by Susan Lewis
“It’s not like they don’t already need a wash,” Jenna pointed out. “Now give him a treat, then make sure he stays in here until Dad sorts him out.”
A few moments later Paige came padding into the kitchen in wet socks, once again engrossed in her mobile phone. Her long, matted hair was hanging on either side of her pixie face, shielding the screen from any POS—parent over shoulder—advances.
“What happened to Owen?” Jenna asked. “Wasn’t he with you?”
“Mm?” Paige responded without looking up. “Oh, Dad just dropped him home. Thanks,” she added as Jenna passed her a cake.
“Do you want a plate, Paige?” Kay asked, coming to join them.
“No, this is cool,” Paige replied, blithely dropping crumbs over her front and the worktop.
“So have you decided what to do about Owen?” Jenna ventured.
Paige frowned in annoyance. “What about him?” she demanded, as if the conversation they’d had only that morning had never happened.
“You mentioned earlier that he was interested in—”
“He’s gay, Mum!”
“So you said.”
“And he hasn’t come out yet, OK? I don’t think he’s even admitting it to himself, but no way am I making out like we’re in a relationship just so no one’ll suspect the truth.”
“You’re too young to be in a relationship with anyone,” Kay informed her.
Paige’s eyes darkened. “Grandma! I’m fifteen, for God’s sake.”
Kay nodded. “Yes, you are,” she agreed, as if that were the topic at issue. “You know, your grandfather loved Dylan Thomas.”
Paige looked at her mother.
“Where did that come from?” Jenna asked Kay.
“I saw the book on Paige’s desk,” Kay replied.
“You’ve been in my room?” Paige cried. “What were you doing?”
“You see, I told you I wasn’t allowed,” Kay informed Jenna. “A red circle with a white dash in the middle means no entry.”
“I already told you, she was running you a bath,” Jenna said to Paige. “Now you should go up before it overflows.”
“Can I have another cake?”
“You’ll get fat,” Kay warned.
“Mum, look at her,” Jenna cried. “She’s barely a size six as it is. I don’t want you turning her into an anorexic.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here,” Paige retorted, “and FYI, I’m planning on being a size four by the end of this term.”
“I hope you don’t mean that.”
Paige flashed her a smile. Helping herself to another cake, she took a bite, put the rest back on the plate, and made as if to give her grandma a hug, giggling as Kay instinctively drew back. “Oh, scary granddaughter trying to give Granny a kiss,” Paige teased.
“Don’t be unkind,” Jenna chided. Paige knew very well that Kay had a problem with physical contact, and it really wasn’t like Paige to be cruel.
“OK, I know where I’m not wanted,” Paige told them. Grabbing the cake, she took herself off upstairs.
“I know it’s her age,” Jenna said quietly once she’d heard Paige’s door close behind her, “but her attitude sometimes—”
“Is just like yours when you were fifteen,” Kay interrupted. “And Hanna’s, although she was worse.”
“She was so sweet this morning,” Jenna continued with a sigh. “We had a lovely chat while Jack was out getting the papers, and now…” She shrugged helplessly. “I never seem to know where I am with her. I don’t think she’s like that with Jack, or not so much anyway.”
“You were never like it with your father, only me,” Kay informed her.
Jenna avoided her eyes. Not nearly as difficult as you always were with us, she managed not to say.
“Ah, that sounds like Jack coming in,” Kay remarked. “I’ll go and give him a hand.”
Watching her bustle off to make herself useful, Jenna found herself feeling suddenly sad. Having Kay as a mother, with all her awkwardness and lack of social skills, had never been easy, but that didn’t mean there was no love between them. She knew, mainly because her father had helped her and Hanna to understand, that in her own special way her mother was every bit as devoted to them as he was. It was simply that Kay had never been able to show her feelings in the way other mothers could—or wives, come to that, although her father had remained silent about that. All she and Hanna knew was that he’d always seemed very happy with their mother, and throughout the thirty years they were married they’d never spent much more than a night apart. And a very real intimacy must have happened at least twice, or she and Hanna wouldn’t be there.
