by Sue Limb
‘Not many, apparently,’ said Toby sounding furtive.
‘And rats.’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘But anyway, Tobe, Fergus’s cousin Gary is a sleaze ball. I just know that this uncle’s garage will be covered in girlie calendars, pools of oil and leering mechanics. It’s just not the sort of place you’d want to take a lady.’
‘You’re right,’ said Toby. ‘I’m almost too ladylike for it myself. But I might have to go, if Fergus puts his tiny foot down. What about you, though?’
‘My mum will change her mind,’ I promised him firmly. ‘Or I’m leaving home.’
‘Oh,’ said Toby. ‘OK, then. If you want to leave home right away, you can live in my garden shed with my hamsters, if you like. I’ll put out a saucer of bread and milk for you every night.’ I promised that, were I to become homeless, Toby’s hamsters would have a new room-mate. But I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. My mum might yet weaken and capitulate. I might manage to slip a surrendering kind of herb into her tea.
‘I’m going to get my dad to work on her,’ I told him. ‘Listen – the thought of a week in Newquay is the only thing that’s keeping me going.’
We agreed that if Newquay was impossible, a suicide pact might become necessary, though we couldn’t agree on the means. I wanted as violent a death as possible, involving a ski lift, a speed boat, a helicopter and a shoal of piranha fish, but Tobe just wanted to pass away peacefully in his bed from an overdose of marshmallows.
I rang off feeling a little better, though it’s a sign of how bad things have got if you’re cheered up by a conversation about stylish ways to end it all.
There was a tap on the door and Tam peeped round. She looked furtive.
‘Are you OK?’ she whispered. ‘Can I come in?’ I made room for her on the bed. ‘It’s a nightmare, this plan of Mum’s for a family hol,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure we can crack it. Mum’s downstairs watching French and Saunders. Dad’s in his study. We’ve got to get him on our side.’
‘How are we supposed to do that?’ I asked with a sigh. My brain felt slow and frazzled. Tam was going to have to do all the thinking.
‘We’ve got to make him realise how much more wonderful and romantic it would be if it was just him and Mum having a lovely little holiday, a kind of second honeymoon, just the two of them, with candlelit dinners and lots of old churches and stuff. Let’s corner him in his study,’ whispered Tam. ‘We’ve got to do a big matchmaking act – with our own parents.’
‘Yuck,’ I murmured as we tiptoed across the landing to Dad’s door. ‘Gross!’
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18
We crept into Dad’s room. He was listening to Queen as usual – Dad always has this on when he’s stuck with his work designing scientific websites. He sat staring at his computer screen and thoughtfully cradling a glass of red wine. Tam wrapped her arms around his neck. I sat on the floor, rested my head on his knee and played with his shoelaces. This has been my favourite trick since I was three.
‘No, you can’t have any money,’ said Dad playfully.
‘Money!’ exclaimed Tam. ‘Don’t be so vulgar. Money’s not an issue. Zoe’s got a job, and I’ve been slaving away at the Turk’s Head for more than a month – or haven’t you noticed?’
‘We think you and Mum deserve a holiday on your own,’ I said, removing his shoe and giving him a foot massage. ‘Think how romantic it would be, just you and Mum together, like when you were students.’
‘Romantic candlelit dinners,’ sighed Tam, playing with his hair. ‘Hours and hours in museums without us getting all bored and tetchy.’
‘No horrid teenager demanding to leave the art gallery instantly in order to flog round boutiques for hours on end,’ I added, stroking his ankles.
‘Look,’ said Dad, putting down his wine and rubbing his nose thoughtfully. Nose-rubbing is always a sign that somebody has reservations about something – well, you can’t imagine somebody saying ‘Marry me, I love you madly’ while rubbing their nose, can you? I’m thinking of reading body language at uni.
‘I know you two have got other fish to fry at the end of August,’ Dad went on. ‘God knows what you’re planning and, frankly, if it was up to me, I’d just let you get on with it, as long as I didn’t have to know anything about it.’
‘Yes,’ crooned Tam, playing with his ears. ‘That shows what a fabulous dad you are.’
‘No,’ said Dad. ‘It shows what an irresponsible selfish prat I am, actually – though of course, if anybody ever even dreamed of hurting either of you, I would kill them with my bare hands.’
