The Summer of Telling Tales Page 12

  ‘Ryan, he is already proud of you,’ I tell him, squeezing his arm gently. ‘But I promise I’ll play this gig if we get through the audition.’

  ‘Thanks, Grace, it means the world to me . . . The auditions start next week so we’ll have a bit of time to rehearse.’

  As we turn into his road we see his dad driving along the pavement ahead of us, in his motorised wheelchair with the twins dressed in their school uniforms holding their book bags, seated but wriggling on his lap. One of the twins turns and sees us and Ryan’s dad gives a couple of toots on the horn attached to the handlebars. The twins jump off at the gate and rush to put down a little ramp at the front door. Their dad manoeuvres the chair up the path, past the tangle of bikes and go-carts and bodyboards, then glides smoothly through the front door.

  ‘Hi, Grace! Always nice to see you!’ he calls.

  ‘Hello, Mr Baxter,’ I say, finding my voice.

  ‘Well, come on in then,’ he calls. ‘Let’s get that kettle on, Ryan my man.’

  We go inside and he makes tea for us while Ryan and I make a gigantic pile of marmite toast for the twins, who are starving. Once all the toast is demolished and the mugs of tea are drunk, Ryan’s dad asks us to take Harry and Tom down to the beach for a while. Both the little boys insist on holding the football and a minor punch up is only just avoided when Ryan suggests I look after the ball for them.

  We get to the beach and to my horror I’m pitched with the twins against Ryan.

  ‘But I don’t know how to play football!’ I say.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ryan whispers. ‘It won’t matter.’

  And it doesn’t. We chase the ball and bundle and roll about on the sand like a bunch of scrapping puppies. I’m lying down laughing so much that when Harry sits on my feet, I can’t get up.

  ‘You can be our sister, if you like,’ he tells me shyly. ‘Or . . . you can be our mum.’

  ‘She’s not old enough to be our mum, stupid,’ Tom says. ‘Anyway, if our real mum comes back we’ll have two mums and nobody has two mums, do they?’

  ‘She’s not coming back,’ says Harry fiercely.

  ‘She might.’

  ‘She’s not. She said so.’

  ‘OK, who’s hungry?’ Ryan interrupts, darting me a glance.

  ‘I am!’ the twins chorus.

  ‘Last one home’s a beached whale!’ he shouts and we all start running full pelt along the sand. The twins are laughing now and Ryan’s chasing them and roaring away, pretending to be a sea monster, and I realise for the first time ever that I’m not the only one in this world who keeps silent.

  Chapter 33

  Ellie

  With Cait’s taunt of ‘liar’ ringing in my ears, I’m feeling really uneasy when I go into the hall after school for rehearsals. I pretend to everyone there’s nothing the matter but I can feel her watching me and when I get up on stage, I start stuttering and stumbling over my lines. I’m finding it hard to look her in the eye as I wonder nervously what she’s found out.

  Mad Mulligan stops us mid-scene and asks me in a disappointed voice what on earth the matter is.

  ‘Nothing, Miss,’ I say, darting a glance at Cait.

  But seeing the smug expression plastered over her face works better than anything to kick me back into shape. Suddenly I’m all stirred up. There’s no way I’m going to let her get to me, I think defiantly. She’s not going to ruin the best thing that’s ever happened in my life.

  ‘Can we just try this scene again?’ I ask.

  ‘I think we’d better,’ Mulligan says. ‘And for goodness’ sake, let’s have the Princess Caraboo we saw in the first rehearsal, can we, please?’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’

  I act the scene afresh, as if my life depended on it. After a couple of lines, I’m no longer afraid and there’s an energy inside me that I can hardly contain.

  ‘Much better, Elle! Brilliant!’ Mulligan calls to me at the end.

  I breathe a secret sigh of relief as I realise I don’t need to worry. No one can stop me. Not Cait, not anyone.

