by Sue Limb
‘Zoe! How dare you nearly mention Newquay when I’d specifically told you not to!’ snapped Chloe. ‘It was so the wrong moment. You must let me ask her in my own time! My mum can be unexpectedly weird about stuff – she still hasn’t given me my sex talk yet!’
‘You’re the lucky one.’ I grinned. ‘My mum gave me my first sex talk when I was five, and I’ve had to sit through one every year since. Anyway, once Fran knows we’re heading for Newquay I think you’ll find the sex talk will swiftly follow.’
‘I hope it never comes!’ shrieked Chloe. ‘I couldn’t bear the thought of my mum even using the words!’
‘It would be better if the words were different,’ I pondered. ‘How about: the man puts his blancmange into the woman’s apple crumble?’
‘No! Not food! Food is gross!’ screeched Chloe, placing our mugs of chai on a tin tray decorated with the god Vishnu. ‘How about: the man puts his Piccadilly into the woman’s Swindon?’
‘Or animals? The man puts his aardvark into the woman’s Chihuahua?’ Laughing helplessly we carried the tray out into Chloe’s back garden. It’s like a cute little fragment of rainforest. Her mum has carved out a kind of arbour among the trees, and installed some garden furniture. It’s old garden furniture, obviously. Fran’s idea of chic is decidedly shabby.
I placed the tray on the rickety old table and plonked myself down in one of the ancient wicker chairs. There was a ripping sound of old sticks giving way as my arse tore straight through the chair seat and went on plummeting towards the earth twenty-five centimetres below.
‘Jesus!’ I yelled as my bot struck terra firma. Chloe cracked up. She laughed so much, she half fell on to the rickety table and spilled most of the chai. I struggled to my feet, but the wicker chair was kind of fastened round my bum like a cartoon out of The Dandy. ‘Pull it off! Pull it off!’ I gasped, hysterical. Eventually Chloe stopped weeping with laughter and held on to the chair while I tugged myself out of it.
‘If only we’d videoed that!’ said Chloe, groaning at the comic perfection of the moment. ‘We could have used it as a show reel and got jobs as TV comedians!’
Once we’d got the chair off my bum, the laughter died. The chair looked terrible: kind of sad and trashed. It had been a dear old chair and I was sure it was Fran’s favourite. Maybe it could be mended by a lovable old guy with a silvery moustache, a leather apron and a willow plantation behind his cute thatched cottage.
We had to find that man, even though the bill for repairs would probably cost more than a week in Newquay. The need for cash was more urgent than ever.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘let’s go to that employment office your mum mentioned. You know, just up from the station. What’s it called? – Mercury. At least let’s just go there in person and ask. It can’t do any harm.’
.
.
3
The trip to Mercury Employment involved a short bus journey and we got off just by the Dolphin Cafe. I suddenly remembered that Toby had a holiday job there. He is way more organised than we are. I think he applied for the job back in April or something. We went in and found a table.
Moments later Toby came mincing out of the kitchen carrying a tray with four steaming mugs of tea. When he saw us he kind of twitched, and I was scared, for a mo, that he might drop the tray or even hurl it all over the customers, causing a lawsuit – and, obviously, Toby would get the sack and it would all be my fault. My mum’s in insurance and sometimes I think I’ve inherited her ‘disaster scenario’ way of thinking.
We giggled secretly as we watched Tobe serve the family with their tea. He was terrifically polite and gracious, but his waiter’s trousers were just slightly stuck up his crack. Then he came across to us.
‘Good afternoon, ladies!’ he pouted. ‘How may I help you?’
‘God, Toby, you so look the part!’ giggled Chloe. ‘That long apron and stuff!’
‘So Parisian!’ I agreed.
‘Any vacancies here?’ asked Chloe. ‘We’re disastrously unemployed.’
‘We’re such retards,’ I wailed. ‘If we can’t find work, our fabulous hol in Newquay is going down the pan!’ Tobe went pale.
‘You can’t chicken out now!’ he hissed. ‘We’ve been planning it since we were embryos!’
‘Well, get us a job here, then!’ demanded Chloe.
‘No chance,’ whispered Toby. ‘Maria only employs boys, for reasons which must remain private. So! Can I take your order?’
‘Oh, definitely!’ I agreed. ‘I’d like a cranberry pressé, please, waiter.’
