‘Give it a rest,’ snapped Campbell. ‘Jess can’t concentrate.’
He was absolutely right. But it wasn’t the sound of middle-aged men shouting encouragement at their flabby contemporaries that was making the choice between a multipurpose professional HD projector and a fully-automated bean to cup espresso machine (for Dad) such a difficult one; it was being so close to Campbell that I could almost feel his heartbeat. I knew he was ‘in a relationship’, but that didn’t stop me studying the back of his long, spotty neck, or wondering what he’d do if I was brave enough to lean down and kiss it.
History Retweets Itself
As the weeks passed, I lost all track of time. It was bad enough living without The Great British Bake Off and having to brush my teeth with ground cuttlefish, but the Dawdler existence was so comatose that one day seemed to merge into the next. It was only the regular programme of Firewaller activities that brought some much needed structure into our lives. At night we escaped to the blackhouse where we put our hair up and tried to remember the old days, and in the afternoons we walked out to the new forest for another round of the game or to give presentations on our specialist subjects.
Ed discussed the relative merits of Battlefield and Call of Duty (OK, I might have drifted off a bit, but I think it was basically a case of CoD for single gameplay and BF for multiplayer), Molly talked us through an imaginary PowerPoint she’d devised about her top ten housemates, and Jack shared his passion for Pizza Hut.
Maybe I resented the fact that she and Campbell seemed to be joined at the hip, but Lucy’s thoughts on ‘problem hair’ contained several inaccuracies that I felt compelled to correct. (Tea tree oil does not dehydrate the follicles and straighteners are the last thing you need in the war against frizz). As for Campbell, it didn’t really surprise me that his specialist subject, Computer Hacking in the Age of the Script Kiddie, was of so little practical use. Even so, I made sure he saw me laughing at his gone phishing joke.
Although I like to think The Epic Success of the Epic Fail Video had something for everybody, and Harry M’s take on the Potter franchise certainly sparked some lively debate, it was Harry W’s guided meditation that went down best. He must have known Lakeside Shopping Centre like the back of his hand because he guided us all the way from the car park, through most of our favourite shops on the ground floor, not forgetting a circuit of the Apple Store on level two, right up to the food court at the top. Catalogue shopping was one thing; this way we could enjoy every sight, sound and smell.
‘OK, so you’re at the top of the escalator. Now I want you to breathe in for a count of three. One . . . two . . . three: I love the smell of doughnuts in the morning.’
After a while, I knew everything there was to know about everyone: favourite band, favourite live band, favourite Friend (mostly Joey, but Molly had this weird thing for Gunther, the guy in Central Perk), favourite app (probably Instagram), favourite regular conditioner, favourite bad hair day conditioner – I even knew how many followers they had on Twitter.
But, apart from Ed’s comment about his dad’s divorce lawyer, no one really talked about their friends and family or why they’d come to the island in the first place. I certainly didn’t feel like talking about mine. A month into our stay and Mum was so negative about everything it was almost as if she’d given up on us. She loathed her work at the surgery, and she’d stopped doing all the ‘Mum’ things, like trying to tell me what to wear, prying into my eating habits and asking me if I’d had a good day, weeks ago. She’d even stopped trying to get through to Millie, and whenever I mentioned Dad she found some lame excuse to dash off to the health centre or the composting toilets.
We occasionally passed Millie on our dreaded nature Dawdles. Head down and hugging herself like she was modelling a straitjacket, she wandered the island with a kind of haunted look on her face. She still claimed to be working on her mystery carving project, but I never saw any sign of it. And she looked such a sight in her baggy black sweatshirt that I was almost ashamed of her.
I tried to lose myself in all the Firewaller stuff, but I was worried sick about both of them. Mum looked like she was on the verge of some kind of breakdown, and Millie just couldn’t cope without Dad. But I never told anyone. I was still clinging to the vain hope that it would all work out in the end. After all, that’s why Mum had brought us to Sloth in the first place, wasn’t it?
