The Green-Eyed Monster Page 3

  It had been a Very Busy Day, so Penelope was looking forward to the last twenty minutes of lunchtime so she could relax on the bench in the courtyard with her best friend.

  ‘Do you think Ms Bourke noticed when I picked up that litter?’ Penelope asked as she sat down next to Bob. She was pretty sure Ms Bourke had witnessed her good deed, but Bob had been closer to the principal, so she had a better view.

  ‘Sorry, Pen,’ Bob shrugged. ‘I didn’t see. I’m thinking about going for my yellow belt in karate. There’s loads to learn, so I’m going over to Jazz’s place tonight so she can help me. She’ll be able to tell me if I’m ready.’

  Penelope gritted her teeth. She had a sudden image of Bob and Jazz at Jazz’s house. Her ACTUAL home, where she lived, and not just at the karate class. In the image, Bob looked super happy with her new friend (who was not Penelope).

  Penelope tried Very Hard to conjure up different images, images of her FABULOUS friendship with Bob. Like the very first time Penelope visited Bob’s house and they cracked each other up with stories about their families.

  Or the time they’d discovered they had the same favourite book.

  Or the time on camp when Bob had pretended to be a ghost. But it was no good. Where Penelope’s smiling face should have been, right there next to Bob’s, she kept imagining Jazz’s face (or at least, what she thought Jazz’s face might look like).

  ‘Pen, are you okay?’ Bob said.

  ‘Sure, I’m just excited about you going for your yellow belt,’ Penelope (who was usually Very Honest) fibbed. She felt like asking Bob straight out to stop talking about Jazz so much. And she certainly didn’t want Bob visiting Jazz in her ACTUAL home. But there was no way Penelope was going to make the same mistake she’d made with Elsie all those years ago.

  So she zipped her mouth.

  Again.

  On Thursday morning, Penelope woke to the sound of the harp alarm on her iPhone. As usual. What wasn’t usual was that her mum was downstairs in the lounge room, painting her fingernails. Penelope figured that the nail-painting had something to do with her mum’s date that evening.

  ‘Morning, Penelope,’ her mum said, holding out her left hand to show off the dark purple nail polish. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I like it, Mum,’ Penelope replied. ‘But you haven’t done a very good job. Want some help?’

  ‘That would be lovely, Poss,’ her mum said.

  ‘So,’ Penelope said as she carefully painted her mum’s index finger, ‘are you really going on this date tonight? With someone Harry and I haven’t even met?’

  Her mum blew on her hand to dry the polish.

  ‘Yes, I am. Grandpa is coming over at seven to look after you two. But you’ll get to meet Marty. He’s going to pick me up and come in for a little while before we go out for dinner.’

  Penelope nodded. She tried not to think of the poem about the missing mother, but the words lost, stolen or strayed kept bouncing around in her mind.

  ‘Mum, is it okay if I ask Marty Logan a few questions?’ Penelope asked. ‘Just to make sure he’s alright, and that you’ll be safe? I’m very good at deducing, you know.’

  Her mum smiled. ‘A few questions, yes. An interrogation, no,’ she said.

  Then (although it was risky, since her nail polish probably wasn’t entirely dry) she pulled Penelope over and gave her a giant hug.

  The day was cold and windy, so Penelope and Bob sat under the canteen shelter at lunchtime instead of on the bench seats. ‘How was karate last night, Bob? Are you going to go for your yellow belt?’ Penelope asked, as casually as she could, trying to sound as though she didn’t have a single worry about Bob finding a new friend who was super good at everything.

  ‘Nah,’ Bob said with a sigh. ‘Jazz reckons I’m not ready to try for it just yet. She reckons I should just focus on what I’m already doing in class for a while.’

  Penelope was Very Relieved to hear that. Not the bit about Bob not being ready – Penelope was sure a yellow belt would look Very Nice with her white karate uniform. But maybe that meant Bob wouldn’t go to Jazz’s house again. Maybe the novelty was wearing off?

  ‘I’m sorry you have to wait for a yellow belt,’ Penelope said. ‘But you’re terrific. Everybody thinks that. If it was up to me, I’d give you a gold belt and you wouldn’t even have to do any karate moves to get it.’

