Passion Flower

by Jean Ure

  Zed was already there, in the café, waiting for me. I was quite relieved to see him as you are always a bit worried – well, I am always a bit worried – that maybe people won’t turn up. That is, boys, when they ask you out. This happened once to Vix, and it really upset her. It took her ages to get her confidence back.

  Zed waved when he saw me. “Hi, Passion Flower!” It killed me, the way he called me that. So much more romantic than Stephanie!

  The others who were with him all turned to look. There were two boys, that Zed introduced as Chaz and Nick, and two girls, Paige and Frankie. Paige and Frankie were truly cool. They both looked like top fashion models and about eighteen years old, though it turned out they were only just starting Year 12 so they couldn’t have been. They were still older than me, but I hoped perhaps they wouldn’t realise as I do look quite mature for my age. At least, that is what I have been told. It is horrid if everyone knows how young you are as they immediately start treating you like a child, and it makes you feel really inferior. I discovered that all five of them lived in Brighton and went to the same posh school, the Academy. That was the way they referred to it, just “the Academy” like everyone would automatically know what it was, like Eton or Harrow or somewhere. I knew it had to be posh as they all spoke in these voices like the Queen. What Dad calls “fraffly” Paige asked me what my accent was. I didn’t even know I had an accent! Paige said that she collected them – accents, that is. Zed told me that she was going to be an actress and needed to be able to speak in different kinds of voices.

  “Like wotcha, cock! Cor blimey, mite!”

  I think he was pretending to be Cockney. Paige shrieked, “Zed, don’t! That is excruciating!”

  All five of them then started putting on different accents and shrieking loudly at the tops of their voices. They didn’t seem to mind that people were looking at them.

  “So what is yours?” said Paige, when they had simmered down.

  “It isn’t anything,” I said. “It’s just ordinary.”

  They found that really funny. Paige shrieked, “Just ordinary!” and they all fell about.

  “It’s Sherwood Forest, isn’t it, Passion?” Zed put his arm round my shoulders and hugged me to him. “‘Er do come from Robin ‘ood territory, don’t ’ee, lass?”

  “Oh, Zed! Muzzle it!” said Paige.

  Chaz told me not to worry. “You don’t really sound like that. It’s just Zed and his cloth ears.”

  “This is the guy,” said Nick, “who thought Chopin’s Funeral March was the Wedding March… tum-tum-ti-tum, tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti-tum.”

  Everyone screeched, and so I screeched, too, though to be honest I didn’t really know whether the tum-ti-tums were supposed to be the funeral thingie or the wedding thingie.

  I was beginning to feel a bit out of my depth and was quite glad when Zed decided that it was time to move on.

  “Let’s take Passion on the pier! Show her the attractions.”

  Me and Zed led the way – with Zed holding my hand. I couldn’t wait to write and tell Vix! – and the others ambling along behind. As far as I could make out, Chaz and Paige were an item, and Nick and Frankie. I wondered if I might be going to become an item with Zed… I’d never been an item with anyone before. Not properly. I’d once gone out with a boy in my class, Jimmy Hedges, for almost a term, but the whole time I’d been going with him I’d been sighing over another boy, Chris Whitwood, who was in Year 10. I’d thought Chris was the dog’s dinner. Now he just seemed like… rubbish!

  Being on the pier with Zed was utterly, totally different from being on the pier with the Afterthought. Even from being on the pier with Dad, though we did lots of the same things. We screamed on the Sizzler Twist and clutched each other on the Turbo Coaster and giggled on the Crazy Mouse (which was really for little kids). We also went on the Dodgems, where the boys had a great time deliberately bumping into each other. The man in charge grew really angry and threatened to switch off the power if they didn’t stop it. As we got out, he shook his fist and yelled, “You poxy kids!”

  I said, “What is he so cross about?”

  Zed explained that he didn’t like us bashing up his cars.

  I said, “But I thought that was the whole point of it?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s why they’re called Dodgems,” said Frankie.

