The Ex-Files
PUFFIN BOOKS
THE EX-FILES
‘But you'll help me get Nicole back?’
He shook his head. ‘This is definitely not a dating service… In fact, really it's exactly the opposite. Our job is to help you put a relationship behind you… which, believe me, can be one of the hardest things in the world… especially when you're a teenager, going through it for the very first time. Yet not one single person seems to understand or be able to help. You're totally alone.’
‘Until now,’ I interrupted, ‘with the Ex-Files riding to your rescue.’ My tone was a shade mocking but actually I was becoming more and more intrigued by this whole set-up.
Pete Johnson has been a film extra, a film critic for Radio 1, an English teacher and a journalist. However, his dream was always to be a writer. At the age of ten, he wrote a fan letter to Dodie Smith, author of The Hundred and One Dalmatians, and they wrote to each other for many years. Dodie Smith was the first person to encourage him to be a writer.
He has written many books for children, as well as plays for the theatre and Radio 4, and is a popular visitor to schools and libraries.
petejohnsonauthor.com
Some other books by Pete Johnson
THE COOL BOFFIN
THE EX-FILES
FAKING IT
THE HERO GAME
I'D RATHER BE FAMOUS
TEN HOURS TO LIVE
For younger readers
PIRATE BROTHER
THE EX-FILES
PETE JOHNSON
PUFFIN
PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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First published 2006
1
Copyright © Pete Johnson, 2006
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-0-14-192726-8
This book is dedicated to the great unsung heroes – and
heroines – of the Children's Book World: the librarians
With grateful thanks and admiration
Contents
Part One: Two Stories
Part Two: Taking the Cure
Part Three: Beware the Relapse
Part Four: Fully Cured?
PART ONE
Two Stories
BELLA'S STORY
Chapter 1
THURSDAY 23 JUNE
Today I cut up my best friend's favourite dress.
I can't even say I did it in a moment of crazed anguish. It was totally premeditated. I'd spent ages searching for the right pair of scissors I wanted the especially sharp ones.
I knew Andrea was away visiting her dad this afternoon, so here was my chance to get inside her bedroom. And it was dead easy. I told her mum I thought I'd lost a special earring there. My only worry was that she might stay and look for it with me (she's one of those very eager-to-please mums). But luckily the phone rang, leaving me to carry out my act of vengeance in peace.
I located the dress at once. Well, it was impossible to miss. The one Andrea had been all day choosing. The one she planned to wear to her birthday party on Saturday.
Hot, angry tears shot down my face as I cut it up.
Andrea and I have been best friends ever since I moved here last October. She's so self-confident and lively and always right in the centre of things – exactly how I would like to be. You might even say I wasn't only her friend; I was her fan as well.
Our friendship really took off the day she had her belly button pierced. She was so nervous she wanted someone to go with her – and I volunteered. I remember telling her to take lots of deep breaths and she quipped, ‘I'm not having a baby, you know.’
Andrea got into big trouble when her mum discovered what she'd done, but she and I became so close after that. Later she told me very personal stuff about her family that I'd never reveal to another person. We completely trusted each other. That's why I never, ever thought she'd betray me – and in the very worst way possible.
I scattered the dress's remains all over the wardrobe. I wasn't just burying a dress; I was burying a friendship as well.
Suddenly I heard one of the stairs creak. The sound shot through me like a jolt of electricity. I leaped away from the wardrobe as if it had bitten me. I'd just managed to fling the scissors under the bed when a voice asked, ‘Any luck?'
Andrea's mum was smiling sympathetically at me – but was there a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes too?
I said, with an apologetic grin, ‘Actually, I think I must have left the earring somewhere else.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, but was still looking at me a trifle oddly. I thought suddenly, You know what Andrea's done to me, don't you? You know everything.
She said, ‘Never mind, dear, I'm sure it'll turn up… and I expect you're very glad to have broken up for the summer holidays, aren't you?’
‘Oh yes,’ I started to reply. Then, from out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the wardrobe door was moving. It was as if invisible strings were slowly pulling it open again.
I sprang forward. But Andrea's mum was right beside me. ‘I'm afraid that door has to be pushed very hard… Oh!’ she cried out suddenly. She crouched down. ‘Oh no,’ she yelped again, then turned to me, her whole face wobbling with shock.
I didn't stay to chat. In fact, I hurtled down the stairs and out of the house at a speed which would have amazed my PE teacher.
At home I gloated for a bit. When Andrea returns, what a shock she'l get. She'll realize at once that I know everything.
But my feeling of triumph didn't last very long. And afterwards I just felt more confused and lost than ever.
