by Fiona Foden
“Yes, Mum,” I say. Right at this moment, as he turns around and waves, life really does seem a little brighter.
We’ve lived at the Bald-faced Stag for just five days and already my big brother has landed himself a holiday job.
It’s not in the pub, even though he could have talked to Vince and probably picked up a few hours’ work clearing tables or washing up (“I’m not spending my summer in that kitchen,” he told me with a shudder). Instead, he’s found a job with a local gardening company. That’s so Ryan, happening to spot a shop selling plants and wheelbarrows, with a sign saying “garden maintenance” in the window. He’d marched right in and charmed them. It’s decent money, too.
Am I jealous? Not as much as you might think, because now it’s often just Mum and me hanging out together. And I’m working, too – Mum says she’ll sort out an allowance for me, even though it’s unofficial. I’m too young for a proper job, but not to help her around the pub kitchen. We’re scrubbing it out right now, from top to bottom, making it a place where she can actually cook. It’s hardly the nicest way to spend yet another hot, cloudless day, and occasionally I wonder what Bella’s doing – swimming in the lake, or lounging on her deck with her headphones on, immersed in a book? But at least it’s keeping me busy, which is handy when there are so many things I don’t want to think about.
Like, whether Promise has been smashed to bits by now, and if anyone found a scratched blue tin with a home-made book of faded drawings inside. Instead of dwelling on that, I’m on my hands and knees, scrubbing hard at some unidentifiable gunk on the floor.
“This place is disgusting,” Mum exclaims, wiping a shirtsleeve across her sweat-dampened forehead. “I feel bad, Josie, you spending your summer holidays doing this.”
“It’s OK,” I say, thinking, What else could I have done when she came up to the flat for a breather, all smeared with grease and stale cooking smells trapped in her hair? We start to empty the huge freezer, which obviously hasn’t been working properly, because it’s full of stinking mush. “Green beans,” Mum says, screwing up her face and dropping a sloppy package into the bin bag where all the rotten stuff’s going. My next task is to check the use-by dates on the herbs and spices in the big walk-in cupboard. “This one expired before I was born!” I shriek. Into the black bag it goes, and we’re giggling now, competing to see who can find the oldest edible thing. “Fifteen-year-old dried parsley,” I announce. “Looks like grey dust – I win!” Mum applauds me, and when Ryan comes home all grubby from trimming hedges, he joins in too. It feels good, all of us mucking in together, making the pub kitchen a bit nicer for Mum.
“When are you putting strawberry tarts on the menu?” I ask, sweeping out some unidentifiable debris from under the huge stainless-steel cooker.
“I think that’s way down the line,” Mum replies. “There are a few other things I need to broach with Vince and Maria first.”
I know what these things are. Everything that comes out of the Stag’s kitchen is fried, every plate slicked with yellowy oil. Burgers, sausages, chops, chips – it’s hardly the kind of tasty, wholesome food Mum likes to cook. “I’ll have to play it carefully,” she adds, using a floor brush to sweep away a rogue cobweb on the ceiling that none of us had noticed. “They’re proud of this place, and it is popular with the local crowd, especially the older ones. I can’t march in and change everything all at once.” Vince and Maria don’t even know about Operation Clean-Up – Mum deliberately waited until they’d gone off to the cash ’n’ carry. When Ryan finds a filthy apron stuffed in a cupboard and models it for us, Mum and I are doubled up in hysterics. What Mum finds next is slightly less funny – a mousetrap behind a stack of cooking oil tins, with a dead mouse in it, gone rock-hard. “It’s a miracle this place hasn’t been shut down by the environmental health people,” she exclaims, throwing both trap and mouse into the bin bag and knotting it tightly.
“Are you going to say anything to Vince or Maria?” I ask, giving the floor a final sweep.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mum pushes back her hair with a rubber-gloved hand. “They obviously don’t care about a bit of filth…”
“A bit?” I splutter. “It was disgusting, Mum.”
