At school, Curtis is apparently going for gold in the Olympics of The Nastiest Person On Earth. First he upsets Melissa before break by walking over to where she’s sitting and making fun of her Hello Kitty ruler and pen set. He picks up one of the pencils and examines it, sniggering. ‘How old are you, five?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Hello Kitty,’ Melissa says, her voice quivering.
The girly girl gang might not be my closest friends, and Melissa might be responsible for my having had to go to a pamper party when I first started at the school, which still gives me the hives whenever I remember it, but everyone knows Melissa doesn’t deserve someone being mean to her.
Apart from Curtis.
‘Of course there’s nothing wrong with Hello Kitty. If you’ve said “Goodbye Brain,”’ Curtis says. Then he laughs his nasty cheese-grater laugh.
Melissa sniffs and disappears out of the door with Suzy and Nerida as soon as the bell rings. I can hear them both telling Melissa to ignore him. Maybe it’s because I’m used to thinking like a spy, but I can’t help wondering why he’s going out of his way to wind up every girl in the class.
But wondering about Curtis can’t distract me from the dread of the afternoon – my first Mum Disguise session. Even Sam can’t cheer me up.
‘Think of it as the last leg of the race before you win,’ she says.
‘Someone usually overtakes me,’ I tell her.
‘Okay then, think of the next gadget training session,’ she says.
I sigh. ‘It’s probably going to be something to do with dressing up as Mum.’
It’s not always a good thing to be right.
The first thing Mum and Dad hand me is the Voice Over, a tiny gadget concealed in a necklace that nestles at the base of my throat.
‘Why do I have to wear this?’ I slide my finger under the necklace. ‘It’s really uncomfortable!’
‘Hang on a second and I’ll show you,’ Dad says, his face lighting up with the same happy look he always gets when he’s playing with spy gadgets. If Dad wasn’t a spy, he’d probably be a gadget inventor. Dad fiddles with the clasp of the necklace and the pendant against my throat begins to warm up.
‘It’s not going to burn me, is it?’ I say and then I go ‘Ugghhhh!’ because all of a sudden I sound EXACTLY LIKE MUM.
Mum shakes her head as if trying to get water out of her ears after a swim. ‘I’ll never get used to that. It’s so strange hearing my voice coming out of someone else’s mouth.’
‘Tell me about it!’ I say and then clap my hand over my mouth. Trying to look like Mum is one thing, but sounding like her is way too many kinds of weird.
Dad grins. ‘You see, the Voice Over has been programmed to convert the sound waves of your voice to match the frequency of your mother’s sound waves. Isn’t it clever?’
Mum nods as I make another strangled sound – and even that sounds like Mum!
I really need to lie down in a dark room.
After some pleading, they let me take off the Voice Over for a bit. I tell them I can’t concentrate with it on and even Mum admits it’s distracting hearing me talk exactly like her.
‘Your outfit awaits,’ Dad says, pointing across the room. He sounds as if he’s on the verge of laughing. I give him the dirtiest look I can manage as I drag myself over to the sofa and pick up a skirt and jacket. Underneath it is … a padded bra.
I stare at it. Maybe the heat of my hatred will be hot enough to make it spontaneously combust.
‘Of course, my style isn’t flowery so at least you don’t have to wear a dress with little bits of fruit over it like you usually do,’ Mum tells me, like this is a really good piece of news.
Oh, zip-a-dee-doo-dah.
I pick up the bra with the tips of my fingers and hold it out at arm’s length.
‘For heaven’s sakes, Josie, it’s not going to bite you,’ Mum says.
‘How do you know?’
Mum raises her eyebrows so high they look like they’re trying to jump off her face. ‘Because I’m wearing one.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’
Mum shakes her head and takes the thing from me. Then she helps me put it on. It takes about an hour for her to teach me how to fasten it. Why do they have the hook on the back where you can hardly reach it? It’s not like people have hands growing out of their backs! Finally, the thing is on. I pull on the narrow skirt, blouse and jacket and try not to look down at my chest.
