A Kiss, a Dare and a Boat Called Promise

by Fiona Foden

  Me … lucky? Hardly. But later, as Bella and I say goodnight, I wonder if I am, just a little bit.

  I’m perched on a stool in our kitchen, watching Mum make a cake. Actually, I’ve been pretending to read a book, but I keep glancing over as she lifts each of the three cake layers off their wire cooling trays and starts to sandwich them on top of each other with raspberry jam.

  They’re stacked high – like the lies I’m telling her now.

  “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “Bella’s asked me over for the day. Charlie’s coming to London anyway, so he can pick me up.”

  Mum glances at me and frowns. “Really? That’s a long way for him to come.”

  “Not really,” I continue, sensing my cheeks starting to glow. “He comes here quite a lot, Mum.”

  “Yes, I know, but—”

  “And he’s got to pick up some, er … special equipment for a job, and then he’ll have to return it. So he’ll be able to bring me home too.” I take a big swig of orange juice in an attempt to cool myself down.

  “Oh.” Mum pulls a thoughtful face. “That’s very kind of him.”

  “Yes, it is.” I smile quickly and try to focus on my book, although the words aren’t making much sense. In fact, last night, when I planned all this with Bella, I hadn’t imagined how guilty I’d feel. It might be different if my mum was like Leon’s, who’d barely looked at me the other day as she’d grudgingly thanked me for finding Daisy. Then it might feel OK to tell a small … well, maybe not quite so small fib. But my mum is nothing like Leon’s. She’s kind and thoughtful, and would do anything for Ryan and me. After all, that’s why she’s working all hours in the pub kitchen – it’s for us.

  “Well, it’ll be nice for you to have a day with Bella,” she says, spreading sweet, creamy topping over her cake. “As long as you’re sure it’s OK for Charlie to ferry you back and forth.”

  “Of course it is,” I say, glancing at her finished creation. A layer cake.

  Liar cake, more like, says a little voice in my head.

  “I know you miss her,” Mum continues, “and you’ve been so good about moving here.” I smile stiffly. “So, when are you going?” she asks, studding the topping with glacé cherries.

  “Er … the day after tomorrow, about ten-ish, I think.”

  Mum nods. “It’ll be nice to see Charlie. If I’m working, make sure he pops into the pub kitchen to say hi, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I say brightly.

  Mum smiles broadly. “I’m glad you’ve given me a bit of notice, sweetheart. Remember how much Bella loved those strawberry tarts I made for our last party on Promise?”

  “Um, yeah…” Oh no. I know what’s coming next.

  “I’ll make a big batch for you to take with you,” she continues. “I know they’re a bit fragile and not the easiest things to transport, but I’m sure you’ll manage.”

  Mum fixes me with her pale blue eyes. I feel so bad, it’s a miracle she can’t smell the guilt radiating off me.

  “Think a dozen will be enough to share out with everyone?” she asks.

  “Oh, plenty,” I say, hopping off the stool and scuttling away to hide in my room.

  Yet even here, there’s no chance of stewing in my own private shame, because Ryan saunters in, causing the flimsy wardrobe to wobble as he leans against it. “So what’s this about you going back to the boats for the day?” he asks, raising a brow.

  “I’m just spending some time with Bella,” I reply. “She’s been a bit bored since we left.”

  He nods, studying the stack of cardboard boxes I haven’t got around to unpacking, because I still can’t think of this place as home. Whereas Ryan is obviously delighted to have a proper bedroom instead of a tiny cabin, and has already stashed away his stuff and plastered the walls with posters, bought with his earnings from the gardening place. “Maybe I’ll come with you,” he says, turning to look me in the eye.

  My heart thumps. Does he suspect something’s not quite right?

  “Why would you want to do that?” I frown at him.

  He shrugs, still leaning on my wardrobe, so tall now he nearly reaches the top of it. “Well, I’d like to see Tyler and Jake…”

  “Yeah, OK,” I say briskly, turning away to fold clothes from my basket of clean laundry.

  When I glance back at Ryan, he’s still peering at me. “What?” I say crossly.

