This Way to Paradise

by Cathy Hopkins

  ‘. . . yes, you’ll love it there. Great experience for you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.‘Can you rewind a sec. Didn’t quite catch that last bit.’

  ‘Greece,’ said Dad.

  ‘Greece?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum.‘We’ve decided that you can go and stay with your aunt in Greece. She agreed straight away and as we speak is arranging your flight. Isn’t that lovely?’

  Dad headed towards the door. ‘And so everyone’s happy,’ he declared. ‘I knew it would all work out.’

  ‘Nooooooooooooo,’ I said.‘I’m not happy. Please Dad. I want to stay here. I don’t want to go to Greece.’

  Mum and Dad’s faces expressed surprise.

  ‘Why ever not, India Jane?’ Dad asked.

  ‘We’ve only just got here. I like it here and I’d like to stay in one place for a while,’ I blurted.

  Dad burst out laughing and tousled my head in a really annoying way. ‘Nonsense,’ he said. ‘You’ll be fine.’ Then he began to sing some Italian opera at the top of his voice. Mum laughed as he left the room and began playing the piano full blast next door. Dylan got up and went to him and, moments later, he could be heard joining in with a tambourine.

  ‘Sometimes I wish this family would just shut up!’ I muttered.

  Mum chuckled as the din from the next room grew louder. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said.

  I knew she didn’t.

  ‘It’s only to the end of summer and will be a great experience for you,’ she said after a few minutes of watching me look gloomily out of the window.

  ‘And so would staying in London,’ I said. ‘Why can’t I stay here with Kate?’

  ‘Out of the question,’ said Mum.‘Kate’s going to go and stay with her father in Richmond.’

  ‘Why can’t you stay here then?’ I asked.

  ‘Your dad wants me with him. I’ll only be gone for the summer. It’s a big commitment – he’s got a lot to learn in a very short time and will need me with him.’

  ‘I need you with me,’ I said. ‘Why can’t you and Dad stay here? He’ll get a job soon enough.’

  ‘This is a great chance for him, India,’ Mum said. She tried to make me smile by sticking her bottom lip out like I had. I knew I was doing the cliché sulky teenager, but I couldn’t help it. And I wasn’t going to smile.

  ‘Some teenagers would see a summer in Greece at a place like Sarah’s as the opportunity of a lifetime.’

  ‘Then let them go,’ I said.

  I folded my arms across my stomach, crossed my legs and tried to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over on to my cheeks. Not that Mum noticed. She got up and went to join Dad and Dylan and, a moment later, I could hear the three of them singing along in their happy family sing-song. Mum will never get into an argument. Her way of dealing with rows is to walk away. No one cares what I want, I thought. No one ever does.

  Outside the light began to fade. Just like my fantasy of the perfect summer in London, I thought as I got up to go and kick a wall and then IM Erin the latest.

  Chapter 5

  Never Give Up

  Irishbrat4eva:

  WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADT? No. This can’t happen. I can’t have been stacking endless rows of Pursley’s sodding podded peas for nothing! I will have to kill myself. Errrrrghhhhh, arghhhhhhh . . . Goodbye sweet world. PS. Make sure you cry buckets at my funeral. PPS. And make sure Scott Malone gets to hear about my early death so that he will realise what he missed.

  Cinnamongirl:

  I am so sorry. It is all Dad’s fault. I totally hate him for ruining everything. I have tried everything to make him understand. Begged, pleaded, got down on my knees, but he’s not budging an inch. So I have tried and I am sorry. Really, really. I will make it up to you somehow. Maybe Christmas? Or half-term?

  Irishbrat4eva:

  Sorry? Christmas? Christmas is, like, a million years away. I am starting to reconsider the ending it all thing though. I have looked death in the eye and we had a chat and were both wondering if maybe there isn’t some solution or alternative to you going to Greece. I seriously hope that there is cos having considered my kill-myself options, it’s not looking like my best idea to date. The only gun I can find is Mark’s plastic water pistol. All Mum’s knives are blunt, and there’s little else in the kitchen unless I stab myself with a soup ladle. And I’ve been through the medicine cupboard for pills and all I could find was a tube of Grandad’s bunion ointment. Death by bunion ointment just doesn’t sound poetic, does it? I’d die of embarrassment at the eulogy when the vicar reads out the cause of death (which would be difficult cos I’d be dead already and I guess you can’t be double dead, or can you?) So. India Jane, you’re just going to have to do something. Get me?

