I’m glad it’s all working out for you in Switzerland. Your chalet sounds great and I’d love to see the cuckoo clock – Mum told me about it. I hope Charlie’s stopped being moody now, but boys can be like that, I know.
Write back soon,
Love Izzy xxx
Dear Izzy,
Thanks so much for your brilliant letter! Your camping holiday with Mum sounds fantastic. I wish I could have been there too. Of course I don’t mind you borrowing my sleeping bag – you can take anything from my room (just make sure you put it back!).
I’m sitting outside our chalet in the sunshine because Charlie’s inside having a rest. Thank goodness he’s gone to sleep – I hope he wakes up in a nicer mood! I’m determined not to have an argument with him today. Still, I suppose I need someone to yell at and I haven’t got you or Mum here so I’ll just have to make do with Charlie! Like you say, boys can be moody.
He’s tired all the time at the moment, but he says he has to work extra shifts because we need the money. It gets a bit boring for me sometimes because Uncle Rob won’t let me do much work at all, which means I’m just sitting around doing nothing, on my own. Don’t feel too sorry for me though – being bored in Paradise isn’t the worst thing that could happen to a person!
Further adventures of a cuckoo clock: yesterday, when Charlie was hammering up a coat hook, it fell off the wall and all its insides pinged out and it doesn’t work at all now. But I put it back up on the wall because it still looks nice and homely, despite the various bits and pieces hanging drunkenly out of the bottom. I think ‘passive’ is about the only word you could use to describe the poor cuckoo now – he looks a bit floppy and bewildered by it all!
Have you seen much of Finn? I’ve written to him a few times, but I haven’t heard anything back. I guess he’s still mad at me. If you see him, tell him I said hello.
Do you know how Sara’s getting on? I know her exams will be over by now, but if you happen to see her around tell her that if she ever feels like writing a letter then I’m desperate for news from home.
Tell Mum that I’ve sent her a birthday card, but the post can be really slow, so not to think I’ve forgotten if it hasn’t arrived by the fifteenth.
Take care, Izzy. I hope you guys are coping without me! Give my love to Granny and Grandpa.
Love you forever,
Alex xxxx
I never thought I’d be glad to be going back to school, but it feels like this summer holiday has lasted forever. I’ve spent so much time in the library in town that I could virtually run the place. I know all about how they organize the books and the other day, when I overheard a lady asking where she could find a book on gardening, I answered her before the librarian did. It was incredibly embarrassing.
Early on in the holidays Mum and I went camping. It was a complete disaster. It rained virtually every day and the only day that it was sunny I got stung by a wasp. Our tent is really old and has a rip in the roof so all our clothes got wet. I had to use Alex’s sleeping bag and it was only a two season – but camping in England in the summer definitely requires more of a four-season attitude. Mum tried really hard to make it fun, but it was just too weird without Alex. Not that I’m going to tell Alex that. I don’t want her thinking that we can’t have a nice time unless she’s there. So I wrote her a letter saying how amazing it all was. I didn’t tell her anything about how I’m actually feeling because I can’t trust her any more. Actually, I’m quite surprised by how easy it is to lie if you write the lies in a letter; it makes me wonder if everything Alex writes in her letters is the actual, honest truth. Maybe it isn’t as fantastic in Switzerland as she says it is.
The weather’s rubbish too. The second we broke up for the holidays it started to rain and it hasn’t really let up. Even the ice-cream van has stopped coming down our road and he never normally lets a bit of bad weather put him off: one year I saw him out there in December, trying to sell ice lollies to kids wrapped up in gloves and hats and scarves.
I’ve seen Hannah a few times, but she went away to Spain for a fortnight with her family and then her cousin came to stay so she’s not been around much. When we got back home from camping, Mum felt bad about leaving Granny and Grandpa, so we’ve spent most days popping over to their house. Mum and Granny mostly sit around talking non-stop about Alex and the baby. I’ve played my violin for Grandpa a few times, but I can’t really be bothered to practise as much as I usually would; now there’s no chance of me ever being a member of On the Rocks I can’t really see the point of carrying on with the violin. The rest of the time I’ve just sat quietly, listening to them going on and on. I think it’s fair to say that it has probably been the worst, most boring summer ever and I’m glad that school’s starting tomorrow. Maybe life can get back to a bit of normality now.
