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And then it is all shrieking and screeching and stinking swizzlesticks. (Her favourite expression for this term.) It is very difficult, when you are a shrinking kind of person, to have a twin that is so noisy. Everyone expects you to be the same.
Actually, it’s funny, but no one ever expects Lily to be like me. They all expect me to be like Lily. And I can’t be! I’ve tried. It just doesn’t work. Maybe if I was on my own, people wouldn’t think it so peculiar if I was a bit quiet. But I still didn’t want to join any clubs!
I never got to hear what Dad thought of Mum’s suggestion ’cos just as he started to say something there was this loud CRASH, followed by a series of thuds and bangs, like the house was collapsing. All it was, was Lily, coming out of her bedroom and hurtling down the stairs. She always hurtles down the stairs. Dad asked her the other day if wild elephants were after her.
“Mum!” She went shrieking past me, into the kitchen. “I’ve been trying to find something to wear on Saturday and I can’t! I haven’t got anything! Mum, I need something new! I’ve got to have something new! ’Cos it’s Riverside, Mum. There might be actors! I’ve got to, Mum!”
She goes on like this all the time. Like, if she’s already been seen wearing something, she can’t possibly be seen in it again. To be seen in it again would be death. It’s what happens when you lead a mad social life.
Under cover of all the shrieking I slid into the kitchen and helped myself to a bowl of cereal, which is what I’d been going there for in the first place. I stood by the sink, munching it, while Mum and Lily got into one of their shouting matches about how many clothes a person of ten years old actually needs.
Lily yelled, “Enough so your friends don’t keep seeing you in the same old thing all the time!” To which Mum retorted, “What utter rubbish!” and told Lily that she was:
a) too obsessed with the way she looked
b) in danger of becoming shallow-minded and
c) spoilt.
Lily screeched that Mum was mean as could be. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me! You’re ruining my life!”
This is nothing new. Dad once counted up and said that on average Lily accused Mum of ruining her life at least three times a week. Sometimes I feel like telling Lily that she is ruining my life. If she weren’t so shrieky, I might not be so shrinky. Though I suppose it is not really fair to blame Lily.
At least it got Mum off the subject of clubs. By the time she and Lily had finished yelling at each other, Mum was all hot and bothered. She said she was going to go and soak in the bath and calm herself with thoughts of grass and trees and flowers.
“And not of spoilt selfish brats!”
So that was all right. But I kept thinking about it, especially when Saturday came and Lily went swaggering off (in new jeans and a new top, which were in fact mine). I would have loved more than anything to visit the set of Riverside! But you can’t barge your way in where you’re not wanted. Sarah was Lily’s friend, not mine. I would only be a drag.
I spent most of that day helping Mum in Flora Green, but somehow it wasn’t as much fun as usual. I kept thinking of Lily, on the set of Riverside. She might even get to see Tony! (Tony is my A1 favourite character. I once wrote him a fan letter and he sent me a signed photo, which I have on my wall.) Lily doesn’t have one because she never wrote to him. She doesn’t even specially like Riverside.
When we got home that evening, Lily was already there. She’d just been dropped off by Sarah and her mum.
“Well? So how was it?” said Mum.
Lily said that it was “totally and utterly brilliant”.
“You know the Green, where Nick and Tina live? Where all the little houses are? They’re not real! I always thought they were real. But it’s just the front bits. Like you can open the gate and go up the path, but when you open the door there’s nothing on the other side! It’s absolutely amazing! And there’s all these girls going round with clipboards and stuff. They’re called PAs.” She looked at me. “I don’t expect you know what a PA is, do you?”
I shook my head.
“It’s a production assistant” said Lily, all self-important. “They help the producer. Like Sarah’s mum’s got one called Lisa. She looks like a model! She told me all what they do. It’s what I’m going to be when I grow up. I’ve decided … I’m going to be a PA!”
She strutted off round the room, holding her imaginary clipboard and an imaginary something else which she kept looking at, and frowning at, and clicking.
“This is a stop watch,” she said. “I’m timing things. It’s very important to know how long a scene will take. You have to know exactly, down to the last second. It’s for programme planning, and fitting in the commercials.”
She couldn’t stop talking about it. She went on and on, all through tea. Suddenly she was like this huge fan.
“And hey, guess what?” she said, jabbing me in the ribs. “I saw your boyfriend!”
My heart went CLUNK, right down to my shoes.
“You saw Tony?” I said.
I hated her. I hated her!
“Yes,” said Lily. “He was acting a scene with Mara Banks, and when he came off he smiled at me.”
I double hated her. I triple hated her. I would have liked to murder her!
