Love Lottery

by Cathy Hopkins

  Suddenly Cat nudged me. ‘Now, this could be interesting,’ she said as a boy who looked about fifteen or sixteen got out of the back.

  Hhhmm. Not half bad, I thought. He was medium height, medium build and dressed in jeans, T-shirt and baseball cap. He wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous like Lia’s brother, but he was cute. It would be no hardship at all to snog him.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They might be boyfriend and girlfriend.’

  ‘Don’t think so,’ said Mac, who was ogling the girl like he’d never seen one before. ‘They have the same eyes. I think they’re brother and sister.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Squidge. ‘And the baldie man looks like the dad and the one with the plait looks like the mum.’

  ‘Watch out. They’re coming this way,’ said Lia as the four newcomers spotted the alley and the ocean beyond, then began to make their way towards us.

  Cat, Mac, Lia and Squidge looked at the man, the woman and the girl as they walked past, then turned to watch the boy, who was slouching behind. As he approached, they turned to look at me to see if I was going to cop out or cop off.

  I took a deep breath, slipped off the wall, walked up to the boy and caught his arm as he passed. He turned to face me.

  ‘Er, excuse me a moment,’ I said and before I could chicken out, I leaned in and kissed him.

  ‘Wha . . . spluh . . . wuh,’ spluttered the boy.

  He took a step back and looked me up and down, then his face split into a wide smile. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I think I’m going to like Cornwall.’

  I DIDN’T GIVE THE BOY a chance to say anything else, because when I glanced over at his parents and saw the look on their faces, I decided that I’d better leg it. They didn’t look too happy about their son being accosted by a stranger the moment he’d got out of the car. The girl on the other hand, cracked up laughing.

  ‘Way to go, bro. Seems like it’s your lucky day,’ I heard her say as I turned and fled the scene, leaving the boy standing there looking bewildered.

  Lia, Mac and Cat had the same idea and with Squidge limping behind on his crutches, we ran up the alley laughing our heads off, then down one of the back streets, away from the square.

  ‘Thank God they’re not local,’ I said as I peeped round a corner and looked back at the brightly coloured car they had arrived in. ‘Hopefully that’s the last we’ll see of them.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cat. ‘He looked nice. And he didn’t seem to mind being snogged, after the initial shock.’

  It was true. He was quite appealing with his twinkly blue eyes, but I shrugged the experience off. It had only been a game. He was probably passing through with his family like so many others at this time of year, on their way further into Cornwall to resorts like Penzance or Padstow. What did I care? I was through with boys.

  ‘Lia and I are heading back to my place,’ said Squidge when we got close to the cottage where he lived. ‘Want to come in?’

  Mac shook his head. ‘I’ll just come and collect my bike.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  ‘Cat?’ asked Squidge.

  Cat shook her head and looked at her watch. ‘No. I promised I’d babysit Emma as Dad and Jen are going off to look at the new house again.’

  ‘How’s that all going?’ asked Mac.

  We all knew that moving house meant a lot to Cat. It meant her own room for the first time in her life. At the moment, she was still having to share with Emma, who was only six and, although cute, sometimes drove Cat mad.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Cat. ‘If all goes according to plan, they exchange next week and then we should be set to move at the beginning of August. Hurrah!’

  ‘Why can’t Luke or Joe look after Emma for a change?’ I asked. ‘It’s always you. I reckon your brothers get off easily.’ I felt for Cat sometimes. Since her mum died when she was nine, she’s had to be almost a replacement mum. She does more than the rest of us in the way of household chores and cooking, and she has to look after her younger brothers and sister. August is going to be a big month for her because her dad is going to remarry, which we all think is fab – not only because his fiancée, Jen, is really nice, but also because it may mean that at last Cat will have more freedom. I hope so.

  Cat laughed. ‘Nice idea and you’re right, but can you imagine if we left them to babysit? Last time we left Luke in charge, he and Joe decided to pretend that they were Daleks from Dr Who. Joe got a pan jammed on his head and Luke had the loo plunger stuck to his forehead and they both had to be taken to casualty. They’re walking disasters. So nah, not an option yet. Be easier when Jen moves in with us properly. See yas.’

