The Last Charm

by Ella Allbright

  Leila

  June 2006

  The Puppy Charm

  ‘How cool is this?’ Eloise spins around on the steep stone-edged steps, sapphire eyes sparkling. ‘An end-of-school party at Durdle Door. Isn’t it brilliant?’ Flinging her arms out with enthusiasm, she starts to overbalance, alarm filling her face.

  ‘Careful!’ Grabbing her wrist to steady her, I nod my chin towards the beach below us. ‘Come on, we’ll chat down there.’ Behind me Michelle – Shell – giggles and Chloe sighs. I know they’ll both be rolling their eyes, even though we should be used to Eloise’s exuberance by now. Dad calls it her joie de vivre.

  ‘Do you know what’s even more brilliant?’ Eloise smiles, ignoring my suggestion. ‘That your dad finally got you a puppy. You’re so lucky – I’m majorly jealous!’

  I can’t help grinning, excitement fizzing through me. ‘I know,’ I squeak, ‘she’s so adorable. I’ve waited so long.’ I think back to the other morning when Dad called me out to his work van and a tiny tri-coloured beagle exploded out of it. I almost cried with joy as I ran my hands over her wriggling little body and tan, white, and brown silky fur. ‘Well, I did what he asked.’ I nod. ‘I stayed in school and took all my GCSEs. I can’t believe I’ve only had her for three days – it already feels like for ever! It’s a bit of a drag that she’s not allowed out yet though. I can’t wait ’til I can walk her. Are you guys still coming to see her tomorrow?’ I crane my neck round to look over my shoulder at Shell and Chloe.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss meeting Fleur for the world,’ Shell says, face glowing with colour from our days spent basking in Bournemouth Gardens and on the pier approach.

  ‘I’ll be there, as long as she doesn’t wee on me.’ Chloe replies, before raising an eyebrow. ‘Fleur. You’re such a Potter geek. Couldn’t you think of anything more imaginative?’

  I stick my tongue out at her, used to her gentle sarcasm. ‘Fleur Delacour is cool, and totally owned the Triwizard Tournament. And that French accent! You wish you were that cool.’

  Chloe mutters something about Harry Potter being for kids, and I stick my tongue out at her again as if to prove my childishness.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Eloise says with a grin, ‘pack it in. We’re here to party.’

  Someone obviously agrees with her. ‘Yeah, move it along. I wanna get trashed!’ A voice shouts out above us, and I notice a gaggle of people behind Chloe. We’re holding things up.

  ‘All right, we’re going,’ Chloe yells over her shoulder, irritated.

  We pick our way carefully down the steps cut into the side of the cliff, following each other in single file. Looking up, I take in the amazing view. The rich blue sea, reminding me of Winsor and Newton’s oil colour French Ultramarine, laps against the stony shore. A pale sky hovers above us, stretching into the distance. It would be so pretty to paint. My fingers itch for a graphite pencil and paper to draw an initial sketch.

  As soon as we reach the beach, we take our sandals off, Chloe complaining about the millions of tiny stones beneath our feet. ‘These are going to get absolutely everywhere. Why couldn’t we go to Bournemouth beach?’ she grumbles, pushing her newly feathered fringe from her face self-consciously and straightening the empire line of her flowing red dress. ‘It’s sandy there, and right next to town.’

  ‘Not to mention there’s a pier you can go hide under to snog Simon’s face off,’ Eloise jokes. ‘You’re going to tell him you like him tonight, right? If you don’t, you won’t see him ’til September and he’s bound to have got off with someone else over the summer.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Chloe hisses, glancing around. ‘One of his friends might be listening.’

  ‘Well, I hope so. If they’re not here, he’s not likely to turn up either. Now, relax –’ Eloise reaches into her bag, pulling out some cans of beer ‘– and have one of these. It’ll put a smile on your face.’

  I reach for a beer as Chloe shakes her head. I don’t really like the taste, but I do like the floaty feeling I get after drinking a few.

  Shell touches Chloe on the arm, her hazel eyes kind. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here. And we’ll find a way for you to talk to him. I’m sure he likes you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Chloe mutters, pushing a lock of straight black hair behind one ear.

