Within minutes of our arrival at “V Machine” it becomes apparent that’s not what we’re going to be getting. The first clue was the tag line, under the main title on the huge banner we drove under at the entrance:
V MACHINE
The family-friendly festival
celebrating all things veg!
We all see it. There’s silence. Probably shocked. And then Nate pipes up.
“Veg? As in … carrots?”
I swallow. “I mean, it’s in, it’s cool, right? No one’s eating meat these days.”
“I eat meat,” Nate replies darkly.
“It’s not about the food, it’s about the bands,” I tell him. “I’m going to message Leila Bhatia, let her know we’re here.”
“Why do you insist on always using her full name?” Nate mutters.
I don’t answer him, since Mr Grumpy appears to have resurfaced. Shit, shit, shit. I really hope this isn’t a gigantic mistake. I’m counting on this festival to really do the business, likes-wise. I ping Leila Bhatia a quick message, super cool, like we’re equals:
Heeeeeey, Leila, we have ARRIVED at V Machine! So buzzing for this, ha ha! Let me know if you’re about, would love to say hi, thanks again for this amazing chance. Jack. (We met at the hotel, I’m sure you remember, but just in case, ha ha, lol)
I sit back as the camper van slowly snakes its way in a queue, along the track towards the camping area, while Nate sits there, shaking his head and actually muttering to himself. Up ahead, there’s a human-sized parsnip and cauliflower entertaining the passing vehicles by dancing. “Join us tonight in the Vegscape for veg-tastic cabaret!” they shout through our open window.
I turn to Nate. “That’s just the family-friendly stuff,” I whisper. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the real party!”
“I don’t know why I didn’t do this before,” Nate says, tapping away on his phone. “I just assumed you knew what this thing was.”
“Which I do!”
“Be sure to check out the vegetarian cooking demonstrations in the Vegzilla tent,” Nate reads aloud.
“Go to the bit about the bands.”
“And don’t forget to visit our mini-festival within the festival, VegVerse, a celebration of poetry and art with the theme of … wait for it, Jack, can you guess the theme?”
“Veg?” I say in a small voice.
He tucks his phone back in his pocket. “So cool, because I bloody love courgettes.”
I smile. “Do you?”
“Shut up, of course I don’t.”
“I like tomatoes,” Elliot pipes up. “But they’re technically a fruit, which is mental.”
“OK, so, we’re not here for the veg, we’re here to party.” My phone pings. Thank Christ. “And that’s Leila Bhatia, so now I can introduce you and we can find the VIP stuff and get properly mashed.”
“No one’s getting ‘mashed’,” Nate’s mum says. “Not on my watch. You can have one supervised glass of cider each, and that’s it.”
“The only things getting ‘mashed’ at this veg fest are the potatoes!” Nate’s dad grins, twisting his head around to look at us, mouth open like a muppet at his fabulous joke.
We all just stare at him.
“Everyone, this is the Leila Bhatia,” I say, waving my hands up and down the length of her body like I’m demonstrating the top prize on a TV quiz show. “Instagram influencer, and very kind provider of our free tickets to V Machine!”
Leila gives everyone a polite smile. She’s dressed in skinny jeans and knee-high leather boots. She looks so utterly sophisticated and kick-ass, especially in contrast to us boys, who, due to the water incident, are down to emergency clothes reserves. Nate’s back in his PE shorts (which he claims aren’t PE shorts), Elliot’s in these board shorts, garishly decorated with flamingos and palm trees, and it’s only I, in my skinny-fit, super soft stretch denim shorts, with rips, in pastel pink, who is maintaining any sort of standards here.
“Really glad you could make it,” Leila says. “V Machine is a great festival for people who don’t really like traditional festivals, so I hope you all have an amazing time!”
I laugh. “Yes, but there’s some music and stuff, right?”
“Oh, yes,” Leila says.
“Yes! See?” I say.
“It’s more folk bands, acoustic indie stuff, obviously none of the big acts because this is all about authenticity and being eco-friendly. It wouldn’t be right to fly over a huge band and all their entourage and put them on a huge stage with all those amps and lights – think of the carbon footprint!”
