Cross Your Heart, Connie Pickles by Sabine Durrant

unmistakable smell of cKone.

Friday 21 February
    The bathroom
    Julie and I , the cleverest fourteen-year-olds on the planet, have pulled off the matchmake of the century. In one week. Her uncle – the interestingly scented Bert – is going out with my mother. Sorted. Dealt with. Done.
    They say it’s just French lessons. Yeah, right.
    So why am I not happy? Why aren’t I cracking open the champagne bottles and dusting down my passport?
    I can’t put my finger on it. It’s less than a week since Mother and Uncle Bert went to Chez Pierre, so it’s early days. It’s not like they’re getting married tomorrow or anything. I just feel guilty. This evening when she was getting ready Mother seemed so excited – she’d bought a new jumper specially – and I felt rather sheepish, as if I’d been cheating in an exam.
    William doesn’t help. He was here when Uncle Bert picked her up, and after they’d gone he asked me how on earth they’d met. I told him about Bert’s phone and Julie’s purse and he said gnomishly, ‘It must be fate.’ I felt so grubby I had to go and wash my hands.
    Also I keep remembering Sue punching Uncle Bert’s cKone-infused gym bag. I’m hoping she’s having a nice time in Australia. But she did say she met a lot of men in her work, didn’t she? So maybe she’ll meet another one soon.
    I must try and forget all that. The good thing is it does seem to be going well.
    On Monday at breakfast I asked Mother straight if it was Uncle Bert she’d been out with the night before. (Must stop calling him Uncle Bert. It makes him sound like some dodgy entertainer with a rabbit in his pocket.) She went a bit pink and said, ‘Yes, yes. He’s a bit lonely and his stomach was empty. I said I would give him some French lessons. It would be a big, big, big help with his merchandising.’
    So he came round on Tuesday and she made him supper (crêpe à la fromage; a bit like cheese on toast only posher) and they sat at the kitchen counter, knee to knee, sipping wine and giggling over his schoolboy pronunciation. And then he came again on Wednesday (cheese soufflé: ditto). And tonight they’ve gone to see a French film in town, ‘to perfect his accent’.
    It’s all ver’, ver’, ver’ – as Mother would say – exciting. Julie high-fives me at school every day. On Monday she said, ‘That’ll teach her,’ and I wasn’t quite sure what she meant until I realized she was referring to Sue. She really doesn’t like her. I told her we might be cousins soon, which she didn’t understand at first and then she laughed. ‘God,’ she said. ‘Yeah. I s’pose.’ There’s been lots of talk at school this week about the approaching war. People were handing out leaflets at the gates. The news is full of it. There’s going to be a march next week. I think Julie’s mind’s on that. As mine should be too.
    Anyway, I must have an early night. That’s another thing to record. It’s my first day at the chemist’s tomorrow. I’m feeling calm and collected about it. Completely in control. Aghghghg.

Saturday 22 February
    My bedroom, 6 p.m.
    I’m a natural! John – Mr Leakey to you! – said so. He said, ‘Well, Connie, you have a way with customers, I must say. You ask the right questions and you know when to shut up. That was a good day’s work. Thank you.’
    Mostly I just have to stack shelves and flash around the price gun. I’m allowed to serve, but I’m not allowed to handle drugs. I told John that’s fine. If anyone asks, I’ll just say no.
    Gail – that’s the woman with the pouchy eyes and wiry hair – said she liked my cardy. I told her it was from Oxfam and she breathed in sharply. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Looks like cashmere from Harrods.’ I can tell we’re going to be friends.
    John wasn’t there the whole time. He had errands to run. I’m still a bit shy of him, but it was nicer when he was around.
    It wasn’t very busy Granny Enid pottered in to buy indigestion tablets to