Midsummer Meltdown

by Cathy Hopkins

  Later, as we drove back into Marrakech, all I could think about was getting home then getting down to Cawsand village to see Squidge. I checked my mobile every five minutes and still he hadn’t called me back. Why not? He’d had days in bed, maybe that was it. Days to think about things. About us. He’d had space to think about what he wants and where he’s going next. Maybe he’d realised that he’s bored with me. Wants to move on. He’s always saying that he wants new experiences. He has to have them if he’s going to be a good film director. Maybe he’s realised that I have nothing more to offer him and that he could do better. He could find himself a girl with talents and ambitions to match his. Someone who would entertain him. Maybe he’d been thinking like Mum, and also thought that we were too young to be tied down when there was a whole world of other girls he could be dating. I felt so frustrated being so far away from him. In another time zone, in another country. Not knowing what he was thinking.

  As we approached the hotel, Ollie and Jamie were coming towards us along the side of the narrow lane. Both of them spotted Cat in the back and as the car slowed down, Ollie put on a tragic expression, spread his arms out and mock threw himself on to the bonnet. And then Cat started laughing. Unseen by Ollie, Jamie was posing behind him like a call girl. He pursed his lips, leaned on one hip, pulled the trouser leg on his left leg up to reveal his ankle, then he wiggled his hips, batted his eyelashes at our baffled driver and stuck his thumb out as though he was trying to hitch a lift.

  Cat and Becca burst out laughing and Ollie looked mystified as to why they’d been distracted from his performance and why they were cracking up. For a moment, I felt sorry for my gorgeous brother. He might be a babe magnet and exceptionally good-looking but when a boy can make you laugh like Jamie could, boys like Ollie didn’t get a look in. I wondered if Ollie ever felt like I did. Not enough to offer. I glanced back at them as the car drove on. No. I doubted that Ollie ever felt that way.

  As soon as we were out of the car, it was up to our rooms, pack our bags, head for the plane and it was bye-bye Morocco.

  An hour later, we were up in the sky and heading home. It had been a stunning trip and everyone said they’d had the time of their lives. Mum, Dad, Cat, Becca, Meena. Everyone had loved it and was sorry to leave Marrakech.

  It seemed that it was only me who couldn’t wait to get back.

  At the airport back in the UK, a people carrier was waiting for us on the runway and Cat, Becca and I took the back seat while Mum and Dad sat in the middle and Meena in the front with the driver.

  As soon as we were on our way, I tried to call Squidge’s mobile again.

  His phone was still switched off.

  His silence was killing me.

  ‘Still can’t get through?’ asked Becca.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Try the landline,’ said Cat. ‘His mum is bound to be there.’

  I dialled the number and a few moments later Mrs Squires picked up. I hope she doesn’t mind me calling all the time, I thought as I asked how he was again.

  ‘We’ve set up a bed for him in the front room,’ said Mrs Squires. ‘So that he doesn’t have to hobble up and down the stairs. Makes life easier all round. I’ll take the phone in. Back now, are you?’

  ‘Just landed,’ I said. ‘I tried his mobile but it’s still switched off. So he’s doing OK?’

  ‘Yes. Fine. Bit tired. Hold on a sec.’

  I held my breath and prayed that he’d take my call this time. As I waited, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. Don’t be mad, I thought, this is Squidge. Your boyfriend. What is there to be anxious about?

  A moment later, I heard Squidge’s voice on the other end of the line and I sighed with relief.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hey, Squidge,’ I said. ‘It’s me. Lia.’

  ‘Oh. Hi. You’re back.’

  ‘Yeah. Just now. I called as soon as I could.’

  ‘Hey, you didn’t need to do that. How was it?’

  ‘Brilliant. I tried to call you but your mobile’s switched off.’

  ‘I know. I kept leaving it somewhere awkward and then it would ring and it was such an almighty effort getting up to get to it that I switched it off.’

  ‘I wanted to come and see you but Mum says we’ll be back too late. Probably not until gone eleven.’

  ‘Well, it’s not like I’m going anywhere far for the next week or so.’

  ‘I’ll come after school tomorrow. I’ve got loads of photos to show you.’

