Midsummer Meltdown
Page 12
Yours,
Li@ XXXXX
I sent it off and went to bed in the hope that he’d see it first thing in the morning and we’d get back to normal as soon as possible. I was so tired after all the ups and downs of the day that I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow, and even slept through my alarm clock. As soon as I did wake up, I went straight to the computer to see if I had mail.
There was one.
Dear Li@,
I’m sorry about last night too. It was weird all round. Listen, as you know, this is the big two weeks for my GCSEs and I won’t be in school much, apart from to do my exams, so it’s likely that I won’t see you around much. I want to do well in these exams and so . . . I hope you understand but I’d like to take some time out and focus on my work. So maybe no calls either. Last night really did my head in and when I feel like that, I can’t think straight and I need to for the next couple of weeks if I’m going to get through.
And then, well, let’s just see how the summer goes.
Hope you understand.
Bye for now,
Squidge
I gasped. He hadn’t even signed off love Squidge. And no kisses. When we first got together, he’d write millions of XXXs.
I quickly pressed ‘reply’ and wrote:
I understand. Good luck with the exams.
Li@ X
I didn’t understand, though. I knew that Squidge took his work seriously but, like everything else in his life, he usually managed to make it fun, like he’d take his books out to some gorgeous spot on the peninsula and he’d revise and I’d do my homework or read. Or he’d come up here and lie on my bed and work and then I’d test him and if he got the right answers, I’d feed him Jelly Babies or Liquorice Allsorts. Or like the other night when we all watched A Midsummer Night’s Dream together and he went over the plot and characters for us.
But I knew there was no more to say. I had said I was sorry. I had done my best to explain. I had to respect his request and there was nothing more that I could do until his exams were over.
The following week, life went back to normal. School. Home. Homework. Telly. Bath. Bed. Boring. And I missed Squidge like crazy.
I saw Cat and Becca at school and occasionally we caught sight of the Year Eleven boys going in or coming out of the hall, which had been set up as the main exam place.
‘Hey, Mac. How’s it going?’ asked Cat on Friday morning when we bumped into him as he was going down the corridor to the main hall.
Mac shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. Some have been better than others.’
‘Er . . . seen Squidge?’ I asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘OK. He’s getting around better every day. He . . . er told me that you were taking a break from each other.’
‘Yeah. But . . . has he said anything to you about how he feels now? He asked me not to call.’
Mac shifted uncomfortably on his feet and I felt bad that I’d put him on the spot. ‘Not really,’ said Mac. ‘Only that he needed to keep a clear head until, you know, until it’s all over . . .’
‘Yeah, but after that?’
Mac shrugged.
‘What she wants to know is if he’s going to dump her,’ said Becca. ‘Come on, I bet you know.’
Mac sighed heavily. ‘Look. I know that it’s none of my business but he’s really got it into his stupid, thick head that he’s not good enough for you. Not in your league and that, one day, you’re going to find out so best to end it now before that happens.’
‘Idiot,’ I said.
‘Thanks,’ said Mac. ‘I was only trying to help.’
‘Not you. Him.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘So what do you think I should do?’
‘His last exam is a week today. If you do care about him, do something at the weekend after he’s finished. His curfew will be over then so he hasn’t got any more excuses to avoid you, so get down and see him. Sort it out.’
‘She will,’ said Becca. ‘And good luck for the rest of your exams.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mac. ‘Better go.’
‘So what are you going to do?’ asked Cat as we made our way down to our classroom and Mac headed for the exam hall.
‘I think you should go down and see him and give him a good thumping until he sees sense,’ said Becca.
‘What? Beat up a boy with a broken leg?’
‘Yeah. Well, I could bash him myself, he’s so stupid. If he’s not careful, he’s going to lose you.’
‘Or I’m going to lose him.’
‘I know what you should do,’ said Cat.
‘What?’
‘Do a Squidge.’
‘A Squidge?’
‘Yeah,’ said Cat. ‘Don’t just go down there and try to talk him around. Do something spectacular . . . you know . . . a Squidge.’
I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant by ‘doing a Squidge’. Last time we’d had a falling out, instead of coming up to the house and trying to resolve things, he’d decorated his back garden with fairy lights, got Cat, Becca and Mac to dress up as cinema attendants and invited me to a private showing of one of my favourite movies. And the first time we ever kissed, he planned it down to the last detail – location, lighting, everything. Instead of doing it on a street corner or on a front porch, he’d carted a rucksack full of candles up to a tiny church on the edge of the peninsula in the early evening and lit the place with candlelight. It was so romantic.
He’d explained once that he had this idea about life. That we go and watch movies and so on, but often don’t realise that actually we are in a movie of our own and we get to choose what role we play: hero or victim. We make up the script and our own dialogue. We do the casting – choose our friends, who we want as leading man or woman. And we get to choose the locations. To a degree, he’d added. We’ll be able to choose more when we leave school. But he said that he wanted to live his life as if he was a film director of his own film and make it the best movie he could. Hence the kissing scene. He wanted it to be memorable. And hence the fairy garden for after our falling out. That was memorable too. Things like that were ‘doing a Squidge’.
‘I know what you mean,’ I said, and it felt like a light pinged on in my head. ‘And I think I know exactly what we could do.’
‘What?’ asked Becca.
‘Squidge missed out on the Morocco trip, yeah? OK. So we’re going to bring Morocco to him.’
‘Great idea,’ said Cat then looked blank. ‘Er . . . but how exactly?’
