Life According To...Alice B. Lovely Read online

  “Hello?”

  As Alice meanders off a few steps to talk to whoever, Stan jumps to his feet and comes to hug me, walloping Arthur into the small of my back.

  Actually, I have to admit that it’s the best thing that’s happened to me all day, and I hug him back.

  Gazing down into his freckly face, I feel the bad stuff fade away.

  Who cares about the girls back in the café? Who cares what they think of me? How can I trust the judgement of people who think having weird coloured claws for nails is cool?

  “Edie?” says Stan, blinking those Malteser eyes at me.

  “Yes, buddy?” I manage to smile for the first time in what feels like a long time.

  “Isn’t Alice B. Lovely … like magic?”

  As my heart sinks, the “magical” Alice B. Lovely is holding out her phone to me.

  “It’s Justine. I mean, your mum,” she says, batting her eyelashes. (They really do match the rainbow threads of the mid-air spider web.)

  “Mum?” I say warily. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course!” her faraway voice laughs. “I just wanted to check that YOU were all right. No headaches today?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I mumble.

  I’m crushed, mortified, jealous and a little bit miserable but fine. What’s new?

  “Oh, good!” Mum sighs with relief. “I was a little worried about you last night.”

  Yeah. So worried that she chatted away happily to Alice B. Lovely for at least half an hour after she’d checked on me. (And what was with Alice B. Lovely? Didn’t she have a home to go to?)

  “But hey, listen – I just wanted to tell you,” Mum continues, “I decided to ask Alice to mind you guys all day on Saturday, so me and your dad can both go to our work meetings. I won’t be back till quite late … but that’s OK, isn’t it?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Yeah, it’s OK,” I finally mumble.

  Of course in my alternative dictionary, “OK” means “more awful than I can put into words”.

  You know, in this particular pocket of time, I might just be the most unhappy I’ve been since the day Dad moved out.

  Oh, yes, I have the blues.

  The deep navy blues.

  The indigo blues, even.

  Or maybe they’re rainbow-tinted blues.

  But as I stand here mulling over the exact shade of my misery, my mind drifts to a tiny painting on a pavement not very far away.

  Oh, little clock of happiness … if only you were real, and not just a doodle on a dried-up, scuzzy blob of gum.

  Oh joy, oh joy, oh joy.

  And I mean that in a one hundred per cent sarcasm-free way.

  ’Cause there is no Junk Shop Girl waiting to meet me today at the gate. In amongst a huddle of mums is a handsome man. He has scruffy but cool hair, and is wearing a scruffy but cool jacket, T-shirt and jeans. If it wasn’t for a trace of grey in his sideburns, he might pass – at a distance like this – for my big brother.

  I’m so relieved, and so glad, glad, glad.

  My heart was somewhere in the basement when I came out of after-school club a second ago, mainly ’cause I’d spotted Dionne, Holly and Cara ambling out of the sixth-form block, and I don’t have Tash for support today – she’s at a follow-up dentist appointment.

  Till I spotted Dad’s welcome, warm smile I’d felt like I’d rather do DIY dentistry on myself with a Black & Decker drill than walk alone across the vast expanse of the playground without Tash for comfort (or armour).

  “Hey, Edie-beady-bear!” he calls out as I hurry towards him.

  Ouch. That does bump my fragile bubble of gladness a bit, but I’ll forgive him, because I’m SO pleased …

  a)to see him, and …

  b)that he’s not Alice B. Lovely.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, waves of, well, joy burbling in my chest.

  “Thought I’d surprise you and take you out for a pizza, if that’s all right.”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much all right!” I laugh, as Dad loops his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. (For thirteen years, I’ve never liked pizza, ’cause of the cheese. Dad should know this, but in the circumstances, I’m not going to make a big deal of it.)

  I wonder what’s going on? Maybe after thinking Stan was about to hurtle over the edge of his balcony earlier in the week, Dad has had a wake-up call. Maybe he’s decided to rejig his work schedule and give up on someone else looking after us on his days. Maybe he’s planning to meet me and Stan from school every Tuesday and Friday for ever and ever from now on. Maybe—

  Wait a minute…

  “Where’s Stan?” I ask, glancing around.