I still can't make any sense of what's happened. Ever since I got back from holiday on Monday it's as if I've plunged into some bizarre new life, where the most awful and totally weird things just keep happening.
And now I've started cutting up dresses – well, one dress. I can honestly say that is something I would never have imagined myself doing. It seems so petty and downright nasty.
‘But Andrea deserved it.’ That phrase keeps jumping into my head. I wondered, suddenly, if she'll tell Luc what I've done. Yes, she's bound to do that; she'll be so indignant and upset, milking it for all the sympathy she can get. ‘You won't believe what Bella's done!’ she'll cry. Only Luc will re
ply – and I can practically hear him – ‘But that isn't like Bella at all.’ There'll be a little worried frown on his face, too.
Then he'll ring me, just to check I'm all right.
And here's the really awful thing: despite everything he's done, I'm looking forward to Luc's call already. In fact, I'm writing this with my mobile right beside me, waiting.
WAITING.
Chapter 2
FRIDAY 24 JUNE
11.30 a.m.
I'm lying in bed with the curtains drawn (told Dad I had a bad migraine), listening to music. I've selected all my favourites and I can't hear any of them. All I can hear is the phone not ringing. That's so deafening it drowns out everything else.
Why hasn't Luc rung just to check I'm all right? I did go out with him for seven months.
Then there's Andrea. Not that I want to talk to her. Ever. But I'd rather have her screeching down the phone about my twisted act of revenge than this thick, heavy silence.
1.45 p.m.
I've just done something very stupid: I told Dad about Luc and me breaking up. I hadn't before because, well, my dad's great in so many ways, but he likes good news, happy stuff… something like this is a bit outside his field of expertise. But I'd just got through one of those mornings that seems to last forever, and Dad had come home specially at lunchtime because he was worried about me.
This touched me so much I revealed everything (well, except for the bit about me vandalizing Andrea's dress). And Dad sat there, looking pained and embarrassed at the same time. And when I'd finished he gave me a little hug which was nice and some advice which was completely useless.
‘What you've got to do now, Bella,’ he said, ‘is throw this boy, Luc, back in the pond and find someone much better… which I promise you, you will.’
‘Thanks a lot, Dad,’ I said wearily, and then added, ‘You'd better go back to work now.’ He'd done his best. But he didn't have a clue what I was feeling. I should never have bothered him. As soon as he left I closed all the windows (it was a blazing hot day), curled up into a ball and howled.
Tilly, my King Charles spaniel, sat on my bed watching me in some amazement. Then, as my noisy sobbing went on, she got bored and tore off into the garden to chase something.
She's back now, licking my arms as I write this.
It's funny; I'm not actually ill, but my body aches as if I've got cramp. I suppose that's what complete misery does to you.
7.45 p.m.
Just when you think the day can't get any worse… Dad only went and repeated everything I told him in confidence to his woman friend (I refuse to call a fifty-four-year-old, a girl), Gloria.
I was so furious, even though I knew he meant well. The annoying thing is, that if Dad hadn't started losing his hair I really don't think he'd have bothered with Gloria at all.
After Mum died, Dad poured all his energy into his work. And five years went by without any significant lady friends. But then came the hair loss. And the wispier his hair, the more restless Dad became. Suddenly we moved to a bigger house – and Dad acquired a serious girlfriend: Gemma.
I really liked her. My aunts were shocked by the age difference (she was only twenty-nine), but I thought she was great: really good fun. However, that ended and then Dad brought home this alarmingly confident woman with stiff, white hair, who strode into our house as if she'd lived there all her life and announced to me, ‘I know we're going to be great friends.’
But I knew at once we wouldn't be… and aren't. We haven't had any blazing rows or anything. We stay very much on the edges of each other's lives. Dad spends most of his time with Gloria at her house (she's a widow with no pesky children to get in the way) so we hardly see each other, which suits me just fine.
At six o'clock tonight, though, she sat beside me on the couch in the living room. I was still in my pyjamas – it was one of those days when you just don't see the point of getting dressed. She noticed this and gave a little frown of disapproval (what's the betting she's up at her desk every morning before five o'clock?). Then she patted my hand as if I were a troublesome three-year-old.
‘First love, eh?’ she said, and then gurgled with laughter as if she'd just made a joke. ‘We all have to go through it, don't we?’
Dad stood in the doorway in his new crisp, red shirt and grey jeans (selected by guess who), nodding away at everything Gloria said.
‘Yes, it can be difficult… first love,’ she announced. ‘Although I do think the word “love” is so over-used these days. Love is a word you have to grow into. But if ever you want to talk more about this –’ then, looking across at Dad, she cooed – ‘I'm a very good listener, aren't I?’