  She took off up the road and we followed Squidge and Lia towards his house.

  ‘Want to come back to mine?’ asked Mac. ‘Mum will probably do us a snack or something if you’re hungry.’

  I nodded. I didn’t want to go home yet even though there was a text from both Dad and Mum on my phone – the one from Dad asking if I was OK and did I want to go for ice cream over at Whitsand, and the one from Mum telling me to SWITCH my phone ON. (I had switched it on to check for messages, then switched it off again.) I didn’t want to talk to her yet. I felt cross with her for ruining everything. What was there to go home for? It was the summer holidays. What did they expect me to do? Sit there and referee their fights? Or act happy families as if nothing had happened and it was all just hunky dory? No way.

  ‘So what’s going on?’ asked Mac after we’d said goodbye to the others and got our bikes from the back of Squidge’s cottage.

  ‘Nothing. Why?’ I replied as we headed off up the hill.

  ‘Because I know you, Rebecca Howard, and you aren’t your usual self.’

  ‘I’m all right. I did what Squidge asked and kissed that boy, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yeah but . . . you don’t seem very happy.’

  ‘Am.’

  ‘Aren’t.’

  ‘Am.’

  Mac slowed his bike down and motioned for me to do the same. He put his hand on my arm. ‘Listen. If you don’t want to talk, I understand, but if you do, I’m here, OK?’

  He was looking at me so kindly that I felt tears prick my eyes. I tried to sniff them away.

  ‘See,’ said Mac. ‘I knew there was something.’

  ‘Just leave it, will you? Don’t be nice to me. I hate it when people are nice to me.’ I felt my tears turning to anger. What is the matter with me lately? I thought. Part of me feels like I want to scream. Another part wants to kick something. Another part wants to blub like a baby. Best push it all down. It freaked me out to think about what might happen if Mum and Dad really did break up. Mac’s mum and dad split up and his dad lives up in London and he hardly ever sees him. I couldn’t bear to not see my mum and dad, so if I don’t think about it, it might not happen. ‘Just leave me alone, OK?’

  I said ‘OK’ a tad aggressively and Mac looked hurt.

  ‘OK,’ he said and got back on his bike and cycled away fast.

  I felt rotten. He was only trying to be kind. God, I’m acting like my mother, I realised. Pushing people away when they’re trying to be nice. No way do I want to be like her.

  I cycled after him as fast as I could, but couldn’t catch him up.

  He got back to his house about five minutes before me. As I cycled into the courtyard in front of his gran’s house, I saw him disappearing through the rose arch that led into their back garden.

  I quickly got off my bike and ran after him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said as he was about to go in the back door.

  He shrugged, but I could see that he was still miffed with me.

  ‘Look. Bad day. If you really want to know what’s going on then I’ll tell you. It’s . . . stuff at home. Mum and . . .’ I felt the tears prickling again.

  Mac immediately melted. He came and put his arm round me and led me to the picnic table at the back of the garden. ‘Come on, you idiot,’ he said.

  We sat at the table and I stared at the grass will
ing the tears to go away.

  ‘Your folks not getting on?’ asked Mac.

  I shook my head, then nodded. ‘I’m really, really worried that it’s serious this time. They’ve had rows before, but this is different. They used to make up before. And if they do break up . . . what will happen to us? Where will we live? How will we live? What will happen to me?’ A huge sob threatened to escape from my throat and I tried to swallow it back down.

  Mac squeezed my hand. ‘Well, if anyone understands about that, it’s me. I remember when we lived in London and my mum and dad weren’t getting on, I hated it too.’

  I nodded again. ‘I . . . I can’t stand being there any more. I . . . you know what, Mac? I don’t even like going home to my own house. I always try and think of excuses to stay out so that I don’t have to face them. It’s horrible sometimes, like when you guys have all gone home for supper, I stay out and go places on my own – and last week I was sitting on one of the benches at the top of Kingsand Beach and Mr O’Riley walked past and asked if I had a home to go to. I know he was joking, but I thought, actually no, I don’t. Not one I feel at home in any more . . .’

