by Liz Bankes
Praise for Liz Bankes’
‘Compelling, juicy, and highly enjoyable.’
Chicklish
A quick, fun, sexy read ... I will be keeping my eye out for more books by Bankes in the future.’
Once Upon a Bookcase
‘Great, chemistry-filled scenes.’
Fluttering Butterflies
A fun, sexy debut [with] some genuinely laugh-out-loud moments.
Daisy Chain Book Reviews
‘Simply irresistible, truly one of those rare reads that captivated me ... amazing.’
Totally Bookalicious
‘Really absorbing - should Mia stick with good-guy Dan or follow her heart and dive into a rocky relationship with Jamie?
A real page-turner!’
Amber, 16
An enthralling insight into the inner workings of teenage life with the thrill of relationships and new experiences - fantastic!’
Polly, 15
From an early age Liz Bankes wanted to be a Thunderbird. Upon discovering that they were fictional and wooden she decided to be a writer. She wrote her GCSE coursework about a woman who cooks people in pies and later won the Tunbridge Wells Girls Grammar School creative writing prize.
She went on to study book-reading at some universities in order to avoid getting a job and to spend the next four years in pyjamas. After working on a building magazine and a science magazine, she had the wonderful and very exciting chance to write a story.
As well as all book-related things, she also likes comedy and cats.
First published in Great Britain in 2013
by Piccadilly Press
A Templar/Bonnier publishing company
Deepdene Lodge, Deepdene Avenue, Dorking, Surrey, RH5 4AT
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Text copyright © Liz Bankes, 2013
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The right of Liz Bankes to be identified as Author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 84812 345 8 (paperback)
978 1 84812 346 5 (ebook)
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Printed in the UK by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
Cover photo © istockphoto.com - weareadventurers
To Suzy,
who is always there with half-naked Ryan Gosling
and a wimple when I need her.
(Thank you.)
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 1
‘Gabi,’ Julia says, looking up from her desk, ‘you wanted to see me?’
I always told Mia she was a loser when she said she used to be terrified of Julia. Mia hasn’t worked at Radleigh Castle for a year and she still has a mini-shudder when I mention her old boss. Right from when I started working here I’ve said whatever I want to Julia and she doesn’t seem to mind – I’ve even made fun of her a few times to her face. She laughed once. Polly – one of the other waitresses who follows me around a lot – says I’m brave. But I’m not feeling brave at the moment.
I really wish I had told her about this earlier. I kept meaning to but then I’d find some reason to put it off because I’m worried she’s going to say no. Two days ago I got as far as going to her office after my shift, but just as I got there Mia called me. When Julia opened the door I chickened out and decided to pretend the phone call was urgent, so I ran off going, ‘OMG, I’ll be there RIGHT AWAY! JUST STAY CALM!’ Mia was just calling to invite me to the cinema. She didn’t even think my reaction was that weird – she assumed I’d been helping myself to the sherry trifle in the kitchens again. I had, but only a bit.
Now I’ve got as far as sitting in Julia’s office. And I am beginning to see what Mia meant. Oh well, the worst thing would be if she says no. I take a deep breath.
‘So I’ve got this thing,’ I tell her. ‘My granny phoned – she’s an actress, but on stage, so not a famous one . . .’
I trail off because someone at the window has got my attention. Messy blond hair. Dressed like a bit of a knob – I mean, who wears shirts in the daytime? Apart from teachers. And people with jobs. It can only be Jamie Elliot-Fox. He waves. I ignore him.
Julia frowns. ‘And . . .?’
‘Sorry!’ I say, but keep my eyes on the window. ‘And she knows this guy who is the dad of this other guy who is the producer or something for The Halls.’
Oh my God, he’s kissing someone! The dick! Cheating on my best friend! I’ll kill him. I will literally strangle— Oh no, wait, that is Mia. I’d forgotten she’d dyed her hair back to brown again.
Julia sees my eyes go wide and turns to look. Mia realises they are by the window and pushes Jamie away, pretending to be really interested in something on the ground. Then she looks up like she’s only just seen us. She’s such a fool. I wave at her and then stop when Julia turns back round.
‘So he’s the producer or something for The Halls,’ I continue, ‘which is obviously am-a-zing.’
Julia shakes her head. ‘I haven’t seen it.’
‘Oh my God, you should! It’s so good. It’s about all these students who go to uni in London and lots of them get it on and some die and—’
‘Gabi, can you get to the point?’
Okay. Here goes.
‘Can I have the summer . . . off?’
Chapter 2
The train back to Granny’s is absolutely rammed and I want to scream. I really don’t understand how they do things in London. I thought that once the carriage was nicely full then people would stop getting on and wait patiently for the next train. NO. They kept cramming in and I’ve ended up squashed in a corner with my face in a man’s back.
