She pulled away and looked at her watch again. ‘We really ought to get going,’ she said. Then she got up and began heading for the steps.
‘OK. Fine,’ I said and started packing away my stuff. I know not to push it with girls when they’re not in the mood. But something is definitely going on with her, I thought as I followed her across the beach. She clearly doesn’t want to be on her own with me. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe she didn’t want to go out with me any more. Inevitable I suppose. A girl like Lia could have anyone: she’s lived in London; her dad’s a famous rock star; her family are mega rich. (They live in a mansion on a private estate, while my family live in a fisherman’s cottage in the village.) Why should a girl like her be interested in a backwater boy like me?
When we got to the foot of the steps leading up the cliff, she suddenly turned back to me. ‘Hey, remember last summer? We played truth, dare, kiss or promise here for the first time?’ I nodded. ‘OK, so truth, dare, kiss or promise?’ she asked.
‘Well I’m not going to say dare as you’ll make me do something mad, like run into the sea with all my clothes on. Not kiss, as I don’t want to kiss anyone else but you. Truth, you know everything about me so . . . So it looks like it’s the last option – promise.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK . . . Promise.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think the most important thing in any relationship – whether you’re friends, boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever – is telling the truth about how you really feel. So. Promise. Promise to tell the truth, even if it hurts, no matter what, and I will as well . . .’
‘Yeah, course. We should tell each other the truth about how we really feel,’ I said. ‘Promise.’
Just at that moment, her mobile rang. ‘Won’t be a mo,’ she said. She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans then walked a few steps ahead, away from me. She was talking really quietly, like she didn’t want me to hear.
Oh, here it comes, I thought. She’s going to dump me, I know it. Promise to tell the truth about how we really feel, she’d said. And, by her behaviour of late, she’d been feeling disinterested. So prepare yourself pal, I thought. You’re going to get dumped. Huh, on my birthday, too. The sinking feeling in my stomach felt like Titanic.
‘Who were you talking to?’ I asked when she came back to join me a few moments later.
‘Oh, no one,’ she said, blushing slightly. ‘I mean, just Mum wanting to know where we . . . where I was. I said I wouldn’t be long and that I was going back to your house for a moment.’
She was lying. I could tell. Sometimes I don’t get girls, I thought. She just came out with that promise thing about how important it is to tell each other the truth. Then two seconds later, someone phones up and Lia tells a blatant lie about who it is. I don’t get it. I decided not to confront her though. I didn’t really want to know who it was on the phone, in case it was some guy who’s been waiting next in line to replace me and his number just came up. Who knows? Maybe it was Jonno Appleton. She went out with him for a while earlier this year. Maybe he’s back on the scene. But then maybe it’s someone from when she was at school up in London; she must have loads of admirers there that I don’t even know about. Whoever it was, I reckoned I was history. She was hurrying up the cliff side like she couldn’t stand to be in my company another minute.
‘The sun will be going down soon,’ I said, running to catch her up. ‘Let’s stay and watch.’
Lia couldn’t get away fast enough and carried on towards the top. ‘No. Let’s go. Um, I’m cold. And hungry. Aren’t you hungry, Squidge? Come on.’
That was it. It was over between Lia and I. Ah well, I tried to tell myself, it was good while it lasted. I just wished that it had lasted longer between us. A lot longer.
LIA WAS abnormally quiet as we whizzed back down through the lanes to the village on our bikes. I guess I was too. I felt very sad. I thought we had something special going. I thought she really liked me.
‘Is something the matter?’ I asked, as I rode round the back of our house and parked outside the garage.
‘Course not,’ said Lia, sliding off her bike. But she still looked uncomfortable and she checked her watch again. Was she meeting someone later? I wondered. If so, who?
I opened the back door to the kitchen and switched on the light. No one home. I hadn’t really expected that there would be. Tuesday night was Mum’s girlie night with some of the other mums in the village. It was also Will’s Scout night, and Dad would probably be where he is most nights after work: down the pub. A tiny part of me had hoped that they might have made a surprise supper, but no. My own fault, I reminded myself. You told them not to make a fuss.
