Ask Amy Green: Summer Secrets

by Sarah Webb

  “Are they coming down tomorrow?”

  “No, they’re not coming down at all.”

  I perk up. “Does that mean I can go to Cork with Clover?”

  Mum looks at me in surprise. “I’ve already said no, Amy. No means no. It’s too late now. And, frankly, you’ve been so rude to me all morning, I think it’s best if you stay here and think about your behaviour. You can help me with the babies.”

  The black hole starts churning again, faster and faster. This is so unjust. “In your dreams,” I say. “Find another slave. I’m going out.” I storm out of the door.

  She follows me. “Amy Green, if you leave this island, you’re in big trouble.”

  I spin round on my heels. “The boats are both being used, so how am I going to do that? Swim? We’re on Alcatraz, didn’t you know? But at least in San Francisco the water is warm, so there’s some hope of escape without contracting hypothermia.”

  “If you didn’t get eaten by the crocodiles and sharks first,” Mum calls after me. “Oh, for God’s sake, Amy – come back inside.”

  I march down the garden and take a sharp right, out of her sight. Then I notice the old stone boathouse. Kit. At least he’ll be pleased to see me. I hope.

  Seth’s face floats in front of my eyes. I blink it away and try not to think about last night’s phone call. Why is everything such a mess?

  Chapter 24

  I knock on the bottle-green door of the boathouse. Nothing. White canvas blinds have been pulled down in the windows, so I walk towards the far end of the building. A crumbling stone ramp runs down towards the sea, and at the top of it, instead of doors, there’s a huge sheet-glass window.

  It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the light, but when they do, I almost fall over in surprise. Hundreds of shards of coloured glass have been suspended from the ceiling of the boathouse. Pressed up against the window, they seem to be floating in the air.

  I gaze at the rainbow of colour. The sun peeps out from behind the clouds and immediately the whole window is lit up by a spectacular wall of dancing light, like a giant kaleidoscope.

  Some of the pieces start to spin and Kit appears at the window, making me jump. Spotting me, he waves down and mouths, “Other door.”

  When I get back round to the green door it’s already open.

  “That you knocking?” he asks when I go in. “Thought I heard something, but I was listening to my iPod. Coming in?”

  I nod eagerly and step into the open-plan room. “That glass is amazing,” I say. “What is it?”

  “Mam’s mobile.”

  “Was she an artist?”

  “Nah. She just liked glass.”

  He leads me past a beaten-up leather armchair, with an old brass telescope standing beside it, and a small kitchenette just beyond. Hundreds of books are stacked in towering piles against the walls. There’s a double bed to our left. It isn’t made: the white duvet is bunched at the bottom and a book lies open on the sheet. On the cover is a photo of a guy sitting on an old-fashioned minibus.

  I read the title: Into the Wild.

  “You like reading?” I ask.

  “Sure.”

  “What kind of books?”

  “Adventures, survival books, anything about the wilderness.” He nods at the book on the bed. “That one’s about a guy who runs away and camps out in this mini-bus in Alaska. Manages to live by eating plants and stuff. It’s good. He dies at the end, though.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  He shrugs. “Says so on the first page. It’s a true story.”

  “Oh.” Then, not knowing what to say next, I study the glass mobile. “Can I touch it?”

  “OK. But watch your fingers. The glass is sharp.”

  Now that I am closer to it, I can see that as well as the sharp slivers of glass, there are other shiny things: shards of mirror, a small hole bored in the top to secure them, and even a baby-size silver fork, polished until it gleams. And smooth, gentle curves of sea glass.

  I touch a piece of blue glass. “This piece is so beautiful,” I say, dazzled by the moody, midnight colour.

  “Aye, it were Mam’s favourite too. Murano glass from Venice. Like this.” He passes me what looks like a crystal ball.

  “What is it?” I ask, peering at the tiny woman trapped inside. She’s sitting on a rock, her hair streaming out behind her like a sheet of silk, and although she’s no bigger than my thumb, her eyes look dark and hypnotic.