I guess I should have expected it after getting the rush-hour train in this morning. I turned up all bright and chirpy and determined to enjoy the commuting fun, despite the fact I’d had to get up at the crack of death – in the school holidays – and also hadn’t had time to wash my hair because I’d been wrestling my cretin of a sister for the last Pop Tart. You would have thought she would let me have it, seeing as I was about to leave home and live in London for the entire holidays. But she didn’t. Because she is evil.
What I discovered on the morning train was that all commuters are angry and silent. And that you have to be good at clambering when someone is si
tting in an aisle seat and doesn’t fancy budging up into the empty one next to them. The man I straddled did look a bit surprised as I think he was worried I would sit on him at first. I tried to lighten the mood by telling him he had a nice newspaper (it is difficult to think of a compliment for someone with such an angry face) and by pointing out interesting things I saw on the journey (mostly birds and other trains), but all I got was a grunt. What a knob. I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, though.
Just like then, as I now inhale this man’s shirt, I am determined not to let it bother me. Today was the first day of my super-amazing, exciting summer and nothing can dampen my mood. Especially not thinking about how I won’t be spending the summer with my best friends. And definitely not thinking about the boyfriend I recently dumped. Or trying not to.
A few people get off at the next station and I can actually breathe again. I’ve got quite a good spot holding on to a pole by the door. I feel a nice yawn coming on when suddenly the train lurches. This woman in front of me falls forward and her whole fist goes into my mouth.
We stay like that for a moment, just staring at each other. And then she withdraws her hand, wipes it on her cardigan and looks at me like I was some weird person who’d tried to eat her.
I really hope no one from the production company saw that. I don’t want to get a reputation as someone who attacks people with my mouth.
I hear a stifled laughing sound and look over towards it. There’s a guy leaning against the door about a metre away and looking very amused. He’s wearing one of those hats that sit on the back of your head – usually worn by arrogant people – and has dark curls of hair framing his face at the front. His eyebrows are arched so they go a bit crooked and he has an irritatingly big grin on his face.
‘It’s rude to stare, you know,’ I say and he just looks down at the book he’s reading. Great, well that’s just made me look mental.
Deep breath. Ignore dickheads. Focus on amazing summer, day one. To be honest, the induction today was not so amazing and was mostly signing forms saying I wouldn’t break anything or blame the company if I died while working for them. I was waiting for the bit when they’d ask me which parts of the TV process I want to be involved in and I would say, ‘Oh, I’d like to be a script writer and editor but, you know, if you insist, I’ll also act in some scenes.’ And then I’d be able to show them the writing I’d brought with me. But it didn’t come. Instead they said things like, ‘Make sure you are here early to put out the chairs for the read-through tomorrow.’
I had tried to be early today, but ended up being only just on time by getting lost in Camden. Dad had printed off like seven maps for me, but on none of them had he told me which way up to hold the map. I was also dragging round a suitcase on wheels, which did not help. Neither does muttering ‘arse’, ‘bugger’ and ‘balls’ at regular intervals, but it does get people to move out of your way in case you are a lunatic.
I should maybe try that now because the train is pulling into my stop and I need to get to the door. The guy who was laughing at me earlier is in my way.
‘Excuse me,’ I say in the firm and professional manner of a person with a job, and not a person who gets lost a lot and attacks people with their mouth.
‘All right, don’t eat my hand . . .’ he mutters, without looking up from his book. He steps to the side as the doors open.
I fix him with a pitying glance (with a bit of hair flickage for good measure) and step off the train.
Into nothing.
Gabi: KILL ME.
Mia: What did you do?
Gabi: I fell down the gap between the platform and the train.
Mia: Of course you did . . . Are you all right??
Gabi: It wasn’t actually very far down and the gap was very big. And this guy picked me up straight away. So it was fine really.
Mia: I don’t think I’d describe momentarily being under a train as ‘fine’, but okay.
Gabi: So – other things that happened:
1. I met Johnny Green! Okay, well, technically I didn’t speak to him. But we were in the SAME ROOM. Well, not at the same time. But he was in there just before me and I GLIMPSED his HAIR. He left a coffee cup on the side and when the guy was telling me about the job and all the important things I have to learn and remember, etc, I stole the cup and put it in my bag. Later I smelt it. I may have smelt Johnny Green! If I have, he smells of coffee. It could have been someone else’s cup. Do you want me to send you a pic?
2. Have found out that being a runner may not involve actual running unless something ‘urgent’ is happening, like pigeons invading the shot.
