The Summer of Telling Tales Page 6

  Back in the caravan, Ellie insists on putting the pizzas into the oven and laying the table to surprise Mum. It’s just gone five when we leave Bruno, and walk up to the café to meet her.

  ‘What’s she going to say about my hair?’ asks Ellie anxiously.

  We peer through the café window to see Mum busy clearing one of the tables. There are no customers now and the sign on the door says Closed. We go in and when she turns and sees Ellie hovering behind me, she jumps, nearly dropping the tray she’s holding.

  ‘Oh my goodness, Ellie! What have you done?’

  ‘Does it look awful?’

  ‘Well, no, but it’s a bit of a shock – you look completely different!’

  ‘But that’s just what I want.’

  ‘You should have asked me first, love; you’ve never used hair dye before – you could have had an allergic reaction or something. Grace, why didn’t you stop her?’

  How can anyone stop Ellie? I want to retort. It’s easier to stop a ten tonne runaway truck with a feather. But as usual I can’t answer her, even to say it’s not my fault.

  ‘Oh Grace!’ sighs Mum, throwing me a despairing look. And I know she’s as upset with me as she is cross with Ellie.

  ‘Grace wasn’t there – I mean, she didn’t know what I was doing because . . . I . . . um . . . locked myself in the bathroom,’ Ellie says.

  ‘So who cut your hair?’

  ‘Well, she did. But that was after I dyed it . . . and I did ask her.’

  Mum shakes her head. ‘Honestly, you two! Thank goodness your dad —’ She stops and bites her lip but we all know what she was about to say.

  ‘How did it go today?’ asks Ellie, quickly changing the subject.

  ‘Great,’

  ‘Where’s Stan?’

  ‘Had to go home early. Daphne’s not well. I’ve been on my own all afternoon.’

  I look around and see a vase full of bright yellow flowers on each table. But it’s not just the flowers – the whole place looks fresher.

  Mum looks different too. Straighter . . . taller somehow, but that, even by the standards of Ellie’s overactive imagination, is impossible. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet,’ she tells us with a huge grin on her face, ‘but I haven’t had so much fun for ages.’

  When everything’s tidy, Mum locks up, and we stroll back home. When we arrive at the caravan, she sniffs the air, puzzled.

  ‘You haven’t left the cooker on have you?’ she asks. ‘I can smell burning.’

  ‘Oh no! The pizzas!’ shouts Ellie.

  We rush in and Mum turns off the oven but it’s too late – all that’s left inside are three charred black discs.

  ‘It was going to be a lovely surprise!’ wails Ellie.

  ‘Well, it is . . . sort of,’ Mum says with a nervous giggle. ‘You haven’t set the caravan alight. That’s something.’

  Again she amazes me. Back home something like this would have been a major trauma, something terrible to eradicate before Dad saw. Now it’s just a few burnt pizzas and no harm done.

  I glance down to see Bruno lying contentedly on his blanket next to the empty ice cream carton, busily licking off the last remnants of luxury fudge ice cream from his fur and looking extremely satisfied with himself. I’d left Ellie to put the carton in the little freezer compartment. She’d been so busy with the pizzas that she must have forgotten and I hadn’t noticed either.

  ‘We wanted a treat for you,’ Ellie mumbles, ‘and now everything’s ruined.’

  I pick up the box of chocolates from the floor and pass them to her. One corner of the cardboard is soggy and mangled where it’s been half chewed by Bruno but apart from that the rest is undamaged.

  Ellie opens the box then offers them to Mum, who smiles and takes one.

  ‘You’ve got the brazil caramel!’ says Ellie surprised.

  ‘Delicious . . . thank you,’ she replies, and I remember that they are Dad’s favourites.

  As we cook tea together, Mum drops a bombshell.

  ‘On Monday, we need to go along to the school in town, see if they’ve got places and get you both enrolled.’

  ‘We’re going to go to school here?’ asks Ellie shocked.

  ‘Well, if we’re staying, yes.’

  ‘We are staying, aren’t we?’ Ellie asks anxiously, touching her hair. ‘We’re not going home?’

