Recipe for Rebellion (Zodiac Girls) Page 2

  “Okay wall, what shall I do today?”

  It didn’t reply. I didn’t think it would. That really would be bonkers. I got up to look out of the window. Another grey November day. Still not raining at least. I never used to mind the coming of winter in the country as each new season brought new colours and new scents. Back at home, the leaves would be just coming down off the trees covering the fields in carpets of glorious reds, oranges and yellows. The air would be crisp and cold and would smell of burning leaves. Here, there were only grey paving stones. No colour at all. And the only smell was from rotten food in the rubbish bins round the back of the flats.

  Maybe I’ll go and have a wander down to the corner shop, I thought as I stared out. Buy some baked beans or something madly exciting like that.

  I grabbed my coat and scarf and made my way out of the block, through the square and over to the corner shop run by Mr Patel where I bought a loaf of bread and pot noodles then looked at the DVDs at the back of the store in the hope that he had something new. But no. I’d seen them all.

  As I was crossing back over the square again, I noticed a small crowd had gathered near the abstract round sculpture in the middle. What were they watching? I wondered. Nothing ever happened round here. Surely they couldn’t be admiring the sculpture as it was an enormous round granite ball. Not worth looking at really.

  I joined the group and stood on tiptoe to try and see over their shoulders. Mrs Patel, the corner shop owner’s wife saw me and moved to her left so that I could see better. She was there with her daughter, Sushila, who glanced at me and smiled in acknowledgement. I knew her vaguely as she went to the same school and often caught the same bus as me. But we’d never spoken because she always seemed to be surrounded by her friends.

  In the middle of the crowd was a street performer balancing on a unicycle. He (or at least I thought he was a he. He had such delicate features that he could have been a she) looked like he was in his early twenties and was dressed in an electric blue bodysuit with a silver lightning streak painted across his face. Definitely a he, I decided as I took in the slim flat chested body and long legs. He was moving in clockwise circles and juggling balls. He looked wonderful, a blast of colour against the grey sky and buildings. I stood and watched for a while then when it was over, he started to hand out leaflets. Some business promotion, I reckoned and began to walk away.

  “Hey, you, gloomy girl,” called the juggler.

  I turned back to see the man approaching me. What a cheek, I thought, calling me gloomy. What did he know?

  “Surprise,” he said. With a flourish, he handed me a leaflet.

  I glanced at it. It seemed to be advertising a café of some kind.

  “Yeah right,” I said. “Big surprise. What are you selling exactly?”

  “Not selling. Just letting you know.”

  “Know what?”

  “About Europa.”

  “Which is?”

  “A Greek deli,” he grinned. “Best in the area.”

  “A deli? Round here? Now that is a surprise. You’re kidding.”

  “No I’m not. Expect the unexpected. You should go. Cheer you up. It’s good.”

  I hate people who tell me to cheer up so I gave him a withering look but he grinned back at me. I glanced down at the leaflet again. It was covered in planets and stars and on the back was printed a menu. Maybe I should go, I thought. The dishes listed looked a lot more appetising than the pot noodle I had in my carrier bag.

  “Okay then, where is it?” I asked. “I’ve never seen a deli, in fact, I’ve hardly seen any shops.”

  The juggler looked at me and sighed then said very slowly as if I was stupid, “So… travel. Get… a… bus…”

  “What bus?”

  The man pointed towards the bus stop. “Number 73. Takes you right there.”

  The 73 is my school bus. I’d never noticed a village on the way so maybe it was in the other direction.

  Mrs Patel nodded her head. “He’s right. The 73 takes you right into Osbury. Very popular place. Nice village.”

  Popular place. Nice village. How come Aunt Esme had never told me about this place? Then again, she never went anywhere locally. Only ever took her train into town returning again late at night. She’d probably never been to Osbury.

  “I’m going in with Sushila on the next bus,” said Mrs Patel. “And I know that café and the owner. You want to come with us?”

