Midsummer Meltdown

by Cathy Hopkins

  Loads of ideas flew about. Weekend at a spa. Gorgeous piece of jewellery. Watch. New car. Clothes. But she had all that.

  In the end, the plan that appealed the most was to book a small hotel somewhere fabulous and then invite a bunch of her friends to go and stay there as Dad’s guests. And I was going to be allowed to invite my friends, all expenses paid. Mum wouldn’t know anything about it. Dad would say that he’d honoured her request to do something small and that he was taking her away, just the two of them. She’d never guess and then taraaah! When she got to the hotel, there would be her family and some friends waiting.

  That was the secret but seeing as it was all decided at the last minute, Dad wanted to be sure of the flights and the hotel rooms before I was allowed to mention it to Cat, Becca, Mac and Squidge. He’d been researching all sorts of locations but some of them didn’t have the space for so many people at such short notice. I was dying to tell the others but he’d made me swear that I wouldn’t until it was definite as he didn’t want anybody getting all excited then being let down, plus he didn’t want the secret leaking out and getting back to Mum. I couldn’t wait to tell them all. A couple of days in a fab location not only with my friends but with Squidge. My lovely gorgeous Squidge. I’d be sure to get him alone then. It was going to be so fantastic. And so romantic.

  ‘So is it a party?’ Becca asked again.

  ‘Might be, might not be,’ I said. ‘I will tell you as soon as I can. The whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me. But not yet. You have to give me another couple of days.’

  ‘Pff,’ said Cat. ‘I hate secrets. My imagination goes into overdrive.’

  ‘Mine too,’ said Becca. ‘But I don’t think she’s going to tell us.’

  Mac flicked ‘play’ on the remote and we went back to watching the teen heroes on the screen get their heads ripped off. At least Squidge put his arm round me and cuddled me up to him.

  After the movie was over, he stayed behind for a while and at last we got our snogging session in.

  ‘And don’t think I’m going to give in and tell you everything just because you’re a great kisser,’ I said as we pulled back to get our breath.

  ‘Aw,’ he groaned. ‘I was hoping my change of tactic might work.’

  I was about to explain again that I couldn’t tell when he shook his head. ‘Only teasing,’ he said. ‘You tell in your own time. Just one thing. The truth, dare, kiss, promise thing. It is important, yeah? I know you need a few days before you can tell your Dad’s secret, but with us, between us. Truth. It’s important yeah?’

  I nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So let’s pledge to always tell each other the truth. Even if it hurts.’

  ‘Yeah. Definitely,’ I said. ‘But I’d never have anything to say to hurt you.’

  ‘I hope not,’ said Squidge and put his deep zombie voice on again. ‘Because then I really would have to k-e-e-e-l-l-l-l you.’

  ‘SEEN DAD?’ I ASKED MUM after Squidge had left later that same day.

  Mum pointed out of the kitchen window to Dad’s music studio down by the lake behind the stables. ‘Down there, I think.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said and headed for the back door.

  ‘Are you two up to something?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Me? Dad?’ I replied, putting on my best innocent face. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like organising a surprise party for me,’ said Mum. ‘I told you, I don’t want one.’

  I went and sat at the breakfast bar where she was busy grinding seeds with a pestle and mortar. Behind her at another counter, our housekeeper Meena was preparing vegetables for supper.

  ‘What are you making?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m grinding coriander and fennel seeds to put in a marinade,’ she replied. ‘Meena’s doing sweet potato. And don’t change the subject.’

  I laughed. ‘I wasn’t. Just there’s nothing to say. Dad and I aren’t up to anything and we’ve got the message loud and clear that you don’t want a party.’

  ‘That’s OK, then. So why do you want your dad?’

  ‘Oh . . . homework thing,’ I lied.

  ‘I can help with homework.’

  ‘Maths thing. He’s better than you are.’

  ‘No, he’s not. He’s rubbish at accounts. You are up to something, aren’t you?’

  Is everyone in my life a mind-reader? I asked myself as I looked at the floor in case, like Squidge, she could read my thoughts.

  ‘Why don’t you want to celebrate, Mum?’ I asked. ‘Normally you do.’

