Читать книгу Time to Shine - Lisa Clark - Страница 9

“Lola, can you come in here for a minute, please?”

For a second I fail to recognise the nice, not-at-all-shouty tone of my ma-parental, but as I’m in our house, passing our living room, I think it’s safe to assume that it’s definitely her, it’s just that the new-and-improved ma-parental is still taking a lot of getting used to.

It’s not that I don’t like this version, because I absolutely, positively do, but I sometimes worry that the holler-back ma-parental, whose voice would echo through the entire neighbourhood, might come back and make an appearance one day, and well…I’d hate for that to happen.

I poke my head around the door to see the ma-parental, sitting on the living room floor, crossed legged, in a mess of silver wrapping paper and sellotape, being circled by Cat.

“What do you think?” she asks, holding up a length of black beads with a small black Buddha hanging from it.

“Well, it’s not really you, Mum, is it?” I say, which is a totally fair comment to make, because it really isn’t. In fact, up to about six months ago, I’d have bet my favourite pink polka-dot prom dress on her not knowing what a Buddha even is.

FYI: If I’m honest, six months ago, I didn’t know what a Buddha was either, I thought it was just a really cool statue of a super-smiley guy with a round belly that you rub for good luck. But Bella has actually been to countries like India and Thailand - I know, how awesome is that? - And because I’m a sucker for learning - not maths though (ick) - I insisted Bella gave me an Eastern philosophy 101. Deep, huh? Bella really does know ever such a lot about a lot of things; she just doesn’t want to know about me right now, and that makes me sad.

“It’s not for me, Lola!” the ma-parental giggles. Giggling is yet another new addition to her ever-growing repertoire of ways to express joy and happiness, something that has deffo been lacking from her world. “It’s for Lawrence,” she says, smiling.

Lawrence?

Woah - back up. When did we start calling yoga-dad Lawrence? I know it’s his name and all, but, the ma-parental and I have always referred to him as ‘Bella’s yoga-dad’ - that’s just how it’s been. We’ve NEVER called him Lawrence, not once. I know that, just like Bella and I have become friends, so have the ma-parental and yoga-dad, but hearing her call him his actual name, Lawrence, well, that implies that they might be getting close or something.

“Is it his birthday?” I ask.

“No, I just wanted to get him a little something to say, I…” The ma-parental pauses and slips into a trance-like state. And it’s then that I see it. The face. She’s making the same face that goddess-girls in old black and white movies make when they’re in L.O.V.E. This is weird. This is all kinds of crazy-weird. And not in a good way. “Oh, I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head free of any dream-like thoughts, “I just wanted to get him a present to say…thank you, I suppose.”

“Oh,” I say, not knowing entirely what to say. I don’t want to ask her outright, because, y’know, we’re still working on the whole mother/daughter thing and while there’s definite progress, I don’t think we’re at a place for me to ask if she’s dating my gal-pal’s dad.

Also, I’m not sure I really want to know the answer, especially if that answer is yes.

“Well, I think he’ll really like it, mum” I say, because while I don’t know yoga-dad all that well, thanks to my Eastern philosophy 101, I do know that both he and Bella are big fans of all things Buddha.

The Mothership smiles with satisfaction and like a mirror, I find myself reflecting a smile right back at her because despite the icky feeling I’m feeling in my tummy, I’ve not seen the Mothership this happy in a long time, and I like it.

“I’m just heading over to Sadie’s,” I tell her as I hold down the paper ready for sellotaping. “She’s just texted me to say that her and Ooh-la-la Charlie are planning one of Sadie’s famous soirées, and they want me to help!”

“Is Bella going with you?” Ma-parental asks, sticking the sellotape over my fingers. Turns out we’re not altogether too good at wrapping.

“Er…I don’t think so,” I tell her. “She’s not really talking to me at the moment.”

“Really? Why?” Mum asks, peeling the back off a self-stick silver bow.

This is a definite first in my movie, Livin’ La Vida Lola.

It seems that the Mothership and I are about to enter into what they commonly refer to as a mother/daughter convo, and apparently, we don’t suck at it either, because I find myself telling her all about the school production, how Bella got angry at me, the fact that I’m going to audition tomorrow and how Evil Eva is too - all the stuff I usually would have told my Aunt Lullah if she was here and not in swanky NYC, but would never, ever have dared tell the ma-parental, because…well, she just wouldn’t have got it.