  “Alice has picked him up,” he says brightly.

  I wonder if he feels me jerk with disappointment.

  “And where are they?” I ask, holding on to the possibility of the pizza treat being one of those daddy-and-daughter things.

  “They’re going to meet us at the pizza restaurant.”

  Great.

  And I mean that with one hundred per cent sarcasm.

  (Pop! goes my gladness bubble…)

  “What’s that sigh for, Edie-beady-bear?”

  Oh. Did I do that out loud? I didn’t realize I had. But perhaps it’s a chance for me to make sure Dad is on my side.

  “I dunno,” I say wearily. “I’m just not sure about her…”

  “Alice?” Dad checks.

  It feels weird when he says it like that. I never, ever think of her as just plain “Alice”. It somehow doesn’t sound like the same person. I mean, to her face I call her … actually, I’ve never called her anything. Mainly ’cause I’ve tried to talk to her as little as possible so far this week.

  “Yes, her,” I say, taking the latest opportunity not to say her name out loud. “Did you know that Mum’s got her looking after us tomorrow? All day? Into the evening?”

  “Yes, she told me. And to be honest, Edie-beady-bear, I’m not that happy about it,” Dad says solemnly.

  (Yessss!)

  “In fact, that’s why I ducked out of work early tonight, and why I thought we should have tea together. I know your mum said the balcony thing was all a misunderstanding, but you know what Justine’s like – she thinks she knows everything. Oh, sorry, Edie, didn’t mean to say that. I, er, just meant, I’m still not totally reassured.”

  (Yessss! Even with him letting a Mum grumble slip out.)

  “And frankly, if this Alice girl doesn’t convince me tonight, then I’m going to blow out this work meeting tomorrow and let Eric go on his own.”

  (Yessss! Yessss! Yessss!)

  At last.

  Things are FINALLY nudging my way.

  “…So I said ‘How about we put a sun slowly rising behind your logo’ and you should have seen our client’s face. I knew right then that we’d got the job!”

  “Wow, no wonder!” says Alice B. Lovely. “It looks amazing.”

  Nooooooooooo! I think to myself, as I doodle agitatedly on a serviette.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dad wasn’t supposed to fall for her, like the rest of my family had done.

  But here he is, holding up his phone to show Alice B. Lovely some website design, and she’s sparkling her sea-green eyes at whatever’s on the screen. (Her eyes are literally sparkling; they’re the same mini-mirrored false lashes she wore when we first met her on Monday.)

  So when did Dad change from stern-and-concerned to chatty-and-matey? I’d like to say it took a long time for him to warm to Alice B. Lovely, but we haven’t even ordered yet.

  Here’s how it happened:

  We got here.

  We said our hellos.

  Stan ran and sat on Dad’s lap and told him that Alice B. Lovely was a real, true arti
st and that she’d just taken him to the hardware shop and that the strange roll of wire over by the coat rack was for the life-sized crocodile they were going to be starting on tomorrow.

  Dad melted.

  And so they’ve started chatting like they’re bestest friends, wittering on about art school (where Dad went, where Alice B. Lovely wants to go), about art they like (Dad’s into 1950s prints, Alice B. Lovely “adores” installations, whatever they are).

  Stan keeps chipping in, mentioning the gum art on the pavement (Dad’s keen to see it) and how Alice B. Lovely is related to a real, true artist “what is her aunt”.

  “And is she lovely like you?” Dad asked a minute ago, and nearly made me barf.

  (Except I stopped short, slightly stunned to see that what I’d been doodling was a spidery version of the clock on the piece of gum outside the charity shop. I quickly scrunched it up.)

  “No,” I heard Alice B. Lovely answer with a laugh, getting Dad’s “joke”. “Her name is Maggie Baxter.”

  Dad said he’d Google her stuff. Alice B. Lovely looked chuffed.

