Zodiac Girls: Brat Princess Page 8

  “Yeah,” she said. “In the meantime, though, I wonder what torture Mario has lined up for us this evening.”

  We didn’t have to wait long to find out. Mr O came jogging around the corner. He looked ridiculous. He was dressed in a white tracksuit with what looked like a white cashmere scarf tossed casually around his neck. His trainers were pure white too, like they’d never been worn outside. With his dazzling good looks, he always looked like he was about to go into a photo shoot for a men’s catalogue – not a hair out of place, his teeth brighter than bright, his skin so tanned it was almost orange.

  “Hedley-Dent, you’re with me,” he said. “The rest of you, Mario said meet him out front for a night hike.”

  “Oh nooooooooo,” groaned Jake. “Not again.”

  “Fresh air is good for the soul,” said Mr O, who then indicated that I should follow him. I slouched along behind him as he led me into the gym and flicked on the lights. Hanging from the ceiling was what looked like an enormous sausage.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Mr O flashed his kilowatt smile. “That is whatever you want it to be.”

  “Ah. So it’s a private plane to get me out of here?”

  “No need to be sarcastic, Leonora. Didn’t you get my zodiac message this morning?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.” Like all the messages, I had cast a cursory glance over it before putting it in the bin. It had said something about the Moon being square to Mars.

  “Emotions that are hard to express can manifest in anger or impatience, especially for a Leo. I’m going to show you another way to get them out.”

  “Whatever,” I said and pointed back at the sausage thing. “So. What is it?”

  “It’s a punchbag.”

  “You’re going to teach me to box?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “So what then?”

  “Go and give it a bash and you’ll see,” he said. “I’ll show you how.”

  He pranced off towards the bag and starting taking jabs at it in the way that you see boxers doing when in training for a fight. After a few minutes, he stopped, went to the equipment cupboard at the back of the gym, pulled out a pair of boxing gloves and tossed them to me. “Your turn.”

  I put on the gloves, approached the bag and gave it a tap.

  “Put some elbow into it, girl,” commanded Mr Razzle Dazzle.

  I gave it another tap.

  “Nooooo, like this,” said Mr O as he ran towards the bag and whacked it. “Come on Leonora. Go for it.”

  I gave it a few more half-hearted taps. Like, boxing is so last decade. “Okay. Okay. I’m doing it. I’m doing it.”

  Mr O started prancing around me making little jabby punching motions. “Hit it, go on. Hit it.”

  He was starting to annoy me. I hit the bag with a little more force.

  “That’s more like it. Come on. Let’s get a little energy up here. Come ON. Show me what you’re made of.”

  I stopped and yawned. “I am so not interested in this. Like, give me a break. You’re supposed to be my guardian, aren’t you? Don’t I get some time off for good behaviour? Time off for being Zodiac Girl or whatever?”

  “This is your time off. You could be out there hiking with the others.”

  “Oo. Pardon me if I don’t fall over with gratitude.”

  “Pardoned,” said Mr O and flashed me a grin.

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “So was I.”

  He started ducking and diving around me, pretending I was the punchbag, although he didn’t touch me. Jab, jab. It was getting very, very annoying. “Go on punch the bag, punch the bag.”

  So I did. I really punched it.

  Mr O continued dancing behind me. “Excellent. Now. Who makes you mad?”

  “You do.”

  “Then pretend I’m the bag.”

  I did. And I whacked the bag with all my might.

  Jab, jab. Mr O continued around my head like he was a fly, buzzing round. Jab, jab, buzz, buzz. “Now who else annoys you?”

  “All of you here.”

  “Great. Good. Now pretend the bag is Dr Cronus.”

  I whacked it. “Take that old Wiz Woz.”

  “Wiz Woz?”

  “Yeah. Cronus looks like an old wizard.”

  “I guess he does. Now. Do Selene,” said Mr O, all the while continuing to dance around me in a circle, jabbing the air with his clenched fists.

  I whacked the bag again. “And you, Miss Hippie Happy Clappy.”

  Mr O snorted with laughter. “Hippie Happy Clappy. Hah! And your mum and dad. You’re mad at them, aren’t you.”

