Midsummer Meltdown

by Cathy Hopkins

  I left him a message to call me urgently.

  Oh, where was he? I wondered. I wanted to hear his reaction as I knew he’d be over the moon and a trip away is just what we needed at this stage of our relationship. I’d been feeling lately that I needed something to keep Squidge interested in me. He doesn’t know it but loads of girls at school and in the area fancy him and not just because he’s cute looking but because he’s the most brilliant company. Full of life and excited about what he’s just read or seen or wants to do. We’d been going out together for a couple of months, since before Easter, and part of me was worried that Squidge might get bored once he found out how ordinary I was. I wished I had a unique talent that he could admire – like Mac, for instance. He’s the most brill cartoonist, and he and Squidge talk art for hours. And Becca, she has a stunning voice and also writes her own songs (which aren’t so great) but she and Squidge love to discuss the latest music and CDs in the lunch breaks at school. And Cat is brilliant and warm and funny and strong. She and Squidge have known each other since forever. They gas for hours about all the local gossip and what’s going on in the village. And then there’s Squidge himself. He’s a one off. His photographs are really good and so are the films he makes on his digital camera. He wants to be either a film director or photographer when he’s finished school.

  I wish I had something like that. A talent. A goal. Or I wish I was one of those people who could make everyone laugh all the time. Or come out with brilliant opinions that would make everyone think. But I don’t. I watch. I listen. I know that my family is different and that’s interesting in the beginning. But what was there to keep Squidge interested in me once the novelty of dating an Axford wore off? So, a trip away somewhere would be stunning. Not every girl could offer him that.

  I couldn’t wait for Squidge to call back. I phoned him again and left a message on his voice mail.

  ‘OK. So this is the secret. Dad wants to invite you to come to Morocco with us the weekend after next to celebrate Mum’s fortieth. To Marrakech if we can get the rooms and flights. You can’t tell anyone in case Mum finds out. All expenses paid by Dad so it won’t cost anything. All you have to do is ask your parents and then swear them to secrecy. Call me as soon as you get this.’

  Next was Cat. She let out a low whistle. ‘Me? Honest? Wow. Ohmigod. Ohmigod. I hope Dad lets me go. Oh please oh please oh please . . . I’ll go and ask him right now. I’ll call you back. Ohmigod. The furthest away I’ve ever been is London. So Morocco. Wow! OK. Going now. Call you back.’

  After Cat, I called Becca who was equally blown out.

  ‘Yaaaaaaaay,’ she squealed down the phone. ‘I knew it. I knew it. I knew it was something to do with your mum’s birthday. Call you straight back. I’ll just go and ask Mum and Dad but I’m sure it will be fine. And if it isn’t, I’ll run away and join you as no way am I missing this.’

  And Mac was fourth.

  ‘Morocco? You’re kidding? Like, yeah,’ he said. ‘One hundred million per cent count me in.’

  And then I had to sit and twiddle my thumbs while I waited for them all to call back to confirm. I crept downstairs, checked that Mum was settled in the red room watching telly then I tiptoed along the wooden floor in the corridor to the library and looked for the travel section. There were books there from all over the world. Arabella, the interior designer Mum used when we first bought the house, had done a great job. It was just like a proper library with separate sections: reference, fiction, health, history, food, gardening, travel and so on. Arabella came down from London twice a year to update it.

  I glanced over the shelves until I found the travel books for M. Malaysia, Mombasa, Morocco. I pulled out the book, found the chapters on Marrakech and sat in one of the chairs by the fireplace to read. It looked amazing. A walled city set against the Atlas mountains. And it looked like the weather would be hot hot hot.

  After a few moments, the house phone flashed that there was a call. I leapt up and grabbed it before anyone else could answer.

  It was Mac.

  ‘Hey, Lia,’ he said and I could tell from those two words that it was going to be bad news. ‘I can’t go.’

  ‘But why not? It won’t cost anything.’

  ‘Four little letters,’ he said. ‘GCSE. Mum hit the roof when I suggested Morocco and said absolutely no way and that I’d had too much time off recently anyway. It’s sucks.’