Tam and I exchanged a look, but we managed not to laugh. The idea of Dad killing anything with his bare hands is a joke. He has a crisis of conscience even if you ask him to swat a wasp.
‘But Mum’s trip isn’t booked yet,’ he went on. ‘Anything could happen to stop it.’
‘But we don’t want you not to have a hol, Dadda!’ cried Tam, stroking his hair. ‘You and Mum must go away and chill and have quality time all to yourselves. Away from the hurly-burly of us.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I sighed. ‘Tam’s the nearest thing to Liz Hurley available locally, and I’m as burly as can be!’ I was beginning to feel better. Dad’s attitude to Mum’s holiday plans was encouraging. He plainly wasn’t exactly gagging for us all to be trapped on holiday together.
‘To be honest,’ he said, ‘I think she might like the idea of just the two of us going walking in North Wales.’
‘Yes, yes!’ said Tam. ‘Think of the lovely ferns and rocks and little tea rooms.’
‘That reminds me,’ I interrupted, ‘supper was delicious. I just couldn’t eat because I was fed up with everybody. I’ll go down and heat a bit up in the microwave in a minute.’ Dad looked pleased. I think he’s touched that I have inherited his greed.
‘So,’ said Tam, ‘do a Google search on romantic B&Bs in Snowdonia – or cosy cottages with log fires and beams.’
‘I’ll run it past the boss,’ said Dad, smiling.
‘Great!’ Tam grinned, and kissed the top of his head. ‘Just don’t tell her we had this conversation.’
‘What conversation?’ Dad shrugged theatrically and placed his finger on his lips. He was definitely on our side. The trouble is, he’s so easy-going. His idea of standing up to Mum is lying down and letting her drive over him – in a tank. In their previous lives, he was a harmless vole and she was a boa constrictor.
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Next morning I met Chloe at the bus stop as usual. I couldn’t wait to confide all the ghastly details of the previous evening. Not the bit about Beast asking me out, though. That was top of my list of Things to Hide from Chloe. What if I told her he’d tried to hit on me, and she was still secretly crazy about him? She’d go ballistic. I had the feeling I didn’t want to discuss Beast with Chloe ever again. It was all becoming so tormented.
‘Hey, Zoe, mega-disaster!’ She grabbed me, her eyes blazing with melodrama. ‘I spent hours online yesterday looking for places to stay in Newquay, and there’s literally zilch! All the caravan sites really are for couples and families only. I looked at hundreds of places.’
‘Well, that’s the least of our problems,’ I told her. ‘My mum’s still adamant that I can’t go at all. What about your mum?’
‘My mum was OK about it,’ said Chloe. ‘She said she thought we’d be all right as long as we stuck together. I had to solemnly swear I wouldn’t drink, though.’
‘God! Your mum is so great!’ I sighed enviously. ‘I have to think of a way to get mine on board. She’s threatening to take me and Tam away on a horrendous family hol, now.’
Chloe looked anxious, because her mum’s permission clearly depended on our being in Newquay together, joined at the hip and drinking only lemonade. We were a bit quiet on the bus, and later in the field, we worked separately, lost in our thoughts. I had so many issues, I couldn’t hold it all in my head at once: Mum’s stupid strictne
ss, Tam’s secret adultery, Beast’s astonishing visit last night …
‘Newquay looks even more fabulous than I thought it would,’ sighed Chloe as we approached lunchtime. ‘God! There’s clubs and bowling and gyms and aerobics studios and swimming pools with flumes and … oh God, if only we were old enough to stay at Blue Flash Surf Lodge! They’ve got a late-licensed seventies retro bar and everything! But it’s over-eighteens only …’
‘Even if it was under-eighteens,’ I reminded her, ‘my mum won’t let me go. I think I may have to leave home. Toby’s already offered me accommodation in his garden shed.’
I told Chloe about Toby and Fergus’s plan to camp behind the garage. She wasn’t as disgusted as I’d have expected.
‘I don’t know, Zoe,’ she said. ‘It might be OK … Have you got a tent? It might be OK as a last resort.’
‘Chloe,’ I said patiently, ‘did you not hear what I said? My mum won’t let me go.’
