The bing-bong text receipts from Isabella’s phone go on and on.
“How many messages have you got?” Millie asks enviously. Her phone’s only gone a couple of times.
Isabella’s scrolling through her messages at about ninety miles an hour, wincing and laughing and tapping back answers at top speed.
“Um, a hundred and three,” she says. “I need to reply to some of these. You guys are going to have to wait a bit.”
I stare down at my phone. Still no messages. Not one… oh wait. A message! It’s from Danny!
How RU? Hope ur havin fun. Sorry cldnt tlk y’day. Miss u x
Really? I’ve been away for days and all I get is one message. And that’s what it says?
I’ll try to give him a ring. I haven’t spoken to him in ages and I really want to hear his voice. I press the green call button, but the phone just rings. There’s no answer.
I try again. Still nothing.
Sighing, I stick my phone back in my pocket. Isabella’s still got her head bowed over the phone, her thumb moving in a speedy blur as she types out texts.
“How much longer are you going to be?” Harry whines.
“I’ve missed loads,” Isabella mutters. “I think my friends were on the verge of putting out a missing person announcement for me. I’ve never been without my phone for so long. Never!”
“Even when you were a baby?” Harry asks.
Isabella rolls her eyes and doesn’t reply. I’m smirking, but don’t let her see.
“Okay, we can go,” Isabella eventually says.
We set off again, legs pumping hard as we struggle to make it up the hill. I’m on the point of thinking I’m going to either pass out or die because my lungs have exploded when we finally reach the top of the slope.
“Tyre tracks,” Isabella says, pointing to the ground. “They went this way.”
Now we’re on a downhill strip of path again. Ah, this is much better. My bum’s still painful, but I’m not feeling like I want to keel over any more. We’re freewheeling pretty fast, but actually, it’s kind of okay seeing the scenery whizz past. Downhill is good.
“Hole!” Millie calls, veering around a big dip in the ground. But I’ve been so busy daydreaming I don’t register what she’s said until it’s too late. I slam on the brakes, but my front tyre has dipped. Before I know it, the bike’s flipped forwards and I’m flying through the air.
I put my hands out to brace myself against the impact and my wrist buckles underneath me.
Oh, oh, oh, it hurts, it hurts so bad!
There are spots in front of my eyes and I think I’m going to pass out…
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I don’t pass out.
I almost do, then Murphy runs up and slobbers all over my face. I pull myself back from the brink to shove him and his gross doggy breath away from me with my non-hurty hand. Not before his tongue actually went into my mouth, though.
Gagfest.
As if French kissing the stinky mutt wasn’t bad enough, my arm is killing. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself crying. It’s embarrassing enough to fall off my bike, without boohooing and making everything worse.
“Harry, Isabella, stop! Suzy’s fallen off! Ohmigod, Suze, are you okay?” Millie flings her bike to the ground and rushes over.
“No,” I whimper. “I think I’ve done something really bad to my wrist.”
“Now we’re never going to catch up with the boys,” Isabella moans as she skids to a halt nearby.
Millie gently helps me to stand and puts her arm around me protectively. “Can you move it?”
“Careful,” Isabella says. “I damaged my wrist once, during a tournament. We need to make you some kind of sling. Harry, chuck us your jumper.”
Isabella busies herself fashioning a sling and soon my wrist is nestled up against my chest. It feels weird having Isabella so close to me, literally breathing down my neck.
“Thanks,” I say, weakly, but she doesn’t respond.
“Are you feeling strong enough to go back?” Millie asks. “You’ve gone a really weird colour.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to cycle,” I say. I try to flex my hand and yelp with pain. Oh, oh, oh, it really huuuurttts. The pain is throbbing up all the way to my shoulder.
I attempt to pick up my bike, but can’t manage it. It’s just too painful.
“We need to get you back to the campsite,” Millie says, sounding concerned. “If you can walk, we’ll take turns to push your bike.”
Isabella’s clearly not happy about this plan, but she’s got no choice but to pitch in.
