Emma hearts LA (3 page)

Michael pulls up next to us in an ordinary-looking silver car and piles our cases in the boot. All our other things are being shipped and probably won’t be here for about six weeks.

‘Ooh, you’ve got a Prius?’ Mum says, and Michael spends the next five minutes telling her all about how much more efficient and economical this car is than his old one, while Bex and I fiddle with our phones. I’ve got a text and I click on it, hoping it’s from Jessie, but it’s actually from the local mobile provider welcoming me to LA.

Once we’ve managed to get out of the snarl of airport traffic and onto the main road, Bex tells Michael about the meeting she’s got set up with a casting agent. Vivienne, the woman who owns Starmakers, the stage school Bex has been going to for years, arranged it. I always assumed Vivienne’s stories about her own acting career were exaggerated to inspire her pupils, but Mum and Bex have spoken to the agent – who’s actually flown over in the past to see some of Starmakers’ stage shows – and she’s said she’s interested in sending Bex out on some castings.

As Bex talks, I stare out of the window with a weird sense of déjà vu. Pretty much this time last year I was with Jessie going to New York for the summer. We were both so excited about spending the summer as good as parent-free (Jessie’s mum was much too busy to worry about what we were up to) and about possibly meeting amazing boys. Jessie met Finn and now they’re totally loved-up, but I didn’t meet anyone at all, unless you count the guy in the deli who looked like an older, fatter Joey Tribbiani and was possibly more into Jessie than me anyway. I never seem to meet anyone. Or at least no one I like who also likes me.

We turn down a series of nondescript streets. I can tell we’re in America because of the shops – Radio Shack, Walgreens, Sprint – but there’s nothing to suggest we’re in LA – no paparazzi or Hollywood sign, just boring shiny high-rise buildings and yet more palm trees. And then we turn off into a residential street lined on both sides with bungalows. It reminds me a bit of the estate we used to live on, before Mum and Dad split up. Michael, Jackie and Oscar lived there too, before they moved to LA. The roads are much wider here than at home, but the houses are quite similar. It gives me a funny feeling in my stomach, like we’ve taken our old life and moved it to LA. And then the road narrows and the houses are closer together and it starts to look like the Caribbean – little balconies and smaller palm trees and—

‘Oh,
wow
!’ Bex cries.

I see it just a second after she does – a white wooden bridge over a river. Each side of the river is lined with houses, every one different: a modern, square building painted bright blue stands next to a huge white villa with balconies and columns. Some of the houses have little wooden jetties poking out onto the water and a few even have kayaks tied up. I had no idea there was anything like this in LA.

‘Where are we?’ I find myself asking.

‘Well, we’re not quite there yet,’ Michael says from the driving seat, ‘but it’s almost your new home.’

We cross another bridge and then another and then pass a small children’s playground which is where a sign tells me these aren’t rivers at all, but canals. I knew we were coming to live in Venice, but it never occurred to me that there’d be canals, like the
real
Venice. We turn off into a side street and pass yet more odd and mismatched houses. Some are painted bright colours, others look unfinished, and a few are plain concrete and look more like multi-storey car parks than anyone’s home. And then Michael pulls over to a grey painted house on the left and says, ‘Here we are.’

I feel a clutch of disappointment that we’re not actually staying on a canal, but I don’t say anything. Those houses probably cost a fortune. At least we’re near enough that we can walk around the canals. I can’t wait to check them out.

I get out of the car and turn in a circle to take in our new neighbourhood. Directly opposite our house is a building site: enormous rickety-looking metal gates with
KEEP OUT
signs. In the gaps I can see a half-built building and a portaloo. Lovely.

‘This is so exciting!’ Bex says, grabbing my arm.

I give her a look and she rolls her eyes at me.

‘How far away is your house?’ she asks Michael as we follow him under the carport to the back door.

‘Back there, off the road before we turned on to the canals. Not far at all.’ He steps back and gestures for Mum, Bex and me to go through the door in front of him.

