Chapter Three


My Nan isn’t a bad person. At least, she doesn’t know she’s a bad person. She thinks that she’s a bit of a saint actually. I’ll bet if you asked her to do one of those personality tests, she’d tell you loads of stuff about how great she is.
She’d come up with so much garbage about what a martyr she is, that you’d have no option but to agree with her. By the end of the personality test, she’d have you offering to help with her bags and giving her your phone number in case she needed anything. She’s done it so often; it’s down to a fine art. First, she’d tell you in hushed tones about how she visits the Crowley’s every other day and does their shopping at the market and collects their prescriptions.

Then, when you were least expecting it (you could be talking about anything but Nan would manage turn round the conversation) she’d start to explain her Saturday job in the local hospice shop. Before you knew it, she’d be describing the procedure for collecting the goods and how it’s her job to price them up and display them. You could try to butt in, or even ask her a question about something else, but Nan has the equivalent talking powers of the highest ninja, or like, the same ability to control the conversation that Jamie Oliver has over his cooking. Complete power.
When you’d finally given in, and were just letting Nan go on about what ever she wanted to, she’d hit you with her final blow. She’d start telling you about me.
All about the ‘complete devastation,’ (car crash,) the ‘tot without a mum’ (me,) the ‘not talking for a week’ (dad,) the ‘new door opening’ (dad’s job.) And finally ‘the special relationship’ (Nan looks after me when Dad’s in the US.)
Yes, she’d tell you all about that. From that she’d go on to ‘crippling agony’ (her bunions,) the ‘lip’ (I don’t get that one but I think it’s about me) the ‘sleepless nights worrying’ (I really don’t get that one because she snores like a train) and the ‘rollercoaster ride’ (again, haven’t a clue.)
There would then follow a discussion about the government and how teenagers have nothing to do and she’d throw in a bit about how she was married at twenty. (Twenty!)
Then when you were just getting ready for a good cry she’d try and shut you up with a Murray Mint. Truth is, she can’t help herself. She’d do it even if I was in the room. She’d do it even if I was giving her the personality test.
Once, we were in Asda and this woman comes up with her trolley (loads of cat food and meals for one) and starts talking to Nan about the hospice shop and about ‘moving on’ and ‘life’s surprises,’ then before I can even wander off to the magazines, Nan starts telling this woman all about Mum and the car accident and dad and…just everything and it was awful! I kept thinking Nan must have forgotten that I was stood next to her because she didn’t even introduce me, I started poking her, to remind her that, hello, I was there, and she just told me to be quiet. The cat food woman didn’t even look at me, just nodded with her eyes all watery and kept patting Nan’s arm like she was some superhero.
Y’see, that’s what my Nan doesn’t tell anyone, and that’s what no one’s cottoned on to. That my Nan is actually A Really Horrid Person In Disguise.
She only does all this stuff so everyone will think she’s great. And it works, for most of the time. People are always telling me what a saint she is, and ‘how she’d do anything for anyone.’ But she can’t fool me. I’m on to her. I know she’s got her own reasons, as well as playing the whole ‘aren’t I great’ bit.

I know why she does all that for the Crowley’s. It’s because they sit at the window all day and can fill Nan in on the gossip of everyone in the street. I know why she works at the hospice. It’s because she can get first pick at the stuff that comes in, and I know why she looks after me when dad’s away. It’s so she can tell everyone what a saint she is so they can say nice things in turn to her and pat her arm.

“Hooooolllllllllllly!”
I roll my eyes. She always does that when she shouts me, stretches out the o and the l so it sounds like the beginning of a Christmas Carol.
“Coming.”
I flop on my bed and listen. Nan’s voice is loudest. Then Janet’s. Then Dad’s. His is all soft and low. Like he’s sticking up for me. Every time he stops talking, Nan’s voice jumps in with some high answer. Then Janet nips in and it’s all Nan and Janet with quick words until Dad shuts them up and says something nice. At least, I think he’s saying something nice, he must be otherwise he’d be shouting wouldn’t he?
“Holy honey?”
I fold my arms, her accent is so annoying.
“I’m not angry anymore honey,” she sniffs, “just come down here so we can work this thing out.” Her voice wobbles at the end and she gives another sniff. Then I can hear my dad again. He’s probably telling her to stop crying, to stop being so ridiculous. That it was an accident and she’s overreacting.

I pull on a t-shirt and kick off the skirt leaving it in a slump on the floor. Pulling on my jeans I think about what Nan will do about this. I say a silent prayer for her to ground me and think that she’s punishing me by not letting me go to the wedding. Or she could just let me wear another dress. Perhaps I should suggest the blue one? It’s got a slight kick to the hem, so it kind of fits in with the ruffle effect and I could put my black padded bra on with that and it would look so much better. Janet might even thank me once she sees me in the blue dress. She would take one look at me and then with a little nod, apologise for ever putting me in pink ruffles. Then I’d look at dad and we’d smile at each other and he’d be all like, ‘thanks for putting up with her,’ but not actually saying it, just thinking it. Then I’d smile and shrug and Josh would be watching the whole thing without me knowing and thinking how kind I was.

I walk down smiling about how it will all turn out and Nan, Dad and Janet all looking at me from the bottom of the stairs. No one smiles back. Janet’s eyes are all red and Nan’s folding her arms. My Dads got his hands in his pockets. He looks at me then turns and walks into the lounge.
“Right lady.” Nan’s lips are all tight and her hands are gripping the corset with white knuckles. “We are going to fix this and you will be wearing it tomorrow,”
I open my mouth to protest but Nan holds up her hands, the rip in the corset has another laugh at me.
“I’ve brought this,” she nods to her sewing box, “and you are going to help get this back to how it was.”
I look at the pink corset and feel my stomach drop.
“And don’t even think about asking to go to Cleo.” Nan goes on, “because as soon as tomorrow is over, you’re grounded for a month.”
A month! That takes me to…urm, what month is it now? June? July? A month, that’s like four weeks, or is it five? Which means that I’ll have finished being grounded… right at the start of school! I’m grounded for the whole summer! No way.
“That is so unfair!”
Nan glares at me with narrow eyes and I shut my mouth. She picks up the sewing box and pushes it into my chest. I take a gasp. That’ll leave bruising, I’ll bet you anything. I give it a rub and glare back at her with the best version of The Eye that I’ve ever done.
“Not another word,” she hisses then turns to Janet and smiles this really sickly smile, and Janet! Janet looks at her like she’s just offered to buy her an i-pod or something! Then, then, she pats her arm. SHE PATS HER ARM. See! It’s official. My Nan is A Horrid Person In Disguise.