Midsummer Meltdown

by Cathy Hopkins

  Cat looked divine as a pixie-style Puck. She’d spiked her hair with gel, applied loads of dark kohl round her eyes and wore purple lipstick, which made her look like a Goth fairy. Becca was a Greek goddess in a long toga dress with her hair pulled back off her face. I wore the fairy dress and my hair loose over my shoulders. I felt like a total Barbie doll, but the girls reassured me that it didn’t look too naff.

  Dad was standing at the bottom of the stairs dressed in his Theseus outfit of a short toga with a crown of ivy on his head. He looked up and beamed when he saw us. ‘Watch out, boys,’ he said. ‘You three look stunning.’

  ‘You don’t look bad yourself, Mr Axford,’ said Becca. I had to laugh. Becca is such a flirt, even with my dad!

  ‘Any idea who the boys are going as?’ I asked.

  Dad shook his head. ‘They said they wanted it to be a surprise. But I reckon they’ll go as Greek gods so they’ll look handsome, and these togas give us lads a chance to show off our legs.’

  Outside, cars were beginning to arrive and guests drifted into the hall and then out into the back where the party was to be held. The back terraces looked amazing. Mum, who was dressed like a Greek goddess, had instructed the decorators to create a grotto and so they had strewn ropes of fairy lights across the bushes and trees. Greek statues and pillars stood among the bushes and palm plants and tables were adorned with urns, flowers and fruit. Waiters (dressed as satyrs) and waitresses (dressed as fairies) took out drinks and canapés to a background sound of flute-playing. Even Max and Molly had garlands of leaves around their necks. The whole effect was enchanting.

  ‘I feel like I’m in fairyland,’ said Becca, as one of the waiters handed her a non-alcoholic cocktail.

  ‘Me too,’ said Cat, then she nudged me. ‘Eyes left. The boys have arrived.’

  I looked over to the rose arch at the entrance of the grotto and there were Ollie, Jamie, Henry and Michael. As Dad had predicted, they had all opted for the toga costumes and looked every inch the Greek gods. They looked handsome with their oiled muscles glistening in the soft light. Even some of the older female guests were ogling them.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Cat as they came over to join us. ‘Look! Look at your arms and legs. You shaved!’

  Ollie groaned. ‘Shaved! I wish. No. We wanted to look a hundred per cent the part so Mum booked us in with her beautician. She’s just finished. She waxed us. Talk about torture. I’ve never known pain like it. I will never ever complain about having to shave again now that I know what you girls go through.’

  Suddenly, Cat burst out laughing and pointed at Jamie’s legs. One was smooth, the other was hairy.

  ‘It was too painful,’ he said with a sheepish grin. ‘I couldn’t go through with it on both legs!’

  ‘You have to suffer to be beautiful,’ said Becca, then laughed as the boys did look slightly traumatised.

  Half an hour later, most of the guests had arrived but there was no sign of Squidge. I tried his mobile and it was switched off. I presumed that he was on his way.

  And then we heard the sound of laughter from inside.

  ‘I bet that’s Squidge,’ I said as I strained to see over people’s heads. ‘I knew he’d come as the donkey.’

  The laughter grew closer and a strange figure made a grand entrance through the french windows and on to the terrace.

  It was Squidge. He hadn’t come as the ass. He’d come as Titania, Queen of the Fairies, in full make-up, with an auburn wig, big meringue-skirted dress that covered his broken leg and an ostrich-feather boa round his neck.

  Cat burst out laughing. ‘Totally pantomime dame,’ she said. ‘Brill. Move over, Widow Twankey.’

  ‘Dahlings,’ said Squidge as he spotted us across the terrace, giving us a regal wave with his good hand.

  I looked across at Michael Bradley with his smooth perfect limbs and his handsome face then back to Squidge in his ridiculous costume with red lips and way too much eye make-up.

  I knew who I would prefer to be with any day.

  IN THE EARLY PART OF THE EVENING, everything was fantastic and everyone seemed to be having a whale of a time. Champagne was flowing for the adults, non-alcoholic punch for the teens. After a buffet supper, an area was cleared of tables, turned into a dance floor and music blared out from speakers that had been placed up in the trees. We were lucky that we didn’t have neighbours and we could play music as loud as we liked into the early hours of the morning without anyone complaining.