  ‘Did you tell her that you’d study while you were away?’

  ‘I did and she laughed. Said she’s been to Morocco and no way would I get a minute’s studying done, too many things to see. It’s rotten, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Rotten.’ In the excitement of the moment, I’d forgotten that the boys would be doing their exams in a few weeks. Part of me understood Mac’s mum’s reaction. I’m sure if I suggested a few days away to my parents before some of the most important exams in the school calendar, they’d say no way too. I felt my heart sink. Squidge’s parents would be bound to say the same thing.

  ‘Have you heard from the others yet?’ asked Mac.

  ‘Not yet. I haven’t even been able to get hold of Squidge but I reckon his mum and dad will say the same as yours.’

  ‘Yeah. Exams. Bummer.’

  ‘Yeah. Major bummer. There’s always the party on midsummer night though. You can come to that still.’

  ‘Yeah. And that reminds me. We’re doing A Midsummer Night’s Dream for GCSE,’ said Mac. ‘Better do some more revision on it.’

  He didn’t sound excited about the party at all.

  After I’d put the phone down, I closed the book on Marrakech and just as I was about to put it back on the shelf, Mum came in.

  ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘Mac.’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing, huh? And what are you doing in here?’ she said as she spied the book. ‘Travel books. What are you looking at them for?’

  ‘School project.’

  ‘On Morocco?’

  ‘No. No . . . that one fell out. No, on Malaysia,’ I said in the hope that I could put her off the scent.

  I was about to pull out the book on Malaysia and get her looking at that when the phone went again. Mum picked it up and then held it out for me.

  ‘Becca.’

  I took the phone and tried to will Mum out of the room but it didn’t look as though she was in any hurry to go anywhere.

  ‘I’m in,’ said an excited voice at the other end. ‘When are we leaving? What airport? My mum wants to talk to your dad and of course they have to OK it with the school. What time do we get back? Where are we staying? What are you taking? What will the weather be like? How many days do we need to take off school? Do you think Mrs Jeffries will let us?’

  I wanted to laugh at Becca’s breathless questions but I swear Mum was trying to listen in as she was hovering behind me pretending to be looking at some books.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You left it here . . .’

  ‘Uh? Left what?’

  ‘I’ll bring it into school tomorrow. Don’t worry. I won’t forget.’

  ‘Ah, you can’t talk?’ asked Becca as the penny dropped at her end.

  ‘Exactly,’ I said with a sigh of relief.

  ‘Your mum still there?’

  ‘Looks like it,’ I said as casually as I could.

  ‘Speak later. I’ll ring your mobile so she can’t eavesdrop. Your room.’

  ‘Later,’ I said and hung up.

  ‘And what did Becca want?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Left a book here.’

  Mum nodded but she looked like she didn’t believe a word of it.

  And then the phone went again. Once more, Mum picked up.

  ‘Cat,’ she said as she held out the phone. ‘You girls have only just seen each other this afternoon when you all piled over after school. What is going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I shrugged and took the phone from her.

 
‘Hi, Cat.’

  ‘Your mum’s there, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘OK. I’ll talk, you listen.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I can come.’

  ‘YEP!’ I glanced over at Mum to see if she was still listening in but she seemed to have lost interest and a moment later she left the room. I sighed with relief.

  ‘Phew. She’s gone. Oh Cat, I’m soooooo pleased. Bec can too. So we’ll all be together. Us girls. Oh, but Mac can’t come. GCSEs. His mum said no way.’

  ‘I thought that might happen and he has been up to London a lot lately staying with his dad. His mum has been on his case ever since. What about Squidge? Have you heard from him?’

  ‘Not yet but after Mac, I’m not holding out too much hope. It will be so rotten if he can’t come. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m so pleased you’re coming but can you imagine, a few days in the most fab of fab places with my boyfriend.’

  ‘Yes. It would be fantastic. So . . . Er . . . will Ollie be going?’ asked Cat.

  ‘Yeah. Course. But I thought that you weren’t interested in him any more?’

  ‘I am and I’m not,’ said Cat. ‘I know what he’s like but hey, a weekend away. Could be fun. I have no expectations from him. Like, no strings, etc. Shame if Squidge won’t be able to go though. Will Ollie be bringing any of his mates?’