  I considered my options. The empty flat, morning TV and pot noodles. More history homework. Or a trip to discover a village where there was a deli selling tantalising sounding meals. And Aunt Esme had said, get yourself some lunch. There might even be some interesting shops nearby to mooch around in and kill some time.

  “Whatever,” I shrugged and followed Mrs Patel to the bus stop.

  “Whatever,” said the juggler mimicking my voice and getting off his unicycle to wearily slope after me like he was my shadow. My shadow with rounded shoulders. Mrs Patel laughed but I wanted to sock him. I didn’t look or sound that bad and I certainly didn’t walk with such round shoulders. As we stood waiting for the bus, he gave us a wave then went off to collect his things from the middle of the square. When the bus arrived, my last glimpse of him was on his cycle, a bright blue umbrella in one hand, riding in circles around the sculpture.

  Chapter Three

  Joe

  The bus wove its way through street after boring street. New houses, high-rise blocks of flats similar to Aunt Esme’s, paved squares, past our school, another housing development. I couldn’t imagine a village in amongst all this. It was a concrete jungle. Grey and heartless. Then suddenly, there was a field. And another one. The view was opening up. Trees! Space. Colour. Leaves in soft yellows, vivid oranges, deep reds. Fields of grass still green from the summer sun. Even the clouds seemed to be giving way to a clear blue winter sky. I began to feel like I could breathe again.

  “Not far now,” said Mrs Patel from the seat in front of me.

  “I never imagined that we were so near to the country.”

  Sushila looked at me as if I was mad so I went back to gazing out of the window. Past an old lodge called Chiron House, then a huge wrought iron gate that had the name Avebury on it. Oh. So that’s where it is, I thought. That was the school I was meant to have gone to. A private boarding school. Dad had filled in all the applications, put them somewhere safe then forgotten to send them off. Typical. My dad might be considered in some circles to be one of the brains of Britain but he was hopeless when it came to organising anything. Dizzy when it came to the domestic. By the time he realized that he’d neglected to send the application off, all the places at Avebury had been taken. Not that I wanted to go there at the time but it might have been better than where I ended up. At least at Avebury all the pupils were boarders and I’d have had company.

  There was an almighty last minute panic when Dad had realized his mistake, like, what are we going to do with Danu? Dad’s flights had been booked. Everything was arranged. For him. Frantic phone calls were made. He even considered sending me to Brighton to be near my brother Luke who’s at university there but that was soon vetoed as Luke lives in student lodgings and Dad feared that I’d be led into evil studenty ways and turn into a drug addict or a psychopath. Aunt Esme was our last option and she wasn’t too keen on the idea of having me live with her full time. That wasn’t part of her plan. If I’d gone to Avebury, I’d only have had to stay with her at Christmas, Easter and in the summer. Dad did his grovelling act to talk her into it, saying that she was going to have had me in the holidays anyway. In the end, she gave in. She even found me a place in the local school. If it had been left to Dad, I might have ended up living with Aunt Esme and attending school a million miles away.

  “Our stop,” said Mrs Patel as the bus made a turn then drove into a street that was lined on both sides with shops and cafés. At one end, I could see an old church with a steeple, church hall and a green in front. At the other end of the street was
a bus shelter, a phone box and post box.

  “Brilliant,” I said, rising to get off with the Patels when the bus stopped. A place to explore. I couldn’t wait.

  “I’m getting the bus back at four,” said Mrs Patel. “You can come back with me if you like or later with Sushila.”

  Sushila didn’t say anything. She saw a bunch of her mates hanging out by the shelter and took off with a brief, “later,” to her mum.

  “Thank you, Mrs Patel,” I said. “I’d like that.” I can be polite if I want to be and I even smiled which is something I hadn’t done for weeks.