  I blushed; I’d never thought of the name as having any sort of meaning. I could see that it was stupid of me, but there wasn’t any need for her to use that sarcastic tone of voice. I had the feeling Frankie didn’t like me very much, though I couldn’t imagine why. I thought maybe she secretly fancied Zed, and was jealous of me. She gave me this filthy look when I started shivering, and Zed took off his jacket and put it round me. She really didn’t like that!

  “You wouldn’t be much good on the nudie beach,” said Zed. “You’d have goose pimples all over!”

  “W-what n-nudie beach?” I said. “Ours, of course! Don’t you know about it? We’re famous for our nudie beach! People come from miles, just to see the sights.”

  “Yeah, and what sights!” said Nick.

  He and Zed then began to act out all the sights that could be seen on the nudist beach. Paige and Frankie joined in, and within minutes they were all doubled over, screaming with laughter. I was laughing, too, but was more embarrassed than anything. I could feel myself starting to grow gently warm and pink. Please, no! I thought. But once you start, you just can’t stop. The more I tried to fight it, the worse it became, until warm turned to hot and pink turned to red and before I knew it I was lit up like a beacon. Like a big human blood orange. Being embarrassed by s.e.x. is so belittling! So horribly young.

  “Oh, poor Passion!” cried Frankie. “We’ve made her blush!”

  “That’s because she’s a nice girl,” said Zed. “Unlike some of us.”

  “Speak for yourself,” said Frankie.

  “You’re just a tart,” said Zed. “C’m ‘ere, Passion! Let me give you a hug… I like nice girls!”

  “Drop dead,” said Frankie. And then she smiled sweetly at me and said, “I suppose you don’t have nudists in Nottingham?”

  I wished I could have thought of some smart remark, but of course I couldn’t. I never can. Vix can! I just go all dumb and stupid.

  “You lot naff off,” said Zed. “Me and Passion want some quiet time.”

  The others drifted away, and Zed and I were left on our own. I thought he might try what Mum would call “funny stuff’, and I was sort of a bit apprehensive, not knowing whether I could handle it, and a bit tingly, half hoping that he would, but in fact he didn’t, he just walked me back home (though still keeping his arm round me). He said that he was going to be in Switzerland for the whole of the next four weeks, staying with his dad, and when he told me that my heart went thunk, because I thought it meant I would never see him again, but he said that he wanted to, and he took my phone number so that he could call me as soon as he got back. I couldn’t help wondering whether he was just saying it, or if he really would. (I also wondered how I was going to survive for a whole month without him.)

  “You don’t think I mean it, do you?” he said. Help! He’d read my thoughts! “You think it’s something I say to all the girls. But it’s not! I really, really want to see you again.”

  He said it like he truly meant it. He really did want to see me again! I knew that Vix would warn me not to get excited. Not to count on it. She still hadn’t properly got her confidence back after her bad experience. Boys weren’t to be trusted! They’d tell you one thing, then do another. I knew all that. I knew that I wasn’t cool like Paige and Frankie, that I didn’t go to a posh school or have rich parents. I knew that Zed could quite easily meet up with some gorgeous girl on the plane on the way back from Switzerland and forget all about me. I knew, I knew! But I could dream, couldn’t I?

  It was gone half-past ten when I got back indoors. Dad didn’t say a word! I don’t think he even noticed. I mean, he noticed that I was back, b
ut I don’t think he realised what the time was. Or maybe he did, and he simply wasn’t bothered. Mum would have been practically foaming at the mouth!

  The Afterthought, thank goodness, was asleep, and I slid into bed really sloooowly so as not to wake her, but at breakfast next morning she started up.

  “You didn’t get in at ten o’clock! I know, ‘cos I stayed awake!”

  I said, “If you’d had a periscope and shoved it out the window you’d have seen that I was standing right outside.”

  “Doing what?” said the Afterthought.

  I said, “None of your business!”

  “Smooching, I bet! With the Hedgehog. I told Mum you’d gone out with a hedgehog.”

  “You told Mum?”

  “When she rang.”

  “When did she ring?”

  “Last night, after you’d gone.”

