by Glass, Lisa
‘8 o’clock. I was with you from 8.’
I pressed Answer. ‘Hello?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Who is this?’
‘Mrs Schwab.’
‘Alright, Mrs Schwab.’
‘Was Han with you yesterday evening?’
‘Yeah. He came over after he got back from the hospital.’
‘What time did he arrive at your home?’
‘8ish.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do your parents know that my grandson stayed over in their home, in the same bed as their daughter?’
‘No. And don’t tell them. Please.’
‘I will have to think about that.’
‘How’s your hand doing now? Did they fix it up for you?’
‘It heals fine.’
‘Please don’t tell my parents, Mrs Schwab.’
The phone clicked off.
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘Will she tell?’
‘I don’t know,’ Han said.
Then he kissed me. A big kiss with tight arms around me. I could smell the scent of the sea in his hair. He drew away and I felt his lips on my neck.
‘Promise me,’ he said, and then his voice got choked.
‘Yeah?’
‘That you won’t believe it.’
‘Believe what?’
‘If people say horrible things about me.’
‘. . . okay.’
‘I love you, Jenny,’ he said. ‘I really love you.’
Chapter 8The dunes were blue in the snow light. Snowfall in July; not just a dusting either. Three inches. It was unheard of.
The church was no longer smouldering, and the land that had been blackened was white as a dove. In the distance, tobogganers threw up plumes as they snaked dark patterns down the hillsides.
‘What’s happening to us?’ I asked my mum.
‘I don’t know. No one does.’
I crunched through the snow to the corner shop but it was closed and empty. Mr Hitchcock was sitting on a plastic bag on a bench, his wide-brimmed hat heavy with snowflakes. He had skis on his feet and poles next to him. Lizzie was sitting beside him, sniffing at the snow suspiciously. I still had some of her favourite dog treats in my pocket so I chucked her one. She wagged her tail, so I gave her the rest of the packet.
‘Nice summer weather we’re having,’ Mr Hitchcock said.
I smiled a bit.
‘My feet are soaking wet from kicking the snow off the footbridge.’
‘Nice of you, Jenny. Clearing the way for us oldies.’
‘It’s insane,’ I said. ‘It must be Global Warming. Or Cooling. Or something.’
‘Cold air has swung down from the Arctic and hit the damp air over the Gulf Stream. It’s just weather, that’s all.’
‘Funny that only our part of Cornwall has snow though.’
‘Very distinctive micro-climate, this bay. It’s why we can be on the beach wearing shorts on Christmas Day when every other place in this country is getting lashed with rainstorms.’
I stroked Lizzie, who was looking fatter than ever. ‘Do you think it could be anything else?’
‘Such as?’
‘I don’t know. It just seems really weird.’ Actually, it seemed more than weird. It seemed like everything was getting scarier and horribler by the day. Something bad, something really bad was coming. I could feel it.
Mr Hitchcock thought about this for a moment.
‘Are you thinking Egyptian plagues?’
‘I don’t know what that means.’
‘I think you do. You’re wondering if we’re cursed, aren’t you?’
‘No…’
‘Good. Because that’s silly talk.’
‘Nathan thinks we are.’
‘He ought to know better than saying dangerous things like that. Once people believe an idea, there’s no getting rid of it.’
‘Well, you can’t blame people for thinking things like that. We’ve had dead birds, miles of algae out to sea, a meteorite and a plane crash. Now this. Just saying.’
‘The birds were because of your illegal firework display in the dunes, which disturbed their roost and caused them to panic and fly into the cliffs. Algae blooms in the summer; this bloom just happens to be far larger than usual. Meteorites hit the earth all the time. The only unusual thing is that poor Mrs Schwab saw it and had an accident. Planes flown by amateur pilots have an increased likelihood of crashing. Snow has fallen in July because weather is unpredictable. Just because these things occurred in a sequence does not mean that they are causally linked. Try not to overthink this, dear.’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I don’t know why I listened to Nathan. I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.’
‘You look tired.’
‘I am tired. Knackered. Can hardly keep my eyes open.’
‘Late nights?’
‘Some.’
‘So why aren’t you walking arm-in-arm through the snow with your young man?’
I shrugged.
‘Do I detect tension? An argument?’
‘No. I just haven’t seen him today. He’s probably clearing the garden for his gran. She’ll be worried about slipping over and breaking her hip or something.’
Mr Hitchcock smiled and his eyes glazed over a little bit.
‘A fine woman, Mrs Schwab. Moves with such grace.’
‘Shame about her thumb. Was practically hanging off. Bit gopping.’
‘She’ll bounce back. She’s a very resilient woman. She has seen a lot of life, you know. Things a person of your generation could not even imagine.’
‘Didn’t realise you knew her like that.’
‘She’s had me over for kaffee und kuchen on a few occasions. An astonishingly beautiful woman in her day. My, did she have a FACE. You know, in her bedroom there’s a picture of her dancing The Sleeping Beauty. It’s quite breathtaking.’
‘Han said she used to be a ballerina. In her bedroom did you say?’
He coughed and looked away politely.
‘Bloody hell…’
‘Anyhow, I should correct you that your Han is not with his grandmother today, dear. Or at least he wasn’t. I saw him earlier as Lizzie and I skied along the dune paths.’
‘On his own, was he?’
‘Yes. It looked like he had just come out of the model encampment.’
‘What? Nah. Couldn’t have been him.’
‘It was.’
‘Why would he want to go in there?’
