by Paige Toon
We’re wandering along a damp cobblestoned path, underneath feathery palm fronds that umbrella out over our heads. Van runs his hands over the leaves of an evergreen bush and they spring back up after him, flicking drops of rainwater onto his coat.
His hands are going to be turning blue in a minute. I won’t be warming them up this time.
‘I can’t believe you left your gloves at home again,’ I mutter.
‘At last! She speaks!’ he says sardonically. ‘I thought we were going to walk around here all day in silence.’
I sigh heavily and fold my arms across my chest.
‘We used to hide under these.’ Van crouches down beside a giant gunnera plant – the leaves are absolutely enormous. ‘You used to imagine fairies throwing parties here.’ He smiles at me and stands back up.
I’m not really in the mood for casual reminiscing. ‘There’s the maze,’ I point out as we continue walking.
It looks like a brain, all wiggly lines and organic curves planted into the hill.
‘It’s tiny!’ Van exclaims.
He means the height of the cherry laurel hedges. ‘They only used to come up to our heads,’ I remind him.
His brow furrows, but he’s grinning. ‘Yeah, I suppose they did. I wonder if I still know how to find my way.’
He sets off at a jog, cutting across the grass instead of following the path as you’re supposed to.
Then again, we never did follow the paths. Dad used to tell us off for it.
By the time I reach the bottom, he’s already well into the maze. The hedges only come to his chest-height and I can’t help but smile at the look on his face as he jumps over the muddy patches on the path. It reminds me of running along the coastal track with him, that time he scratched his arm on the blackberry bush.
Of course, I dreamt about that very same day, but when I think about how my dream unfolded, heat collects on my face. I imagined kissing him well before it became a reality.
A loud whistle brings my attention back to him. Van is already at the thatched hut in the centre, looking dead pleased with himself. I bite my lip and wait for him to find his way back to me.
‘Isn’t there a beach?’ he calls on his approach.
‘Yes, at the bottom.’
‘Can we go and see?’
‘We’ve got all day.’
Dad is looking after the volunteers today, so he’ll be occupied, but we can retire to the crib hut – staffroom – when we get fed up with aimlessly wandering. There are lots of books and magazines to read there, plus tea and coffee, not to mention biscuits.
The lush green gardens are planted across steeply sloping land, and there’s a stream that cuts through the middle, spilling out at the bottom.
We push through a wooden gate and come out in the tiny hamlet of Durgan. The stone cottages have slate roofs and red-brick chimneys and, in the summer, their gardens are overflowing with flowers. But now everything is green and brown, with the only bright colours coming from the red and blue boats upended on the side of the track.
Crunching across the grey rocks on the beach, we come to a stop on the claggy sand by the shore. The river mouth is in the distance on our left and, beyond that, the wide blue Atlantic Ocean. Sailing boats are moored to buoys in the water in front of us and vibrant green seaweed has washed up onto the shore, along with the occasional jellyfish. Van prods one with his boot.
‘I remember these jellyfish,’ he says. It’s clear with a brown star on its back. ‘We used to come here and skim stones.’ He reaches down and picks up a flat pebble, walking towards the water. I watch as he cocks his long, lean body to one side and sends a stone skipping across the surface.
‘Why did you do it?’
Van’s eyebrows knot together as he glances over his shoulder at me. A few seconds tick by before he answers. ‘I wanted to be your first.’
I pull a face. ‘Why?’
He picks up another stone. ‘People say you never forget your first,’ he mumbles, launching the stone at the water. It skips seven times before sinking.
‘I was never going to forget that, anyway,’ I mutter. ‘The image is burned onto my retinas every time I close my eyes.’
His lips quirk up into a smile.
‘I still don’t understand why you did it.’
‘I wanted to,’ he replies in a low voice.
‘But why did you want to? I’m like your sister,’ I hiss, my insides flooding with shame once more.
He recoils and then shakes his head. ‘No, you’re not,’ he states firmly.
‘What if Dad had seen us?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘You wouldn’t have wanted him to, though, right?’
