Dixie decides to get philosophical. ‘If only life could be like knitting,’ she says, sort of sighing and looking tortured by the braininess of her observation.
Uggs and I murmur and nod a bit, not knowing where she’ll go with this. There’s a silence, then I give in and ask, ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, just look at the label on your wool. Everything you need to know is there, like what size needles to use, what colour batch the ball belongs to. All the clues are there to help you, if you want them. It’s a shame there’s no such manual for life.’
‘Mmm,’ is all I can manage, because I think I might burst out laughing at how serious she’s got. I can’t look her in the eye. Uggs is having a bit of a coughing fit.*
‘I can’t believe you’re not going for Teen Factor X,’ Dixie says, sharply changing the focus of the conversation.
‘ME?’ I squeak. I’ve got to hand it to her, I didn’t see that coming.
‘Yeah, you,’ Dixie says, laughing. ‘Who did you think I meant? Uggs and Gypsy doing some sort of routine?’
Uggs goes all red and Dixie pounces: ‘I don’t believe it, Uggs. You really did consider that, didn’t you?’
‘She’s really smart and talented,’ he stammers. ‘But we decided we didn’t want to be in the public eye.’
Dixie hoots with laughter and falls on to her back, kicking her feet in the air with merriment. I give Uggs a look that I hope says, ‘See? That’s what I’m trying to avoid.’
When she recovers, she grills me again.
‘I don’t fancy it,’ I say, busying myself with picking up a stitch I dropped in fright.
There is another silence.
‘Oh,’ she finally says, and it’s a hurt sound. ‘You so are going for it. And you weren’t going to tell me.’
There is an awkward silence.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ I say, without meeting her eyes.
‘You are,’ she repeats. ‘You’re going to audition for it.’
I look up and see the expression on Dixie’s face and it cuts through me and I want to curl up and hide for ever and a day.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘We tell each other everything.’
Another painful silence.
She looks at Uggs. He goes even redder. ‘You knew,’ she says, in a dull voice.
‘It’s all my fault,’ I say. ‘I was afraid you’d make fun of me but I HAD to tell someone, so Uggs was it. And even that was accidental. No one else knows.’
She nods but I know things are now not OK, at ALL. I am a coward and a liar and I may be about to lose my Best Gal Pal. She will so defriend me for this.
‘I’m sorry, Dix,’ I say, and I have never meant anything so much in my whole life.
I look at Uggs and he can’t meet my eyes. Neither can Gyp. He told the dog!
He sees my mind at work and he mutters, ‘She can keep a secret.’
I very much doubt it. I don’t trust that mutt. And now Dixie doesn’t trust me any more because I didn’t trust her. I stare down at my knitting needles in shame. I am well and truly stitched up with this, and it’s nobody’s fault but my own.