  “Paperweight. Mam collected them. That one’s of a Selkie. Half-woman, half-seal. It’s an old Celtic legend. Mam was into that kind of thing – said she could hear the voices of the O’Driscolls who used to live on this island when she dug the earth. Believed in fairies too.”

  “Fairies? Really?”

  “Aye. Used to put a saucer of milk on all the windowsills at night to stop bad things happening to us. Said our house was on a fairy line.”

  “What did your dad think?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t think Da had time to be worrying about it. He spent most of his time trying to stop her hurting herself.”

  I stare at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t have said that. Stupid.” He glances at his wristwatch. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you around.” And then he stands by the door, holding it open.

  I feel awkward, embarrassed. I want to say something, to ask him more about his mum, but I can tell the subject is closed and that now he’s trying to get rid of me. Our eyes connect. There’s a sadness behind his gaze. I want to reach out and touch him, hold him, but instead I drag my eyes away. “Thanks for showing me the glass mobile,” I say softly.

  “No bother. See ya, Amy.”

  I walk out of the door and he closes it firmly behind me.

  That evening I open my email account and scan the inbox. There’s nothing from Seth. I wasn’t really expecting anything, not after our phone call, and I know it’s not rational, but still I’m disappointed.

  However, there is an email from Mills:

  Hi Amy,

  How’s it going? Hope you’re not missing Seth too much. Things over here are hotting up and I don’t mean the weather!

  Matt, the boy I was telling you about, has finally started to talk to me – properly – and he’s so sweet and funny. He’s mad into Ireland and wants to hear all about living in Dublin and school and everything.

  But stop the lights… I’m starting to like his best friend, Ed, more and more. He’s cute and funny and a bit goofy, but in a nice way.

  Now, what do I do? Yikes!

  No other news really. The Costigans are out most evenings, so I’ve been hanging out with Marlon and Betty. Thrills and spills – not! Luckily, they are ridiculously easy to bribe (thank Clover for the tip!). But I’m not going to come home with much money at this rate, what with buying sweets for them and spending all my moolah in American Apparel.

  Yowsers, Amy – clothes are way cheap over here, and it’s so much fun rooting around in the bargain bins. Wish you were here to share my US shopping experiences!

  Miss you so much. Sob, sob. If it wasn’t for Matt and Ed I’d be going loop da loop.

  Email me immediately and tell me all the goss – has Seth written you any more super-swoony poems? Spill all.

  Your bestest amigo,

  Mills XXXXXXXXXXX

  I sit back in my seat and think. What am I going to say? I’ve broken up with Seth, I’ve had a huge fight with Clover and Mum, and now even Kit doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m basically a loser with no life. Tears spring into my eyes. Oh no, there’ve been enough weeping willows around this place with Mum and Prue. This house must be cursed. I switch off the computer and stare into space for a few minutes, blinking back the tears.

  “Amy?” Mum walks into the room.

  “Don’t worry, I’m going to bed.” I run past her.

  “Sleep well, Amy,” she says to my back.

  As if.

&n
bsp; Chapter 25

  I sleep badly, tossing and turning all night. When I wake up, my face feels clammy and my hair’s stuck to my forehead, as though I’ve been sweating. I brush it back with my hand and rub the sleep stickiness from the edges of my mouth.

  And then I notice my knickers are damp. Last night I was too tired and irritable to change into my pyjamas, so I climbed into bed in my T-shirt and underwear. I lie there in horror. No! I couldn’t have wet myself during the night. I did that a couple of times when I was little. The last time was just after Dad moved out when I was nine. But I’m thirteen now.

  I roll over and pull back my duvet and stare at the bottom sheet. Nothing. Then I sit on the edge of my bed and pull down my knickers. There are spots of dark red blood on the cotton. I start to freak out. What if I’m ill? Then it dawns on me. My period.

  Finally!

  I start to feel all wobbly. What do I do now? I don’t have anything with me – I wasn’t expecting this to happen on holidays – and I refuse to speak to Mum. Clover would know what to do, but she’s in a hotel somewhere in Cork city.

