Laddered Tightropes

by Dillie Dorian

  The girl turned up her nose. “Hay-err, is subbosed to be brown, dummy! Or black, or blonde.” She looked back up at me, disapprovingly. “Your hair is grey.”

  Grey? I didn’t think so. It was mouse.

  “It’s mouse,” I managed, insistent on sustaining my authority over this Infant-school child. If I didn’t, and she did come on holiday with us, I was in for hell.

  “Mouse, is an aminal. Not a colour.”

  “It’s a descriptor.”

  “You look old. Kiddy said you’re a teen, but I think you’re a grandma!”

  I breathed out hard through my nose, deciding to leave them to it. With any luck, Kitty would be sick of this girl and her stupid American schtick by the time we went away.

  #3 Sounds Like “Fun”

  Back to July:

  Since the camping trip, Charlie and Devon seemed to have evolved into a sort of hybrid person. They only parted ways for a wee, and Devon only went home for bed. And even then, only sometimes. I’d grown tired of her pitching up in our already crowded room, and seemingly so had Charlie.

  “I wish she’d go home, already,” he grumbled to me behind her back as she helped Mum with the dishes. As it had turned out, Charlie was not immune to Americanisation either. He’d picked up an accent from High School Musical, which he was still viewing daily like some sort of morning ritual to get him pumped up for school. Worst of all, I hadn’t been allowed to complain, because it was previously such a chore dragging him out of bed.

  “Lovers’ tiff?” I giggled, jostling him and making to leave.

  “I haven’t pooed for a week.”

  Well. It was now officially the summer holidays. That same Friday afternoon, and less than a day to go before we jetted off to Jersey. Devon seemed unperturbed that she wouldn’t be seeing Eileen or Ben for a whole week, and had spent absolutely zero hours with them in favour of snuggling with my resentful brother and hogging the keyboard as I MSNed our communal friends to while away the homeworkless end-of-term evenings.

  “Well poo-hoo; cry me a river!” cackled Zak, pushing past us out of the kitchen.

  “Who’s excited for our summer holiday?” tittered Mum, passing me the almost-sleeping baby, as routinely as adding milk to Cornflakes. “One more sleep!”

  “Meeeeeeeeeeee!” screamed Kitty, who had thankfully lost her transatlantic accent hopefully for good, back in April.

  “Me!” said Devon, with such genuine lightness that I was sure she’d been squeezing off perfumed rosebuds in secret. Boy was I glad that I didn’t have to share a bathroom with Andy.

  “I’ll create a diversion,” I conceded. “Wind like the runs, Bullseye.”

  Charlie ungratefully delivered me a dead arm before zooming off upstairs. It must’ve nudged Lemmy uncomfortably because that, above any of the shouting and clanging that he’d long beome accustomed to, caused him to wail.

  I rocked him close to my chest, trying not to physically shudder at the idea of one day breastfeeding one of my own. Or, y’know, giving birth.

  It didn’t help. Lemmy screamed on.

  “Let me have him!” gushed Devon, while Mum slumped over the table with a cuppa, taking no notice. Dev grabbed Lemmy from my arms before I could say anything, and he immediately quietened to a whimper. “I have the magic touch.”

  “You finish the drying up, Harley,” murmured Mum.

  I couldn’t help feeling like a failure of a sister. Even Lemmy was more intuitive than me, and he was two months old that week. He’d created the diversion that Charlie had wanted (but didn’t deserve), and I was only good for drying dishes with a numb arm.

  Devon sat down at the table beside Mum, still cooing over Lemmy.

  “I don’t think Charlie’s been sleeping,” said Mum, conversationally.

  “Why so?”

  I held my breath.

  “Oh, probably because he’s scared of flying.”

  “I know,” said Dev. “Bless.”

  My arm shook with the strain of holding a plate too long without shifting. Or maybe, anger. Yeah, Charlie being scared of something was adorbs. Me being concerned about anything was unacceptable.

  “I think this calls for a sleepover!”

  “Whaaat?” I gasped. “Again? We’re spending all week together starting tomorrow.”

  “Whoa, Mrs Fusspants,” Devon shushed me, irritatingly, nodding at the baby. “I was thinking, camping in the garden.”

  Camping? Tonight? I was still having these weird waking nightmares after what happened at the Scout Centre. How could she even be OK with the idea, let alone suggest it?