‘And could I get an elderflower pressé?’ asked Chloe. The Dolphin Cafe has gone a bit upmarket since Maria took it over in May. She used to be just the waitress and she’s famously the worst flirt in town, but with stunning business sense, obviously.
‘How’s it going here, anyway?’ I asked.
‘Oh, great!’ Toby grinned. ‘Maria says I can be her toy boy on Thursdays!’
‘Why only Thursdays?’ asked Chloe.
‘There’s a rota!’ whispered Toby – then he bounced off back to the kitchen.
‘Shame Ferg couldn’t work here as well,’ I commented. ‘He could protect Toby from Maria.’ Fergus was working in his dad’s warehouse, though it was hard to imagine tiny Ferg heaving cardboard boxes about. However, Ferg was earning big time – though he’s small, his bank balance is often bigger than anybody’s, and he’s so organised and motivated, he writes down every financial transaction in a little notebook – even his chewing-gum purchases.
After finishing our drinks we set off towards the employment agency with renewed urgency.
‘We’ve just got to find work,’ I said anxiously. ‘We just have to! If there’s nothing at the employment agency I think we should go round all the shops asking if they want extra help, OK?’
‘God, yes!’ said Chloe. ‘We so have to get to Newquay! Think of the sun – the surf – the surfers – oh, it’ll be brilliant! Nothing’s gonna stand in our way.’
Arm in arm we strode towards Mercury Employment. We could not have been more committed. Then, with a sudden lurch of alarm, I saw him.
It was too late to protect Chloe from a really awkward meeting. He was coming towards us, only about a hundred metres away. He’d had a haircut, so his long greasy locks had gone, which is probably why I hadn’t recognised him in time. If I had, I’d have steered Chloe into the nearest shop, grabbed a random dress or two and hidden in the changing room.
‘Oh my God!’ hissed Chloe. ‘It’s Beast!’
‘Just walk past,’ I said. ‘Keep talking. Ignore him.’ Chloe gripped my arm tightly. I had to get her past him in one piece. After all, he had broken her heart quite recently, and behaved like an utter cad.
‘Hey! Zoe and Chloe!’ He hailed us from some distance. ‘My favourite double act!’
‘Let’s run!’ whispered Chloe.
‘No way!’ I commanded. ‘We just act totally normal. Leave it to me.’ There are times when I have to switch into Frightening Victorian Governess mode and protect Chloe, because despite all her fun and fizz and recklessness, she can seem really fragile and I can’t bear it when people hurt her.
‘How’s it goin’, girls?’ he said, grinning, with his usual cocksure flirtatiousness. ‘You’re both looking amazing as usual. So what’s new?’
Chloe’s grip tightened. Her fingernails were now almost through my skin. ‘We’re great,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, fine, you know. Busy.’ He grinned, looking down at Chloe with that awful glamorous gaze which had so easily paralysed her in the past. And then he turned it on me. I just stared back, bold as brass.
‘Where’s your handsome sidekick?’ I enquired sarcastically. Beast’s usual companion is a boy called Donut, who resembles a giant root vegetable.
‘Oh, Donut’s gone to Kenya,’ said Beast. ‘Some kind of safari thing.’
‘Why didn’t you go with him?’ I asked, implying Beast was a wimp for stayin
g at home while his turnip-faced buddy wrestled with lions or possibly learnt to cuss in Swahili.
‘Oh, I’ve got to stay here,’ said Beast. ‘I’ve got a job with an events and hospitality company. What are you up to?’
‘We’re going to be working for about a month,’ said Chloe.
‘And then we’re going to Newquay for a week,’ I added.
‘Newquay?’ exclaimed Beast. ‘Awesome! See you there! Me and the guys from the rugby team are going to be there in the last week of August. I’ll teach you to surf if you like.’
‘We’re not really completely and utterly sure if we’re going to Newquay yet,’ I countered, panicking. I didn’t want Beast pushing his brawny way into Chloe’s poor battered little heart again. ‘Flora Barclay’s invited us to join her in Tuscany – you never know …’ Chloe gave me an astonished look. ‘Plus we’ve been thinking about Brighton – my aunt lives there,’ I said, inventing an aunt on the spot. I had always wanted an aunt in Brighton. I was fond of her already. Especially if she was going to rescue us from the clutches of Beast.
