Love Bomb Read Online Free Page B

school together.
    ‘Like, wow , Betty,’ says Kat. ‘He is into you!’
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘He really laughed when you said Fozzy Bear,’ says Bea.
    We stand outside the gates, waiting to go our separate ways. I want to keep talking about Toby, but more than anything I want to be alone so I can run over everything he said to me. ‘I’ll see you two tomorrow,’ I say. ‘I’m going to go home and lie on my bed and think about Toby … and his blue eyes … and his muscular chest.’
    ‘ You’ve got a muscular chest,’ says Kat.
    I start to walk away. ‘You’ve got a muscular face !’ I yell over my shoulder and then I grin. I grin all the way home as I wonder how I might have got myself into two bands when I never even wanted to be in one, and I grin as I walk down my road, remembering the way Toby called me B-Cakes.
    The sight of my house in the middle of our cul-de-sac, with its purple front door and overgrowngarden, makes me even happier. The kids from number seven are climbing on the tree on the shared grass and they call out to me. I can see their dad playing with his model train set in his garage. Best of all, Dad’s yellow bike is resting against the side of our house. Dad’s got his own decorating company called ‘Man with a Van’ … but, get this, he hasn’t got a van. Instead, he’s got a bike and a trailer. He says that if he was called ‘Man with a Bike and Trailer’ he wouldn’t get any business.
    I let myself in, find him in the kitchen, and give him a massive hug. I smell coffee and white spirit, the nicest Dad smell in the world.
    ‘I’ve got a bit of news,’ says Dad when I step back. I can tell by the way he says this that he’s practised how it will sound. He’s aiming for casual, but he misses, big time.
    ‘What?’ I start to rearrange things in the fridge. I think I know what’s coming and I don’t want to hear it.
    ‘Just that I’m going out on Saturday night, if that’s OK, with a friend.’ A friend. A friend? Why doesn’t he just say it? He means girl friend. I hear the dishes rattle in the sink. ‘She’s someone I met through work,’ he says. ‘I painted her yoga studio.’
    Bill was right, a hippy girlfriend. I keep quiet.
    ‘Her name’s Rue.’
    Rue? Rue! That is so not a name. I know I’m supposed to say something now, something like, ‘That is so great, Dad!’ but I can’t. Instead, I go with staring at a blueberry Fruit Corner in the fridge. I wonder if he was thinking about her when we were eating my birthday cake … Maybe she chose my perfume. I’m chucking it out.
    ‘Look, Betty,’ Dad says. I slam the fridge shut and turn to face him. ‘I knew you’d find this hard. It’s been just the two of us for so long.’
    His words make my heart feel like a small, hard stone. I can’t stop the horrible thoughts that pour throughme like a film on fast-forward: I see Rue curled up on the sofa in my spot, Dad taking Rue camping with us, Rue making herself breakfast in our kitchen … wearing Dad’s painty shirt … and nothing else.
    ‘It must have been terrible for you,’ I blurt out. ‘I didn’t realise you hated being with me so much, just the two of us for so long!’ Tears appear from nowhere.
    ‘Betty,’ says Dad, putting out his arms. Normally I love hugging Dad. He stands there in his faded band T-shirt waiting for me to come to him. Round his wrist he’s wearing two friendship bracelets I made for him when I was seven. He’s never taken them off. Not once.
    ‘I hate this, Dad,’ I say, turning away and walking out of the room. ‘I wish you’d never told me!’ I run up to my room, banging the door shut. Then I lie on my bed, hugging Mr Smokey and making his fur all tufty with my tears. Eventually, he wriggles out of my grasp and sits by the door until I let him out.
    I curl up on my bed and stare at the shut door. Now I’m all alone. My eyes fall on a purple envelope sitting on my bedside table. Mum’s birthday letter. The