The Summer of Telling Tales Page 9

  ‘Ideas are what matters. And you’ve obviously got loads. Pick the best ones and weave them together into a magic carpet. You can go anywhere then.’

  I take the notebook. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You can let me read it if you want . . . when you’re ready, of course.’

  ‘OK,’ I say hesitantly, remembering Dad’s scornful reaction to my Araminta stories, ‘as long as you don’t laugh.’

  ‘Why on earth would I do that?’ she asks, puzzled. ‘Unless you meant it to be funny, of course.’

  I nod. ‘Thanks . . . I better go.’

  I hurry back to the caravan, clutching the book, already thinking about my first chapter.

  Grace is sitting at the table writing another of her dumb lists, in between munching on toast, and I just catch the name Ryan written neatly at the top, before she stuffs the scrap of paper into her cardi pocket.

  ‘Cait fancies him too,’ I tell her.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she says sniffily, eyeing my notebook. ‘Where d’you get that?’

  As I feed Bruno, then wash my hands, I tell her about meeting Susan and how I’m going to start writing again.

  ‘You should,’ Grace tells me. ‘I used to love your stories.

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yeah. They were brilliant.’

  Grinning, I pour out some cereal, slosh milk on top, grab a spoon and tuck in. Bruno hovers around my legs hoping to hoover up anything I might spill. I used to be a really messy eater at home – somehow peas would ping away from my fork or soup would slop off my spoon just before I managed to get it safely into my mouth. Dad insisted I did it on purpose but I really didn’t; he just used to make me nervous, watching my every move.

  After breakfast, I open the notebook and see an unwritten postcard of the stones lying on the open page. Susan must have tucked it inside and then forgotten about it. I put it to one side and get stuck into my story.

  ‘Thought you were going to your friend’s,’ Grace says after a little while.

  ‘I am, but not till three,’ I tell her, scribbling away furiously.

  ‘It’s already gone two,’ she says.

  ‘You’re joking!’

  Tucking the postcard back in the notebook, I look down at my plain top and jeans. Cait has only ever seen me in my school uniform. I bet she wears really trendy clothes on weekends. What’s she going to think of me like this?

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Grace asks.

  ‘What am I going to wear?’

  ‘Um . . . what you’ve got on?’

  ‘But I look a mess!’

  ‘You look like Ellie.’

  ‘Elle. My name’s Elle.’ I tell her crossly.

  ‘Sorry. So what does Elle wear?’

  ‘Not this!’ I wail. I look at Grace who’s rolling her eyes and have an idea. ‘Could I borrow something of yours? Pleeeease!’

  ‘OK,’ she says with a shrug. ‘What did you want?’

  ‘Well, I have to look special . . . glamorous.’

  ‘You got the right sister?’

  ‘Oh Grace, shut up! You always look fantastic. You’d look good with a brown paper bag over your head.’

  ‘Maybe I can find you one of those then,’ she says with a smile.

  We go into the little bedroom and half an hour later I’m standing in front of her in the pretty tunic dress she made a few months ago, cinched in at my waist with a leather belt intertwined with shells, black leggings and pumps.

  ‘What do you think?’

  Grace doesn’t reply but adjusts the tunic, and puts a long necklace of shells around my neck.

  ‘Grace!’

  ‘Mmmm . . . pretty good. I should do this for a living.’

  I poke her gently in the ribs.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, as I get going.

  ‘See you later, Elle!’ she replies.

  Chapter 24

  Grace

  The tide is low. The beach seems to have expanded, as there’s now about a mile of pale golden sand around me, the most I’ve seen since we’ve been here, all washed smooth and ironed flat by the sea. At the far end, near the café, there are a few families armed with buckets and nets searching the rock pools. The wind’s chilly. I pull my cardi tightly round me as I watch a bunch of surfers paddle their way out to sea and then wait before leaping upright onto their boards to ride the best waves back to the shore.

  I let Bruno off the lead and he runs around like a crazy dog, barking at seaweed and generally going bonkers. He splashes into the sea and I follow him to the water’s edge as one of the surfers glides towards us.

  It’s Ryan. His face lights up when he recognises me. He steps off his board into the shallow water a few metres away from where I’m standing.

  ‘Grace!’