“Yes, but you know what?” She smiles wearily. “This job’s really important to me – to all of us – and I don’t want to upset them or rock the boat. Anyway, it’s not really my place to lecture them, is it? They seem like nice, kind people. They’re probably just a bit clueless…”
“Are they?” comes a voice.
The three of us spin round to face the kitchen door. Chantelle is standing there, hand on hip, smirking.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Mum blusters, flushing bright red. “I just mean … your mum and dad have probably been under a lot of pressure.”
She sniffs and flares her nostrils at us.
“Anyway,” Mum croaks, “we had a bit of time to spare, so we thought we’d give the place a quick spruce-up.” She swipes a wisp of cobweb from her hair.
Chantelle glances from Mum to me, and finally to Ryan – and there, her expression softens. “Yeah, well,” she says in a friendlier voice, “I’m sure they’ll be pleased when they see it.”
“I hope so.” Mum looks around at all of us. “We wouldn’t want to offend them, you know.”
“I’m sure they won’t take it like that, Mrs Lennox,” Chantelle replies sweetly.
“Do call me Helen—”
Chantelle nods. “OK. Anyway, I think it’s going to be great having you here.” With that, she throws Ryan a huge, flirty smile, then turns on her sparkly heeled sandals and clip-clops away.
The three of us gawp at one another in silence, then burst into stifled laughter. “Oooh, Ryan,” Mum teases, wrapping an arm around my handsome, dark-eyed brother’s shoulders, “seems like you’ve made quite an impression there.”
We’re all still sniggering, and I’m mimicking Chantelle’s pouty look, when Vince pops his head around the kitchen door. “You lot seem in good spirits today,” he remarks with a grin.
“Oh, we are,” Mum says, quickly smoothing back her hair and composing herself.
“And you’ve done a great job with this place.” Vince glances around the now-gleaming kitchen, then adds, “Josie – Leon’s looking for you. I didn’t realize you two had met.”
So Vince knows him too. “Oh, we, um … we met when I found his dog,” I say quickly, conscious of Mum staring at me.
“Well, I said he could come in,” Vince says, grinning, “but he wanted to wait outside.”
Now Mum and Ryan are both giving me quizzical looks. “OK, thanks,” I say quickly, turning to follow Vince out of the kitchen.
“Hang on,” Mum says, grabbing my arm. “Who’s Leon?”
I pause, wishing I could just run off, but knowing she’d kick up a fuss. “I just said, Mum. I found his dog wandering about and he came to collect her. We got talking, that’s all…”
“Got a boyfriend already?” Ryan teases.
“Oh, shut up—”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you hanging about with someone I don’t know,” Mum cuts in. “How old is he, anyway?”
“Mum, he’s fine,” I protest. “He’s fourteen.”
She pulls off one of her rubber gloves with a snap. “OK, but I’m coming outside to meet him first.”
What? As she removes the other glove, I’m about to protest that she can’t, and that I’m not a baby any more. Then I realize that living in London, and figuring out how to keep us safe – well, it’s all new to her, too.
On the river, you see, there were no rules.
Leon’s smile makes me melt like ice cream in the sun. “Hi,” he says as I step outside, not looking remotely taken aback that Mum is hovering next to me.
“Hi,” I say quickly. “Mum, this is Leon.” He’s holding Daisy by her lead. I
bend to ruffle her fur, hoping that, by the time I straighten up again, Mum will have done her protective parent bit and disappeared back inside.
“Hi, Leon,” she says warmly. “Oh, what an adorable dog!”
“Thanks. We only got her a couple of weeks ago.”
“Bet she feels like part of the family already,” Mum adds, and I wonder if she’s thinking about Murphy.
“Yeah, definitely,” Leon replies.
“So,” Mum says, turning to me, “where are you two thinking of going today?”
“Um … we’ll probably just hang out at the park,” I tell her, while desperately trying to transmit the message that she must go back inside right now … and that’s when I smell something awful.
