All About Mia was a difficult book to write. It was also a really fun book to write. How can something be difficult and fun at the same time? I’ll try to explain. As many second-time authors do, I fell foul of the dreaded ‘second book syndrome’ and had lots of false starts before committing to writing about Mia and her sisters. Even then I kept worrying it wasn’t important enough a story. Unlike my first novel, The Art of Being Normal, there is no issue at the core of All About Mia. It is simply a story about a teenage girl who feels outshone by her uber talented sisters and deals with it by behaving quite badly! However, the more I wrote and the more I got to know Mia and her family and friends, the more fun I started to have. Mia is confident, chaotic and popular. She acts before she thinks, drinks far too much and blunders into trouble on an almost daily basis. Some of my very favourite chapters to write were the ones where I was almost hiding behind my fingers because Mia was making such a mess of everything! But there’s a lot more to Mia than drunken antics, big hair and a fiery attitude, as you will hopefully find out…
The book is full of favourite moments. Mia and her best friend Stella’s eventful outing to a nightclub, a disastrous babysitting assignment and the chapters set at Mia’s parent’s wedding are just a few of the sections of the book I loved writing. The extract I’m going to share today is from chapter three and kind of kick-starts Mia’s spiral. Her perfect older sister Grace has just arrived home early from her gap year travels with her new boyfriend in tow, and Mia is about to find out why…
In the kitchen, Mum and Dad are snogging
up against the fridge.
Ew.
They’ve always been pretty hot on PDAs but
ever since they set a date for the wedding, they’re all over each other any
moment they get.
People are always surprised when they find
out my mum and dad aren’t married. They met when they were teenagers, in a
dodgy Rushton nightclub called Rumours that no longer exists. Within six months
Mum was pregnant with Grace. Dad proposed the day Mum found out (in the loo at
Grandma Jules’s house apparently), but they’ve never actually got round to
saying ‘I do’. Then on Christmas Day last year, with Grace on Skype in Greece,
Dad got down on one knee amongst the discarded wrapping paper and re-proposed
to Mum with a brand-new diamond ring to replace her crappy twenty-year-old
Argos one.
They’re getting married at the end of July
with Grace, Audrey and I as bridesmaids. There are only two real down- sides to
any of this:
1) The wedding preparations are making Mum
and Dad super-frisky, and;
2) They’re being even tighter than usual,
because even though they’re apparently on ‘a strict budget’, Dad is determined
to give Mum ‘the wedding of her dreams’, which is all very cute and everything,
but means I haven’t had a new pair of going-out shoes in ages and keep having
to borrow Stella’s like a total pleb (not to the mention the fact she’s a full
size bigger than me).
‘Get a room, guys,’ I say, squeezing past
my parents to fill up the kettle.
They separate reluctantly, grinning, Dad
holding a tea towel over his crotch. Double ew.
I turn away, grabbing a teaspoon from the
cutlery drawer and heaping coffee granules into an oversized mug. If I’m going
to make it through a full-on family lunch, I definitely need more
caffeine.
‘I thought you were supposed to be in
bed,’ I say over my shoulder.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Dad replies. ‘Too
excited about having all three of my girls back under the same roof.’
I roll my eyes. Dad can be a proper sap
sometimes.
He gives Mum a kiss on the cheek and
scampers out of the kitchen to sort himself out.
‘Another coffee?’ Mum says, eyeing the jar
of Nescafe in my hand. ‘All that caffeine isn’t good for you, you know, Mia.’
‘Well, if I hadn’t had to get out of bed
at the crack of dawn this morning, I probably wouldn’t need it,’ I say, adding
hot water to my mug and watching the liquid turn inky black as I stir.
‘Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,’ Mum
says, fiddling with the temperature on the oven.
I take a slurp of coffee. It
burns the back of my tongue.
‘Ooh,’ she says, turning round. ‘I forgot
to ask, how’d you do on that English essay?’
‘Oh.
OK. I got a B.’
I don’t even know where my lie comes from. Only that I’m too
hung over to deal with Mum’s disappointed face today. I’m unprepared for how
thrilled she is, smiling and hugging me tightly.
‘See, I told you you’d start to see
results if you put the effort in.’
I look at my feet. There’s a dirty
tidemark across my toes from the pair of shoes I wore last night.
Mum lets me go and opens the cutlery
drawer. ‘Here you go,’ she says, thrusting a bunch of knives and forks at me.
I frown. As usual the kitchen table is
covered with bits of newspaper, unopened post and change from Dad’s pockets.
‘Not there, we’re going to eat outside,’ Mum explains.
‘Oh, and remember to set an extra place
for Sam.’
‘About Sam,’ I say. ‘How long exactly is
he staying for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mum admits. ‘The weekend
at least, I imagine, maybe longer. ‘Why?’
‘No reason,’ I say, sighing and
slumping against the fridge.
‘Come on, chop, chop,’ Mum says, clapping
her hands together and motioning towards the patio doors. ‘The table isn’t
going to set itself.’
‘Tell me about it.’
I groan and head outside. The garden is a
proper suntrap, the hot paving slabs beneath my bare feet forcing me onto my
tiptoes.