  ‘Well, for one thing, we’re already having a party for midsummer towards the end of June. Seems a bit mad to have one so close to the other.’

  ‘But the midsummer night party is for one of your charities. This one would be for you. To celebrate.’

  ‘What? Being forty. What’s to celebrate?’

  ‘But you look brilliant for your age.’

  This time I wasn’t lying. I knew I had the best-looking mum in the area. She has great cheekbones and flawless skin, hair like silk cut to her shoulders and even without make-up she still looks beautiful.

  ‘Brilliant “for my age”,’ said Mum. ‘Poo to that.’ She stopped grinding the seeds for a moment. ‘I don’t really know why I don’t want a party. I just don’t. I want to forget all about it. It’s strange, being forty. I don’t feel it. I feel like I’m eighteen inside and then I look in the mirror and see this old face looking back at me . . .’

  ‘Rubbish. You haven’t got an old face . . .’

  ‘Yes, I have, and it’s going to get even older. Forty. Forty-five, fifty . . .’

  ‘But they say life begins at forty,’ I said.

  Mum smiled. ‘Yeah. Maybe. Yeah. Maybe it will begin but it doesn’t mean that I have to announce to the whole world I am now middle-aged.’

  ‘Never. You don’t look it,’ I said. ‘And anyway, being middle-aged is a state of mind.’

  Mum laughed again. ‘A state of mind! Where did you hear that?’

  ‘I read it in one of your magazines,’ I said. ‘And I think they’re right. You have a choice at any age. Look like a bag or a babe. The choice is yours. And you look like a babe. With all your fresh juices and organic food, your skin looks great. You exercise. You look after yourself. I think you look about twenty-eight.’

  Mum came round the bar and kissed me lightly on the top of my head. ‘Dear Lia. You say all the right things.’

  I smiled back at her and got up to go to the back door again as she went back to her preparations for supper.

  ‘But still no surprises,’ she said as my hand reached for the door.

  ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea any more,’ I said when I found Dad five minutes later. He was in his studio with our two red setters, Max and Molly, who were sleeping under his desk. ‘Mum’s really not into having anything.’

  ‘But what’s the alternative?’ asked Dad. ‘We do as she asks and then on the day, she’ll feel let down. No. I know women and I know your mum. I learned very very early on. Our first Valentine’s Day. Oh, she said, don’t get me anything, it’s such a commercial venture. The only people that really benefit are the businessmen behind the cards and merchandise. I took her at her word. No card. No present. She sulked all day. It was only when I went and bought her some flowers and a red chocolate heart that she smiled again. So now I know that when she says, “I don’t want a fuss”, she really means, “I want the biggest, almightiest most fantastic fuss in the history of mankind”.’

  I laughed. He might be right. I remember when Squidge turned sixteen just before Easter, he said the same thing to his parents. Oh, don’t make a fuss (although in his case it was because he knew that they didn’t have any extra money). But they threw him a surprise party and spoiled him and he was really blown away. He told me afterwards that before the party, when he’d thought that everyone had taken him at his word, he’d felt disappointed and unloved. I don’t want Mum feeling that way. Not for a moment.

  ‘I thi
nk you’re right, Dad. People say the opposite of what they mean sometimes. And forty is a big one, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sixteen. Twenty-one. Thirty. Forty. Fifty. All biggies. New chapters. And to be celebrated, I say. Like – you’ve got this far. And here are all the people who are happy about that fact to help you make a day of it.’

  ‘So what have we got so far?’ I asked.

  Dad opened his palms to indicate all the brochures on the desk in front of him. Venice, Florence, Paris, Rome, Italian lakes, South of France, Scotland.

  ‘Susie’s on the case up in London but we have to narrow it down a bit I reckon,’ he said. (Susie is Dad’s PA and is absolutely brilliant. She does all his tour arrangements, books hotels, flights and so on.)

  I picked up a couple of the brochures and flopped down on the sofa by the bay window. ‘So where? America? Florida? We had a good time there a couple of years ago, didn’t we? Or maybe we should go back to New York?’

  ‘Too many relatives I think she’d rather avoid over there,’ said Dad with a grimace. ‘No. I envisage somewhere more exotic.’

  I flicked through a brochure showing turquoise seas and clear blue skies. ‘The Far East?’

