by Susan Lewis
Unable not to laugh, Jenna said, “Well, if there’s anything I can do…”
“Oh no, you’re fine, thanks. I know how much you’ve got on with your own little hellers, and with the launch coming up, so I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“But if he can’t go to school…”
“He’s going, whether he wants to or not, and he will if he has a cast on his arm. Besides, I’m not letting you down at this crucial time, and I have to admit we need the money.”
Inwardly grimacing at the pittance they paid her, Jenna said, “I promise you’ll get an increase as soon as we can manage it.”
“I know that, and really it’s not why I’m doing it. It’s bloody wonderful getting my head round all those poems and short stories and the like. I thought I was never going to use my brain again after I became a mother. Anyway, I’ll call later to update you.”
After clicking off Jenna decided now was probably as good a time as any to start taking the beach shots Paige had felt were missing when they’d sat down last night to review yesterday’s shoot. Some of the sequences had been highly entertaining, especially those that Owen must have captured, since they featured Paige and/or Jack pretending to be smugglers, or Druid bards, or creatures of the Tylwth Teg.
Consummate actors, the pair of them.
“Just get me some stills of the rocks and seashells,” Paige had instructed before leaving that morning. “Nothing fancy—I only need them to remind me of shapes and colors and stuff. Oh, and if you can hold the phone up to record a couple of minutes of the sound of the waves, that would be brilliant.”
“Anything else, Mr. de Mille?”
“What?”
“Never mind. Sounds like you’re making an epic.”
“I might be.” Treating each parent to an airy kiss, she’d swept out of the door, heavy book bag on her back, phone in one hand, slice of toast in the other, and Flora screaming a tantrum in her wake about wanting white bread in her lunch box, not brown.
After capturing what she hoped would satisfy her elder daughter and throwing the ball a few more times for an indefatigable Waffle, Jenna turned back toward the port, her mind starting to empty of family affairs and fill with her professional commitments for the day ahead. Emails, Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and the regular post would probably take up most of the morning—she should also check Bena’s terminal to see if anything needed urgent attention there. She must then call one of their more prolific short-story writers from Fishguard to discuss his latest contribution, which luckily needed very little work. He’d be happy to hear that. Not so happy would be the first-time novelist whose third draft required even more cuts than she’d already agreed to, so Jenna wouldn’t be surprised if the ex-headmistress put her foot down and withdrew her work. It would be a pity if she did, not only because she showed real promise as a writer, but also because she had an extremely engaging Jean Brodie–ish tale on her hands, with a strong central character and a dry humor that should help her book to sell very well. They just needed to get the pacing and structure sorted out, add a little more punch to the denouement, and they should be there.
If only she could make some progress with her own work. Maybe she was a better editor than she was a writer.
A few minutes later she hooked Waffle onto his lead and walked him up into the center of Port Eynon. Since this consisted of one small roundabout, the Seafarer fish-and-chip shop, the Captain’s Cabin café, and a gift shop, there was no problem spotting the car. It was the only vehicle in sight.
Oddly, though, there was no sign of Jack.
Looking up and down the dunes, then across to the main car park and seafront campsite, both of which were deserted, she decided he must have either popped into the gents’ or been waylaid by one of the villagers.
After waiting a few minutes she took out her phone to call him. “Jack, where are you?” she asked his voicemail. “I’m at the car and can’t get in.”
When there was no immediate call back she began wandering up through the whitewashed cottages toward the church, where the towering statue of a lifeboatman held endless fascination for the children. She glanced at the Smuggler’s Haunt as she passed, but it was closed at this time of year, so she hadn’t expected to see anyone there. A little farther on was the turning to the Ship, where Jack occasionally went for a pint and chat with some of the locals. Though it seemed unlikely he’d be there now, she walked the twenty or so yards to check, and found that the doors were firmly locked and no lights were on inside.
Baffled, and not sure whether to be worried or annoyed with him since it was starting to rain, she retraced her steps to the car.
