Love and Muddy Puddles (7 page)

Samantha and I waited a few more days before I spilled the beans.

First we needed to do our research. I couldn’t just invent an equestrian boarding school in another state one morning and expect everyone to believe me. I could be found out in a second if someone Googled it on their phone under their desks in history.

We couldn’t believe it when we discovered Lamerton Grammar for Girls. Not only was it interstate, horse crazy and a boarding school, it also had a rural (read: in the middle of nowhere) campus where, according to the website, Year Eight girls went to grow their own food, live without technology, learn to run a farm and excel at horsemanship. Apparently all of this was so that they would ‘build character’.

It sounded completely revolting.

“Honestly, like, who needs character?” said Sam. She grimaced and then checked the mirror. “I really shouldn’t do that. It’s going to make lines on my face,” she said, smoothing out her cheek. “Look, can you see a wrinkle starting? Seriously though. Give a girl a manicure, a good haircut and some bronzer and she’s good to go. No character required.”

“I know, right? In real life—you know, out in the real world—it’s probably more useful to have a good wardrobe than to have character,” I said. “
So
 glad I’m not going to that school. Maybe there actually 
is
 something worse than going to live on a pig farm with my family.”

I laughed, but Sam didn’t get the joke. She raised her eyebrows. “No. There’s not. And let me tell you, unless you can convince Tiger Lily that you’re telling the truth about this Lamerton Grammar thing, you are going to be dropped into a big pile of pig poo. There won’t be any ‘character’ that will be able to rescue you. You’d better make this thing stick.”

“I wish there was a character who was going to rescue me,” I said, groaning. “Do you realise that we’re probably going to be gone before I even get to meet Darcy?”

“That’s such bad timing,” said Sam. “Why did he have to go skiing for so long? Now you’ll have to wait a whole year.”

“Which is like, forever, when you think you’ve found the boy of your dreams,” I said sadly. “Seriously, he is gorgeous. You have no idea.”

“There probably won’t be any decent boys near you at all,” said Sam. “And even if there are you won’t get to meet any if you’re stuck on the farm all day.”

“I know, right?” I agreed. “And anyway—farm boys? Eew.”

“Look, if by some miraculous chance I ever get to meet Darcy, I promise I’ll tell him about you and what he’s missing,” said Sam. “You never know. Maybe you two are just meant to be.”

“You’re such a great friend,” I said. “You look out for me! Are you going to be ok when I’m gone? I’m worried you’ll be left alone with no friends.”

She gave me a joking, sceptical look. “Are you serious? Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. You’ve got to nail this story. Both of our futures depend on it.”

So I learned to lie. I practiced in front of the mirror a few times to build my confidence and then fielded mock questions helpfully prepared by Samantha.

“Why can’t you just do horse riding here like everyone else?” she demanded to know, pretending to be Tiger Lily and adding an eye roll for dramatic flair.

“Well, my parents really like the idea of us doing something away from home,” I said glibly. “They’re all into ‘building character’ and anyway, my mum went there for a while when she was young, so it’s kind of like home away from home.”

And so my story began.

I told the girls at lunch on Friday and spent a nervous weekend waiting for a message on my phone that said, “You’re lying, you loser, we know everything and you’re dropped!” but it never came. On Monday when the topic came up again, it seemed like I was safe. No one suspected a thing and I wanted to keep it that way.

At home, it seemed like Dad was on some kind of super-speed drug because everything was happening uber-fast.

“I’ve got it set for us to move on to the farm first week of the holidays,” he told us at dinner. “So you can say all your goodbyes to friends in the next three weeks.”

“Oh wow, that’s so soon,” said Charlie, enthusiastic. “I can’t wait.”

I sniffed haughtily and looked away.

I had been true to my promise and had managed not to talk directly to Dad for at least a fortnight. A couple of times in the first few days I nearly forgot and asked him to pass the salt at dinner but at the last second I managed to make it seem like I was actually talking to Josh.

Once he started giving us instructions about packing though, I nearly lost the plot. I had to literally bite my lips so that I didn’t let out any words.

“So, you guys can take a suitcase each,” he said. “Pack everything else into boxes so we can put it all into storage until the house is built.”