  Mac looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and panic. ‘I’m so sorry, Bec . . .’

  And then the floodgates opened and I started bawling.

  Mac looked round as if he was worried that someone might be watching or listening and think that he’d said something to upset me.

  ‘Oh God, Becca, don’t cry,’ he said as he squeezed my hand again. ‘I hate it when you cry.’

  He squeezed my hand really hard.

  ‘Ow!’ I cried. ‘YOU asked me what was WRONG. YOU started it.’

  Mac looked at a total loss as to what to do and just stared at me as tears dripped down my cheeks. I didn’t care. In a strange way, it was a relief to cry it out.

  Mac took his hand away and stood up. ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ he said and he began pacing up and down, looking around, then looking at me in dismay as if he didn’t know what to do next. He sat down then got up again and started pacing again. ‘Oh, fromage. Um. What to do? Um . . . Cup of tea? What would you like? We can sort this out, Becca, if you just stop crying.’

  The sight of him flapping about like he had ants in his pants suddenly struck me as funny and I stopped crying and started laughing. This caused Mac to look more bewildered than ever.

  ‘Oh God. Why are you laughing?’ he asked, then sighed and sat back down opposite me. ‘Crumbling crustaceans. Girls. I’ll never understand them. Do you want me to get Cat?’

  I shook my head and tried to make myself calm down by breathing slowly.

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Mac. ‘We need a plan. Yes. That’s what we need. A plan to cheer you up. What can we do?’

  ‘We can get my mum to stop acting like a total misery-guts and be NICE to my dad for a change. He doesn’t deserve the way she treats him. I really HATE her sometimes.’

  Mac looked even more taken aback as I really shouted the word ‘hate’ loudly. ‘Ohhh right,’ he said, looking more confused than ever. ‘Yes. That’s it. Yes. Good. Cry. Laugh. Shout. Yes. Let it all out. Oh God . . .’

  He looked like he wanted me to do anything but let it all out, but I decided to take his advice. I’d read in one of my girlie magazines that one of the best ways to de-stress is by letting it all out.

  I got up and went to the nearest tree and began to kick it. ‘I HATE HER,’ I shouted at the top of my voice, then, just for good measure, gave the tree a few more kicks.

  There was a silence. Then I heard someone cough.

  ‘Hey! What did that poor tree do to you?’ said a boy’s voice.

  ‘Ohmigod! Who is that?’ I called. ‘Who’s there? Mac! Quick – there’s a prowler in the garden. There! Behind that bush!’

  There was a rustle and then a boy appeared. A familiar boy. The one I’d snogged down on the beach and he looked like he was having a hard time not laughing.

  He held out his hand. ‘Hi. Seeing as we have done the face-suckee thing, maybe I should introduce myself. I’m Laurence Lovering, but my mates call me Lal. I’m not a prowler. I’m a guest here. My family are staying here for two weeks. We just arrived. The lady back at the house up there told me to look at the garden while she made some tea.’

  ‘Er, that’s my mum,’ said Mac, getting up from the table. ‘Hi. I’m Mac. My mum runs the place.’

  A moment later, the blonde girl from the beach appeared besides Lal. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Lucy.’

  Holy crapoly, it’s that mob from London, I thought. And oh no, I must look a right mess with swollen eyes and I bet my mascara’s run too.

  Lal and Lucy looked at Mac, then at me.

  ‘Oh yes. Me. Um. I am . . . Becca. Yes. I don’t normally go round kicking trees and snogging strange boys, you know . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me that you snog trees and kick boys,’ said Lal and Mac and Lucy laughed.

  I gave Lal a filthy look.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Lal with a big grin. ‘I interrupted. You were saying?’

  ‘I was saying – or at least trying to say – that I am quite normal, really. Honestly, I am. Not mad at all.’

  ‘Shame,’ said Lal, ‘because I like mad girls. They make life interesting.’

  And then he held eye contact for a few moments and I felt my stomach do that leapy-lurch thing that it does when there is fanciability in the air. Hhhmmm, I thought. Maybe I’m not quite through with boys just yet . . .

  ‘I DON’T WANT TO GO. Sorry,’ I said when Mum showed me a holiday brochure on Tuesday evening over supper.