  Mad Mulligan puts us through our paces for nearly two hours and by the time the cleaner appears, rattling the mop in her bucket and wanting to lock up, we’ve worked our way through the entire play. We should all be totally wrecked but there’s a buzz in the room – everyone’s running on adrenalin and chattering excitedly. Mulligan shouts a reminder about getting all lines learnt by next week and threatens us with a fate worse than death if we fail. Everyone is raring to go and making plans to meet up and practise lines and scenes together. Everyone that is, except Cait and me. For a moment she looks as if she wants to speak to me, but I don’t hang around, and rush off quickly.

  I’m walking home back along the path by the stones when I hear a voice call out. I turn around and see Cait marching towards me. It’s too late to run away – I stand my ground.

  Cait stares at me for a second, then says deliberately, ‘You’re a big fat liar, Elle, aren’t you?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ I ask nervously, playing for time.

  ‘You said you were moving into that big house on the downs. But you’re not, are you? I know for definite you’re not. PJ lives on that road and he’s told me another family’s already moved in.’

  I think fast. ‘Dad put an offer in but someone must have beaten it.’

  ‘I bet.’ She stares at me. ‘So what else are you making up?’ she asks nastily.

  ‘Nothing . . .’

  ‘I don’t believe you. I’m going to tell everyone what a great big liar you are. Let’s see what Abs and the others think of you then!’

  My heart is thumping as I scan Cait’s face. She means every word.

  ‘No one’s going to think you’re so brilliant, are they? Not when they know the truth about you.’

  Ahead of me I see Susan. She waves. My heart sinks.

  ‘I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Ooo, Mummy going to be cross, is she?’ Cait teases, eyeing Susan coldly. A smug smile sweeps across her face. ‘She doesn’t look a bit like a writer. More lies, Elle?’

  I’m dying quietly inside as Cait marches straight up to Susan.

  ‘Are you a writer or what?’ she demands rudely.

  ‘Um . . . Yes . . . I am actually,’ Susan replies looking slightly disconcerted.

  Cait looks surprised and hesitates for a second before adding, ‘You really write proper books?’

  ‘Well . . . I’d like to think they were proper. They get published, if that’s what you mean.’ She glances at me then back to Cait. ‘You two friends?’

  ‘No way!’ Cait snaps before turning tail and heading off.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I say to Susan, shivering at my narrow escape.

  ‘Not your fault,’ she says, eyeing me curiously for a second. ‘How’s your story going?’ she asks casually.

  ‘OK,’ I lie. ‘But it’s only a fairy story . . . and they’re just for kids.’

  ‘I don’t know about that! Most fairy stories are completely terrifying when you analyse them.’ She looks at me then adds meaningfully, ‘They’re often about standing up to someone frightening – just like in real life.’

  I know she means Cait but suddenly I’m not thinking about her, I’m thinking of Dad and how he used to bully Mum, Grace and me.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say, feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘OK. But if you ever want to chat about anything – stories, friends, whatever – you know where I am.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say quickly before turning and running all the way home. Stories and real life are completely different things, I think, and if you mix them up together, like I have, you get a whole mess of trouble. But it’s too late for me to separate them out now and tell the truth. I’m in too deep.

  Chapter 34

  Grace

  I get home five minutes before Ellie.

  ‘How did it go?’ I ask. She looks at me blankly. ‘The rehearsal,’ I say.

  ‘Oh that. Well . . . it started off
complete pants, then got miles better and by the time we finished it was totally brilliant. Dad was sooo right when he called me a drama queen – I’m the biggest drama queen in the whole universe!’

  She stretches out her arms, twirls around the caravan, and promptly bangs into the little table.

  ‘Ow! That hurt!’ she says, rubbing her hip.

  ‘So is your friend Cait in the play?’ I ask casually.

  ‘Why does everyone think she’s my friend?’ says Ellie scornfully.

  ‘You were best mates, last week.’

  ‘In your dreams!’ she retorts, turning away to get some bread out of the fridge. ‘Thought I was the one with the crazy imagination.’

  ‘Is it because she’s going out with PJ?’

  ‘No! In fact, I’m deliriously happy for them both. They’re made for each other. Fancy a cheese and jam sandwich?’

  She tilts her head back, sticks out her jaw and I know for sure she’s miffed about something. Secretly I’m relieved Ellie’s not the one involved with PJ, but I don’t tell her that. I change the subject and as we make sandwiches together, I tell her about Ryan’s family and how I’m determined to audition with the band for Beachfest.