It’s not easy manoeuvring these slopes and bumpy ground pushing two bikes, so whoever’s pushing mine really struggles. I’m walking gingerly behind as any kind of sudden movement or jarring sends pain shooting up my arm again.
Mum comes racing over when she sees us.
“What on earth’s happened?”
“I fell off my bike and I’ve done something to my hand,” I say, in so much pain I don’t even mind her fussing.
“Let me see. Can you move it? No? In that case, we need to get you to the hospital to get that looked at. Chris! Get your car keys!”
As we sign in at the reception, one of the nurses recognises us, and makes a dumb joke asking if we’d like a loyalty card.
Nobody laughs.
Why do these things always happen to me? There’s probably nobody else on the planet who could end up in hospital twice in one week because of a rat bite on their toe and a horrible injury to their hand.
We’re eventually seen by the same doctor I saw last time. She pokes and prods me, before announcing I could have fractured it, so they need to send me for an X-ray.
I keep trying to ring Danny, but he’s not answering his phone.
I want to cry. Where’s he gone? Has he forgotten about me, just because I’ve gone on holiday?
“I’m going to get another cup of tea,” Mum says. “Want one, Chris?”
Dad rustles his paper. “Might as well, can’t see we’re getting out of here anytime soon.”
Mum’s on her way out of the cubicle when rat-bite doctor comes in.
“Right,” she says. “Your X-rays showed us you’ve got a minor fracture in your wrist. We’ll put a soft cast on it now to let the swelling go down, then you’ll need to go to the fracture clinic and get it put in a proper cast. We’ll give you a letter so you can sort that out at your local hospital when you get home.”
“Is she going to suffer any kind of permanent damage?” Mum asks. “She is going to be able to use her hand properly when it’s better?”
“Absolutely,” the doctor says. “It’s not a severe break. We’ll give her a sling to help support the arm. And it’s not your dominant hand, is it?”
I shake my head.
“You’re one of the unluckiest people I’ve ever met,” the doctor says. “A rat bite and a fracture – some holiday, eh?”
I do my best to smile at her. But I don’t feel much like laughing about it yet.
“You’ll need to keep the hand as still as possible,” the doctor tells me. “We’ll get you bandaged up as soon as we can.”
“Well, that’s you out of the talent competition, then,” Mum says.
Oh yeah. Ah well. I suppose every cloud has a silver lining. I hope Millie won’t be too gutted. I think she was kind of looking forward to it. She’s weird like that.
And now at least Isabella won’t be winning any prizes. Hah. Serves her right.
Millie and Isabella are wandering out of the awning when we pull up in the car. Millie rushes over and yanks open the door.
“Are you okay?” Millie asks. “Oh my God, you’re all bandaged up – and you’ve got a cast! It was broken, then?”
“Yeah, my wrist is fractured,” I say, shuffling myself out of the car with difficulty. Turns out it’s harder to do things one-handed than you’d think. Don’t get me started on how hard it was to get my jeans back up after I went fo
r a pee earlier.
I’m so focused on trying to get out of the car without falling flat on my face that it’s a while before I see Millie and Isabella are wearing matching outfits.
“Um, what’s with the clothes?” I ask, trying to give a relaxed, I-don’t-care giggle, but it comes out sounding like someone’s strangling a cat.
“I figured you wouldn’t be able to dance,” Isabella says. “You went down with such a crash. Millie’s put so much effort in, I decided to take your place. I wanted to get the right clothes for our first practice. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Course not,” I say, trying to force a smile.
“Are you sure?” Millie asks, and I can tell she’s genuinely concerned, which makes me feel a bit better. I don’t know why I care so much. I didn’t want to do the stupid dance, anyway.
“Sure,” I say, still trying to force that smile.
“Suzy needs to sit down,” Mum says, fussing around me.
“Have you got a plaster cast?” Harry says, running up, Ant following close behind. “Oooh, you have!”
“We should keep practising,” Isabella says to Millie.