‘Is that right?’ enquired Beast. He twinkled his eyes at us, trying to soften us up, but I gritted my teeth and looked as grim as possible. ‘Brighton’s cool,’ he went on, ‘but the beach is crap compared to Cornwall, and the surf is nil. So where are you going to be working, then?’
‘We haven’t actually found a job yet,’ said Chloe.
‘So we’d better get our skates on,’ I added, starting to move away. ‘We’ve gotta go. We’ve got an appointment and we’re going to be late for it. Come on, Chloe,’ I said, and stepped out. I still had her arm firmly entwined in mine, so she could hardly resist without breaking her shoulder.
‘See you around, then!’ Beast grinned. We marched firmly away. Chloe gave a stifled little sound of pain, like a sob or a gasp.
‘Don’t cry!’ I demanded. ‘He’s not worth it!’
‘I’m not going to cry!’ snapped Chloe. ‘Just let me go, for God’s sake! You’re breaking my freakin’ arm!’
I released my grip. ‘Sorry!’ I muttered. ‘I just can’t stand that guy. He makes me sick. Everything about him makes my skin creep. Think about the horrible way he treated you!’
‘Don’t be so melodramatic!’ Chloe exclaimed. ‘It’s no big deal.’
‘But you wanted to run away just now,’ I pointed out.
‘I want to run away from loads of people,’ snapped Chloe. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m mad about them!’
I didn’t believe her. I could see it all so clearly: we’d be down in Newquay, and Chloe would bump into Beast, and he’d start his charming seductive act all over again, and he’d be telling her how beautiful she was and stuff, just like before …
And then he’d dump her, just like that, out of the blue, because some gorgeous girl had come along, and Chloe would go mental, and spend all day crying, and throw herself in the sea, and be eaten by killer whales, and instead of sending her mum, Fran, a postcard, I’d be presenting her with a horrid little shoebox, in which would be all that was left of Chloe.
‘Maybe we shouldn’t go to Newquay after all,’ I suggested doubtfully. ‘I mean, there are other places.’
‘What?’ gasped Chloe, stopping stock-still and grabbing my sleeve.
‘You could completely lose it if Beast was there,’ I said.
‘I so would not! Don’t be stupid!’
‘We can go somewhere else,’ I said. ‘Another surfing place.’
‘Well, I’m going to Newquay, even if you aren’t!’ shouted Chloe. ‘How can you be such an idiot? You’ve just no idea what you’re talking about!’
‘I’m only thinking of you,’ I insisted.
‘Well, freakin’ well stop thinking of me, Zoe!’ Chloe’s eyes flared and her face went bright red. ‘Get outta my face!’ And she turned on her heel and stomped off back in the direction we’d come – the direction, of course, where Beast had so recently disappeared. I didn’t argue. I just kind of slumped.
I wandered along, staring at the pavement for a bit. What else could I do? Just five minutes ago we’d been determined to get a job right now, starting in half an hour if possible, then Beast had disastrously arrived and it had all gone pear-shaped. Chloe and I had wasted our time yelling at each other and now I’d totally lost my drive and motivation.
I was so distracted by our row and by Beast’s inconvenient reappearance, I was kind of unaware of my surroundings. Suddenly a pair of black shoes appeared in front of me.
‘Hello,’ said a voice.
.
.
4
I looked up. It was Oliver! Oliver Wyatt! I hadn’t seen him for weeks, but I’d thought of him about every three minutes. Only an hour or so ago I’d written his name on my arm. Hastily I pulled down the sleeve of my cardi.
Oliver looked simply magnificent. Every drop of blood in my body flew to my face, causing my spot, Nigel, to throb like some kind of disco strobe light. Bongo drums throbbed in my neck. A tsunami of spit surged up my throat, causing me to cough and choke. I tried to look casual, well-dressed and mildly pleased to see him, but biology was against me.
He, of course, looked fabulous. Pale, tall, more Mr Darcyish than ever in his white open-necked shirt. A lock of hair fell across his brow. Would I ever get to stroke that brow? Would I ever run my fingers through those dark locks? I tried to look serious and cool, but I knew I looked farcical and sweaty.
‘Oliver!’ I said, as if I’d almost forgotten who he was, forgotten his name, even though I’ve written it on my hand a hundred times. ‘Hey! How’s it going?’