And I kind of figured some of the others must have similar stories to tell. After all, you don’t drag your family off to a remote Scottish island if your life’s as perfect as a toilet-paper commercial. It was only after Naseeb produced a wad of Post-its and a leaky biro and told us to tweet our backstories that stuff started to come out. And that’s when I realised how much I missed it – the special online intimacy, the way you can open up to anyone about anything and really be yourself.
Harry Mattingly @hazzer46
One morning I’m starring in a coming of age rom-com.
2 #badparents later it’s a crap disaster movie.
Harry Wells-Thorpe @HarryWells-Thorpe2
Why did they have to tell me in Pizza Express?
Lucy Wickham @becauseImworthit
Happy in Camden falls foul of crazy uncle’s vanity project.
Jack Hardy @frieswitheverything
If this is so good for me, how come the only thing I dream about is the sub of the day?
Molly Elizabeth @bigsisteriswatchingyou
Everything was fine until Mum started Zumba.
Naseeb Conway @naseebio
Worst parents in Wimbledon find perfect way to do head girl’s head in.
Ed Bradley @urbansexgod
There must have been #fiftywaystoleavemymother. So why did he pick the cruellest one?
Jess Hudson @Jess_H24
How can you be sure that someone you love is really the person you think they are?
Campbell Lee-Alan @Campbell07
Do we have to do this?
Of course the adults didn’t have a clue what we were up to. So long as they believed we were happy, they pretty much left us to our own devices. And part of the fun was fooling Derek. One afternoon, we told him we were going down to the landing stage for a swim. According to him, he’d spent entire summers of his glorious childhood on the sands at Littlehampton. We had no intention of doing it of course, we’d just sit on the beach and talk technology. But it was worth it just for the look on Derek’s face when Ed said that swimming in the sea would remind us we were servants of the universe, not masters of it.
Everyone thought Campbell was joking at first. We were debating the advantages of the touchscreen, when he started undressing. ‘OK, you lot, who’s coming for a swim?’
‘Yeah, nice one,’ said Jack. ‘And put your clothes on, there’re ladies about.’
‘I’m serious,’ said Campbell, stepping out of his jeans and laying them carefully on his shoes and socks. ‘It’s really hot. How about you, Jess? Fancy a swim?’
I tried hard to keep my eyes above waist level. ‘I’m all right, thanks. Salt water’s bad for my hair.’
‘What’s the matter,’ said Campbell. ‘You lot chicken or something?’
I still don’t know who started it (probably one of the Harrys) but pretty soon we were all laughing hysterically, kicking off our trainers and struggling out of our jeans.
Everyone joined hands, and Naseeb started singing the theme tune from Titanic as we stepped gingerly across the pebbles towards the clear blue sea.
My God it was cold in there. No one did much swimming, apart from Campbell who breast-stroked like an Olympian, of course. What we did have was the most massive water fight. Lucy and the two Harrys pretended to be their favourite Simpsons characters, while the rest of us were mutant ninja zombie Tellytubbies. It sounds lame, I know, but it was such a release that I soon forgot about my hair and concentrated on soaking Krustie the Clown.
And you know what? If I ever felt truly happy on the island, it was the afternoon we went swimming
.
But the long summer nights were tinged with melancholy. I couldn’t put it into words exactly, although somewhere in the back of my mind I think I must have realised that our little oasis of sanity couldn’t last forever.
Part Three
Mates, Dates and Eye-gouging
It was the conversation I’d been dreading. Lucy ambushed me outside the composting toilets after meditation.
‘Jess! Jess, wait up. I need to talk to you.’
‘What is it?’ I said, wondering if she knew that I knew that she knew.
‘I hear you’ve got a date with Campbell tonight.’
I’d have been rubbish on that TV show with the lie detector. ‘I don’t think it’s a date exactly. We’re just going for a walk.’
‘It’s a date.’ Lucy smiled. ‘Trust me. At least, Campbell thinks it is. I hope you’re not leading him on or anything.’