  That horrible, old queasy feeling returns to the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Do you want to go home?’ asks Mum hesitantly, her voice quivering.

  ‘No!’ Ellie says.

  ‘Grace, what about you?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘So, we’re here. But you’ve got to go to school. Besides I’ll be at work half the week. And goodness only knows what you’ll get up to next, Ellie, if I’m not around.’

  My heart sinks. I don’t want to go home but apart from there, school’s the last place I want to be.

  Chapter 17

  Ellie

  ‘It’s going to be fine,’ I tell Grace, forcing my voice to sound confident. ‘And because Dad’s not here, we don’t have to worry about Mum now. She’s safe.’

  School seemed like a fun idea yesterday, another new adventure, but now, in the cold light of day I’m petrified. What if no one talks to me or I end up on my own all day? What am I going to do? It’ll be totally awful. I’m going to look like a right saddo. It’s OK for Grace, she’ll keep her head down and won’t want anyone to speak to her, but I had enough of being a Billy No-Mates at my last school. It was horrible and I hated it.

  We walk along the path past the stones, a shortcut up to the community college, wearing second-hand uniforms bought from a charity shop in town yesterday, after we enrolled that morning.

  ‘Silly buying brand new,’ Mum said cheerfully, as we picked out grey skirts, candy stripe green and white blouses, ties and dark green sweatshirts, ‘no one’ll even notice.’

  I didn’t say anything but Grace and I both knew that she didn’t have the money for brand new stuff. Besides, Grace would look fantastic dressed in a bin liner and with a bit of luck, my new haircut and colour might just distract people from noticing my second-hand sweatshirt.

  Just before we left the shop, Grace found a beautiful flowery top and got me to persuade Mum to try it on. She never usually wears bright colours but she looked absolutely lovely in it so I made her buy it and she even wore it home, giggling that she felt like a new woman. And she is. She laughs and smiles so much these days.

  And now, as we walk through the stone circle, I stop at the tallest stone and place my palms on the front for good luck. The rock is cold and rough and wobbles just a fraction when I press against it.

  ‘Do you think it’s true – that they were once girls?’ I ask Grace.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘But just imagine, you’re dancing here on the grass with all your mates, not a care in the world, there’s a massive bolt of lightning, it lights up the whole sky and suddenly – suddenly – you can’t move, you can’t talk – you can’t do anything!’

  I close my eyes and imagine I’m turned to stone, which isn’t very successful because after a couple of seconds I can feel the collar of my shirt itching my neck and I give into scratching madly.

  ‘It’s just a story, Ellie. Something to frighten people with.’

  ‘It’s scary. This whole place is scary. Have you noticed how it’s always so quiet?’ I peer round at the circle of stones. ‘Nothing but the Maids softly breathing . . . ’

  ‘Shut up, Ellie —’

  I glare at Grace like a zombie.

  ‘Elle – my name is Elle,’ I say in a creepy voice but Grace isn’t impressed.

  ‘Great. We’re going to be late on our first day . . . Elle,’ she tells me, walking off.

  ‘Wait for me!’ I say with a shiver, hurrying after her.

  We arrive at school just as the bell is ringing. Hordes of kids barge past us. Neither of us is sure where to go, so we follow signs saying Receptio
n, where the woman behind the glass hands us our timetables and points us in different directions.

  ‘Good luck then,’ I say to Grace.

  She nods back at me. ‘You too.’

  ‘Maybe you should try to speak to people here,’ I say hopefully. ‘It might help.’

  Grace pulls a face. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Things are different now, we’ve got a new start.’

  She shrugs and I leave her, making my way down the packed corridor, until I find my form room. The room’s noisy and crowded but as I stand awkwardly just inside the door, a pretty girl with long brown hair, loosely piled up on her head, passes me.

  ‘You new?’ she asks.

  I nod and paste on what I hope looks like a friendly and not totally desperate smile.

  ‘I’m Caitlin,’ she announces. ‘Like your hair.’

  ‘Thanks. Like yours too.’

  ‘Don’t! It’s supposed to be sophisticated but I can feel it flopping down into “muppet”.’

  We exchange a giggle.

  ‘Muppets are cool,’ I tell her.