‘Yeah, cool, fine,’ he said.
There was a silence, during which perspiration broke out on my upper lip with a resounding splash.
‘I just met Beast Hawkins,’ I said. ‘He’s organising events or something. What are you doing this summer?’
‘I’m working on a farm,’ said Oliver.
‘Oh yeah!’ I blushed. ‘I remember you were looking for a job on a farm.’ I’d been hoping to forget that awful little episode, when I’d once impulsively pretended to live on a farm so as to impress Oliver, then it all spiralled out of control when he actually rang my dad and asked for work mucking out the pigs. ‘What’s it like?’
‘Amazing, yeah,’ said Oliver. ‘I’ve only been there a fortnight but, well … it’s good.’
‘I wish I could work on a farm!’ I sighed. ‘Chloe and I are actually looking for work right now.’
‘Are you?’ Oliver looked faintly interested. ‘I think they’re looking for extra labour at the place where I’m working. In the veg fields.’ My heart gave a gigantic leap, kind of head-butting me in the tonsils.
‘Really?’ I gasped. ‘Are you sure … ?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Martin – he’s the farmer – was talking about it yesterday. Why don’t you give him a ring and ask about it? Tell him I mentioned it.’
He got out a little diary and wrote Martin’s number on one of the pages. His fingers were beautiful and long and I could see his handwriting was kind of crazy and slanting. I wondered what it was like holding hands with him, and whether his were cool or warm. He tore out the page and handed it to me.
‘Fantastic!’ I gushed. ‘Thanks so much! So, might see you there, then?’ I tried to look casual, but I knew I resembled a breathless little dog that has been promised walkies. I was practically wagging my tail and panting.
‘Yeah!’ Oliver nodded, shrugged and backed away slightly awkwardly – a sign that he was about to say goodbye. But he couldn’t totally hate me and want to say goodbye to me for ever, could he? Or he wouldn’t have encouraged me to get a job at the farm! My heart was hammering away like mad. If I got really lucky, I could be working with Oliver every day for the next four weeks! How amazing would that be?
‘Bye!’ I grinned, looking up at him. Suddenly I noticed a tiny bogey at the corner of his right nostril. It wasn’t gross. It was kind of charming. I would have killed for that bogey.
I would have kept it in a matchbox and called it Charlie.
‘OK, then – bye,’ said Oliver. He gave me a shy sideways little smile, moved a step or two away, and did a weird stiff little wave. I replied with a preposterous kind of toss of the head, which was supposed to look casual and stylish, but actually jarred my brain and hurt quite a lot. He backed off into a lamp-post. We both laughed slightly as if it was no big deal. And then he turned away and walked off. It seemed to have taken ten years to say goodbye.
It wasn’t horrid, parting with him, though, because of the wonderful opportunities that had opened up. I abandoned all my previous plans. To hell with Mercury Employment! I was going to work with Oliver!
I got out my moby and rang the farm right away. The line wasn’t brilliant, and there were some dogs barking in the background, but two minutes later it was all sorted – I’d fixed up a month’s work for Chloe and me at Old Hall Farm, Sheepscombe-on-Stour, a short bus ride from town, at £3.50 an hour, the standard rate for people our age – ‘Take it or leave it,’ Martin had said in a rather challenging way.
I assured him £3.50 an hour would be dandy. I’d have paid twice that to work in the same place as Oliver Wyatt. I walked to the bus stop in a delirious haze. Now all I had to do was break the wonderful news to Chloe and my family.
On the bus on the way home I tried to ring Chloe on her mobile and her landline, but they were both on voicemail. Never mind – when I got home, at least I’d be able to soak up the praise of my mum and dad, and my glamorous sister, Tamsin, would have to relinquish her starring role for a split second.
But as I walked up my front path I could clearly hear the sound of screaming within.
‘It’s all arranged!’ That was my mum – steely and rigid, but with the volume turned up. ‘What is this? What in the world do you mean?’
‘You never asked me!’ That, in a kind of wail, was my big sister, Tam.
‘We discussed it over and over! You were all for it a fortnight ago!’
‘I can’t help it! I don’t feel very well! You wouldn’t want to go to Granny’s if you weren’t feeling very well!’
I opened the front door and went in. They were in the sitting room. I decided to avoid the row and go straight upstairs.