‘Just down there! Oh, Mama, may we run ahead just a little and show Hetty the sea?’ asked Charlotte.
‘Of course,’ said their mama. The girls both surged forward, skirts flying. I ran along beside them, my case bumping awkwardly against my legs.
‘Take care, girls!’ she called.
I felt truly part of their family – not a nursemaid, more like a sister. I started picturing our life together. We’d have our annual jolly seaside holiday in Bignor, and then we would go back to our home in Arundel. I would go to school with Charlotte and Maisie, and help their mama with the baby when I was at home. We’d all do the cooking and the dusting and the scrubbing and the mending. I’d have my own comfortable little bed in the girls’ room. I would never be stuck all alone in the scullery.
Charlotte and Maisie raced round a corner. I heard them whooping triumphantly. I followed them, and then stopped short, my heart thudding. I’d seen pictures of the sea in books, each wave carefully crosshatched to give a life-like impression. I’d seen the Thames, which had seemed vast enough after the country stream of my childhood.
But nothing had prepared me for the immensity of this sea glittering before me in the sunlight.
I had fancied it would be a dense blue like the wash of colour in my picture-book illustration, but this was a bright silvery grey, an entire sparkling world of water. I turned my head to the left and to the right, and it was still there, as far as I could see.
I dropped my suitcase and stretched my arms wide, trying to take it all in.
‘Isn’t it glorious?’ said Charlotte.
‘Yes, it is truly wonderful,’ I breathed.
The sea blurred to a rainbow shimmer because I was crying now, overcome by the beauty of this vast stretch of water. I scrubbed at my eyes with my handkerchief.
‘Don’t be sad,’ said Maisie, putting her hand in mine.
‘I’m not sad, I’m happy,’ I said, laughing shakily.
‘You do like it here, don’t you?’ she asked.
‘I think it’s the most beautiful place in the whole world,’ I said. My heart rejoiced that Mama lived here now and could see the sea every single day.
QUICK HOLIDAY QUIZ
1. In Candyfloss, which country does Floss’s mum want the family to move to?
2. What is the capital city of Italy?
3. Who invites Biscuits to go on holiday with him in Buried Alive?
4. Tracy Beaker believes her mum lives abroad. In which famous city?
5. What is the tallest mountain in the world?
6. What country is Berlin the capital city of?
7. If you went to France, what sort of money would you need to take with you?
8. In Cookie, Beauty and her mum go to Rabbit Cove. What’s the name of the little cottage they stay in?
9. In Cliffhanger, Tim finds a girlfriend on holiday! What’s her name?
10. When Gemma goes to visit Alice in Scotland in Best Friends, what present does she take her?
ANSWERS:
1. Australia 2. Rome 3. Tim 4. Hollywood 5. Mount Everest 6. Germany 7. Euros 8. Lily Cottage 9. Kelly 10. A cake
‘MICK’S COMING ROUND on Saturday,’ said Mum. Skippy smiled. She always smiles. If you told her the Bogeyman was coming to take her out to tea she’d clap her hands and smile.
I didn’t smile. I can’t stick Mick. I don’t see why Mum has to have a stupid boyfriend at her age. She says he makes her happy. I can’t see why she can’t just be happy with Skippy and me.
‘Mick’s going to take us on a special day out!’ Mum announced.
Skippy smiled. I very nearly smiled too. We didn’t often get special days out.
I wondered where we might be going. A day trip to Disneyland?!
No, maybe not. But perhaps Mick would take us to the Red River Theme Park and we could go on all the really brilliant rides where you swoop up and down and it’s like you’re flying right up in the sky.
‘Will he take us to the Red River Theme Park, Mum?’
‘Don’t be daft, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘It costs a fortune. Mick’s not made of money. No, we’re going to have a lovely day out in the country.’
‘The country?’ I said.
‘What’s the country?’ Skippy asked.
‘It’s boring,’ I said.
I hadn’t actually been to the country much, but of course I knew all about it. We’ve got this old video about kids living on a farm in the country.
The main girl in it is called Hayley like me. It’s a good film but the country looks awful. Cold and empty and muddy, with cows that chase you.