  When I moved back home at fourteen, Chloe was trying to be a carbon copy of Eloise, with a shoulder-length wavy bob and heavily filled-in eyebrows. But for the last year or so her confidence has improved, and she’s let her hair grow out, no longer plaiting it to make it kink, and wearing less make-up. She’s much prettier this way, and nice with it too – despite the fact she tends to moan a lot. Maybe it’s because neither of us has mums that we’re so dysfunctional.

  Michelle is lovely, but in a kinder, more thoughtful way than Chloe. The spots that caused her such misery when we met are long gone, and she’s even taller than Eloise, with endless legs and envy-inspiring boobs. She towers above me, and I sometimes feel like a little girl compared to them all, being the shortest by at least three inches. Eloise regularly says they’d all love to be five foot, slim, and tiny-waisted, but I’m not convinced. It’s no fun not being able to reach the top shelf or being constantly told I look younger than I am. I’m going to have to sort some fake ID out soon. We start Sixth Form in three months’ time and Eloise is already talking about going clubbing. It would be so humiliating if I couldn’t get past the doormen.

  ‘So, why Durdle Door?’ Chloe persists as I crack open my beer and take a long deep gulp, shuddering at the taste. ‘I mean, it’s miles away. Look how long it took us to get here, and how many types of transport we had to use.’

  ‘Because of that,’ Eloise answers, pointing at the craggy, beige limestone arch that bends over gracefully into the sea, solid and immovable. ‘Later on –’ she leans in, arching her eyebrows ‘– some kids are jumping off the top. I also heard from Megan Whateley that others are planning to go skinny-dipping. You can’t do either of those things at Bournemouth beach; there’s too much of a risk of the police getting called.’

  ‘Isn’t jumping a bit dangerous?’ Staring up at the stone archway created by hundreds or potentially thousands of years of erosion, there’s a funny dip in my stomach. I’ve got a bad feeling at the thought of people jumping off it, and as I slide my chunky mobile phone out of my pocket and see the low signal, the feeling gets worse. It’s just past 7pm, so we’ve got hours to go. Eloise’s older brother Max won’t be here to pick us up until midnight.

  ‘Don’t worry –’ Eloise catches my eye ‘– people do it all the time. Just enjoy,’ she encourages me, smiling. ‘Feel the vibe in the air.’

  I must admit it’s a beautiful setting for a party. The endless sea views in the evening sunshine are incredible. I can’t believe I never knew this existed, right on my doorstep. There’s no hint of a breeze and the sea is calm and flat. Lines of brown seaweed form lacy patches along the beach. I can hear birdsong and the waves make only a rhythmic whisper of sound against the shore. Far noisier than the elements are the couple of hundred or so pupils from our school and others from the surrounding areas. I look around, following my friend’s advice and soaking up the atmosphere. Various groups of kids are unfurling blankets, setting up ice boxes and stripping down to swim shorts and bikinis before racing down to the water.

  ‘Come on, let’s go –’ Eloise jiggles on the spot ‘– I want to find Jonny, and you never know, Chloe, Simon might be with him.’ Turning to glance over her shoulder, she grins as she looks back at us. ‘It’s chaos. I love it!’

  She sets off, sure we’ll be following in her footsteps. I’ve always envied her vivacity and confidence. And why wouldn’t she be those things, with her cloud of curly black hair, heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and curvy figure? Looking down at my skinny knees in denim shorts and my virtually flat chest, I sigh, knowing I’ll have to go in the sea later. I’ll be keeping my T-shirt on when everyone else is using the excuse to strip off. Hollyoaks has a lot to a
nswer for, and just underlines how boring and sensible I am for not sleeping around or crushing on the wrong person.

  If I had a mum, maybe I’d talk to her about how inadequate those TV programmes make me feel, and how my figure means I’m practically invisible to boys. Perhaps she’d pour me a cup of tea, pass me a slice of homemade cake, and say it won’t last for ever. Reassure me that one day I’ll blossom, and they’ll notice me, and having a boyfriend isn’t the most important thing in the world anyway – it just feels like it sometimes. She’d hug me tight and stroke my hair and finish off by saying that if I’m happy being single, that’s all right. But I don’t have a mum, and there’s no way I could confide any of this to Dad. We’d both be mortified by that type of conversation.