  Dad got up from his desk and went to the big American fridge in the corner of the room. ‘Might be a bit too far for some people. Can take eleven hours to get to some of the locations. Juice?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks. So where?’

  Dad took a couple of small cartons of juice out and chucked one over to me. ‘We’ve left it a bit late, so it might be wherever they can have us all at such short notice. Susie’s checking out availability.’

  ‘How many of us are there so far?’

  Dad glanced down at his list. ‘About twenty-five. Five of you lot,’ he said, ‘that is if Mac, Squidge, Cat and Becca all come . . .’

  ‘I’m sure they will when they hear but I think we’ll need to tell them soon. Cat is already making plans and roping in the others for that weekend in June. It’s the village fête in Cawsand.’

  Dad stroked his chin. ‘Is it? Right. Yes. OK. Let them know what’s happening but swear them to secrecy. I don’t want your mum overhearing the whole plan while she’s in the village.’

  ‘Right. So who else?’

  Dad looked back at his list. ‘Star of course. She’s bringing her friends Rhiannon and George.’

  Brilliant, I thought. I liked both of them and so did Mum. Rhiannon was Star’s oldest mate and was like one of the family and George was a stylist who worked on a lot of Star’s photo shoots. He was a hoot. Star always said he was the perfect man, so it was a shame for her that he was gay.

  ‘Grandma and Grandpa Newman have opted out. They’re not too keen on flying anymore. Grandma Axford will be coming depending on the location. Says she’s not going anywhere she has to have injections for. Your Aunt Cydney will be joining us and then about ten close friends and whoever Ollie brings.’

  ‘And who does Ollie want to bring?’

  ‘So far, he’s mentioned Henry Lynch, Jamie Parker and Michael Bradley.’

  I almost spat my drink out. ‘Michael Bradley? Why does Ollie have to bring him?’

  ‘Because he’s been his best friend since forever, you know that. Why? Is it a problem?’

  ‘Oh no, not really,’ I blustered, trying to recover as fast as I could. Michael Bradley! Finking stinking. He was only the boy I’d had a crush on since I was out of nappies but he’d never taken much notice of me. At least not as a girl. I was always Ollie’s kid sister. Little Lia. Last year, he came down with Ollie and I got all excited (this was before Squidge) and imagined that at last he might notice that I had grown up. And he did, I think. For a moment I thought that all my fantasies were about to come true and then who appeared next to him but his girlfriend Usha. She’s a stunning Indian girl, and as far as I knew, they were still an item.

  ‘But won’t Michael want to bring Usha?’ I asked.

  Dad shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. The party is for your mum, not for Ollie. We can’t take everyone, and anyway, it’s only for a long weekend. If we invited everyone, we’d have a list a mile long.’

  ‘Why doesn’t Ollie bring one of his many girlfriends instead of Michael?’ I asked.

  ‘I doubt if Cat would enjoy the trip very much if he did,’ said Dad and then smiled. ‘No need to look at me like that. I know what goes on. And I know Ollie likes to see Cat when he’s down here.’

  ‘I think they’ve cooled it lately,’ I said. I didn’t fill Dad in on all the details but at the beginning of May, Ollie met a girl up in London who came down here in the last half-term holidays. I don’t think he could decide between her and Cat and was spinning them both along in the hope that he could get away with it. Sadly for him, his plan backfired but that’s another story.

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ asked Dad.

  I shrugged. ‘You know Ollie. Commitment phobic. Don’t think he knows what he wants. But anyway, I still don’t see why he has to bring Michael . . .’

  ‘Has something happened between you and Michael that you’re not telling me about?’ asked Dad. ‘Has he done something to upset you?’

  ‘No. No. Not really.’

  Dad was staring at me. Arrghhh, I thought, another person trying to do the mind-reading thing!

  ‘Come on, spill,’ said Dad.

  ‘Nothing to spill,’ I said.

  Dad laughed. ‘Known you too long. And you’re a lousy liar.’

  ‘That’s what Squidge said.’

  ‘Squidge is right. So has this Michael done something to upset you? Don’t worry. If you don’t want to tell me, I’ll just let Ollie know that Michael can’t come on the trip.’