“I know, right?” I look at Nate, who is just staring at me, unimpressed. “So, any bands we might have heard of?”
“Jasper Phats and the Oink Oinks?” Laila says.
I run my tongue over my lips. “Amazing, we’ll check him and his Oink Oinks out.” I turn to make introductions. “So this is Elliot, Nate, Rose and Nate’s mum and dad.”
Everyone shakes hands.
“So, who exactly do you influence?” Nate’s dad asks. “This is a whole new world to me. Is it something I could do?”
Nate rolls his eyes. I feel a bit sorry for Nate’s dad. I know he lost his job and all, and, sure, I guess he’s looking for new options, but I’m not sure Instagram influencer is one he should be considering.
“I’m a lifestyle blogger,” Leila tells him. “I specialize in mindfulness, retreats, meditation, that sort of thing.”
I nod. “She’s really good. The best. She has half a million followers.”
“Wow,” says Nate’s dad. He looks genuinely impressed. “And you … make money doing this?”
“I do paid promotions for brands that I respect, yes.”
Nate’s dad nods. So does Nate’s mum. I think his parents like Leila, but then she’s the most sensible person our age they’ve met on this trip.
I clap my hands together to move this on, because I don’t think Nate can take much more of his folks embarrassing him by asking perfectly reasonable questions like normal people. “We’re gaining followers on our Insta account!” I tell Leila.
“Yeah, I really admire what you guys are doing – showing your exes you don’t need them! Hopefully this festival will get them nice and jealous!”
“Ha ha, yeeeah,” I say. I glance at Leila. It would be so cool to get a photo of us with her. That would definitely get some attention, especially from Dylan, because he absolutely worships the ground she walks on.
“We’ll definitely get some good posts out of this festival,” I say. “Like, maybe even … now? Look at this backdrop.” I wave my hands across the vista of tents and line of Portaloos behind me.
Leila hoots with laughter. “Horrendous.”
I swallow. “Is it?”
“So horrendous it’s brilliant – let’s do it!”
“Hooray!” I say, and immediately start arranging us all in the best formation – Leila in the middle, me and Nate flanking her, Elliot in front, on his knees. My proposal that we all pretend to be looking at something random and strange in the distance is accepted, and we all pose with expressions which vary between wonder, disgust and horror, with Leila actually pointing at the pretend thing, whatever it actually is.
The photo is fabulous. It’s fabulous. I immediately upload it, tag Leila and caption it: Add your own caption, we’re too busy #LovingLife at V Machine! And then I add something which makes me crazy happy, and it’s not even a lie: #Gifted Yeeeeeeees! Hashtag gifted, mofos!
“Right, gotta run,” Leila says. “But I’ll catch up with you boys later and we’ll do some shots, yeah?”
We all nod like those funny dogs you see in the back of cars sometimes, but then I turn to see Nate’s mum, looking like, No way is that gonna happen. This concerns me. We upheld our side of the bargain; we did the stupid water thing, now it’s our turn.
“What I think would be a good idea, boys,” she says, “is if we all did something as a family.”
Nate groans.
“Family is important, Nate!” his mum continues. “Karen’s always posting pictures of her family all together, doing activities. That’s what normal families do. And that’s what we’re going to do.”
Nate takes a deep breath. “You agreed, if we did the raft building…”
“Well, it’s just one thing,” his mum replies.
Nate crosses his arms. “What?”
Elliot looks up from the festival brochure he’s reading. “How about this? There’s an interactive exhibition. One hundred surprising ways with cucumber,” he says, looking between us with wide eyes. “If eating them’s one, what are the other ninety-nine?”
“Not that, Elliot,” Nate’s mum says. “It sounds silly, and I’m sorry, but I’m not putting on Facebook that I’ve taken a group of teenage boys to an interactive cucumber exhibition. It’s simply wrong.”
“Then what?” Nate repeats.
