Cool, she texts back. A catch-up sounds good … I have so much to tell you … you’ve been sooooo quiet over the summer!
Guilt floods though me and I wonder all over again just how I’ve managed to get myself into this mess. I think of the photo Alfie posted on SpiderWeb, of everyone having fun on the beach without me, and the guilt turns to anger.
I tap out another text message, this time to Ellie, and the answer comes back almost at once.
See you in ten minutes!
I grab my jacket and head for the park.
I’m sitting on the kids’ roundabout in the playground when Ellie comes along the path. There is something magical about a children’s playground at night; by day, we’d be chased away from swings and slide and roundabout by tired parents and sticky-faced toddlers, but after dark we get to reclaim those things. I don’t think you can ever be too old for swings and slides and roundabouts, seriously.
Ellie pulls at a fringy scarf wrapped round her against the cold. It’s October now, and although the days are bright and sunny, the evenings are chilly. October … four months since I first met Ellie. Four months of deception and lies.
‘This has to stop,’ I say, the minute she is within earshot. ‘We can’t keep seeing each other, OK?’
‘OK,’ Ellie says, as if she doesn’t care at all. ‘Bit of a relief, actually. You’re the most bad-tempered boy I have ever met. No idea what I see in you.’
‘Works both ways,’ I snap. ‘You’re the most annoying girl in the entire universe. You argue about everything. Apart from this … So, you’re OK with us breaking up?’
To be honest, I feel a little let down that after four months of torturing myself and feeling like a heel every single day, Ellie actually doesn’t care if she sees me or not. Typical.
‘Totally OK with it,’ Ellie confirms. ‘We’re not a good match at all. We clash all the time. You’re not my type … you’re way too vain and self-absorbed, and you can’t take criticism. Face it, we are polar opposites …’
‘I can take criticism!’ I argue. ‘Just not total character assassination …’
Ellie rolls her eyes. ‘I hate your style too,’ she goes on. ‘That jacket … yuk! It looks like somebody died in it!’
‘It’s vintage!’ I howl, outraged. ‘A genuine army jacket from World War Two! It cost fifty quid at Camden Market!’
‘They saw you coming,’ Ellie says. ‘Sorry, Jamie, I think we are better off apart. Stick with your country girlfriend … she’s perfect for you.’
‘Maybe she is,’ I growl. ‘Maybe all this … with us … is just one massive mistake.’
Ellie just shrugs and pushes against the ground with the tip of one toe, stirring the roundabout into creaky action. We spin slowly for a while as the light fades, not talking.
‘I suppose I can’t help wondering why you’re still trying to be loyal to a girl you haven’t seen since February,’ Ellie says at last. ‘Not that you’re doing a good job with the whole loyalty thing, clearly, but … is she really that special, your Skye?’
I sigh. ‘She’s great,’ I say. ‘You’d like her.’
‘I doubt that,’ Ellie corrects me. ‘I’ve hated her ever since you told me she existed. She sounds too good to be true. How can I compete with that? I may not be perfect but I do have feelings, y’know.’
I reach out a hand to hold hers, but Ellie snatches her fingers away.
‘So, anyway, you decided,’ she says. ‘Skye wins, I lose. Too bad.’
Her voice has lost the careless tone it had before; the fierce anger has faded, leaving nothing but sadness. I bite my lip.
‘It’s just that we’re going down to Tanglewood this weekend,’ I explain. ‘I have to make a decision. I was pretty sure that the right thing was to finish things with Skye, and then I saw you and I got muddled and angry and guilty all over again …’
‘… so you finished with me instead.’
‘Not really. Look, Ellie, it’s such a mess,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what to do. I wish I’d broken things off with Skye ages ago, only it’s complicated …’
She laughs out loud. ‘Don’t give me that! Complicated? How complicated can a relationship between two fourteen-year-olds be? Finch, you are such a coward!’
I hear the accusation and swallow it down. Ellie’s right – I am a coward.