Oh God. What have I been doing these past two hours? Dealing with dead mice and years’ worth of kitchen filth, and the stale smell has attached itself to my clothes and hair. “Er … I’ve been helping Mum clean the kitchen,” I say, turning to Leon. “I’d better have a shower first.”
Mum laughs. “Good idea, Josie. I didn’t like to say.” She smiles at Leon. “Would you like to come in and wait in the pub?”
“Er, yes, but…” He glances down at Daisy.
“Oh, Vince has gone on some errand,” she says, “and there’s no one else around right now. I’m sure it’ll be fine to bring her in.” We all head inside, and I scamper upstairs for the speediest shower known to girl-kind. Afterwards, a thought hits me as I throw on my dressing gown and quickly brush my wet hair. Should I make more of an effort? Should I grab Mum’s hairdryer and some of her make-up, too? I might have taken the time to learn to apply it properly if I’d had a mirror on Promise that I could actually see into – but never mind that. Leon’s waiting downstairs. I pull on a T-shirt, jeans and a pair of flip-flops and run downstairs, feeling as light as dandelion fluff.
Leon is still there, and Daisy, of course – plus Chantelle. What’s she doing, jammed next to Leon on the wooden bench seat in the far corner of the pub? They’re so engrossed in each other, they haven’t even noticed me. And Chantelle’s not terrified of Daisy any more, that’s for sure. “I didn’t know she was yours when we saw her in the park,” she’s telling him. “If I had, I’d have brought her straight round to your place. Oh, I’m so relieved nothing happened to her…”
Leon says something I can’t hear while Chantelle pouts and tosses her hair, inches away from his face. She’s fully made up in a little lacy top and tiny black skirt, and keeps giggling fakely. Is this how boys like girls to be? Realizing I have absolutely no idea, I look down at my blue and white stripy T-shirt and dark jeans, and at my feet in their flip-flops with unpainted nails. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Leon,” she declares, causing my heart to slump. “Now it’s the holidays, we’ve got to spend lots of time together, OK?”
Again, I don’t catch Leon’s response. But I do see that he doesn’t exactly shrink away when Chantelle throws her arms around him for a hug. If she’s his friend, where am I going to fit in? And what if she’s more than that … an ex-girlfriend, maybe? How awkward would that be? After all, I’ve only just met him, unlike Chantelle, who’s obviously closer to him than I could ever hope to be.
Feeling like an idiot for even hoping Leon and I could hang out this summer, I turn around and hurry back upstairs to the flat. Daisy is the only one who even noticed I was there.
I can’t sleep. It’s too hot in my room – far hotter than it ever was on Promise. Maybe there was something about living on water that cooled the air, or the fact that she was made from wood allowed our home to breathe.
This room of mine, with its ugly wardrobe and bumpy mustard walls – it doesn’t breathe at all.
I sit up, still aware of all the unfamiliar grumbles and creaks of this enormous flat that was once a hotel (there’s even a number 3 on my bedroom door. Ryan’s is 4, next to me, and Mum’s is the one after that). I’m up at my window now, trying to force it open, but it’s too stiff.
And that’s when I see Leon, looking up at me.
I jump back, wishing I’d never got out of bed. It was awkward enough, explaining to Mum that I’d changed my mind about hanging out with him today (I feigned a stomach ache). When I peer out again, he’s still there, giving me a baffled look, as if to say, What happened?
I shrug. And then, as he makes no move to go away, I start to feel a bit sheepish. Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed in the flat after saying I was only popping upstairs for a shower. And that scene with Chantelle … had I misread it in some way? He’d hardly be here now, at just past midnight, if he didn’t genuinely want to see me…
Gripping his bike with one hand, Leon is beckoning me to come out. I swallow hard, knowing there’s no chance of getting to sleep now. I nod, then pull on a thin fleece over my PJ top and swap my pyjama bottoms for jeans. Tiptoeing out into the hall, I grab the keys from the small wooden bowl on the shelf. I unlock the flat door, then creep downstairs, through the dark, stale-smelling pub to the main door, where I manage to slide back two heavy bolts, then unlock the door with the main key.