Instead, I raced upstairs to my room and kissed my photo of Tony and burst into tears. Why did Lily always, always get to have all the fun? It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t I be the one who rushed around shrieking and being popular and have zillions of friends?
I once read somewhere that if you’re shy it just means you’re not interested in other people. You’re only interested in you. But that wasn’t true! I was interested in people. I just didn’t know how to talk to them.
I could talk in my head. I could say lots of things in my head! And I could say them in letters, as well. I used to write pages and pages to Greta, when she first went to America. Maybe – sudden brilliant idea! – maybe I could find a pen pal!
This thought was so exciting that I immediately snatched up the latest copy of Go Girl, which is the magazine that I like best because it once had Tony as its centrefold. (I made a poster of him and it is on my wall with his photo.)
Hurriedly, I scrabbled through the pages till I came to the one where people advertise for pen pals. There were simply loads! I’d never bothered to look at it properly before. I’d never even thought of having a pen pal!
The first one I read, which was no. 364, said,
Hi to all you cool cats out there! I’m Cindy. I’m ten years old and I love to party. My fave bands are Boyzone, Steps and Five. Please write to me!
I didn’t think, probably, that Cindy would find me very interesting. Not if she loved to party. I quickly moved on to the next one.
Hi, my name is Danni and I am cool! My hobbies are singing, dancing and listening to music. I am 12 years old.
I gulped. Danni was cool! She wouldn’t want to be my pen pal.
The next one said,
Hi! My name is Pippa. I’m ten years old and I just love to meet people. My nickname is Giggler!
The next one said,
Hi, I’m Shelby. I’m 11 years old and I love parties, dancing and having a good time.
I’m Tara, I’m Sam, I’m Linzi. I love to party, I love to dance, I love to meet people.
After a while I began to get a bit depressed, as quite honestly I couldn’t see any of these cool, fun-loving people wanting to correspond with a person like me. They would soon start thinking, “Oh, this girl is not cool, she is a dead bore, I shall have to stop writing to her.” I wondered if maybe I could advertise for a pen pal myself, and if I did, what would I put?
Hi, my name is Violet. I am ten years old and I like reading, writing letters and making up stories. I am a huge fan of the soaps and my fave character is Tony, from Riverside.
I knew what Lily would say: BIG TURN OFF. I was just starting to despair when I came to Pen Pal no. 372:
Hi! I’m Katie. I’m ten years old and I love to draw and do puzzles. I also like to tell jokes and play with my cats, Bella and Bertie. Please write to me, I would truly love to have a pen pal.
When I saw that my heart started beating really fast. Katie sounded just like me!
I was so excited I grabbed a pen and wrote to her straight away.
Dear Katie,
Hi, my name is Violet! I like reading, writing letters and making up poems. I also like drawing (though I am not very good at it) and doing puzzles.
I have a cat called Horatio and I love to cuddle him, especially in bed. I used to play games with him but he is a bit too old for that now.
I am the same age as you (but will be eleven in April). I am enclosing a photograph so you can see what I look like. I would love to have one of you, and to be your pen pal if you would like me to. Please write back!
Yours sincerely,
Violet Alexander.
PS PLEASE WRITE SOON!
It was the only photograph I had. Well, the only recent one. It was all our class at school, with me at one end and Lily at the other. (We always keep as far away from each other as possible when our photos are taken.)
Mum had got spare copies, like for some weird reason she always does. I can’t think why as they are always foul. But the only other one I had was when I was nine and looking really goofy, so I put in the school one and hoped she wouldn’t notice that there was any resemblance between Lily and me.
It was only after I’d addressed the letter (to Go Girl, Pen Pals no. 372) and gone over the road to the post box that I thought what I could have done. I could have cut Lily out! I could have taken the scissors and simply removed her. I wished that I had! But it was too late, now. The letter had gone.
On Sunday I heard Lily on the telephone, telling Debbie all about her visit to Riverside.
“You know the Green, where Nick and Tina live? Where all the little houses are?”
She told her about the little houses not being real. She told her about the girls with the clipboards. She told her about Tony, acting in a scene with Mara Banks. She told her about Tony smiling at her.
“At me! Not the others. Just me! I know it was me ’cos the others were all looking the other way.”
Later in the day, Big Nan rang up and Lily rushed to the phone before anyone else could get there and told Big Nan about it, too.
“You know the Green, where Nick and Tina live? Where all the little houses are?”
I had to listen to it all over again. Well, I suppose I didn’t have to, exactly, but it was kind of hard to avoid it. Lily’s voice is like a really loud car horn.
