“Yes, please, Jack,” Rose says, all saccharine sweet.
“Very well,” Jack says. “Once upon a time there was a handsome, charismatic, intelligent and weirdly single prince, and a mean, grumpy, spiteful ogre. Even though the prince tried to do nice things for the ogre he just got it slapped back in his face the whole time, because the ogre was an old miser who just wallowed in gloom and was a literal killer of joy. In fact, the ogre had killed all the joy in the whole kingdom, so there was no joy left and everyone was very sad. But the brave prince had a plan, because he knew the ogre didn’t used to be so bitter…”
“Right!” I say. “So, I hear we’re off to the outward bound centre?”
“That’s tomorrow,” Mum says. “We’re staying the night at Auntie Karen’s.”
I stare at her as the blood drains from my face. “Oh, no.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JACK
I’d assumed Nate’s lack of enthusiasm about staying the night with Auntie Karen was just Nate being Nate, but within five seconds of meeting the woman, I can see she’s a nightmare. I’m not sure how much older than Mrs Nate she actually is, but she gives the impression it’s at least ten years. She wears a blunt bob cut and a permanent look of disapproval. But that’s not the worst of it.
“I wasn’t expecting quite so many of you,” she says, as she ushers us all in through the massive front door of her huge farmhouse, somewhere just north of Cambridge. “I’ve put you boys in the barn; I’m sure you’ll prefer having more space to all bunking up in one room together, and there’s plenty of straw in there.”
“In the barn with straw – like animals?” I hiss at Nate.
Nate just shrugs and gives me an I told you so type of look.
“Sorry, Karen,” Nate’s mum says. “We’ve somewhat multiplied.”
“Hmm, positively viral,” Karen replies. “In you come anyway – shoes off, boys, please! We don’t need three pairs of muddy trotters running through the house.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, as I kick my sparkling silver trainers off.
“It’ll get worse,” Nate whispers.
We’re herded through to the huge kitchen at the back of the house, which is decked out in marble worktops, an Aga, four other ovens fitted into a unit on the wall, and even a built-in coffee machine. On one of the walls some words are painted: “Have hope. Be strong. Laugh loud. Play hard. Live in the moment. Dream BIG. Smile often,” and so on. It’s so inspirational it makes me want to slit my wrists. “Sit down, everyone,” Karen instructs us. “I’ve made a stew – as I say, I wasn’t expecting so many of you, but hopefully I can make it stretch.”
I raise my hand. “I’m very happy to not eat, I had—”
“Well, it’s made now, so we don’t want to waste it, do we?” Karen snaps. She starts slopping it out into some small bowls. “A cow died to make this stew.”
I look, unblinking, at Nate, who just shakes his head. At least she’s serving it to us in crockery. I was half-expecting to be eating from a trough on the floor. When the stew has been handed out, Nate’s mum takes a small spoonful and immediately says, “Oh, my goodness, this is delicious, Karen, thank you so much!” and everyone makes little noises of agreement, and then we all eat in agonizing silence for what feels like ten minutes. And for the purposes of full disclosure, the stew is not delicious. The meat is tough, the stock watery and thin, and the vegetables hard. All the kitchen equipment known to man cannot help Karen cook, but then it’s very clear that Karen does not see food as a pleasurable thing – it’s purely functional. I can tell from the look of hard focus on her face that Karen eats only to stay alive, and if she could just take a pill instead of an actual meal, she would. Although she would still want a kitchen with five ovens.
“How are the kids?” Nate’s mum asks.
“Izzy is having a gap year before uni – she’s building wells in Africa.”
“Oh, where in Africa?” I ask.
Karen’s brow furrows. “Africa!”
I blow out a small breath.
“Jonty’s in his final year at St Marks High – he’s predicted all As for A levels and he’s got a place at Oxford – I think they liked the fact he’s head boy and rugby captain. He’s actually down in Twickers for the week.”
I glance at Nate and mouth, “Twickers?” because anyone who is called Jonty and goes to “Twickers” (rather than Twickenham) needs to be obliterated. But Nate just looks scared and shakes his head again at me.
