The Twice-Lived Summer of Bluebell Jones (12 page)

“I got to run. But. So. I'll meet you at The Bench, on Saturday? Just before twelve o'clock?”

I nod.

He takes one step forward, towards me, reaching out as if he's going in for a hug but thinking better of it: hesitating with his arms stiffly out like a robot. It's awkward, but adorable. He looks at my lips. My heart flaps, madly.

Then he scoops up my hand, half-lost in his coat sleeves, and presses it to his lips, keeping his eyes locked on mine.

A kiss, on the back of my hand.

I can't breathe.

His lips are still there, kissing my hand.

Then he grins, tips his hat, and he's gone, whirling into the crowd.

I stand still, trembling all over, staring at my hand.

Red stares at it too, absently rubbing a hand across the smiley face on her T-shirt as if she can feel that mad bird flapping too.

“You don't mind?” I ask, because, well, she saw him first.

She shakes her wing of hair, and flashes me her widest, reddest grin.

Dad texts:
Can you come home?

I float back to the caravan, hardly able to walk in a straight line. Everyone's waiting: Mum on the sofa, Dad and Tiger at the table, hot chocolate in mugs for four.

Then Dad drops the bomb.

“We're leaving Penkerry. We go home first thing tomorrow.”

 

 

12.
Off the Map

 

“What?” says Tiger.

“What?” I echo.

They can't mean it. Not now. Now when I've got the Red Dragon wind in my hair, when I can still feel Merlin's kiss on my hand.

Mum rearranges the duvet across the arc of her tummy, and smoothes her hands calmly across it, saying nothing.

“Seriously, what?” says Tiger again, slapping Dad's hand away from the
Fifties Fest!
flier he's folding into smaller and smaller triangles.

Hot chocolate, like a treat. They've planned this. Dad's eyes slide to Mum's in secret agreement, and the sugary smell makes me seasick.

“Listen, girls.” Dad looks at his hands, big and red. “Your mum needs bed rest. And apparently bed rest does not include sitting behind a drum kit, bashing the hell out of it next to three amps and a subwoofer.”

“Crazy, right?” says Mum, sweeping her hand across her bump. “We all know Peanut here is a junior muso, just getting a head start in the school of rock. But my placenta and my cervix are having musical differences.”

“The difficult third album,” says Dad, mock serious. “Every band struggles with it.”

“And Joanie and the Whales can't play the Fifties Fest without Joanie. And the Whales is a crappy band name.”

“I still say we could be Ian and the Whales. . .” says Dad.

“But no one is ever going to pay money to see a band called Ian and the Whales. Especially not one without a drummer. I'm indispensable.” Mum throws up her hands. “What can you do?”

“Shut up!” shouts Tiger. “Stop joking around, it's not funny.”

It isn't, it isn't. I want to cry. This can't be real.

Mum and Dad exchange another look, and Dad sinks into his shoulders.

“You're right, it's not funny,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “We're sick over it, sweetheart. Sick with worry. So disappointed. But it's a simple fact: your mum's not well. We go home tomorrow; she gets proper rest in a proper bed till Peanut comes. It's not all bad news, girls. Tiger, you'll get to pick up your exam results with all your mates. Blue, you and me'll have a laugh together. We can make a head start on all the stuff that needs doing: get the cot set up, get the painting done. . .”

“What painting?”

Mum looks at me, uncomfortable. “Don't have a paddy, baby. I thought you'd have figured this out already. After the first few weeks or months Peanut's going to need its own place to sleep—”

“And for all the million tons of crap it apparently ‘needs',” says Dad, making air-quotes, “though you two did just fine without a changing table, and three kinds of sling, and a magic bucket that eats nappies. . .”

Mum ignores him. “So your bedroom's going to be the nursery.”

I don't believe this. It keeps getting worse, and worse.

“Your bedroom's tiny anyway; you'll have more space once you're sharing with Tiger. You've managed in that bunk-bed cupboard together for the last few weeks. Compared to that, Tiger's room'll be like a palace.”

“Do I get any say in this?” yells Tiger.

“What about all my stuff?” I whisper. The Great Mouse Army. My perfectly tessellating photos, creeping up the wall; all the new ones I'm waiting to add. The room I've got planned, to reflect me back at myself.

“It's stuff, who cares about stuff?” Dad shouts. “Are you not even listening? Are you that selfish? Your mum's not well. It's done, girls.” He slaps his palm down on the table. “Grow up. Accept it.”

“I don't have to accept anything!” says Tiger.

“Yes you do! This is for your mum. What kind of dad would I be if I put anything before Peanut being safe and sound, eh?”

“What kind of dad are you if you put everything else before your other kids' happiness?” says Tiger. “What if we don't want to leave?”

“None of us wants to, darling,” says Mum, softly.

“Then don't! We can't go now. I can't leave now. I can't leave Catrin.” Tiger's voice cracks, and she slides out from the table, turning her back.

Mum presses her lips together, head tilting. “Tiger. . .”