Looking round at the sound of the utility room door opening, she broke into a smile as Jack emerged, dark hair mussed by a vigorous rub with the towel, and cheeks still reddened from the wind. Though it would be hard for most to describe him as TDD, as Paige would put it—totally drop-dead—Jenna had never had a problem with that. As far as she was concerned, he was just perfect, with his wonderfully flamboyant air, constantly merry eyes, and the kind of charm that stole hearts wherever he went.
“So have you seen any of what we shot?” he asked, hauling the dog back as it made a dash for anywhere but the utility. “You have to wait in there till you’re dry,” he instructed Waffle. “We got some really good stuff again, and she’s a natural with the commentary.”
“She’s gone to have a bath,” Jenna told him. “I’ll see it later. Who were you on the phone to?”
“When? Oh, just now.” He came to help himself to a cake and gave her a quick kiss before popping it in his mouth. “I’m thinking of going over to Cardiff again tomorrow,” he said, hovering in the doorway on his way to take a shower. “I need to go to the bank, and while I’m there I thought I’d try to line up a few more advertisers. Anything you need while I’m over that way?”
“You mean apart from a few good ideas? Actually, one would do.”
“You can’t buy ideas,” Kay announced, drying her hands as she came out of the utility.
Treating Jenna to a playful wink, Jack took himself off upstairs, leaving her to watch her mother staring after him. “What?” she prompted as Kay turned back to her.
“He didn’t answer your question,” Kay informed her.
Jenna almost asked, What question? But since she knew, and really didn’t want to get into it with her mother, she simply said, “It wasn’t important.”
—
Upstairs in her room with butterfly lights glowing round the bed’s fancy headrail and the Vamps’ “Last Night” pulsing from the iPod speakers, Paige was in front of her computer, wrapped in her dressing gown while FaceTiming Charlotte.
“So did you manage to shoot much?” Charlotte was asking as she rubbed a purplish face mask over her troubled complexion.
“Yeah, loads. Have you finished yours yet?”
“No. I should have come with you, but then we’d have ended up with everything the same. So Owen showed up, you said in your text.”
Jenna sighed. “ ’Fraid so. I mean, I really like him and everything, but he’s so, like…you know. What’s that stuff you’re using?”
Charlotte held up the tube and read from the back. “Apparently it contains antimicrobial willow bark, mango, and blueberry to minimize blemishes and to clear away excess sebum.”
“Excess what?”
“Sebum,” Charlotte giggled. Turning around, she wiggled her bottom in front of the camera.
“I am soooo glad you’re wearing knickers,” Paige laughed.
“Be grateful. Oh my God! That reminds me. Have you seen the latest episode of The Valleys yet? It is totally insane. That girl—you know, the one who looks like Kelly Durham? I forget her name. Anyway, she only took her knickers off in the middle of a nightclub.”
Paige pulled a gagging face.
“Just what I thought,” Charlotte assured her, “but I can’t stop watching it. So, what are you doing later? Do you want to come over
?”
“Would love to, but I’ve still got loads of homework to get through. Have you done the geography stuff about ecosystems yet?”
“Yep. You’ll sail through it, provided you get the answer to question one right, which is seaweed. English is more Dylan Thomas, so no problem for you there. Maths is going to totally fuck with your head, but when does it ever not? And business studies is starting to really piss me off. Let me know how you get on with all the crap about sourcing finance—I could do with some help.”
“Like I’m going to know.”
“Bet you do.”
“Yeah, right. So I’ll see you at the bus stop in the morning?”
“Worse luck. Let me know if you hear from Oliver before that.”
Paige’s insides melted to liquid. “Don’t,” she groaned plaintively. “No way am I going to hear from him. He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”
“Course he does.”
“Course he doesn’t, unless…Oh my God, Charlotte, you haven’t told Cullum? He’s his brother. He’ll—”
“Give me a break! Would I do that to you? I’m just saying, I reckon he’s interested.”