  “It’s just … why don’t you stay longer at Bella’s? If you’re going all that way, why not hang out with her for a few days?”

  I shrug. “Oh, I just fancy going for the day, really…”

  He smirks and narrows his eyes. “And why’s that?”

  “What’s the problem?” I shoot back. “I just told you, I—”

  “I know,” he cuts in, “but what’s the real reason why you only want to be away for a day?”

  I jut out my chin. “There isn’t a ‘real reason’. I’ve told you, I just do.”

  “Yeah,” he sniggers, raking back his sun-lightened hair, “and I know what it is…”

  I feel sick now. Did Ryan overhear me talking to Bella late last night? “It’s because you can’t bear to be parted from your boyfriend,” he guffaws.

  “What?”

  “You don’t want to be away from Leon, do you?” He grins, obviously delighted with himself for embarrassing me.

  I shrug, overcome with relief. “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “Aw, you’re in love,” he chuckles before ruffling my hair in a deeply patronizing way, then marching out of my room.

  “That’s some crush she’s got,” I hear him announcing to Mum in the living room.

  “Leave her alone, Ryan,” she says. I don’t care, though. He can tease me about Leon as much as he likes. It suits me just fine that he thinks I’ve turned into a pathetic girly who won’t spend more than a few hours with her best friend, because she can’t bear to be parted from a boy.

  He’s right about one thing, though. When I’m with Leon, living here doesn’t seem quite so bad. In fact, sometimes, I can almost imagine unpacking some of these cardboard boxes, and starting to make it feel like home. I don’t just want to be Leon’s friend, either. I want so much more, and can only hope he does, too…

  And if Ryan assumes that’s why I don’t want to stay longer with Bella? Well, I’ll just let him believe that. It saves me from spouting any more lies – and I think I’ve told enough of those for one day.

  That night, Leon and I plot our journey. He checks train and bus times on his laptop at home, while I write it all down in my bedroom. It’s a hot, airless night, and I’ve kicked off my duvet in favour of a thin cotton sheet. “So we’re all ready for our day trip,” Leon says when he calls. I can’t help laughing at that. A day trip – it sounds harmless, doesn’t it? A whole lot less daunting than sneaking off to a boatyard with no idea of what we’ll do when we arrive.

  “Josie,” Leon says, “what d’you think will happen when we get there? If Lily-May really is Promise, I mean?”

  “I … I don’t know,” I reply. I haven’t even figured out how we’ll get on board to check out the boat, but I don’t tell Leon that.

  “Maybe that’s when your mum should get involved,” he suggests.

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure it’ll all work out OK.” This is what I tell myself every time my courage starts to wobble.

  We fall silent for a moment. “So d’you want to come out?” Leon asks.

  “What, tomorrow?”

  “No, I mean now.”

  “But it’s nearly midnight,” I remind him.

  “That’s the best time,” Leon laughs. “If I come over now on my bike, d’you think you could sneak out?”

  I lie still for a moment, listening for movement in the other bedrooms. “Well, I think Mum and Ryan are asleep, and I heard Vince asking th
e last customers to leave about half an hour ago…”

  “Come on then,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

  “But where will we go?”

  “You’ll see,” he says, finishing the call. As I fling on a thin sweater over my PJ top and swap my PJ bottoms for jeans and canvas lace-ups, I wonder what’s possessing me to do this – to creep out in the middle of the night. But then … aren’t we doing something far more daring the day after tomorrow? Compared to that, this is nothing. Tiptoeing out of my room, I check that all the bedroom lights are off, then quietly let myself out of the flat. I tread lightly down the wooden stairs and pad across the darkened pub. By the time I step out into the warm, muggy night, Leon is already there, waiting for me with his bike.

  “Hop on then,” he says with a grin, patting the saddle.

  “You mean … we’re both going on that?”

  “Yeah. It’s fine.”

  “But…”

  “Listen,” he says, “how many times d’you think I’ve been nagged to give my sisters rides on this thing? I’m used to it.”