“Jack, where the heck are you?” she demanded into his voicemail. “Call me back now. I need to get home.”
—
“Thanks, that’s really kind of you,” Paige was saying as Charlotte handed over enough cash to pay for both their lunches. “I thought Dad would’ve been here by now. I suppose he forgot. Typical. They’re so wrapped up in the business now that the rest of us could leave home or become famous and they probably wouldn’t notice.”
“Think of the freedom,” Charlotte reminded her. “And don’t worry about the money. You can always pay me back tomorrow. Where shall we sit?”
As she and Paige searched the crowded canteen someone suddenly bumped Paige from behind and sent her plate flying off the tray.
“Oh my God, I am sooooooo sorry,” Kelly Durham cried in a tone that made sure everyone knew she was anything but. With her perfectly round face, eyelash extensions, piercings, tattoos, and dyed blond hair, Kelly was an arresting-looking girl (“common as muck” was how Charlotte usually described her; “a right slapper” or “fat cow” was what others said, though not one would have had the nerve to utter it to her face). What everyone knew about Kelly was that she was part of the famous Durham family from the Killay area of Swansea—not exactly posh, but definitely not as downbeat as some parts—and no one, but no one, ever messed with the Durhams.
Paige’s eyes went to Charlotte, whose cheeks had turned as crimson as her own. She could feel everyone turning to look at her, waiting to see what she’d do.
“Fight, fight, fight,” a year nine boy shouted from a nearby table, banging it with his fists and stamping his feet.
Having zero intention of getting into any kind of scuffle with Kelly, who not only was bigger but had a ready army of supporters at her side—the Durmites, as they were known—Paige simply got down on her knees to start clearing up the mess.
“Tell me, Paige,” Kelly said in her singsongy voice, “how’s your gimpy boyfriend these days?”
Since Lee Forest, a boy with a limp she’d once defended while he was being picked on by Kelly, had left the school soon after the incident, Paige had no idea how he was, though she wouldn’t have answered anyway.
“Is it true,” Kelly continued, “that you’ve been calling me names?”
Paige’s heart turned over.
“We heard she had, didn’t we?” Kelly enquired of her acolytes.
“Yes, that’s definitely what we heard,” Bethany Gates confirmed.
“So do you want to call me these names to my face?” Kelly invited Paige.
Feeling the heat of fear and humiliation burning through her, Paige carried on clearing up her meal, half expecting to be kicked at any moment.
“Seems like she doesn’t have the guts,” someone sneered.
“I never called you names,” Paige said as the others began clucking and calling her chicken.
“What was that?” Kelly asked. “Did it say something?”
“TA! TA!” someone hissed. Teacher alert.
As Kelly’s crowd moved on, treading in the lost lunch as they went, Paige sat back on her heels, her face pale, her heart thudding, her eyes bright with anger.
“Don’t,” Charlotte whispered.
“It’s all right,” Paige assured her. Even if she could think of what to say, and she couldn’t, she knew it would only make m
atters worse if she came out with it.
“I’ll go and ask for a dustpan and brush,” Hayley offered, coming up behind them. “You can share my lunch if you like.”
“And mine,” Charlotte insisted.
Paige attempted a smile. She wasn’t hungry anymore, but it was sweet of them to offer.
“You know why she’s picking on you, don’t you?” Hayley said when they were settled at a table as far from the Durmites as possible. “It’s not only about that kid you stuck up for. It’s because she’s jealous.”
“Of what?” Paige demanded incredulously. “There’s nothing to be jealous of.” She was looking at Charlotte. “Why does she think I called her names?”
“She doesn’t,” Charlotte replied. “She’s just trying to pick a fight.”
“You know what she’s like,” Hayley went on. “She has to show everyone she’s in charge when she totally is not.”
“Don’t you reckon she’s like that girl on The Valleys?” Charlotte whispered to Hayley. “You know, the really chavvy one who took her knickers off in a nightclub?”