I had to wait till I was in Charlie’s room before I could start yelling about it.

“One suitcase? Is that all? Does he expect me to live with only one suitcase worth of clothes?” I said. “What about all my other stuff? I’m not going to cope without my make up and shoes and pillows and all the rest of it for a whole year.”

“He did say one suitcase 
each,”
 Charlie said. “You make it sound like we all have to put our stuff in the same suitcase altogether. Seriously. Get the big suitcase. You’ll be fine.”

I did. I got the biggest suitcase I could find. It was the one Mum bought the year that we all went to the Gold Coast and she said she was sick of handling a million different little pieces of hand luggage on the plane, but even then I couldn’t make it all fit in. And I was studiously ignoring Dad’s instructions to leave behind my good clothes.

“Two pairs of jeans, a pair of joggers, a couple of old T-shirts and a jacket or two,” he kept saying over and over to anyone who would listen. “That’s all you’re going to need. And we’ll buy gumboots for everyone before we go. We’ll need them for the mud.”

Mum was on the bandwagon as well. “Honestly girls, don’t pack your nice clothes. I’m serious. Maybe just one top or something, but you won’t get a chance to wear them and they’ll probably just get ruined until we’ve got the house up.”

I don’t care
, I thought to myself. 
I’m not going to look like a complete dag for 12 whole months. I’ll take my blue satin covered flats if I want to. And my white lacy shirt and my best leggings and my silver sandals and my vintage clutch and my…

When Charlie saw my suitcase she laughed.

“Coco, you’re crazy,” she said. “I’ve got three pairs of jeans, jodhpurs, riding boots and my five worst T-shirts. Mum is going to freak when she sees all of yours.”

But Mum was keeping her cool. It was a tense stand-off between her and me to see who would crack first. Every time I deliberately ignored Dad or spoke to someone else when I could have spoken to him I saw her face get tight. I could see she wanted to yell at me but she and Dad obviously had some kind of pact going on—a kind of ‘lets see how long she can go on with this for’ agreement.

When she came into my room and saw my suitcase bulging at the sides she said nothing except, “there won’t be any electricity for your hair dryer, honey,” and then walked away.

The hairdryer stayed in the suitcase. And I added in my straightening iron for good measure. I needed to stay angry. It was either that or burst out crying. When Mum started pulling all the pictures off the walls and packing them away in brown paper I had to go for a walk and blink back my tears. When the removalists came to take away the furniture I had to run upstairs to hide the large gulpy sobs I could feel coming up from my stomach. My life was getting dismantled in a crazy tornado of activity and no one cared that I was sad.

I’ll be back in a year, I’ll be back in a year.
 I kept the thought running grimly through my head as we packed and prepared and as Dad ran around with a grin that got bigger and bigger all over his face. 
I’ll be back in a year, 
I thought. 
I’ve just got to make sure no one finds out where I’ve gone.

On the last day of term, the girls took me out after school for a final farewell drink.

“Honestly,” said Tiger Lily. “Parents. Why do they have to do these stupid things?” She sipped her drink (diet, of course) and rolled her eyes.

Lise opened hers wide with awe and wonder. “Horses!”

Isabella started a story about how a girl who she knew who went to one of these kinds of schools, you know, with a campus in the middle of the bush, and she was really, really good at riding and just was amazing with horses and everything, well, she 
loved
 it, just 
loved
 it, but she lived just like a nun—didn’t see a boy for a 
whole
 year, can you 
imagine
?

When she’d finally finished, Saffron just smiled and me and said, “It’s a shame. We’ve got quite used to you, Coco.”

My stomach got nervous. That didn’t sound good. Was this it? Were they going to dump me anyway? I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face but worry was escaping from the corners of my eyebrows.

“We’ve decided we’ll ask someone else to be our number five while you’re away,” she said. “But it’ll only be temporary. Once your year is up, we want you back here with us.”

My eyebrows relaxed and I let out a quiet breath, trying not to look too relieved.

“Oh, of course, I mean, I’d expected you’d find someone else...” I said, trying not to sound like a puppy licking its mother’s face. I was aiming to be casual. “So, um, do you know who . .?”