On Monday, at school, she told all the rest of the class. Nina and Lucy and Jamila. Justine and Kelly and Meena. They listened, open-mouthed. Even Pandora and Yvonne hovered on the fringes, drinking it all in.
“And then, guess what?” Lily did this little showing-off twirl. “He smiled at me! Tony … he smiled at me!”
Meena squealed and clasped her hands. Lucy went “Tonee!” Jamila fell into a pretend swoon. Kelly Stevens gave a loud screech and staggered backwards into Justine Bickerstaff. They then clutched each other and started moaning, like they were in pain. Even Pandora squeaked, “Tonee!” and made her eyes go all big.
“Soaps are dross” said Yvonne.
I was glad there was someone that wasn’t impressed, though I knew it was only ’cos Yvonne was jealous. She hates it if she’s not the centre of attention. (She hardly ever is, which is maybe why she is so bad-tempered all the time.)
I try very hard not to be jealous as it is such a horrid feeling, you get all twisted up inside and it gives you a headache and makes you sick. Well, it does me. I once got so twisted up when we had a birthday party and I thought Lily was getting all the attention (which she was) that I had to go to the bathroom and put my head in the toilet and throw up. That is so disgusting! I didn’t want it happening while I was at school, so I did this little hum to myself – “Ho di ha di ho!” – and went over to my desk, where I started arranging all my felt tips in order of colour. Pink ones, orange ones, red ones …
I WAS NOT GOING TO BE JEALOUS.
Yellow ones, green ones –
Ho di ha di ho! Blue ones, mauve ones –
“Violet?” Pandora prodded at me. “Isn’t Tony the one you like?”
I made a mumbling sound.
“Isn’t he?’
The trouble with Pandora is that once she’s started there’s no way of stopping her. She’s a bit like Horatio when he decides that he wants something. Usually food, in his case. He’ll just keep on and on nagging at you until he gets it.
Like he’ll spread himself out across your homework that you’re trying to do, or walk about yowling and winding himself round your feet. Pandora just prods and pokes and keeps asking the same question over and over.
“Isn’t he? The one that you like?”
Ho di ha di ho! Black ones, brown ones –
“Yes.”
Gold ones, silver ones –
“Wouldn’t you have liked to meet him?”
“Yes!” I slammed down my desk lid. I’m not usually impatient with Pandora, but I was really trying so hard. I didn’t want to be sick!
Lily’s voice came clanging across the room.
“…going to be a PA when I leave school.”
“What’s a PA?” said Pandora.
I said, “Pompous airbag!” and fortunately at that moment the door opened and Mrs Frost, our teacher, came in.
At first break the airbag was still telling everyone who would listen how she had been smiled at. I kept as far away as possible. I could see that even Sarah and Francine were getting a bit sick of it. The thing with Lily is, she just never knows when to stop.
Me and her went home together at the end of school. We don’t always. Sometimes Mum picks us up, sometimes Dad, sometimes we get the bus and sometimes the airbag goes back with one of her friends. Today we went on the bus together and she started off all over again about Tony and how he had smiled at her – “At me!” – but I just took a book out of my bag and sat there pretending to read it. Not that it stopped her, but at least I was able to make like I wasn’t listening. Which in fact I wasn’t, as far as I could help it. I mean, bits of it kept breaking through but mainly what I was doing was wondering when I would hear from Katie and whether she would want to be my pen pal …
I’d posted the letter on Saturday, but I knew the postman wouldn’t have come and taken it away until today. But I’d made sure to put a first-class stamp on it, so by tomorrow it would be with the magazine, and if they sent it on straight away it could be with Katie by Wednesday, and if she wrote back immediately – which was what I would do – then on Friday morning I could have a letter!
The post comes really late in our house. It comes after we’ve left, so that all of Friday I was, like, counting the hours, waiting for the moment when I could get back home and find out if my letter had arrived!
It hadn’t. All there was, was a bill for Dad and a seed catalogue for Mum.
It didn’t come Saturday, it didn’t come Monday, it didn’t come Tuesday. By Wednesday I was feeling quite despondent. I kept trying to remember what I’d written. If I’d written anything that might have put her off. I wished I’d kept a copy! Maybe I shouldn’t have said about being eleven in April; maybe that had been too much like boasting. Or maybe I’d just sounded totally dim and boring.
Maybe she’d had so many thousands of replies she’d simply picked out the ones that sounded like they’d be most fun. Maybe she hated Riverside. Maybe I should have mentioned that my favourite band is Flying High, except that Lily says it is a nerd’s band and anyway not many people have heard of it.
