The Celeb Next Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

around with a quote.’
    ‘Ooh, yes,’ says Dad, without hesitation. It turns out I don’t have to do any twisting – of tales, arms, or around fingers – at all. Dad isn’t in the slightest bit angry. Quite the opposite. ‘I’d love to,’ he says. His other job is practically finished and he’s almost as keen as me to meet Rufus.
    ‘Working for a celebrity would be wonderful,’ he says.‘My work could end up in one of those
At Home With
features in a magazine. And then, maybe, Mick Jagger will call on my services.’
    Mum always calls Dad a ‘great big stupid kid’ which I suppose he is. But Mum says it like it’s a bad thing, which it isn’t. Mum was born sensible, born boring, and I can’t believe she was ever a kid, let alone a teenager. She probably enjoyed doing her homework and sent herself to bed at nine p.m. with a mug of cocoa and a Latin textbook. How Mum and Dad ever got together is a mystery – and I’d prefer to keep it that way.
    ‘Great, Dad,’ I say. ‘I think he’ll like you.’
    When Dad returns from Rufus’s house, he looks triumphant. ‘I’m starting on Monday,’ he announces. ‘I’m going to decorate the whole of the downstairs. He loved all of my ideas.’
    Mum raises an eyebrow. ‘I see,’ she says. ‘You mean you’re charging too little again? Underselling yourself?’
    ‘No,’ says Dad. ‘I just offered him a better price than his other quotes. Call it mates’ rates if you like.’ He winks at me.
    Mum frowns. ‘If he can afford
that
house at today’s prices he must be a millionaire,’ she says, exasperated. ‘He doesn’t need a discount. And, anyway, he’s not your mate. You’ve only met him once, about five minutes ago.’
    ‘Spoilsport,’ mutters Dad under his breath. ‘Well, he might well become a mate. And he already is our next-doorneighbour. You never know when you’ll need somebody to watch the place or feed the cat when you’re on holiday.’
    ‘But we don’t have a cat,’ says Mum.
    ‘Technicality,’ says Dad. ‘We might have one, one day.’
    ‘I don’t want a cat, I want a dog!’ says Charlie. ‘Please can we get a dog?’
    Mum shakes her head, vigorously. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’
    ‘Pleeeeeeaaaase …’ cries Charlie.
    ‘No!’ says Mum. ‘And that’s the end of it.’
    Charlie sulks and pouts. ‘It’s not fair,’ he says, folding his arms.
    ‘Sorry, little fellow,’ says Dad. ‘But life’s not fair sometimes.’
    It’s Dad’s favourite saying. If life were fair, he often tells me, he’d have his paintings hanging in the Tate Modern and Arsenal would win the Premiership title every year.
    When I set off for school on Monday morning, I’m gutted I’m not going to work with Dad instead, to start the decorating at Rufus’s house. I’ve never had any desire to help him before but, suddenly, the idea of carrying buckets of water or helping to strip wallpaper seems strangely appealing.
    ‘I could be your assistant,’ I say. It’s the third time I’vetried this ploy. ‘It would be good work experience. Don’t you think?’
    Dad shakes his head. He promises that I can come along after school for an hour, as long as I make myself useful and do my homework immediately afterwards. Sky, who is still a bit miffed I went and met Rufus without her, can come too, on condition that she also helps, and that we don’t bother Rufus. I also invite Vix, who says she might pop in, if she has the time.
    I can’t think – or talk – about anything else all day. ‘So what do you think I should wear?’ I ask Vix during lunch break. ‘I don’t want to get paint on any of my favourite clothes, but I can’t go round to Rufus’s house wearing my oldest jeans and a baggy top, can I? Especially not when Isabella is likely to walk in at any moment, looking chic and perfect.’
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Vix. She sounds exasperated. To be fair, I have asked her ten times already. ‘You’re going to help your dad