‘Not bad, not bad,’ Dad says. ‘It’s good that you look so much like your mum.’
Fantastic. If I’d looked more like Dad maybe I wouldn’t be standing here doing this.
Mum helps me with the red wig that matches her own hair, and then tells me to sit down so she can put on the heels. ‘First of all, I want you to get used to the feel of them,’ she says, slipping the first one on.
There’s no way I’m going to get used to this. This isn’t a shoe, it’s a foot brace.
‘My toes!’ There’s no possible way these can be the right size – it’s like someone’s wrapped elastic bands round my feet!
‘It’s not that bad once you get used to it,’ Mum says. ‘Though actually I don’t like wearing heels myself, hardly ever do.’
‘Then why are you making me wear them?’ I decide that she’s going to join Dad in the Zoo Punishment.
‘We have to get you to the right height somehow,’ Dad says, shrugging apologetically as Mum pulls me to my feet.
‘Arghh!’ I fall forwards as soon as I’m upright. The shoes tip my whole body forward. Mum catches me and pushes me back into place.
‘Take it nice and slowly,’ Mum says, her mouth twitching.
Great. Now she thinks this is funny.
I breathe deeply, ignoring them both and take a step forward. Straight away, my right leg lurches to the side and I wobble on both heels.
Mum reaches out to steady me. She’s not smiling any more. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Jed,’ she says to Dad. ‘I don’t know if Josie can manage.’
‘Nonsense,’ Dad says. ‘She just needs some practice.’
I take another step and fall into Mum’s side.
‘A lot of practice,’ Dad adds.
By dinner time, my feet feel like they’ve been run over by an enormous truck. Mum and Dad only let me take the heels off when I’ve managed to walk across the living room three times in a row without falling over or wobbling. And I only managed that because I was holding my arms out to the side like a tightrope walker. Finally they let me take the heels off and I’m back to being myself. Well, myself dressed up as a girl.
‘Tomorrow we master walking in heels – without the help of the arms,’ Mum says.
‘It’s going to take ages,’ I reply.
‘It’d better not,’ Dad tells me. ‘We need you ready to be your mum by tomorrow.’
They can’t expect me to manage heels that quickly! Anyway, my feet need time to recover – they feel like they’ve been attacked by an angry cook armed with a potato masher.
When I had to take ballet lessons during the holidays the pain was bad enough, but hobbling on heels is like specialised foot torture.
‘It’s very important for us to give the impression that your mum is here, doing ordinary things, to make sure she’s covered when she’s on her mission,’ Dad says, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yeah, I get it.’ Yet again I’ve got to make sure my parents are protected by pretending to be something I’m not. Who’s the parent around here, anyway?
Oh yeah, I am.
I don’t even get a break at dinner because Dad starts running me through all Mum’s mannerisms.
‘Okay, show me what your mother does when she’s cross.’
I frown and jut out my jaw as far as it will go.
‘I do not do that!’ Mum says, frowning and jutting out her jaw as far as it will go.
Dad lifts his eyebrows up at me. ‘If you say so, Zelia,’ he says. ‘Now show me what she does when she’s concentrating on something,’ he tells me.
I think for a minute and then lean over my dinner, frowning and poking my tongue out between my teeth.
‘And I definitely do not do that,’ Mum says, picking up the pepper and grinding it furiously over her food.
‘You have to admit that you do frown a lot, Mum,’ I say.
Mum’s face crumples. ‘You’re making me sound horrible. As if I’m grumpy all the time.’
‘No! Not horrible! Not grumpy! Just … you know, scary!’
‘Thanks for clearing that up,’ she says icily.
I realise I know another of her mannerisms. When she’s upset, her mouth goes really thin and she blinks a lot.
Way to go, Josie. Not only have I failed to be my mum properly, I’ve made the real one feel bad.