  I look at my watch. Five past seven. Clover will kill me for waking her up (she likes her sleep), but it’s an emergency.

  “Yello? This had better be important,” Clover says groggily.

  “Clover, it’s me. Sorry for ringing so early.”

  “What’s wrong, Beanie? Have you got a cold? You sound like Mr Snuffleupagus.”

  “Mr who?”

  “The elephant from Sesame Street. Never mind that – what’s up, jelly tot?”

  It’s such a relief to find that Clover is actually speaking to me after the way I treated her yesterday, I start to cry.

  “Beanie? Are you OK? Say something. What’s happened? You’re seriously freaking me out here.”

  “I got my period!” I wail. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  “Congrats – that’s cool, babes. Told you it wouldn’t be long. Don’t be upset, it’s all easy-peasy. But where’s Sylvie? Isn’t she there?”

  “I shouted at her last night and now she hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you. Don’t be such a moo. Anyway, it wasn’t your fault. You were clearly riddled with PMT.”

  “PMT?”

  “Pre-menstrual tension. In fact, I should have spotted it. That’s why you’ve been in such a bad mood for the last few days. It’s your hormones. They’ve been hopping around like jumping beans. Right, as soon as I’ve got this Efa interview in the bag, I’m going to hop in the car and get down to you lickety-split. I’m taking you shopping in Skibbereen to celebrate.”

  “To buy what exactly?” I ask wryly. “A saucepan? Or a pair of green farmer’s wellies?” (The town isn’t exactly inundated with cool shops.)

  She laughs. “I see your point. Not exactly New York, is it. Don’t worry, we’ll find something. And we can stock up on sani stuff in the chemist too.”

  “But what will I do till then?”

  “Darn, my stuff’s all in my wash bag here. Maybe Sylvie has something. Or you could use loo paper. Layer it into a pad. I’ll be as quick as I can, promise.”

  After saying goodbye to Clover, I stick my head round the door. All clear. Clutching a clean pair of knickers and my black jeans to my stomach, I run to the bathroom and lock the door behind me. I sit on the toilet and take off my soiled pants.

  Then I layer toilet paper in my hand, weaving it backwards and forwards into a pad the way Clover suggested, before popping the wad into my fresh knickers, pulling them up and stepping into my back jeans. At least if I do leak, no one will see.

  I ball up the old knickers, wrap them in toilet paper and put them in the bin. Finally, I wash my hands and walk back to my bedroom, trying not to waddle like a penguin.

  Mum comes into my room an hour later. “Are you coming down for breakfast, Amy?”

  Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on my book, I shake my head.

  “OK, then,” she says gently. “I’ll bring something up. You probably feel like resting. It’s a big day for you.”

  I look up. “What do you mean?”

  “I found your pants when I was putting Evie’s nappy in the bin.”

  “Oh.” How humiliating.

  “You don’t need to throw them out. A bit of Vanish will deal with it.” She sits down on the bed. “Look, let’s just forget about yesterday, OK? It was probably just a touch of PMT. I get it too.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ve noticed.” Sometimes Mum sits and cries at the kitchen table for no reason. Other times she puts Evie’s babygros in my chest of drawers. Am I going to turn into a basket case every single month like Mum now? I hope not!

  She laughs. “Are you all right? Do you need some sanitary towels? I have some Always in my bag. Or do you want to try tampons?”

  I gulp. This is all so cringe-inducing. “The Always will be fine. Thanks. I’m going to Skibbereen with Clover later; I can go to a chemist’s then.”

  “OK. Remind me to give you some money.” She gives me a hug and kisses the top of my head. “Oh, Amy,” she says into my hair.

  “Mum!”

  “Sorry, sorry. It’s just…” She tails off, her eyes moist. “You’re growing up so quickly. I still remember the day you were born. All that hair – like a little brown mop stuck to your head.” She shakes her head and sighs.

  “Sylvie!” Dave yells up the stairs. “Have you seen the baby wipes?”