I moaned, and Mum said I was a spoiled little whatsit, and I went into our bedroom and sulked. Skippy came and cuddled up beside me.
‘We don’t like the country,’ she said, to show me she was on my side – though Skippy is always on everyone’s side.
‘That’s right, Skip. We don’t like the country. And we don’t like Mick.’
‘We don’t like Mick,’ Skippy echoed obediently, but she didn’t sound so sure.
When Mick knocked at our door at nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Skippy went rushing up to him, going, ‘Mick, Mick, Mick!’
Skippy is useless at not liking people.
I am brilliant at it. And Mick was making it easy-peasy. He looked ridiculous. He always looks a bit wet and weedy, but today he was wearing a big woolly jumper right up to his chin and awful baggy cord trousers and boots.
Honestly. I knew Mum could act a bit loopy at times but she had to be barking mad to go round with Mick.
‘Ready, girls?’ he said, swinging Skippy round and round while she squealed and kicked her legs, her shoes falling off. ‘Have you got any welly boots, Skip? I think you’ll need them.’ He put on a silly voice (well, his own voice is silly, but this was sillier). ‘It gets right mucky in the country, lass.’
Skippy put on my old Kermit wellies and her Minnie Mouse mac.
‘It’s a Mouse-Frog!’ said Mick, and Skippy fell about laughing.
I sighed heavily.
‘What about your wellies, Hayley?’ said Mick. ‘And I should put a jumper on too.’
I took no notice. As if I’d be seen dead in wellies! And I was wearing the simply incredible designer T-shirt Mum found for 20p down at the school jumble. I wasn’t going to cover it up with an old sweater even if it snowed.
Mum looked like she wanted to give me a shake, but she got distracted looking for our old thermos flask. We were having a picnic. I’d helped cut the sandwiches. (Skippy sucked the cut-off crusts until they went all slimy like ice lollies.) The sandwiches were egg and banana and ham (not all together, though maybe it would taste good), and there were apples and crisps and a giant bar of chocolate, and orange juice for Skip and me, and tea for Mum and Mick. It seemed a seriously yummy picnic. It looked like I might be going to enjoy this day out in spite of myself.
Skippy and I nagged to nibble the chocolate in the car on the way to the country. Mum said we had to wait till picnic time. Hours and hours and hours! Mick said, ‘Oh, let the girls have a piece now if they’re really hungry.’
He rooted round in the picnic bag and handed the whole bar over.
This was a serious mistake. Skippy and I tucked in determinedly. By the time Mum peered round at us we’d eaten nearly three-quarters.
Mum was very cross. ‘How can you be so greedy? Hayley, you should have stopped Skippy. You know she gets car-sick.’
‘She’s fine, Mum. Stop fussing. You’re OK, aren’t you, Skip? You don’t feel sick, do you?’
Skippy said she didn’t feel sick at all. She tried to smile. She was very pale, though her lips were dark brown with chocolate.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘Have you got a spare plastic bag, Mick? We need it kind of urgently.’
She was just in time. Skippy was very very sick. It was so revolting that it made me feel a little bit sick too. We drove slowly with the window wide open. I shut my eyes and wondered when we were ever going to get
to this boring old countryside. I’d lost interest in the picnic. I just wanted it to be time to go home.
‘Here we are,’ Mick said cheerily at long long long last.
I opened my eyes and looked round. I hadn’t realized the country was going to be so green. That old film with the other Hayley was in black and white.
‘We used to come here on days out when I was a boy,’ Mick said excitedly. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’
There was nothing much there. No shops. No cafés. Not even an ice-cream van. Just lots and lots and lots of trees. And fields. More trees. More fields. And a big big hill in the distance, so tall there were grey clouds all round the top like fuzzy hair.
‘That’s Lookout Hill,’ said Mick. ‘Right, girls! Let’s climb it!’
I stared at him as if he was mad. Even Mum looked taken aback. He said it as if climbing miles up into the clouds was a big treat! We don’t reckon climbing three flights of stairs up to our flat when the lift breaks down.
‘Isn’t it a bit too far?’ said Mum.
‘No, no. We’ll be up it in a matter of minutes, you’ll see,’ said Mick.
