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TWENTY-TWO
‘Screw ’em. Why do you care what anyone thinks?’
I’d been telling Matty I’d die if anyone found out about my crush on Joey Peterson.
It was only the two of us at home. My mother was out at a work drinks party, a send-off for one of the partners at the accountancy firm where she worked in the secretarial pool. Matty was babysitting, a rare occurrence since it was usually the two of them that went out together.
‘How do I look?’ she asked before she left, doing a little spin in the middle of the living room, a self-conscious spot of colour on each cheek.
She was wearing a new dress, a red off-the-shoulder number with a big bow on the neckline. We’d bought it together at Wallis the previous weekend. Matty was supposed to have come with us but hadn’t shown up. Overslept, he claimed, even though we hadn’t set out till well after lunch. Didn’t want to get dragged round the shops, more like, my mother said.
He sucked his teeth, rubbed his chin with the side of his thumb.
‘You look beautiful, obviously. But. . . I don’t know. . .’
Her face fell. She smoothed down the skirt, re-examined through fresh eyes the outfit she’d been so pleased with.
‘What’s wrong with it?’
Matty shrugged.
‘I just wonder if it strikes the right note for a hooley with your boss. Do you think you might be more comfortable in something a little less. . . showy?’
‘I’ve got a black tunic, I could try that, I suppose. It’s a bit frumpy, but—’
Matty nodded.
‘Yes. Good idea.’
The news was playing in the background, the TV on low while we waited for Only Fools and Horses to come on. My mother thought it was ‘stupid’, but Del Boy always set Matty and me off. The blow-up doll episode especially.
Police expressed grave concern today for the safety of two young women from North London who haven’t been seen since April. They are asking anyone who may have seen them to come forward and are urging women to be vigilant when they go out at night.
‘Travel home with a friend if you can,’ Detective Inspector Harry Connor of Scotland Yard advised. ‘Try to avoid isolated areas. If you feel threatened, call 999.’
‘Do you think it’s him?’ I asked Matty.
He just shrugged, told me I had nothing to be afraid of.
My mother came back into the room wearing a black dress. She was right, it was frumpy, the sort of thing Nancy Reagan might wear to a funeral.
‘I don’t know about this. What do you think, Matty?’
He pulled his eyes away from the screen.
‘What’s that?’
‘The dress. Is this one better?’
‘Aye,’ he answered, straight back to the TV. ‘Much.’
‘I liked the red dress,’ I told him after she’d left.
‘Me too. She should have more confidence in herself.’
‘But you said—’
‘Fancy a pizza? We could order in.’