  ‘Oh God nooooo,’ I blurted. ‘Don’t do that.’ That would make an issue of it and then Ollie would be on my case and he was one person I really didn’t want to know about my crush.

  I decided to tell Dad as I knew he could be trusted. ‘OK. Just between us. No biggie. School crush way back. Temporary moment of insanity although he is major cute. But no. I’m sooooo over it. Let Michael come and pleeeeeeeese never ever, ever, ever mention this to Ollie. Ever. It will be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m with Squidge now and anyway Michael is still with Usha.’

  Dad smiled. ‘I won’t say anything. First love, huh . . .?’

  ‘Yeah. Mad, really.’

  Dad looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Actually, I could see you and Michael together. He’s a nice lad. Yeah. Want me to arrange a marriage when you’re older?’

  ‘Daadd!’

  ‘Only joking. But I do like Michael. A bright boy.’

  ‘I think we should change the subject like right now! Who was your first love?’ I asked.

  ‘Proper?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Your mum. Really. I had girlfriends before. Girls I liked, even thought I loved – but then . . . I still remember that first time I saw your mother. She knocked me out.’

  I’d heard the story a million times and still loved hearing it. Dad’s face always lit up when he told it. ‘Where was it?’

  Dad slapped his forehead. ‘Of course, that’s it. That’s where we should go . . .’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Morocco! Obvious. The first time I saw your mother. She was on holiday with her mother and staying in a converted palace in the medina in Marrakech. Way out of my league back then. Things were only just starting to happen for me. I was a nobody. A musician. Broke and bumming it with my mate Barry. As sheer cheek, Barry and I decided to go and have a beer in the posh joint with our last few coins. We were at the bar and your mum walked in. Pure class. All dressed in white. Grace Kelly all over again.’

  ‘Grace Kelly?’

  Dad grinned. ‘Big-time movie star. Became princess of Monaco and died tragically in a car accident . . .’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve seen pictures of her family in Hello! magazine. Princess Caroline of Monaco. She’s her daughter, right?’

  Dad nodded. ‘That’s righ
t. But yes, Morocco. Why didn’t I think of this before? It will be perfect. The weather will be lovely at this time of year. It’s only three hours or so on the plane. And . . . yeah! I wonder if I could get the place where she stayed. Where we met. What do you think?’

  ‘Excellent plan. That would be brilliant. I think that’s a great idea, Dad,’ I said, then smiled at him. ‘You’re almost as romantic as Squidge.’

  But Dad didn’t hear the last bit. He’d already picked up the phone and was asking Susie to check out details for the hotel in Marrakech.

  ‘Want to have a look?’ he asked a few minutes later when he’d finished his call. ‘I can find the hotel on the Net. Riad Rhoul, it’s not the biggest but it is one of the best.’

  He punched in a few buttons on his keyboard and before long a site came up.

  ‘Wow,’ I said as the photo gallery downloaded and the most fabulously exotic pictures appeared on the screen. Tiled fountains set among tropical flowers and trees. A turquoise pool surrounded by shrubs and sun loungers. Little alcoves with cushioned seats set against mosaic walls. Gorgeous balconies where muslin curtains wafted in a breeze. Coloured lanterns hanging over terraces. And the bedrooms looked like something out of Tales of the Arabian Nights. Deep red walls, silken beds with golden pillows.

  ‘She’s going to love this,’ said Dad as his phone rang. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’ He picked up and listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.

  When he put down the phone, he gave me the thumbs up then grinned widely. ‘Susie’s on the case and I think we might be in business. She’s found it. Apparently it’s used mainly for occasions like this now. Private parties. Weddings, birthdays and so on but it might be free at least for one or two nights the weekend we want. Fingers crossed. Susie’s looked on the Net and it all looks OK but she needs to call the offices in the morning when they are open. So I think it’s time to let your pals know that they can earmark the date.’

  Morocco. Marrakech. Squidge was going to love it.

  I RACED BACK UP TO THE HOUSE and up to my room where I could make my calls in private. Of course I wanted to tell Squidge the news first but he wasn’t at home and his stupid mobile was on answer. Grrrrrr. Finking stinking frustrating. I felt so excited I would burst if I didn’t tell someone soon.