  ‘Oh OK. Cool. Thanks.’

  It was hard to tell without seeing his face but he didn’t sound very excited about seeing the photos nor too enthusiastic about me going round there.

  ‘Would you . . . er . . . you do want visitors, don’t you?’

  ‘God, yes. Yeah. Course I do. I’ve been going out of my mind with boredom and it feels like I’ve been like this for ages, much longer than a week. So yeah be great to see you all and hear all about it. I bet Cat and Becca loved it, hey?’

  See us all? Becca and Cat? I wasn’t imagining it. He was being distant with me. It began to feel more and more urgent that I got round there as soon as possible.

  ‘Yeah, they loved it. OK, tomorrow then,’ I said.

  ‘Sure. No rush. I’ve got a bunch of DVDs to watch if you have things to do.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘Kill Bill.’

  ‘One or Two?’

  ‘Both. Not a lot else I can do except revision for my GCSEs and then sit and watch DVDs. Dad got me a load out of the shop.’

  ‘And we’ve got loads up at the house. I can bring them down tomorrow.’

  ‘OK. Thanks.’

  ‘Want me to stay and watch with you tomorrow night?’

  ‘Yeah. Course, if you like, but I’m halfway into number one and you’ll be tired after your journey. So don’t worry if you can’t.’

  I can take a hint, I thought. He doesn’t want me there. He’s moved on and I’m history.

  ‘OK. See you tomorrow then,’ I said.

  See you tomorrow then, I thought. Hah. If only I could say what I felt which was . . . Squidge, what’s going on? Do you still like me? Are we OK? Have you gone off me? But I knew I couldn’t. Not only because I was in a people carrier with six other people but also because the sensible part of me knew that over the phone is no place to have that kind of conversation. And another part of me knew that it would make me sound like a desperate saddo and there’s nothing more guaranteed to put a boy off than a girl going all intense and emotional on him.

  ‘Yeah. See you,’ said Squidge.

  I clicked my phone shut and stared out of the car window into the dark night. I felt rotten and speaking to him had only made my feeling of panic get worse.

  Cat put her hand on my arm. ‘What’s up? Is he OK?’

  I nodded and filled her and Becca in on my phone call.

  ‘I think he wants to finish with me,’ I whispered so that Mum and Dad couldn’t hear. ‘I think it’s over.’

  ‘No,’ said Cat. ‘I don’t. I think you’re being oversensitive.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah. Phone calls can be deceptive. It’s easier to know what’s going on when you can see someone’s eyes. Wait until you see him tomorrow.’

  ‘I guess . . . just . . . I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling that he’s gone off me.’

  ‘Never,’ said Cat. ‘Squidge adores you. You’re being paranoid.’

  ‘It’s amazing,’ said Becca, ‘because when I first got to know you, I thought you were the girl who had everything because . . . well . . . you do. The whole package. But you’re the least confident person I have ever met. I don’t know why. And as Cat said, Squidge clearly adores you.’

  ‘He doesn’t want me to stay and watch the movie with him tomorrow . . .’

  ‘Ah, but that might be you being oversensitive again,’ said Cat. ‘Don’t forget that I’ve known Squidge a lot longer than you and two things I can guarantee: one – that he
hates being dependent on people and is probably feeling grumpy about it, and two – that he’s thinking about you. He’s one of the most thoughtful people I know, in fact, you know that he is, Lia. It could well have been that he does want you to stay but knows that you will be tired after school tomorrow. I know I am now. I’m knackered and I’m going to sleep like a log tonight.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Becca and she laid her head on Cat’s shoulder and promptly fell asleep. I spent the rest of the journey staring out into the night and replaying and replaying my conversation with Squidge in my head.

  As soon as we got home, it was up to bed.

  I felt I was being woken two seconds after I’d closed my eyes, but no, it was morning, Monday and back to school.

  I tried my best to focus on my lessons and not think about the fact that Squidge was just down the road. It was strange to think that he was so close and yet he felt as far away as he had when I was in Morocco.

  ‘Let’s find Mac,’ said Becca in the lunch break. ‘I bet he’ll want to know how it all went.’

  ‘Yeah, and maybe he’s seen Squidge and knows how he is,’ said Cat.