  He was talking fast and spinning round me in circles and, when he mentioned Mum and Dad, I felt the rage I’d been holding back all week while I’d been doing my Miss Play-along role rise to the surface. I began to hit the bag. Whack. Whack. Thwack.

  Mr O was gleeful and punched the air. “Who else? Who else?”

  “Henry. Grrrrrr.” Mr O didn’t have to encourage me this time. I’d got the hang of it and, once I’d started, I couldn’t stop. It was like a tsunami of rage was flooding through me and I was helpless to stop it. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH!”

  I whacked Henry with all I’d got. Then Shirla for not coming with me on the plane. And Mr Nash at my last school for expelling me. And Mrs Simons. And Headmaster Ericson. And Polly James in my last dorm. And… There was a long list of contenders lining up in my head to have their faces imprinted on the punchbag. I went for it. Punch. Thwack. Punch. Thwack. And a few kicks for good measure. Thwackawackawacka-wackawack. I whacked away until there was no more whack inside of me. I was whacked out. I bent over to catch my breath. I was red in the face. And perspiring. And then she was there, a face at the end of the queue of people to be mad with. I took a sharp intake of breath and pushed her back to the recesses of my mind. But she’d been there for a second. Mo Bolton. Looming up like an ominous shadow with that snide look that she’d always had when she sensed a fight was about to happen.

  Mr O seemed to sense that I’d reached some kind of wall or door inside of myself. “Enough?”

  I held up a hand. “Enough.”

  “Take a few breaths, Leonora,” said Mr O, then he added gently. “You did good. You did really good.”

  And the strange thing was, I felt good, just for a few seconds. Like I’d released something from deep inside of me.

  And then suddenly I felt very tired. I crumpled to the floor and lay with my arms out like a cross. Mo mustn’t be allowed out. I mustn’t even think of her. What she did. And even worse, what she made me do to Poppy.

  Chapter Ten

  Bah humbug!

  It was December 24th, Christmas Eve and just after breakfast. I’d been at the funny farm for almost three miserable, stinking weeks. Mr O had left his usual note this morning, something about Saturn and Pluto and restrictions. I don’t know why he bothered. The messages didn’t make any sense. Plus there had been a bit about Mars moving into Aquarius which would bring about a more relaxed feeling and Jupiter putting in an appearance. Like ding dong merrily on high, I thought. Relaxed about being here over Christmas? Was that supposed to make me feel better? I was counting down the days. Counting down the hours. Counting down the minutes until I could get out of there and back to my life.

  We’d just finished our bowls of gloop and I’d been trying not to imagine what I would have been having for breakfast if I was at home (fresh almond pastries flown in from a little deli in Belgium, fresh raspberries with fresh cream with a hot chocolate), when Mario appeared with boxes of Christmas decorations.

  He spilled tinsel, red and gold stars and baubles out onto the table. “Mark, Jake, you two go out into the grounds and cut holly and ivy. Girls, you make a start in the hall.”

  I’d behaved myself for three weeks and today I wasn’t in the mood. I picked up the last spoon of porridge and turned it over so that it fell back into my bowl with a splat. “D’er. Why?” I asked without looking up.

>   “To make it festive,” he said.

  “Do it yourself,” I said, putting down my spoon and crossing my arms. “Like what did your last slave die of?”

  “What did your last slave die of,” Mario mimicked. “Not that routine again. Come on, Hedley-Dent, if you’re going to insult me, for heaven’s sake come up with something new. In the meantime, decorations, Christmas, the season to be jolly. Let’s do it.”

  “The others can, but count me out.”

  “It’s a team task,” said Mario. “We’ll all muck in.”

  “Not me.”

  “And pray, why not?”

  “I don’t do Christmas.”

  Mark, Jake, Lynn and Marilyn were all watching the exchange like they were watching a tennis match.

  “Ah,” said Mario. “You might not, but we do.”

  “Listen, soldier boy,” I said. “You might not have noticed but I have been brought here against my will. I have been separated from my parents. And so far I have played along. Hiked when you said hike. Cleaned when you said clean. Jumped when you said jump. But decorate this hellhole? Forget it. As I said, I don’t do Christmas. End of story.”

