Mates, Dates and Portobello Princesses Read online

  Cathy Hopkins is the author of the incredibly successful Mates, Dates and Truth, Dare books, and has just started a fabulous new series called Cinnamon Girl. She lives in North London with her husband and three cats, Molly, Emmylou and Otis.

  Cathy spends most of her time locked in a shed at the bottom of the garden pretending to write books but is actually in there listening to music, hippie dancing and talking to her friends on email.

  Occasionally she is joined by Molly, the cat who thinks she is a copy-editor and likes to walk all over the keyboard rewriting and deleting any words she doesn’t like.

  Emmylou and Otis are new to the household. So far they are as insane as the older one. Their favourite game is to run from one side of the house to the other as fast as possible, then see if they can fly if they leap high enough off the furniture. This usually happens at three o’clock in the morning and they land on anyone who happens to be asleep at the time.

  Apart from that, Cathy has joined the gym and spends more time than is good for her making up excuses as to why she hasn’t got time to go.

  Big thanks to: Terry Segal for letting me read her teenage diary. I promise I won’t reveal details to her mother. Or husband. At least, not yet. To Emma Creighton for the low-down on horse-riding for beginners. To husbando Steve for accompanying me to all the locations in the book in the middle of winter. In the rain. To Brenda and Jude at Piccadilly who are a pleasure to do business with and not forgetting Margot Edwards whose e-mails make my day. Lastly to Rosemary Bromley for saying yes to my books when I was ready to pack it all in and join the Foreign Legion.

  First published in Great Britain in 2001

  by Piccadilly Press Ltd.,

  5 Castle Road, London NaW1 8PR

  This edition published 2007

  Text copyright © Cathy Hopkins, 2001, 2007

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978 1 85340 929 5 (trade paperback)

  eISBN: 978 1 84812 264 2

  3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4

  Printed in the UK by CPI Bookmarque, Croydon CR0 4TD

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 1

  ‘Nesta, is that you?’ said Lucy’s voice at the other end of the phone. ‘You sound weird. Where are you?’

  ‘In the loo, on the train from hell,’ I groaned.

  I could hear her laughing. Why do people always think it’s funny when my life turns into total disaster?

  ‘No seriously. It’s a nightmare. We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. I should have been home hours ago.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re in a bucket,’ said Lucy. ‘The phone’s all echoey. Anyway, what are you doing in the loo? You’re not stuck in there, are you?’ She started laughing again.

  ‘I am in here,’ I said primly, ‘to talk on my mobile without the whole carriage listening in and hopefully to get some sympathy from someone who’s supposed to be one of my best friends.’

  ‘I am sorry, Nesta. It’ll get going again soon.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Watching telly. There’s a repeat of “The O.C.” on. Going to Izzie’s later.’

  ‘Lucky thing. I wish I was there. I can’t bear this much longer. I’m bored out of my mind.’

  ‘Haven’t you got a book with you?’

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘Magazine?’

  ‘Read it.’

  ‘Call Izzie.’

  ‘She’s out.’

  ‘Then go and chat to one of the passengers. That’ll make the time go faster.’

  ‘Don’t even go there. I’ve got the Family of Satan sitting behind me. Remind me never to have kids.’

  ‘I thought you liked kids?’

  ‘Yeah. But I couldn’t eat a whole one. Honestly, it’s awful. This little boy behind me is driving me bonkers. Banging on my seat, arguing with his sister, playing some irritating computer game that makes a noise like a police siren. And his parents are just sitting there like he’s the most adorable creature ever. I wish they’d tell him to zip it.’

  ‘So move. It’s Saturday. Go into weekend first and pay the extra. Have you got enough?’

  ‘Yeah. I moved already. Dad gave me the extra. But because it’s Easter, the train’s massively overbooked and there aren’t enough seats, so they’ve moved everyone into first class. And the heating’s broken. And there’s no buffet car! I can’t even get a Coke. Stop laughing. I don’t see what’s so funny.’