Chloe sat back on her heels and stared soberly at me for a minute. Then she thoughtfully picked her nose and flicked the bogey away across the rows of carrots.
‘Oh God, Zoe,’ she said. ‘What are we going to do? And I’ve just persuaded my mum and everything …’
She stared dismally away towards a clump of trees. Suddenly an ice-cold thought entered my brain like a dagger. What if Chloe decided to go with Toby and Fergus and leave me behind? My imagination went into horror overdrive. This was the worst nightmare scenario so far.
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19
I was just planning to run away from home and not speak to my mum again for five years when the Land Rover arrived, with Brendan driving and Oliver sitting in the passenger seat. I was still reeling from the idea that Chloe might go to Newquay without me, so for once I hardly registered Oliver’s presence.
‘Hop in, girls!’ He grinned. ‘Who’s for a picnic? I’ve brought a few bits and pieces myself this time, and as it’s clouding over I thought we could have it in the hay barn.’
Oliver jumped out and helped me into the back again, while Chloe jumped into the cab alongside Brendan. I was still scared in case she had started to plan a trip to Newquay without me, but I was a hundred per cent behind her in her attempt to pull Brendan. He was such a lovely bloke.
When we got to the barn, the guys helped us up on to the huge pile of bales. Oliver’s hand was warmer today. I had held hands with him twice now! Maybe, if I made sure that every day involved some climbing, I could hold his hand every day for the next month. What a shame we weren’t working in the Himalayas.
I’d brought some French bread, hummus and satsumas; Chloe had some ham sandwiches and olives; and Brendan produced some pepperoni and spring onions. Oliver had fruit again, and a packet of crisps – smoky bacon. So that was his favourite! I planned to rub a few smoky bacon crisps on to my pulse points next time we were due to meet.
‘I’m not sure about spring onions,’ said Chloe nervously. ‘They make your breath smell.’
‘Well, you’ll be all right,’ promised Brendan with a naughty smile, ‘as long as you’re not planning on kissing anybody. Zoe, would you like one?’
‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘They’re a bit strong.’
‘So you’re planning on kissing somebody?’ twinkled Brendan.
‘No way!’ I grinned, blushing. I didn’t look anywhere near Oliver. I didn’t even look at his boots.
Chloe had prepared jam sandwiches for herself as usual, and brought a little Munch Bunch yogurt.
‘What’s with all this nursery food, Chloe?’ asked Brendan. ‘Jam sandwiches again?’
‘I have to eat jam sandwiches every day,’ said Chloe nervously. ‘I’m hypo-allergenic.’
I wasn’t sure this was the right word. Brendan raised his eyebrows.
‘I’m interested in wild food,’ he said. ‘Nettle soup, that kind of thing.’
Chloe pulled a disgusted face. I started to worry that Chloe’s food fads would put Brendan off. I would have to force her to swallow a whole oak tree in front of him – that should do the trick.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot!’ He smiled. ‘I picked some fresh watercress just now, down in the stream. Here …’ He reached inside his rucksack and brought out a rather muddy carrier bag.
‘Has that been washed?’ asked Oliver suspiciously, peering at it.
‘It’s been washed in the stream!’ Brendan assured him. ‘Its whole life has been one continuous rinsing.’
Chloe backed off – even sitting down, she can refuse food in a way which is almost acrobatic. And Oliver shook his head sadly, as if the watercress was a big mistake.
Brendan was cramming it into his mouth and crunching away and saying how wonderful and peppery it was.
‘What about liver fluke?’ asked Oliver.
‘What’s liver fluke?’ asked Chloe.
‘It’s an interesting disease,’ said Oliver. ‘It’s a parasite called Fasciola hepatica which has two hosts. First it parasitises a snail, then it moves on to cattle, sheep, or humans. It attacks the liver.’
‘Ugh!’ shrieked Chloe.
‘It’s no picnic.’ Oliver shook his head doubtfully.
‘You’re wrong there, Olly!’ grinned Brendan, still chewing. ‘A picnic is precisely what it is! My picnic!’
Brendan was so obviously trying to make Oliver look like a big girl’s blouse with his macho gobbling of dangerous wild food. But I found Oliver’s quiet scientific manner a turn-on. I so loved it when he talked Latin! We would call our first son Caesar!