“You’ll probably be happy,” said Saffron. She smoothed down her hair and adjusted her skirt. “We’re asking your friend Samantha. She was second on our list anyway. We only didn’t pick her because we thought she was a little bit too pushy, but we’ll let her know it’s just for the year and then you’ll be back in the group instead.”

My face broke out into a smile that I just couldn’t hold back. Finally, in what had been the worst month of my life ever, something good was happening. This was going to kill two birds with one stone. Samantha wouldn’t end up lonely and miserable because I had gone, and she could keep things good for me in the group so that I could come back with no issues. Even better, she’d meet Darcy! 
She could talk to him about me,
 I thought. 
Keep him interested...

Isabella leaned over the table towards me. “So, are you like serious about the no internet or phone thing? Not even email? No iPods, nothing?” she said. “Couldn’t you just sneak something in?”

I shook my head dramatically. “No. It’s super-strict. They really make a big thing about it. They have random room searches and if you’re caught with one they send you to solitary for a week.”

“Seriously?” said Tiger Lily. “Solitary? In this day and age?” She looked cynical. “It’s against your rights.”

“I know. But that’s what it is apparently. It’s all based on some kind of ancient philosophy that ‘builds character’.” I made quote marks with my fingers and a silly face and the girls laughed.

“And I bet all the teachers are ugly too,” said Tiger Lily.

“Holidays?” asked Lise, turning her puppy dog eyes on me. “Home?”

“Maybe I’ll be able to get back,” I said. “But not much. It’s going to be weird. I don’t really know. I’ll have to see how it goes. But it’s only for a year and then I’ll be back, like normal.”

“So, here’s to a crazy year!” said Saffron, holding up her glass. Everyone clinked and sipped and smiled.

“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be back before you know it. And mega-full of ‘character’.”

Not even a week later I had turned into a Neanderthal.

My wildest imagination could not have prepared me for where our inner-city, café loving, beach babe family ended up. I could almost cope with the idea of looking like a grotty farmer for a year. I could nearly get my head around building a house. I was close to getting used to the idea of being two hours drive away from the city.

But reality, as they say, bites. Chomps, even. Chews, mashes and swallows. And then spits out the bones at the end.

The first clue that things might be even worse than I had expected came when we drove down what Dad optimistically called the ‘driveway ‘.

“I’m getting out! Stop the car. Mum, tell Dad to stop the car. He’s going to kill us,” I was yelling about three minutes into our descent down the steepest hill on the slipperiest track I’d ever seen.

“It’s okay, Coco. We have a four wheel drive. This is what these sorts of cars do,” said Dad.

I ignored him, took a breath and kept screaming. ‘‘Stop the car! I’m going to die!”

Josh started to laugh at me. “Ha ha. Coco is a scaredy cat.” But even his face went white as we bumped over about 10 million big rocks in a row and I saw him start hanging on to the armrest.

Twenty whole minutes later the sandy track came out of the bush, turned past an olive grove and came to an end in a green field. Dad stopped the car so we piled out, stretching and rubbing our bruised and battered bottoms. Mum breathed in deeply and smiled. “Oh look at this, David. It’s incredible. What a view.”

I turned around to see. It was true. There was a view. And I’ll admit it, it was pretty nice. Green paddocks, trees following a creek at the bottom of a small valley, and in the distance, black and white cows milling around some hay bales. Cute, if you like that kind of stuff. Which I do, but only on holidays and only in postcards.

Right now I had more pressing matters to think about.

“Mum—I need to go,” I hissed, crossing my legs. That was another reason I had been screaming on the way down the driveway. Every time the car hit a rock I nearly wet my pants.

Mum stopped admiring the view and looked at me hopping up and down. “David, is there a toilet here?” she said, gesturing around the paddock.

“Uh, yeah? You think?” said Charlie, laughing. “There’s nothing here.”

“No. I meant in the shed. Does it work yet?” she said.

“There’s a pit toilet near the shed. But I think it needs some treatment before it’ll be ready for use,” he said. “It won’t take long though.”