  We found Mac in the art room and his face lit up when he saw us.

  ‘Hey, it’s the golden girls,’ he said when we walked in. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Becca as I got the digital camera out to show him the photos.

  ‘I told my dad that I missed out,’ he said as we showed him the pics of the roof terrace party. ‘And he promised that if I get good results in my GCSEs then he will take me to Morocco himself. So I might not have to miss out after all. Still, I would have given anything to have been there with you lot.’

  ‘Do you think that’s what’s the matter with Squidge?’ asked Becca. ‘He’s fed up because he missed out on the trip. Lia said he was a bit cool with her on the phone last night.’

  ‘Really? I saw him yesterday and he was OK.’

  ‘He wasn’t when I spoke to him,’ I said. ‘And he hasn’t texted or called today. Did he say anything? Have I done something?’

  ‘Not that he mentioned to me.’

  ‘Well, has anything happened while we were gone?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ said Mac. ‘Not a lot that Squidge could get up to with a broken leg and collarbone, although he did mention something about a nurse. A naughty nurse . . .’ Then he laughed. ‘Only teasing, Lia. No nurse. Least, not that I know of. I shouldn’t worry. When I think about it, I guess he has been a bit low but who can blame him, cooped up all week? You know Squidge, he hates to feel he can’t get up and go.’

  At that moment, my mobile bleeped that there was a message.

  It was from Squidge and I braced myself for a message asking me not to go after school.

  INVALID IN NEED OF SAUCY YOUNG NURSE. PLEASE COME IN UNIFORM AS SOON AS POSS AND BRING HOLIDAY PICS. PREFERABLY ALL NAKED ONES.

  ‘Crisis over,’ I said.

  SQUIDGE WAS THE HERO OF THE HOUR. Judging by the reception he got when he came back to school halfway through the week, anyone would have thought he’d come back from the dead or scored the winning goal in a Cup Final. Girls from Year Seven and Eight traipsed after him carrying his books. The boys from Year Eleven offered him lifts back and forth from the village and soon there was a rota organised to get him to school and back for all his GCSE exams.

  ‘He’s really popular, isn’t he?’ commented Becca at Friday lunchtime as we sat in the sun on a wall at the back of the playground.

  ‘Yeah, and he’s lapping this up,’ said Cat as she watched Squidge on the other side of the playground get stopped by some kid who wanted to sign his plaster cast. ‘I think just about everyone in the school has signed his leg. He’s got rock star status like your dad, Lia.’

  Yeah, I thought. And is hard to get alone. Squidge and I hadn’t had any time by ourselves since I’d got back from Morocco. Whenever I went to visit, one of his thousand relatives were there and they wanted to see the Morocco pictures too. Squidge had put the whole trip on to his computer and was happy to show everyone – as if he had actually been there himself. There was so much I wanted to talk to him about. Niggling doubts and fears that he had grown tired of me, my growing paranoia. I just wanted some time when he could reassure me that we were still an item.

  He finally reached us, put his rucksack down, gave his crutches to Cat, then slowly manoeuvred himself against the wall.

  ‘So what’s everyone going to wear for the midsummer’s night party?’ he asked.

  ‘Ohmigod, I’d completely forgotten about that,’ said Becca. ‘I still haven’t recovered from Morocco.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get a move on,’ said Squidge. ‘It’s a week on Saturday.’

  ‘I wish I could forget about it,’ I said. ‘Mum went straight into overdrive as soon as we got home from Morocco. All that fuss about not wanting a party for her birthday and now there’s no stopping her.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s different this time,’ said Cat. ‘It’s not for her birthday. I had a chat to her about it when we were in Marrakech. It’s like it’s one thing doing parties for someone else but on your own birthday, you want to be princess for a day and have someone else do everything for you.’

  Cat knew only too well about organising parties too. As her mum died when she was nine, sometimes she ends up acting like a replacement mum to her younger brothers and sister. She’s the one who makes them their birthday cakes and makes sure they have presents and cards on the day. I made a mental note to really spoil Cat on her next birthday and make sure she was princess for a day.