Karen glances at Nate with an overly wide smile. “What about you, Nate?”
Nate puts his fork down.
“Sorry,” Karen says. “Can you put that in your bowl, not on the table, please?”
“Sorry,” Nate says, hurriedly picking the fork back up.
“So are you staying on for sixth form, or what?” Karen asks.
“Um … yeah.”
Karen waits for more, but Nate’s clammed up and I don’t blame him. Karen shakes her head and turns to Nate’s mum. “He doesn’t talk much – is he going through a moody phase?”
“He’s all right,” Nate’s dad says.
Now he’s finally spoken, Karen has someone new to terrorize. “So, Micky, such a terrible shame you lost your job at the yoghurt factory.”
“Yeah.”
Karen nods, looking very concerned. “But I suppose everyone is turning against dairy these days – what with the environment and all, and if you don’t adapt, you die. We’ve cut down to six international fights a year and bought bamboo toothbrushes. What about you guys? I see you’re trundling around the country in that clapped-out van – is it even unleaded?”
Nate’s dad goes to speak.
“Rhetorical question!” Karen says, raising her hand to stop him. “I’m just saying we all need to be mindful of our consumption these days. That’s why we made a conscious decision not to fly on holiday this summer – we’re taking a cruise instead. Those ships are something else, let me tell you. The food is out of this world. And the shows! West. End. Standard.”
“You know that cruise ships emit three times more carbon than aircraft, right?” I smile.
Karen stares at me. She literally wants to speak to my manager, right now.
But it’s OK, Nate’s mum jumps in with an overly chirpy, “Oh, that sounds wonderful, Karen!” I don’t know why she’s so submissive and simpering towards her older sister, but it’s really pissing me off.
“You should definitely go on a cruise – if you ever get the chance,” Karen says, eyes full of tragedy that she thinks we never will because we’re not as rich as her.
“Oh, I have,” I say.
Karen raises her eyebrows.
Nate actually puts his head in his hands and makes a little whining noise, like a sort of … cry for help, I suppose. I get that he wants me to shut up, but I’m not going to sit here and allow this to happen. I don’t like people making other people feel like shit.
“Hated it,” I merrily continue. “It was just hundreds of obnoxious snobs with no class cooped up on a floating prison. The food wasn’t high quality, there was just a lot of it – the variety hiding the fact it’s actually nothing special, like an all-inclusive hotel buffet. And the musicals were crap – if I want to see a production of Grease – and to be perfectly honest, why would I? – I’ll see the proper show with the full cast, stage hydraulics and flying, thanks.” I grin at Karen. “Oh, I’m not saying any of that will happen to you, it was just my experience. I hope you enjoy it, Karen.”
Karen’s face looks like she’s chewing a wasp, that’s how much she now hates me.
And then, joy of joys, Elliot pipes up. “Yeah, my gran went on a cruise and it was a brand new ship and everyone was super excited, until the plumbing malfunctioned and basically all the toilets.” He stops, realizing everyone is just staring at him in horror. “Anyway, it was pretty icky, puke and poop-wise.”
The mention of “poop” makes Rose giggle. “I don’t want any more stew, it’s ho
rrible,” she whispers to Nate’s dad, way too loudly.
Karen smiles through all this, and then turns to Nate again. “So, Nate. How’s your love life? Got yourself a nice girlfriend yet?”
OK, so where do people get off asking this question? My god, I want to cancel Karen so badly.
Nate shakes his head, pushing a piece of carrot around his bowl.
But Karen isn’t giving up. “Really? I find that surprising, sixteen years old and no girlfriend. Jonty got together with Alice when they were fourteen, and they’re still together now.”
“No, I’m single,” Nate mutters.
“Haven’t got your eye on anyone?”
I mean, this woman really is not giving up.
“You’re not a bad-looking lad—”
Seriously? She actually said that?