‘No . . . I mean —’
‘Good,’ said Lucy. ‘Campbell’s a great guy. I’d hate to see him hurt.’
And now I was confused. When Ollie Bennett dumped Tash Wilson to go out with Ella, it was World War Three and a Half with a few rounds of eye-gouging thrown in. What was Lucy playing at?
‘It just happened,’ I said, surreptitiously assessing the length of her fingernails. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Now it was Lucy’s turn to look confused. ‘What have you got to be sorry about?’
‘You and Campbell. How long were you . . . you know?’
‘Eh?’
She obviously wanted me to spell it out for her. ‘How long were you and Campbell together?’
Lucy’s hand twitched at her side; I flinched as it flew upwards. But it wasn’t my face she was aiming for. Even with her hand clamped to her mouth she still couldn’t stifle her unladylike laughter. ‘Oh my God! You thought that . . .’ She seemed to be having difficulty breathing. ‘You thought that me and Cam were an item?’
I reviewed the evidence like a plodding equine sleuth. ‘Well, you’re always hanging out together . . . and whispering and stuff. I just assumed you —’
‘Cam’s my little cousin,’ said Lucy. ‘He’s been having a really bad time lately. He needed a friend, that’s all.’
‘What, you mean you lot all knew each before you came here?’
‘Not all of us,’ said Lucy. ‘But Ed and Harry W’s parents were old friends from music college and I think Molly’s mum landscaped Ed’s garden.’
‘So you and Campbell, you’re not . . . seeing each other?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘I mean, Cam’s lovely once you get past the spiky adolescent thing, but even if we weren’t related, he’s so not my type.’ Lucy lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Anyway, I’ve got something for you. I thought you might need them for your date tonight.’
She handed me a brown paper bag. I couldn’t believe it when I looked inside. ‘Wow, that’s amazing!’
‘Quick, put them in your pocket. That lot would go mental if they found out.’
‘Thank you so much. Look, are you sure you don’t need them?’
‘My boyfriend’s in Camden,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m not even sure if I’ll ever see him again.’ Her face clouded over. ‘Hadn’t you better go and get ready? I thought you had a hot date.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, already wondering what top to wear. ‘Hey, Lucy?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did you mean just now when you said Campbell was having a hard time?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Know what?’
‘Why would you anyway?’ Lucy shrugged. ‘He doesn’t exactly broadcast it to the world.’
‘Broadcast what?’
She wasn’t doing her hair any favours by tugging at it like it. ‘Look, it’s not really my place to say, Jess. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready. Have a great night, yeah?’
‘Thanks, I’ll try to.’
‘And be careful. Earl’s taking the men into the forest for another loony survival exercise. There’ll be goons everywhere.’
Back at the pod, I was thanking my lucky stars that Mum had remembered the strappy black top that went so well with my jeans. Luckily she was in bed already, so I’d be able to make my getaway without an eight-hour lecture on the dangers of underage drinking, a rundown of the ten most embarrassing teenagely-transmitted diseases she’d treated in surgery and the importance of texting my whereabouts every five seconds. At least on the island you didn’t have to worry about missing the last bus or not walking home through the park, and you certainly didn’t need to keep your phone fully charged.
It was probably no accident that there was a serious dearth of mirrors on Sloth. Luckily, it was something I could do in my sleep. So I laid out Lucy’s precious treasures on the chest of drawers, swept back my hair and set to work.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ said Millie.
My skin was in such terrible condition I’d have been quite glad if I really could jump out of it. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘I was just . . .’
‘I can see what you’re doing,’ said Millie, the hint of a smile creeping into her voice for the first time in weeks. ‘And you’re making a right pig’s ear of it.’
‘Am I?’
‘What are you, a vampire or something? I told you about that last year.’