He looks away, then kicks at the stones at his feet, bending down to pick up another. I can tell he’s uncomfortable.
‘If it was really okay for you to kiss me, why should you care who sees us?’ I persevere.
‘He’s your dad,’ he says pointedly, cutting his eyes to mine. ‘I wouldn’t have been comfortable kissing Jenna in front of her dad, either.’
‘Was she your first kiss?’ I ask hesitantly.
‘No.’ His reply is short.
‘How many girls have you kissed?’
‘Before yesterday? Three.’ He pauses, while I stand there feeling inexplicably ill. ‘My first was my friend’s older sister, Kerry-Ann. I was thirteen and she was fifteen.’
‘Spare me the details!’
‘Okay.’ He’s nonplussed. ‘You asked.’
‘Who was your second?’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘I thought you didn’t want to know.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘A British girl who was in Australia on holiday. Her name was Nicola.’
‘I don’t want her name,’ I snap.
‘You sound like you’re jealous.’
‘I’m not,’ I reply through gritted teeth.
‘Because if you really do think of me as a brother, it’s kind of weird that you feel jealous.’
‘You used to get jealous of other kids!’ I accuse with embarrassment. ‘What about poor Edward?’
‘Who?’
‘That boy! Edward! The one who was here on holiday when we caught Webster!’
‘Oh. Him.’ Van grins and skims another stone. ‘That was different. We were ten. I only wanted your attention.’
I sigh. ‘I still don’t understand why you wanted to be my first.’
He regards me for a long moment before answering. ‘I figured it was me or Drew.’
So he kissed me because he was being his usual possessive self? That was his way of dealing with an outside threat? I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
‘Well, don’t let it happen again, okay?’ I say under my breath.
He shrugs. ‘Okay.’
Definitely disappointed.
That evening we arrive home to two messages on the answer machine. The first is from Ellie, and I smile as I stand in the hall, listening to her rambling on about being bored out of her brains. She begs for us to do something tomorrow because she can’t wait even one more day for New Year’s Eve. I giggle when her voice cuts out because the time limit on her message has expired.
‘Sounds like she’s missing you,’ Van comments with amusement.
‘Yeah.’ I feel bad that Ellie and I haven’t had a chance to catch up, but she knew how much I needed to spend some one-on-one time with Van.
I start with surprise as the next message begins to play.
‘Hi, it’s Drew. I wanted to let Nell know that my bro and I are going surfing at Chapel Porth tomorrow. Thought she and Van might like to come.’
Van presses his palms together in a prayer and gives me a beseeching look.
My shoulders slump. I don’t much fancy the stress of watching him surf again. ‘I’ll see if Ellie wants to come, too,’ I say resignedly.
As it turns out, quite a few of our friends are up for a trip to the beach, and the next day I find myse
lf sitting between Van and Ellie in the back seat of her brother Graham’s car, while Graham’s girlfriend rides shotgun.
While I’m loving my new-found freedom, being able to go out with people my own age instead of having to ask Dad to drive me places, I’m not exactly relaxed being this close to Van. He’s staring out of the window in silence as Ellie chats ten to the dozen about what she’s been up to over the holidays. I ask lots of questions to keep her talking, but I’m uncomfortable knowing how much lies unsaid between the two of us. I wonder if I’ll ever confess to Van kissing me.
We pull up in the car park and see that Drew, Nick, Max, Brooke and Brad have just arrived. Ellie and I clamber out to greet Brooke, leaving the boys to get ready while we go to the coffee shop. This place is famous for its ‘Hedgehog’ ice-cream cones – Cornish vanilla rolled in caramelised hazelnuts – but today we’re stocking up on hot drinks.
The café is nestled in the crevice of two, big grassy hills. From back here the hills climb skywards towards the ocean until they become high cliffs, dropping straight down onto the white beach or crystalline green water, depending on whether the tide is in or out. Sitting on the cliffs to the right are the old Wheal Coates tin mine ruins that Dad and I sometimes walk Scampi around.