“I’m sure there’s a young lady out there somewhere for you—”
Nate looks like he’s about cry. I can’t let this carry on. “Actually!” I say. “Nate, Elliot and I are all single and we’ve all had it up to here with love and romance. We’re over it. Nothing but trouble. People only let you down in the end, and like the words of wisdom on your wall say—” I point at the wall. “Give up. Stay angry.”
“No, that’s never give up. Never stay angry,” Karen says.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s confusing. All the words are so jumbled up and next to each other. I thought the ‘never’ was connected to the words below it: Never keep your promise.”
Karen scowls at me. “That’s just, Keep your promise.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.” I stretch and yawn. “I’m bushed. Time to cosy down with the other farmyard animals, boys. Karen, is it permitted to use your bathroom, or should I just go in the middle of a field?”
Karen narrows her eyes. “It’s up the stairs, first on the right.”
“Awesome.” I beat my fist on my chest. “Live, laugh, love, everyone!” and head out to find the bathroom.
Helpfully, the bathroom is also decked out with words on the wall, which is good because if it wasn’t for the “Shower, enjoy, relax, clean, bathe, tranquillity” how would I know what to do in there?
Truth is, I feel bad for Nate, and I feel bad for how I was with him earlier on this trip, at the cabin, and the Travel Inn, when I accused him of not telling people he was gay. Just because I guess I make it look easy, doesn’t mean it is for him. And also, it’s no one’s business but his. God, what if Karen’s continuing her interrogation right now? What if poor Nate’s cracking under the pressure? I send him a text, just to let him know he’s got this, and what better than one of the many quotes on Karen’s bathroom wall:
Walk like a champion.
Moments later, Nate replies with,
I swear to god, go fuck yourself.
I chuckle, because any response but especially that sort of response means he’s probably OK and there’s only a small chance he’s furious with me for behaving like I did in front of Karen.
I’m walking along the landing towards the stairs when I hear voices. It’s Mr and Mrs Nate, having a hissed conversation by the door to their bedroom.
“I don’t know, Mick,” Mrs Nate is saying. “She just always makes me feel so bad about myself.”
“Well, don’t let her!” Mr Nate replies.
“It’s always a competition!” Mrs Nate continues. “She always has to prove how much more money they have, or how their house is bigger, their kids more successful!”
“Is all this because she’s going on a cruise?”
“No, Mick, it’s not because she’s going on a cruise, it’s … well, it’s bloody everything, isn’t it?”
And then I hear the door slam, and Mr Nate sigh heavily.
When I get down to the barn, Nate has already got my sleeping bag out and set it up next to his, with Elliot on his other side. “I got your sleeping bag ready,” he says to me.
A smile creeps across my face at his cute little way of being grateful. “Thanks, Nate.”
He gives me a small, slightly shy smile back, then sighs and says, “I know I should have told her I was gay.”
“Hey,” I say. “What you do or don’t tell people is entirely up to you. And I was wrong to suggest otherwise, so I’m sorry.”
Nate’s eyes widen.
“Also, no way would I want to come out to that utter passive-aggressive bitch – why does your mum put up with it? Literally, her sister is a monster.”
“She’s always been like that. Always trying to show us how much better she and her family are compared to ours.”
I nod. “Trust me, no one who has to have ‘laugh loud’ written on their kitchen wall is ever doing any laughing, and if you’re going to have ‘shower’ and ‘bathe’ written on your bathroom wall, then why not ‘urinate’ and ‘evacuate your bowels’?”
Nate and Elliot both laugh.
“Well, it’s OK, I added them,” I say.
Nate turns to me, deadly serious. “Oh god, please say you didn’t.”
I give him a little wink. “Night, night, sleep tight, hope all the fleas and ticks in this rank barn don’t bite!”
Nate scowls, pads over to the light switch, and flicks it off. I hear him stumble through the straw, back to our little camp, and get in his sleeping bag, doing a hell of a lot of huffing and puffing.
“Jack?” he says. “You didn’t?”
“I’m asleep.”
“Jack? I won’t sleep unless you tell me. I know you didn’t, but I need you to say it.”
“OK, then. I didn’t.”