3. Someone’s fist went in my mouth. But Granny has made dinner so I can’t explain about that now.
I MISS YOU.
G x
Mia: I can’t wait for your explanation of having a fist in your mouth. But I can live without seeing a picture of a coffee cup that smells of coffee and may/may not be Johnny Green’s. Did you learn or remember anything that you will be doing in the job? I know you will ignore this, but don’t be too stalkery. How is it living in London? Things that have happened here in the boring countryside:
1. Nish said she saw a lion on the common. She went to alert the local newspaper. Turns out it was one of those small, hairy ponies.
2. That is it. Nothing happens here. I CANNOT WAIT to go to France.
Please tell me more about your exciting London adventure or I will slip into a coma of boredom.
Miss you too. Lots.
Mia x
P.S. Jamie has already packed for France – he’s taking his surf shorts and a crate of wine apparently. I told him it won’t fit in his rucksack.
Chapter 3
It was quite lucky really. I fell straight down on to the track and didn’t hit anything on my way. Not even a boob. And I’m always hitting them on stuff – I once knocked a child over. Mia says I’m really lucky having big boobs, but she doesn’t realise that there’s a lot of hassle involved. And backache. And people forgetting to look at my face.
I managed not to pull my suitcase down with me – it stayed balanced on the train step. My head was just above the platform. The laughing guy had got off the train and looked really freaked out. To him it must have looked like I just disappeared. At some point it finally occurred to me that I was almost under a train, which might not be the best place to stand. So I started frantically trying to clamber up. The guy put his hands in my armpits and heaved me. I made a rather unattractive grunt. Not that I think there is an attractive version of a grunt. As he set me down on the platform our eyes met. His were wide and sparkling, probably mostly with shock. My heart was thumping in my chest.
Then, before I could thank him, he’d leapt back on to the train just before it pulled away. I think he’d regretted laughing at me and felt he had to get involved.
I was left in a dazed state on the platform and the other people around me looked pretty shocked as well. It was quite intense having lots of people watch me, so I said, ‘Well, I won’t try that again!’ Nobody laughed. They just looked away and then carried on with their lives.
A station man came running over to me and fussed. He said that I should stay at the station until I’d recovered and someone could come and pick me up. I tried to explain that I was mainly just mortified and not actually hurt and that I was staying at my granny’s house about two minutes from the station, but he wouldn’t listen. He said that my granny would be worried about me.
When she arrived she didn’t seem very worried; she couldn’t stop laughing.
‘I wouldn’t find it funny if you were gravely injured,’ she said. Which is good to know.
Mum made a bit more of a fuss when I called her on the way to Granny’s. Although she also said, ‘But they make an announcement about that, don’t they?’ like I’d fallen off the train because I didn’t listen to the warning telling me not to.
Granny moved to London after Grandpa died and she has the coolest house ever. It is
a converted church and the room I’m staying in has an arched roof and a stained-glass window and you get up to it by going up a ladder. She is an actress so there are posters from her plays all around and pictures of her with people who are probably famous, but from olden times so I don’t know them.
Also in the room I’m in there’s a photo of her and Grandpa. She is throwing her head back and laughing and it looks a bit like she’s taking up the whole picture. Grandpa is a bit blurry and the sunlight is flashing off his glasses. He’s kind of in the background, but I bet it was him who said whatever it was that cracked her up. Granny said that she could have gone off with any of these rich actor guys, but she knew Grandpa was the one for her. She would always say, ‘He looks like an egg in specs, but he makes me laugh.’
My sister Millie reckons I was really ‘awful, insensitive and frankly evil’ at his funeral because I got drunk, insulted Uncle Nigel and was sick everywhere. But I didn’t mean to – the waiters kept filling up my glass. Besides, Granny found it hilarious. She said I livened it up while everyone else was being boring and sobby. And I think it distracted her a bit from Dad not being there. Grandpa was his father and he couldn’t face it. And Uncle Nigel is a little bit gropey. And only a tiny bit of vomit went in the cremation urn.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the beams. I should probably read over all the handouts I got today before I go to bed. Or I could lie here and picture tomorrow when I get cast as Johnny Green’s new love interest – on and off screen.
I’ll think about that.
And not Max.
Chapter 4
‘Coffee.’ The man interrupts me when I am in the middle of introducing myself and doesn’t even look up from his desk.
‘Oh, no thanks,’ I say. Granny chucked two espressos down my throat this morning to wake me up.
He does look up now. But just with his eyes.
‘The coffee run,’ he says wearily. ‘Kitchen’s that way.’ He waves me away and clicks his fingers twice. He looks all bony and mean, like an angry skull. My face is burning as I turn away from him. I don’t care if he’s the producer; there’s no need to be rude.