  “We don’t have a tent. Neither do you.”

  “Andy has a tent,” she pointed out. I hadn’t even thought of that.

  “But Andy’s not invited, right?”

  “Of course he is. Can’t have you gooseberrying on me and Zeeah.”

  “Zeeah is about the crappest hippie nickname I’ve ever heard,” I said gruffly.

  “I think it’s nice,” said Mum.

  Well, you thought CHAZIAH was a nice NAME!! It’s NOT even a name! Argh!

  “I’m not coming,” I asserted, flopping the teatowel away and bustling out of the room.

  It wasn’t fair. A straight week of Devon was making me hormonal when the moon dictated that I had no right to be hormonal. I’d never thought I’d see the day when I was grateful to know where she was in her cycle, because if all that stuff about women synchronising was true, I’d otherwise have worried that this would properly ruin my holiday.

  * * *

  “Andeeeeeee!” I moaned down the phone. “Please tell Devon you won’t loan her your tent!”

  “Why?”

  “Because she wants us all to have a sleepover in the garden, and I think that’s a horrible idea. I want to sleep in my own bed. She’s driving me mental!”

  “I think it sounds like fun…”

  “Mental! Mental girlfriend on holiday with you for a week? You’re OK with that?”

  “As long as it’s you.”

  “Nooooooo!” I wailed. “Please, no. Devon talks all night, and Charlie pees all night, and you-”

  “I what?”

  “You won’t want to spend the night with them. Why can’t they be normal? If they were normal, they’d never want us there because they’re a couple. But then, ugh! That’s even worse. I can’t win.”

  “Harley, I think you’re getting stressy over nothing. We have a whole week of those two ahead of us, and one night isn’t going to make a lot of difference. My tent’s so big that it has rooms.”

  My stomach went cold. He wanted to snuggle. Snuggling was OK, but snuggling alone in a popup bedroom was not. It really was the perfect excuse to get me alone like he’d never had me alone before (at least since we grew armpit hair), and Devon and Charlie would be miles away and pay no mind.

  “I just don’t want to…” I wavered, tiredly. “She’s kept me awake most of every night and I won’t be any fun. See you tomorrow.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love me tomorrow!” I snapped, and slammed the phone down.

  I didn’t even feel bad about it. The way I was feeling on so little sleep, I could probably have spat in Harry’s tea for looking at me wrong. I’d accidentally shut the door on Layla’s paw earlier, and for once actually rationalised that since she didn’t speak English it wasn’t worth apologising. I was that mad.

  #4 BUMPALUMP!!

  “Mum…” Charlie moaned, leaning forward. “How long before the next stop?”

  “Laybys only,” groaned Harry, and he had good reason. Charlie was suffering from a nervous brain. His paranoia had almost completely abandoned flying, and all morning he’d been asking Devon to check whether his freckles were cancerous (as if she’d know), and crunching mints in case his breath smelt. They’d been supposed to be for travel sickness, so I guessed at least he wouldn’t be having any problems there.

  “Gettimmabag!” chirped Devon. “He’s going Number Three!”

&nb
sp; Kitty giggled. She had only recently learned about euphemisms, and had personally coined that one.

  “Get rrrrrrrrready to rrrrrrruuuumbbbbbeeeeeeelllll!!” shouted Zak.

  I groaned, and buried my face in Andy’s arm.

  “I need a wee!” Kitty announced.

  “Ew!” squealed her friend, who I was now certain was called Jade.

  “Five minutes!” I heard Harry grumble.

  There was the rustle of a bag and the sound of Charlie barfing hard. My face was starting to sweat and my mouth was watering, not for any tasty reason.

  “Two minutes!” Kitty corrected, desperately. “Can I have a layby?”

  Princess Bratty Jade piped up again. “That’s for boys.”

  “That’s not fair!” shouted Kitty.

  “I know what would be take your mind off it,” Mum butted in. “We could sing a song!”

  “Can it be a Hannah Montana song?” asked PBJ.

  “Yeah!” enthused Charlie, breathlessly.

  “No!” groaned Zak. “I’ve been good! I didn’t ask for Tupac!”

  “This car is a democracy,” Harry reminded everyone.

  Charlie retched again.

  I burrowed hard into Andy.

