What A Week To Get Real

MONDAY
7.00 a.m.
Cleo Greenway’s bedroom. 6 Kestrel Close, West Green, Dunchester

Feeling sassy

There was one simple reason why Cleo was up and dressed at seven in the morning on the first day of the half-term holiday. Money. With everything that was happening in her new life, she simply had to bin her entire wardrobe and start again. Her parents had made it quite clear that there was no way that they were about to cough up any cash. Her mother had done the ‘but darling, you don’t need any more clothes’ bit, which was rich coming from a woman whose wardrobe resembled the changing rooms at London Fashion Week; and as for her stepfather, he had merely grunted and told her that the world didn’t owe her a living, and if she wanted more money she would have to get a job.

‘ Fine!’ she had retorted, glaring at him. ‘I’ll just run in a few hours’ hard labour, along with my GCSE coursework, my singing exam and…’

She had paused, certain that he would come to his senses and hand her some cash.

‘ You do that,’ he had replied.

‘ Roy, be reasonable,’ her mother had ventured. ‘She is very busy and…’

‘ Not too busy to spend half the weekend at the hairdresser’s,’ he had said. ‘If she wants to spend it, she can earn it. When I was her age…’

Cleo hadn’t hung around for another episode in Roy’s ‘kids today don’t know they’re born’ monologue – she had heard it all a thousand times before. Instead, she had done what she always did in a crisis – phoned her mates.

‘ Saturday girl at the hairdresser’s,’ Jade had suggested.

‘ Waitressing at that new café in the park,’ Tansy had offered.

‘ It’s obvious!’ Holly had insisted. ‘Get a job at Olé Outfitters. That way you can get all the cool gear at a discount.’

All of which would have been fine except that Cleo got the same answer everywhere she went. ‘We don’t take anyone under sixteen. Company policy. Come back next year.’

In the end she had been forced to take the only job going in Dunchester for a fifteen-year-old. It wasn’t cool, it paid a pittance and it didn’t offer any perks, but it was better than nothing and the hours were short. There was just one problem. She would have to tell them that she couldn’t work on Wednesday. They wouldn’t like it but there was nothing she could do about it.

So much, she reflected, had happened since Jade’s disastrous birthday party a couple of months ago. To be honest, when Angus, the totally drop-dead gorgeous guy who ran the KickAss disco with his mate Kyle Woodward, had heard her singing along to the hits and asked her to do a slot with his college band, she’d thought it was just a chat-up line. Sadly, she had soon discovered that Angus didn’t do chat-up – well, not with the likes of her, anyway. But she’d gone along with it, just for a laugh – not that the venue for her debut was quite as hip as she’d imagined.

‘ My mum’s on the committee for the League of Friends at the hospital,’ Angus had told her apologetically. ‘She’s roped the band into playing at their Snow Ball – just a half-hour slot in the staff canteen, but it’s a start.’ He had coughed nervously. ‘So are you up for it? I mean, if you’re not already doing something…’

Like I’ve got half a dozen guys fighting over my one free evening, she’d thought wryly.

‘ No, I’m free,’ she’d said in the next breath. ‘What do you want me to sing?’

‘ How about “Don’t Leave Me Lonely” for starters? Great for your voice and there’s the drum solo for me to show off! And Cleo, it’s really cool that you’re doing this. Thanks a lot.’ He had sounded like he really meant it.

That’s how it had started. And finished, thanks to her parents.

‘ Absolutely not,’ her mum had declared the day after the Snow Ball, when Cleo had mentioned that the band were lining up a few gigs at Stomping Sam’s. ‘A charity ball is one thing; cavorting in some sleazy nightclub is quite another. This is a very important year, Cleo. You’re taking three GCSEs a year early, you’ve got your coursework to finish, a singing exam coming up…’

‘ So, like, practising singing would be a good idea, yes?’ Got you, she’d thought. Sadly, she wasn’t dealing with a normal human being.

‘ There’s singing and singing,’ her mother had said. ‘And smoke-filled nightclubs won’t do your vocal cords any good. It’s not that I’m trying to spoil your fun.’

‘ No, just my whole life, more like,’ Cleo had stormed. ‘And what am I supposed to tell the band? Mummy won’t let me come?’

‘ Sure.’ Her mother smiled. ‘Blame me if it helps. Everyone else does.’

Of course, when it came to it, Cleo hadn’t told it like it was; she didn’t want to appear a total downtrodden wimp in front of the guys. She’d simply said that she’d forgotten it was her gran’s birthday (which was true) and there was a huge family party (which wasn’t true) and she’d have to go, boring, boring.

‘ Families,’ Angus had drawled down the phone. ‘Tell me about it. Don’t worry, there’ll be other times. I’m not letting a girl like you slip through my fingers.’

If it had been any other guy, she thought now, scooping up her honey-blond hair into a ponytail, she would have thought he was coming on to her big time.

She sighed, pulled her fleece over her head and ran downstairs, almost colliding with her stepfather, who was wearing his ancient tartan dressing gown and his usual grumpy expression, and balancing two mugs of tea on a tray.

‘ What are you doing today?’ he asked, stopping on the third stair and blocking Cleo’s path.

‘ Going to work,’ she retorted. The phrase made the job sound a lot more important than it was, and she liked the way it rolled off her tongue.

‘ After that?’

‘ Meeting up with Holly,’ Cleo replied, trying to push past him.

‘ Where are you meeting her?’ Roy asked.

‘ What’s with all the questions?’ Cleo demanded.

Roy shrugged. ‘Just trying to show an interest,’ he muttered.

Cleo sighed. She guessed her mum had had a quiet word with Grumpy Guts and told him to be friendlier. This was clearly his best effort.

‘ I’m going round to her house,’ she said. ‘She’s moving and I said I’d help sort out her stuff.’

‘ That’s OK, then. You do that,’ Roy said, venturing the half-hearted grimace that was his closest attempt at a smile. ‘That’ll be fine.’

As if I needed your permission, Cleo thought savagely, but said nothing. It was always best to let parents think they had the upper hand.