  And now she is acting as if Dad’s website designs are a work of staggering genius and I’ve lost my appetite.

  Which is unfortunate, because the waiter has just turned up.

  “Would you like to order?” he asks, holding up his pad in one hand and picking up my scrunched serviette in the other.

  “I’ll have an Americano, please,” says Dad, as Alice B. Lovely drops her glittering gaze to the menu. “What about you, buddy?”

  “Margherita!” yelps Stan.

  “Alice? What do you fancy?”

  Hello? Am I last to be asked? Least important person at the table, etc.?

  “I’ll have a burger, please,” I say quickly.

  “One … cheeseburger…” the waiter mutters as he scribbles.

  “No – just a regular burger. She doesn’t like cheese,” says Alice B. Lovely, blinking up at the waiter and temporarily blinding him, probably.

  Irritation bubbles in my chest.

  “Excuse me, but I can speak for myself,” I tell her firmly.

  Alice B. Lovely doesn’t flinch.

  She just stares at me with her big dolly eyes as if she’s trying to figure me out.

  She reminds me even more of that spooky, antique porcelain doll that used to be in Nana’s china cabinet; when I was little I felt like its gaze followed me round the room, whether I was sitting hunched over a book or staring into space. (Yes, visits to Nana are action-packed.)

  But hold on … pause those thoughts about Nana’s old house.

  What’s this? Dad has just frowned at me!

  Why am I in the wrong? Am I not allowed to speak?

  “I’m going to the loo,” I say, squeaking my chair back loudly.

  “I’ll come with you, Edie,” says Stan, hurtling off Dad’s knee and racing me to the door by the coat rack.

  (I feel like kicking the roll of wire as I pass, but I’d only be putting a dent in Stan’s fledgling crocodile.)

  From the second we go into the toilets till the second we come out, Stan can’t stop talking. No prizes for who he’s talking about: Alice B. Lovely, of course.

  “She came and picked me up early from after-school club!”

  “And we bought that wire stuff in this really cool shop with big hammers and stuff!”

  “And then we hung out at the park and played Tickle Tag, which is just like Tag only you have to tickle the person when you catch them!”

  “And she lives on the other side of the park, and she can see a magpie nest from her bedroom window!”

  “And she taught me a rhyme about magpies that goes, ‘One for sorrow, two for joy…’”

  What was it with the bird stuff? Alice B. Lovely knows they stress him out!

  And all Stan’s chit-chat is stressing me out. I feel like sticking my head under the hand dryer so I can’t hear any more.

  But I guess the sooner I go back out there, the sooner we can eat and the sooner we can leave the restaurant AND Alice B. Lovely.

  I don’t like what I see when we walk over to the table, though.

  Dad and Alice B. Lovely seem to be whispering and smiling, like they have some sort of secret.

  “Hey, tiger!” says Dad. “Back so soon?”

  “Grrrr!” Stan jokily growls his answer.

  “What – didn’t you want us to come back, Dad?” I ask, feeling flushes of hot and cold and anger and crushing hurt.

  “Don’t be silly, Edie-beady-bear!” Dad laughs, not even noticing that I might be a teeny bit mad or sad. “But guess what? I know something you don’t!”

  Dad and Alice B. Lovely grin at each other and then at us.

  Great. They really do have a secret.

  “What? What is it?” asks Stan, bouncing like a freckly Tigger.

  “A-ha!” Dad says annoyingly. “You’ll just have to wait till tomorrow, and Alice will reveal all.”

  That she’s an evil sorceress in disguise, maybe? Come to steal my family away from me?

  Maybe she wants to take my place. Push me out of the nest, like a magpie, or a cuckoo, or whatever stupid bird does that stuff.

  “Not fair!” yelps Stan. “I want to know the secret NOW!”

  Really?

  Well, I want to know the secret never.

  I reach into my bag, take out my book and start reading, not caring how rude I look.

  As far as I’m concerned, the ruder the better…

  The start of my day has been a lot less than lovely.

  Here’s why…

  1)I sat up in bed this morning and whacked my head on the ceiling. (I forgot I was at Dad’s, not Mum’s.)

