Page 5 of Jessica Beam is a Hot Mess
Shitbags. She did ask me to get a new one just last week. I wrote it on my arm.Buy sensible dress!
‘Is this really so bad?’ I ask. ‘It’s all floral and shit. You like flowery things, don’t you? That designer person you said you love … Cath Kidston! It looks exactly like that.’
‘I did not say I love Cath Kidston,’ Summer fumes, tapping a foot speedily against the floor. ‘I said loathe. I loathe Cath Kidston.Loathe. And why are you wearing your glasses? Put your contacts in.’
I push my glasses up my nose. ‘Oh, I lost my contacts last night. Haven’t had a chance to order some more yet.’
‘Most people order these things in advance!’
‘Do they? Don’t worry. If 80s teen comedies have taught me anything, it’s that people wearing glasses are much cleverer than other people. Glasses make me look more bookish. They are perfect for a trip to a publisher!’
‘This isn’t atrip, Jess. It could be the difference between being winners in life or sad losers. I know which oneI’mgoing to be. This is important. Why can’t you take just one thing seriously?’
I roll my eyes, but I do know how important it is. I’ve worked really hard on the pitch for today. Nonetheless, as my mum always used to say, if you want something too much, it’ll probably go wrong. So I’m going to do what I always do. I’m going to be cool. Cool like a fool in a swimming pool.
‘Don’t stress so much, Sum.’ I pat her on the arm. ‘They probably won’t even notice what we’re wearing. They’re interested in us for ourbrains.’
Summer tuts, glances at her retro Minnie Mouse watch (I’ll never understand why people wear naff old things when they can get shiny new things) and stalks over to the coat cupboard. ‘It’s too late to change you now, though you’d think my sartorial finesse might have rubbed off just a teensy bit after all these years following me around. And your legs. The fake tan is all patchy around the knees and … is your shinbleeding?’
I peer down at my legs.
‘Oh, um, yeah. It was bleeding a teeny bit, but it’s stopped now. You can hardly even notice it. It could be just a bit of red fluff for all anyone knows.’
‘Red fluff? Why would you have red fluff on your shin?’
‘Errr … ’
I can think of no believable reason.
‘Here. Put this on.’ She flings me my long black cashmere winter coat, the sheer weight of which makes me stumble backwards into the wall.
‘But it’s July!’ I eye the heavy fabric with horror. ‘I’ll stew in my own juices.’
Summer puts hand to slender hip and glares at me.
‘I’m going to make the wild assumption that you have no other clean clothes ready, and you absolutely can’t wear jeans for this. I’m, like, a model-tall size eight, maybe even a six now, and you’re a five-foot-three size ten, so it’s not like anything of mine will fit you. Shit, Jess. Just put the coat on. We need to go.’
Fuck. She’s getting really upset.
Before I’ve even got one arm in the sleeve of the coat I can feel the beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead. My estimation for full slide-offage of eyebrows is approximately ten minutes.
‘Have fun in Londonski, guys,’ Holden twangs from the sofa, lighting his Gauloises cigarette. ‘Say hi to the ol’ LDN from me, yeah? Good town. Good town.’
Summer sashays over to give him a kiss, being careful not to get her eye poked out by the drumstick he keeps tucked behind his ear. ‘Wish us luck!’ she trills.
‘Good luck,’ he purrs, taking a sip from his jam jar of artisan beer before pulling her onto his knee for a full-on snog. ‘Go do you, babydoll. Go do you.’
‘I love you more than tea and kittens and apricot gin,’ Summer murmurs, making a heart shape with her hands and giggling as Mr Belding jumps between the two of them with a hiss.
‘I love you more than Mumford and Sons,’ Holden says solemnly.
My body starts feeling itchy, like it always does when anyone gets overly emotional in my presence. I have no problem with public displays of affection; I have partaken in many varieties in all different kinds of locations. But public declarations of everlasting love? Yeuch. Get me outta here.
‘See you laters, Crocodeelios,’ Holden croons, smirking as Summer finally leaves his knee. As she turns away, he blows me a moustachioed kiss and a pervy wink.
Barf.
‘Come on, Summer,’ I say, flipping Holden the bird behind Summer’s back. ‘Let’s go to London and seek our fortune!’
