Gone (6 page)

I had to admit he didn’t, which amused him even more for some reason.

“Would you like to stay for a BBQ when you come back?” Mum glances between myself and Joshua as she asks. She has an expression on her face which I would describe as confused but optimistic.

My own expression must be downright shocked.

Is she joking? In two years she has never willingly invited a friend of mine into our house. A risky game to play with your teenage daughter. She may have kept unsavoury characters out of her house and away from Emily, but at the same time she opened up more opportunities for me to loiter down alleyways and get thrown out of pubs for under-aged drinking. It’s a game she lost.

Maybe the sea air has gone to her head and she has decided to change tactics. Or maybe she has finally given up caring.
Who knows?

I am shaking my head at both her and Joshua. A BBQ with my family sounds like a dead boring idea – just for me.

“A BBQ sounds great.” Joshua gives another one of his breathtaking smiles that make his cheeks look like they are going to split.

I am thinking up a reason for why the BBQ does not sound like a great idea at all, but the only one I can come up with is, “I wouldn’t bother, it’s going to be dull.” I roll my eyes in their sockets just to reaffirm my point.

This makes Joshua laugh, a noise he looks quite surprised at as he places a hand on my elbow and turns me for the door.

“Shall we go for your surf lesson, Bex?”

“Rebecca.”

“Bex.”

Rebecca.”

Joshua starts to tow me towards the door, my elbow still firmly in his grip. It’s the closest thing I have come to physical contact in I don’t know how long.

Once we are safely outside I screech my feet to a halt, removing my elbow from his grasp.

“One more time, and let me say it slow so you understand. My name is Rebecca.”

He leans right in towards me, until he is close enough that I can see three freckles along the bridge of his nose.

“One more time and let me say it slow so you understand. Your name is Rebecca, but you look like a Bex.”

I have no idea what to say. What are you supposed to say to that? So I don’t. Turning my attention away from the taunting green eyes I scrutinize the rust bucket parked haphazardly in the lane by the cottage. Its nose is buried in the honeysuckle creeping along the garden wall and it has a wheel precariously balanced half on the curb.

“What is this?”

“Daisy.”

“You named your car?”

Technically it is not a car, despite the covering of honeysuckle debris I can clearly make out it’s a Volkswagen camper. A Volkswagen camper that has seen far better days.

“
Daisy meet Bex. Bex meet Daisy.”

Pulling open the passenger door I slide myself in, glancing at the mountain of mess littering the interior. There are crisp packets and empty coke bottles everywhere.

“I refuse to shake hands.”

“You just did.”

I roll my eyes but can’t prevent the lip twitch that hints at my smile. I bite my lip to stop the foreign sensation of a lip twitch extending into a full smile.

Joshua cranks the engine and the ‘thing’ shudders to life. Music blares at a deafening level and I put my hands over my ears.

“No Beach Boys?” I shout over the thundering noise.

Joshua twirls the stereo dial and lowers the music. “Sure it’
s in here.” Leaning right over to my side he tugs hard on the door to the glove box which falls open onto my knees, causing thirty cassette tapes to clatter to the ground.

Surely they stopped making those things a decade or so ago?
I laugh, I can’t help myself. Then I stop. I haven’t made that noise in, I don’t know how long. It feels strange and unnatural bursting from my lips like that.

Easi
ng myself back into the seat, I strap up my belt and attempt some small talk with the complete stranger taking me out for the day. “Leather seats?” Yep. Small talk is another talent I lack.

“100 % PVC.”

“Classy.”

“It will be in a minute.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry you’ll find out shortly.”

If small talk is not a skill, then understanding cryptic conversation is pretty much like understanding French – a subject I got thrown out of at school. I change the subject in the vain hope of creating some form of verbal rapport. “Where are we going?”

This whole situation is starting to strike me as being a bit odd. I understand that odd is normal for me. But, it’s my second day in a new town and I am trapped in a camper van, with a stranger, heading somewhere that I don’t know. Even odder is the fact my parents willingly let me go, no shouting, no arguing, no slamming of doors. No resistance at all.

I mean, I know I am known for doing silly, sometimes dangerous things, but to be honest I don’t fancy being murdered down a Cornish country lane by a strange, dreadlocked surfer today.

It’s weird, and I don’t believe in any of that instant connection crap. That’s bollocks made up by people who have no sense of reality. I have a healthy respect for reality, largely brought about by the crap situations I normally find myself in. But the guy with the green eyes, dreadlocks and eyebrow ring does not feel like that much of a stranger. This leads me to believe that my own grasp on reality may finally be slipping.

Last night after we had sat talking on the beach about everything and also absolutely nothing for two hours straight he walked me up the lane to the cottage in the dark. As we got to the cottage gate he leant right in towards me, his body stopping a couple of millimetres from mine and asked if I fancied a surfing lesson. I quickly weighed up the option of walking around the two shops in the village and then mooching about the house for the day by myself, or, a lesson with the boy whose skin shines like silver and decided the lesson sounded a far better option. I believe this was the moment that my grasp of reality loosened.

Spontaneity is not one of my strong points. It normally ends in disaster. Actually it always ends in disaster. As Daisy starts to head away from town I hope that I don’t end up regretting my choice. Or, for that matter end up in a ditch somewhere.

“Crantock.” He answers my question. Sadly it hasn’t clarified the matter at all.

“Pardon me?”