  Mario narrowed his eyes. “You either co-operate or take time out on your own to think things over.”

  “So bite me. You can’t make me.”

  “I… think… it would be…. in your best interest to help with the decorations.”

  “And I say bah humBUG. What part of that do you not understand?”

  “What is your problem, Hedley-Dent? Would you like to share it with the group?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Mark, Jake, Lynn, Marilyn. I hate Christmas and everything that goes with it. I can’t wait for it to be over. Okay. I’ve shared? Happy now?”

  “Okay. Fair enough, but you have had it explained to you a thousand times,” Mario droned on. “Three weeks you’ve been here and you still haven’t got it. As with all exercises that are done as a team, your behaviour affects everyone else.”

  “What? So we all have to go and sit in your stupid stone circle?”

  “No. Only you. But I’m giving you until five o’clock exactly. If you aren’t ready to join in by then, your bad mood will affect the whole group.”

  “Yeah, like they care for one second what’s happening with me.”

  “Oh I think that they will today,” said Mario, “because if you don’t come and join in, no supper. For anyone.”

  “That’s not fair, sir,” said Jake.

  Mario turned to Jake and fixed him with a stare. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then be quiet. You were saying Hedley-Dent?”

  “Ooooo, no supper, sir. Like there’s anything to miss. A bit of mouldy old potato and carrot. They’ll probably thank me.”

  “Ah no. Tonight is special. It’s Christmas Eve and a friend of ours is bringing up a feast from the local deli.”

  “Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “It’s all part of the torture. You’re teasing us.”

  “No. Didn’t you read your horoscope this morning? About Jupiter?”

  Lynn suddenly pointed out the window. “Ohmygod,” she interrupted. “No. He’s telling the truth. Look what’s being unloaded out the back.”

  Jake, Mark and Marilyn got up and went to join her at the window. Jake punched the air. “Yesss! Get a load of that grub coming in!”

  I waited a few moments, but then I got up and sauntered over to the window, but I did it in a really casual way, to show that I wasn’t really bothered.

  Outside, the sky was dark with heavy black clouds but, sure enough, by the kitchen door was a big white van with the back doors wide open and a light on. A big, jolly-looking man was busy unloading boxes and platters. He had dark hair, but, in the right wig and beard, he was the sort who would have made an excellent Father Christmas.

  “Come on, let’s go to the kitchen,” said Lynn, then glanced back at Mario. “Oh yeah. I mean… permission to go, sir?”

  “Granted,” said Mario.

  Mark, Jake, Marilyn and Lynn sped off. Mario looked at me and raised an eyebrow as if to say, are you going to go too?

  “Well, I might as well,” I said as I got up to go with the others. “Anything’s better than staying in here with you.”

  The first thing that hit me when I opened the kitchen door was the warmth coming from a roaring fire in the grate and a lovely smell of cinnamon and orange coming from a pan on the aga. The room had been transformed and felt delightfully festive. There was even music, carols playing out of hidden speakers, but, best of all, the long table was groaning with food fit for a banquet.

  The jolly-looking man came in, put an enormous platter of the most scrummy-looking mince pies down and pointed at the aga. “I made some punch,” he said. “My own special recipe. You all look like you could do with a bit of cheering up. Non-alcoholic of course. Help yourselves.”

  “Meet Joe,” said Mario coming in behind me. “He runs a deli in a village not too far from here. Best chef in the land – in the world, in fact.”

  Joe nodded and beamed. “In the universe! And I’m the manifestation of Jupiter. Jupiter being the planet of expansion and jollity.”

  Lynn and Marilyn exchanged glances. “Nutter,” said Lynn under her breath.

  “Who cares?” commented Marilyn. “As long as we get some of that nosh.”

  “So where’s the Zodiac Girl?” asked Joe.

  “Zodiac Girl? What is this stuff about zodiacs?” asked Jake as he looked around. “Leonora mentioned it the other day. What’s going on?”

  I could see that Joe was about to come out with some nonsense similar to that which Mr O came out with, and I didn’t want him drawing attention to me with any mad ramblings. I’d learned long ago that, if you’re singled out as odd, you get picked on.