There’s a queue, and by the time we’ve been served, the others are ready to go.
‘We were here yesterday and there were these really glassy sets coming through,’ Nick tells Van as they walk on the sand in front of us. ‘Perfect A-frames, not a drop of water out of place.’
‘His tail-end was shredding,’ Max enthuses.
Ellie nudges me and rolls her eyes at all of their surf speak, but I kind of like listening to the way they talk. I look past her to Brooke, but her attention is fixed on Van. Ellie notices and nudges me again.
Brooke glances at us. ‘What?’
Ellie nods at the back of Van’s head and grins.
Brooke shrugs. ‘Your brother is hot,’ she mouths at me.
I shake my head. ‘He’s not my brother,’ I whisper.
She doesn’t care about the technicalities, and her fixation with Van does not improve when she sees him surf. I struggle to take my eyes away from him, too. Even Ellie seems impressed.
‘Whoa,’ she says, as Van makes a rapid change of direction, sending spray into the air. He gathers speed as he surfs down the face of a clean, green wave and boosts his board off the lip before coming back down to continue riding.
I’m having a much better time than the other day. Not only do I have my friends with me, but these waves seem a lot friendlier than the ones at Porthleven. We talk about this and that, falling silent every so often to watch.
‘Who was that?’ I ask with amazement as one surfer’s tail fins disengage the wave and the guy rides backwards for a couple of seconds. ‘Was that Brad?’
‘I think it was Nick,’ Brooke replies. They have the same colour hair.
I have to admit, I’m in awe of these guys.
Suddenly Van flies off the lip of the wave and does an actual 360 in the air before coming back down again and continuing to ride.
‘Oh my God!’ Ellie gasps, her jaw hitting the sand.
‘Holy shit!’ Brooke erupts, leaping to her feet.
Wow.
That was beautiful.
All anyone can talk about when we arrive at The Boatman for New Year’s Eve is Van’s 360 manoeuvre. Half of our friends saw it, but everyone heard about it.
‘I’ve never seen anyone do an air reverse,’ Brad raves.
‘No, not aside from professional surfers,’ Max says.
‘Would you like to surf professionally?’ Brooke asks Van, her face alight with interest.
He shrugs, embarrassed by the attention, and Brooke’s is avid.
I decide to leave them to it and go to find Ellie. She’s on the deck, under the festoon lights. We perch together on a bench seat, facing outwards. A bunch of other friends are out here, too, so we kill time chatting.
‘She wanted to know what was happening in Neighbours,’ Van mutters in my ear about ten minutes later. I stiffen at his close proximity.
‘I want to know what’s happening in Neighbours.’ I look up at him. ‘Jason Donovan hasn’t even left here yet.’ Australia is eighteen months ahead of us in terms of episodes.
‘I don’t watch it.’ He nods at the bench. ‘As you well know.’
I scoot over, but he still ends up pressed against my side. The warmth from his body seeps right into my skin and I have to admit, it feels nice. I was a bit cold, even with all the people teeming out here.
‘Brooke likes you,’ I say. Ellie is talking to another friend from school and isn’t listening. ‘You know she lives right over there.’ I feign nonchalance as I nod across the creek at Brooke’s chocolate-box cottage. It seems like way more than three weeks ago that I was there for her brother’s birthday.
‘Yeah, she invited me to go and see her place later.’
‘Did she?’ I glance at him. ‘So you’re up for a fifth?’
‘Fifth?’ From his side profile, I can see his confusion, but then understanding dawns on his face. Fifth kiss.
‘I wasn’t intending to go.’ He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘What about you? Going for a second?’ He nods straight ahead and I follow the line of his sight to see Drew weaving through the crowd with a tray of canapés. He catches my eye and comes over, saving me from having to answer Van’s question.
‘Please take some of these off my hands.’ He presents his tray to us.
‘Thanks.’ Van grabs a mini Yorkshire pudding and gets to his feet, leaving us to it.
Where is he going?
‘That’s it, I’m taking a break,’ Drew decides, making space for the tray on the table amongst the empty glasses. He sits down in Van’s vacated spot on the bench.