Red Rag to a Bull
Dear Izzy,
It feels like it’s been raining forever, but today it’s finally stopped and the sun is shining. I’m outside on the grass, getting bitten to death by weird flies and probably sunburnt, but it’s so nice to be able to sit out here after days stuck in our room.
Charlie had the day off yesterday so we took the bus to the nearest town. We’d decided that we wouldn’t spend any money at all apart from the bus fare and we’d taken bread, cheese and tomatoes for our lunch. When we got there though, we saw a really lovely baby shop and we couldn’t resist going inside to look at a child’s carry seat – you know, the ones you wear on your back like a rucksack? We really fell in love with it – it’s made out of dark green material with orange bits on the sides. You can’t put a newborn baby in it, but it’ll be perfect for when he or she has grown a bit bigger. We really do want to stay out here so we’ll be going on lots of long walks into the mountains all the time, I suppose.
Charlie told the man in the shop that we wouldn’t be buying, we were just looking, but then he asked the price and as soon as the man told us we both said, ‘See how much we’ve got’! It was totally meant to be – we had just enough to pay for it and our bus fare home – so of course we ended up buying it. It felt fantastic carrying it home and now it’s propped in the corner of our room and it makes the baby seem very real, like it’s actually going to be here in a few months!!
Yesterday we went to visit Monique’s nephew Eric and his girlfriend Chrissie. They live in a hut further up the mountain and Monique had to drive us down the bumpiest track EVER to get there. To reach their hut you have to cross a stream (which is where they get all their water) on a rickety old plank bridge. They’ve got a vegetable garden and some hens and ducks and NO electricity!!!!! I spent ages talking to Chrissie (her English is great). She said that she’s lived there for two years and doesn’t even miss having electricity. When it started to get dark, she lit loads of candles and cooked us an amazing meal on a massive kitchen range that had a fire lit inside it.
It was such a romantic place and really cheap too. I think me and Charlie could live like that when the baby arrives. Monique tried to put me off and started talking about how difficult it’d be to look after a baby in conditions like that, but loads of people in the Third World do it, so I think we’d be fine.
The only downside was the toilet. It was outside and was just three wooden walls up against the house – the fourth side was completely open, not even a door! It looked out on to the stream and wasn’t actually even a proper toilet, just a big box with a hole in the top. There I was, sitting quite happily admiring the view, with my knickers round my ankles, when along came a farmer, herding his fifty million cows home (well, probably not QUITE that many, but it seemed to take them all an extraordinarily long time to walk past me, all gazing at me with their freakily large cow eyes!).
I NEVER expected that anyone would come past, the place is so isolated, and I nearly fell into the box in horror. The farmer didn’t seem even a little bit bothered though – he just gave me a cheery wave and kept herding his cows!
Even after that though, I’m dreaming of us h
aving a home like Eric and Chrissie’s.
Tell Mum that I’ve had a check-up with the doctor. He listened to the baby’s heartbeat and said everything’s fine.
Love you forever,
Alex xxxxx
I’m sitting on the bottom of the stairs and listening to Mum and Charlie’s mum (apparently, her name is Marianne) talking about ‘the situation’ in our kitchen. After weeks of telephone conversations, Mum invited her over to our house so that they could talk properly and work out how they should deal with Alex and Charlie. I’ve been sent off to do my homework, but there is no WAY I’m missing this. Mum won’t tell me what Marianne says and if Alex’s baby is going to dominate my entire year then I definitely want to know what’s going on.