“I know what you're going to say,” says Tiger, very slow and deliberate though her voice is still crackly. “That I'm being silly, it's just a crush, I'm a silly little girl with stupid romantic ideas and if we go home I'll forget all about her in five minutes.”

My face burns. The back of my hand tingles where Merlin's lips brushed it.

“Only it's not,” she says, turning around. “I love her. I do. I met her the very first night we were here, and she looked at me like she could see straight into my brain, like she knew we were going to be together, and – she's all I think about. I need her hand in mine. I need to be with her. I don't want Mum to be ill or anything bad to happen to Peanut, I don't, I swear I don't – but we've only just started and she's the most important thing that's ever happened to me and I won't let you take her away. I won't.”

The bird flaps in my chest. My heart's too full with wanting. That's me, that's what I can have too, with Merlin, beautiful strange kissable Merlin – but not now. Not if we leave now. I need more time. This is too unfair. This is wrong.

Tiger shudders and runs to our bedroom, tries to slam the paisley curtain behind her, then noisily starts to weep.

Dad breathes in, breathes out.

Mum looks at me, as if she's waiting for me to fix it.

“I hate you,” I whisper through a sob.

I follow Tiger, climb into my bunk with Milly Mouse, and cry-cry-cry.

I cry myself to sleep.

I dream of dragons.

They coil around my tiny bedroom, now painted blue, but not for me. I keep trying to get in but they're dragons: they can breathe fire, and I'm just a little girl.

My face hurts when I wake up.

I hear Tiger sniffle, and hang my head off the bunk.

Her face is swollen, puffy and red-raw from sobbing. Mine must be too. We look like sad clowns, and when I meet her eye I try to smile about it, but instead it makes us both start to cry again.

“God, please, girls,
stop
,” says Dad, tugging back the orange curtain, sounding exhausted. “I didn't mean. . . Come and talk, will you? There's toast and tea on the table.”

“No,” I croak. “I don't care what you say. I'm not packing my things. I'm not leaving today. I can't.”

“We're not going today,” calls Mum, from the kitchenette.

I hang off the bunk again, catch Tiger's wild look of hope. We tumble out of bed in yesterday's clothes.

“That was your dad's daft idea,” says Mum, pushing tea mugs across the table to us. “Make a clean break, instead of having a miserable last few days.”

“Like ripping off a plaster,” Dad says, defensively holding his mug up to his face.

“So we're going to stay for the Fest, tomorrow. We won't be able to play, but we can watch all the other bands. That'd give you enough time to say a proper goodbye to everyone, right? And then we'll drive back crack of dawn Sunday morning.”

“When the traffic's a nightmare and half of Wales will be trying to drive down the same single-lane road as us,” Dad mutters.

“So we could stay a bit longer, then?” I say, suddenly hopeful.

“Were you not listening last night?” Dad snaps. “Your mum needs rest, you think she's getting that in a caravan? We need to be
home
.”

I look at Mum, feeling sick, and guilty – but Mum looks furious.

“Thank you, I can speak for myself! Don't go making out this is all my fault, I feel bad enough as it is.”

I hate this. My parents don't fight. They never fight. This is all Peanut's fault.

Mum breathes deeply, stroking her round tummy with one hand, taking Dad's hand with the other.

“Ian, we've been over this. You want to stay for the Fest as much as the rest of us, and admitting that won't make anyone think you're a bad father – just like me spending Saturday sitting on a beach in the sun won't do Peanut any harm. We drive back Sunday morning, and if we get stuck in traffic, oh well, worse things happen at sea. And that way everyone gets to have what they want.”

“No we don't,” says Tiger, bitterly.

“No, we don't,” says Dad, and he sighs, as if he can picture another summer; one where this doesn't happen. “But it's the best we're going to get, love.”

“What about my bedroom?” I ask.

“Sorry, baby.” Mum shakes her head. “I can grow a person, I can't grow us a bigger house. Your dad'll go and get the paint next week.”

Dad pushes back his chair and grabs his guitar, ruffling my hair like an apology. He quietly strums on the sofa, head down. End of discussion.

And that's it.

We're leaving first thing on Sunday. It's Friday morning.

Two whole days.

It's not enough time. But it might have to be.

The sad, pinched look on Red's face confirms it when I find her waiting for me on the cliff top, hair blowing, looking out to sea.

“So this is one of those fixed, unchangeable stops on Bluebell Road, then?”

“You're leaving?” Red asks.

I nod. “Sunday. Same as it was for you?”

“Yeah. I thought . . . maybe . . . you know, you've changed so many other things. But I don't think that one was ever going to turn out different.”

I could yell at her for not telling me, but there's no point. I know what she'll say: no fun without surprises. It wouldn't have changed how I've lived the last few weeks, even if I'd known. I couldn't have got to where I am any quicker.

Anyway, it's worse for her. I'm going home. I don't think she's coming with me.

“Hey – what's it like, having to share a bedroom with Tiger?”

Red half-laughs. “Oh, don't you worry. She's not so bad, our big sister, you know?”