reminding me, Clover.” Mum touches the corner of her left eye. (She’s a bit sensitive about her wrinkles.)
“And did you see her rocket boobs?” Clover grins. “Can’t be natural.”
“Clover!” Mum says.
“What? I’m just saying.”
I grin. “Thanks a lot, Clover. I won’t be able to stop staring at her chest now. Checking her out for falsies.”
Even Mum has to laugh.
Clover switches on her laptop then swivels around in her black leather chair. We’re sitting in her “office,” a customized shed in the back garden. Truth be told, I’m lolling on her sofa rather than sitting. Clover treated me and Mum to lunch at Eddie Rocket’s in Blackrock on the way home from the hospital, and I’m still so full from my mega burger, onion rings, and curly fries I can hardly sit upright!
“So what’s it to be, Beanie?” she asks, pulling some papers out of a plastic folder and flicking through them. “Boyfriend blues, embarrassing mums, or moving school?” She hands the problems over and I scan them all. One catches my attention immediately:
Dear Amy and Clover,
Please save me! My mother’s a nightmare. Last night I caught her dancing in the kitchen to the Killers. She was holding her nose and twisting her body up and down like she was pole dancing . . .
“Embarrassing mums,” I say firmly, looking up from the letter. “It’ll be a cakewalk.”
Clover grins. “No kidding, with Sylvie as your parental.” She stands up. “Take the hot seat and type away.”
“On my own?”
“Sure. You’re ready, Beanie. And, as you say, this one will be easy peasy. I’m going to start sorting out clothes for Paris.”
I bite my lip.
Paris
.
“What’s wrong? Spit it out, Beanie.” She knows me too well.
“What if something happens to Gracie while we’re away? Something bad.”
“You heard Art. She’s doing really well. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t know that for sure, and we’ll be so far away. . . .”
“Look, it’s all booked and we’ll only be gone three days. When are you seeing Gracie again?”
I shrug. “Not sure. Dad didn’t say.”
“Ring him. Ask if you can visit before we leave on Friday. Tell him about the trip, but make him swear not to breathe a word to Sylvie. It’s normal to worry, babes. Shows you care. But Gracie is in good hands at Parnell Street. And you can ring your dad every day to check up on her. She’s only tiny; she won’t even notice you’re gone, honest.”
I nod. I feel a bit better about it now. “Thanks, Clover.”
“Anytime, Bean Machine. Now, back to Paris. How many suitcases are you bringing?”
I giggle. “Suitcases? Clover, we’ll only be there for a few days.”
She pretends to look shocked. “But it’s Paris, Beanie: Fashion Central. We have to look our best. Now, where did I put that fake Chanel bag?” She walks off, mumbling to herself about berets and striped T-shirts.
“You’re going to look like an onion seller!” I shout after her, but she’s lost in a fashion haze.
I sit down in her chair, which is still warm from her bum and so feels a bit weird. It reminds me of the heated seats in Dad’s Mercedes — if he turns them up too high, I always feel like I need the loo. It’s a most peculiar sensation.
Dad
. His face swims in front of my eyes.
I have this other worry: maybe now that he has Gracie, he won’t have time for me anymore. Maybe we’ll end up drifting apart, like Sophie Piggott and her dad — she only gets to see him a few times a year since he had kids with his new wife. No wonder she’s so bitter and twisted.
I tell myself I’m being silly. I saw Dad earlier and everything was perfectly normal. Yes, he was a bit preoccupied and we didn’t get to talk much, but with Gracie being sick and everything, that’s understandable. I need to stop being such a worry bug. Taking a deep breath, I decide to snap out of it. I have to concentrate on answering the agony aunt letter, so I knuckle down to
“And did you see her rocket boobs?” Clover grins. “Can’t be natural.”
“Clover!” Mum says.
“What? I’m just saying.”
I grin. “Thanks a lot, Clover. I won’t be able to stop staring at her chest now. Checking her out for falsies.”
Even Mum has to laugh.
Clover switches on her laptop then swivels around in her black leather chair. We’re sitting in her “office,” a customized shed in the back garden. Truth be told, I’m lolling on her sofa rather than sitting. Clover treated me and Mum to lunch at Eddie Rocket’s in Blackrock on the way home from the hospital, and I’m still so full from my mega burger, onion rings, and curly fries I can hardly sit upright!
“So what’s it to be, Beanie?” she asks, pulling some papers out of a plastic folder and flicking through them. “Boyfriend blues, embarrassing mums, or moving school?” She hands the problems over and I scan them all. One catches my attention immediately:
Dear Amy and Clover,
Please save me! My mother’s a nightmare. Last night I caught her dancing in the kitchen to the Killers. She was holding her nose and twisting her body up and down like she was pole dancing . . .
“Embarrassing mums,” I say firmly, looking up from the letter. “It’ll be a cakewalk.”
Clover grins. “No kidding, with Sylvie as your parental.” She stands up. “Take the hot seat and type away.”
“On my own?”
“Sure. You’re ready, Beanie. And, as you say, this one will be easy peasy. I’m going to start sorting out clothes for Paris.”
I bite my lip.
Paris
.
“What’s wrong? Spit it out, Beanie.” She knows me too well.
“What if something happens to Gracie while we’re away? Something bad.”
“You heard Art. She’s doing really well. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You don’t know that for sure, and we’ll be so far away. . . .”
“Look, it’s all booked and we’ll only be gone three days. When are you seeing Gracie again?”
I shrug. “Not sure. Dad didn’t say.”
“Ring him. Ask if you can visit before we leave on Friday. Tell him about the trip, but make him swear not to breathe a word to Sylvie. It’s normal to worry, babes. Shows you care. But Gracie is in good hands at Parnell Street. And you can ring your dad every day to check up on her. She’s only tiny; she won’t even notice you’re gone, honest.”
I nod. I feel a bit better about it now. “Thanks, Clover.”
“Anytime, Bean Machine. Now, back to Paris. How many suitcases are you bringing?”
I giggle. “Suitcases? Clover, we’ll only be there for a few days.”
She pretends to look shocked. “But it’s Paris, Beanie: Fashion Central. We have to look our best. Now, where did I put that fake Chanel bag?” She walks off, mumbling to herself about berets and striped T-shirts.
“You’re going to look like an onion seller!” I shout after her, but she’s lost in a fashion haze.
I sit down in her chair, which is still warm from her bum and so feels a bit weird. It reminds me of the heated seats in Dad’s Mercedes — if he turns them up too high, I always feel like I need the loo. It’s a most peculiar sensation.
Dad
. His face swims in front of my eyes.
I have this other worry: maybe now that he has Gracie, he won’t have time for me anymore. Maybe we’ll end up drifting apart, like Sophie Piggott and her dad — she only gets to see him a few times a year since he had kids with his new wife. No wonder she’s so bitter and twisted.
I tell myself I’m being silly. I saw Dad earlier and everything was perfectly normal. Yes, he was a bit preoccupied and we didn’t get to talk much, but with Gracie being sick and everything, that’s understandable. I need to stop being such a worry bug. Taking a deep breath, I decide to snap out of it. I have to concentrate on answering the agony aunt letter, so I knuckle down to
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