‘The utility room is through there,’ he says, gesturing right, as we all follow him down a dingy hallway, but then he opens a door to the kitchen and Mum says, ‘Oh my god!’

The kitchen’s light and bright and about four times the size of the kitchen in our rented house and twice the size of Mum’s perfect kitchen in our old home. And when I see the living room I hear myself gasp. It’s got a wood-burning stove, wooden floors, a beamed ceiling and enormous windows through which I can see – I cross the room in about five giant steps – the canal.

‘It’s on the canal!’ Bex shrieks.

It really is. There’s a door out onto a terrace overlooking the canal. We all troop out there and stand staring.

‘So what do you think?’ Michael says, but he looks really smug; he knows full well we’re going to love this house.

‘It’s fantastic,’ I say, and he reaches over and squeezes my shoulder.

It makes me miss my dad. I wonder what he’d think of this place. I can’t really picture him sitting out on this deck, having coffee and reading the paper. I can picture myself out here, though.

‘Shall we have a look at the rest of the house?’ Michael says.

We follow him back through to the hallway and up some narrow stairs. The bedrooms are just as gorgeous as the rooms downstairs and they all lead out onto another terrace with sunbeds.

‘It’s absolutely perfect,’ Mum tells Michael as Bex goes from corner to corner looking at the view and I hang back – I don’t like heights.

‘There might be some noise from the building works over there,’ Michael says, gesturing over the back of the house towards the site I saw when we first pulled up, ‘which is why it came in a lot cheaper than the other houses. But it shouldn’t be too bad, at least in the evenings and weekends anyway.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ Mum says. ‘Thank you so much for sorting this out.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he says.

Once Michael’s left to let us get unpacked and settle in, Mum puts her arms around me and my sister. ‘So what do you think? Better than you expected?’

‘Much better,’ I say. ‘I was expecting one of those apartment blocks around a pool with a dead body floating in it.’

Mum laughs and squeezes me. ‘My little optimist.’

I wake up to the sound of birdsong and a weird whirring noise I can’t quite place. Then I open my eyes and remember – the ceiling fan. I stretch my feet down to the bottom of the bed and look over to my right where I left a space in the curtains so I could look out and remind myself of exactly where we’ve ended up living.

You wouldn’t know we were in the middle of not only a city, but an enormous city – all I can see is the wooden terrace, trees and sky. It’s gorgeous. I jump as something taps against the window and drag myself out of bed to check. If it’s a raccoon I’m getting on the next flight home. I pull my curtain back slowly, squinting as if that’ll protect me from whatever’s out there, but it turns out it’s just Bex. She’s wearing a Justin Bieber T-shirt (she says it’s ironic – I’m not so sure) and her school gym shorts.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I ask her through the glass.

She gestures at me to open the door, so I do before crossing the room and getting back in my bed.

‘Yoga!’ she says, bounding into my room like Tigger. ‘I thought we could do it every morning. You know, on the terrace?’

‘Feel free,’ I say.

‘No! Both of us! I think it’ll be really good! We can have some sister bonding time. You can get a bit more flexible, you know?’

‘I don’t need to be more flexible,’ I say, burrowing down under the covers. ‘I’m as flexible as I want to be.’

‘It’s good for you!’ Bex says. ‘This is California. Beautiful people! You need to step it up!’

‘Why do I?’ I say. I can hear a weird thudding noise. I open one eye. She’s actually running on the spot.

‘Because we’re in LA now!’ she says, and starts stretching. ‘I’m going to get fit. I’m going to start running, and Mum says she’ll get me a bike. Or maybe some rollerblades. Do you think people really do rollerblade at the beach? Like in films?’

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ I tell her. ‘But you’re on your own.’

‘Fine,’ she says, and I hear her cross the room again. ‘But just for today. You’re joining me tomorrow.’

‘Whatever.’

I go back to sleep.

When I finally get up, Mum and Bex are sitting on the deck downstairs. Mum’s writing a list.