  I smile, even though I was really going to say, But what about helmets? It was drummed into me, Bella and the others that we must never cycle to school without them, and we all accepted that. Funnily enough, our parents were far more relaxed where water was concerned, and never batted an eyelid about us swimming in the river or lake. “I’d better be quick,” I add, “in case Mum wakes up…”

  “It’s fine, we won’t be long,” Leon says. He’s right, too – it does feel fine, once we’ve sped away from Castle Street with him standing to pedal and me on the saddle, gazing at the city at night. We’re not even on the road. He zips along pavements, shooting down a narrow alley that brings us to a river I never knew existed. “This is beautiful,” I say as we cycle along the gravelled path at the water’s edge, the river shimmering with reflections from the street lamps. “I didn’t even know it was here.”

  “Most people don’t,” Leon says, turning to cycle over an elaborate iron foot bridge. “When they think of rivers in London, they assume there’s only the Thames. But there are loads of secret places like this.”

  As we cycle on, I spot a familiar building peeping through the trees. “Is that your summer house?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. I didn’t realize the river’s at the bottom of your garden.”

  “It’s so overgrown down there, we tend to forget,” he says. I’m amazed by all of this. Not just that there’s a hidden river minutes from the Bald-faced Stag, but that the whole city looks so beautiful at night, even if there aren’t any stars. “We should get back,” I say finally.

  “What, already?”

  “Yeah,” I sigh as we turn away from the river. “So, are you sure you want to come to the boatyard with me?”

  “Of course I am,” he replies.

  “I have enough money for our train and bus fares,” I add.

  “I’ve got some, too. Mum pays me a bit for helping out with the business.”

  I smile, determined to enjoy every last minute of this bike ride as we zip along the quiet back streets. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to do it,” I add.

  “Not having second thoughts, are you?”

  “No, of course not. I have to do this.” I really do, I decide as Leon stops at the pub’s front door and we say our whispered goodnights. Sneaking off to the boatyard really does feel like a kind of dare, and my stomach fizzes with excitement every time I think about it. But I know it’s serious too. After all, we’re trying to find out what really happened to Promise.

  So how can that be wrong?

  Despite my late night, I’m up extra-early and find Mum in the pub kitchen, chopping up vegetables in preparation for the lunch-time rush. Without asking if she’d like any help, I grab a peeler and start to scrape the pile of carrots for her casserole. It feels easier than just hanging around, trying to act normal, while worrying that my lies are written all over my face.

  “Vince and Maria reckon I’m their star chef,” she tells me.

  “You’re their only chef, Mum,” I say with a smile.

  “OK – there is that.” She chuckles. “You’re a great help, you know.”

  I shrug. “It’s all right. I like doing kitchen stuff with you.”

  “Unless it involves dead mice,” she sniggers, reminding me of Operation Clean-Up.

  “Yeah, well, maybe not that.” It’s true, though: now we’ve degreased the kitchen, it’s actually quite a nice place to be. There’s usually a big pot of some kind of stew bubbling away, which Vince said is going down really well with the regulars. When we arrived, everything was frazzled in the deep-fat-fryer. No wonder the place smelled so bad.

  Mum is setting out the ingredients for pastry now – her home-made fruit pies are already gaining their own fan club amongst the pub regulars – and I can sense her glancing at me. “Looking forward to seeing Bella tomorrow?”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, tipping the carrot peelings into the bin so she can’t see my face.

  “You’ve seemed much happier lately,” she adds.

  “Have I?” My voice sounds unnaturally high, but perhaps I’m just imagining that.

  “Yes, definitely.” She pauses. “Looks like you’re getting on well with Leon, too…”

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur, wiping down the worktop, even though Mum has obviously done it already.

  “I’m glad you’re making friends, love.”

  “Well,” I say with a rueful smile, “one friend.”

  She pushes back a twist of fair hair with flour-dusted hands. “It’s a start, though, isn’t it? And I’m sure you’ll soon get to know some of the girls around here, too. Maybe I could ask Maria what kind of places Chantelle goes to during the holidays.”