  ‘Sorry, Nesta,’ said Lucy. ‘It’s just the thought of you hiding in the loo. You get to go to all the trendiest places.’

  ‘Yeah right. Hysterical. Phworr. It smells awful in here; I think someone’s been having a sneaky fag. Just a mo, I’m going to spray.’

  I got out my CK and squirted into the air. ‘That’s better. I’m sooooo bored, Lucy. Entertain me.’

  ‘Go and sit back down and try some of that meditation we did at school.’

  ‘Oh, gimme a break. That’s Izzie’s thing.’

  ‘So when will you be back?’

  ‘Dunno. Never by the looks of it. I’m clearly being punished. I’ve died and gone to hell and am going to be stuck on this train with all these mad people for eternity.’

  ‘You’re such a drama queen, Nesta. You’ll be back before you know it.’

  ‘I wish. Dad dropped me at Manchester at one o’clock and the journey’s supposed to take three hours. We’ve already been on the train that long. And now we appear to have broken down . . . though there’ve been no announcements to tell us what’s going on. What shall I do?’

  ‘Er, I don’t know. Put some make-up on.’

  ‘Good idea.’ I got out my make-up bag and began to put on some lipstick. ‘Oh, hold on a mo,’ I said as the train suddenly lurched forward causing me to smear my lippie in a gash up my cheek. ‘Oops. I think we’re off. Yep. We’re moving again . . . Lucy, Lucy . . .?’

  My mobile cut out so I checked my appearance in the mirror and gave my hair a quick brush. I wondered if I should spend some more time in there plaiting it. Or maybe I should leave it loose. There was a boy who’d been checking me out the whole journey. He was quite good-looking. People say my hair’s one of my best features: it’s long right down to my waist. I decided I’d leave it loose. I wanted to look good for when Boy In The Corner made his move. It had to be only a matter of time.

  Passengers were staring at me as I made my way back down the carriage. I’m used to it by now as people always look at me. Izzie says it’s because I stand out in a crowd as très good-looking but sometimes I think it’s also because they can’t make out where I’m from. I can see their brains are going tick-tick-tick trying to work out what nationality I am. Actually my dad’s Italian and my mum’s Jamaican. Sometimes I tell people I’m Jamalian or Italaican. That confuses them.

  Being hard to identify comes in useful some days though, like when I’m out with Lucy and Izzie and we’re in a mad mood. We
pretend that we’re foreign students. I pretend I’m Spanish or Indian. I could be either. Lucy pretends to be Swedish as she’s got blonde hair and high cheekbones and can do a really good accent. And Izzie, for some reason, always pretends to be Norwegian, though with her dark colouring and beautiful eyes she’s a typical Irish colleen.

  As I squeezed past various irate people sitting in the corridor on their suitcases, an announcement came over the tannoy.

  ‘We apologise for the delay and lack of seats but we are on our way again and will be arriving in Birmingham in a few minutes. However, due to a problem with the engine, we will be stationed there while the engineers rectify it. We will be arriving at Euston approximately two hours later than scheduled.’

  A moan went through the train, then a chorus of voices as people got out their mobile phones and began dialling.

  ‘Martha, I’m outside Birmingham. Dunno what time we’ll be back. I’ll get a taxi.’

  ‘Tom. I’ll be late as the train’s stuck. I’ll call when we’re a bit closer.’

  ‘Gina. Damn train’s late again. Call you later.’

  On and on it went through every carriage.

  Then I realised I couldn’t find my seat. I checked the other passengers, thinking that maybe I was in the wrong carriage. But no, there was the Family of Satan. Cute Boy In The Corner. Oh no. Someone was in my seat. An old dear with white hair and glasses. She’d made herself comfortable with a flask of tea and an egg sandwich. I couldn’t possibly ask her to move. It would be mean.

  I looked around the carriage, but there weren’t any other seats. Oh well, I’ll just have to stand, I thought. For two and a half hours. Whoopee. Not.