  She stands up. “Duty calls. I’ll be up with toast in a few minutes. Jam?”

  I nod.

  She lingers at the door for a second, staring at me. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again.

  “Sylvie!” Dave hollers again. “The poo’s going everywhere.”

  “I’ll be right there!” she shouts back. She smiles at me. “I love you so much, Amy. You’re my special first-born and now you’re a woman.”

  I nod, willing her to go away. She’s so embarrassing.

  “Sylvie! Evie just put her hand in it. Help!”

  Mum winces. “Better run.”

  Chapter 26

  I’m walking into the Church Cafe in Skibbereen with Clover for lunch, all ready to get the low-down on the Efa interview, when I spot a familiar face sitting at a nearby table. “Gramps! What are you doing here?”

  The top of his bald head goes scarlet. “Hello, Amy. Clover. I’m just … well, I’m just…” he falters.

  Then I see Esther. She’s sitting opposite him, smiling at us. “Hi, girls,” she says.

  She looks really nice. Her long white hair is hanging in a thick plait down her back, the end decorated with a silk sunflower, and she’s wearing a white linen shirt with a wide leather belt and a swishy brown suede skirt.

  “Love the belt,” Clover says, glaring at her. “But isn’t it a bit young for you?”

  Clover is very protective of Gramps, and she clearly hasn’t forgiven Esther for trying to kill him.

  Esther laughs easily. “I’m glad you like it; I got it in Milan. Would you like to join us?” She gestures at the table. It looks a bit on the small side for four.

  I glance at Gramps. He’s frowning.

  “Love to,” Clover says, undaunted. She pulls a chair over and squashes in beside Esther, pushing Esther’s chair out of the way rather rudely and elbowing her in the side.

  I mouth “Sorry” at Gramps, and sit down beside him.

  “So,” Clover says to Esther while giving her a sickly sweet smile, “you’ve decided murder isn’t the answer, then.”

  “Clover!” Gramps says.

  Esther throws her head back and gives a belly laugh. “I suppose I have. Death is horribly overrated.” She turns to Gramps. “Like I said, I’m so sorry, Len. And I must say, it’s very brave of you to agree to meet me for lunch. After the rats and everything.”

  “I was curious,” Gramps says with a shrug. “And I reckoned I’d be fairly safe somewhere called the Church Cafe.”

  Esther smiles. “You’d be surprised. I know the owne
rs very well. I’m sure I could persuade them to slip something in your sandwich.” She gives Gramps a wink. “One of them is Kit Harper’s aunt, in fact.”

  “Kit from Haven House?” I ask quickly.

  “You’ve met him?” she says.

  I nod. “I’ve talked to him as well. He seems nice.”

  She seems taken aback. “Really? He usually doesn’t say much. He can be a bit … how can I put this? Abrupt. He hasn’t been the same since his mum—” She breaks off. “Well, since she died. May was the gardener at Haven House before Kit; he’s inherited her green fingers. They were very close, Kit and May; used to do everything together. More like best friends than mother and son. Her death was a real tragedy. Nearly wiped the poor lad out. He’s a bit of a loner now. His dad’s worried about him – but what can you do? There’ll always be a job for him at Haven, although he could do so much more with his life.” She sighs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered, but it seemed like the right thing to do and I’m a woman of impulse.”

  “That you are,” Gramps agrees with a grin. “You always were kind-hearted, Esther. And a good little dancer too, if I recall.”

  “You were no slouch yourself, Len.” She beams at him, then turns to us. “Len and I go back a long way, girls. To cut a long story short, he broke my heart. Stood me up and then disappeared for a week without a word. I was distraught.” She breaks off and stares down at her hands, then looks up again. “So I decided to get revenge. I thought it would help – but I felt worse afterwards, not better. So I’m here today to apologize. I feel a little foolish, to be frank.”

  Gramps is staring at her, his mouth open. “But, Esther, I left a message. With one of your friends at the nurses’ home. Rosalind, I think her name was. I made her swear she’d give it to you.”