Desirable by Frank Cottrell Boyce Page A

it. I’d been hinting like crazy for some extra Warhammer figures so it was a big surprise to find that the package contained a bottle of aftershave with a pair of “free designer” cuff-links stuck to the lid. Grandpa said, “I hope you like it. Got to go.” And went.
    â€œNice cuff-links,” said Dad, “Just what every boy needs.”
    The aftershave was called “Desirable”.
    Mom said, “I bought him that aftershave when I was a little girl.”
    â€œAnd they’re still making it? It must be good then. It must be a classic,” said Dad.
    â€œI don’t mean I bought him that brand. I mean I bought him that bottle. Look on the back.”
    On the back was a sticker of a man with big hair. Under that it said, “This aftershave best before end of: August 1982.”
    Mom said, “Give it to me. I’ll put it in the recycling.”
    I said, “No. Don’t. Maybe it’s like wine or something. Maybe the longer you leave it, the better it gets.”
    â€œI wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” said Dad. “Here’s our present to you.”
    And they gave me the exact Warhammer figures that I’d always wanted.

Chapter 2
    How to Wear Aftershave
    When I woke up the next morning, the sun was shining on the line of Warhammer goblins I’d arranged on the windowsill, and on the bottle of aftershave which I’d left next to them. The aftershave threw lemon splashes of sunlight all over the room. I took the bottle and waggled it around for a while, making the lemon splashes dash around the walls. I was pretending it was some kind of wizard torch thing. I picked off the designer cuff-links. Then I tried to open the bottle. The stopper wouldn’t budge at first. I had to grip it with the edge of a blanket and twist it.
    Then suddenly it came free. The second the lid was off, Mrs. Doyle’s dog started barking. There was a fluttery racket in the garden as all the birds in the trees seemed to take off at once. Cats meowed. And Mom banged on my bedroom wall shouting, “What’s going on in there?” An aftershave you could smell through walls! I thought I’d better not try it. So I stuck the lid back on and shoved the bottle under my bed. But a bit of the liquid had spilled on my fingers. I rubbed that into my cheeks. It stung like a really angry jelly fish.
    When I got to school, Perfect Paula was hanging around the entrance with her friends, same as every morning. Every morning I have to walk past her while she amuses her crew by making comments about me, my clothes, and most of all my back pack (Mom makes me use this fluorescent yellow back pack for safety reasons). As I walked towards her, I could see her grinning as if she’d thought of something really bad. I put my head down and got ready to ignore her. Then suddenly her face changed. She sniffed the air, like a nervous dog, and then she said, “Hello, George. Nice to see you. Are you going to homeroom?”
    It was 8.50. Where did she think I was going? Ballroom dancing? I said, “Yes.”
    â€œCan I come with you? No. I know. Let’s all go.”
    And they all followed me in through the main doors, giggling and nudging each other. Paula said, “George, what are you doing after this?”
    â€œComputers.”
    â€œGeorge is doing Computers. Let’s all do Computers.”
    I said, “I think you’ll find it’s on the class schedule. You’re doing Computers whether you want to or not.”
    â€œOh, I love the way he says things! Don’t you love the way he says things – all snotty and sarcastic?”
    They followed me into school.
    It was a trap. I knew that. They were probably planning to pull me into the girls’ bathroom and remove my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers. Or something. It had to be a trap.
    But it was a nice trap.
    Most days, when I walk around the hallways in our school, I try to stick