  The DJ began with a compilation of tracks from the Sixties and then on came the Seventies hit ‘YMCA’ where everyone goes loony and acts out the letters with their arms.

  ‘Oh, I love this,’ said Henry as he leapt about in time to the music. ‘Where’s Becca, love of my life?’

  ‘Loo,’ said Cat.

  ‘Oh, then you come and dance with me,’ he said and pulled her on to the dancefloor. ‘Y . . . M . . . C . . . A.’

  ‘I think he’s been at the punch,’ I said to Squidge as we watched Henry splay his arms and legs all over the place.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Squidge. ‘I had some. Methinks it may be somewhat loaded avec un extra ingredient, courtesy of your brother.’

  ‘What extra ingredient?’

  ‘Bottle of vodka,’ said Squidge. ‘I saw him pour it in. Want some? ’Squite nice.’

  I shook my head. ‘Think I’ll stick with my Coke. Alcohol always gives me a headache.’

  ‘Does Cat want all the guys?’ asked Becca when she came back and saw Cat on the dancefloor. ‘First Ollie then Jamie and now Henry . . .’

  ‘I don’t think it’s like that,’ I said. ‘You’d gone to the Ladies so he asked her. He said this track is one of his favourites.’

  ‘Huh,’ said Becca and flounced over to the bar area where she knocked back a punch drink, found Jamie, dragged him out on to the dancefloor and, when the music changed to a ballad, started smooch dancing with him.

  ‘Oops,’ I said as I watched them.

  ‘Yeah. Oops,’ said Squidge.

  Cat finished dancing with Henry and came back to join Squidge and me, from where she watched Becca drape herself all over Jamie.

  ‘Does Becca fancy Jamie now?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Least don’t think so. You were dancing with Henry and I think she took the hump and . . .’

  ‘Huh!’ said Cat and grabbed Ollie to go and dance with her.

  ‘What’s got into Bec and Cat?’ asked Squidge. ‘I thought that Becca and Henry were an item and that Cat was into Jamie.’

  ‘So did I. Maybe someone’s put some of that magic potion stuff into their eyes,’ I replied.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ said Squidge. ‘Think it might be the punch though. Punch! Hah. That’s a good name for it because it does pack a punch . . .’ He went to act out throwing a punch with his good hand and one of his crutches swayed and he almost slipped.

  ‘Woahhhhh, oops,’ he said as he steadied himself.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked. ‘How much punch have you had?’

  ‘Only three glasses. So do you want to dance?’

  ‘Dance? But you can’t . . . your leg . . .’

  ‘No such word as “can’t”,’ said Squidge with a wide grin and hobbled out on to the dancefloor.

  His dancing was a show stopper and after a few moments other dancers moved to the edge of the dancefloor and watched him. Me included, as if I stayed too close I was in danger of being stabbed in the foot with a crutch.

  ‘I think he may have invented a new dance form,’ said Michael, appearing at my side.

  ‘I know. And when he’s not got a broken leg, he has a whole range of dances in his repertoire: Hawaiian, Spanish, alien, Russian, though I doubt he’ll be doing Russian tonight. At least I hope not or else he’ll end up with two broken legs.’

  Michael laughed, put his arm round me and gave me a hug. ‘You really like him, don’t you?’

  I nodded.

  Michael gave me a kiss on my forehead. ‘In Morocco, I said S
quidge was lucky to have you, but I can see why you like him. He seems like a great guy.’

  I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Thanks, Michael,’ I said. ‘He is.’

  Michael sauntered off and I looked back at the dancefloor. Squidge had stopped dancing and was watching me. He hobbled over. ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘Just Michael saying that he thought you looked like a great guy.’

  ‘Yeah, right. And that’s why he kissed you?’

  ‘Kiss? That wasn’t a real kiss. It was a peck. A friendly peck. I think he’s glad I’m with you.’

  Squidge turned away so that I couldn’t see his face but I felt my insides turn over. He didn’t believe me.

  ‘I’m telling you the truth, Squidge. I said I would and I am. Come on, don’t be jealous. You soooo don’t need to be . . .’