‘The book you want is in the front room,’ I said, when we got into the hall. ‘It’s in the bookcase, near the top, I think. You go on in. I’ve got to go to the bathroom.’
Actually, I wanted a few moments alone to compose myself. To get ready for Lia to give me the bad news. My second time being dumped. Sort of. With Cat it was mutual, really. Still, not nice. Not easy.
I went into the bathroom, closed the door and stared at myself in the mirror. Maybe I’m not good-looking enough for her, I thought, as I stared at my reflection. I know I’m not Brad Pitt, with the chiselled jaw and the blue, blue eyes, but I’m not bad looking either. Neither good nor bad: sort of in the middle, I reckon. Five foot eight, brown hair, brown eyes, no spots – that’s got to be a plus, some guys in our year are plagued with them. And Cat always used to tell me that I was cute looking. That’s something, I guess. But anyway, I told myself, looks aren’t supposed to be as important to girls as they are to boys. I read in one of Cat’s girlie magazines that top of most girls’ ‘what I find attractive in a boy’ list is a sense of humour. Yeah, that’s it, I thought. I should do something to make Lia laugh. Maybe I’ve been too serious lately. Yeah, maybe I’ve been a bit heavy, always talking about how I wanted to get out of Cornwall and what a backwater it was. Maybe she’s bored with me droning on, when she’s so happy to be down here. Yeah, I have to lighten up. I have to make her laugh. But how? I racked my brains for something funny. Tell her jokes? Do impersonations of the teachers at our school? No. Do some of my mad dancing? I had a whole repertoire – Hawaiian, Spanish, Russian, disco, go-go and alien. One of those usually got her cracking up.
Then I had a better idea.
I crept into Will’s room and rooted around in the bottom of his cupboard until I found what I was looking for. Yes, there they were, in a bin bag behind his smelly trainers. Enormous plastic boobs. We were in a fancy dress shop in Plymouth with Dad about three weeks ago and we bought them ready to make Mum laugh on April Fool’s Day. I quickly stripped down to my boxers and strapped the boobs on. Then into Mum’s room and a quick look at her wig collection. She keeps loads of them for people to try on when they don’t know how they want their hair cut. Yes, a long, blond, curly one, I think. A quick rustle around at the top of her wardrobe and I found the pink feather boa she keeps for dressing up occasions. What else? Shoes? No, Dad’s wellies. I pulled them out from his side of the wardrobe and stuck my feet into them. Hmm, sexy – not. I checked my appearance in the mirror and added a quick smudge of red lipstick to complete the look. Yes, this could work. I was even making myself laugh, I looked so ridiculous.
I crept down the stairs to the front room and listened at the door. The room was quiet. I hoped Lia hadn’t done a runner, come over all cowardly and next thing I know there’s a text message telling me that it’s all over. No, she wouldn’t do that, I thought. She’s just in there wondering how to word it. So. This was my last chance. If this didn’t get her laughing, nothing would.
I flung open the door and wiggled my false chest into the room. ‘Tadaaaa . . .’
But where was Lia? It was dark in there. I heard a click and light flooded the room.
‘ARGHH!’ I screamed, as twenty or so voices shouted, ‘SURPRISE!’
I don’t know who was more shocked – me or t
hem. Heads appeared from behind the sofa, from behind the curtains, from under the table. Half the village was in there, hiding in our front room. There was Mrs Wells from the post office, Mrs McNelly from down the road. All my relatives: Auntie Bea, Auntie Pat, Auntie Celia, Uncle John, Uncle Louis, Uncle David, Uncle Bill, Uncle Ed, Cousin Roger, Cousin Arthur. Mum, Dad, Will, Amy and . . . Oh hell. . . Gran. She looked a bit startled! And Cat, Mac, Becca and Lia, who were killing themselves laughing. Becca had to hold Mac up, he was laughing so hard. I started to bounce out of the room backwards but then they all started singing ‘Happy Birthday’.