‘It is complicated, though,’ I insist. ‘Before we met, Skye had these dreams about a boy … and there was a bird, a kind of finch, in the dreams. Then we came to the village because Mum was producing a TV movie there, and I met Skye, and it was … well, we liked each other. We had a holiday romance, I suppose, but Skye thought it was something more, because of the dreams … she thought we were meant to be together.’
‘True love,’ Ellie says.
‘Not exactly,’ I admit. ‘It was a summer thing, that’s all, but we tried to keep it going over the winter and it seemed to work for Skye, but I guess the magic just kind of fizzled for me. And then I met you.’
‘Unlucky,’ Ellie quips.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, and I realize that I genuinely don’t. Meeting Ellie has been one of the most amazing things that has happened to me, even though I haven’t handled it so well. The truth is, she’s good for me; her straight-talking honesty cuts right through the layers of arrogance and charm I sometimes hide behind. Skye never calls me out on that, never challenges me, but Ellie does. She sees the real me, not a rose-tinted dream version; and while it was nice to be somebody’s dream boy for a while, it has never quite felt real.
Ellie sits on the roundabout, her long legs curled beneath her, green eyes unreadable. I can’t believe I have been such an idiot. Skye and Ellie are both awesome, but Skye isn’t right for me; I’ve known that for a while. I have to tell her, because unless I do I’ll lose Ellie too … and that can’t happen.
I reach for her hand again, but she slides out of my grasp, jumping down from the roundabout and heading for the slide.
‘I got it wrong, again,’ I call to Ellie as she climbs the steps of the slide. ‘A spooky dream doesn’t seem like such a good reason to keep a relationship going. I’ve been kidding myself … Things with Skye are over. I just need to find the guts to tell her that.’
‘Call me when you’re single,’ Ellie yells back at me. ‘I’m fed up with all this messing around. Finish with Skye, then maybe we have a chance of making something together. Maybe.’
‘Don’t be like that,’ I say, walking over to the slide. Ellie sits at the top ready to let go, her face a pale slice of beauty in the dusk.
‘Like what?’ she challenges. ‘You just told me we should break up, Jamie Finch, and I agreed. It’s the smartest thing you’ve said in all the time I’ve known you. Makes perfect sense to me …’
‘Not to me,’ I protest. ‘I was wrong. I need to finish with Skye. I will finish with Skye. This weekend.’
‘Like I said: call me when you’re single and maybe we can work something out,’ Ellie says. ‘I’m sick of being second best.’
‘You’re not!’ I argue, but she’s sliding down towards me, her hair ruffled in the breeze, her fringy scarf flying out behind her.
I open my arms to catch her but she’s gone before I get the chance, running away from me across the grass towards the orange streetlight glow of civilization.
‘Ellie!’ I yell, but she doesn’t look back.
5
Going back to Tanglewood is like going back in time. We drive down on Saturday morning: three cars heading west for inspiration and research and, in my case, certain doom. I’m determined, though. I’ve been rehearsing my break-up speech for day
s, picking out the perfect combination of words for minimum pain and awkwardness. And yes, OK, I’m still dreading it.
We reach Tanglewood just after lunch; the house is still beautiful, chaotic, welcoming. Fred the dog runs around the cars as we pull up, barking a greeting, and a freckle-faced Coco appears from the stables with Humbug the sheep and Caramel the pony trailing after her.
‘They’re here!’ she shouts, and Paddy comes out of the chocolate workshop, his white apron streaked with chocolate, while Charlotte, Cherry, Summer and Honey pile out of the house, laughing, shaking hands, hugging, talking all at once, pulling Mum’s TV friends inside, making everyone welcome. Skye waits quietly, a little behind everyone else, looking very cool in a black minidress, white tights and op art pixie boots. Her fair hair is parted in the middle, sixties style, so that it falls in loose ringlets around her shoulders and her eyes are rimmed with black eyeliner.
She’s gorgeous; if I passed her in the street I’d turn my head to look at her. Any boy would.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Long time no see …’
‘Hey,’ she replies. ‘The holidays weren’t the same this year without you.’
I try to grin, but the smile doesn’t get very far. ‘Yeah … I kept thinking I’d have time to pop down for a weekend,’ I say. ‘But it was pretty full-on. Sorry!’
