Watching You, Watching Me

Gemma had wandered into my room.

‘Hi,’ she said, sitting down on my bed beside me.

‘What’s up? Nothing on TV?’

‘Just wondered what was going on over there.’ She indicated the window over the road.

‘Absolutely nothing.’

‘Oh. Sorry about letting on to Mum.’

‘I’ll survive.’

‘But you do fancy him, don’t you?’

‘He’s all right.’

She leaned towards me and asked in an undertone: ‘Do your knees go to Jell-o whenever you see him?’

‘Go to what?’

‘Jell-o.’ She paused. ‘What is Jell-o?’

‘Jell-o is American for jelly. And no, they don’t as a matter of fact. Honestly, Gem. I don’t know what you see in those books.’

Chapter Six (#ufbc92d8e-ce70-57ff-8971-011421628926)

The school week dragged to an end at last, and Friday found me in my room doing my long overdue oboe practice.

I had a really difficult piece to practise for my next exam. It had this long sustained opening note which you had to count through and keep your breathing controlled until you felt you could burst. I dread to think what I must have looked like while playing it.

On my third attempt it really came out well. The piece was by Albinoni. He’s a genius. If you play his music properly it’s really stunningly beautiful. That’s the funny thing about practice. You put it off and put it off and when you can’t put it off any longer and it comes to doing it — you find you enjoy it. No, not just enjoy It’s as if you’re on another plane when you really get into it. You get to a state when you’re so totally absorbed that you can’t break off …

Like now.

‘Natasha, can you hear me?’

‘Yes Mum … What is it?’

‘Help me with this, can’t you?’ Mum’s voice was muffled. She appeared in her bedroom doorway half-in and half-out of a dress, her best dress.

I put down the oboe and went to rescue her. I gave the dress a tug and her head appeared over the top.

‘Can you keep an eye on Jamie and Gemma? It’s only for a few hours. I’ll be back by 9.30.’

‘But it’s Friday …’

‘Yes, and this is a very important meeting. Might mean promotion.’

‘I’m doing my oboe practice.’

‘Well, that won’t take all night.’

‘Why can’t Dad babysit?’

‘Working late on that river project.’

‘Uggghh.’

‘You can take the two of them to the cinema, my treat.’

‘Big deal. We can go to a U.’

Mum was leaning into her three-piece mirror putting lipstick on. I stood behind her and watched critically.

‘You ought to use a lipliner you know — you’d get a much better shape.’

‘You said yourself you wanted to see Babe,’ she mumbled, rubbing her lips together. They’re doing a rerun at the MGM.’

I had actually. OK, I know it’s pathetic, but I still get a kick out of kids’ films — it’s the one and only compensation for having a younger brother and sister. You can veg out in front of stuff like 101 Dalmatians and pretend it’s for their benefit.

‘Popcorn and ice-cream too?’

Mum put a tenner on the dressing table and then increased the bribe by adding a five pound note.

‘It’s a deal then,’ I said sweeping them up. What time does it start?’

‘You’ve missed the early performance — have to take them to the 7.15. So you can finish your practice first.’

‘Can I stand the pace?’

Mum straightened up and took an assessing look at herself in her full-length wardrobe mirror.

‘How do I look?’

I’ve never liked the dress. It’s a really ghastly oxblood red and that terrible middle aged length that makes you look as if you end at mid-calf.

‘It’s not exactly power dressing, is it?’

‘What do you think I should wear?’

‘Your black suit.’

‘The skirt’s too short.’

‘Rubbish. You’ve got good legs Mum, flaunt them. And you need mascara too.’

It took about half an hour to get Mum looking halfway decent, and I had to lend her my lip-gloss. She took another long assessing look at herself in the mirror.