Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture! (3 page)

‘I gave it to her for her birthday!’ said Flora. ‘It’s all my fault! Mum’s broken her leg and we’ve had to cancel the holiday and everything.’

‘Oh no!’ cried Jess in dismay. She knew how much Flora had been looking forward to wandering through the cloud forest and admiring the howler monkeys.

‘Never mind, darling.’ Mrs Barclay stroked Flora’s hair. ‘Jess has come to cheer you up! Haven’t you, Jess?’

Jess nodded as cheerfully as possible. It was, however, the very opposite of what she had come for. Flora was supposed to be cheering
her
up, for goodness’ sake!

How ironical. Flora was devastated because her holiday had gone down the toilet; Jess’s life had gone down the toilet because of an unwanted holiday. Jess had to stop thinking like this. She was starting to want to
go to
the toilet.

‘So how’s your mother?’ enquired Flora’s mum.

Flora stared tragically at the carpet. It was clearly Jess’s job to transform the mood of the party from deep gloom to ecstasy with a few well-chosen witticisms about her mother, of all things.

‘Well, Mum’s excited,’ she began, without much inspiration. ‘We’re going on a . . .’ Jess paused. Was it tactless to mention her own holiday? She hesitated. ‘. . . a kind of a trip . . . mainly to see my dad.’

‘A trip!’ Flora’s mum’s eyes lit up. ‘How lovely for you, Jess! Your father lives in St Ives, doesn’t he? Oh, I adore St Ives! All those beaches! All that art! You’ll have such a fabulous time.’

‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Jess doubtfully. ‘My mum and dad don’t exactly get on. And Granny’s coming with us. She wants to throw my grandpa’s ashes into the sea.’

‘Oh, bless her, what a wonderful idea!’ Flora’s mum’s voice softened slightly, acquiring semi-tragic overtones. ‘How romantic and yet terribly sad. I would like to be thrown into the sea, Flora, when the time comes – now, don’t forget, darling.’

Flora looked, for an instant, as if she would like to throw her mother into the sea right now. Or possibly herself.
There are times so hard that you’re torn between homicide and suicide
, thought Jess, and Flora was clearly in just such a dilemma.

‘So you’re going on a lovely kind of tour! What’s your route going to be?’ asked Flora’s mum.

‘I’m not sure . . . it’s a very last-minute thing,’ admitted Jess. ‘Mum did mention ruined abbeys and stuff.’

‘Ruined abbeys!’ cried Flora’s mum in rapture, as if she would like one on toast right now. ‘Doesn’t that sound marvellous, Flora? Isn’t Jess lucky?’

Flora roused herself from her deep depression, reached across and squeezed Jess’s hand.

‘Yeah, I’m glad you’re going to have a fun time, babe,’ she said. But there was a strange sort of sighing sound in her voice. Her own tragic failure to go on holiday was clearly a lot more interesting than Jess’s tiresome ruined abbeys.

Jess’s own modest little tragedy had been totally outclassed by Flora’s family crisis. Flora’s family was, as usual, superior. Even their disasters were more glamorous than hers.

Flora’s mum moved slightly on the sofa, and winced with pain.

‘Ow! Ow! Oh dear! I’m useless!’ she said.

Jess couldn’t help feeling a bit jealous. It seemed such a waste of a broken leg, causing Flora’s mother so much distress, when Jess would have welcomed a broken leg with open arms – as it were.

Immediately Jess tried to think of loads of lovely fun things which Flora’s mum could still enjoy, even with a broken leg. It wasn’t a very long list.

‘It might be a good excuse to do jigsaws,’ suggested Jess hesitantly.

‘Oh, I adore jigsaws!’ cried Flora’s mum. The woman was so determined to be positive that even if Jess had suggested bungee jumping, she was sure that plucky Mrs Barclay would have signed up for a session right away.

‘What a brilliant idea! Let’s get the Royal Family jigsaw out!’ said Flora’s mum, and Flora went off to get it. Her little sister, Felicity, then appeared, carrying her flute.

‘Mum, will you listen to my flute solo and tell me if it’s all right? I’ve been practising for ages and I can’t get the middle section fast enough.’

‘Of course, darling!’ said Mrs Barclay. And this was the fatal moment when the evening kind of solidified into awfulness. Jess just had to grit her teeth and get through it.

Instead of pouring her heart out to Flora and receiving massive amounts of tender loving care and sympathy, she spent an eternity listening over and over again to Felicity’s extremely dull flute solo, while looking in vain among hundreds of jigsaw pieces for the Queen’s teeth.

It was almost a relief to be out alone on the pavements, walking home afterwards in the dark. At least she could wallow in her own misery and not be required to make sparkling conversation with people even worse off than herself.

Tomorrow she would have to start packing. And she hadn’t even had a chance to break the news to Fred yet. The street lamps had come on, and rather grim little pools of light punctuated the deep shade of the trees that lined the avenue. Jess was almost at her front gate when a hooded figure stepped out from the shadows and barred her path.

Oh my goodness! She was going to be mugged! The perfect end to a day of unparalleled vileness. The figure towered above her, his face blotted out because of the street lamp behind him. Jess’s heart leapt in panic and she saw huge headlines in tomorrow’s paper: SCHOOLGIRL MURDERED BY HER OWN FRONT GATE.