“Actually, yeah, she does look a bit like her,” Hayley agreed.
“A total double-bagger,” Charlotte declared, keeping her voice down.
Though she laughed along with them, Paige was careful not to let Kelly see in case it offended her in some way. She definitely didn’t want to be on the wrong side of Kelly Durham, but she had no idea how to escape it, especially when she truly couldn’t stand the girl. Kelly was always so full of herself, strutting around the place with her shellac nails, orange tan, and gaggle of chavvy mates like they were in charge of the world. They were forever shoving younger kids out of the way, or making them hand over their tuck, or forcing them to do stupid stuff like eat grass, or let the air out of their own tires, or promise to blow up the chemistry lab. No one ever had, obviously, but Kelly and her gang seemed to get some sort of kick out of making them feel they had to.
As the others tucked into their food while chatting about the gross waste of time it was learning Welsh, Paige glanced around the room in search of someone who might be Julie Morris. No one was looking her way, and since she had nothing to go on to give her a clue, she soon gave up the search.
“It’s just someone playing silly buggers,” Charlotte had stated earlier when Paige told her about it. “I’d just ignore it if I were you.”
Paige was half inclined to agree, but on the other hand, she couldn’t help being concerned in case someone was feeling lonely, in need of a friend, and didn’t know any other way to reach out. She’d hate it if that was her; it must be the worst feeling in the world to have no one to talk to. She’d seen it happen at her last school when one of the boys in her class had been cruelly tormented for being overweight, so she’d gone out of her way to make him a friend. Everyone had more or less left him alone after that, and she’d never let on to anyone that she almost regretted doing it because he turned out to be a bit of a liability. It was one of the reasons she hadn’t been that sorry to leave.
“Look out, here comes Owen,” Charlotte warned in a whisper.
Paige looked up and smiled as he approached. She might not want to be his girlfriend, but she had a very real fondness for him, and he had the sweetest face, a bit like an angel’s with his sky-blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and dark blond curls.
“Is it OK if I sit here?” he asked, coming to hover behind an empty chair.
“It’s yours,” she told him, wishing for his sake that he had a little more self-confidence.
Clearly pleased, he put his tray on the table and squeezed in next to her. “Have you finished?” he asked, noticing her empty place.
Leaning forward, Hayley said, “Kelly Durham, the bi—”
“I wasn’t hungry,” Paige quickly cut in, treating Hayley to a meaningful stare. Hayley had obviously forgotten that Owen’s sister, Olivia, who was in year eleven, was mates with Kelly Durham. Though she knew Owen wouldn’t mean any harm if he decided to repeat things to his sister, she didn’t want anything getting back to Kelly that might blow up in her face later.
“So have you viewed any of the stuff you shot yesterday yet?” he asked, digging into his pasta.
“You’ve got pasta and chips,” Charlotte accused.
He looked down at his plate, clearly not understanding the fuss. “So?”
She shot him a withering look. “It’s all right for those who don’t put on weight at the mere sight of a carb,” she said tartly.
“Yeah, I guess it is,” he agreed in a way that made Paige and Hayley laugh. Turning back to Paige, he said, “So have you?”
“Some, but not all,” she replied. “My mum really liked the bits you shot, but since they were mostly of me and Dad messing about, she would.”
“I thought we did them specially for her.”
“We did. I’ve just got to put them into a separate file so I can send them to her. We’ve got ICT this afternoon, so I might be able to do it then.”
“By the way, I thought your sister was brilliant in assembly this morning,” Hayley told Owen. “The way she plays the violin…She’s like a bloody professional.”
Owen nodded and continued to eat.
“Don’t you reckon she is?” Hayley asked the others.
“Definitely,” Paige and Charlotte agreed.
“She practices all the time,” he told them.