“Hi,” I say shyly as I step outside.
“Hi.” Leon fixes me with a quizzical look. “What happened today? Why didn’t you come out?”
I blink at him, not caring that my hair is probably sticking up in bed-head tufts. “Er … I changed my mind,” I reply quietly. “I didn’t feel too good.”
“I tried to find your mum to ask her, but I think she was busy in the kitchen.” He pauses, pushing back his dark hair distractedly. “She really wanted to check me out, didn’t she?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess she did.”
He smiles, his brown eyes glinting in the silvery light from the street lamp. “It’s nice that she’s protective like that.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. At least she cares.”
“Why,” I start, “doesn’t your mum—”
“Look, Josie,” he cuts in, “has Chantelle been giving you a hard time?”
I pause, wondering how to put it, seeing as they seem so … close. “She’s not exactly friendly,” I say, hoping it sounds as if I don’t care. “It’s OK, though. I can handle it.”
He bites his lip, as if trying to figure out the best way to explain things. “The trouble with Chantelle is…” he starts.
“What d’you mean, the trouble?” I ask with a small laugh. “You’re friends, aren’t you?”
“We’re, um…” He pauses. “Look, I’ve known her for a long time – long enough to know that she’s used to getting what she wants.” He tails off with a smirk.
“Right,” I say, having to stop myself from firing more questions.
He climbs on to his bike, standing astride it without making any move to cycle away. “D’you, um … still want to hang out sometime?”
I wonder what Chantelle would make of that, and quickly push the thought away. “Yeah, sure.”
“Can I have your number?”
I’ve lived here for less than a week and already, the cutest boy I’ve ever set eyes on wants to call me. As I tell him my number and he taps it into his phone, a light goes on in the flat above. “Someone’s in the bathroom,” I say quickly. “I’d better get back inside.”
“See you soon, then,” he says, and I’m on the verge of asking, Why are you out at night? Does nobody care about you? But too late – he’s gone.
“Say hello, Murphy! Say hi to Josie…” It’s 8.30 a.m., and Bella has called my mobile, bringing a blast of sunshine into my mustard bedroom.
“Hi, Murphy,” I croak, still in bed as I grip my phone.
“Aw, he won’t bark,” Bella says. “He’s wagging his tail, though. Want to talk to him?”
“Go on then,” I snigger, “put him on.” After a brief, one-sided conversation, Bella comes back on the phone.
“It’s not the same without you,” she declare
s. “All the boaters keep asking if I’ve heard from you and how you’re getting on.”
“Really?”
“Of course they do! D’you think they’d have forgotten you already?” Although I’m smiling, I’m aware of a tug of longing for my old life. “Maggie and Phil were asking about you too,” Bella continues. “In fact, they seemed a bit confused about something and wanted me to mention it to you…”
“What is it?”
“Well,” she says, “they needed to have work done on Mucky Duck’s engine, so they took her to that boatyard you went to. When they came back to pick her up a couple of days later, they noticed a boat in the yard that looked just like Promise.”
“Really?” I exclaim.
“Yeah! Same shaped hull, same narrow windows – same everything, really.”
“That’s so weird.” I frown, propping up my pillows against the bumpy wall so I can sit up more comfortably. “It couldn’t have been Promise, though. She was being taken away to the scrapyard because Bill needed the space.”
“That’s what I told them,” Bella says. “Maggie said this boat had a different name anyway – Lily-May. And when she asked Bill about her, he said she was some old heap he’d been working on for years, and that he was putting her up for sale.”
I bite my lip, trying to shrug off a creeping sense of unease. “Were they sure it was the same kind of boat as ours?”
“I asked them that,” Bella says. “Phil said they were dead sure – they were absolutely convinced.”
“Well, they did live opposite us since I was little. I suppose they’d know, probably better than anyone else. It’s strange, though. Mum’s always wondered if there were any more boats still around, built from her granddad’s plans. And I guess there must be…”
“D’you think that boat could actually be Promise?” Bella asks cautiously.