  “We’ll have a vote. What’s being voted against Hannah Montana?”

  “High School Musical!” enthused Charlie.

  “Urgh! They can go together!” Zak complained.

  “Good point,” Harry conceded, not impartially.

  “My vote: no singing,” said Zak. “I just want to listen to my mp3.”

  “Well, you can’t vote if you have an mp3 player,” Mum reasoned.

  The car went quiet, so I dared look up.

  Within two seconds, we’d lost Zak and Ryan and Andy to a virtual world, along with one of Charlie’s ears, the other holding out in case we were about to break into a Disneyfest.

  I glanced at Devon. She looked back at me, sort of like, What?

  “So who wants High School Musical?” asked Mum.

  “Me,” said PBJ.

  “Not me,” said Kitty, in a grump.

  “Actually, yes, me!” mimicked Charlie, in his best Kitty voice.

  “Harley, Devon?”

  “I’d rather not…” I said, sickly, trying my hardest not to drool like Lemmy.

  “I don’t mind,” said Devon.

  “Traitor…” I muttered, under my breath.

  “What? I like sing-alongs!”

  “I have an idea!” said Charlie, who I resented for feeling better for his barf. (If I threw up, I’d be mortified, so I was trying not to.) “Can we plug my mp3 into the stereo?”

  “No!” Zak yelled, audibly turning his own music up. I could now easily make out “Maneater” by Nelly Furtado. Well.

  “Zak! Turn that down!” Mum gasped. “You will ruin your ears. Kitty, are you still OK back there?”

  “I was exbadgerating!” my sister retorted, obviously feeling patronised in front of her friend. It took me a moment to realise what she meant.

  “I don’t like your tone,” said Mum. “Alright Zak, let’s put your music on the stereo.”

  “Aw!” protested Charlie.

  Mum took the device and plugged it in, and the song picked up where it was – a little too loudly because Lemmy started crying.

  “We’re nearly there,” Harry pointed out.

  “Waaaaaaah!” went Lemmy.

  Jade wailed into action, tunelessly and without comprehension. “Man-eader, she’s a monster, make her spell hard, mekku wom-fall bumpalump!”

  “BUMPALUMP!!” giggled Kitty.

  “Shhhhhh! Mekku bikers, mekku cup cars, mekku fool me BUMPALUMP!!”

  “DO RE MI FOOL ME BUMP A LUMP!!” shouted Kitty, to drown out the music.

  “Those aren’t even the words,” Zak sulked.

  “Yeah Jade,” Ryan backed him up. “It’s a song about a girl who’s so pretty that guys spend all their money on her.”

  “Like me,” said Jade.

  “No,” said Zak. “The singer’s bragging; all good songs have brag.”

  “You don’t have to brag to write a good song,” said Andy. “‘God Save the Queen’ is a good song, and it’s almost entirely complaining.”

  “You mean the national anthem?” asked Charlie.

  “The Sex Pistols one, you numpty! You learned to play it!”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Ummah!” protested Jade. “He said sex and p-”

  “Pistol!” Andy corrected. “It means gun.”

  “Enough of this,” said Harry, prodding the Next button.

  The stereo blared: Whatchu gon’ do with all that junk? All that junk inside your trunk?

  “Imma get-get-get-get you drunk!” shouted Zak, triumphantly.

  Jade was about to join in: “Get you-”

  “No more!” snapped Mum, thunk!ing the stereo off in superfast motion. “That’s the airport right there.”

  Finally.

  #5 Nad A Baby

  “Were you jealous?” I teased Andy, digging for the reason that he’d refused to lend his tent to Chevon after all.

  “No. I mean, yes. Which would you rather?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying a coy Devon voice. It didn’t suit me.

  “I guess it wasn’t worth Charlie peeing on my tent if I wasn’t getting anything out of it. Oh, and imagine her pregnant.”

  “No!” I squealed. “But wait, I was thinking… what if we’d never gone on that horrible camping trip, and Devon and Charlie hadn’t finally admitted their feelings, and stuff?”

  “I’d be one unhappy guy.”

  “And we’d still be on holiday with a best mate each, but they’d be really annoying and we’d be really single.”

  Andy broke into a grin. Neither of us was used to being in a relationship, and OK, we were kind of taking every opportunity to test how it felt to say it. “I love the way you’re so deep… if I was that deep, I reckon I’d have kayakers floating around in my ears.”