It reminded me of that film about the cheerleader who came out of a coma. Millie still looked like crap; why she insisted on slobbing about in Mum’s horrific old sweatshirt when there were a couple of perfectly acceptable T-shirts in her chest of drawers was a mystery, but at least she sounded more like her old self.
‘There’s no mirror, that’s all.’
‘Give it here,’ she said, grabbing the eye-liner pencil before I could do any more damage. ‘Where did you get it from, anyway? I thought the big bad chief didn’t approve of this sort of thing.’
‘You won’t tell anyone, will you, Mills?’
‘Not if you let me do it properly,’ she said, spitting on her sleeve and scrubbing out what I’d done already. ‘Anyway, in case you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t exactly been going out of my way to make friends and influence people.’
She’d bitten my head off the last time I’d asked what was up with her, but it almost felt like an invitation. ‘Yeah, about that . . . Do you want to tell me why you’re so angry the whole time?’
‘Look, keep still, OK? Or do you want to look like a clown?’
‘No, I just . . .’
When I was little, she spent hours making me up as a princess. She still had the same fierce concentration, the attention to detail that extended even to her use of the mascara brush. ‘Who are you meeting anyway? The tall, spotty one with the bum fluff, I suppose.’
How did she do that? Millie always knew who I fancied, sometimes before I even knew myself. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well, I hope you can trust him.’
‘Why would you say that?’
‘Blokes,’ said Millie, like there was no need for further explanation.
‘What about them?’
She was already slipping back into her coma. ‘You think you know them, but trust me, you really, really don’t.’
‘Is this about the guy from college – the one in the play?’
‘I think you’d better go, Jess. You don’t want to be late, and . . . well . . . I need to get on with something.’
A strange look flickered across my sister’s face. I didn’t recognise it at first, but turning to leave, I realised exactly what it was. It was a look of pity.
Only it wasn’t for herself, it was for me.
For God’s Sake, Just Kiss Me
Life was so much simpler with mobile phones. We’d arranged to meet outside the blackhouse after meditation; that way we were less likely to be spotted. But Campbell hadn’t shown up. Would it really have been the end of civilisation as we know i
t if I’d been able to text him demanding where the **!! he’d got to?
And pretty soon I was catastrophising. What if he wasn’t coming? What if it was like one of those high-school movies where the hot guy asks a dorky girl to the prom for a joke? Luckily Lucy was the only one who knew about it. That was the upside to life on Sloth. At least I wouldn’t be trending on Twitter already (#uglymuggings) and at least he couldn’t send my picture to half the world and his three little cousins – not that I’d be doing any more photoshoots in a hurry.
It was still humiliating. Maybe I wouldn’t have to relive the whole thing on YouTube, like that kid they filmed doing the cinnamon challenge on the war graves trip, but it didn’t stop me dreaming up a few choice revenges as I paced angrily in the twilight.
‘Hi, Jess,’ he said, stepping out from behind the blackhouse and kind of hobbling towards me. ‘Sorry I’m a bit —’
‘What time do you call this? I’ve been waiting for hours. Anything could have happened.’ Fortunately, I was far too angry to realise I was turning into my mother.
‘I’m sorry. I got . . . held up.’
After the Dan Lulham disaster, I wasn’t going to let another idiot make a fool of me. ‘Held up’s not good enough, Campbell.’
Which was a pity, because he was looking borderline adorable. He’d somehow managed to slick back his hair and although his tight black shirt wasn’t ironed exactly, it was a billion times better than that old jumper.
‘Please, Jess, just let me explain.’
‘Look, forget it. I’m sorry, Campbell, but I just don’t need the hassle right now. Let’s go back to the pods.’ And then I checked out his bottom half. His white trainers were smothered in what looked like organic chocolate and a steaming damp patch was crawling up his leg. ‘What happened to you?’
‘I got stuck in the mud, didn’t I?’
‘Oh come off it, Campbell. What kind of a fool do you take me for? Derek’s always warning us about the bog.’
‘I was looking for something.’
‘What was that, then, the Holy Grail?’
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