All I wanted to do was get upstairs and get some proper clothes on, but how could I do that when everyone was singing to me. I bent over, crossed my legs and put my hands over my crotch, and tried to grin like I was enjoying it. But talk about embarrassment. This moment gets the prize.
At last the singing stopped.
‘Nice one,’ said Will, indicating my boobs and Kermit the Frog boxers. ‘That how you impress the birds?’
‘Works for me,’ said Lia, coming forward and slipping her hand into mine. ‘Happy Birthday, Squidge.’
‘So . . . you’re not . . . um, you’re not going to dump me? I thought that maybe after that game of truth, dare, kiss or promise, and you saying we had to be honest about our feelings, you meant it was time to call it a day.’
Lia looked confused for a moment. ‘Dump you? No way. Why would I? We’ve only just started going out.’
Then the penny dropped. ‘It was your job to get me here on time, wasn’t it? That’s why you were acting so weird?’
Lia nodded. ‘Yeah. Sorry about that. Your mum phoned when we were down at the beach and said to get you here fast. Some of the old dears were eating all the crisps and there weren’t going to be any left for you. But, er,’ she looked me up and down, ‘talking about acting weird, anything you’d like to say about your outfit?’
‘Yes,’ said Mum, coming over to join us. ‘Is there something you want to tell us?’
‘I . . . I wanted to make Lia laugh.’
‘Mission accomplished, I’d say,’ said Mum then she looked at my wig. ‘Though next time, go for the brunette wig – I don’t think blond is really your colour.’
Suddenly I felt a large hand on my shoulder. ‘Here, Squidge, lad,’ said Dad. ‘Come and open your presents.’
‘Give me a sec,’ I said, backing out of the room. ‘Got to change into . . . er something . . . you know, put some clothes on.’ I raced upstairs, flung off the wig, wiped off the lipstick, put on my jeans and T-shirt then belted back down the stairs again.
On the table was a pile of presents. Brilliant. One of them in particular caught my attention. It was wrapped in our traditional Squires family style: newspaper tied up with bright red ribbon.
‘Nice job,’ I said to Will, as I made my way over to the table. Everyone stood round while I ripped off the paper. Dad beamed at me when I saw what was in the package.
‘Is that the one you wanted?’ he asked.
I nodded. I was speechless. It was a camcorder. A Sony Digicam. The latest model. Way beyond Mum and Dad’s budget. ‘But Dad . . . you can’t . . .’
‘Can and did,’ said Dad, tapping the side of his nose. ‘No worries. Cousin Ed got it for me. Special deal for family. So don’t you go thinking about the cost or anything. It’s your sixteenth birthday and we wanted you to have what you wanted.’
I laughed. Our family – they’re more like a tribe. There are hundreds of us: aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins . . . third cousins. We inhabit the whole village and twenty miles around. If anyone ever needs anything doing or fixing or fetching, one of the Squires family will be able to arrange it.
At that moment, the lights went out again and Mum came in carrying a cake with sixteen lit candles. Everyone started singing ‘Happy Birthday’ again. Even Amy, who was on Gran’s lap, tried to join in with a squeal.
‘Blow them out and make a wish,’ said Mum as she set the cake down in front of me on the table.
It had been decorated to look like a camera. (It was probably done by Auntie Celia – she runs the bakery.) I looked around at all the smiling faces. This is an ace birthday, I thought, as I closed my eyes and wondered what to wish for.
I smiled to myself. My family is great. All these people here tonight are great. My mates are great. My girlfriend is great . . . so what more to wish for? My life is good. I know what to expect so . . . I wish . . . I wish for something new. I wish for the unexpected.
Then I took a deep breath and blew.