  ‘Well, they do have the best eyebrows —’

  ‘Yeah, all curly – big hairy caterpillars —’

  ‘I’m not wearing mine today,’ she jokes in a theatrical whisper.

  ‘I am! But don’t tell anyone, they’ve just crawled off behind my ears.’

  We giggle again and I know that this is the friend I’ve been waiting forever to find. There’s an instant connection between us. We’re on exactly the same wavelength.

  I glance around the room and notice others looking over. ‘My name’s Elle,’ I say, hoping I’m not pushing my luck.

  I follow Caitlin to join another girl, Abi, and we sit down together as three more girls come over.

  ‘Abs and me are best friends,’ Caitlin tells me. ‘And this is Ruby, Shareen and Freya,’ she adds. ‘Meet the lovely Elle, everyone.’

  The other girls say hello.

  ‘When did you move here?’ Abi asks.

  ‘Just a few days ago.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘Cool. My cousin lives there,’ says Shareen. ‘She’s got a really good job – earns a packet.’

  ‘So where are you living now?’ asks Freya.

  ‘Um . . . oh, we’re just somewhere temporary at the moment,’ I say as all the girls look at me questioningly. I don’t want to tell them we’re living on a caravan site because we’ve run away from Dad. Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, ‘till we can move into our new house.’

  ‘One of those they’re building up on the downs?’ asks Ruby.

  ‘Um . . . yeah, that’s right.’ I nod casually, not having the faintest idea where she means but hoping we can change the subject now.

  ‘Wow! They’re amazing, they are – one of them’s got an indoor pool,’ says Cait with a laugh. ‘Help! I’m going green!’

  Trust me to pick probably the most expensive houses in the area, I think, mentally kicking myself.

  ‘So is it that one or the one next door with the tennis court?’ Abi asks.

  I kick myself again but keep smiling. Pool or tennis court? It’s no contest – splish, splash, gulp, gulp. I’m already out of my depth. ‘The one with the pool.’

  ‘Yes!’ says Cait, excitedly. ‘Hey, when you’ve moved in you’ve just got to throw a big pool party, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Too right.’

  ‘OK, sure.’ My heart is sinking like a stone into my imaginary, luxury swimming pool.

  ‘Hey everyone, this is Elle,’ calls Cait to the rest of the class, ‘and we’re all invited to her party.’

  Most of the others now turn around to look at me and a few of the boys give a cheer.

  ‘Cait,’ says Abs, ‘she hasn’t even moved in yet!’

  ‘Yeah, and what about her parents? They might say no way,’ adds Shareen.

  ‘Oh, but they won’t, will they?’ pleads Cait.

  I shrug. My imaginary parents definitely wouldn’t say no.

  ‘They’re pretty cool about stuff,’ I say.

  ‘Wish mine were!’ says Shareen, rolling her eyes. ‘They’re always on about something. “Tidy your room”, “Do your homework”, “Empty the dishwasher”. They never stop.’

  ‘That’s cos they’re both teachers,’ says Ruby with a laugh. ‘Nagging’s in their blood.’

  ‘Hey, we could have a theme – mermaids and . . . um, I don’t know, fish or something – ask your dad tonight – then we can get planning.’

  ‘Um, I can’t,’ I say, pulling a face. ‘He’s not around at the moment.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  My mind’s racing. What can I say? I’ve never told anyone the truth about what happened at home and I’m not going to start now. I glance around the room, catching sight of a map of the world pinned on the wall. ‘He’s . . . abroad.’ How far can I send him? Outer Mongolia? Antarctica? The moon? For goodness’ sake, just make it convincing, Ellie, I tell myself.

  ‘He’s in America.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s been working out there for a few months now,’ I say, slipping into my fantasy. ‘I really miss him.’ I give a sad little shrug for effect, although my thoughts are in a whirl. What on earth’s he doing there? An image of Dad as a cowboy, complete with hat and horse, flits into my head. I immediately shove it out, but his ‘always the drama queen’ taunt rings in my ears.

  ‘He’s an actor,’ I say impulsively.

  Cait’s mouth drops open.