  It was a very good feeling to make Bob giggle. In fact, she looked way happier. And that was all Penelope’s doing!

  ‘The top belt in karate is actually black, Pen,’ she said, ‘but thanks. You’re the ant’s pants and the bee’s knees!’

  Penelope’s heart was on a swing and flying upwards. Not literally. Literally, her heart was on the left side of her chest where it always was. But that’s what it felt like.

  Then Bob pushed up the sleeves of her school jumper.

  And suddenly, Penelope’s heart was plummeting downwards. (Not literally. There was no actual plummeting, but it felt very real.)

  Because there, on Bob’s wrist, was a friendship bracelet. A pink, green and orange plaited friendship bracelet. And it had NOT been made by Penelope. Penelope could have KICKED herself for not making Bob a friendship bracelet! She’d given Bob (absolutely for free) six pieces of lovely jewellery since they had become very best friends. But not one of them was a friendship bracelet. How could she have been so stupid?

  Penelope had a pretty good idea where this one had come from, unfortunately (sometimes she wished she wasn’t so good at deducing).

  Bob noticed Penelope looking.

  ‘Jazz made this for me last night,’ she said. ‘I chose the colours myself from this ace kit she has. It’s kind of cute, right?’

  Penelope bit the inside of her lip. Making jewellery was her UNIQUE hobby. It was one of the things (along with being the biggest award-winner at her entire school) that made Penelope Penelope! This was even worse than Bob and Jazz having so much in common. This was even worse than Bob visiting Jazz in her ACTUAL home. Jazz was practically stealing her identity! If Jazz was good at the things Penelope was good at, PLUS things that Penelope was hopeless at, perhaps Bob wouldn’t even NEED Penelope any more.

  Penelope tried Very Hard to keep her mouth zipped. Unfortunately, there must have been a little gap somewhere, because some words escaped.

  ‘I can see a few mistakes,’ she said.

  ‘Geez, Pen,’ Bob said, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s the thought that counts, right?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Penelope said quickly, before Bob had time to think she was being possessive. Penelope thought about Elsie as she squeezed out the next words. ‘You’re right. It was a nice thought. And it’s a nice bracelet.’

  That evening, Penelope waited in the lounge room with her list of questions. Her mum was upstairs getting ready. Harry was upstairs too, refusing to come out of his room. As soon as Grandpa arrived, he went up to talk to Harry, which was perfect. Penelope wanted to interview Marty Logan with no-one else around to interrupt her. (She knew the others were close enough to hear her scream if he turned out to be a murderer after all.)

  Penelope closed her eyes and tried to conjure up images of what he might look like. She hoped he didn’t have a bushy beard like Tall, Dark and Available. She could possibly cope with a small moustache, though. (Grandpa George had a small moustache and it suited him.) If Marty Logan had a ponytail, however, she would be HORRIFIED. She would be even more horrified if he also had tattoos. If he had a ponytail and tattoos and a bushy beard, Penelope would probably keel over as soon as she opened the door.

  He was supposed to be there at 7pm. By the time the doorbell rang, it was actually 7.15pm. This wasn’t a great start. Penelope took one last glance in the hall mirror to check that she looked like a person-not-to-be-messed with. Then she opened the door.

  Marty Logan didn’t have a bushy beard or a ponytail or any tattoos (none that Penelope could see, anyway). He was quite tall and a bit skinny. He was wearing a white shirt and blue je
ans and had a very nice, not-murderer-y smile (though that could be a trick).

  ‘Hello,’ Penelope said, shaking his hand. ‘I’m Penelope. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Please sit down,’ Penelope said, sitting down and crossing her legs in a grown-up way. She placed the page of questions on her lap. ‘If you don’t want to answer any of my questions, you can pass. But I have to warn you, that will make me suspicious that you have something to hide. Are you ready?’

  Marty sat down in the armchair next to the window. He ran a hand through his curly hair. ‘Fire away, Penelope,’ he said.

  ‘What’s your full name?’ Penelope began.

  ‘Martin Joseph Logan. The third,’ Marty said.

  ‘Really?’ Penelope asked.