  Mum took a long breath. One of those breaths that tells you that someone is having a hard time restraining themselves from socking someone else in the face. That someone else being me. I didn’t care. She’d ruined enough good times lately.

  ‘What do you mean you don’t want to go?’ she asked. ‘You were all for it last week when your dad first suggested it.’

  ‘Changed my mind.’

  ‘Oh, Becca. You can be so difficult sometimes,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘Me, difficult? It was you who didn’t want to go anywhere. You wanted to go to a restaurant in Plymouth. Remember?’

  For a moment Mum looked weary. ‘I suppose. Yes, I suppose I changed my mind too.’

  ‘Well, now I think a restaurant is a good idea too.’

  Dad came in from the garden, where he’d been to collect some basil leaves. ‘So what’s with the long face, Duchess?’ he asked as he tore the leaves up, sprinkled them over our pasta and turned to Mum. ‘What’s going on? Have you told her the news?’

  Mum shrugged. ‘She doesn’t want to go.’

  Dad looked taken aback. ‘Doesn’t want to go to Prague? Are you kidding? It’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful cities in Europe.’

  ‘I think Mum was right last week,’ I said as I pushed my food around my plate. ‘I think that we should all be sensible and you should save your money, Dad. I mean, we live in such a fantastic holiday place – why leave it?’

  ‘Because your dad has just booked—’ Mum started.

  ‘Er . . . this not wanting to go,’ Dad interrupted, ‘it wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain boy who has been phoning here over the last few days, would it?’

  ‘No,’ I replied as I pushed my plate away. ‘What boy?’

  Actually, it had everything to do with ‘a certain boy’. Lal Lovering. He was a total godsend and had been just what I needed to take my mind off my problems, i.e. Mum and Dad.

  Since Saturday, we’d hung out every day and I’d taken him round all the good sites I know. The weather had been sunny and it was great to show someone new around as I got to see the area through his eyes and was reminded how fab it is. Plus, being with him gave me an excuse to avoid my Cornish mates. Not because I don’t like them, but because, being such close mates, they’d have picked up on the fact that I wasn’t my normal self and asked questions like Mac had the other day and I didn’t want that. It bro
ught too many feelings up that I didn’t know how to deal with. They were just happy that I’d got together with Lal – Squidge in particular. He reckoned that he was totally responsible for his first love match and told me to call him Cupid. Lal didn’t know me as well as they did so wouldn’t know if I was subdued or not saying what was on my mind.

  On Sunday, we explored the villages and bays over in Kingsand and Cawsand and I showed him the secret beach out at Penlee Point that only the locals know about. It’s perfect for kissing and cuddling and not being seen and he seemed well up for a lot of that. In fact that was one of the things I liked about him. We did a bit of the usual finding out about each other: fave movies, music, what star sign and so on and I discovered that although he’s a bit flash and full of himself, underneath, he’s a nice guy who simply wants to have a good time. Mainly what he liked doing was snogging, playing with my hair and holding hands. And that suited me perfectly for the time being. Normally I like to talk about everything. About what’s going on in my head. All sorts of things, but not lately. I’d rather have a boy who could distract me from what was happening in my head than one who wants to talk, talk, talk, and Lal certainly wasn’t a boy who was big on communication. He was into action. Demonstration. It felt great to be wanted so much. No games. No trying to be cool.

  Lal was easily the most affectionate boyfriend I’ve ever had. In fact, he reminded me of an overexcited puppy, desperate for attention, but so cute that you didn’t mind giving him a cuddle. He made a refreshing change from some of the boys I’d been out with, who had either been too shy or fearful of rejection to say what they really wanted. Lal had no inhibitions. He knew what he wanted all right, and that was to get as up close and personal as he possibly could as often as he could. I had to fight him off from going too far, as he got fresh down on the beach and put his hands inside my T-shirt. I soon slapped his hands away as I didn’t know him that well. He was OK about it, though, and said I couldn’t blame him for trying. He said that any boy in his right mind would try. He makes me feel like I am the most desirable girl on the planet and that’s why he can’t keep his hands off me.