Help me, God!
She uttered a silent, desperate prayer.
I’ll enjoy every minute of that lovely history tour with my mum, if only you’ll let me live.

The figure grabbed her arm. ‘Hey, not so fast!’ came a harsh, rasping voice. ‘You don’t escape so easily. I, the Hooded Horror, must first drink your hot blood.’

It was Fred.

Chapter 4

Jess was swept up into a gigantic hug.

‘I’ve been hanging about here,’ growled Fred into her hair, ‘for three hours. I’m on all the CCTV footage. Prime suspect for all the major crimes round here. Where have you been, for goodness’ sake? Flirting with lover boy?’

Jess giggled into his shirt. Fred could make her laugh even in moments of the deepest gloom – which, let’s face it, just about described the situation right now.

‘Who’s lover boy?’ she demanded indignantly.

‘Ben Jones, of course,’ said Fred. ‘I know you still secretly long for him. You’re dying to run your fingers through his beautiful blond football-captain’s hair. Admit it!’

‘What utter garbage, Fred!’ said Jess. ‘You’re lover boy these days – or hadn’t you noticed? Ben was just a very old crush.
So
last season. Besides, I actually came round your house at five o’clock, looking for you – and you were out. So where on earth were you? Giving extra English lessons to Jodie?’

‘Aha!’ said Fred mysteriously. ‘I was out in town, arranging a very special treat for you.’ He released her from his arms, reached inside his jacket and produced a glamorous white envelope.

Jess knew, at the back of her mind, that she must tell Fred the bad news about her enforced holiday with her stupid family, but she couldn’t bear to mention it yet. Whenever she was with Fred they had the best time. Right now, he was waving the white envelope above her head. Jess jumped up a couple of times, laughing and trying to snatch it, but Fred was so much taller, he just reached up and it was way out of Jess’s reach.

‘It’s rather like training a small but eager dog,’ he said mockingly. ‘Shall we go walkies?’

‘Give me the envelope!’ said Jess, ‘or I’ll morph completely into a cute little dog and pee on your shoes!’

‘Sweet!’ said Fred with a grin. ‘Tempting . . . But OK . . . you can have the envelope. It’ll cost you . . . hmm, one kiss, though.’

Jess launched herself eagerly back into his arms.

She had read somewhere that you shouldn’t throw yourself at boys. It was best to preserve an elegant sort of mystery and poise. That was how you would retain your allure, or something. Jess knew for sure that her allure was zilch. Her only hope of retaining Fred’s interest was to grab him and cling to him and never let him go. So, completely without mystery or poise, they kissed.

It was a humdinger. Five minutes later they broke apart for breath. In an ideal world they would have had access to a half-time shower, a pep talk from the coach and some high-energy sport glucose drink. But none of these was available: just a dark, deserted street.

The kiss had completely wiped from Jess’s mind everything else in the world: the envelope and her awful news. Maybe her mother was right about relationships with men destroying one’s brain. Jess looked up at Fred and Fred looked down at Jess. He widened his eyes and made a soft hooting noise like a baby owl. They had always imitated animals and birds to each other, all their lives, since they were little kids at playgroup.

Then he produced the white envelope again and, with a formal bow, presented it to her. Jess was vastly intrigued. Her hands trembled slightly. There was something so white, so beautiful and crisp about it. It glimmered in the street lamps, full of promise.

Jess tried to open it very gently and elegantly, but her little finger sort of got stuck under the flap, so in the end she ripped it open with an impatient yell. Inside were two tickets to something . . . for a moment Jess couldn’t quite make it out in the gloom. Then she saw the words:
Riverdene Festival
. Oh wow! It was the music event to die for! All Jess’s favourite bands were going to be there!

‘It’s two tickets for Riverdene,’ said Fred. ‘I thought we could elope there next week. I’ve been saving up for months, working in the newsagent’s on Sunday mornings and stashing away my gold in a strongbox under my bed. My mum says we can borrow one of our tents – or if your mum’s not happy about us sharing a tent, we can take two. Just to keep her quiet. So. What do you say?’

Jess was dumbstruck. She couldn’t think of anything more amazing than going to Riverdene with Fred. But what catastrophic timing! Her heart seemed to crack and crumble. It was hopeless. But Fred was looking at her with such happy, shiny eyes that she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. So for a moment it was impossible to say anything at all.

‘You’re right to hesitate, of course,’ he said, filling the silence, but there was a slight edge of worry in his voice. He speeded up. ‘The thought of spending several days in a field with thousands of unwashed kids would fill anyone with dismay. Of course. Perhaps it’s the idea of proximity with me which is causing you a moment’s hesitation? Let me assure you that, if you require it, I will happily pitch my tent half a mile away. I will only speak to you from a respectful distance. Or possibly even send a note.’

Jess laughed, but her face was filling up with secret tears again. Poor, dear Fred! This lovely surprise of his made her bad news so much worse.

‘And if the discomforts of open-air living are a cause for concern,’ Fred continued, ‘the good news is that the long-range weather forecast is fine. Though personally I have a sneaking regard for rain. Indeed, I feel it is a very underrated weather pattern and possibly its time will come, though not, I hope, while we are at Riverdene.’

Still Jess said nothing. But a tear slid down her cheek. Fred put his arm round her shoulders.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. It was very unusual for Fred to speak in such a short sentence. He had obviously begun to sense the crisis.