  I twist the silver bracelet around my left wrist, playing with the handful of charms hanging off it. It holds six now: a plain silver heart; a tiny pencil; a silver conch shell with a pink interior; an open book with squiggly lines etched into its pages; a round disc with the sea, a setting sun, some seagulls, and a boat engraved on it with a tiny blue gem stone on its hull; and finally, a minuscule silver dog, which arrived this morning. Despite what Dad and Grandad Ray say about Mum never being in touch with them, she must be. How else would she know to send me the dog charm today?

  The only time I’ve ever taken the bracelet off was when I was rushed to A&E a few years ago and one of the nurses insisted I remove it when they were treating my burns. She didn’t want me to lose it in the hustle and bustle of the hospital, she said, while helping me into the open-backed gown. I shudder, not liking to think about that night. There are too many bad memories.

  I turn the dog charm between my fingers, a smile touching my lips. The bracelet sometimes looks bare because it has so many empty links, but I have faith Mum will send more charms to fill it up. Most of the time I resent her for leaving and never coming back, for not staying in touch on a regular basis. But at other times I’m just glad she makes the effort with the charms, even if it’s only every few years. It means that every so often, she thinks about me. That she cares, even if her stubbornly continued absence says the complete opposite.

  I try and shrug off the thoughts which could lead me into a black cycle of pain and despair. The blare of music is rising, and as we trudge along the beach to find Jonny and his friends, I realise there isn’t one central source of sound. My ears pick out different tunes blaring from a variety of speakers and the contrasting beats and tempos thrum through my body. With them, my spirits rise. We’re free at last. School’s over, my uniform’s in the big black refuse bin. We’re done. And when we go back in September, it’ll be different; we’ll be treated like adults.

  As we move from one group of kids to the next I raise my hand and wave at people, smiling and nodding. Tipping my head back to swallow more beer, I gaze up at the peaks and dips of the chalk cliffs towering above us, the tops and sides of them covered with vibrant green grass. The pockmarked cliff face sweeps down to the beach, and in some places, I can make out small caves running along the base. Some kids are already climbing up to explore them. Three points for guessing what the caves will be used for later.

  A giggle escapes me. After months of feeling somehow apart from others, with the pressure of revision, exams, and my future on my shoulders – things only I could do something about – I suddenly feel part of something bigger, unified in something amazing with the people around me. There’s a crackle of energy in the air, like electricity. I grin. This is going to be fun. What could possibly go wrong?

  ***

  It’s getting late. The sun’s rays have dimmed, and a couple of campfires have been built with driftwood to provide flickering light. It’s past 10pm, and everyone has gathered into one big mass, a knot of teenagers in a jagged circle. Music’s still playing, voices rising and falling in unpredictable patterns above the melodies. The day’s still muggy but the air isn’t quite as warm on our skin. My bum is going numb from sitting on the shingle, but I’ve had a great time. It has been fun. We’ve eaten, danced, drunk, laughed, and played. We swam, we splashed each other, and Jonny shocked us all by stripping off and jumping into the waves naked in front of everyone – a challenge to Eloise in his eyes. I honestly didn’t know where to look, so instead dove into the salty green-blue of the waves, closing my eyes against the image.

  The fabric of my T-shirt drifted against my skin over my swimsuit, and for a moment I pretended I was a mermaid and that if I kept swimming, I’d find a magical world out there under the sea. It was a fanciful thought, and I was embarrassed by it – I’m nearly sixteen, for God’s sake – but as soon as it flowed through my head, a vivid picture formed, and I knew I’d be painting that mermaid someday. For a moment I wondered if I was drunk, but I’d only had one can of beer. I’m glad of it now as I don’t have that floaty, out-of-touch feeling I get after three or four.

  Huddling in my beach towel next to Shell, our eyes meet. We share a smile before looking over at Eloise and Jonny kissing, and then at Chloe, who’s curled up shyly within the semi-circle of Simon’s arm. She’s gazing up at him in adoration. I’m both happy for her and sad at the same time, with a hint of jealousy thrown in which I immediately feel bad about.

  ‘Hey, isn’t that Jake Harding?’ Shell asks suddenly, gazing across the fire at a small group that’s broken off from the rest of us.

  Tension runs through my body. ‘What? Where?’ I squint across at them.

  ‘Yeah, he came with Owen Plaitford.’ Eloise finally detaches her mouth from Jonny’s and looks at me as I twist back to face her. ‘They stayed friends after he left. I spoke to Owen earlier.’