Is Van going to Brooke’s?
I try to concentrate. ‘Did you cook these?’ I’m sure they’re delicious, but to my anxious taste buds, they have the flavour and consistency of cardboard.
‘Not those ones. My biggest contribution to tonight is the playlist,’ Drew replies. ‘The best the eighties has to offer.’
I can’t believe that tomorrow is a new decade, 1990.
‘I love this song,’ I say.
It’s ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds, which is on the soundtrack for The Breakfast Club, another of my favourite films.
‘Me too.’
‘You do like cooking, though, right?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t mind it, but it’s not what I want to do with my life.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘I don’t know. I’m thinking about studying Philosophy at university, hoping it’ll inspire me a bit. What about you?’
‘English, I think.’ I glance over my shoulder. Is Van at the bar?
‘No, I mean, what do you want to do as a career?’
‘Oh! Maybe something to do with publishing – books or magazines.’ I know I sound vague, but I’m distracted. Maybe he went to the loo…
I take another canapé and at the same time do a sweep of the room. I’m looking for Brooke now, as well as Van. I feel ill when I spy neither.
‘Guess I’d better get this back to the kitchen.’ Drew stands up and grabs the tray. ‘See you later.’
I feel bad as he walks off – was I rude? At Brad’s birthday party, he had my undivided attention and my stomach was full of butterflies.
Where are my butterflies now?
Almost as if in answer, my mind recalls Van’s kiss and my stomach is rapidly alive with the winged, fluttery creatures.
Oh my God.
Has Van ruined Drew for me?
Van reappears and settles himself back on the bench. Confusingly, my butterflies multiply, vanquishing my worries of only moments before as to his whereabouts.
‘I thought you’d gone to Brooke’s.’ I feel breathless as he passes me a non-alcoholic cocktail.
‘No.’ He fr
owns. ‘Bar.’ He chinks my glass. ‘I can’t believe I gave up an Australian summer for a British winter,’ he says wryly.
‘I’ll try not to take that personally.’ I take a sip of my drink.
He smiles while staring into the crowd.
‘Seriously, though, are you glad you came?’ I ask.
He hesitates before nodding. ‘I’m a bit homesick,’ he admits.
‘Are you?’ His comment not only surprises me, it hurts.
He shrugs. ‘I miss my friends. And Dad.’
The hurt deepens. I don’t know why. I suppose I want us to be enough for him, but why should we be enough for him? I should be glad we’re not all he’s got. I am glad. So why do I feel injured?
His little finger hooks mine and I try to swallow my hurt, but then he presses a tender kiss to my shoulder and I instantly tense up, scanning the people around us to see if anyone noticed.
‘Chill out,’ Van says wearily.
‘My friends think of you as my brother,’ I reply darkly, extricating my finger.
‘Jesus, Nell,’ he mutters, shoving his hair from his face. He turns to look at me and his hair falls forward again as he leans in close. ‘I am not your brother.’ He stresses the last three words. ‘And you want the truth?’ His eyes flash. ‘It actually kind of kills me that you hated it, because all I’ve thought about since I fucking did it is doing it again.’
I’m stunned, and then the most overwhelming urge comes out of nowhere and slams into my back, trying to propel me forward.
He withdraws slightly and I drag my focus away from his lips to meet his eyes.
‘There,’ he murmurs, as though he’s just received the answer to a question he’s been asking himself.
‘Nell, you’ve got to come and dance with me to this song!’ Ellie practically shouts in my face.
I can barely gather together my thoughts. What does she want?
‘Come on!’ she urges as I stare at her blankly. ‘Dance!’ She throws her hands up with frustration before reaching down with a laugh and pulling me to my feet.
She drags me inside to the dance floor, where the tables have been moved out of the restaurant area and disco lights are bouncing balls of sparkling colour off the walls. I belatedly notice that the song playing is Kim Wilde’s ‘Kids in America’ – one of our favourites – but I’m too dazed to have fun.