‘And once you’ve done that,’ Mum calls
after me, ‘you can go upstairs and change out of those bloody shorts.’
I make my way round the table, chucking
the knives and forks down haphazardly. I’m not overly thrilled at the prospect
of Sam gate-crashing for the weekend or however long he plans on sticking
around for. It means I’m going to have to act all polite and civil. I expect
he’s a total dullard too, just like Grace’s ex, Dougie. Grace’s taste in men is
boring with a capital ‘B’. They’re always total suck-ups with neat haircuts and
good table manners, the sort of boys who offer you their jacket when it’s cold
and point out the constellations and ask if they can kiss you.
Snooooooooze.
Dad ends up doing the cake delivery for
Mum so I manage to sneak upstairs for a quick nap while Audrey helps with
lunch. I must be totally out of it when Dad gets back because the next thing I
know the doorbell is chiming and Mum’s bellowing, ‘They’re here!’ up the
stairs.
I peel myself off the mattress, blood
rushing to my head as I slowly become vertical. My nap has had the reverse
effect it was supposed to, and somehow I feel even worse than I did before I
lay down. I go over to the mirror to survey the damage. I look like shit, my eyes
bloodshot, a massive lightning-shaped crease down the left-hand side of my face
and a brand-new spot the size of Mount Vesuvius slap bang in the middle of my
chin.
I know they’re probably expecting me to go
straight down and join the welcoming committee, to be all fake and huggy and
say ‘Oh, Grace, I’ve missed you soooooo much!’ but I can’t bring myself to do
it. Instead, I creep out onto the landing, ducking into the bathroom quickly
and turning on the radio at maximum volume before Mum or Dad have the chance to
summon me downstairs.
I take my time in the shower, letting the
water pummel against my back and shower cap while I sing along to the radio. By
the time I get out, my skin is wrinkly and tender and there are puddles all
over the tiles. I chuck a towel down and push it around with my foot, soaking
up the excess water, then wrap another round my body and pad over to the
mirror. The remnants of last night’s smoky eye makeup are smeared down my
cheeks. It’s actually kind of a cool look although I doubt Mum would agree.
Reluctantly, I wipe my face clean with a cleansing wipe, quickly turning it a
muddy grey before helping myself to a big dollop of Mum’s nice moisturiser,
smoothing it on all over.
Clean and creamed, I turn off the radio
and step out onto the landing. It’s eerily quiet. Which is weird. Our house is
many things but quiet is rarely one of them, and from the way Mum and Dad have
been acting about Grace’s prema- ture return, I’d been expecting a carnival
atmosphere.
I’m distracted by my stomach rumbling. The
last thing I ate was a McDonald’s Happy Meal at about 4 p.m. yesterday. I
wonder what’s for lunch. I bet Mum has made a proper effort. Anything for her
darling Grace.
Back in my room, I get changed quickly,
pulling on a clean pair of shorts and my favourite T-shirt – grey marl with the
words ‘It’s All About Mia’ splashed across the front in hot pink lettering. I
consider attempting to cover up the volcano on my chin before remembering
there’s no one important here – just my parents, Audrey, Grace and her stupid
boyfriend. I abandon my makeup bag and head downstairs. About halfway down, I
encounter Audrey huddled on one of the steps, her bony knees drawn up under her
chin. Again, weird. Why isn’t she in the kitchen with everyone else?
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, peering over the
bannister and noting the closed door. ‘Why are you out here?’
‘Mum and Dad are talking to Grace and
Sam,’ Audrey replies.
‘But what about lunch? I’m starvacious.’
‘I don’t know.’
I pause and listen. I can hear raised
voices, though not quite loud enough for me to make out actual words. They
don’t sound happy though, which is even weirder still. Mum and Dad are always
happy with Grace. It’s usually me they reserve their shouting for.
I frown and continue past Audrey down the
stairs.
‘I don’t think we’re meant to go in
there,’ she calls after me.
I throw her a look over my shoulder (so?)
and open the door.
Out in the garden, lunch is laid out on
the patio table, untouched and attracting flies. Everyone is inside, sitting at
the kitchen table. Dad’s mouth is set in a straight line, while Mum’s eyes are
glossy with tears. On the other side of the table with their backs to me are
Grace and Sam. They’re holding hands.
‘Mia,’ Dad says, noticing me in the
doorway. His voice is at and he looks like he’s aged about five years since I
saw him this morning.
In unison, Grace and Sam twist round in
their seats. It’s strange seeing Grace’s face after so many months. She’s cut
her hair into a bob and her skin is noticeably darker.
‘Hey, Mia,’ she says.
‘Hey,’ I reply, shrugging.
She removes Sam’s hand from hers and uses
the table to push herself up, before turning to face me head-on. I blink.
OK, I’m seeing things. I have to be
seeing things.
Because Grace, my perfect sister, has
either got a beach ball shoved up her top or is 100 per cent pregnant.
I look over at Mum and Dad. Mum is staring
at the ceiling. Dad is staring into the depths of his mug.
Back to Grace. Her hands are resting on
her swollen tummy. She does this little nod, as if to say ‘yes, it’s true’, her
eyes wide and doe-like.
That’s when I start to laugh.
All About Mia is out now
Great Extract. Awesome Blog!
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