“Do we have to?” Millie says. “I haven’t seen Suzy all afternoon and I want to make sure she’s okay. Besides, we’ve practised loads.”
“I know, but I’d be happier if we could go and do a bit more. It’s not long until the talent show, you know.”
“But…”
Isabella pouts. “Can you imagine the humiliation if a dancer of my status didn’t win this stupid thing? It would be mortifying. Mort. If. Fying. I would literally die. Please, Millie.”
“You looked pretty good to me,” Millie says, but I can tell she’s weakening.
“Pleeeease,” Isabella pleads.
“Oh, all right,” Millie says, admitting defeat. “But not for long, okay? I want to come back and see Suzy.”
“I could always come and watch,” I say.
“Nope, you’re staying here where I can keep an eye on you,” Mum says.
Protesting does no good. Mum’s determined that I rest.
Isabella links her arm through Millie’s before they run off together.
As I watch them go, I realise that anyone watching would think they were best friends.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“So who’s coming over to the entertainment later?” Mum asks breezily as we clear away the plates from supper. “Tonight they’ve got a Romanian pan-piper. It should be good.”
“Actually, we thought we’d go and hang out with some friends we’ve made,” Isabella says casually.
Huh? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.
“That’s great,” Clare says. “I haven’t seen many teenagers around. Whereabouts is their plot?”
“Just over there,” Isabella says, waving her arm vaguely.
“So tell us more,” Mum says. “You said friends. Sisters? Or girls here with friends, like you?”
“Nope, it’s that group of boys,” Isabella says, smiling brightly.
Mum and Clare exchange a look. Dad looks up from his paper and raises his eyebrows.
“We’re just going to sit around their campfire for a bit,” Isabella elaborates, seeing the not-entirely-pleased faces of the parentals.
“I’m not sure about this,” Mum says.
“I’m with Jen,” Clare says. “Those boys are definitely older than you.”
“So?” Isabella says. “Who cares?”
“Mum, we’re not babies,” Millie chips in. “All we’re going to do is sit and talk. We do it at home with Jamie and Danny all the time.”
“Yes, but we know Jamie and Danny,” Mum says. “And Isabella, we’re supposed to be responsible for you. I’m not sure what your mum would say about this.”
“She’d let me go. She wouldn’t care,” Isabella says. “Seriously. She wouldn’t be bothered.”
“We’re going to be right over there,” Millie says. “What do you think’s going to happen?”
“I’m not sure…” Mum says.
Part of me is relieved they’re saying no. I don’t want to go and hang out with those guys. I don’t want to have to pretend to be sixteen, watching my friends flirting while I get ignored. But something tells me Isabella and Millie aren’t going to give in easily.
“Jen, nothing’s going to happen,” Isabella says, smiling sweetly. She’s clearly on a charm offensive, determined to get her own way.
“What do you think, Chris?” Mum asks.
Dad sighs heavily. “I know about teenage boys. They’re trouble. But as long as they’re just going to sit around a campfire, in full view of everyone, I fail to see how they can get into that much mischief. Their chaperone’s going to be there as well, isn’t he? Dave, his name is. Good bloke. I got chatting to him at the shop.”
Isabella and Millie nod their heads furiously.
“Clare?” says Mum.
“Do you promise you’ll stay with the group? And not wander off? And you’ll be back by ten-thirty?” Clare says.
“Ten-thirty?” Isabella howls in outrage. “It’s hardly worth going out.”
“Ten-thirty,” Clare says. “Those are the conditions. Take them or leave them. What do you think, Jen?”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Mum says.
“That’s so unfair,” Isabella mutters.
“Take it or leave it,” Mum says.
Millie shoots me an excited glance.
“Um, am I coming too?” I ask Millie quietly once we’re out in the awning.
“Course you are!” Millie says.
“It’s just you didn’t say anything, so I didn’t know…”
“Don’t be daft. Sorry I didn’t tell you. We arranged it with them earlier today while you were at the hospital. I’m just going to get ready. See you in a minute.”