“He’s eighteen.”
“And?”
“And he’s going out with Lindsay French.”
“I heard he’s chucked her. I’ll try to find out.”
“No! You can’t ask Cullum!”
“Is that what I said?”
“You don’t know anyone else to ask, and if Oliver finds out we’re, like, stalking him…Oh God, I’ll want to kill myself.”
Laughing, Charlotte said, “I’ve got to go and wash this stuff off. I’ll speak to you later.”
As the line cleared, Paige dropped her head in her hands and groaned again. Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. She could hardly stop thinking about him. It was like she was becoming obsessed, and she’d never even spoken to him, for God’s sake. Had only really seen him twice. He’d noticed her, though, last Saturday, when a crowd of them had gone to support the Swansea College rugby team against Worcester. He had looked so totally drop-dead in all his gear that she’d nearly fainted.
Maybe she had, because she couldn’t remember anything that happened after he’d caught her eye.
Chances were he’d been looking at someone behind her.
Or maybe he’d spotted her and something had happened for him too. He might, even now, be wondering who she was, trying to think of a way to ask his younger brother about the girl he’d brought to the game….
She had to stop thinking about him, get him out of her mind before she ended up making a total idiot of herself. He was three years older than her, for God’s sake, and was so completely out of her league that it would be like pairing Zayn Malik up with Ugly Betty. Not that she was anything like Ugly Betty, who in real life was a total babe, which she definitely was not. Besides, there couldn’t be a girl alive who didn’t have the hots for Oliver Pryce; he could have his pick of anyone, and though it made her want to die just to think of it, she knew in her heart that he’d never choose her.
Remembering her bath, and feeling a dizzying rush of excitement at the thought of Oliver coming to watch her, she was about to get up from the computer when someone instant-messaged her.
Hey. Can you talk?
Frowning, she looked at the name. Julie Morris. She couldn’t think of anyone called that. I’m cool. Do I know you? she typed back.
Is it true about you and Owen Masters? the sender asked.
Paige frowned as her pulse started to drop back to normal. Tell me who you are, she typed back.
I’m a friend.
But I don’t know your name. Do you go to The Landings?
Yes.
Which year?
Same as you.
So Julie Morris isn’t your real name?
I’m not supposed to go on chat rooms and stuff so I’ve made up this name in case my parents check. Long story. Will share if we become friends.
Intrigued, Paige asked, So why do you want to know about Owen?
Just interested. Do you like him?
He’s OK.
I think you should go out with him.
Whoever this girl was, she obviously didn’t realize Owen was gay, and no way was Paige about to tell her. He’s not really my type.
So who is?
That would be telling.
Does he go to our school?
No. Do you have a boyfriend?
No. Thanks for the chat, have to go now.
Paige blinked as the connection ended, and started going through everyone she could think of in her year who could be Julie Morris, but couldn’t come up with a single one who’d ever said she wasn’t allowed to go on chat rooms at home. On the other hand, the girl might not want to admit it to anyone, and Paige supposed she didn’t blame her for that. Whatever, it was the girl’s call, and since Paige could hear Josh and the twins running up the stairs shouting her name, she quickly shot into her bathroom and locked the door.
“Are you OK?” Jenna asked, glancing at Jack as they strolled along the beach at Port Eynon.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” he replied, slipping an arm around her.
“I just wondered. You seem a bit…distracted. I thought you might have something on your mind.”
He pulled a face as though considering the possibility. “No more than usual,” he assured her.
She wondered whether to broach the subject of their finances, but simply watched him stoop to pick up Waffle’s ball and hurl it up into the dunes. As the dog bounded after it her phone bleeped with a text.
Forgot to bring my dinner money. Px
Sighing, she showed the message to Jack. “She left in such a hurry this morning….”
“Tell her I’ll pop it in on my way past,” he said.