There’s silence for a bit. I can almost hear his mind ticking over. “Argh!” Nate growls. “That makes it sound like you’re just saying that now!”
Elliot and I both chuckle.
“OK, something else,” Nate says. “That story you told Rose on the way here? About the prince and the ogre? Was that supposed to be about us?”
“Oh! Ho, ho!” I laugh. “Someone is clearly going to get a top grade in GCSE English!”
“Shut up, Jack.”
“Shut yourself up!”
“I actually hate you.”
“Oooooh!” Elliot coos. “Now, now, boys!”
“Nate, is it that you need a hug?” I say.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Nate replies, with a real edge to his voice.
Nobody says a word, but Nate is clearly restless, and after a bit he growls, “Jack! All I can hear is your breathing!”
“I mean, I have to breathe.”
“Well, do it less loudly! Christ! Or I swear to god, I will smother you in the night.”
I sit up in my sleeping bag. “Nate, those are very harsh words. You speak of murder and hate.”
“I do,” he grumbles.
“But you should speak of love.”
“Shut. Up.”
“Don’t make me wrestle you, Nate!” I warn him.
“Yeah, you don’t want to be wrestled by Jack,” Elliot tells him.
“I just want to sleep now,” Nate says.
“You should never go to bed, or leave a room, on a cross word, Nate.”
“That’s pretty hard with you around.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “Really. And what if … suppose you said such mean things, and that was the last time you saw me, or I died or something, and then all you would have would be your horrible words and all the guilt.”
“Whatever.”
“No, but, Nate, it’s true! People die all the time. Every second. In the time it’s taken me to say this, multiple fatalities have occurred.” I take a deep breath. “All I’m saying is, tell people you love them. Hold your loved ones tight. It may be your last chance. And, for the record, I love you, Nate.”
“Jesus,” Nate mutters.
I smile to myself. It’s so glorious winding him up like this.
Nate turns over in his sleeping bag. Huffs a bit. Turns again. Huffs some more.
“Grrrrgh,” he growls.
I wait for it.
More huffing.
More turning.
And then, eventually, in the smallest voice imaginable,
“Love you,” he mutters.
Finally! This is how it used to be. Gently winding each other up. Enjoying it. Laughing. It feels good to laugh with him again.
CHAPTER THIRTY
NATE
“Happy Sungay, Gaybies!”
I open one eye and see Jack standing in front of me, dressed in bright red cut-offs, a white T-shirt and rainbow braces. “Happy Sungay,” I croak. He’s an absolute gay vision and I love him for it. Proud. Confident. He’s him and he doesn’t care. Like he didn’t care about sticking it to Auntie Karen last night – just brilliant. Not sure my parents will think that, but I’ve been dying to say something for ages.
Elliot stirs next to me. “Morning, is there breakfast?”
“Well, great story,” Jack says, eyes sparkling. “I went to find our generous host, Karen, in the kitchen, to ask if there was a bag of feed or some turnips I could throw down for the other boys, thinking I was making a joke, but it turns out it’s much worse than that. She’s made some porridge.”
“I like porridge,” Elliot says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Jack smiles at him. “Mmm, me too, especially when it’s all creamy, with a nice dollop of honey or maple syrup, right? Or some fresh berries, or a splodge of jam, or loads of sugar sprinkled on top that just starts to caramelize?”
“Mmm!” Elliot agrees.
“Except she’s made it with water and salt, and that’s it. Literally, it’s like we’re in Oliver Twist. It’s grey. And there’s a great big vat of it congealing in the kitchen.”
I sigh. “We’ll ask my parents if we can stop at a service station on the way to White Water Lakes – maybe we can have a cooked breakfast.”
“Brunch! An excellent idea!” Jack says. “And in the meantime…” He pulls his hands out from behind his back. “I may have borrowed a box of Pop-Tarts from the cupboard while Karen was busy beating a small child for stealing a crumb of bread.” He slings us a Pop-Tart each, like a Frisbee, but it’s too early and my reflexes are too slow.
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