Peppermint Kiss (2 page)

We all looked at her in total horror. My stomach felt like a dishcloth being wrung out as I started to realize what a mess we were in.

“But
Dad
can just pay it for us, can't he?” asked Grace, looking uneasy.

“I don't get why we didn't just stay in our house in Ealing if this is what we were coming to,” said Saff.

That's what
I
was wondering – Dad had gone, after all. He was the one who'd had the affair. The wife and kids got the house, didn't they? It was the way things were.

That's when Mum started crying, big choking sobs from deep inside. We weren't expecting that. My sisters looked as worried as I felt. “It's okay, we'll sort it,” said Saff more gently, as we led Mum to the revolting brown sofa shoved in the corner of the kitchen and sat her down.

“Please don't cry,” Grace begged.

Mum finally got enough breath back to speak, her words coming out in sharp, tear-choked bursts. “I was only trying to protect you. I couldn't face telling you the truth. The house… It's gone. Repossessed by the bank.”

“What?” shrieked Saff.

“Oh my gosh,” murmured Grace.

My head felt numb. Like the words wouldn't go in.

In a torrent, Mum poured out the whole story. We'd known about the affair, but it turned out that Dad had been keeping a whole load of other secrets from us too. His business had been struggling and he'd run up massive debts. Just the day before, he'd called Mum and finally told her how bad it really was – that the bank would be repossessing the house and debt collectors were on their way to take anything they could to make up for the money he owed. If we hadn't left when we did, right at that moment, we'd have lost all our personal things too.

“So there actually isn't
any
money?” Saff gasped.

Suddenly I felt really, really angry, like I'd been tricked. “What about the summer school?” I demanded. “And Grace's tutor? Saff's new car and driving lessons… Was it all lies? All of it?”

Saff put her arm round me and glared at Mum.

“I'm so sorry, girls,” Mum stuttered. “I shouldn't have lied. It was all such a shock – I just panicked. I knew we were running out of time, so I just said whatever I could think of to make you pack your stuff and come with me.” She sighed heavily. “I really am sorry,” she said again.

“Well, that's ruined my chances of getting into Cambridge then, hasn't it?” Grace snapped. “Thanks very much!”

“So you're saying this is it? This flat?” I stammered. “This is our life now?”

Saff just looked bewildered. “Has all our stuff been taken?” she murmured.

Mum's face crumpled again. “I hope not. Roger and Laura next door offered to move as many of our belongings as they could into their garage, but I don't know how far they got before the debt people turned up.”

“How dare those men just walk into our house! We should have locked ourselves in and called the police!” Grace cried.

Mum shrugged. “It's not our house any more.”

I imagined two scary men with bomber jackets and shaved heads riffling through our cupboards and drawers, pulling out our ballet shoes and board games, tennis racquets, ski suits, recipe books, the pottery animals we'd made in primary school. It made me feel really sick.

“But why didn't Dad just tell us the truth when things started to go wrong?” Grace asked. “It might not have got so bad then.”

Mum found a tissue in her bag and blew her nose. “I think he'd been living in a fantasy world, acting like everything was great, spending
more
than usual, and having an affair. Desperately running away from the facts, basically.”

All I could think about was that yesterday, while Dad had been telling Mum what was about to happen to us, I'd been in double Science, worrying about why my litmus paper wasn't going pink like Em and Zo's, and giggling with them about how geeky we looked in our safety goggles. I'd had no idea that my whole world was about to change. Again.

Mum sighed. “So now your dad's moved into some horrible bedsit, and he's going to declare bankruptcy. He can't give us anything because he's got nothing to give.”

We were all silent, in utter shock. How could Dad have let this
happen
to us? Then, as I was still staring numbly at the peeling kitchen worktop, Grace and Saff went into meltdown.

“Oh my gosh, we really are stuck here, aren't we?” cried Grace, panic in her voice.

“What about my friends? And my singing lessons?” screeched Saff. “You know I've already enrolled for Arts Ed in September! How could you do this to me?”

They both stared at Mum as if she'd taken their dreams, thrown them on the floor and stomped them to smithereens.

As for me, of course I was scared. Terrified. I mean, I'd just found out that I'd lost my home, my friends, my
life
, and that we had no money (how would we even buy food?). And everything I owned now fitted into a suitcase. But as for my
dream
, well, that had already been ruined. I'd only ever wanted one thing: a big, cosy, rowdy, happy family – me, Mum, Dad, Saff and Grace all together. And that had gone when we found out about the affair. To me, the fact that we were now penniless and stuck in a disgusting flat, with a repulsive landlord and at least one rat… Well, that was just the rancid icing on the mouldy cake. “None of this is Mum's fault,” I told my sisters firmly. “What else could she do? Seriously – what?”