“Crantock beach. You’ll love it.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m taking a guess.” He answers matter of fact. Joshua concentrates on his driving and takes us down a maze of narrow lanes. I really hope I don’t have to find my way back by myself.

Taking my attention off the sight of his long fingers loosely holding the steering wheel, I try and look anywhere apart from at him. Truth be known it’s kinda hard. I’ve been momentarily sidetracked by the sight of worn woven leather bracelets tightly bound against his tanned skin. I feel my own bangles in response, all fifty three of them.

Fifty three sins.

My eyes travel up from the bracelets on his wrist, to his elbow leaning on the open window. If I look closely enough I can see the defined movement of muscle ripple under his skin with every turn of the steering wheel. Joshua flicks his eyes in my direction and catches me staring. I quickly look out of the window and watch the fields roll pass the window.

I hold in another smile as I take in the scenery around me. It is beautiful, so beautiful, and something about it makes my eyes sting. The fields are full of flowering mustard seeds which are glowing yellow in the sun. Warm air is rushing through the window and for the first time in a couple of weeks I can feel the knot of anxiety I hold in my stomach start to unravel. All the negativity and worry starts to ebb away.

Then I shift in my seat and make a farting sound.
Fuck.

Joshu-u-a starts to laugh uncontrollably, his fingers grip the wheel of the camper van as he turns to me, his green eyes gleaming, and a smile spread from ear to ear.

“100% PVC.”

“You’re an arse.”

“Takes one to know one.”

I can think of nothing witty to say back at all, so I just pull a face instead. A few minutes later I’m distracted from glaring out of the window by Daisy pulling into a car park. This is different from the beach near the cottage, for a start it is jam packed with cars. Alarm starts to flood through my system. I’m not great with crowded places. I would imagine I am even worse with crowded places full of happy holiday makers enjoying a scorching August day.

“Uh, is this a busy beach?” I start to stress sweat. I can feel it prickling along my skin.

Joshua turns towards me his eyes skimming over my face
. “Well uh, yeah.”

“I want to go home.”

“You can’t. I promised you a lesson. Now we are going to have one.”

Did he promise? I can’t really remember the word promise being used, and if it was I’m not opposed to a promise being broken.

I grip the chair with my sweaty hands making my desire to stay in the van clear. “I’m going to be rubbish.” This is not a guess on my behalf. I’m rubbish at most things.

Joshua leans in towards me which makes me grip the seat tighter in response. He is right in my space when he offers me a slow smile. “Everyone’s rubbish their first time.”

I hold my breath while I think of something to say, but I come up frustratingly blank. What is he talking about? It sounded teasing, something implied.

I offer myself a sarcastic laugh and a mental clap on the back. Well done, Bex. Two days in a new town and some twat already thinks you are going to put out to him.
Excellent.
Oh and even better you have gone to a place that you don’t know your way home from with him.
Excellent again.

Josh watches me for a moment. I would imagine my chagrin at myself is clearly painted across my face.

He scrunches his own face in confusion. “No one can stand on their board the first time,” he adds, reaching a hand towards me which kind of hovers in the air between us before falling back into his lap. “Or their tenth.”

“Hm.”

“Are you chicken, holiday maker? Do I need to take you home to mummy and daddy?”

Prick.

“No.”

“Good.”

I let the air slowly exhale out of my mouth. Joshua chuckles and moves back onto his side of the rusty vehicle.

Swinging out of the car he heads around to my side. I’m not expecting him to open the door for me, otherwise I would have made sure to get out of the car independently first. As it is he cranks open the door and leans over my body to release my seatbelt.

“I’m not a holiday maker.” I say. I seem to be holding my breath as he moves his body close to mine.

He turns, his face inches from mine, and the greens reach deep inside me. “I know, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

I swear on my life I can’t help myself, and I only do it because I have always thought of dreadlocks as being really dirty, but I move forward ever so slightly and smell his neck.

He doesn’t smell dirty. He smells like the sea, sun and mint all rolled into one.

“Did you just sniff my neck?”

“What a ridiculous thing to say.”

He grabs my hand and slides his fingers through mine as he waits for me to jump down from the camper.

I have no idea what the hand holding is about, but the truth is, it’s been a damn long time since I had anyone try and hold my hand. I clasp my own fingers around his, tight, like a natural survival instinct.

Walking over the sandy tarmac to the back of the van our hands swing between us. It’s just too strange not to comment on. I am turning to ask him why he’s holding my hand when I notice that he is looking at my shoulders and the string of my black bikini which is poking out from under my vest top.

“Have you got a cream on?”

“Pardon me? We’re only holding hands.”

Joshua’s lips twitch a little and he nods his head towards our hands. “I know. I meant do you have sun cream on. I think you might need it.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t want to ruin that skin.” He tugs on my fingers pulling me around closer until we are face to face, and his mouth lowers to my exposed shoulder. Before I can even react his lips gently graze over my skin.

I jump away instantly. “What are you doing?”

“Smelling you.”

“What?”

“You did it to me.”

“I did bloody not.”

“Yeah you did. What do I smell like?”

“I have no idea. What do I smell like?”

“I’m not telling.”

Joshua releases my hand and starts to unstrap the boards from the top of the van. I watch as the knot of anxiety that started to unravel earlier during the journey starts to come back with a vengeance. This time it feels different, more intense, a low slow burn.

I don
’t know what’s causing it, but as he easily hoists both boards under one arm and then reaches casually for my hand with his other I lock it away as I always do.