‘It’s OK,’ Skye shrugs. ‘I understand.’
I wish she didn’t understand. I wish she got cross and impatient and bad-tempered sometimes. I wish she’d got plainer and grumpier and less stylish in my absence instead of prettier, cuter. I wish I still felt the way I used to feel about her, but the fizz of excitement I used to get when we were together just isn’t there. Can she feel the difference too?
For a whole week, Ellie has blanked my texts and calls. She didn’t turn up at drama group and she hasn’t answered my messages on SpiderWeb. It looks like she really has dumped me. I’ve lost the girl I care about most in the world, all because trying so hard to be the ‘good guy’ has turned me into a cheat and a liar.
‘Call me when you’re single,’ Ellie had said, and I straighten my shoulders at the memory.
Skye is watching me; half shy, half expectant. In the past I’d have kissed her by now, hugged her tight, lifted her up and whirled her around. That enthusiasm has seeped away, invisibly, like air from a punctured tyre. Everything feels flat. I lean in to give Skye the expected hug, but it’s awkward and stiff, like I’m greeting a crusty great-aunt I haven’t seen in a decade and not my girlfriend. Skye smells of lemon shower gel, fresh and familiar. I pull away quickly, flustered and guilty.
‘We should talk,’ I say, biting the bullet. ‘We have … a lot to catch up on …’
‘We do,’ Skye says. ‘Only, tonight might not be the best time for it, what with the Halloween party and all …’
My heart sinks. ‘Halloween party?’ I echo. ‘Right. I totally forgot it was the thirty-first … I’ve had a few things on my mind. Trust us to turn up right in the middle of your celebrations; Mum probably didn’t think … Sorry about that.’
‘Not a problem,’ Skye says. ‘We don’t mind, and your mum thought it might be quite good for her colleagues to see Tanglewood at its chaotic best and meet some of the locals. She said it’d give them a taste of the kind of human interest stories they might find if they decide to use us for the series …’
I sigh. My mum is awesome, but she always has an eye on the story.
‘Are you OK with the idea of the reality TV series?’ I ask, and Skye shrugs.
‘Mum and Paddy think it could be good publicity for the Chocolate Box business, but they want to know how it would be handled,’ she admits. ‘They don’t want too much focus on Summer’s problems or what happened to Honey. But apart from that … well, they’re pretty keen. And news travels fast here, so half the village may well turn up to the party later, hoping for their fifteen minutes of fame. Your mum and her friends may think we’re a bit too crazy for TV!’
‘I bet they love it,’ I say. ‘So … we have a party to organize?’
‘We do,’ Skye confirms. ‘Alfie and Shay are coming up later; there’s loads to do … maybe you can be on decorating duties – and bonfire building, of course. And right now, we have ten pumpkins to carve. Mum got a job lot at the supermarket this morning because they were on special offer!’
I find myself sitting with the sisters around the kitchen table creating pumpkin lanterns while Skye’s mum Charlotte gives Mum, Peter, Adele and Mozz a guided tour of the house, the workshops, the gardens and the beach. Meanwhile, we scoop the orange flesh and seeds out of giant pumpkins; the flesh is chopped and thrown into a huge pan to make soup for later, and the seeds are washed and spread on tea towels to dry for the little kids to string into bracelets and necklaces at the party. It’s up to us to carve spooky designs into the pumpkin skin. Mine is quite simple – a crescent moon and stars – but the sisters have clearly got this down to a fine art, with swirls and spirals and witches on broomsticks. Honey produces an amazing intricate cut-out of a slinky cat with a curlicue tail and ‘Happy Halloween’ written in swirly script, before switching tasks and frying up some onions to make a start on the soup.
It’s impossible to stay awkward with the Tanberry sisters mucking around and having a laugh at the kitchen table. The chat is easy and friendly; nobody asks where I’ve been the last few months or questions my sudden reappearance. They just accept me, and the minute I finish one pumpkin I’m given another, and then Shay and Alfie arrive and things escalate from busy to full-on chaos.