At this moment my phone rang. ‘Hello, old boy! How’s agriculture?’ It was Dad. This could only mean one thing. He must have persuaded Mum to let me go to Newquay. I crawled away into a semi-private corner of the hayloft.
‘Listen, Zoe, I’ve had a brilliant idea,’ said Dad. ‘We could all go to Newquay! Together! En famille!’
My heart plummeted violently through the bales of hay and the rocks beneath until it arrived at the molten centre of the earth. ‘I haven’t actually run it past the boss,’ Dad prattled on, ‘but it could be the answer! We would rent a cottage somewhere, and you and Chloe could share a room. There’s loads of interesting things down there – I’d no idea. I’ve been surfing the websites. There’s a thing called the Saints Trail – you know how Mum loves walking – and loads of wonderful old houses and gardens – there’s even a Japanese garden and bonsai nursery – and the history is fantastic! The history of pilchard fishing and mining, and sacred sites, not to mention King Arthur’s castle just down the coast.’
I was drowning in the shock and horror. To think that only a moment earlier I had been stressing out over eating a few leaves of watercress! Now I was prepared to eat whole streams full of watercress, complete with slugs, leeches and live trout, if I could only escape from the threatening horror of a family holiday to Newquay.
I could imagine it in vivid, toe-curling detail. Oh, hey, guys, sorry I can’t come surfing today but we’re going on a seven-mile walk with my mum and dad to visit the ruins of the pilchard mines and after that Mum wants to visit the Bonsai monastery.
What could be worse? Apart from one’s parents actually plunging eagerly into the surf themselves, and tagging along when night fell and we wanted to go clubbing.
‘Dad …’ It was so hard to say this. ‘It’s really kind of you to think of this …’
‘Kind?’ exploded Dad. ‘It would be a treat for me, old boy! I wonder if they do wetsuits in my size?’
At the thought of this horror I almost literally retched. ‘We’ll have to talk about this when I get home,’ I said. ‘I can’t talk now, sorry.’
‘Oh, are you working?’ asked Dad. ‘Sorry. I thought you’d be on your lunch break. I was just so excited when I thought of it, I had to tell you right away.’
‘Talk when I get home, right?’ I said, briskly terminating the conversation.
I rang off and turned round. Oliver was lying on his back and staring at the roof of the barn, but Bre
ndan was actually holding Chloe’s hand!
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20
‘Look, something’s bitten me, Zoe!’ Chloe held out her hand. ‘Brendan thinks it’s a sort of little insect that lives in the hay.’ I looked at her hand with its tiny red swelling.
‘Hmm, could be fatal,’ I suggested. ‘Maybe we should get out of this barn and go back to town, where we belong.’
‘Oh no, Zoe!’ giggled Chloe. ‘I lurve the countryside! Anyway there’s loads of pests in town. I could live in this barn. Hey! Do you think Martin and Sarah would let us spend the night here?’ She turned to Brendan, and her eyes were very, very shiny in that tell-tale way which has to do with trying to sweep a guy off his feet.
Brendan looked dubious. ‘Ah, there’d be loads of little creatures biting you all night,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘You could protect us!’ Chloe grinned. ‘Or be on hand to administer first aid! You come too, Oliver!’
Oliver shook his head. ‘I’m not brilliant in this kind of environment,’ he said. ‘Because of hay fever.’
‘And you’re not going to get me away from my attic,’ said Brendan. ‘After I’ve been working out of doors all day the last thing I want to do is have fleas and rats jumping over me all night.’
Chloe screamed. I had to admire the way Brendan had got out of this tight corner. And I also had to admire the way, if Chloe fancied a guy, she’d find some excuse to spend the night with him without it looking too saucy.
‘I don’t fancy it either,’ I said. ‘Things that are lovely in the daylight have a way of going sinister after dark.’
Oliver gave me a look for a split second, and my insides did another of those secret somersaults. It was as if we shared a moment of understanding. I’m not sure quite what we were understanding, though. It might have been that I was way more intriguing and desirable than my crazy friend. It may just have been that he had forgotten my name.
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When I got home that night, Dad came hurtling out of the kitchen and hustled me into the dining room.