  Squidge took a deep breath and turned back. ‘Sorry. Just . . . I can’t help but be jealous and . . . pfff . . . I know I look a bit of a prat tonight compared to the Greek gods over there.’

  ‘And that’s why I love you. You’re geeeorgeous,’ I said and gave him a big kiss on his scarlet lips.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I know. Call me Mr Stupoid. I . . . I guess there’s part of me still can’t believe that you’re with me.’

  ‘You’re mental. You’re easily the most interesting guy here.’

  Squidge looked down at his dress, adjusted his false bosoms and flicked his auburn hair back over his shoulder. ‘You think?’ he said in a really girlie way.

  ‘Oh definitely,’ I replied. ‘And soooo manly.’

  Cat came over and nudged me. ‘Hey, George has put together a slide show from Morocco. Want to see it? It’s showing in the library.’

  ‘Oh, we have to see this,’ said Squidge. ‘See how it compares to your pics. You coming?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’ I nodded and followed him and Cat into the house.

  The show had already started and images from Marrakech played on the screen. There were some great shots. The hotel. The roof terrace. Various portrait shots of guests. Everyone having a laugh.

  In the dark, I took Squidge’s hand. ‘I sooo wished you were there. I really hope you believe that.’

  ‘I do now,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry about before.’

  Vibrant shots of the market appeared. Stalls selling spices and jewellery and pots and cedarwood boxes and herbs. And then came a series of photos from the Fantasia night. The Berber tribesmen, the horses, the girls with their rose petals, the tents, the performers and then some of the finale. Guests watching the display at the end. The horses charging. The fireworks lighting up the sky.

  And then I froze in horror.

  Up there on the screen was a shot of the crowd. Upturned faces watching the sky except for two people in the left-hand corner.

  It was Michael and me.

  I had my eyes closed and I was being kissed. Clear as anything. On the lips.

  Both Squidge and I gasped as the slide show went on to the next slide.

  ‘No, Squidge, it was . . . let me explain . . .’

  But he’d already got up and was putting his crutches under his arms. ‘Truth, huh? And I suppose you’re going to tell me that that was an innocent peck as well?’

  ‘No. Yes . . . Please . . .’

  But Squidge was already up on his feet and hobbling through the assembled guests. I got up to follow him. He was in such a rush to get out that he tripped on someone’s bag and went down. A dozen guests rushed to help him including Michael who had been standing at the back watching the slide show. I felt awful as I watched him splayed out in front of me. He looked so helpless lying there on the floor. He glanced up at me with such a look, a cross between hurt, vulnerability and accusation.

  ‘I’m OK,’ he said as he struggled to get up. ‘I’m OK. I’m OK.’

  But he couldn’t stand on his own. He needed the hands that reached out to help him up and I could see that he was hating every single second as four guys hoisted him to his feet.

  George was one of them. ‘Which way, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘Out . . .’ blustered Squidge. ‘Home. I got to get home. Car park. Home.’

  I scoured the library for Cat and saw that she was on the other side of the room. She had seen everything and came rushing over.

  ‘He saw you on the slide?’ she asked.

  I nodded. ‘I think everyone did. Will you come after him with me? Will you explain?’

  She nodded and we ran out to the car park where we saw Squidge talking into his mobile and limping off as fast as he could.

  ‘Squidge . . .’ she called. ‘Wait up . . .’

  He hobbled faster.

  We ran after him and caught him up.

  ‘Oh come on, Squidge,’ Cat called. ‘Give Lia a chance. I know you saw the slide but I was there. Nothing happened. Not really.’

  Squidge stopped and turned to look at us. ‘You knew? Jesus, Cat . . . You all knew . . . And . . . you know what, I knew too. I knew something had happened.’

  ‘Well, you’d be wrong,’ said Cat. ‘Not everyone knew because nothing happened?’

  ‘Yeah, right, and that’s why there’s a slide showing Michael kissing Lia. When were you going to tell me, Lia?’ said Squidge, turning to me. ‘Jesus, what an ass I’ve been to think that you really cared. Go on, get back in there, get back to your rich boyfriend.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Squidge,’ shouted Cat. ‘Grow up. You have such an almighty chip on your shoulder I’m amazed that you can walk at all, never mind the crutches!’