  ‘Yes, really – except for the bit about the third,’ Marty replied.

  ‘Please stick to the facts,’ Penelope advised. ‘Have you ever been to jail?’

  ‘Sure,’ Marty said. ‘I was part of a theatre group at uni. We wrote and directed a play for the inmates. As I recall, it went down very well. I played the part of –’

  Penelope coughed. She was interested that Marty had been in a play. In fact, part of her felt like sharing that she had recently written, acted in and directed a play at school called Likeable Lucy, which had scored her drama group a miraculous 9.5/10! But she bit back the words – she had to stay on track.

  ‘I mean, have you ever been a prisoner?’ she said, making herself very clear this time. ‘Or have you ever been arrested?’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Marty answered. ‘But you can take my fingerprints if you like.’

  Penelope paused to consider that. She did have an ink pad in her room with a collection of lovely stamps she sometimes used to create borders for her homework. But fingertips and ink pads were sure to be a messy business. Plus, she doubted that she’d be able to get the police to check Marty’s fingerprints. So she decided against it.

  ‘Are you, by any chance, a politician?’ Penelope continued.

  (Though her dad was totally amazing, Penelope would rather not have another politician around. Politician’s lives are Very Complicated.)

  ‘Nope. I teach art and textile design at Riverview College.’

  ‘Wow,’ Penelope said, very spontaneously and without really meaning to. ‘I love art! What’s your favourite type?’

  ‘Well, that’s a tough one,’ Marty said. ‘I enjoy sculpting but I think my absolute favourite is painting. I always have a project on the go.’

  ‘I love painting too!’ Penelope said. ‘We’ve been studying Monet at school. He was a French painter. I painted my own version of Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies.’

  Penelope was dying to tell Marty about the improvements she’d made to Monet’s painting (the original was a bit blurry) but she stopped herself. She cleared her throat and reminded herself to stay on track. After all, her mum’s safety was at stake.

  But there was something about Marty doing plays at uni and being an actual art teacher and just seeming quite nice and a little bit funny that made her feel surprisingly relaxed. Perhaps it would be good to have someone else around who was arty? Harry and her mum definitely weren’t.

  ‘Do you like … um … children?’ Penelope continued (it was a bit of an embarrassing question to ask, but also quite necessary).

  ‘I do,’ Marty replied quickly. ‘I particularly like inquisitive children who grill people to make sure they’re okay before they go on a date with their precious mother. They’re the best kind.’

  Penelope looked up from her list of questions. When he smiled, he had bigger wrinkles around his eyes than Penelope’s mother, and also some quite interesting lines around his mouth. Marty’s smile was Very Nice. Penelope doubted that he was a murderer. She risked a (small) smile back at him. Then she heard her mum’s footsteps coming down the stairs.

  ‘Do you have children?’ she asked in a whisper (she was pretty sure her mum wouldn’t like her asking this). ‘And do you want any more?’

  ‘Yes, I have a child and no, I don’t want any more,’ he whispered back very quickly.

  Penelope wanted to ask about Marty’s child. Unfortunately, she didn’t get a chance because her mother was right there. Even though she wasn’t wearing anything new or fancy (except for the nail polish) Penelope could see her mum had made an effort to look especially nice. She was even wearing matching socks. (Penelope couldn’t help sneaking a peek, just to be sure.)

  ‘So, you survived the interrogation, Marty?’ Penelope’s mum asked.

  ‘I did, Madeline. Though I think there’s still a bit of bamboo under my fingernails.’

  Penelope had no idea what he meant by that, but it didn’t really matter. Because Penelope’s mum always had a great laugh, but this time, it was extra tinkly.

  ‘Well, that guy seems like a total loser,’ Harry said, flopping onto the couch after their mum and Marty had left for their date.

  ‘Do you think so, Harry?’ Grandpa George asked, bringing in three steaming mugs of hot chocolate and handing them out. ‘Because you didn’t actually meet him.’

  ‘Yeah, but I saw him from the landing,’ Harry said. ‘He looked stupid.’

  ‘I talked to him,’ Penelope said. Now that she’d interviewed Marty Logan and was (fairly) confident he wasn’t a murderer (and very relieved that he didn’t want any more babies with her mum), Penelope felt quite a bit better about her mum dating him. She would have preferred it if he didn’t have any children, but she thought she could probably cope with one. ‘I actually think he seems nice.’