“Your parents are really strict, aren’t they?” I hear Isabella say as they disappear off to their tent. “My mum wouldn’t care what I was doing. Or what time I’d be back.”
I’m not going to make the same mistake as last time, when I looked a wreck while they got all glammed up, so I take my time choosing an outfit. Skinny jeans, long pretty blue top and a thin cardi that I get Amber to help me put on. It’s not exactly the warmest, but it looks nice, and we’re going to be sitting near a fire – it can’t be that cold.
Hair, hair, hair… what am I going to do about my hair? It’s a hopeless case. Beyond rescue. I could spend all night grooming it and it still wouldn’t behave. I’m limited in what I can do to it with one hand, so in the end I put some serum through the front, and get Mum to put the rest of it back into a loose ponytail. I’ll just have to hope it doesn’t start raining. Now for my make-up, and I’m good to go.
From Millie and Isabella’s tent I can hear the sound of helpless giggling.
Once again I get that pang of left-outness. I try to tell myself I’m just being silly, that I’m imagining things, that Millie’s my best friend and nothing – and nobody – is going to change that, but it’s becoming harder to convince myself.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, unzipping their tent.
“Long story,” Millie says. She and Isabella catch each other’s eyes, then crack up again. Meanwhile I’m left hovering like a lemon outside the tent.
“Um, are you guys ready?” I ask, when it becomes apparent they’re not going to share the joke.
“Yeah, sorry, we’re just coming,” Millie says, adjusting the streak in her hair and quickly giving her eyes a flick of black eyeliner at each corner. She looks fantastic, and blows a kiss with her cherry-red lips at the mirror. “Ready, Isabella?”
Yet again, Isabella looks absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a floaty dress with these big boots and a gorgeous navy coat to keep her warm. Her face might as well have been airbrushed, it’s so flawless.
I felt all right a moment ago, but now, compared to these two, I’m suddenly not so sure. Now I feel like the frumpy one.
“Let’s go,” Millie says, du
cking out of the tent and linking her arm into mine. “You look great, Suze. Love your top. Although won’t you be cold?”
“Nope,” I lie, doing my best to control my teeth, which are already starting to chatter.
Harry’s following us, but doesn’t come near the fire. Instead she does a detour round to one of the tents. “Going to hang out with Ant. See you later,” she calls.
The boys are milling around, sitting on logs arranged in a circle around the fire. I can’t see Dave there. When we approach, Ben and Tom jump to their feet.
They’re even better-looking than I remember.
Am I seriously going to be expected to talk to these guys? This isn’t like on a bike ride when there’s something else to concentrate on. This is just us and them. My mouth’s so dry I don’t feel like I’m ever going to be able to speak again in my life and I’m sure people must be able to hear my heart drumming away in my chest. Oh God, I need to think of things to say that are cool and funny. Millie and Isabella will never forgive me if I stuff this up.
“Don’t forget we’re sixteen,” Isabella says in a low voice.
Aagh! I had forgotten we were supposed to be sixteen. What do sixteen-year-olds talk about? Won’t they be able to tell straightaway that I’m not as old as I’m pretending to be?
“All right?” Tom says, as he leaps over a log to join us.
“Hi,” chorus Millie and Isabella. I open my mouth to speak, but still can’t form any words, and make a weird strangled noise instead. I cover it up with a cough.
“What happened to your arm?” Tom says, indicating my cast.
“Fell off my bike. Idiot, right?” I say, trying to sound flippant and breezy. I attempt a flirty smile, but I suspect it comes out as a grimace, because Tom frowns slightly before turning his attention to Millie and Isabella.
“Coming to sit down?”
I follow the others nearer the fire, where they join Tom and Ben on their log. I hover awkwardly until they’re settled, and then realise there’s no room for me. I’m going to have to go and sit somewhere else.
“Hi,” I say nervously, as I plant myself next to the guy who was struggling with his bike on the cycle ride. A kindred spirit. I rack my brains for what his name was. “Joe, right?”
Suzy P and the Trouble with Three Page 14