Mick is a liar. Those few minutes went on for hours. First we trudged through the woods. It was freezing cold and dark and miserable, and I hated it. Mick saw me shivering and offered me his big woolly but I wouldn’t wear it. He put it on Skip instead, right over her mac. She staggered along looking loopy, the hem right down round her ankles. Mum said she looked like a little sheep, so Skip went ‘Baa-baa-baa.’
Then we were out of the wood and walking across a field. Skip went skipping about until she stepped in something disgusting. I laughed at her. Then I stepped in something too. I squealed and moaned and wiped my shoes in the grass five hundred times. We seemed to be wading through a vast animal toilet.
‘Stop making such a fuss, Hayley. We’ll clean your shoes properly when we get home,’ said Mum.
She didn’t look as if she was enjoying the country that much either. Her hair was blowing all over the place and her eye make-up was running.
‘Now for the final stretch,’ said Mick, taking Mum’s hand. She held onto Skippy with the other.
I hung back. I climbed up after them. Up and up and up and up. And up and up and up. And up some more.
My head hurt and my chest was tight and a stitch stabbed my side and my legs ached so much I couldn’t keep up.
‘This sucks,’ I gasped, and I sat down hard on the damp mucky grass.
‘Come on, Hayley!’ Mick called, holding out his other hand.
‘No thanks. I’ll wait here. I don’t want to go up the stupid hill,’ I said.
‘You’ve got to come too, Hayley,’ said Mum. ‘We can’t leave you here by yourself.’
So they forced me up and I had to stagger onwards. Up and up and up and up. I wasn’t cold any more. I was boiling hot. My designer T-shirt was sticking to me. My shoes were not only all mucky and spoiled, but they were giving me blisters. If I was as little as Skippy I might have started crying.
‘It’ll be worth it when we get right to the top and you see the view,’ said Mick.
What view? He was crazy. We were right up in the clouds and it was grey and gloomy and drizzling.
‘Nearly there!’ Mad Mick yelled above me. ‘See!’
Then Mum gasped. Skippy squeaked.
And I staggered up after them out of the clouds – and there I was on the top of the hill and the sun was suddenly out, shining just for us, right above the clouds in this private secret world in the air. There were real sheep munching grass and a Skippy-sheep capering round like crazy. I stood still, my heart thumping, the breeze cool on my hot cheeks, looking up at the vast sky.
I saw a bird flying way up even higher. I felt as if I could fly too. Just one more step and I’d be soaring.
The clouds below were drifting and parting, and suddenly I could see the view. I could see for miles and miles and miles – the green slopes and the dark woods and the silver river glittering in the sunlight. I was on top of the whole world!
‘Wow,’ I said.
Skippy smiled. Mum smiled. Mick smiled. And I smiled too. Then we all ran hand in hand down down down the hill, ready for our picnic.
WE LUGGED OUR cases into the car and thanked Auntie Avril for letting us stay overnight.
‘Well, if you get into totally dire straits you’d better come back, Gerry or no Gerry,’ she said. ‘And thanks for the cookies, girls. They were a lovely surprise. They’re very good, Dilys. I thought you couldn’t cook!’
‘Mum’s the greatest cookie cook in the whole world,’ I said. ‘And I’m learning fast, so maybe I’m the second greatest!’
We drove off, Auntie Avril standing on her doorstep under her hanging basket of petunias, waving and waving until we turned the corner.
‘So, which seaside shall we pick?’ said Mum. ‘Brighton’s fun.’
I remembered Brighton from a day trip. ‘It’s too big and busy and the beach is all pebbles,’ I said. ‘Let’s find a sandy seaside place.’
‘OK,’ said Mum. ‘Well, we’ll drive due south and see what we find. If we tip over into the sea we’ll know we’ve gone too far.’
We couldn’t go directly south all the time because the roads wiggled around and once or twice we had to stop the car and peer hard at the map. I couldn’t read it when we were driving along because it made me feel sick. I wasn’t much better sorting out the route when we were stopped. I kept squinting at red roads and yellow roads and little spidery black roads, trying to work out which one we were on.