Paige couldn’t help wondering why he always seemed so reluctant to talk about his sister, especially given how close they were. They came and went from school together and were often together during breaks; Paige was sure they’d eat together if Olivia ever came into the canteen, but she never did.
Moving up to make more room as Cullum and Matt came to join them, Paige snatched a chip from Matt’s plate and almost instantly wished she hadn’t, because of how hungry it made her feel for the rest.
“Have you been picked for the team this week?” Cullum asked Owen.
Owen nodded. “Second row.”
“That’s where you belong, mate. Matt’s on the bench.”
“Knee’s still not right,” Matt reminded them. “Coach reckons I could be fit again by next— Paige! Get your hands off my chips, will you?”
“She hasn’t had anything to eat,” Hayley told him.
“So go and get something and stop half-inching mine.”
“Who are you playing this week?” Charlotte asked Owen.
“Bishopston.”
“Don’t forget to go after that clown who did this to my knee,” Matt told him.
“I’m on it,” Owen promised, glancing at Paige’s mobile as a text came in.
Sorry Dad didn’t bring money. Change of plan. He’s not going into Cardiff today. Did you manage to borrow from Charlotte or Hayley?
Everything’s cool, Paige texted back, looking up as Mrs. Haynes, their form tutor, called out from the door, “Paige, you’re helping to set up the charity-bag pack for the year eights, aren’t you?”
“Yes, miss,” Paige replied.
“Good. If you’ve finished your lunch, could you come over to the study center for a minute? There are a couple of things we need to go through. It shouldn’t take long.”
As Mrs. Haynes continued to hold the door open, Paige got to her feet. “You’re on the committee too,” she reminded Matt.
“Yeah, but she didn’t ask for me.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Charlotte offered, apparently sensing Paige’s reluctance to walk past Kelly Durham’s table on her own.
“No, it’s OK,” Paige replied. After all, what could Kelly do with Mrs. Haynes standing right there?
The answer was clearly nothing. In fact, as Paige passed their table neither Kelly nor any of the Durmites even lifted their heads to watch her go by.
For some reason that felt almost as bad as if they’d jeered and called her names.
“Am I still in disgrace?” Jack asked cautiously as he peered into the office, waving a white handkerchief to prepare the
way.
Looking up from her computer, Jenna rolled her eyes and tried not to smile. He could be completely maddening at times, even thoughtless, definitely impulsive, and occasionally irrational, but she wouldn’t do a thing to change him. “You should be,” she informed him. “I was soaked to the skin by the time I got home.”
“But what was I to do?” he protested. “I couldn’t just leave the poor thing running loose. Anything could have happened to it.”
“You mean in all that traffic down in Port Eynon?”
He pulled a face. “Have a heart.”
She laughed and shook her head. Since Irene Evans’s ancient poodle had become the object of many rescues lately, she could only wonder now why she hadn’t thought of it when Jack had disappeared.
In fact, it was generally agreed that the lonely but canny old lady urged the half-blind, arthritic little beast out of the garden on purpose in the hope of luring a hero or heroine into her cozy little cottage for a nice cup of tea, a homemade biscuit, a bit of a chat, and oh, just a tiny job that needs seeing to, if you have the time.
In Jack’s case this morning she’d had him unblocking her bathroom sink and sorting out her Internet connection. She’d even talked him into driving all the way to Mumbles later to take the dog to the vet, which was where he’d just returned from. Precisely why the poodle couldn’t see someone closer to home Jenna had no idea, nor was she particularly interested to find out. She had a lot to get through today and didn’t want Irene Evans, sweet as she was, hijacking any more of it. “You could have answered your phone,” she reminded him, going back to the notes she was making.
“As I said, I had no idea I’d managed to switch it to silent,” he replied, dropping a pile of Sunday’s papers on a side table before sinking down at his own desk. “But I did text.”
It was true, he had, and thanks to the erratic reception in the port it had turned up a good hour after he’d sent it.
“And let’s not forget,” he went on, “I was just as wet as you by the time I got home.”