I thought Dad's head would fall off if he nodded any more enthusiastically.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said politely, ‘but I'll be just fine.’
‘Of course you will,’ she practically shouted. Then, duty done, she swept off to go to the cinema with Dad. They had invited me – Dad even offered to let me choose the film – but I said I'd be OK here watching some DVDs with Tilly.
Dad – and certainly not Gloria – couldn't begin to understand the enormity of what had just happened to me.
As for all that patronizing tripe about first love. Well, for a start Luc wasn't my first love.
Dad's totally forgotten about this waiter I met on holiday in Spain with him last year. I noticed the waiter right away, although unfortunately he wasn't serving my table. But later he came up and waggled his ears at me. I laughed in surprise and admiration (he was an excellent ear-waggler). Then he told me his name – and a passionate week followed.
When we parted I cried a little because, despite everything he said, I realized I'd never hear from him again – and I haven't.
So, you see, I do know about relationships.
I don't fall in love very often, though. Unlike Andrea… every week there's a new boy who is totally ‘fitilicious’.
One blond, tanned boy she was mad about worked in the local newsagent's in the evenings. So we were always in there on some pathetic excuse. Then he invited her to a mate's Christmas party. Of course, Andrea insisted I go with her.
There were far, far more boys at this party than girls. A gang of them were charging up and down the stairs, yelling. Another group were busy having a fight in the hallway. We pressed our way through them. For once, even Andrea was looking a bit apprehensive. Then the boy from the newsagent's swooped down on her and the two of them just vanished.
I was left knowing absolutely no one and feeling totally self-conscious. In the end I made for the kitchen. And then I noticed my nose had started running; it often does that when I get nervous. I crouched down and pretended to be looking into the fridge (it was, in fact, completely empty) while discreetly giving my nose a good blow.
It was then I heard a boy say, ‘If you're hungry you can have one of my peppermints.’ So, yes, the very first time Luc saw me was when I was vigorously blowing my nose. Romantic or what?
‘In fact, take two peppermints… you look hungry,’ he went on. I hastily flung my hankie away and helped myself to two peppermints and took a better look at him.
He wasn't very tall (a shade smaller than me, in fact) and was dressed in a rather unflattering T-shirt and jeans. But he had exotic cheekbones and the most beautiful blue-green eyes imaginable. Oh yes, he was also wearing a tea cosy on his head. This made him look like a sensationally handsome pixie.
He leaned a bit closer to me. ‘I don't normally model tea cosies but I got very bored.’
‘That's when I reach for the tea cosy as well,’ I replied.
He grinned at me. We'd been talking for less than a minute and already we were sharing a little joke. I'm not very at ease when I first meet new people – especially boys. It's one of my most irritating traits. Only this time there seemed to be a chemistry between us right away and I didn't feel an atom of shyness.
‘I'm not bored any more,’ he said, hurling the tea cosy away. ‘I've seen you before, a
ctually.’
‘Oh, have you?’ I said.
‘Yes, I've watched you coming out of your school.’
The boys' school is just down the road from the girls' one. Only their school finishes fifteen minutes earlier than ours. This is supposed to discourage fraternization. Ha, ha, ha, and ho, ho, ho.
‘You were with a group of other girls,’ he went on. ‘But I saw only you… I wanted to talk to you so much… though I'm sure lots of boys say that to you.’
‘Oh yes, thousands,’ I grinned.
‘I can believe that,’ he replied seriously. ‘I'm Luc, by the way.’
‘Hello, Luc… I'm Bella.’
He nodded as if I'd just told him something highly important.
We went on chatting away so easily. There was something very open about him and… well, I was going to add ‘sweet’, only I know Luc would absolutely hate to be described as that. Still, he'll never see this, will he? So, yes, he was ‘sweet’, but in the very best sense of the word. And he didn't seem at all self-conscious either as a lot of boys do. He just stood there, with his unruly, dark hair and eager smile and those wonderful mesmerizing eyes fixed on me – until the fight in the doorway spread right into the kitchen as well.
There was total chaos after that – at one point a television set even went flying out of the window – but I just managed to give Luc my mobile number before we were swept away from each other.
He called me the next day and I answered on the very first ring (dead uncool, I know, but I just couldn't wait).
We met for our first date under a leaden sky on Christmas Eve, and our last one – seven months later – on Tuesday 21 July. Now that was a total shock. I really thought Luc and me were sorted forever.
After school broke up, I went away for a few days with my dad. He wanted us to spend some ‘quality time’ together, but I sensed he missed Gloria a lot – and I certainly missed Luc like crazy.