  “Checking to make sure I wasn’t letting you starve,” said Dad. “OK, girls!” He pushed back his chair. “I’m off. Got things to do. I’ll see you later. Be good!”

  “What shall we do?” said the Afterthought, as the door closed behind Dad.

  I felt like saying, “You do what you want, I’ll do what I want,” but I knew that I couldn’t. I’d promised Mum I’d look after her.

  “What would you like to do?” I said.

  “Go on the beach and find shells!”

  “Wouldn’t you rather do something more adventurous?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know! Like… go and see the nudist beach?”

  “I don’t want to see a nudist beach. I want to find shells!”

  “The nudist beach would be more fun.”

  “I’m not taking my clothes off!” roared the Afterthought.

  “I don’t mean take your clothes off, I mean look at the other people with their clothes off.”

  “No! I don’t want to. I want to find shells!”

  I gave in. “Oh, all right,” I said. Zed wasn’t around, so we might just as well go and find her stupid shells as anything else. “I must buy another postcard for Vix.”

  “Why?” The Afterthought looked at me, slyly. “I s’ppose you’re going to boast about the Hedgehog!”

  I wondered to myself if I had been that tiresome when I was ten years old. I didn’t think you had to be; I mean, just because you were ten years old. I knew some ten year olds who were actually quite nice. Vix’s little brother, for instance. He was really cute! I thought, “Trust me to get lumbered with a bratty one.” I was still trying to come up with some kind of crushing retort when there was a knock at the door and when I went to open it Ms Devine, Dad’s landlady, was standing there.

  “Hallo!” she said. “Stephanie, isn’t it? Is your dad in?”

  I said, “No, he’s just left. He’s gone to work.”

  “Work?” said Ms Devine. She sounded surprised, as if she didn’t expect Dad to work. That made me think that she must know Dad quite well.

  “He’s got this little number,” I said.

  “Really? Well! I wonder if you could give him a message for me? Just whisper the word rent in his ear. Could you do that?”

  “Rent,” I said.

  “He’ll understand,” said Ms Devine. “Just tell him… Shell said, rent.”

  We watched as Ms Devine’s legs went back up the basement steps.

  “She didn’t sound cross,” I said.

  “Why should she sound cross?” said the Afterthought. I wasn’t sure; it was just that I was used to people sounding cross with Dad. I gave him the message when he got back that afternoon. Dad said, “Oh, yes! Don’t worry about it. I have it in hand. What say we go up the road for a Chinese?”

  “What, now?” I said.

  “Why not now?” said Dad.

  I said, “It’s only five o’clock!”

  “So what?” said Dad. “There’s no law says you can’t eat at five o’clock, is there? I don’t know about you, but I eat when I’m hungry!” It was one of the best things about being with Dad: there wasn’t any routine. There weren’t any set rules. We had meals at all odd times, just whenever Dad decided we should. Sometimes we had takeaways, sometimes we went out and sometimes we made do with stuff out of a tin. We got up when we liked, and watched telly when we liked, and went to bed when we liked. We never knew when Dad was going to be home or when he was going to be out. When he was home we all did things together, like maybe we’d mosey into town (Dad’s way of putting it!) or jump in the car and go for a drive.

  One day we went to see the Royal Pavilion, near the seafront. The Royal Pavilion is very historical, being built for George IV. It is full of many beautiful and precious objects. From the outside it looks like white onions shining in the sun. Well, I thought it looked like white onions. The Afterthought said it was more like meringues, and promptly decided that she had to eat meringues immediately, so we all rushed madly around in search of a tea shop, ending up in this big hotel on the seafront, feeling very grand.

  This was the sort of thing that happened when you were with Dad. One day it would be spaghetti hoops out of a tin, the next it would be meringues, with tea in china tea cups, in a posh hotel. You just never knew.