  Cinnamongirl:

  I do. I will. I am thinking about it.

  Irishbrat4eva:

  And so am I. Have discovered new death method though. Death by Chocolate cake. Yum yum chomp chomp . . .

  Cinnamongirl:

  Stop talking about dying, even if you are joking. It’s doing my head in. Killing yourself is a crap idea – you might get trapped in some in-between world for all of eternity and you’d have no body any more. You could sing that song though – ‘I ain’t got nobody’ – only you’d leave a gap between ‘no’ and ‘body’, so it would be ‘I ain’t got no body’, if you get me.

  Irishbrat4eva:

  Hhm. Clearly this crisis has caused you to lose your mind. OK. Will stop eating the cake as I do feel kinda sick.

  Fifteen messages back and forth later and Erin and I had agreed that Greece just wasn’t an option and, between us, we devised a list of alternatives that Mum and Dad just might buy.

  There was hope.

  Plan A was my eldest brother Ethan, and I was straight round there the next morning.

  ‘Please, Ethan. I’ll babysit for the rest of the year,’ I begged as Eleanor put her breakfast bowl on her head and oat and banana mush dripped down her face, ‘if you let me stay with you.’

  Jessica was out at the shops and poor Ethan looked stressed out of his mind as we watched the twins rub their breakfast into their hair. (Lara had taken one look at Eleanor and the mush on her head trick, clearly thought it was an excellent idea and done the same.) Ethan indicated the overcrowded space he called home.‘I’m so sorry, India J,’ he said, ‘it’s going to be a push as it is having Dylan for that one week. We just don’t have the room. You can see that, can’t you?’

  Sadly, I could. He, Jessica and the twins lived in a twobedroom terraced house in West Hampstead. Every square inch was jam-packed. Just getting through the hall earlier was a major achievement – I had to step over the twins’ double buggy, Ethan’s bike, bicycle helmets and economy packs of nappies and baby supplies. Even the living area felt cramped with books, magazines, and more supermarket bulk buys. I could see that there would be no space for me unless I slept under the table.

  I didn’t push it. Ethan looked like he needed a good night’s sleep and I didn’t want to put more pressure on him than he already had.

  Plan B was Lewis. I called him but his answering machine was on and his mobile switched off. I glanced at my watch. Half past twelve. Knowing Lewis and weekend mornings from when he lived with us, he’d still be in bed.

  I caught the tube and a bus up to his studio flat in Crouch End and, true to form, when he finally answered the door after several rings, he looked sleepy-eyed and his wavy dark hair was sticking out all over the place.

  On the way upstairs, I quickly filled him in on why I was there but, once we got to the first floor and into the flat, one sniff of the room that he shared with his mate Chaz told me that I wouldn’t last a day there, never mind a week. It stank of old fags, old beer and Indian takeaways. The curtains were still closed and, when I switched the light on, their living area was a mass of overflowing ashtrays, takeaway cartons and empty lager cans.

  I washed up for him while he showered and got dressed then
I told him my story.

  ‘Sorry, sis, but no can do,’ he said as he donned an old T-shirt from the floor. ‘Anyway, you’ll probably have a great time in Greece. Imagine. All that sun, sea. Be fab.’

  ‘So you and Chaz go and let me stay here,’ I said, thinking that if I was on my own in his flat at least I could keep it clean.

  ‘You know they’d never allow it,’ he said.

  I did. Even my liberal parents weren’t that liberal.

  When I got home later that afternoon, I could hear the sound of doors slamming and someone cursing as soon as I stepped into the hallway where Dylan was sitting on the floor with about twenty pairs of shoes in front of him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked.

  ‘Shoe polishing. Got any to be done?’

  I shook my head as a female voice up above let out a curse.

  Dylan jerked his chin up towards the ceiling.‘Kate,’ he said.