  But the gods decided to take pity. A few minutes later, we pulled into Birmingham and, hallelujah, the man opposite Cute Boy got up to go. The boy looked at me and nodded his chin at the seat opposite him. Fabola, I thought, and made my way over.

  As the train lurched to a stop, I lost my balance. Given the day I was having, the next bit seemed inevitable.

  ‘Hi,’ grinned Cute Boy as I fell straight into his lap. ‘Actually, I was thinking of the seat opposite. But this is OK by me.’

  I could tell he expected me to leap up all embarrassed, so I decided to outcool him. I stayed where I was for a moment like I was really comfortable and gave him one of my best seduction looks – the one with a smile and one raised eyebrow.

  Then I got up.

  ‘Yeah. Maybe later,’ I said as I took the seat opposite.

  ‘Oh. OK. Right. No prob,’ he said, looking flustered. ‘Er, I’m Simon. Hi.’

  ‘It was so romantic,’ I said to the girls later that day as I helped myself to a salt and vinegar Pringle round at Izzie’s. ‘Like in a film. I just fell into his lap. If anyone ever makes our story, I think I’d like that guy who plays Angel in “Buffy” to play his part.’

  We were in Izzie’s bedroom. The train had eventually got into London at six thirty. After Mum had picked me up and I’d dropped off my stuff, I begged her to let me go out. This was urgento. Not only had I not seen the girls for three whole days, but I had so much to tell them.

  ‘Your story! But you’ve only just met him,’ said Lucy, taking a swig of Coke.

  ‘And knowing you,’ said Izzie, ‘it was, like, fall accidentally on purpose.’

  ‘It was not,’ I said. ‘The train lurched.’

  Izzie pulled one of her ‘yeah right’ faces but Lucy looked all ears, she’s such a romantic herself.

  ‘So tell us all about it,’ she said, settling on to the purple beanbag on Izzie’s floor.

  ‘Well, the rest of the journey whizzed by. We talked non-stop. Before we knew it, we were pulling into Euston . . .’

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Simon Peddington Lee. He lives in Holland Park and he’s eighteen.’

  ‘What does he look like?’ asked Izzie.

  ‘Tall, dark and handsome. Lovely brown eyes.’

  ‘What was he doing on the train?’

  ‘He’d been up to have a look at St Andrews University, to see if he’d like to go there after A-levels. I’ve decided I might go there as well after school. It really is the place now.’

  ‘That’s where Prince William went isn’t it? asked Lucy.

  ‘Yep. So it’s très posh.’

  ‘What school does Simon go to now?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘Some private school. I forget the name. In Hampshire somewhere. He’s a boarder.’

  ‘So he’s a posh boy?’ said Izzie, then put on a silly snobby voice. ‘Peddington Lee.’

  ‘He’s not snobby or stuck-up or anything,’ I said, ignoring her. ‘I told him I went to a public school as well.’

  ‘But, Nesta,’ said Lucy, ‘that’s a lie’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ I said, laughing. ‘Our school is open to the public. And I think I may change my name – you know, make it double-barrelled as well. It could be Nesta Costello-Williams by using my dad’s then my mum’s name. Or do you think it should be Nesta Williams-Costello?’

  ‘Oh, don’t even go there’ said Izzie. ‘Just be yourself. Nesta Williams sounds just fine.’

  ‘Nesta Top Toff Totty,’ giggled Lucy.

  ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me,’ I said, feeling hurt. ‘I’ve met someone I really like.’

  ‘I am pleased,’ said Lucy. ‘But are you sure you want to get involved with a boy who might be going away soon?’

  ‘Not until autumn. It’s only April. Then if we still like each other I can join him up in Scotland when I finish school.’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be an actress,’ said Izzie. ‘I bet they don’t do drama at St Andrews.’

  I hadn’t thought of that. ‘They might. And anyway, I think it’s best to keep all your options open at our age.’