  When Dad wasn’t home we were left to our own devices and could do pretty well whatever we liked. No one to fuss and bother over us! No one to huff and puff when we forgot to phone, or didn’t arrive back when we were supposed to. Mum would have had fifty fits, but Mum wasn’t there, she was living it up in Spain. She’d sent us a postcard saying, Dear Both, I am having a wonderful time, I hope you are. Be good! Love, Mum. Nothing about missing us, or looking forward to having us back. None of her little mumsy frets about whether we were eating properly, whether the Afterthought was behaving herself, whether I was keeping an eye on her. She was just busy enjoying herself. So after that I stopped feeling guilty when the Afterthought stayed up till the small hours and Dad let her watch unsuitable programmes on the telly and we both stuffed ourselves with junk food day after day. We could do what we liked!

  The only thing I didn’t like was having to lug the Afterthought with me wherever I went. Occasionally, as we searched for shells, or played the slot machines, or wandered along the seafront nibbling candy floss or eating ice creams, I’d catch sight of Zed’s friends, either all four of them together or in ones and twos. They’d wave at me and say hallo, but they never asked me to join them. I felt sure this was because I had my little bratty sister with me. I asked her one day if she wouldn’t rather I left her at home.

  “What for?” she said, instantly suspicious.

  “Well! I don’t know… wouldn’t you like to do things with your shells? Or watch telly, or something?”

  “You just want to get rid of me,” she said. “But you can’t, ‘cos you promised Mum! You told her you’d look after me.”

  “I’m trying to,” I said. “That’s why I thought maybe you’d rather stay at home. I don’t want you to wear yourself out,” I said.

  The Afterthought said she wasn’t wearing herself out, she liked going on the pier, and going on the beach, and paddling in the sea.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I’m not allowed to stay home by myself. You know Mum wouldn’t let me.”

  Since when had that ever bothered her?

  “Let’s go and look round the shops,” she said. “Let’s buy things!”

  “We can’t,” I said, “we haven’t any money.” I’d asked Dad for some, but he’d forgotten to go to the bank and until he did we only had enough for the odd ice cream or bottle of Coke.

  “We can still go and look,” said the Afterthought.

  As we were wandering round the shops, we bumped into Paige, and another girl. One I hadn’t seen before. Paige was quite friendly. She said, “Hi, Passion Flower!” It was the only name she knew me by. I would have liked it to stay that way, but my dear little sister immediately had to go and pipe up.

  “Her name’s not Passion Flower, it’s Stephanie!”

  Paige could obviously see
me squirming, and took pity on me. She said, “If I were called Stephanie, I’d change it to Passion Flower. This is Marie-Claire, by the way. She’s our exchange. Elle ne parle pas beaucoup d’anglais, do you?” Marie-Claire giggled and shook her head. “Et moi,” said Paige, “ne parle pas hardly any français du tout. I suppose you don’t, do you, Passion?”

  “Only un peu,” I said. “Un très peu.”

  “Anything would be a help,” said Paige. “Frankie speaks it OK, but she’s not here. She’s gone off to the Algarve for a fortnight. The boys are away, as well, so I’m all on my ownsome. I’m taking Marie-Claire to see the Pavilion. Feel like joining us?”

  I was all ready to leap at the chance when she had to go and pipe up again. “We’ve already been to the Pavilion!”

  “Yes, and you thought it was boring, so you might just as well shove off,” I said, “and do something else!” I gave her a push. “We don’t need you hanging around whining.”

  I know it was rather harsh of me, and that I wasn’t making allowances, but she was such a nuisance.

  “I’m going with Paige,” I said. “You go and do your own thing.”

  “You can’t go!” shrilled the Afterthought. “It costs money to get into the Pavilion! You haven’t got any!”

  “I have,” said Paige.

  “So naff off,” I said; and I gave the Afterthought another push. A bit harder, this time. “Go on! Hop it!” And then I remembered, and tossed the front door key at her. “Go home and do your shells! I’ll see you later.”

  “Will she be OK?” said Paige.

  “She knows where we live,” I said. I had had just about enough of my whiny little sister. Mum was off enjoying herself and obviously couldn’t care less, so why should I?

  I stayed out most of the day. After we’d been to the Pavilion we went on a little train that ran along the seafront, which was quite fun – though it would have been more fun if Zed had been there! But then everything would have been more fun if Zed had been there. Feeling rather bold, I said, “What about the nudist beach?”