CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN

Invisible Rule #55:
Adverts for periods must only show women wearing white shorts. Nothing red must ever appear. But we all know the truth …

Inside, a small shadow launches itself at me. “Jess, you’ve got to save me. Alice is very, very cross and she won’t talk to me.” Lauren has attached herself to my leg and I haul her along the hall as I walk.

“Don’t worry, squirt, she’ll soon come around.”

Her face is squashed with concern so that she resembles a raisin. “But she won’t let me watch my show and I’m going to miss it.” She suddenly realizes that I’m not alone. Looking up at Alex, she announces, “You are very tall and very ginger. Are you half giant?”

Embarrassment fires through me. “Lauren, you can’t talk to people like that.”

“You mean I’m not supposed to tell the truth? You always tell me to tell the truth though.”

“It’s okay.” Alex bends down to Lauren. “Can you keep a secret?”

Lauren stares up at him, her eyes enormous with interest.

“I’m only a quarter giant. Which is handy sometimes. Do you want me to have a word with this Alice?”

To my amazement, Lauren takes him by the hand. She nods and points toward the living room. “She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

Alex looks quizzically at me and I make my best Please Humor My Little Sister expression.

“Alice?” he says.

Silence.

“Lauren wants to watch her program and you must let her.”

Lauren jumps up and down with glee. “Ha! I have a quarter giant on my side so you just need to do what you’re told.” With that, she grabs the remote off the table and keeps it close to her chest. “I don’t care if you don’t like it, I’m watching Sherlock.”

Alex and I share a smile as I suddenly feel nervous. Why am I feeling nervous in my own house?

“I think I’ve earned that cake now. I’m practically turning into a skeleton in front of you. For an evening of studying, I need sustenance from the girl who eats life.”

“I haven’t felt much like the girl who eats life lately,” I confess, “but I do have cake, which I am always happy to share.”

As I cut through the cake (yes, I’m baking again), my hand begins to tremble a bit. I stare at it in confusion. What is going on with me?

“What’s bothering you?”

“Oh,” I say breezily, “nothing much.” Diverting attention from my wobbly hand, I say, “I met this girl called Imogen today. Well, more like a grown-up. She’s a fashion student and she blogs about that and, well” — I don’t want to refer to my size but then Alex has eyes and he knows what I look like — “being a larger girl and finding clothes. She’s asked me to write a blog post but I don’t know what to do.”

He stares at me intently. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure. Part of me wants to. But after that whole YouTube thing, I’ve had enough of myself plastered all over the Internet. And then …”

“Then?”

“I’m not sure what I’d say,” I end lamely.

Alex laughs so that crumbs fly out of his mouth. “Great cake by the way.” He picks up the debris. “Since when do you not have something to say?”

Since I stopped eating. Since I thought I was in love with Matt.

I push some bits of cake around on my plate. “I’ve not been myself recently. And anyway, I promised the headmaster I wouldn’t do anything else to embarrass the school. He practically made me swear to behave myself on social media.”

“He can’t stop you. The Jess I know would call that censorship.”

He’s right. I do think that.

I sigh. “I just don’t want to get into any more trouble, I suppose.”

Alex shakes his head. “It’s one little blog. The only reason not to do it is because you don’t want to. Otherwise, you’re just being scared. You’re Jesobel Jones, the girl who eats life.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but don’t talk to ME about being scared.” I think of something. “I’ll write the blog when you sing in public.”

The smile suddenly goes from his face.

“Gotcha,” I say smugly. “It’s not so easy, is it?”

“Okay,” Alex says, “let’s do a deal. If I sing in public, then you have to write an honest, personal account of what it’s like to be you.”

“Honest?”

“Completely.”

“Personal?”

“Totally.”

Okay, I’m scared. Seeing my fat legs going viral was one thing. To reveal my thoughts to the world, even if they don’t read them, is a new level of scary.

“Maybe,” I say. “Have some more cake while I think about it.”

Alex shakes his head. “I’m full but thanks.” He nods toward the living room. “Quite a sister you’ve got there.”

“I know, what with her and Gran, I sometimes think I’m the only normal person here.”

“So, I know that your gran lives here but I don’t know the rest of the story,” Alex says.

“What do you mean?” I say, turning the kettle on. It really is time for tea.

“I mean, why does she not go out?”

I pause. That is a very good question and I don’t know the answer. “She used to. I remember we’d go all over when I was little.” To protests, museums, the best cafés.

“So, when did it change?”

I try to think. “A while back. Maybe a few years ago.” Things begin to click into place. “A few of her friends died around the same time. It was about then, I think.”

“Do you ever try to get her out and about?”

“I did. We all did, apart from Mum. But Gran always turned us down, so after a while, we stopped trying, I guess.”

Now Alex is looking at me in a way that suggests I am not perfect.

“You think we should have tried more.” I try to hide my irritation.

He shrugs. “It’s not for me to say. But I don’t think it sounds like the best arrangement.”

Anger gets the best of me. “We can’t make her. And what do you know? Yes, you want to be a doctor, but I don’t think you’re qualified just yet.”

Alex puts his hands up in submission. “You’re right. But can I come with you when you take the tea up? I’d like to meet your legendary grandmother.”

This is highly unusual. Hannah and Izzie sometimes go up and chat but that’s about it. But his words bother me, because they hit a sore point.

“Okay,” I say, “you can get the doors.” So, together we climb up the creaking stairs to the warm fug of Gran’s room. I knock on the door and call, “It’s me, Gran. I’ve got a friend with me who wants to meet you. It’s Alex, Hannah’s brother.” I push the door open and enter with Alex bending down behind me to avoid hitting his head on the sloping eaves of the room.

“Good afternoon, young man.” Gran’s crisp syllables cut through the smoke. “I see you share your sister’s coloring. Always thought she was a very handsome girl. You’re not as pretty but you have a kind face.” Yes, he does.

Alex sits down where Gran points. “What amazing artwork,” he says. “Yours, I take it?”

Gran waves his words away. “I had some talent once. Now I just do a few daubs to keep myself entertained.” And they chat on as if they’re old friends.

I try to see Gran as Alex must, how her clothes are too big for her, how her rings spin on her twig-like fingers. In the corner, there are empty bottles of diverse spirits. I love my gran and I think she is the coolest person, the freest person, I know, but now it all seems a bit squalid. Have we let her down?

After a while, she looks tired. I touch her on the hand. “I’ll see Alex out now. Do you want anything else?” Her tea is cold.

“No, my darling, I’ll just have a little sleep. Goodbye, young man. You may visit again if you like. It is pleasant to see a new face from time to time.”

As we get downstairs, I turn to Alex, who is silent behind me. “Okay, you’re right. I need to do something. But I don’t know what.”

“Talk to your parents.”

I give him a stare. “You’ve met them. If something needs doing, then it’s down to me.”

It is.

In the hall, all sorts of feelings are whirling around inside me. We’re standing as close as we did the other night. But he doesn’t lean down to kiss me.

“I’ve got practice,” he says, but this time he doesn’t ask me to go.

“Okay,” I say, “I’ll see you sometime?” I say it like a question as I want him to offer to meet up. A coffee? Anything.

“Sure,” he says and then he’s gone.

I don’t want him to go, but it’s too late now. I had my moment at the party and I missed it because I was too obsessed with Matt.

Of all the stupid things I’ve done lately, this is the worst.

There was a boy right before me, a lovely, funny, smart, talented boy who really liked me for just being me.

And I’ve let him just walk away.