  Izzie burst out laughing. ‘You sound like my mum, Nesta. Did he ask to see you again?’

  ‘Yeah. We’re going riding.’

  ‘Riding! As in horses?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Doh. Have you ever actually been on a horse?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure I’ll soon get the hang of it.’

  Lucy and Izzie exchanged worried looks.

  ‘You did tell him you’ve never ridden, didn’t you?’ said Lucy.

  ‘Course not. It can’t be that difficult.’

  ‘Uhh Nesta . . .’ Lucy started.

  ‘No,’ interrupted Izzie. ‘She’s going to have to find out for herself . . .’

  Nesta’s Diary

  Guess what? J’ai un boyfriend nouveau. ll s’appell Simon Peddington Lee and he’s lush. He’s already sent me a text message. :-» Which means ‘a huge smile’. And BCNU.

  I sent him back one )))) Then CUL8R.

  I wish I could tell the future as I think he may be The One. I haven’t fancied anyone for ages. And I’ve never been in love. Not properly. He seems more grown up than all the rejects I’ve been out with in the last year and has nice legs, really long, and a très snoggable mouth.

  Rejects since I came to Londres:

  Robin:

  (1 week going out last Sept) Sweet but boring. Stares off into space in what he hopes is a cool way but I think makes him look like a right plonker.

  Michael:

  (2 dates in October) A user and a bad snogger who likes to bite.

  Nick:

  (1 date in December) Disgusting. Uses too much hair gel. Has strange habit of trying to lick girls’ ears out. Not pleasant.

  Steve:

  (Jan) Quite liked him but was juvenile and smaller than me.

  Alan:

  (3 weeks in Feb) Half and half. He said he wants to be a doctor and tried to put his hands down my jumper to examine any problems. Pathetic.

  My brother Tony has another new girlfriend and apparently he dislocated his jaw after a snogging session. How did he manage that? I don’t know whether to tell Lucy or not. Must check out state of play with them now as they were an item last year. Girls always fancy Tone but
he was v. hung up on Lucy.

  Izzie’s having a bit of a SOHF (sense of humour failure). I don’t know why as she is going out with Ben the lead singer from King Noz and is happier than ever.

  Am v. v. tired. ZZZZzzzz

  Chapter 2

  Mum’s been kind of quiet since I got back from Manchester. She usually sings in the morning. Badly, I have to say, but I don’t tell her that. But today she’s sitting in the kitchen, reading the morning paper and not looking her usual self at all.

  I pulled up a stool next to her at the breakfast bar. ‘Are you missing Dad?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Course I miss him but I’m used to him working away. Why do you ask?’

  I gave her my Inspector Morse ‘you don’t fool me’ look. ‘You seem a bit low. Was it because I raced off to see Lucy and Iz last night and didn’t stay to catch up with you?’

  Mum laughed. ‘No, honey. I’m kind of used to that as well.’

  ‘OK, then. Sure you’re OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ she smiled.

  ‘OK. Then can I have horse-riding lessons?’

  ‘Horse-riding? Whatever for? You’ve never shown any interest in horses before.’

  At that moment, my brother Tony trudged in. His hair was sticking up all over the place and he was still wearing his dressing-gown and yawning sleepily. ‘Yeah. What do you want horse-riding lessons for? Who do you want to impress now?’

  ‘Unlike some people present,’ I said, ‘I don’t have to impress.’

  ‘Some boy I expect,’ continued Tony.

  ‘Actually, I did meet a boy on the train back yesterday . . .’

  ‘I knew it,’ said Tony as he stuck his head in the fridge.

  ‘Well, he’s invited me to go riding,’ I said, trying to resist the urge to push the rest of Tony into the fridge and close the door behind him.

  ‘Where?’ said Mum.

  ‘Somewhere down near Hyde Park. Kensington, I think. He gave me the address. I’ve got it upstairs.’

  ‘When?’ said Tony, coming back out of the fridge with orange juice and croissants.