Thankfully that made them stop freaking out for long enough for Mum to speak. “Please, girls, I'm begging you to give this a go,” she gabbled. “I suppose we could have gone running to Granny and Grandpa, but they don't have enough room for us all, and anyway, I really,
really
want us to do this on our own.”

Wow, if Mum thought the only other option was moving us to Yorkshire to live with Granny she really must have been desperate. They don't exactly get on.

“I'm going to look for work first thing in the morning,” she said then. “Thank goodness I managed to finish my yoga teacher training before…all this. There are plenty of places I can give classes around here. Grace and Abbie, I've spoken to the education department at Devon County Council and they've been able to make emergency arrangements for us. You're enrolled in the local school, to start tomorrow.”

We both gasped.
Tomorrow?

“No way, I—” Grace began.

But: “Please, just give it a go, that's all I'm asking,” Mum begged. “Go for one day, and if you hate it we'll have a rethink.”

Grace sighed, but she didn't say anything else.

Mum turned to Saff. “I thought you could go down to the college in Paignton and see what beauty courses there are to start in September,” she said, almost in a whisper. “You've always been interested in that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, as in I like being pampered,” Saff spat. “I'm not going to be some boring old beauty therapist like you were. Forget it. I'm going to
be
someone!”

The way Mum flinched, Saff may as well have slapped her. She used to be a beautician before she married Dad and had us three. She did sometimes talk about going back to work, but then a few years ago, when Dad's corporate events business took off, we moved to the big house in Ealing, and they got the matching Range Rovers. After that, Mum was only ever the one
getting
beauty treatments, not giving them.

I gave Saff a sharp nudge in the ribs. “Ow! Jeez, Abs!” she complained. But then she sighed and said, “I'm sorry, Mum, I didn't mean it like that. This is just such a lot to take in. Look, let's all try to get some sleep tonight – we can put towels in the gaps under our doors so the
thing
can't get us. And I'll go down the college tomorrow, just to look.”

“I'll give the school a go for one day, if you will,” I said to Grace.

She grimaced, but muttered, “Deal.”

Mum smiled weakly, although tears were now sliding down her cheeks again. “Thanks,” she said, her voice cracking. “Oh, come here, my girls, my lovely girls.”

We all snuggled together on the vile sofa, our feet tucked up behind us in case the rat decided to make another run for it. We watched the last of the light fade outside the kitchen window, and we didn't move until long after dark.

As you can guess, we didn't get much sleep. The double bed creaked and groaned every time Mum turned over (which was about every five minutes
all night
) and it took me ages to find a position that didn't let any of the horrible spiny broken spring bits dig into me.

I woke up to the sound of Saff banging around in the kitchen – it was only half seven, way too early for her to be up usually, but she said the curtains were so thin the light had woken her. Not that it was bright sunshine outside or anything ­­­­­– instead the sky just looked a menacing, moody grey, like there was a storm brewing.

Grace staggered in, wearing wellies with her nightie (she'd gone and got them out of the boot of the car), and armed with the broom, in case the rat reappeared. Mum wandered in too and put the kettle on, and soon the four of us were sitting round the table sipping Price Cutter tea in bleary-eyed silence. For the first time ever, no one made a dash to hog the bathroom.

I had a quick shower using the attachment over the bath, while trying not to let the manky plastic curtain stick to my legs. Thank goodness I'd bought all my yummy home-made bath stuff with me. Of course, being me, it was the first thing I'd grabbed when Mum said we were going, especially as she'd told me there would be soap-making in the craft lessons at summer school. In fact, once I'd packed all my home-made products, plus the flower petals and rosebuds, soap and bath foam bases, essential oils, moulds, ribbons, bottles, jars, vintage compacts and sparkly pens I used to make them, it hadn't left room for much more than a couple of pairs of jeans, and a few tops and skirts in my suitcase.

I wanted to wear my own clothes to the new school, but Mum rummaged in one of her suitcases and produced my uniform (even though it probably wasn't the right colour – pea-green, anyone?), including the regulation nun-thickness tights and flat brown loafers. I was going to argue, but she looked so exhausted I just put the whole lot on, even the tights (sorry, but no way was I showing my milk-white legs, not even in June – the glare from them might dazzle a driver and cause an accident). But at least I smelled nice, thanks to my zingy lemon shower gel and rose moisturizer.