  I smile at him and he grins back. He comes over and makes a huge fuss of Bruno, telling us both how brilliant he is. Bruno pays back the compliment by rolling over onto his back, his legs waggling in the air. With their friendship firmly cemented, Ryan turns to me.

  ‘Come on. I can show you the seals. They’re out by the cove.’

  He picks up his board, tucks it under his arm and takes my hand in his. It’s freezing cold but I don’t mind.

  He dumps his board with two surfer friends who are sitting further up the beach, then we walk up towards the cliff path with Bruno leading the way, his nose to the ground, sniffing intently.

  ‘The cove’s just over there,’ Ryan tells me, pointing to a rocky outcrop.

  We carry on walking for another ten minutes but I’m alarmed as I realise the path is getting nearer and nearer to the cliff edge. Worse still, it has big chunks missing where the ground has subsided, like bites taken out of a giant sandwich. Unlike Ellie, who would swing from the top of Big Ben for a laugh, I’ve never been good with heights; they make me dizzy and desperate to cling tightly to the nearest solid object, which right now happens to be Ryan.

  Finally we stop and look out to sea but the only thing separating us from a drop of twenty metres is a frighteningly wimpy length of droopy wire. I can hardly bear to look at the shingle cove below us but as I reel back, I get a glimpse of what looks like the entrance to one of the caves.

  ‘You OK?’ asks Ryan as we sit down on a bench well away from the cliff edge.

  I nod, thankful I didn’t do anything really stupid like panic or faint. I’m embarrassed as I realise I’m squeezing Ryan’s hand so hard he’s trying not to wince. I loosen my grip, feeling hot and flustered, pull off my cardi and take a few deep breaths. Sitting at this safe distance, we watch the sea intently. After a few minutes, a seal emerges from one of the caves, encouraged by another who stays close by. The water is rough and choppy and the smaller seal has a job to swim against the strong current, which tries to carry her away from the rocks and out to sea. Suddenly she disappears completely. I scan the water but she’s nowhere to be seen. Finally, she bobs up above the surface a good ten metres away from where she went under, then, fighting hard against the current, makes it to the rocks. The other seal climbs up, nuzzles her for a few seconds then the pair settle down side by side in the sunshine . . . sunbathing.

  We’re so busy watching them I forget all about Bruno, but when I do reach down to pat him, he’s gone. I look around expecting to see him, nose stuck to the ground on the scent trail of a rabbit, but there’s no sign of him at all. Suddenly there’s a yelp from inside a large gorse bush growing by the wire fence, followed by scrabbling sounds, then a frightened whimpering.

  We rush to the fence and peer over to see Bruno, several metres below on a narrow ledge, looking up at us pitifully as he tries to paw his way back up the cliff. But there’s no way he’s going to be able to do it without help.

  ‘Wait here,’ Ryan tells me, and before I can stop him he’s climbed over the wire fencing. I watch petrified as Ryan edges down the rocks towards Bruno, who wags his tail faster as he approaches. Finally, he drops safely down onto the ledge n
ext to Bruno. Ryan speaks softly, gently reassuring him, as he carefully runs a hand over his head, back and paws, checking for injuries.

  ‘I think he’s OK,’ he calls up to me.

  My heart’s in my mouth as he gently picks up Bruno and lifts him onto a higher ledge, telling him to stay as he climbs up after him. I breathe a sigh of relief as Bruno does as he’s told, thankful to Ellie for secretly trying to train him even though Dad labelled him the stupidest mutt in the world. Dad was wrong, as Ellie and I always thought. Bruno isn’t stupid at all, he just instinctively knows who he can trust.

  Bruno is first up over the cliff edge and I quickly grab his collar and clip on his lead, tying it around a fence post so he can’t go anywhere. Ryan isn’t far behind but suddenly he misses his footing and slips, dislodging a football-sized rock, which tumbles all the way down to the beach, landing with an ominous crash.

  I stifle a scream as he grabs hold of a scrubby bit of bush and manages to stop himself sliding any further.

  He looks up at me. ‘It’s OK, I’m good,’ he says, but his face is contorting in pain and he doesn’t attempt to move.