  ‘Something happened?’

  Dylan shrugged. ‘Aunt Sarah called earlier but it’s probably PMT.’

  ‘Like you’d know.’

  ‘I read,’ he said.

  ‘Have you ever thought of reading something normal for your age? Like a horror book or Harry Potter or something?’

  ‘I need to know these things if I’m going to be a doctor,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Thought you were going to be an archaeologist.’

  ‘That was last week. You feeling better about going to Greece?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Like you care.’

  ‘Actually I do,’ he replied. ‘Least you won’t be on your own out there any more.’

  ‘Why? You coming now?’

  ‘Nope,’ said Dylan, then jerked his chin towards the ceiling again to where the sound of angry stomping and crashing continued.

  ‘Kate?’ I asked.

  Dylan nodded.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Her dad’s got to go to the States on business or something so she can’t go and stay with him, plus Aunt Sarah found out she hadn’t been home last night.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘So that makes two sulky teenagers on route to Greece,’ said Dylan.

  I raced up the stairs to Kate’s room where she had stopped crashing about and had lit up a cigarette. ‘You heard then?’ she asked.

  I nodded and crossed her room to open the window.

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said. ‘Mum’s not here and I wouldn’t care if she was.’

  I sat on the end of her bed as she puffed away on her cigarette.

  ‘I’m not going,’ said Kate. ‘They can’t make us. And anyway, it’s probably a non-starter – I doubt they’ll be able to get flights at such short notice. And if they do, we’ll stage a sit-in. Protest. Go on a hunger strike. There’s no way I am going out to holier-than-thou-land for a crap summer. No way.’

  Great, I thought. ‘Me neither,’ I said.

  Chapter 6

  Take Off

  ‘Flight B345 to Greece is now boarding at Gate 23,’ came the announcement over the tannoy.

  It was six in the morning. Aunt Sarah had managed to get some last minute flights, which had meant getting up at what felt like an ungodly hour. Neither Kate nor I were in a very good mood.

  Mum was about to set off towards the gate. ‘Right, girls,’ she said as she beckoned us forward. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘We’ll be fine from here,’ said Kate through gritted teeth. ‘We’re not going to do a runner at this point in the game.’

  Mum ignored her.‘Now, let’s go through it all again. Tickets?’

  Kate rolled her eyes, but I nodded. ‘Yep. And I’ve got my passport and my boarding pass. You can go. We’ll be fine.’

  Mum began fishing in her bag. ‘In a minute,’ she said, then thrust a couple of cartons of vanilla yogurt towards us. ‘I brought these for you for the journey.’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Kate.‘I don’t do yogurt.’

  ‘You take them, India Jane. I know you like vanilla.’

  ‘There will be food on the plane, Mum, and in Greece,’ I said. ‘Especially yogurt.’

  ‘Just in case there’s nothing you fancy on the plane,’ said Mum and pushed the cartons into my bag.‘Now, anything else?’

  ‘We’ll be OK from here,’ I said. ‘You can go.’

  Mum stopped and glanced at her watch. ‘OK, if you really think so.’ Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. ‘You sure you’re going to be OK?’

  ‘Like it would make a difference if I said no,’ I said. I still felt angry that I was being sent off like an unwanted dog being confined to a kennel and all for Dad’s convenience. He couldn’t even be bothered to come with us to the airport. He had taken off this morning with a cheery wave goodbye to go to a meeting with his new orchestra. That was all he cared about now. I don’t think he’d even noticed how mad I was with him this last week. He was too wrapped up in his latest venture to notice anyone or anything else.

  Mum wrapped her arms around me and gave me a hug. She smelled lovely, of roses and lemons.‘Call as soon as you get there and e-mail regularly. Sarah’s got broadband so it won’t be a problem.’ She hugged Kate too. ‘Give your mum my love.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Kate. ‘Bye Aunt Fleur.’

  ‘And look after my baby,’ said Mum.

  ‘Mu-um,’ I groaned. ‘Just go.’

  ‘And remember your sun screen . . .’

  This time I rolled my eyes although I was feeling wobbly inside about leaving my family behind. It so wasn’t fair.