MY OWN camcorder. My own, as in not borrowed, mine. I was so chuffed, I wanted to sleep with it next to me on my pillow. I guess I’d been lucky until then as I’d always had the use of one. Well, part-time at least. Mr Cook, my art teacher, had let me borrow the school one at weekends and in the holidays, if no one else had booked it first. He’s really cool and he knows that I’m serious about getting into the film business. Always have been. He also knows that I always look after any equipment and I’d never let him down. But now, I had my own. I didn’t have to sign release slips to take out the school one. I didn’t have to share it with Mark Atman in the sixth form or Trish Donelan in Year Ten, who are also film enthusiasts. So T.T. Totally Top.
The day after my birthday, I got up at six o’clock and went down to Cawsand beach to try it out. I was hoping to get some shots of what it’s like there early in the morning, with the village slowly coming to life around the cove. This particular morning, however, the atmosphere was sadly lacking. Clouds hung heavy in the sky, threatening rain, and there wasn’t much light. There would be better mornings, I decided, and I headed for home and a bit of breakfast before school.
And that’s when it happened.
I was charging up the stairs, two at a time, when I missed my footing or slipped or something. It happened so fast. I fell back, just managing to twist myself around so that I wasn’t falling backwards. Without thinking, I put my arms out so that I didn’t land face first and bust my nose open. And then there I was, a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. I soon saw what had happened: I’d slipped on one of Amy’s teddy bears. It was on the stairs and I hadn’t seen it.
Mum’s face appeared over the banister upstairs in the hall. ‘What’s the commotion?’ she asked, then she saw me lying there. ‘Are you all right?’
I got up and shook it off. ‘Yeah. Nothing broken.’
‘What happened?’
‘Slipped on Amy’s teddy bear.’
Mum rolled her eyes. ‘That child is a health hazard. Sure you’re OK?’
I nodded.
‘Good. Put the kettle on then. I’ll be down in a mo.’
I went into the kitchen and got my video camera out of my rucksack to check it wasn’t damaged. I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be as they’re built robustly these days, but I could see immediately that something wasn’t right. I held it up to the window and looked through it. My heart sank. The view through the lens looked distorted.
As I heard Mum’s footsteps on the stairs, I quickly put the camera back in my rucksack. I didn’t want to worry her until I was certain it was broken. It might be something; it might be nothing, but no point in ruining her day, too.
‘Sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for,’ I said to Mac, when I met up with him in the lunch-break at school. ‘Unexpected doesn’t necessarily mean unexpected in a fun, good way. No, unexpected can mean a complete, utter and absolute disaster.’
‘What are you on about?’ he asked.
‘The unexpected. That’s what I wished for when I blew out my birthday candles.’
He nodded. ‘Right. So what’s happened then?’
‘Worst thing that possibly could – I broke my new camera falling down the stairs. Me, Squidge, who has used cameras since he was ten – rolled on beaches with them, hung off cliffs with them, scrambled over rocks with them and never dropped one of them, not once. Then I get a fabola new, state of the art camcorder,
and talullah, what do I do? I trip over a teddy bear that Amy has left on the stairs, go flying, crash down on to the floor, the tiled floor, I may add, and . . . kaput.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘Not sure. But I have a good idea.’
‘We could go to that place in Torpoint that fixes cameras,’ said Mac. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Can’t. My cousin Jo works there,’ I said. ‘It would get back to Dad or Cousin Ed. I can’t go anywhere local with it. Not with the tribe on every corner. That’s the downside of having family everywhere.’ Yeah, I thought, they might be able to do a deal on anything, fix anything, get things sorted, but when you want something done on the quiet, you’ve got to travel, or else word will spread like the Asian flu.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Mac asked.
‘Go to Plymouth,’ I said. ‘I have to go somewhere no one will know me.’
After an agonisingly long day at school, I set off with Mac to find a quiet photographic shop in Plymouth.
‘Sorry mate, the lens is damaged,’ said a man in a shop we found in the Old Town.
‘But can it be fixed?’ I asked. ‘It’s really important.’
The man looked again at the camera lens. ‘Maybe, but it wouldn’t be cheap. For what it would cost, you might as well get a new one.’
‘And how much would that cost?’ I asked, mentally totting up the dosh I had stashed away from my paper rounds.
‘Four hundred pounds.’
Starstruck Page 2