  Trying not to look down, I drop to the ground, as close to the edge of the cliff as I can bear. Lying flat on the grass I lock my arm around the nearest concrete post then, hanging on for dear life, wriggle closer, leaning over the cliff edge, holding out my other arm for Ryan to grab hold of.

  He reaches up and grasps my hand tightly then awkwardly heaves himself up over the side of the cliff and onto the grass.

  He doesn’t move for a minute. His face is as white as paper. Then he looks me straight in the eye and a crooked smile appears on his face.

  ‘Hey, don’t worry . . . I bounce.’

  Chapter 25

  Ellie

  Cait’s house is easy to find. She told me it was the blue one with the pale green window frames, down by the harbour. I was expecting a little fisherman’s cottage but it’s much grander, with palms and gravel in the front garden and looks like one of those posh houses you’d see in some glossy magazine. Dad would be impressed. Nervously, I ring the bell and wait. After a few seconds Cait opens the door.

  ‘Elle! Come in.’

  She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Suddenly I feel overdressed.

  ‘Love this!’ she says gently touching the hem of my tunic. ‘Where did you buy it?’

  ‘Um . . . back home, ages ago.’

  ‘Who is it Caitlin?’ I hear a woman’s voice ask.

  ‘My friend, Elle,’ she calls back, and suddenly I’m glowing with pride. Not only did I never invite people back to my house, nobody ever asked me to theirs either.

  The walls of the hallway are covered with beautiful paintings and Indian rugs and everything looks very expensive.

  ‘Wow,’ I can’t help saying.

  ‘Not as nice as your new house,’ Cait replies with a laugh. ‘And we haven’t got a pool – just a fish tank!’

  I force a smile. We go up to her room and are busy chatting when her Mum comes in carrying a tray.

  ‘Thought you’d like some juice and biscuits,’ she says. ‘What a beautiful dress, Elle.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘She got it in London.’

  ‘It’s lovely. Really stylish. Cait, have you shown Elle all your dolls yet?’ she asks.

  ‘Mum!’ Cait says, her face reddening.

  ‘Oh, they’re lovely Elle – she’s got a whole collection.’

  ‘Can you go please?’ asks Cait, dying with embarrassment.

  ‘You are funny,’ says her mum. ‘I bet Elle would love to play with them.’

  Unconvinced, I nod politely.

  ‘Has Dad put credit on my phone?’ asks Cait, quickly ushering her mum out of the room.

  ‘He’s just doing it now, darling.’

  ‘Thanks. Bye then.’

  As she shuts the door on her, Cait turns to me. ‘Thought we could meet Abs down the beach or somewhere.’

  ‘Oh OK, great,’ I say, trying to hide my disappointment. Despite the weird doll thing, and the playschool juice and biscuits, I loved being with Cait in her house.

  ‘It’s soooo boring here. Specially with Mum and Dad breathing down my neck all the time,’ Cait moans, popping half a biscuit into her mouth. ‘Eurgh, raisins! I hate raisins! They’re like rabbit droppings.’

  I giggle but eat mine all the same.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone about my dolls, will you?’ she adds.

  I shake my head. ‘Course not.’

  ‘I don’t play with them now but when I was little I was so desperate for a sister I used to pretend that’s what they all were. Totally sad, but there you go.’

  We’ve just finished everything on the tray when there’s another gentle tap and a man cranes his head around the door.

  ‘Here you are, Princess,’ he says, gently throwing Cait a mobile phone.

  ‘Dad!’ she says. ‘I could have dropped it!’

  ‘As if you would.’ He turns to me. ‘So this is the famous Elle? I hear your dad’s an actor. . .’

  ‘Um . . . yeah,’ I say nervously, gearing up to fend off any awkward questions.

  ‘Our Caitlin’s heading for fame and fortune too. Aren’t you, Princess? She’s really talented. Gets it from me, obviously.’

  ‘Dad, go away!’ Cait says, cringing again.

  He does . . . but singing at the top of his voice.

  ‘Let’s get outta here!’ wails Cait in a fake American accent, as she rolls her eyes theatrically.

  But I can’t help feeling she’s lucky to have a dad who thinks she’s so wonderful.

  As we make our way up the street, she texts Abs who immediately texts back to say she’ll meet us in five minutes outside the baker’s.