  ‘That’s so not the point!’ Harry said snappily. ‘It’s probably even worse if he’s nice. If Mum goes all gaga for him, we’re completely stuffed. Everything around here will change. I thought you got that? Otherwise, why were we trying so hard to convince Mum there’s nothing missing in her life?’

  For once, it was Penelope and not Harry who was stuck for words. The thing was, she did understand that lots of stuff would change at home if her mum got serious about Marty Logan. But now that she’d met him (and discovered he loved painting and plays, just like she did!) she wondered whether some of those changes could (possibly) be good ones. She might have tried to explain this to Harry if he didn’t look so agitated. His leg was bouncing up and down like crazy.

  ‘We have a dad already. That random guy can’t just walk into our lives and ruin everything, Grandpa,’ Harry said. ‘He just can’t, right?’

  Grandpa George threw one hand in the air and started talking strangely (Grandpa George often talked strangely).

  O, beware, my lord, of jealousy

  It is the green-ey’d monster,

  which doth mock

  The meat it feeds on.

  ‘Geez Grandpa,’ Harry said abruptly, crossing his arms. ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘Harry,’ Grandpa said, ‘those lines were written by Shakespeare hundreds of years ago. I’m quoting them now to let you know you’re not alone. Everyone grapples with jealousy at some point in their lives. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’ve had to tackle the green-eyed monster. I know it’s not easy.’

  Harry’s head drooped into his hands in a very un-Harry way. ‘I don’t want Mum to be lonely,’ he said (and Penelope suddenly felt like giving him a hug, because his voice nearly cracked). ‘But ever since Dad left, I’ve been the man of the house. What if Marty Logan changes all that? Just thinking about it makes me … well … makes me … jealous, I suppose.’

  ‘Buddy,’ Grandpa said. ‘I’m proud of you. It’s good to talk about how you feel. Jealousy is a difficult emotion, but it’s part of life. Don’t you think saying it aloud takes away some of its power? If things do progress with your mum and Marty, we can talk about your concerns. And we can work out some boundaries so you don’t feel like he’s taking over.’

  ‘I’m proud of you too, Harry,’ Penelope said.

  It was pretty special to hear Grandpa and Harry talking so deeply. Penel
ope had received loads of good advice from Grandpa George, but this advice was really just for Harry. Personally, Penelope felt okay about her mum dating Marty Logan now. Perhaps all the practice she’d been getting with Bob had made her better at managing jealousy? She thought she had been doing a Magnificent Job of controlling her feelings (even if she said so herself). Poor Harry. Even though he was older, sometimes he was a slow learner.

  ‘I still don’t get all that green-eyed monster stuff, Grandpa,’ Harry said. ‘What does it actually have to do with Mum going on a date?’

  Grandpa reached over and ruffled Harry’s hair. ‘Okay, guys,’ Grandpa said. ‘Shut your eyes. Imagine your very own green-eyed monster.’

  Penelope (who was very good at conjuring up images) did as Grandpa said. Her monster was quite cute (as far as monsters go).

  ‘Now, imagine that this monster is a stand-in for the feeling of jealousy,’ Grandpa continued. ‘If you manage this feeling, if you can keep it under control, your monster will just be a pet. But if you let your monster go wild and unchecked, it can turn into a savage beast.’

  She felt Very Wise. She had been able to manage her jealousy of Jazz. And now that she had her new (visualised) pet, she would be even better at it. In the past, Penelope had (sometimes, not very often) struggled with some difficult emotions and ended up having outbursts. But now she was showing Great Control with the hardest emotion of all! In fact, she suspected that she would never have another outburst again. From this moment on, Penelope would (most likely) be good, calm and sensible ALL THE TIME.

  ‘That’s very good, Penelope,’ Grandpa said. ‘When the green-eyed monster tries to take over, you have to fight back. You can start by teasing out your fears and figuring out the best way to deal with them.’ He paused for a moment, as though he was trying to shrink a very complicated thought into one of his special sayings to make it easier to remember.