“Long? How long are we talking?” I wanted to yell, but I wasn’t talking to Dad so I had to hold it in. Meanwhile I was having trouble holding it in at the other end.

“Mum, I 
need
 to go,” I said again, dancing now. “Seriously. Now.”

She looked annoyed. “Okay then. Go.”

I raised my eyebrows at her. “Um, where?”

“Where do you think?” she hissed back. “What, do you think I’m just going to magically produce a toilet out of thin air? Find somewhere.”

I gaped at her. “What?”

“You’re a big girl,” she said. “Cope. Off you go.”

I could feel tears starting to prickle but I blinked them back. “Fine,” I said stiffly, and headed off to a line of bushes and trees down at the bottom of the paddock, my chin held as high I could push it. The plan was to look like I didn’t care, but let me just say it’s tricky to walk like you’re dignified and cool when you’re about to wee your pants, when you’re trying not to step in cow pats and when you’re trying to ignore your brother sputtering with laughter behind you.

I turned to yell back at him. “Just so you know, the pit toilet probably stinks. I wouldn’t want to go there anyway!”

This is so not funny, not fair, not funny, not fair
, I grouched to myself in my head. 
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who buys a stupid farm without a stupid toilet? Who has to go in the bushes? Stupid, not fair, dumb, stupid farm.

I kept walking, trying to avoid stepping on sticks and cow poo, while keeping my legs practically crossed and trying to stick to the few bits of flat ground I could see. There were holes and hollows all over the paddock and I didn’t want to twist my ankle, especially not in white, lace-covered ballet flats, which I noticed were already getting reddish-brown around the edges, the colour of the dirt under the grass. 
Great, now I’ll have to clean my shoes too,
 I thought.

When I finally reached the bushes I picked my way through the prickly bits until I couldn’t see the others. 
Finally,
 I thought. 
Some privacy.
 I let out a big breath and blinked a few times to clear my eyes.

That’s a good spot over there,
 I thought, seeing a little clear area behind a big dead branch lying on the ground. I started to undo the button of my jeans as I stepped forward, but the branch was bigger than I thought. 
I’ll have to jump. Careful...

And that was when everything got much, much worse.

I took a small leap over the tree branch but by that time I had also undone my pants just enough so that my legs got confused about how long they were and tried to do more than was possible. Basically, it was a world-class trip up and I landed on my face on the other side of the log.

But that wasn’t all.

As I landed I heard a splash. It was me, landing in a small stream of water.

But it wasn’t just water. It was water mixed with dirt, which makes mud. I now had mud from my forehead to my knees. (My feet were still on the other side of the branch.)

My hands were covered in dirt and as I got up, groaning, I instinctively went to brush them off on my jeans. It was only then that I discovered that the terrible smell that had just reached my nose was a cow pat which I had squashed in my fall and which was now spread out all over my thighs, on my jeans and now on my hands.

As bad as this was, I was determined to not let it get worse. I still needed to go. I knew that if I went back to my ridiculous family covered in mud, that would be bad enough. But I also knew that if I went back having wet my pants as well I would hear about it until my dying day.

Yuck
, I said to myself. 
Completely gross. But I can’t deal with it now
. Wiping my hands on a little patch of grass, I continued on to the clear space I was going to use as a toilet. I squatted carefully over the grass and a few other green, slightly spiky plants I had never seen before and did, finally, what I so desperately needed to do.

Aah, that feels better,
 I thought. 
Relief! 
But I was nearly falling over, so I shifted myself slightly to adjust my balance. That, right there, was the thing I should not have done. As soon as I moved, a shooting, burning pain grabbed my bottom and spread down my leg and up my back.

I screamed.

Loudly.

I couldn’t help it.

“My bum’s on fire!” I said. “Help!”

If I had been dancing before, it was nothing to the jig I was doing now. The pain was stinging and burning and all I could think about was cooling it down somehow. Suddenly it came to me.

I know! The water!

Without even pulling up my jeans I shuffled over to the mud puddle I’d fallen into before and sat, bottom first in the water. I could almost hear the sizzle. It only helped slightly, it was true, but it was better than nothing and at least I wasn’t screaming anymore.