  Mrs Patel took off towards a florist’s so I stood at the bus stop and tried to decide where to go first. I felt like a kid at Christmas who thought she’d got no presents, then discovers a Santa’s grotto full of them. Osbury looked to be a quaint village, reminiscent of home. As I strolled along to the left, I spotted Europa, the deli. I won’t go there yet, I thought. I’ll save it for later. Next to the deli was a beauty salon called Pentangle. Opposite was an optician’s, a chemist’s, a mini supermarket. Plenty to look at, I thought as I passed a tanning salon, a couple of clothes shops, an interior design shop, a fish-and-chip shop and a party and magic shop with what looked like a cyber café at the back. A magic shop? I peered in through the window. To my amazement, I could see the juggler who’d been in the square earlier! He was serving behind the counter. He looked up and gave me a wave. How did he get back here so fast? I wondered. He wasn’t on the bus with us. He beckoned me to go in.

  I didn’t hesitate as his shop window looked interesting with a good number of items that would come in handy for the next stage of my plan to get kicked out of school. I decided to go in and have a closer look.

  “Hi gloomy girl,” said the juggler as soon as I walked in.

  “My name is Danu, actually,” I said as I glanced around. “Not gloomy girl. But you can call me Dee.”

  The shop interior was futuristic in style with a number of top-of-the-range computers in the back area where a couple of customers appeared to be surfing the internet. The front of the shop was painted electric blue with silver flashes across the ceiling, not unlike the juggler’s costume and face paint.

  “Danu. How fabulous. Oh you mustn’t shorten it to Dee. It’s the name of a goddess.”

  “Wow!” I said with genuine amazement. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who knows that apart from my parents.”

  “Oh I think you’ll find a lot of people here in Osbury are up on their gods and goddesses. My name is Uri,” said the juggler as he leaned over the counter to shake my hand. I took his hand to shake it back and a loud buzzer went off giving me an electric shock. It didn’t hurt but I wasn’t expecting it and almost leapt out of my skin.

  “Perfect,” I said. “Can I buy one of those?”

  Uri grinned. “You can indeed. Planning to surprise someone?”

  “A few someones actually. What else have you got?”

  “What haven’t we got?” asked Uri, then proceeded to show me half the contents of his shop: itching powder, blood capsules, fake dog poop, soap that makes your face dirty, a remote control fart machine, an exploding pen… There were all sorts of wonderful practical jokes and tricks and I left half an hour later with a carrier bag full of purchases to try out at school next week.

  After the magic shop, I went into a couple of clothes shops and tried on a few T-shirts and tops. I had a browse in a bookshop and began to enjoy myself for the first time in weeks. It certainly beat how I’d spent the last few weekends, on my own having one-sided conversations with walls.

  After mooching about for a while, I began to feel hungry. Someone walked past me with a bag of chips and the alluring smell of salt and vinegar made me realize that it was time for lunch. I looked around for a fish-and-chip shop and soon spied a likely place across the road. The door was painted with a picture of a bearded man with a trident in one hand and a fish in the other. The shop was called Poseidon. That must be it, I thought as I crossed the road. The door chinked open and inside I could see a man with a white beard not unlike the man in the painting on the door. He was serving a customer. When he’d finished, he turned to me and did a double take.

  “Oh. It’s you,” he said as if he was unhappy to see me.

  I looked around. I didn’t know him so why had he said, “oh it’s you,” like we’d met before and he didn’t want to see me.

  “Um, fish and chips, please.”

  The man pulled a silver cover down over his chips. “Sorry. We’re closed,” he said. “Try the deli.”

  “But….” I’d seen that there were loads of fish and chips left. Why was he turning me away? “But there are loads here.”

  “Lunch break,” he said. “Closed.”

  I felt my mouth watering. “Please, can’t you just serve me then close for lunch? I’m starving.”

  The man shook his head. “Closed. Try the deli.” He came out from behind the counter and went to the door where he pulled down a blind. “Off you go.”

  Mean man, I thought as I went back out into the street. I felt hurt by his rejection. It was so totally what I didn’t need at this stage in my life.

  Maybe this village isn’t so nice after all, I thought as I bit back sudden tears.

  I made my way over to the deli and peered in the window. It looked cosy in there. Should I risk being rejected again? I asked myself. Maybe the people in there are mean as well. My tummy rumbling gave me my answer. I’d better get in fast, I thought, in case they want to close for lunch as well. I opened the door to see that there were about eight wooden tables, most of which were occupied with customers tucking into large steaming plates of food. The smell of garlic and onions filled the air and my mouth started watering again. I felt as if I hadn’t had a proper meal in ages.