  She’s already waiting when we arrive. Chilling out with friends on the weekend is something totally new to me but I don’t want either Cait or Abs to realise how sad my life’s been up to now. We head down the high street, then take the path to the beach and sit on the sand, chatting and giggling. I’m determined that I’m going to enjoy every single precious minute. Cait and Abs are full of talk about Ben Dalton’s party this evening and ask if I want to come.

  ‘Yeah, love to,’ I say.

  ‘We could knock for you,’ Cait tells me.

  ‘No, I’ll meet you there.’

  But they’re not put off.

  ‘So where exactly do you live?’ asks Abs.

  They’re both looking at me now. What do I say?

  ‘Up behind the beach,’ I tell them vaguely.

  I suddenly realise my big mistake – there are no houses there. Cait quickly twigs this.

  ‘Not on the caravan site?’

  Both of them are staring at me in surprise.

  ‘Why didn’t your mum rent somewhere nice in town?’ Abs asks.

  My brain’s whirring and I can feel my palms sweating. What can I say? If I don’t make it good, everything will be ruined. Suddenly I’m inspired.

  ‘Because . . . well . . . she’s a writer.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Really?’

  Both Abs and Cait look suitably impressed.

  ‘Yeah. She’s researching her next book and the main character lives on a caravan site a bit like this one. So it’s the perfect place to soak up the atmosphere and get all the details right – well, for her anyway. . .’ I roll my eyes and tut as if it’s all a big hassle.

  ‘Blimey,’ says Abs with a laugh. ‘Don’t fancy that.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ says Cait. ‘I’d love to live in a caravan. But it’s got to be one of those old-fashioned gypsy ones, like a wagon, all painted in bright colours. And I’d cook outside over an open fire, with a kettle hanging on a chain, and I’d lie in my little bunk at night, staring at the stars. It would be totally wonderful.’

  ‘Not if you’ve got three smelly brothers and a dog with a bottom problem,’ Abs grumbles. ‘Sounds like hell.’

  ‘Well, she hasn’t, have you?’ Cait turns to me and I shak
e my head. ‘And it won’t be for long, will it, cos your new house’ll be ready soon.’

  ‘Yeah, I don’t mind slumming it for a while,’ I reply.

  ‘So has your mum written loads of books?’ asks Abs.

  ‘Tons,’ I say vaguely. ‘She’s always got a whole bunch of new ideas up her sleeve. Says she weaves them all together and she can go anywhere – like on a magic carpet.’

  ‘Can we meet her?’ asks Cait excitedly, jumping up from the sand.

  ‘Yeah, course, but, um . . . she’s writing at the moment. She needs peace and quiet so she can concentrate. She doesn’t like being disturbed,’ I say, as to my horror I suddenly spot Grace, Bruno and that boy Ryan from school, on the cliff path.

  I move round in an attempt to stop Abs and Cait noticing them, but I’m a second too late. Cait glances up and pulls a face and Abs makes a tutting sound with her teeth.

  ‘What is it with that girl? She’s always hanging around Ryan,’ she complains, staring at them.

  My heart is thumping as Grace looks down in our direction and I know she’s seen me.

  ‘Who does she think she’s staring at?’ mutters Cait. She turns and looks at me suspiciously for the first time. ‘Do you know her or something?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I mumble, shaking my head.

  That one little word falls out of my mouth like a drop of poison, filling the air with an invisible deadly gas. I feel a tightening sensation in my throat. I’ve told a lorry load of porkies recently, but this tops everything. What sort of person wipes their own sister out of their life?

  I’ve still got a chance to put everything right but then I realise if I tell them the truth, they’ll drop me like poop on a scoop and I’ll have no friends again. I can’t bear the thought of this.

  ‘She lives on the caravan site,’ I say, unable to stop the words flying out of my mouth.

  ‘Let’s go,’ says Cait, linking her arm in mine.

  The three of us turn our backs on Grace and Ryan and walk down into town, but I feel flat, and Cait is sulking. To cheer her up, I spend the last little bit of money I have on ice creams. We walk around the shops carrying cones filled with huge scoops of fudge ice cream covered in chocolate sprinkles, my all time favourite, but we must have bought them from the wrong kiosk because the ice cream tastes bland and powdery on my tongue and the fudge pieces get stuck between my teeth like bits of grit.