  I nod and grab the brush to sweep up a few stray peelings from the floor. “You really like him, don’t you?” Mum adds.

  “Who?”

  “Leon, of course,” she says, laughing.

  “Um, yeah,” I say, as casually as I can, when “like” doesn’t start to cover it. I mean … I like sweet pastry and strawberries, and Bella’s mum’s home-made lemonade. I liked leaping into the still, cool lake in the forest. But with Leon, it’s more than that…

  “Ooh, something smells delicious in here.” Maria has appeared, all dangly gold earrings and a thick perfume cloud.

  “Chicken casserole,” Mum says with a smile.

  Maria nods approvingly. “I’ll be having some of that. So, how are things with you, Josie?” she asks kindly. “It’s far too nice a morning for you to be cooped up in this stuffy kitchen … why don’t you hang out with Chantelle?”

  “It’s OK, thanks,” I reply quickly. “I’ve got stuff to do here.”

  Mum turns and squints at me. “Come on, Josie – what d’you have to do exactly?”

  “Er…” My mind goes completely blank.

  “She’s going shopping with Gemma later,” Maria adds. “I think you’ve met her, haven’t you?”

  “Um, yes … in the park.” I decide not to add that she and Chantelle spent the whole time quizzing me about the inner workings of boat toilets.

  “Well, there you are, then,” Maria says, patting her crispy-looking hair. “I’m sure they won’t mind you joining them.”

  I glance from Mum to Maria, panic juddering in my chest as I try to dredge up a reason not to hang out with those two. In fact, I’d rather spend the afternoon scrubbing stains off the pub carpet. “I don’t have any money,” I mutter.

  “Yes, you do,” Mum says. “You’ve got all that birthday money stashed away. Go on, Josie – didn’t we just say it’d be nice for you to get to know some of the girls around here before school starts?”

  Um … yes, but this isn’t quite what I had in mind… “Mum, I don’t need anything from the shops,
” I mutter, turning back to my floor brushing.

  “Oh, here they come now,” Maria says cheerfully at the sound of girls’ voices in the pub. She pokes her head around the kitchen door. “Chantelle, come here a minute, darling…”

  “What is it, Mum?” Chantelle appears in the kitchen in her tiny shorts and top, her blonde hair piled up with plastic clips and her eyes smudged with lashings of smoky shadow. Her expression hardens as she sees me.

  “Take Josie shopping with you, would you?” Maria says. “She’s at a loose end, sweeping the kitchen floor, poor thing…” She chuckles kindly.

  “Honestly,” I protest, “I’ve got plenty to do here.”

  “Like what?” Mum asks, frowning.

  “Like, er … I was thinking of sorting out my room.”

  “Oh, come on, love,” she insists, “you’ll have fun.”

  Chantelle fixes me with a cool stare. “You can come if you want,” she says flatly.

  Oh hell. How can I wriggle out of this? “You’ll enjoy showing Josie round the shops, won’t you?” Maria goes on. “She doesn’t know the area very well yet.”

  Chantelle nods glumly. “You ready then?” she says, raising an eyebrow.

  “Um…” I glance around the kitchen, racking my brains for an excuse as to why I can’t possibly go. Like … I am dying.

  “Go and get your bag, Josie,” Mum says. “Looks like Chantelle’s ready to go.”

  I open my mouth and close it again. Great – so I’m going to spend the rest of the day doing something I don’t remotely want to do. And, worse, I’ll be doing it with someone who looks as if she’d quite happily stamp on my foot.

  The whole time, Gemma has been lurking in the pub, waiting for us. Although she seems slightly less hostile than Chantelle, “awkward” doesn’t begin to cover it as the three of us set off for the shopping mall. For one thing, Chantelle and Gemma look like they’re going to a party or something, while I’m in ancient frayed denim shorts and a plain grey T-shirt (well, I was peeling carrots twenty minutes ago). So anyone passing would check us out and think, who’s the one in the middle, with no make-up on and her hair in a mess? They’d know, just by looking, that I don’t belong.