Mum’s made coffee and brought out the best biscuits; I think she’s going all out to impress Marianne and make her think we’re a ‘nice’ family. I don’t think she knows that the red top and brown trousers that she put on just before Marianne arrived show that she’s moody and anxious and likely to be easily annoyed. Marianne, on the other hand, is wearing a crimson-coloured shirt that shows she’s a bit threatening and will demand to be listened to. There could be fireworks. So far, they’ve only talked about completely boring stuff like the weather and work and, bizarrely, the rising cost of fuel. Very strange. Now though they’ve sat down with their drinks and I can sense that they can’t put it off any longer. Alex and Charlie are making their uncomfortable presence felt, even though they’re hundreds of miles away.
‘Have you heard from Alex recently?’ asks Marianne, diving in and getting straight to the point.
Mum sighs. ‘She wrote a few weeks ago, and she’s written a couple of times to Izzy. I spoke to her on Sunday night as usual, but the line was crackly and there’s always people around at her end – I couldn’t really get a lot out of her.’
‘At least she writes to you,’ says Marianne, and I can hear that she’s trying to find something positive to say about Alex. ‘Charlie hasn’t written once – not if you don’t count the miserable note he left us when they ran off, which I do not.’
There’s a bit of quiet while they both slurp their coffee and then Mum takes charge of the conversation.
‘The reason I thought it’d be better to get together to chat is because Alex is talking about them staying in Switzerland. For good.’
‘I know,’ says Marianne. ‘Rob’s been keeping me up to date. He’s done his very best to show them how difficult it would be, but he says that they seem determined. It’s a problem. The last thing any of us want to do is to make life harder for them, but I just don’t think they’ve addressed the reality of their situation. They’re still playing at being grown-ups and when the baby arrives they’re going to be in for a nasty shock.’
‘I agree,’ says Mum. ‘And I can’t pretend I’m not hurt about how they’ve dealt with it all. Running away without talking to us. I lie awake at night wondering what I did to make Alex treat me like that.’
There’s the sound of a cup being put on the table and I imagine Marianne reaching across and holding Mum’s hand.
‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ she tells Mum. ‘It’s happened and we all just want them to take some responsibility and start working out how they can make this work in the real world.’
I hear Mum sniff and then clear her throat, as if she’s trying not to cry.
‘There are so many ways that this doesn’t have to be a disaster for them. But they’re going to need to ask for help – acknowledge that they’re in too deep and can’t do it alone.’
‘Completely, which is why we have to be strong. Nobody ever said that being a mum was easy, and I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of missing the stage when all I had to worry about was grazed knees and temper tantrums and arguments about watching too much TV.’
They both laugh and the tension flowing through the open kitchen door seems to ease a little bit.
‘I’ve contacted school and they’ve said that they can help Charlie get a place at university for next year. He’ll have to retake the exams he missed and there’ll be a little bit of extra coursework, but they said that with his predicted grades, and his excellent conduct up until now, there shouldn’t be a problem. A blip, that’s what the head teacher said to me.’
There’s a silence again and then Mum answers, her voice sounding slow and careful like she doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.
‘And the baby? Is that going to be just “a blip” for Charlie, do you think?’
‘Oh, that’s not what I meant! We’ll do everything we can to support Charlie, to help him take responsibility for his actions. We’re trying to see this whole awful experience as a life lesson for him – that everything he does has a consequence and that he needs to face up to that.’
‘Hmmm.’ Mum is making her thinking sound. ‘Yes, that could be a good option!’ She’s starting to sound enthusiastic. ‘I know that they both had offers from the same university – Alex could do the same and they could rent a little flat. There’d probably be some childcare available through the university and they could share the rest. It wouldn’t be the same experience that their friends will be having, but it could work. That’s a fantastic suggestion, Marianne!’
‘That wasn’t quite what we’ve been thinking about though,’ says Marianne, her voice so quiet that I have to lean forward to catch everything she’s saying. ‘Oh, just imagine it. They’d have no sleep and no time for fun – it’d be all work and no play. Not the university experience we wanted for Charlie at all.’
‘Well, no,’ replies Mum, her voice now a tiny bit louder than before. ‘But we’ve agreed that they need to take responsibility. It was you that mentioned “life lessons” a minute ago.’