“There’s a panel event on in the VegVerse tent actually,” Nate’s mum sniffs. “Family, Faith and Fennel in the context of feminist verse novels.” She clears her throat. “Sounds interesting. Shall I book us tickets?”
“I’m going to find some food,” Nate says. And he stomps off.
Nate’s mum shakes her head and walks over to the van, scowling. And I know I have to do something to save this situation, because otherwise Nate’s going to be in a bad mood, his mum is going to scupper our plans – which will result in crap pics, no likes, and bang goes any hope of my influencer career.
“Yoo-hoo! Mrs Nate!” I sing, brandishing two compostable takeaway cups, hoping half an hour is enough time for her to have calmed down.
She looks up from where she’s sitting on one of those foldaway camping chairs, reading a copy of House & Home magazine. “Having fun?”
“I thought you might like a—” I hold up one of the cups.
“That’s thoughtful. What is it?”
“It’s a dairy-free turmeric latte. I know. Sorry.”
She smiles. “No, that’s very kind, Jack.” She takes the cup from me. “Thank you.”
I nod, take a swig myself, and wince. I wish I’d found somewhere that sold normal drinks. “So,” I say. “Are you having a … good time?”
Mrs Nate smiles and sighs. “It’s OK, Jack. You don’t have to make small talk. Go and enjoy yourself, you don’t want to hang around with a stick-in-the-mud like me. Go on, I’m fine.”
“Aww, Mrs Nate!” I say, pulling up the other foldaway chair and siting down next to her. “I don’t think that!”
“You’re the only person who doesn’t.” She sips her drink. “I’m only trying to do my best for everyone.”
“Well, I think you’re great.”
Mrs Nate gives me an unimpressed look.
“Look,” I say. “About Nate. About earlier…”
She shakes her head. “I’m not interested, Jack. I know he had a little heartbreak over Tariq, but that doesn’t excuse his bad behaviour. Sometimes in life you just have to suck it up.”
“But can I say something, though?”
She blinks once at me.
“You can’t get mad,” I add. “I’m just saying this as a … an outside observer.”
“This’ll be good.”
“All it is, I know you’ve sometimes got a downer on Nate, and I get it, because sometimes I have too, but you know, he’s actually a really great person.”
Mrs Nate snorts.
“No, but it’s true!” I protest. “You know, on the way to our cabin in the woods, he actually saved my life? From a gunman?”
“What? Oh, dear Christ, what the hell—”
I put my hand up. “It’s fine. As it turns out, it was just an army exercise, but when Nate saved my life, he didn’t know that.”
Mrs Nate rolls her eyes.
“He’s funny,” I continue. “Often unintentionally, but I’m not sure that matters. And he’s sensitive. And I think that’s a good quality. I think lots of people storm through life and don’t give a damn about other people, but Nate isn’t like that. He cares. He just sometimes doesn’t know quite how to show it.”
“Wow, you’re a big fan of my son.”
I smile, because, you know what? Yeah, I am, actually. I am a Nate fan. Sure, he annoys the hell out of me at least three quarters of the time, but I’m still a fan. I guess there’s just something about him…
“Jack?”
I glance back at Mrs Nate. “Well, I… We were best friends for a long time.”
Mrs Nate’s looking at me. She’s not actually smiling, but her eyes are kind of smiling, if you know what I mean?
I swallow.
“I mean, that’s all,” I say. “That’s all.” I take a sip of the latte. “Turmeric’s good for you, did you know that? It’s anti-inflammatory.”
Now she smiles. I don’t know why.
“So what’s this in aid of, Jack? Is this some roundabout way of getting me to agree to you three going off and doing whatever you like?”
“It’s just … the VegVerse tent? Of all things!”
“Sometimes educational stuff is good!”
“Why is it?”
“Because it’s what people do!”
“What people?”
“People, Jack! People like my sister and my mother!”
I hold my hands out, like, So?!
“They don’t even know we’re at a festival, I dread to think what they’d say,” she mutters.