  ‘An actor, wow. That is the best. Is he famous?’

  It’s too late now. I can’t contradict myself, or tell them I’ve just made everything up to impress them or they’ll be furious. I have to stick to my story. Keep it real.

  ‘No, but I suppose he might be one day. He’s in a film. They liked his English accent. And his agent said although it’s not a massive part, it’s a really good one, so he shouldn’t turn it down.’

  Caitlin, Abi and the other girls are looking at me now as if I’ve just floated in on a golden cloud. Something’s shifted – something small, but something important. Suddenly I’m not just a new girl, I’m somebody special, someone worth knowing.

  The teacher hurries in and calls to everyone to settle down. In the scramble for seats, Caitlin and Abi both want me to sit next to them. I end up between the two of them, and we make whispered plans to sit together in all the classes we share and meet up at break and lunchtime. I’m barely listening to the teacher droning away. I am on a golden cloud. Cloud nine.

  At my last school, because of Dad, I didn’t really have any friends. I told white lies, made excuses and I got used to being the mousy, boring one – the girl who always melted into the background. And now it’s really weird, again because of Dad and a few more porkies, suddenly I’m getting the chance to be the cool kid – the glamorous one, the one everyone wants to be friends with . . . and guess what? It feels great.

  Chapter 18

  Grace

  I head down a maze of corridors and promptly get lost. When I eventually find my form room – a quarter of an hour later – and look through the glass door, I see a short, middle-aged lady in a beige trouser suit padding silently up and down between the rows of desks, addressing the class in quiet clipped tones. Unlike the room next door, where the teacher’s raised voice can barely be heard over the bedlam, no one is even daring to whisper in here. I slip in at the back and sit down, hoping I won’t be noticed.

  ‘Ah, you must be Grace Smith,’ the teacher announces immediately, as everyone turns around and stares. In amongst the blur of faces I spot two familiar ones – Ryan Baxter and that good-looking boy, PJ – before I quickly lower my eyes and stare down at the floor.

  ‘You are Grace Smith, aren’t you?’

  Keeping my head down, I nod.

  ‘I’m sorry? I didn’t quite hear what you said.’ There’s a slight edge to her voice now.

  I squirm on my chair, wanting to answer
but unable to form the words.

  ‘Well, Grace?’ she growls, impatiently. I look up and we lock eyes. Hers are steely grey and she has two deep frown lines between them on her forehead.

  ‘Late on your first day – not a very good start, is it?’ she says softly.

  I manage to keep eye contact but behind her back, I notice PJ mimicking her every word.

  ‘I am Miss Turner. Apart from being your form teacher, I teach history. I’m also Head of Year Nine and in charge of discipline. So any problems or difficulties, you come and see me. Understood? My office is two doors down from the Headmaster’s.’ There’s a pause. ‘Yes, Miss Turner!’ she barks, staring at me.

  My mouth is dry and I can feel that horrible queasy feeling welling up from the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Yes. Miss. Turner,’ she repeats slowly, as if I’m stupid. There’s a deathly silence around me. Glances fire across the room like arrows. PJ’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. Again I try to speak but my mouth is clamped firmly shut.

  ‘Well, I’m not quite sure what you got away with at your last school, young lady,’ she says looking at some paperwork on her desk, ‘but here it’s customary to reply politely to a teacher when he or she addresses you.’

  I stare at Miss Turner. The sick feeling grows stronger. Everyone is watching, scanning my face and Miss Turner’s, to see who will blink first.

  ‘Maybe she’s just shy, Miss,’ calls a voice. It’s Ryan.

  ‘Baxter, when I want your input I’ll ask for it.’

  ‘But, Miss, it’s only her first day —’

  ‘Precisely. And Grace Smith is not the only pupil to swan into this school, thinking she can behave exactly how she likes. So right from day one – hour one, in fact – I’d like her to know that Zero Tolerance is my motto. What is my motto, Jacobs?’

  ‘Zero Tolerance, Miss Turner,’ PJ repeats.

  ‘And the one thing, more than any other, that I will not tolerate is rudeness. By the way, you’re in detention, Jacobs, I don’t care to be lampooned.’