”
She picked up her beer. “Yes,” she said. “I do remember.”
Not Quite Romeo and Juliet