It took some planning and I had to move fast because I had only a week.
First I called Ollie and asked him to send me the CD of Moroccan music he’d bought in Marrakech.
Then I went into Plymouth with Cat and Becca and bought a DVD called Learn How to Bellydance and I spent hours practising everywhere: in the bathroom, while I had my breakfast, in my room.
Dad agreed to set up a tent on the private beach on the edge of our estate. In fact, he and Mum were brilliant and really got into the idea. Mum was straight on the phone to her friend Daisy and had a pile of Moroccan costumes sent down for us all. Then they spent all day Saturday down on the beach helping us get things ready. Dad and Mac put the tent up and then Mum and Meena furnished the tent with cushions and lamps and rugs taken from various parts of the house. It looked totally brilliant by the time they’d finished. Just like the tents at the Fantasia. Dad built a fire, ready for when Squidge arrived, and Meena cooked up some fab Moroccan food: a lamb tagine and roasted vegetables and couscous. And when Mum lit some of the cinnamon joss sticks she’d bought at the market in Marrakech, I felt myself transported back there.
Squidge’s dad was in on the secret too, because we needed someone to drive Squidge as close to the beach as possible.
‘He’s going to love this,’ Mr Squires said when we spoke on the phone. ‘He needs a lift. He’s been like a bear with a sore head, never mind a sore leg, since you two stopped seeing each other. Cou
nt me in. I’ll have him there at seven on the dot.’
And so the stage was set. An empty beach with an empty tent.
It looked so serene. The weather was lovely. The scent of spices filled the air. The tagine gently cooking on the fire. Mum, Cat, Becca and I were dressed in traditional Moroccan costume and Dad and Mac as Berber tribesmen.
In the distance, we could see Mr Squires’s pick-up van making its way down on to the beach.
‘Everyone hide,’ said Dad.
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I told Mr Squires to blindfold Squidge.’
A few minutes later, we saw Mr Squires leading Squidge down the narrow lane to the beach. He saw us and gave us the thumbs up.
I gave Mac the signal and he pressed ‘play’ on the CD player and the sound of Moroccan music filled the air.
Mr Squires led Squidge to the front of the tent and then inside, where at last he took off his blindfold. Squidge sniffed the air, looked around him.
I gave everyone the signal and we all appeared at the front of the tent and bowed low.
‘Greetings, Master,’ I said. ‘And welcome to Morocco.’
Squidge’s face broke into the biggest smile.
‘Please be seated, o Master,’ said Mac with a bow, and Mr Squires helped his son sit back among the cushions. A moment later, Meena appeared with a tray with a glass of fresh orange juice on it and some lovely Moroccan nibbles with goat’s cheese and olives.
And then the entertainment began. First was Dad and his juggling act – with tennis balls. He wasn’t very good and kept dropping them, but Squidge seemed to enjoy it all the same.
Next was Mac, who did some magic card tricks.
Then came Becca, who sang a very strange song which sounded like she was being strangled, and Squidge put his fingers in his ears and begged her to stop.
Cat’s act followed and she did her level best to do some interesting acrobatics, but fell over when she attempted a handstand.
By this time, Squidge looked like he was having the time of his life, and was laughing his head off.
I quickly went round the back of the tent and got into my belly dancer outfit and yashmak.
Mac’s head appeared round the back of the tent a few minutes later. ‘Ready? Everyone’s in the tent with Squidge now.’
I nodded. He disappeared and a moment later the sound of music started up again.
I took a deep breath and went round to the front, where I began to dance. To begin with, I didn’t dare look at anyone. And then as the music swelled, I really got into it. Forget you have an audience, I thought. Just dance. And it felt amazing. As I turned round, in front of me was the ocean. The sun setting in the distance lighting the sky pink, red and orange. To my right, the fire crackled, the sand felt warm beneath my feet and, for a moment, I didn’t feel like Lia Axford. Daughter of Zac Axford. Little Miss Boring. I felt at one with all that was around me, dancing in a timeless moment. I moved in time to the music and felt that I could have been anywhere in the world.
As the music faded then stopped, I finally glanced into the tent.
Squidge looked like his eyes were going to fall out of his head. Mum had a big stupid grin on her face and Dad just beamed then started clapping.
He got up and nodded at the others. ‘Come on, guys, let’s leave them alone for a while. I’ve got some drinks up at the house for you and we can come back down later.’
Cat and Becca got up and followed Dad then Cat turned back and gave me the thumbs up.
When they’d gone, I went into the tent and sat at Squidge’s feet.
‘O Lord Squires, sheik of Barton Hall Beach and master of all in the Rame peninsula. I beseech you. Have mercy upon the poor lost soul of Lia Axford. Although an ordinary girl and from humble origins, she has a true heart and has learned her lesson well. She has learned that it is important to tell the truth no matter what.’
Squidge lay back on the cushions. ‘Hhhmm. Has she now? Tell o yonder girl that I will consider her case. But she may need to beg somewhat more.’
‘Somewhat more? Oh! OK. What does my master desire?’
‘He desireth . . . oh for heaven’s sake, come here, Lia,’ said Squidge as he held out his good arm to me.
I went and cuddled up to him in our makeshift Moroccan tent and together we gazed out at the ocean. As the light from the fire grew brighter against the darkening sky, I thought that it couldn’t get any better. I didn’t need to be in a five-star hotel in some faraway exotic location. I had all that I wanted right here. As long as Squidge and I were together, any place was fine by me.
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