Luckily, I'd remembered to grab my make-up bag too. I spent ages in front of the cracked bathroom mirror, making my eyes look really big with layers of silver and grey eyeshadow, a dark-blue eye pencil and about seven coats of black mascara. I'm one of those people who
need
make-up to bring their face to life – otherwise, with my long light-blonde hair, pale skin and barely-there eyebrows, it hardly looks like I have a head. I finished off with a slick of nude lip gloss and bushed my hair up a bit before gathering it into a low side bunch, making sure a few strands were sticking out so it looked as messed-up as possible.

We all left the flat together and of course automatically headed for the Range Rover. Saff said spikily that it was a miracle it was still there, in this kind of neighbourhood, and Mum replied pointedly that it wouldn't be for long, not once the bailiffs tracked us down. She wanted to conserve the little bit of petrol we had in case there was an emergency though, so we had to walk. Halfway into town, Saff peeled off onto the road where the bus stop for Paignton was. Mum had wanted to go with her, but Saff had pointed out that finding work was the priority for her. I linked arms with Grace and did a little hop so that we were in step, our matching foul loafers stomping along the pavement together. They looked even worse next to Mum's gorgeous Italian heels.

We reached the gate of Cavendish High and found that the playground was empty and silent. For one happy moment I thought the school must be shut and that we wouldn't have to go, but when a car pulled up and a girl got out and hurried past us, I realized that we were late. “Oh gosh, I must have got the time wrong,” Mum muttered. “I'm sorry, girls, I've just had so much on my mind…”

I forced myself to smile and insisted it didn't matter, but inside it made me feel even more nervous. I tried to step through the gate, but Grace leaped backwards, as if there was an invisible force field across the entrance. I had to grip her arm hard for a moment, because I thought she was going to bolt off down the road.

“Come on, Gracie, you can do this,” Mum said. Grace looked uncertainly at her, but fat drops of rain had started plopping onto us, and that seemed to make up her mind. “Fine,” she grumbled, “but only for one day. That's all we promised.”

We trooped in through the main doors and Mum smoothed down her jacket and skirt before ushering us into the school office. The secretary smiled and welcomed us and sat Mum down with a pile of forms to fill in. “You've missed registration, and you're late for first lesson, I'm afraid,” she told Grace and me, frowning at the timetable in her hands. “I'll take you over to 10D, Grace. They're in the science block and it's quite a walk from here. Abbie, you can hurry off to join 9L, they're only just down in Humanities. Mr. Carver's expecting you. It's left after the double doors there, follow the corridor, out across the courtyard and first door on the right. Okay, dear?”

“Shall I come with you?” asked Mum, looking anxious.

I pulled on my fake smile again. “I'll be fine,” I told her, when actually I hadn't taken in a word that the secretary had said. Besides, Mum's lovely, and actually pretty cool, but still, I think walking into class with my
mum
in tow would have been a bit of a first-day blunder. I hugged her goodbye, then Grace, took a deep breath and hurried off along the corridor.

The rain was splashing down harder as I headed out of the double doors. It didn't look like a courtyard exactly, and I couldn't see a door, but maybe the secretary had said to follow the path round to the right to find it? As I hurried along beside some bins (still no door to be seen) there was a rumble of thunder and the storm broke.

Then it absolutely poured down.

I tried to run back round to the doors I'd come out of, but I must have taken a wrong turn and I ended up by a totally different building, like a gym hall or something. My jumper was completely soaked through and dripping, and the sleeves were getting longer and longer, so I pulled it off over my head as I ran. Rain was pouring down my face and into my eyes, so I could hardly see where I was going, and I was so totally lost and confused by then, I didn't know which direction to run in anyway. The sky flashed with lightning, and then boomed with thunder a second later. I squealed and stood rigid, stuck to the spot, panicking.

“Hey! In here!”

I whirled round, trying to find where the voice was coming from. A boy was waving at me from a narrow doorway. I ran towards him, each step squelching, and as I got close he dashed out and bundled me in. I clung onto him for a moment, without thinking, like you would if someone really had just rescued you from drowning. Then I realized I was hugging a complete stranger and pulled away.

And then I looked at him.

And I mean, well. OMG. I just could not
stop
looking at him. His piercing blue eyes. His rain-slicked black hair. His olive skin and wide smile.

The lightning struck again.

He took off his blazer and as he put it round my shoulders I got a big shiver – nothing to do with being cold. I smiled thanks and shrugged it on, breathing in its lovely smell, picking up cinnamon and musk. As the silence grew, I fumbled for something to say. I opened my mouth but found that no words would come out while I was still staring at him, so I dragged my eyes away, out to the storm raging around us. “Yuck, it's really pouring now.” Oh dear.
Abbie Green, stater of the obvious.