I think I see what the problem is here, but I’m nervous of slagging Karen off to her own sister. Whatever Mrs Nate feels about her, she’s not going to want me wading in with my opinion, however fabulously devastating that opinion is. So I’m going to have to go with the next best thing. “About Karen’s stew,” I say. “Yours is better. You cook a great casserole, Mrs Nate.”
She narrows her eyes slightly. “When did you have my stew?”
“Last time I came for dinner, which, granted, was about three years ago. But it’s top food, Mrs Nate. So much better than Karen’s. However many ovens she has.”
Mrs Nate laughs.
“Also,” I add, boosted by her reaction to this first Karen criticism. “I don’t really like all those slogans over her walls, like, what’s that about?”
She laughs again.
“Ooh! Ooh!” I mock. “Jonty is at Twickers!”
She stops laughing. “Jonty’s OK,” she says.
“Well, maybe, but point is, Karen made Nate feel bad, when she was going on about him not having a girlfriend, and I don’t think that’s right.” I look at her. “She shouldn’t be making anyone feel bad. Just ’cause she does everything by the ‘rule book’ but, like, who even made up the ‘rule book’ and who said you have to follow it?”
Mrs Nate sighs and looks away.
“So, I got you something else, actually!” I say brightly. “I booked you a one-to-one session with a yoga guru.”
“I’m sorry?”
“He’s going to help you connect with your chakra, among other things. My treat,” I tell her, handing her the details on a piece of A4. “Since you invited me along on this thing.” It’s the least I can do. Mum put enough cash in my account, and I haven’t even contributed for petrol or anything yet.
“But…”
“I’ve booked it now. No refunds. So.”
“Well, when?”
“At three.” I nod. “Oh! Oh dear, that clashes with the VegVerse panel event, doesn’t it?”
Mrs Nate narrows her eyes at me. “You’re unbelievable.”
“It’s often mentioned.”
“So sly!”
“Honestly, I didn’t realize when I booked it.”
“Ooh, I could throttle you!”
“Namaste.” I get up to leave.
“Jack?” Mrs Nate smiles at me. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure!”
“Also … those things you said about Nate? Maybe you should tell him that.”
“Oh, no, no, no. I don’t think Nate would like that.
He’d be weirded out.”
Mrs Nate nods. “Well, then, maybe you could just … show him?”
“Show him, how?”
“You know what he really loves?” Mrs Nate says.
I nod. “The tender touch of another boy.”
“Curly Wurlys.”
“Curly Wurlys, right. Does he? OK.”
“I’m sure you can work your magic, Jack!”
“Say no more! If it’ll mean a lot to Nate, I’ll find him a Curly Wurly!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
NATE
Of course Mum wouldn’t uphold her side of the bargain. I hope Jack now understands why he should never have trusted her in the first place. If there’s one thing Mum loves, it’s controlling my life at every turn, carefully manipulating it in any way that might possibly meet with the approval of Auntie Karen and my grandma.
I stomp around the festival site, looking for something to eat, and that does nothing to improve my mood. I understand it’s a festival of vegetables, but, honestly, the lack of meat is ridiculous. I know what I’m about to say is completely unacceptable and everyone will hate me, but I like meat. I love it, actually. I love steaks and burgers and fried chicken. I adore bacon. Right now, I would kill for some smoky barbecue ribs, succulent and dripping in a rich, sweet and sticky sauce. But all I’m seeing is chickpea curries, “burgers” that are actually mushrooms, tofu, and I JUST WANT TO CRY because all I want to do is sink my chops into the juicy goodness that is a Quarter Pounder with cheese and bacon.
Anyway, I’m just wandering around the site at this point, and I don’t know how long it’s been. I’m in some, I’m in some sort of trance, I think because of the lack of animal protein in my body, and I’m very weak and disorientated and confused when Elliot finds me.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
I stare at him, blinking, trying to focus my eyes. “I thought I could smell hot dogs,” I mutter.
“I have something you might like,” Elliot grins. “Ready? TA-DA!”
And there’s no way of saying this that doesn’t sound like a euphemism, but it’s totally not: Elliot pulls a Peperami from his shorts.
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