  ‘You’ll knock’em dead.’

  ‘Hope not, that’s Darren’s job when he leaps off the stage,’ I say with a giggle. ‘Ryan told me it’s thanks to him the band got its name. After every rehearsal, when he checked out his garage, Ryan’s dad would ask, “So what’s the damage this time?” because Darren was always breaking something.’

  We make ourselves comfy on the bench seat and munch our sarnies.

  ‘See this pink stripy material?’ asks Ellie with a mouthful of sandwich, pointing to a square on the quilt. ‘Gran made Mum and Auntie Anna matching dresses for some concert they sang in. They must have looked like twins.’

  ‘Don’t get any ideas,’ I joke.

  ‘It’s a shame they never used to see each other much,’ Ellie says, her face suddenly serious. ‘They’re sisters for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘They had a big row,’ I tell her quietly.

  Ellie’s surprised. ‘I thought it was because Dad told Mum he didn’t want her seeing Auntie Anna.’

  ‘Well, he did, but I heard them both about two years ago. They didn’t know I was round the side of the house with Bruno. Auntie Anna was telling Mum she shouldn’t let Dad control her like he did but Mum said things were complicated and she shouldn’t interfere. After a few minutes, they started arguing, then Anna got cross and stormed off.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ Ellie says pulling a face. She’s quiet for a few seconds. ‘We’d never fall out like that, would we, Grace? I mean . . . no matter what happened.’

  ‘Course we wouldn’t,’ I tell her. ‘Come on, let’s go and meet Mum.’

  We put Bruno’s lead on and head up to the café on the beach.

  ‘She’s late. She’s supposed to finish at five,’ Ellie says.

  ‘She’s probably just cooking up loads of pasties or something.’

  ‘Oh let them be cheese and onion, pleeeeease!’ says Ellie, clamping her palms together and pretending to pray.

  When we get to the café all the blinds are pulled down.

  ‘Looks like she’s gone,’ says Ellie, rushing up the wooden steps.

  We burst into the café. The place has been transformed. It’s festooned with twinkling white fairy lights and in the middle of the room is just one table, laid for two with a clean white linen cloth, shiny silver cutlery and bone china plates. In the centre of the table stands a tall vase full of fresh flowers.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ Ellie asks, eyeing Bill who’s hovering by one of the café windows. Instead of his normal scruffy fishing gear he’s wearing a stripy apron over a suit and tie. He nods over to the kitchen as Mum appears from behind the counter.

  ‘What d’you think?’ she asks, her eyes shining.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Ellie asks.

  ‘It’s a surprise – for Daphne. She came out of hospital yesterday. I found out it was their fiftieth wedding anniversary last week, and Stan wanted to do something special but he didn’t know what, so . . .’

  ‘All your mum’s idea,’ Bill says grinning.

  ‘They’re here! Quick!’ says Mum suddenly.

  Like little children we all make a dash for hiding places as the café door creaks open.

  Chapter 35

  Ellie

  I can’t resist peering over the counter, even though Mum is tugging at my top.

  ‘Get down, Ellie!’ she whispers.

  I do as she says even though I’m desperate to see Daphne. What would she look like? How weird would she be?

  ‘Oh Stanley!’ says a woman’s voice. ‘It’s beautiful!’ This must be her. But her voice is light and fluttery, not hard and gruff like I’m expecting.

  ‘Blimey O’Reilly . . .’ I hear Stan mutter.

  ‘Happy anniversary!’ chorus Mum and Bill, as we all emerge from our hiding places. I’m expecting to see a rough-looking woman dressed in sacking with a rope belt and a mad look in her eye, but I see a fragile old lady wearing a purple woollen suit, with her silver hair coiled up on the back of her head.

  ‘She looks like an elderly Audrey Hepburn,’ Grace whispers to me, but I haven’t a clue who she means.

  Daphne smiles at Mum. ‘You must be Karin,’ she says warmly.

