Page 36 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

Violet’s right. Why am I sitting around waiting for Lowe to fall in love with me? I need to get out there. I need to headhunt a side-lover project of my own.

One day, whilst eating untoasted Scotch pancakes by the fridge at Aoife’s, I spot the logo for Lowe’s school poking out of the recycling bin.

‘What is that?’ I say, pointing, my heart stopping.

‘Oh, it’s a prospectus, I think.’

WHAT?

‘You’re not moving schools, are you?’ I accuse in an mix of jealousy, sadness and fear. It’s hypocritical as I’ve been waiting to show Mum the prospectus for a Performing Arts School with a strand in stage and screen writing. But I know Mum will say no. And even then, it’s unlikely I’ll get in.

‘No! It’s for my brother Sean.’

‘Phew. Bring it out then – share the wealth.’

We fish out the glossy magazine; it smells like holiday brochures. We flick the pages, admiring the building and its grandeur, its expansive grounds and not-from-the-Eighties computers.

‘It looks far more epic than our old-fashioned cruddy school and way cooler,’ I say.

‘Well, there are boys for a start … ’

Aoife leans over my shoulder, admiring the goods, chewing her raw pancake in my ear.

‘Loads of boys.’ I’m impressed.

Why, this thing is like a catalogue for boyfriends! How do I subscribe? No photos of Lowe unfortunately, but there are secret fit people we haven’t yet been introduced to. Why is Lowe being so closeted about these potential suitors? There’s a photo in a science lab, a double page spread: two boys are measuring some liquid from a conical flask into a test tube over a Bunsen burner. And I just get this feeling. I prod the photo, like choosing a kitchen appliance in a magazine.

‘He’s hot!’ I point to the one on the left.

‘He’s wearing safety goggles. You can’t even see his face, Elbow!’

Seeing as I fancy the helmets of Daft Punk, this view is generous.

‘Yes, but look at his hands and his way. Trust me, Aoife – he’s fit.’

As a last resort I could ask Mia but we’ve not spoken in a while so Aoife makes us hot Ribena and I get busy. Within an hour I’ve done my research. The Twins knew the guy from primary school; his name is Christopher. He works at the garden centre near Shreya’s where their mum drags them. Good start – mature and reliable – meaning he might have enough money to buy me an H. Samuel heart locket one day. Shreya joins the three-way call to confirm that she doesn’t know a Christopher but her cousin used to date someone who used to work at the same garden centre. This is a risk because people will know pretty quickly that I was asking about Christopher but it’s a risk I’m willing to take right now. Twenty minutes later, we confirm that Christopher is indeed, ‘safe, sane and single’ and as tasty as a Gregg’s Yum Yum.

Eek, this is IT!

That evening, I can’t wait to speak to Lowe and ask him to set me up with this Christopher. This is the most exciting bit. Lowe is a bit taken aback.

‘I dunno … ’ His voice breaks down the receiver. ‘Well, he rollerblades for one.’

‘Lowe, you can’t not set me up with a guy because you hate rollerblading.’

‘I don’t really know him that well.’

‘Well, can’t you get to know him?’ I demand.

Lowe does do a good job of getting to know Christopher; they go for bike rides and play guitar together. But he also does a really good job of keeping us apart. It’s like he wants this Christopher guy for himself!

Enough is enough! Us lot are forced to take it upon ourselves to go on a little day-trip down to the garden centre near Shreya’s house to take a look (spy) at all the plants (boys). We all go, Aoife, The Twins, Shreya, Bianca and I (Ronks is at ballet), strolling into the outdoor, open air centre like it’s absolutely nothing, like it’s a no-big-deal normal day in our life to be shopping for bamboo screens, herb gardens, olive trees and trowels with about £1.50 between us. Trust Bianca to turn up disguised as a recent widow looking for a shovel to bury her late millionaire husband. Her eyes peer over huge sunglasses as she sashays past the bird baths and naked chubby cherub statues, hunting for Christopher.

‘Flippity Hell – there he is!’ Shreya screeches, SO LOUDLY, fingers digging into my shoulders.

‘Who?’ I ask, forgetting completely that I’m meant to be on a quest of fancying someone, secretly sad it’s not Lowe, who’s definitely off with oily Megan taking ecstasy.

‘Duh! Christopher!’

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