  ‘What?’ I squeak. She could have said. Then, I scowl. If he’s stayed in touch with Owen, why hasn’t he stayed in touch with me? I thought he liked me, but maybe I was fooling myself and it was just a passing friendship, like the intense ones when you meet people on holiday, sharing secrets with them, and then never seeing them again.

  I’ve always wondered what happened to Jake after his dad tore him away that day, feeling guilty for my part in it. Now, every time I see Pandora sitting on my packed bookshelf or catch sight of my book charm, I remember that short skinny boy and I’m caught between a mixture of gratitude and annoyance. If it all meant nothing, why did he give me the charm, especially when he knew how important the bracelet was to me?

  ‘So, Leila, are you going to make my night, or what?’ A pair of wet shorts appear in front of my face, their owner thrusting his groin towards me.

  I rear back. ‘Urgh! Leave it out, Shaun,’ I groan, shaking my head.

  He’s Jonny’s friend, and thinks it’s hysterical to pretend he fancies me and try it on. At school, he’ll sneak up behind me and grab me around the waist to pick me up or pluck my bag off my shoulder and make me chase him for it. Once he stuck his face in my neck and pretended to snog me loudly in front of everyone. I laughed and half-heartedly pushed him off, knowing we’re just friends, noticing how he watched for Shell’s reaction from the corner of his eye.

  Leaning over, Shaun lifts me off the sand, bringing me in tight for a big hug, soaking my T-shirt and swimsuit all over again.

  ‘Shaun, you git!’ I yelp. ‘I only just dried off!’

  ‘Git?’ He mock roars. ‘I’ll teach you, you uppity little cow!’ Bending his knees, he tries to scoop me up over his shoulder, but I leap out of the way squealing.

  Just as I open my mouth to laugh, a hand yanks Shaun backwards by the shoulder, sending him flying with the unexpected strength of it. ‘Leave her alone!’ A deep voice yells. I see Shaun’s feet leave the ground and he actually sails through the air like something out of a cartoon, his back arched. There’s a muffled ‘oof’ as he lands on the shingle not far from the fire. The breath whooshes from him and he curls over onto his side.

  ‘Shaun!’ Shell and I run over as Chloe and Eloise spring to their feet. He’s lying on the ground, red-faced and groaning.

  Shell drops to her knees and rolls him over, moving his
head onto her lap, her hair streaming down around their faces. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Shit.’ Wheezing, he takes a deep breath. ‘Yeah, think … so …’ he mutters. ‘Just winded. What the fuck happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. Some guy just went postal.’ Frowning, she glances up at me. I look around, shrugging my shoulders in bewilderment.

  Shaun’s breathing is coming a little easier as Shell helps him sit up, dusting him off with a gentle hand. She winces. ‘You’ve got some cuts and grazes on your back from the stones. We should put some antiseptic cream on them. I’ve got some in my bag.’ She gets to her feet, holding out her hand. ‘Come on. Can you walk?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’ As he stands up unsteadily, he puts an arm around her shoulder, leaning in. ‘If I knew all I had to do for your attention was get shoved around at a party, I would’ve done it months ago.’

  Shell rolls her eyes. ‘That’s tragic.’ But there’s a little smile on her lips.

  It looks like all my friends are coupled off, and the thought stings. But I ignore it, and seeing Shaun’s okay, I spin around. ‘Did anyone see anything?’ Everyone’s standing there watching, hands over their mouths whispering and gossiping. ‘Who did that?’ People shake their heads, watching as Shaun limps off with Shell. ‘Anyone?’

  ‘It was me.’ A voice with a faint northern twang says from amongst a crowd of heads, before the bodies part and a tall form walks through. ‘Are you okay?’

  I can’t see much of his face as the only light is from two nearby fires, but it’s enough to recognise him, even though he’s about a foot taller than the last time we saw each other. I take in the familiar scar, the sharp cheekbones, heavy eyebrows, and thick black hair. ‘Jake.’ I gulp. He looks like a stranger but also familiar at the same time. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’ He’s not a short skinny teenager any more. He’s much taller than I remember and with him in swimming shorts, I can also see a lot of muscles. I force myself to focus on his face and pray my fair skin won’t betray me. ‘What were you thinking?’