  ‘She told me that nothing went on in Morocco,’ said Squidge.

  ‘It didn’t. Michael and I are just friends,’ I said. ‘I told you the truth.’

  ‘Very good friends by the looks of the slide. And everyone saw them. I always knew this would happen one day. You’d find out that I’m not good enough for you. But when were you going to tell me?’

  For a moment I felt like bursting out laughing. Squidge was still in full fairy queen outfit, full pantomime dame gear and he looked so petulant. And then I couldn’t help it. I did laugh. And so did Cat.

  Squidge gave us both such a filthy look.

  ‘Oh come on, Squidge,’ said Cat. ‘I mean, look at you!’

  But he didn’t laugh. Or even smile.

  ‘I’ll leave you to sort things out with Widow Twankey here,’ Cat said and then turned to go back to the house. ‘Lord, what fools these mortals be!’

  Squidge began to limp off at full speed in the other direction. I ran after him.

  ‘Oh please, Squidge. Come on. You have to see the funny side of this,’ I pleaded. ‘What’s happened to your sense of humour?’

  ‘Gone down the drain, like our relationship.’

  ‘Oh please don’t be like this. Please . . .’

  ‘I’d always felt that there was something you were holding back from me and now I know I was right.’

  ‘OK. So Michael kissed me. A kiss. It meant nothing. I didn’t tell you because it didn’t mean anything and I didn’t want it blown out of proportion . . .’

  ‘But we promised to tell each other the truth even if it hurt,’ said Squidge. ‘Remember?’

  ‘I do,’ I said.

  ‘OK. Then if it’s truth time then here’s one for you. You’re not the only one with secrets. I met someone when you were away.’

  For a moment I felt like he had stabbed me. ‘You? What, in the hospital?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘One of the nurses.’

  ‘No. You’re making this up.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘OK. What’s her name?’

  ‘Colette. Colette Armstrong. And I’m going to see her right now,’ said Squidge and hobbled off. ‘At least I can trust her.’

  I watched him limp off into the night hoping that he’d turn around and come back.

  But he didn’t.

  CAT BURST OUT LAUGHING. ‘Colette Armstrong?’ she asked. ‘
Colette Armstrong! Are you sure?’

  I nodded. ‘Absolutely. Why? Do you know her?’

  ‘Duh,’ said Cat. ‘She lives down the street from us.’

  ‘And is she like a mega-babe-type nurse?’

  Cat started laughing again. ‘Er . . . not exactly. She’s about fifty. Very large. Bit of a moustache and hairy legs – I know this because she rides, or rather wobbles, around on her bicycle and everyone can see her shins. Oh . . . and she’s got five kids and a husband.’

  ‘Oh, I know her,’ said Becca. ‘Lady with frizzy grey hair?’

  Cat nodded.

  Becca began laughing too. ‘Ah, then I don’t think you have to worry about the competition,’ she said.

  ‘So why would Squidge mention her?’ I asked.

  ‘Temporary insanity. Heat of the moment,’ said Cat. ‘He was hurt and he wanted to lash out. And there is some truth in it. He does see her regularly as she is the nurse who does all the home visits so she’ll have been keeping an eye on his dressings and so on.’

  ‘I’ll kill him,’ I said. And then I started to see the funny side as well. ‘I will. I’ll really kill him.’

  Later that night, when all the guests had gone home after the party, I went to my computer and wrote Squidge an e-mail.

  Dearest Squidge,

  Thanks for telling me about your new lover Colette. I hope that you will be very happy together. And I hope that her husband and five children don’t mind too much that you are having a love affair under their noses.

  I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you that Michael kissed me in Morocco. It was really stupid of me, especially as it meant nothing. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to be an issue but now it is and I wish I’d told you the truth in the first place. It’s a real lesson to me not to hold back. I held back for fear of hurting you and ended up hurting you more and for that I am truly sorry.

  Please can we start again? You are the only boy I want to be with. I don’t care that your family aren’t rich or famous. Why would I? They are great people and that’s what counts. And I think you are exceptional.

  I hope to see you really, really soon.