‘Don’t worry, babes, we’ll make it to the seaside somehow,’ said Mum. ‘Bournemouth’s very sandy. And Bognor. Which one shall we aim at?’
I peered at the map. A name in tiny print suddenly swam into focus.
‘Oh, Mum! Not Bournemouth, not Bognor. I’ve found a place here right by the sea and guess what it’s called: Rabbit Cove! Oh, Mum, please let’s go to Rabbit Cove!’
‘I’ve never even heard of it. Let’s see where it is.’ Mum squinted at the map. ‘It’s obviously a very small place, not a proper town. I wonder why it’s got such a funny name? You don’t get rabbits at the seaside, do you?’
‘I think it must be because of the shape of the cove. See those two sticking-out bits of land? They look like rabbit’s ears!’ I said.
‘So they do! OK, OK, we’ll go and have a look at Rabbit Cove if you’ve set your heart on it, though I’m not sure there’ll be anywhere to stay there.’
I tried hard to keep us on a direct route now, peering at the map as Mum drove, though I started to feel horribly travel sick.
‘Open your window a bit – and sit back and close your eyes,’ said Mum.
I did as I was told because all the world outside the window had started spinning and I kept yawning and swallowing spit. It seemed to be spinning inside my own head now. I was falling down and down and down into a scary black nothingness.
I called and called for Mum but she wasn’t there. And then I called for Dad and I could hear him calling back. I struggled to get closer to him, reaching out, but then a light flashed on his face and I saw it was screwed up with rage.
‘You don’t want me and I don’t want you, because you’re ugly ugly ugly,’ he shouted.
He shoved me hard and I tumbled on downwards, mile after mile, but I could still hear him shouting ugly. Other voices joined in. Skye and Arabella and Emily were shouting it, all the girls in my class, even Rhona, and I started crying, my hands over my ears . . .
‘Beauty! Beauty, sweetheart, wake up. It’s all right, Mum’s here.’
I blinked in sudden dazzling daylight. Mum leaned over and pulled my head onto her shoulder.
‘Oh, Mum, I couldn’t find you!’ I sobbed.
‘It was just a horrible nightmare, darling, that’s all. You were crying out and tossing about. I had to stop driving,’ said Mum.
‘We’re driving?’ I said stupidly. Then everything snapped properly into place. ‘Oh yes, we’re going
to Rabbit Cove!’
‘Yes, we are – and we’re nearly there! You’ve been asleep a long time. OK now, pet?’ Mum wiped my nose with her tissue as if I was two years old.
‘I’m sorry to be such a baby,’ I said, feeling ashamed.
‘You’re not a baby, darling! You’re ever so grown up, much more than me. There now, let’s get cracking. Rabbit Cove, here we come. Penny for the first one to see the sea.’
I sat up properly and we edged out of the layby back onto the road. I still felt a bit weird but Mum had the window right down and I breathed in deeply. We were on one of the yellow roads now, surrounded by fields of corn and barley, gentle rolling hills purple in the distance. And then I saw a dazzle of brilliant blue . . .
‘The sea, the sea! I spotted it first! You did say a pound for the first one to see it, didn’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t! A penny, you cheeky baggage.’ Mum slowed down when we got to the next road sign. We could stay on the main road and go to Seahaven – or turn down a little lane marked Rabbit Cove!
‘OK, OK, we’ll make for Rabbit Cove,’ said Mum.
‘You bet!’
‘Don’t be too disappointed if there’s nothing much there, sweetheart,’ said Mum. ‘We can just have a little wander and then make for Seahaven. I think that’s a proper seaside town so we should be able to find a little bed-and-breakfast place there.’
We turned down the lane for Rabbit Cove. There were tall trees growing on high banks on either side of us, their branches joining to make a dark green canopy overhead. Then there was a sign to a little farm, and then driveways to houses, then a whole street of little terraced houses with pebbles stuck on the walls. Then the shops started, a small supermarket, a dress shop, a little gallery, a newsagent’s, an off-licence, an antique shop with a rocking chair outside, and a tearoom called Peggy’s Parlour.
Jacqueline Wilson's Happy Holidays Page 12