‘Sleep well?’ Mum asks.

‘Really well,’ I tell her. I was surprised because I went to bed thinking about home and Dad and how different everything is here, so I expected to lie awake for ages, but I think I must’ve fallen asleep straight away. The bed is really comfy. ‘You?’

‘Great,’ she says. ‘I think we were all worn out from the journey.’

‘You didn’t expect to sleep either?’ I ask her.

She shakes her head. ‘I thought I’d be too worried. You know, about work and this house and driving in LA!’ She makes a horrified face. ‘I suppose I can just worry about that today instead.’

‘Has the university got a car for you?’ I ask her.

She nods. ‘Michael sorted that out too. Didn’t you see it when we got here? It’s a blue Mini.’

‘I didn’t notice.’ I was probably too busy looking at the building site and the bins.

‘Do you need anything?’ she asks, pointing at her list with the pen. ‘We’re going to walk up to the shop. Michael left us a map.’

‘No thanks, I’m going to have a shower and unpack.’

Mum and Bex head off with their list and I sit and look out at the canal. Directly opposite our house, four little boats are tied up and pointing out into the water. One’s a kayak, and the others are rowing boats. There’s a bird sitting on each one – two huge white birds that might be herons and two smaller brown ones with curved yellow beaks. I can hear the water lapping against the plastic. The birds shift from foot to foot and ruffle their feathers.

I hear voices and splashing and I go to the gate to look down the canal. Obviously people must use these boats otherwise they wouldn’t be here, but I can’t imagine who. The boat that’s coming towards me looks like one of the rafts we made on an outward-bound course the school forced us on a couple of years ago. It’s like two kayaks held together by planks of wood. Two men in high-vis jackets are standing on each kayak and holding fishing nets. At first I think they are actually fishing, but as they come closer I realise they’re cleaning the canal. And there’s a little motor at the back of the boat.

Then behind them, on the opposite side of the canal, I see Oscar. I know it’s him immediately, even though he’s got bright red hair – like tomato red – and his hair used to be mousy brown. It’s something about the way he walks – it’s kind of loose and relaxed, but nervous at the same time, as if someone’s following him but he doesn’t want them to know he knows. I think about shouting his name, but it’s so peaceful here that it seems wrong. As I watch him, he bends over and starts walking really slowly, as if he’s tracking something.

I get up, step into my flip-flops, grab the keys Mum left for me, and pull the door closed. By the time I reach the canal path, Oscar’s gone out of sight, so I hurry along, hoping I’ll still be able to see him round the corner. When I get to the bridge, I spot him. He’s walking slowly, sort of bent double, and he seems to be talking to himself.

As I cross the bridge, a huge bird lands right in front of me. It’s pure white with bright yellow rubbery-looking feet and a really pointy beak. I stop and stare at it. It stares back at me. But when I take a step to carry on towards Oscar, it flies right for me. I gasp with shock, the bird skirts right over the top of my head and then I’m choking. I think I’ve swallowed – or not quite swallowed, obviously – a fly. I’m gasping for air, coughing and clutching at my throat.

‘Emma?’ I hear. I’ve got my eyes closed. ‘What are you doing?’

I open my eyes and cough violently again. Oscar’s standing at the bottom of the bridge looking up at me. ‘I swallowed a fly,’ I croak.

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘You know what you need to do?’

‘If you say “swallow a spider” I’ll have to kill you.’

‘Oh.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘I can’t help you then.’ He grins and for a second I’m a bit startled – he’s so much better-looking than he used to be. His features always seemed too big for his face, but he’s obviously grown into them because now he’s definitely cute. I wasn’t expecting that.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask, gesturing at the bit of the canal where he was doing his weird walking.

‘Oh,’ he says. ‘You saw that. I was just seeing the ducks home.’ At least he has the decency to look a bit embarrassed.

‘Pardon?’

‘The ducks!’ He gestures around the corner.