  2) In the car on the way over to Mum’s, Dad gave me a talking-to about my “attitude”. (I’m acting very juvenile, apparently. Pretty funny coming from someone who threw a strop when his precious Arsenal mug got broken.)

  3) Back at home (Mum’s) I looked online (’cause Stan made me) and found out that Indigo Doves really are real and really do come from South America. Drat.

  4) While she was getting ready to go to her conference, Mum went on about how she’s had all these great, last-minute ideas to add colour accents and glitter to the Indigo Dove range. All thanks to being inspired by Alice Bogging Lovely, of course…

  And now that the doorbell has just ding-donged, and Mum has left with hurried kisses for me and Stan, we’re stuck for the day – the long, endless day – with you-know-who.

  “Alice B. Lovely! Hurray! Ooohhhh!!”

  Stan can do what he likes. He can cheer and “ooohhhh,” for all I care.

  Me? I’ve sulkily squished myself into a beanbag and I’m reading my book. My not-very-good vampire book.

  “Wow!”

  Arghhh! It’s too hard to ignore Stan’s enthusiasm completely, and I quickly glance up to see what all his fussing is about.

  Right, so there’s Alice B. Lovely standing in the living room doorway.

  (So far, so whatever.)

  She’s wearing her swishy flamingo skirt and clutching something, and this time it isn’t a battered please-can-we-be-friends pink bunny. It’s a box, and she’s opening it.

  When she spots my gaze, she blinks back at me, like a dog hoping for a hug, or a bit of leftover sausage.

  Actually, Tash’s puppy Max has that exact same expression plastered on his dopey, cute face when he’s just done a wee in her wardrobe or somewhere else he knows he shouldn’t have done one.

  But I don’t suppose Alice is in need of a hug or a sausage, and I’m pretty certain she hasn’t peed in an inappropriate place.

  She’s staring at me because she’s willing me to look at something.

  And you know what? I’m not going to do it. I am not going to look.

  I am going t
o slouch here on the beanbag and read my rotten book, and pretend I don’t notice the blinking, or the fact that today’s set of eyelashes are black and strangely jaggedy and her eyes are the colour of honey.

  Where was I? I wonder, skimming through and quickly finding the turned-over corner. Oh, yes: chapter 6, page 162, I remind myself, ignoring the sudden tippetty-tappetty noises nearby, and the fact that my brother is gasping so much he can’t even talk.

  The scream was lodged in her throat, hard as a nutshell, as Jed leaned closer… I read. If only she could believe he was about to kiss her, instead of revealing the fangs she suspected were only a glint away. If only—

  “Edie! Edie!!” Stan finally manages to squeak. “Look, Edie!!”

  Gripping the book, I lift my head and glare at Stan.

  “Yes, Stan,” I say in my best seen-it-all voice. “I can see it, thank you.”

  Well, much as I’d like to, it is pretty hard to ignore a big, pointy-beaked black-and-white bird hopping around your living room.

  “What is it?” yelps Stan, waving around a slice of peanut butter and toast that he hasn’t finished eating.

  “A magpie,” says Alice B. Lovely, looking fondly at the thing that’s now flapped on to the coffee table and started pecking at the remote control button. “Is that all right, Stan? Having him here, I mean?”

  “I LOVE it!!” squeals Stan. “How come you’ve got it? Is it your pet?”

  “Well, yes,” says Alice B. Lovely, untying the belt of her furry jacket and revealing a long-sleeved top as honey-coloured as today’s eyes. “My dad found him in the park at the beginning of the summer – he was only a couple of days old, so I hand-reared him.”

  What’s Alice B. Lovely playing at? Who keeps a pet magpie, for goodness’ sake?

  “What’s its name?” Stan garbles, kneeling down closer to check out the bird and then giggling madly as it pecks off a chunk of his toast.

  “He’s called Buddy.”

  “Buddy!!” Stan is so excited his squeak could burst eardrums. “That’s what Dad calls me! Did you hear that, Edie?”