About a minute later Mum and Charlie burst through the bushes.

“Coco! Are you okay?”

“We heard you yelling,” said Charlie. “What’s the matter?” And then she started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” I said, huffily. “I hurt my bottom, that’s all. I’m okay.”

“That’s all?” said Charlie. “It doesn’t look like that’s all.”

She had a point. I was sitting, wearing lace ballet flats and what was formerly a white T-shirt, in a stream with my pants down, covered in mud on my top half and smeared with smelly cow poo on my bottom half. She thought it was hilarious. But I didn’t feel like laughing.

“Leave me alone.” I stood up, ignoring my still slightly sore bottom, did up my jeans and walked carefully past Mum and Charlie, who was still standing there giggling.

“I’m fine.”

“Coco, sweetie…” said Mum. But I ignored her and kept walking, out of the bushes and back up to the car. Behind me, Mum and Charlie were scrambling through the twigs and leaves.

Hmmph,
 I thought. 
Could this day get any worse?

Let me tell you: I’ve got to stop saying that. Because every time I do, something bad happens.

It wasn’t until I was nearly back to Dad and Josh that I realised that there was something dripping down the back of my jeans on one side. It felt different from the water from the stream, so I put my hand on the back of my leg and nearly fell over when I pulled it back and looked at it.

My hand, previously covered in cow poo, was now totally red from blood. My blood! 
Yes, this could definitely be worse,
 I thought. 
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“Coco!” yelled Mum from behind me. “You’re bleeding.” Mothers are so good at stating the obvious. She ran up and pulled down my jeans, just like she would have if I was five years old. Embarrassing much! “Let me see!”

“Mum!” I started, squirming my head around, but I stopped talking when I saw a black blob stuck to my bottom. “Mu-u-um! What is that?” My tummy was clenching with fear. This was creepy. I nearly said, “Help, I’m going to die,” but managed to stop myself in time.

I was frozen in fear, looking at this disgusting black thing attached to my bum, with blood pouring down my leg when Charlie caught up to have a look. When she did, she started laughing all over again. This time she was rolling on the ground.

Fear disappeared. Now I was just mad at her. “What?” I snapped. “Why is this so funny?”

“Ha ha!” she gasped in giggles, clutching her stomach. “It’s a leech!”

My eyes opened wide and I nearly lost my lunch. I felt sick to my stomach. A leech? An actual leech? On my bottom? 
Eeew, yuck, ew, disgusting
. This was just too gross. But I was determined not to lose it and show them all I was a mess. So I curled up in a ball and pretended to be dignified and calm while Mum pulled the leech out and got some antiseptic cream and bandaids out of the car.

“Wow, Coco. You really stink,” said Josh. “Waaay worse than a pit toilet.” He held his nose. I stuck my tongue out at him, and then realised I had grit in my mouth. 
Double icky gross
. I tried to spit it out without actually spitting but I ended up swallowing it instead.

It was at that point that I noticed my lace ballet flats were ripped. On both feet. 
Disaster,
 I thought. 
My favourite shoes. Completely stuffed up by a stupid tree branch.
 I sighed, and realised Mum was still dabbing blood off my leg.

“I think you got stung by a nettle,” she said, taking a closer look at my bottom. 
Thanks Mum. Great stuff. Check it all out.
 “It looks like something’s brushed up against you while you were going to the toilet.”

“A nettle?” said Dad. “You’ve got to watch out for these things. There are some pretty vicious ones in the bush. Also, I probably should have reminded you—in fact, all of you guys—to be careful of snakes too. It’s still the season for them. And there are some nasty Browns around in this area.”

“Snakes?” I said. It was my first word to Dad in two months. “Snakes?”

And then I lost it. I cried. Sobbed, sniffled, snivelled, bawled, blubbed, howled, wept and wailed. And I didn’t stop for the next two hours.

This was not supposed to be my life. I was not supposed to be stuck on the side of a mountain on a cow-pat filled paddock avoiding snakes and stingers and leeches, ripping my best shoes and going to the toilet in the bush. This was crazy-land. And for the next twelve months, there was no way out.

I was trapped.