Girl, 15: Flirting for England (26 page)

‘You guys stand up!’ said Jodie to Jess, Marie-Louise and Edouard. ‘There’ll be more room if everybody stands up. This tent wasn’t designed for nine.’

Jess, Marie-Louise and Edouard struggled to their feet. In the course of the struggle, Jess spent a dire couple of seconds with her face buried in Marie-Louise’s tummy, and immediately afterwards received a painful stab in the ribs from Edouard’s elbow.

WORROWORROWORROWORRO!
Another thunderclap went hurtling across the sky. Flora screamed and clung on to Gerard. Jodie screamed and clung on to Ben Jones. Less excitingly, Marie-Louise screamed and clung on to Jess. Rain hammered on the roof of the tent. This was not the delightful fairylike touch of a gentle moonlit shower, which can sound so delicious on the tent roof as you lie in your sleeping bag. No, this was weather
war.

‘Maybe we should seek shelter in the house, my friends,’ said Fred in an old-fashioned voice. ‘’Twould be tragic if we were to be struck by lightning and killed. Well, ’twould be tragic if I perished, anyway.’

‘NO!’ said Jodie. ‘We’re much better off where we are!’

She was certainly better off where she was – with Ben Jones’s arms around her. His expression wasn’t exactly ecstatic, though. You could never quite tell what Ben was thinking, but it was obvious that if he really wanted, he could do much better than cuddling up to Jodie.

Eventually, after a few more rumbles of thunder and much synchronised screaming, the rain eased off and the thunder seemed to roll away into the distance. They stepped out into the saturated field. The dark cloud was scudding off towards the horizon. Sun now poured down and the grass actually steamed.

‘Oh, look!’ cried Flora. ‘A rainbow!’

There it was, cutely poised over Auntie Rose’s house. Moments later, Auntie Rose ran into view, clutching her camera. She aimed it at the sky and fired. Then she turned back and waved.

‘Everybody OK?’ she called. ‘Nobody drowned or struck by lightning?’

‘All OK!’ yelled Jodie. And then added in a kind of whisper, ‘Oh no! Remember she said there were only supposed to be six of us! Quick, let’s go down to the river.’

Everybody took off at speed, with Jess and Fred bringing up the rear. Jess hated sport and never worked out; Fred was just a feeble swot.

‘And the plucky English girl is fading fast!’ puffed Fred in his sports-commentator voice. ‘The French are in the lead! They’re going to get gold and silver! The British team is absolutely nowhere!’

Fred’s account of things was not quite true. Ben Jones seemed to have won the race down to the river, and Gerard was second. Edouard came in third, because his legs were shorter.

‘Hey! Why don’t we have a picnic lunch down here?’ said Flora.

‘But it is wet ze grass!’ objected Marie-Louise, looking down in horror at the glistening earth.

‘We could get a blanket or something,’ said Jodie thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Auntie’s got a sort of tarpaulin thing. I’ve seen them in the barn.’

Suddenly, Jess felt a raindrop hit her nose. Oh no! Another shower! Before anyone could decide what to do about it, another fierce little storm blew up. There was no thunder or lightning this time, just rain, and plenty of it. At first everyone sheltered under a tree, but then the tree itself started to drip. Flora got the giggles.

‘Oh, who cares!’ she cried, and waltzed out on to the open grass. She looked up to the heavens, stretched out her arms and laughed. ‘Rain on me as much as you like!’ she yelled. Rain ran down her face. She laughed and sort of danced about, getting wetter and wetter. ‘If you can’t beat it, join it!’

‘Flora Barclay of Ashcroft Harriers seems to have taken leave of her senses,’ said Fred in his commentator’s voice. ‘They’re sending in the St John’s Ambulance people now, and I suspect they may be escorting her along to the nearby Fred Parsons Memorial Psychiatric Unit.’

Gerard joined Flora in the field, and they held hands and whirled around at speed.

‘Zey are a bit stupide,’ said Marie-Louise quietly. She was still clinging to the tree trunk, trying to shelter, and casting longing glances up the hill to the tents, or even better, the farmhouse.

‘So, Ben, when are you coming back to school?’ asked Jodie, grinning eagerly. The sight of Flora and Gerard dancing in the rain didn’t seem to have upset her one little bit.

‘Yeah . . . on Monday,’ said Ben. His voice was divine: growly and somehow golden.

The rain stopped and the sun came out, possibly as a result of Ben Jones having spoken. Everybody was a little damp, but Flora and Gerard were absolutely saturated.

The group relaxed a little, and moved away from the tree. It was too wet to sit down, so they just stood about. Ben Jones caught hold of the ropes that were hanging from the branch of the tree, above the river. He disentangled them.

Ben tested them, selected one, took hold of it carefully and, with a great push, launched himself across the river. He didn’t drop down on the other side – he just swung to and fro. Everybody watched. All the girls were mesmerised. Even Flora stopped dancing about with Gerard and stared in admiration at Ben for a while.

Then, all of a sudden, Gerard grabbed the other rope and also started swinging to and fro. He raised his feet and next time he swung past Ben, he gave him a friendly but firm push. It didn’t seem to affect Ben at all, but it threw Gerard totally out of line. Gerard’s rope sort of whirled round and round, out of its usual pattern and came back, heading for a big collision with Ben.

‘Feet up!’ yelled Mackenzie from the bank. They both raised their feet and collided – or, at least, their trainers did. Gerard’s rope went whirling around again, out of control. Now Ben’s rope was swinging in a dangerous random way, too.