  “I think it’s some kind of club they’re all in, like a zodiac club. Best play along with these crazy people especially if we’re to get the grub,” I whispered to Jake, Mark, Marilyn and Lynn, then I turned to Joe. “Yeah, yeah, me, them, we’re all zodiac people here. Hello Jupiter. Welcome to the lodge. The grub looks good. Need a hand bringing it in?”

  Joe raised an eyebrow and exchanged looks with Mario.

  “She’s a tough one,” said Mario. “A double Leo.”

  “Ah,” said Joe, and he rubbed his hands and gave me a wink. “Okay, guys. Help yourself to punch.”

  Jake was over by the pan in a flash and ladled out five cups of the hot amber liquid, which he handed around. I took my first sip and had to hold back from gasping with delight. It was the most divine drink I had ever tasted, spicy and sweet at the same time. If the food was as good as this, we were in for a real treat.

  We drank the first cup, then Jake refilled our glasses and all the while Joe brought in more and more food. I thought I’d never seen anything more beautiful. An enormous turkey. Platters of sausages wrapped in bacon. Little mini pizzas. Roast potatoes. Pastries and cakes of every kind – iced and fruit, some with marzipan. Chocolate mousse. Trifle. A banoffee pie. Oh bliss, layers of cream, toffee and banana, one of my favourites. Great bunches of grapes. White and red. Strawberries. Raspberries. A platter of cheeses. Tubs of ice cream: toffee pecan, pistachio, toffee fudge, chocolate chip. Bottles labelled: maple syrup, chocolate sauce, vanilla melt. And trays of sweets: liquorice all-sorts, jelly beans, jelly babies, dolly mixtures and chocolates of every shape and size.

  My mouth began to water and I could see that the others were feeling the same. Mark was almost drooling.

  “Thank you, God or Jupiter or Santa or whoever’s up there,” cried Jake and pointed to what looked like a pork pie. “Get a load of that big pie. Yeee-um. Bagsy that.”

  “So,” said Mario coming up behind to join us, “Leonora, do you think that now you might join us in the team task of decorating?”

  He must think I am such a pushover, I thought as I dragged my eyes away from a triple-layer vanilla slice that oozed custard.

 
“This is bribery,” I said. “And it will all go in my story to the press.”

  “Oh knock it off,” growled Marilyn. “Stop acting the brat princess. We’re all starving and know that you are too. And you don’t need to worry about being fat any more, cos you’ve got thinner in the past few weeks.”

  People making comments about whether I was fat or thin always made me cross. Seeing all the food made me cross. The way everyone was acting so desperate made me cross. Cross. Cross. Cross. In my previous life, I could have snapped my fingers and a similar feast would have arrived in a flash. Okay. So I hadn’t eaten much for a few weeks, but I wasn’t going to crack that easily!

  “No. You knock it off. And if you call me brat princess once more,” I said as I took a step towards her and squared up to her, “I’ll show you just how bratty and how princessy I can be!”

  “Now then, girls,” warned Mario.

  But Marilyn and I weren’t listening. We stood opposite each other.

  “Oh god,” said Lynn. “Eye fight. Eye fight.”

  “Don’t do it, Marilyn,” Jake pleaded. “She could really ruin things.”

  “Yeah,” begged Lynn. “Just leave it.”

  But Marilyn’s eyes didn’t leave mine.

  And my eyes didn’t leave hers.

  We were in eye lock. Single combat. No weapons required.

  This I can do, I thought as I stared back at her. Never mind calling me a princess, when it comes to staring an opponent down, I was queen – champion of all my previous schools. I could make my eyes go out of focus so that the person I was looking at went blurry. They couldn’t tell by looking at me, but it meant that I didn’t get intimidated by the other person’s stare. It had worked every time apart from with Mario, but he was in a league of his own.

  Seconds went by…

  Minutes…

  The only sound was the fire crackling in the grate. And seven people breathing.

  Then finally Marilyn blinked.

  “Brrrrat… Pr…in…cess,” she said very slowly, almost spitting her words.

  I nodded smugly. “Your choice.” I turned to Mario.

  “Noooooooooo,” cried Jake and Lynn in unison. “Please Leonora. Think of all that lovely food. Please.”