Disclaimer: Melody and all characters copyright to Hemdale and Goodtimes Enterprises and written by Andrew Birkin and Alan Parker.
Because her mum had gone down the hall like a herd of elephants, Melody goes very quietly. Not that there's anything much different about her mum being ratty - worry, she always says it is - but this time she sounds as though she's got something to be ratty about. There'd been something different about the look on her face when she came out of Melody's room this morning, and now Melody's got a good idea why she's been so nervous all day, the feeling of a big hand waiting to rip away her stomach. She gets the feeling that if her dad had been there, it would have gone better, because it always does. Her dad might drive massive great lorries around, but he's soft when it comes to her.
When she goes into her room, her mum's sitting on the bed. She's got some of the letters on her lap, and the rest of them spread out over the sheets. Usually they're hidden all around Melody's room. Under the bed, between the springs and the mattress. Under the lining paper in her chest of drawers. "I bet my mum couldn't find them, even if she does go through my things," Melody had said to Peggy. But she has anyway.
It's six months since the letters started. They were Daniel's idea first, after they stopped being allowed to sit together in Maths. They'd started off passing notes, and it sort of grew from there. The first letter, the one that they send backwards and forwards, is eight pages long now, and it's grown into other letters as well. Sometimes Daniel writes things that sound as good as poems when Melody reads them out loud; a lot better, anyway, than that stupid poem that Muriel wrote by copying bits out of June stories and Miss Fairfax gave her an A for when all she wrote in Melody's exercise book was, 'This could have been longer and much more emotive'.
Tom said it was all a load of rubbish, and who did they think he was, flipping Shakespeare or something, but he started with the letters as well after a while, because it was something to do when he was in detention and better than writing lines.
Writing everything down sort of makes you think harder about it. There are things which you always feel silly saying out loud, but when you write them out in pencil, it feels all right, a bit like you're talking about other people instead. Sometimes in pencil and sometimes in pen, and Tom's are usually red if he's got a choice. He likes red ink.
Melody's mum looks up. "Do you want to tell me what these are all about?" she says.
She's read them all already, Melody thinks. She probably found them ages ago and's been coming and reading them every day when Melody's at school, and this is the big finish she's been building up to. She hesitates. It's the same as being asked a trick question by a teacher, where whatever you say, you know you're going to be wrong. "No," she decides to say, "not really."
"No, course you don't," her mum says. She's talking more to herself than she is to Melody. "I can see for myself. And I thought your father and I agreed that we didn't mind the two of you being friends, but we didn't want any more silliness."
"We are friends."
"Yes, and from what I've read in these, it sounds like you still want to be a lot more. And it's not just the two of you, either, is it?"
Her mum always does that; asks her things that she already knows the answer to. "Well, you said I couldn't marry anybody yet. So if Tom likes me as much as Daniel does now, I might as well like him, too."
"Now, look here, my girl, I'm not having you being chased around by half a dozen boys! Not at your age."
"It isn't half a dozen," Melody points out, "it's only two."
"Yes, and it's two too many for my liking! I don't know what people are thinking of me, letting you carry on."
Melody stands there, looking at her. She might be going on, but if she's known for a week and hasn't been up to school or given Melody a clout yet, there's a good chance she's not going to do anything about it. That's the way it goes with her mum. Please, God, if you're listening up there, don't let anything happen. Not now, when it's so nice...
"It's just when we're not allowed to be together. So we can talk to each other. You know..." Did that sound all right? Definitely not admitting too much, but not like she's keeping too much a secret either.
"Yes, I do know. And it'd be bad enough if it was coming from Daniel, let alone Tom Ornshaw! He's more in the headmaster's office than out." Her mum's mouth sets in a tight line. "Has he tried to do anything he shouldn't?"
Melody lets her eyes go wide. "How d'you mean?"
"Has he tried to kiss you?"
"No. He thinks kissing's soppy."
"Well, thank God for that," her mum says, under her breath. She gets up from the bed. She's still holding some of the letters, and she starts folding them, making hard, fast creases, the way you do when you're trying to show that you mean business. "You're getting to be a bloody problem, Melody, and these are staying with me so I can show them to your father and see what he's got to say about them. And don't think I won't notice if you've been into mine or your Gran's room looking for them, because I will. Understand?"
"Yeah."
"Pardon?"
"Yes, Mum."
She might get a sit-down talking to, Melody thinks, as she flops on the bed and watches her mum go, but with her dad, she's not likely to get any smacks. She's learned that a long time ago. He'll make her promise she's not lying to him, and then he'll feel bad enough about it all later that she'll probably find some sweets left in her satchel.
And it's not that she is lying, not really. Tom does think kissing's soppy, and would never, ever have kissed her first, which is why she had to do it, after she kissed Daniel. And it wasn't the same as Muriel says she does it, right on the lips and all sloppy. It's just that it wasn't like kissing her Gran or her Uncle Len, either. It was different; a bit funny. But not so funny that Melody wouldn't mind doing it again if neither of them did.
One of the letters is scratching the back of her neck, so she pulls it out from underneath her and puts it on her chest with her hand resting on top of it, just over where her heart is. Muriel probably doesn't even really kiss boys, she thinks, and if Miss Fairfax could read one of Melody's letters, she'd see they're a lot better than Muriel's poem, anyway. Silly old boot.