  ‘Well, Mum was certainly treated like royalty for a day in Morocco,’ I said. ‘And she loved it. But now, she’s organising a marquee, ordering food, flowers . . .’

  ‘Dress as a character from the play, the invite says,’ said Squidge. ‘So. Who shall we go as?’

  ‘Go as? I have no idea. I don’t know the story of A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ said Becca. ‘Who wrote it? It was Charles Dickens or Shakespeare, wasn’t it? One of them?’

  ‘Shakespeare,’ said Squidge. ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream was written about 1594–95 and I can tell you all you need to know about it because it’s one of the plays we’re doing for GCSE English. In fact, if you like, come over to our house tonight. I can run through the story and the characters with you. It will help me with my revision. In fact, I think I’ve got a DVD of it somewhere. It’s a great version. Michelle Pfeiffer as Titania, Rupert Everett as Oberon and Kevin Kline as the ass.’

  Becca rolled her eyes. ‘The ass? Titania? Oberwho? Like, duh? I have no idea what or who you’re talking about.’

  ‘It’s a great story,’ said Cat. ‘You’ll like it, Becca. It’s all about love and relationships getting mixed up. There’s a bad . . . well, maybe not bad, a naughty fairy in it called Puck and he goes round putting a magic potion in people’s eyes when they’re asleep so that they fall in love with the first person they see when they wake up. He puts some in Titania’s eyes – she’s the Queen of the Fairies – and when she wakes up, she sees an ass and falls in love with him . . .’

  ‘Sounds like the story of my life,’ said Becca. ‘I think I’ll go as her.’

  ‘No way is it the story of your life,’ said Cat. ‘Henry was nice. And so was Mac. How can you say that?’

  Becca laughed. ‘Maybe just feels like that sometimes. Boys. They’re all stupid.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch,’ said Squidge.

  ‘OK. Most boys are stupid,’ said Becca. ‘I think I’ll go into the library and see if they have the play in there. Want to come, Cat?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Cat and she slid off the wall to go with her.

  As soon as they’d gone, Squidge pointed at his rucksack. ‘Hey, in there, I got something for you. Front pocket.’

  I bent over and found an envelope.

  ‘Pics of your trip,’ said Squidge as I pulled the envelope out. ‘I’ve been playing around with them in Photoshop and printed some out.’


  I pulled the photos out and flicked through.

  He’d zoomed in on some of the shots I’d taken and blown them up.

  ‘Wow, these are amazing, Squidge.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you did a good job,’ he said and pointed to one of my mum. ‘I thought your mum would like that. I’ve airbrushed out all her wrinkles, not that she has many.’

  I continued shuffling the photos and we came to one of Ollie, Jamie, Henry and Michael. Apart from Michael, they were laughing at something off to the right of the camera. In contrast, Michael was looking straight at me with the expression that he’d had on the plane and on the roof terrace and at Fantasia. An intense expression like he’d seen something that he wanted. Badly.

  ‘That’s that Michael guy, isn’t it?’ asked Squidge.

  I shuffled the photo to the bottom of the pile. ‘Yeah. And Jamie and Henry.’

  I’d already filled him in on all the gossip: What was happening with Cat and Ollie and Jamie. And how Henry had taken a shine to Becca. How Ollie had got the hump as he wasn’t the man of the moment any more. I purposely hadn’t said anything about Michael, although he was there in a lot of the photographs. I didn’t want to draw any attention to him.

  ‘You didn’t say much about how he was on the trip,’ Squidge persisted.

  I nodded. ‘Not much to say. He hung out with Ollie mainly.’

  ‘Did he enjoy the trip?’

  ‘Yeah. Think so.’

  ‘Did he get off with anyone?’

  ‘Don’t think so.’

  ‘Maybe he’s still with that lovely Indian girl?’

  I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Why was Squidge interrogating me? I knew I’d have to be really careful what I said and how I said it because, as he knew, I’m a lousy liar. ‘No. They’ve split up.’

  I carried on sifting through the prints with Squidge looking over my shoulder. When I’d finished, he took them and sifted through again until he reached the shot with Michael watching me. ‘He’s looking right at you as you’re taking the shots. Watching you. I think he fancies you. Truth, Lia. Was there . . . is there something between you and this guy?’