  We were now in the waiting area. Charlie had been missing a while, and come to think of it, Devon had been missing looking for him a while.

  Harry checked his watch. “Zak – Ryan, can you go and see if he’s in the men’s room? I need to stay with the hand-luggage.”

  “Sure,” said Zak, already zooming off on his skateboard. I couldn’t believe Harry had allowed him to bring it.

  “Not in-doors…” withered Harry.

  “You’re not my-”

  “Papa-rino!” finished Ryan, for him. This was their latest routine; and Harry was not the only person they had said it to.

  “I was gonna say Papa-roni this time,” moaned Zak, as they sped away – he on wheels and Ryan on foot.

  Mum reappeared with Kitty and Jade. “How about Harry takes you two to see the planes taking off? I need to rest my legs.”

  “I’m nad a baby,” protested Jade.

  “I wanna see the planes!” said Kitty, just to be annoying.

  “But I don’t!”

  “Where has Charlie got to?” asked Mum. “And Zak and Ryan? And Devon?”

  “I just sent the boys to look for the other two,” said Harry, with a tone of disapproval. What happened to Aimee had sure left him with a sour taste in his mouth – especially how she was too pregnant to travel and had stayed home with Ben and Eileen.

  “Oh no, he hasn’t taken his skateboard, has he?”

  “’Fraid so,” Harry muttered, looking like he wanted to retire to bed already.

  “I wanna see the planes!” Kitty whined.

  Four figures appeared from the distant men’s room. Devon had been in the men’s loos? What on earth had happened, and did I really want to know?

  As they grew closer, I started picking out facial expressions. Dev was giggling, Zak looked mortified, Charlie a cross between humiliated and terrified, and Ryan’s ears had turned pink.

  Andy whispered something lewd in my ear.

  “Ew!” I shrieked, ready to hit him ove
r the head. “He’s my brother, y’know!”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Andy, cockily.

  “Nothing!” said Charlie, Zak and Ryan at the same time.

  “She saw our wieners…” I heard Ryan hiss Andy’s way.

  “Told you!” said Andy.

  “That’s not what you said.”

  “What did you say?” asked Ryan, eagerly.

  Andy whispered to him.

  Ryan went even redder.

  “Devon, what were you doing in there?” asked Mum. Immediately, she remembered Jade and Kitty. “No, don’t answer that!”

  “Charlie was still feeling sicky,” giggled Dev. “Weren’t you, my poor baby?” she added for emphasis, rubbing his tummy gently. “Got it all out now.”

  Charlie himself was a ghost, but Zak was a beetroot.

  “I don’t wanna know,” said Jade, mock-knowledgeably. She couldn’t have learned anything about sex from Hannah Montana… Right?!

  “Can we go and see the planes now?” whinged Kitty, obliviously.

  “Only if we can see our plane take off,” muttered Charlie. Heck, maybe Devon had been telling the truth, regardless of Andy and Ryan. At least, that’s what I wanted to think.

  Harry ignored him, rose and took Kitty’s hand anyway. I think he wanted to get as much space between him and Chevon as possible, and frankly so did I – so I joined them.

  #6 Air Stressure…

  “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIEEEEE!!” shouted Charlie, with unnecessary volume as the plane lifted off the runway. Many heads turned, and I cringed at how much attention our party was attracting.

  Devon attached herself to him at the lips, presumably mostly to shut him up.

  Andy grasped my hand. “I don’t suppose I need to kiss you?”

  I felt my belly roll. I couldn’t trust myself not to blow chunks in his mouth.

  “Only, I’d really like to…”

  I gave in. “You don’t need to ask.”

  Given how much Devon was putting out, I couldn’t help feeling like the crap girlfriend. Charlie barely knew what to do with her advances, but Andy seemed oddly experienced given the exactly zero relationships I’d known him to have.

  Oh God, I thought. Has Andy had sex before? Has he SOMEHOW had sex before? There are girls in the Cadets, right? It wasn’t the most luxurious train of thought to be having as his tongue prodded against mine.

  “I think I just joined the mile-tall club,” he chuckled, when we were done.

  “It’s the mile-high club,” Devon corrected.

  “Er, no, I think I know what I meant, Devon,” Andy insisted.