  Mum took a deep breath, gave me a sad look then turned on her heel and went. For a brief moment, I felt like sitting on the floor and having a good blub, but Kate had taken off in the direction of our departure gate and I didn’t want be left behind.

  ‘Ridiculous,’ she muttered when I caught up with her. ‘First your mum, then an escort on the flight. What do they think we are, a pair of convicts? In fact I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have arranged for us to be handcuffed into our seats.’

  I was about to ask her what she meant about an escort for the flight when I spotted two policemen standing outside a duty free shop.

  ‘Ah yes, there are our escorts now,’ I said as we passed them.

  Kate almost smiled, which would have been a first that week. She’d actually managed to out-sulk me. Not that anyone took much notice of either of us – plans for our trip went into full swing despite all our objections. And Kate’s hunger protest only lasted half a day. ‘Why should I impose suffering on myself when everyone else on this planet is already doing such a good job,’ she said as she made both of us a cheese toastie on the evening of the first day of her fast.

  When we got to our gate, people were sitting about waiting to be called to board so we found a couple of seats and sat down with them. Kate pulled out her phone and got busy texting her mates. I was about to do the same to Erin when I noticed a boy in jeans and a black T-shirt with a rucksack slung over his shoulder enter the waiting area. My breath caught in my throat.

  ‘Ohmigod,’ I gasped and Kate glanced up and over to where I was staring at Joe.

  ‘Oh, him,’ she shrugged. ‘Yeah. Mum said he’d be on our flight when I spoke to her last night. I was about to tell you. Can you believe it? He’s the escort. My mum asked his mum to tell him to keep an eye on us. Joe Donahue. As if !’ She went back to her texting for a minute, then glanced up at me.‘Sorry I didn’t tell you before. I forgot you fancied him.’

  I felt myself blush.‘I so do not.’

  Kate laughed. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘He may be a few months older than me but if he tries to play the prefect for even one second, I’ll tell him where he can stuff it.’

  I glanced over at Joe. Somehow, I couldn’t see him playing the head boy or chaperone even if he’d been asked to. He hadn’t seen us or if he had, he wasn’t acknowledging the fact. He made his way over to a row of seats in front of Kate and me and sat down away from us, facing out towards the runways and the planes. I
liked the look of him even from behind – the way his hair curled up at the back of his neck, his broad shoulders, nicely toned arms, not too muscular but not puny either . . . Then I remembered what Kate had said about him being bad news with a trail of broken hearts behind him. I made myself look away and resolved to be cool if I saw him when we were on board.

  As Kate continued with her texting, I noticed a couple of boys enter the area and clock Kate. They looked about eighteen; one was tall and slim with dark spiked-up hair, the other was fair with a heavier build like a rugby player. The fair one nudged the other as they walked past us and took the seats to our left. The dark-haired guy couldn’t tear his eyes away from Kate’s legs (she was wearing a tiny denim mini with peeptoe navy espadrilles with high wedges which made her legs look longer than ever).

  She saw the boy looking and gave him a brilliant withering look. ‘Seen enough or would you like me to hitch my skirt up some more?’ she asked.

  The boy wasn’t put off at all and grinned back cheekily.‘Oh, some more, I think,’ he said in a posh voice. ‘You’ve got crackingly good legs.’

  He said it with such enthusiasm that Kate couldn’t help but break a smile, although she quickly made her face go disdainful again.

  His mate leaned over. ‘Deffo,’ he said. ‘I’d agree with Tom. Good legs.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow, then turned away as if dismissing them. She was really good at being cool and I resolved to practise the ‘one eyebrow up’ look as soon as I next got in front of a mirror.

  ‘So, where are you going?’ asked the blond boy.

  Kate glanced up at the sign about the gate. ‘Duh,’ she said.

  ‘Oh right,’ said the boy. ‘Obvi. Yes. Of course. Stupid question. Greece.’ He didn’t seem very embarrassed though. ‘I’m Robin.’

  ‘And I’m Tom,’ said his better-looking mate.

  ‘And I am not interested,’ said Kate.

  Tom looked over at me.