‘And the French have lost it,’ said Fred in his commentator’s voice. ‘That was almost a foul. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a yellow card for that, or possibly a penalty point and one hand cut off for cheating.’

Gerard and Ben swung towards each other again, and this time Gerard, rather stupidly, gave one huge heave with his feet – so much, in fact, that he lost his grip on the rope, swore (in French) and fell. The girls screamed. Everything seemed to go into slow motion.

Jess hoped he wasn’t going to fall in the river or hit his head. Luckily he landed on the bank, on his feet. But he hit the ground awkwardly, at an angle: his ankle buckled under him and he fell heavily on his side, letting out a terrible howl. He grabbed his ankle and kept yelling, ‘
Ma cheville! Ma cheville!
’ And he went a truly horrible shade of green.

Flora flew to his side, knelt down beside him and panicked in a really irritating way, like somebody in a silent movie. She stroked his head, she tried to hold his hand, she touched his leg, she generally made herself totally useless.

‘What shall we do?’ she shouted. ‘What shall we do? What shall we do?’

‘Fetch Auntie Rose, somebody!’ said Jodie, also kneeling down by Gerard. Marie-Louise ran a few steps uphill, then came back.

‘I cannot speak ze English enough good!’ she said.

‘Ben!’ shouted Jodie. ‘Run!’

Ben set off.

‘No, wait, come back!’ yelled Jodie. ‘You don’t even know Auntie Rose. You don’t know where the kitchen is or anything. Fred, you go.’

Fred shrugged, looked useless and set off. Ben came back and squatted down by Gerard.

‘It could be broken, it could be just sprained,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Give the guy time.’

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Ben, looking at Gerard with true concern. Gerard ignored him.

Jess watched the whole event in a kind of freeze-frame. What if Gerard had broken his ankle? How totally, utterly awful. And what if the pain was so bad he was sick? His face was that horrible green colour. Jess hoped that, even if he had broken his ankle, Gerard would have the heroic self-control not to be sick. But Gerard did something worse. He
cried.

It was embarrassing. Flora grabbed his hand and stroked it, but he pushed her away. Marie-Louise fussed about, getting out her hankie but feeling too embarrassed to offer it. Edouard hovered nearby, just in case a healing insect might be required. Ben Jones stayed right beside Gerard, with one hand on his shoulder. Mackenzie just gabbled.

‘I’m sure it’s not broken, cos we’d have heard the crack. Did anybody hear a crack? I didn’t hear a crack.’

After what seemed like a century, Auntie Rose came hurtling down the field, with Fred following. He was far too cool to be seen running, especially in the company of a middle-aged woman carrying a shopping bag.

Auntie Rose arrived, examined Gerard’s ankle, spoke to him quietly in French, rummaged about in her bag and produced a pack of frozen peas, which she slapped on his foot.

‘That should stop the swelling,’ she said. ‘I’ve rung Geoff on his mobile and asked him to come down here with the four-wheel drive. He’ll be down in a few minutes. I don’t think it’s broken, but maybe we should take him to the A&E unit, just in case. Geoff will know what to do. The animals are always hurting themselves.’

‘It’s a good job he’s not a racehorse,’ said Fred. ‘Or he might have to be shot.’

‘Shut up, Fred!’ snapped Jess. When not being totally brilliant, Fred was the biggest idiot in the world.

Chapter 35

Jodie’s uncle Geoff turned up in a 4x4, liberally garnished with cow poo. He was a huge guy, covered in straw and looking a bit annoyed. He and Aunt Rose helped Gerard into the back (still holding the pack of frozen peas on his ankle) and drove him up to the house. The rest of the gang trudged back up the field. It was raining again.

‘Oh, I hope Gerard hasn’t broken his ankle!’ said Flora.

‘Course he hasn’t,’ said Jodie. ‘He’s just making a fuss. He’s such a cry-baby.’

‘Rather harsh,’ said Jess. ‘I frequently cry at adverts for old-fashioned bread, especially if they involve grandpas. And you only have to say “kittens” to Flora and she’s off.’

‘Yes, but he’s a bloke,’ said Jodie. ‘Guys are supposed to be strong and manly and stuff. I could never fancy a bloke who cried when he sprained his ankle. I went right off him.’

‘Really?’ said Flora coldly. ‘It only made me like him more.’

They walked on in silence until they reached the tents. Fred and Edouard climbed into the boys’ tent. Ben Jones and Mackenzie walked off to where they had left their mountain bikes under a tree, and got out their jackets. The girls went into their tent to try and find dry clothes. Jodie looked grumpy and martyred.

‘I suppose I’d better get up to the house and sit by his side and hold his freakin’ hand,’ she said, with just the faintest hint of grim triumph.

Flora, who was drying her hair, stopped suddenly, fiddled with her rings and looked at the ground.

‘Could I come, too?’ she asked timidly.

Jess hated her for this. Why couldn’t she just keep her dignity intact? Why did she have to beg Jodie for another chance to drool all over Gerard?

‘The thing is,’ said Jodie, with a furtive look on her face, like a politician who is lying at a press conference, ‘I’m beginning to think we should cancel the weekend and go home. All this rain and stuff. We’re all soaked. Especially you.’ She glared at Flora, who was still saturated from her mad dance of love in the rain. Flora blushed slightly.

‘Yeah, well . . .’ Flora said, shrugging and trying unsuccessfully to look as if it was all the same to her whether she ever saw Gerard again. ‘My dad did send me a text saying they’d changed the weather forecast and the rain’s going to come back and get worse.’