‘But the price you’re suggesting is just too high!’ says Marianne and I can hear a hardness in her voice. ‘I’m not sure you fully understand our situation here. Charlie is a top student. He’s set on being a doctor and there’s no reason why he won’t achieve that goal. A goal we’ve all been working towards for a very long time, incidentally. But the pressures of medical school are huge. There’s no way he could cope with a screaming baby at the same time. It’s out of the question!’
‘So who’s going to be looking after this screaming baby while Charlie skips off to university?’ I can tell that Marianne has just pushed Mum into very dangerous Mum-mode. Her voice sounds totally polite, but there’s an undercurrent of menace that makes the hairs on my arms all stand up on end.
‘Alex, of course,’ says Marianne, sounding surprised. ‘I’m sure you’ll agree that one silly mistake with a daft girl is not a good enough reason to ruin the rest of Charlie’s life.’
I hear a chair scrape back across the floor and tense my body, half hoping that Mum isn’t about to thump Marianne and half hoping that she doesn’t let her get away with making such terrible comments about my sister. There’s a click of heels on the tiles and I scuttle further up the stairs just in time as Marianne walks out of the kitchen and to the front door, Mum just behind her. She turns to Mum as she opens the door, one hand on the handle.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll make sure that Charlie keeps in contact and it goes without saying that his father and I will contribute to the upkeep of the child.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ murmurs Mum and I can tell she’s using every bit of her self-control to stop herself from slapping Marianne.
Marianne steps on to the path and Mum watches her go. When she’s about halfway down, Mum calls out and I wonder if this is when she’s finally going to let rip.
‘There is one thing you can do for me,’ she shouts and Marianne stops and turns, looking towards the door. ‘You can do whatever it takes to get my little girl home again.’ Marianne holds up a hand in acknowledgement and trots off to her car.
‘My silly, daft little girl,’ mutters Mum, but Marianne is in her car and doesn’t hear her.
Mum stays at the door to watch her leave, as if she’s making sure that
she’s definitely gone. Then she backs inside and closes the door.
‘Did you hear all of that?’ she asks me without turning round.
‘Yes,’ I say, hoping that she doesn’t yell at me for eavesdropping.
‘Good,’ she says, turning and looking up the stairs at me. ‘We need to discuss something very important and I need to explain a few ideas I’ve had. I want to hear what you’ve got to say too – this is going to be a Family Stone decision.’
She gestures me down the stairs and into the kitchen. The plate of posh biscuits is still on the table. Mum sees me looking.
‘She was on a diet,’ she tells me. ‘I should have known then that we were in for trouble. Never trust a woman who won’t eat a luxury biscuit, Izzy – remember that.’
She clears away the coffee cups and grabs two glasses and a carton of orange juice. She puts them on the table, pushes the biscuits towards me and tells me her idea. And we talk and I make suggestions and, for the first time since this all started, I feel like we’re back on track, back as a family.
Dear Mum,
I’ve put on so much weight – I wonder if you got this fat when you were pregnant with me.
I’m avoiding Charlie today because he’s in a really bad mood. Are ALL boys totally unreasonable? He had a big chat with his Uncle Rob last night and he’s been grouchy ever since. I’m trying to ignore him and hope he snaps out of it. I suppose I’m finding it a bit hard because I’ve never seen him being grumpy, not before we came out here anyway. I guess we didn’t actually know each other as well as we thought we did.
I know that in an ideal world we’d have had time to get to know each other properly before we had to deal with things like money and jobs and heartburn and backache. We haven’t GOT time though – every day is another day closer to being parents. I’m really excited about meeting our baby, but I’m starting to feel a bit worried too. How will we know what to do? I don’t have a clue about how to look after a baby. What if I get it wrong? I’ve tried Googling it, but it’s all really confusing and there’s loads of choices. Some people say you must have a strict routine, other people say go with the flow; some sites go on and on about how, unless you’re a planet-killer, you MUST use cloth nappies, but I’ve looked at them and it means you come into close contact with an awful lot of poo. I don’t want choices any more – I just want someone to tell me what to do.
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