  ‘Yes. Ohmigod . . . He will. And what if Squidge isn’t there . . .?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dad said Ollie could bring three of his mates.’

  ‘Well that will be brill, won’t it? Bec will be well pleased. Some new boys to flirt with. I can hang out with Ollie. It will be a laugh.’

  ‘Ollie’s mates are Henry Lynch, Jamie Parker and Michael Bradley.’

  ‘Michael Bradley?’ Cat repeated. ‘Oh! Isn’t he the one . . .?’

  ‘Yep. Exactly. The one I had a major crush on.’

  ‘But that was ages ago . . .’

  ‘Yeah. But still. I don’t know what it’ll be like, being locked up with him in some seven-star hotel . . .’

  ‘Seven-star? I didn’t think there were seven-star hotels . . .’

  ‘I mean, posh and a half. Oh Cat . . . I thought it would be OK because Squidge would be coming and I’d be with him and now maybe he won’t be . . .’

  ‘Haven’t the London boys got exams too?’

  ‘Lower Sixth, so nothing too major and Ollie wouldn’t miss this. Not for anything.’

  ‘Do you think you would be tempted by Michael?’

  If Cat had been in the room, she would have seen me blush. Michael was the star of every snogging fantasy I had until I met Squidge and even though I was dating Squidge and would never be unfaithful, I couldn’t deny something that had been such a big part of my life (even if it was my fantasy life).

  ‘No. No way. I would never be unfaithful to Squidge. Anyway, Michael’s with someone too. Remember Usha, the girl he brought down with him last time he was down?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Cat.

  ‘It will be fine. Better if he wasn’t coming but who can say? I haven’t spent any time with him for ages and I’m sure all those old feelings will have gone. I mean, so much has happened since then. Like Squidge. He’s all I want.’

  ‘Hey, it will be OK,’ said Cat. ‘Whatever happens. We’ll look after you.’

  After I’d put the phone down, I thought about Cat’s question. Would I be tempted? Would I? I’d been in love with Michael ever since I could remember so why would that suddenly change? He was really gorgeous and clever and funny. All the things I liked in a boy. But Squidge was all those things too. It would be OK.

  Squidge, Squidge, Squidge.

  I needn’t have worried. The next call to come through was from the man himself.

  He began singing a song that I’d heard Dad play from the Sixties about ‘boarding the Marrakech Express’.

  ‘Got your message and it’s a goer,’ said Squidge.

  ‘Really? You’ve asked your parents and everything?’ I asked.

  ‘Yepideedoodah, yepideeday. They’re totally cool.’

  ‘But how? Mac’s mum said no because of his exams . . .’

  ‘Really? He must be well bummed out.’

  ‘I thought yours would be the same.’

  ‘Ah yes, but part of my coursework is taking photos. I talked mine round by convincing them that there is no better place on the planet to take fab photos than Marrakech. And it’s true. They’ll be such a fantastic contrast to my pics of grey skies and windy beaches down here. All those wonderful Moroccan colours, ochres, reds, yellows. The Atlas mountains. The souks. The medinas. New pics will really help my portfolio when I apply for art college.’

  ‘Good thinking, Batman,’ I said. ‘Well done. Shame Mac couldn’t take a similar line with his parents.’

  ‘Yeah. He must be so pissed off. We’ll have to do something to cheer him up when we get back. Or maybe we should bring something fab back for him. Like his very own dancing girl. Wow, Lia. It’s going to be great. Apparently the light in northern Africa is amazing. I can’t wait. I really will be able to get some brilliant shots. Sunrises. Sunsets. Great locations. Portraits of you. You must say a humungous thanks to your dad. This is so ace. The best thing that’s ever happened to me after meeting you.’

  He sounded so happy. We’d have the time of our lives.

  Michael Bradley wasn’t going to be a problem at all.

  ‘NOOOOOO,’ I GROANED. ‘She can’t have.’

  ‘She can and she has,’ said Dad. ‘She won’t allow it.’