  At the back of the deli was a big jolly-looking man with a round belly who was slicing tomatoes. He was wearing a navy apron printed with the planets and stars – the same design that was on his leaflet. When he saw me, his rosy face broke into a huge grin.

  “Hey. There you are,” he said coming towards me with his arms open in a welcoming gesture. For a moment, I thought he was going to hug me so I took a step back and turned around to make sure he wasn’t looking at someone else. But no, it was definitely me. What was it with this village? I wondered. Everyone seems to think they know me. At least this guy looks friendly unlike his fishy neighbour.

  “Um. Yes. Here I am. You are open for lunch, aren’t you?”

  “What does it look like?” smiled the man as he ushered me to a table in the corner then thrust a menu into my hand. “You look hungry. What would you like?”

  I glanced over the menu. It all sounded wonderful. Some Greek dishes, some Italian.

  “I’m Joe,” said the chubby man. “Joe Joeve. Now, let me get you something to drink while you choose.”

  I watched him go back to the counter, smiling and beaming at everyone. Clearly he was like this with all his customers, greeting everyone like they were a long-lost friend. I wasn’t going to object. I could do with a long lost friend at the moment.

  Two minutes later, he was back with a big mug of what looked like hot cocoa. “Made with real chocolate,” he said as he placed it in front of me. “And melted marshmallows. So what will it be?”

  “Um, today’s special please.”

  “One special with chorizo and beans coming up,” he said and with another big smile, he was off again.

  As I sat waiting for lunch, I glanced at a small bookshelf to my left. It was full of books. Travel books I noticed. To the right of my table was a notice board. There was a mishmash of leaflets announcing local events pinned up there. Fêtes, book fairs, jam sales, birthday cake makers, people offering to walk your dog, babysitters, bikes for sale, a man who could fix lawn mowers.

  I felt a wave of sadness come over me. This village and particularly the cafe, reminded me of all that I’d left behind. A sense of community. Familiarity. Belonging. I’d taken
it all for granted at the time. Back home, I’d walk through our village and everyone would either stop to stroke Snowy or enquire after my dad. I knew all the shopkeepers and their families. I’d known them all my life. And there was always something going on. A choir at Christmas. Cake sales at Easter. Fêtes in summer. Trick or treat on Halloween. Bonfire and fireworks on Guy Fawkes. Living at Aunt Esme’s felt like living in a wasteland. People didn’t know or talk to their neighbours. People were careful not to make eye contact. I knew no-one apart from the Patels and that was only because I shopped at their corner shop.

  I got out my phone and scrolled through for Dad’s number. He’d said that I could call him any time, anywhere. I pressed his number and waited. As usual, his phone was on voice mail. Dad hadn’t quite joined this century regarding mobiles. He got the concept that it was a phone that you could take anywhere but hadn’t quite grasped the fact that you had to keep them turned on and the battery topped up. I was forever having to recharge his for him when he was home. Without me there to remind him, he’d probably let it go flat.

  I decided to leave a message in the hope that he’d remember to pick up his voice messages or top up his battery sometime. Somehow I doubted it though. He could decipher ancient alphabets and translate almost extinct languages but the chances of him picking up a message in this century from a live person were next to none.

  “Hi Dad,” I said. “I want to beg you one last time, please, please, please can I go home and back to my old school. It’s not working here. I hate it. I’ve never been so miserable. I know I’m only almost thirteen, and you’re mainly interested in things that are at least two thousand but please listen. Everyone hates me. I don’t belong…” Suddenly I jumped. Joe was standing to the side of me and it seemed as if he might have heard so I clicked the phone off. He was looking at me with the saddest expression. “Oh dear,” he said with a shake of his head. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear.”

  I felt myself start to blush. Was he mocking me? I wasn’t sure. I gave him my best “I don’t care” look and tried to pretend that I hadn’t been begging my dad to let me go home a minute earlier.