We split into two groups. Alfie, Summer, Skye and Honey focus on making food; the list of tasks covers everything from making pumpkin soup to ghostly white chocolate cake and spider web cupcakes, as well as something called Bloodbath Trifle. I am relieved to be roped into the outside group with Shay, Cherry and Coco. We make jam-jar lanterns, looping wire round the jars with pliers and twisting it into hanging loops. Soon we have a crate full of them, each with its own tea light candle, waiting to be lit and hung from the trees at dusk.
Next we build the bonfire, hauling armfuls of driftwood from the beach and mixing it with a couple of broken pallets to create a giant, towering structure at the foot of the garden. Shay sets up some outdoor speakers while the rest of us string fairy lights through the trees.
It doesn’t take long to fall under the spell of Tanglewood again … at least it wouldn’t, if I could just get Ellie out of my mind.
After a while, Charlotte calls us and we crowd around the kitchen table on mismatched chairs, eating a buffet of pizza, dips and wedges to keep us going until the party starts. I sit beside Skye, but I can’t think of a single thing to say to her.
It sounds as though the negotiations and discussions about the reality TV series are going well, though. Peter, Adele and Mozz are buzzing with questions and ideas, and Charlotte and Paddy chip in brightly with their own suggestions. Mum is making loads of notes and Mozz stops eating at random intervals to take a photograph of Fred the dog, or of the Aga cooker piled high with party food for later, or even the ‘Happy Halloween’ pumpkin Honey’s placed on the kitchen windowsill.
Charlotte turns to me, suddenly, smiling. ‘Jamie …’ she says. ‘We’re a little short on space this weekend – we’ve converted one of the old guest bedrooms into an office for the Chocolate Box business. I was going to put you in a twin room with your mum, but Skye reminded me that the gypsy caravan is free so we’ve got that ready for you.’
‘Best bedroom in the whole of Tanglewood,’ Summer says.
‘Totally,’ Cherry agrees.
Alfie grins. ‘We can do the ghost stories thing like we did the year before
last … that was fun!’
‘It can be our hideaway,’ Shay says. ‘We can have a party-within-a-party!’
‘Ignore them,’ Charlotte tells me. ‘Have fun by all means, but don’t let them rope you into any all-night parties! The caravan is your space. Sound OK?’
‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘Thank you!’
I fight the urge to run out to the caravan right now, to flop on the bunk and pull the quilt over my head and hide until tomorrow afternoon. Beside me, Skye looks just as awkward. Can she tell what I’m thinking? How I’m feeling?
I wish I’d had the guts to finish things between us a long time ago. With hindsight, it was the only thing to do … Dragging things out had nothing to do with being kind or trying not to hurt Skye’s feelings; it was pure cowardice. I don’t like myself right now, not one bit. I desperately want to end things, get it over and done with, but I can’t ruin the party for everyone by causing a big drama and upsetting Skye. That would be just plain cruel.
‘C’mon, guys,’ Honey is saying. ‘Let’s get ready … I’ve got face paints upstairs! Let’s get this party started!’
I grit my teeth, then catch myself and turn on a grin at the last minute, but Skye sees my grimace, and her blue eyes brim with sadness.
6
The party is epic. There is a flurry of last-minute activity; the jam-jar lanterns are hung from the trees, the fairy lights lit, the carved pumpkins positioned around the house and beside the front door. The kitchen table is piled high with quiche and sausage rolls and baked potatoes, and the pumpkin soup is warming on the Aga next to a stack of dishes and spoons.
Paddy and Charlotte have been at the face paints, transforming themselves into white-faced zombies with painted-on cuts and shadowed eyes, dressed in white and trailing ‘bloodstained’ bandages. Skye and Summer are both witches, in matching black sixties dresses worn with huge fake eyelashes and black lipstick; Honey is a ghost, in a gauzy white dress with fake bones tied into her hair, and Coco is a black cat with whiskers and fun fur ears. Shay, Alfie and I submit to green face paint and end up as monsters, Frankenstein style, but when the visitors start to arrive my eyes are popping. There are aliens, corpse brides, vampires, wizards, mummies, trolls, goblins, elves, werewolves and every kind of ghost or ghoul or witch imaginable.
Life is Sweet Page 15