  I’d just got home from school on Wednesday and Dad beckoned me to join him in the red room where he quickly closed the door behind me.

  ‘So what did she say?’

  By she, I meant Mrs Peterson, my headmistress. Dad had been talking to her that afternoon to check that it was OK for Cat, Becca, Squidge and me to leave school early on the Friday of Mum’s birthday. ‘Early’ meaning ‘probably not go in at all that day’.

  ‘Do you realise, Mr Axford, that unauthorised absences count as truancy when the inspectors come in?’ said Dad in a high female-sounding voice.

  He was as far from how Mrs Peterson actually sounded as he could possibly be and I almost laughed but I was too worried that we might not be able to go to Morocco after all.

  ‘But we can’t not go now. You’ve booked the hotel and everything.’

  Dad sank back on the sofa and was swiftly joined by Max and Molly, one on either side of him. ‘I know. I know. Maybe it was a bad idea in the first place. This sort of thing ought to have been organised months ahead. My fault. I should have done it sooner.’

  ‘We can say we were all ill,’ I suggested.

  ‘And you don’t think that Mrs Peterson would put two and two together? Bit of a coincidence, all of you just happening to fall ill on the day that we fly off to Morocco.’

  ‘Could happen. We’re all mates. We could all eat the same batch of prawns or some seafood . . . food poisoning. Happens all the time.’

  ‘No, Lia.’

  ‘Oh, let’s just go. It’s only a day . . .’

  ‘No, Lia. You know how I feel about these things. I don’t want anyone thinking that there’s one set of rules for the general public and another for the Axfords who make up their own. I especially don’t want your teachers thinking that.’

  I felt my stomach start to churn. Now I could understand why he hadn’t wanted to tell people about the trip until it was all definite. To set something up and imagine yourself there only to be told later that it’s a no go was too painful.

  ‘What about Ollie? Have you spoken to his headmaster?’

  Dad nodded. ‘I spoke to Dr Howard just before Mrs Peterson. As luck would have it, the timing couldn’t be more perfect because that Friday is an in-service training day at his school – all the staff have to go, something about health and safety – so the pupils have the day off and Ollie was going to come down here for a long weeke
nd.’

  ‘But . . . you can’t leave me here and all go and . . .’

  Dad reached over and put his hand on mine. ‘We’re not going to leave you, Lia. We wouldn’t do that. Just maybe rethink the plan. Something simpler as there have been a couple of problems. Your school isn’t the only one. Susie’s been on the phone all day. The hotel is confirmed so that’s sorted; it’s just getting everyone there that might be tricky. She’s got the flight booked for your mother and me, but to get everyone else over will mean people travelling on two, maybe three separate flights. I was hoping to get everyone on together.’

  ‘We’ll be OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll be with Star and Ollie and Cat and Becca and Squidge. When are the flights?’

  ‘Some on the Thursday, some on the Friday but as I said, you can’t get out of school . . .’

  ‘But, Dad, everyone does it all the time.’

  ‘No, Lia. We play by the rules. OK, so everyone does it but their names don’t end up plastered all over the front page of the newspapers if they step out of line, do they? Can you imagine? It only takes one person to leak the story. Teens play truant thanks to Zac Axford, irresponsible, etc, etc.’

  Suddenly I understood. Dad may have been at his peak in the Eighties but that didn’t mean that the press had lost interest. They still hounded him when there was the slightest whiff of a story. Last year, Dad had been up in London and met with my Aunt Cydney for lunch. Mum was held up somewhere so it was just Dad and Cydney. Next day, it was all over the tabloids. Photos of them in a little tête-a-tête with the headline: Zac Axford ditches wife for a lookalike younger model. Mum and Cydney thought it was hysterical but Dad wasn’t amused. ‘Stories like that can put a strain on the happiest of families,’ he said. ‘People always come out with the “no smoke without fire” line and no matter what you say in your own defence, you sound guilty.’ From almost as soon as I could walk and talk, I’d been taught to toe the line and never do anything that could be misconstrued by the press. Not that they were interested in me but I understood why Dad didn’t want to pull the three of us out of school and say, ‘Oh to hell with it.’