After relaying the message Jenna linked her arm with his as they strolled on, taking in the bracing air and watching the lively break of the waves. Back at the house the kitchen was still in chaos after breakfast, all the beds needed making, and there was a pile of ironing that could take her all week to get through—it wasn’t going anywhere, so she’d tackle it all when they got home. More important was spending this rare time together with no one else around.
Reaching for his phone as it rang, he clicked on without checking who it was.
“Jack Moore speaking,” he announced cheerfully. “If you’re trying to sell me something…” The voice at the other end stopped him, and after a moment he laughed as he turned his back to the wind. “Sorry, Martha. Sure, it’s OK to talk. I’m just out walking the dog. What’s up? Or hang on, I can’t hear you properly in this gale. Can I find some shelter and call you back in a few minutes?”
As he rang off Jenna said, “It’ll be about the website.”
He was frowning thoughtfully as he nodded. “I expect you’re right,” he agreed. “Do you want to go on? I’ll meet you back at the car.”
Looking down at Waffle, who was eagerly snatching up and dropping the ball at their feet, she said, “I’ll take him as far as the Salt House.”
Jack glanced ahead to where the five-hundred-year-old ruin sat forlornly on the edge of the seawall, an old-timer not quite able to yield to obscurity. “No farther,” he cautioned, “the tide’s on its way in.”
“No farther,” she promised, and after telling him to send Martha her love, she used the ChuckIt! Josh had given Waffle for Christmas to fling the ball hard along the beach, sending it soaring past the old lifeboat slipway and on past the storm-damaged cottages to where Sam Thomas, one of their neighbors, was walking his springer, Dylan.
“Meet Dylan Thomas,” he’d say to anyone taking an interest in the dog. “He’s not much good at poetry yet, but he’s definitely got the hang of the pub.”
After giving them a wave, Jenna turned to watch Jack striding over the rocky sand back toward the port. It was a shame Martha had rung when she had. It wasn’t often they found time to walk together in the mornings. When they did, it invariably got the day off
to a good start, though she had to admit most days had turned out to be good since they’d been here.
It had a lot to do, she was thinking as she turned to walk on, with being in an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. “What’s not to love?” she’d often remark. She’d learned from her father, a long time ago, that the Gower Peninsula had been the first place in all of Britain to be awarded the highly prized accolade. And really it was no surprise, for with its dramatically rolling moors and marshes, rambling stone villages and centuries-old chapels, all hemmed in by miles of golden sand and spectacular coastline, it was more than a feast for the senses; it was a wonder, a fantasy even, come to life.
Sadly, since the winter storms the coast had not been at its best, with the dunes ravaged by apocalyptic waves, tons of sand sucked away into the sea, and more rubbish on the shores than could be found in the tip over at Sketty.
The kids were enthralled by the booty the tide washed up, and had even talked their father into sending for metal detectors to help them track down treasure. They hadn’t had much luck so far, but all three young ones remained determined to discover something as historically amazing as the two Napoleonic cannons that had turned up in Porthcawl, or the ten-thousand-year-old forest uncovered at Newgale.
Bracing herself as her mobile rang, certain it was going to be the twins’ school since Wills had thrown up before Jack had whisked them off this morning, she saw it was Verbena, her friend, neighbor, and trusted editorial assistant, and readily clicked on.
“Jenna, I’m sorry, I won’t be able to come in today,” Bena apologized in her usual harassed way. “I’ve just had a call from the school. Looks like our Aiden’s gone and broken his arm, so I’m on my way to the hospital. I feel like I bloody live there with that boy, I swear I do. This is the third time in as many months that we’ve been at the emergency room with him.”
“How did he do it?” Jenna wondered, relieved that it wasn’t her own accident-prone eight-year-old, though sorry for Bena.
“Apparently he fell off a desk. Don’t ask me what he was doing up there in the first place, because I don’t know, but he’ll have been up to no good, that’s for sure. Just wait till his father hears about it—he’ll probably break the other bloody arm knowing him.”