  ‘Hello,’ Mum replies. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I thought . . . well, I just thought . . . fifty years is an awfully long time . . .’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. You’re very sweet.’ She gives Mum a delicate hug. ‘Fifty precious years . . . and all thanks to the Maids, eh, Stanley?’ she adds, smiling at Stan.

  ‘The Maids?’ I ask, wondering if she really is bonkers after all. ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘Just over fifty years ago, one August night, Stan and I were walking back together from a dance, but we’d had a furious argument—’

  ‘She never wanted to see me again – ever,’ Stan interrupts.

  ‘Then just as we walked into the stone circle, the sky opened and hailstones pelted down—’

  ‘The size of peas, the little blighters!’ Stan says. ‘Fired straight onto us.’

  ‘So we ran for shelter, the only shelter nearby – this wooden hut, which wasn’t a café then. It was such a wreck inside—’

  ‘And chock full of mice and rats too, but as we weren’t talking, I didn’t tell Daffy that.’

  ‘Just as well. Anyway, as we stood here shivering, ignoring each other—’

  ‘The floor gave way and we fell onto the sand down there,’ adds Stan with a chuckle, pointing to the middle of the room.

  ‘And suddenly we were both laughing and I knew we were supposed to be together no matter what happened. Good or bad.’

  ‘We got hitched, bought this place and turned it into the best little café for miles around.’

  She reaches for Stan’s hand and holds it tightly. ‘And now he won’t sell up, will you? You’re a daft old fool,’ she tells him, ‘but I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  With a big cough and a little flourish, Bill shows Stan and Daphne to their seats. Mum calls Grace and I over and we help carry the dishes of food to the table. Mum’s certainly been busy. There’s fresh grilled fish that Bill has somehow managed to catch this morning, hot fried potatoes, salads and a beautifully decorated cake with golden writing, saying Happy 50th Anniversary on its smoothly iced surface. As we help Mum and play at waitressing, I watch Stan and Daphne chatting and laughing together and realise some stories really do have a happy ever after.

  Bill goes over to the battered piano in the corner and begins playing. As he thumps out a tune, Stan gets to his feet, takes Daphne’s hand, guides her to a space where the pair of them start to dance. Slowly, they waltz around the room with eyes only for each other. We watch them for a few minutes, then Mum darts a glance at me. She grins mischievously, then grabs my hand and we start dancing too. Not quite as elegantly. Grace watc
hes, trying not to laugh.

  The next tune Bill plays is much faster. It’s pretty manic and Bill’s hit and miss piano playing technique doesn’t help much, so Stan and Daphne sit this one out as Mum offers to show us all a Czech folk dance her dad taught her and Auntie Anna when they were small. I’m not sure what my grandad would have thought but pretty soon we’re all laughing and giggling as Grace and I try to imitate the steps Mum demonstrates, faster and faster.

  ‘Beats the telly, doesn’t it?’ Stan jokes to Daphne as they watch and clap along, until the three of us finally collapse into an exhausted heap on the floor.

  A couple of hours later, Stan, Daphne and Bill head home while Mum, Grace and I set about clearing up.

  ‘Think I might have overdone it,’ Mum says, looking at all the serving dishes still half full of food.

  ‘Shame,’ I say picking up a crispy fried potato and popping it in my mouth. We take a break, sit down together and polish off the leftovers.

  ‘What you did for Stan and Daphne was really kind, Mum,’ I tell her.

  She gives a little shrug and smiles. ‘I enjoyed it,’ she says simply. ‘It’s funny, but Stan seems almost like family now.’

  She pulls a face and I suddenly realise how much she must miss Auntie Anna. If only there was something I could do, I think. Just like Stan and Daphne, they go back a long way. I want their story to be happy ever after too.

  That night, when we get back to the caravan, I open my notebook thinking I might give my story one last try and the postcard of the stone circle falls out. As I stare at it an idea forms in my head. The Maids brought Stan and Daphne together; maybe they could work their magic on other people too. I quickly turn the card over, address it to Auntie Anna, then write a short message. I don’t say much, just that Mum, Grace and I are living down here in a caravan.

  The next day on our way to school, I make an excuse to Grace then dive into the little post office, buy a stamp and quickly post the card.

  ‘What you up to?’ Grace asks me as I come out.