I just
had
to look at him again and I saw that he was grinning gorgeously. “Without the rain, you wouldn't have rainbows,” he said.

That made me snort with laughter (yikes – how attractive!). “True,” I said, “if cheesy. I'm Abbie.” I held out my hand. Goodness knows why, it looked like I thought I was at a business meeting or something, and it seemed especially stupid after the, you know,
hugging
.

He raised an eyebrow and shook my hand. “Marco.”

I felt a little jump of electricity between us, and I had to actually
force
myself to let go. Seriously, I pretty much needed to use my other hand to prise my fingers off him.

“Late?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Me too,” he said. “Where are you headed? You must be new. I haven't seen you around before and, believe me, I would have noticed.”

My stomach flipped over. I tried to think of something sparkling and flirty to say back, but all I managed was, “I'm meant to be in 9L.”

He grinned. “That's my form. It must be fate. The rain's easing off now, let's go for it.” My stomach did a double flip as he took my hand, pulling me along. Together we ran round a corner and into a doorway – so I wasn't that far off after all.

I wiped my feet on the mat thing, caught sight of myself in the glass door and immediately died of embarrassment. I looked like a cross between a drowned rat and a glam rocker, with my hair plastered flat to my head and make-up running all down my face in little black rivers.

Oh
bleeping bleep
! I just had to get away from this Marco person and into the loos to fix my make-up meltdown as soon as possible, before
this
image of me got imprinted onto his brain for ever. I pulled off his blazer. “Here, thanks for this,” I said, trying to hand it back. I glanced down and realized the nun-thickness tights had stretched in the rain and were now bunched in soggy pools round my ankles. Just to complete the look.

“No. Keep it for today, it's fine,” he muttered.

“No, here, I'll be okay now,” I insisted, waving it at him, still looking down at my tragic tights.

“No, really, hang on to it,” he said again.

I looked up at last. “Honestly, I'm fine, just take—” I stopped talking as I watched his gaze slide quickly from my face to my chest and back to my face again, while he did a strange feet-shuffling, throat-clearing thing.

At this point you're thinking it couldn't have got any worse, right? But it had. I glanced down too and absolutely
spun
in my grave of embarrassment. My shirt had gone see-through and (oh no! Oh
yes
!) my entire
bra
was showing. I clapped the blazer to my chest, then pulled it back on, writhing around like a snake to keep everything covered up while I was getting my arms in. Like a true gentleman, Marco was staring in completely the other direction, looking extremely interested in a wall display about how to make biodiesel from chip fat.

Thank goodness a teacher came by then and hurried us off to class, or we might have been stuck there, too embarrassed to move or say anything until, like,
the end of time
. And luckily it was impossible for me to BE more embarrassed by then, because now I had to make my new-school debut with a dripping-wet spam head and scary clown make-up, in my stupidly prissy, posh pea-green gear with the nun-tights flapping round my ankles.

My stomach lurched with nerves as I followed Marco into the classroom and stared around me. Really, I would have fitted in better by wearing my own stuff, because everyone else was in only the tiniest
hint
of uniform. The surf-dude types wore theirs with zip-up tops and beanie hats, the Emos with bandana scarves and black skinny jeans, and the townies with gold chains, crop tops and velour trackies (just the girl ones, obviously. They also had so much foundation on I thought it might crack and drop off when a couple of them smirked at the state of me).

Whatever group they were in, everyone gave me the same look, like I'd just landed from outer space. I turned to the teacher, thinking he'd introduce me, or even (please, please) let me go and dry off in the loos. But instead he just gave me a moody glare and said, “Abigail Green, I assume. Take a seat, quickly. You've disrupted this class enough already.”

Luckily, Marco ushered me over to his table. I squelched across the room and took the spare chair, and the teacher started talking again (I've no idea what about). The brown-haired boy sitting opposite me (with his shirt unbuttoned to display a Scooby Doo T-shirt underneath) gave me a warm smile and I smiled back. You know how it is with some people. You just get a good vibe.

When I glanced over to the girl next to me, she smiled too. “I'm Summer,” she whispered. “That's Ben. And I gather you've met Mr. Vain.” She winked at Marco and sang, “Yeah-yeah, I wanna be a rock star,” under her breath. He grinned and flicked her a V-sign.

Out of everyone in the room, Summer had taken her uniform closest to the limit with hippy bracelets and beads, stripy tights, DMs with painted flowers on, a minuscule skirt and a huge floppy yellow bow in her long curly black hair. She looked A. Mazing.

Snuggling up in Marco's blazer, and enjoying the smell of his body spray or whatever it was swirling all around me (I was picking up the cedar wood from it now as well), I felt like things might not be going too badly after all.