‘Teenage boys often appear to be interested in half-naked young ladies. I couldn’t possibly say why.’
‘No way. It wasn’t him.’
‘There aren’t so many young men walking around Hayle with emerald hair.’
‘What was he doing?’
‘Jabbing away at a mobile phone.’
I checked my phone. It was blank. No calls, no text messages, nothing.
‘Look out, here comes Luke Gilbert,’ I said. Mr Hitchcock did the loony gesture and then turned around to greet Luke, who seemed to be gripping something in his hand.
‘I need to talk to you,’ Luke said to me.
‘That’s nice.’
‘Right now.’
‘What you holding?’
I caught a flash of something red and sparkly as he slipped whatever it was into his pocket. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing a bloke’d be into.
‘Where’d you get that?’
‘Barracks. Finders keepers.’
‘Can we see it, Luke?’ Mr Hitchcock said.
Luke stuck his hand back into his pocket and then opened his fist under Mr Hitchcock’s nose. It was a necklace with a sparkly red heart on the end. It looked li
ke it would’ve been quite cheap to buy.
‘You found it, did you? Under the snow?’
Mr Hitchcock gave me a worried look, but then Lizzie started up barking at some seagulls that were swooping low on us, probably protecting their babies or something. Lizzie was really going mad and Mr Hitchcock could hardly keep up with her to hook her lead back on her collar. Me and Luke were left facing each other. After an awkward pause, I said:
‘You really writing a book on beauty?’
‘Yes, but that’s not what I need to talk to you about.’
‘Charming,’ I said. ‘What’s it called?’
I could see he was starting to get agitated. ‘”A-Grade Meat”. But I might call it something else.’
‘What?’
‘”Grade-A Meat.”’
‘Doesn’t sound very beautiful.’
‘It’s not. Let me say what I’ve got to say.’
‘Free country. I ain’t stopping you.’
‘You’ve got to tell him to stay away from them.’
‘Don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘He can’t be around the models.’
‘Who can’t?’
‘You know who.’
‘Nathan?’ I said, hopefully.
He looked at me blankly. ‘You know,’ I said, ‘glasses. Chubby.’
‘No, not him.’
‘Han?’
‘They’re bad to the bone. Not to be trusted, no matter how physically endearing. It won’t end well for him.’
‘Han’s had nothing to do with them. He doesn’t even know those girls.’
‘He was fiddling with one of them. Beneath the power lines.’
‘Fiddling?’
My heart tightened.
‘Playing the violin. For one of those girls.’
‘Which girl?’
‘I don’t know her name. She had a mouth organ.’
I couldn’t take all this in. Mr Hitchcock had finally got Lizzie under control and he said: ‘He means a harmonica. He’s just saying that she was playing a harmonica. Nothing else.’
‘What did she look like? Apart from physically endearing,’ I said.
‘Thin. Too thin. Red lips. Black hair.’
‘Cleopatra. I mean Vega,’ I said. ‘Shit.’
‘He needs to stay away from her. Tell him.’
‘Jealous, are you?’ I said. ‘Got designs on her yourself?’
He walked off, muttering under his breath.
The next day the Sun came out, the snow turned to slush and things went from bad to worse.
Chapter 9Life goes on. The world don’t stop spinning. We all had to keep on keeping on. These things my dad told me, once he had sobered up. He told me about the spinning earth over breakfast and over tea.
I hadn’t heard from Han in three days. Nothing. I had seen him from a distance but he never turned towards me and he didn’t answer his phone or reply to my messages. So much for him being in love with me then.
School had been cancelled, like I thought it would be. Most of the wreckage had been taken away but the site was still full of police and journos. And locals milling around, at least those of them that wasn’t standing and gossiping on the doorstep of Sunny Daze. People weren’t getting bored of talking about the tragedy. They were squeezing every drop of juice from it.
There is only so much of it that you can take though. What with Han ignoring me and the plane crash, I started to feel like I was losing my mind.
I had a text message from Mr Hitchcock:
Hello dear. Come down to the harbour as soon as you can.
I put on my old tracksuit and trainers and ran down there. The models were being filmed around the edges of Dynamite Quay, a funny name but something to do with explosives that were unloaded there in the olden days. It was weird seeing all the models there, like nothing had happened. They were carrying on as normal, running about amongst the tangle of fishing boat tat and the men at work. They had a challenge that involved rowing little boats across the water. A race, with poxy little red and blue flags that had to be grabbed and brought back to various local fishermen standing at intervals along the quay.
I ate through the packet of chocolate raisins that I had brought with me, but they didn’t make me feel better. If anything, what with the stink of fish, I felt a bit nauseous.
The model challenge looked pretty stupid to me but I supposed they had to make the girls do something for the cameras. Seeing them all standing around crying about the plane crash wouldn’t fill a whole episode.
I saw Han in the crowd, his green hair all crazy like he’d been electrocuted. I lifted my hand to wave to him but dropped it again when he didn’t look my way.
Mr Hitchcock was there too with his bag of shopping and his flask of tea. Han and him were not talking to each other but they stood side by side, which I thought was weird, as they didn’t really even know each other.
I texted Mr Hitchcock.
Turn around.
He came over.
‘Hello, Jenny. Glad you decided to come.’
‘What’s Han said?’
‘Not a great deal.’
‘Did he mention me?’
‘No, but I did. I said that you were very fond of him and he ought to treat you better.’
‘Oh my God, you did not say that?’
‘No, but I considered it.’
‘What did you say then?’
‘He asked me why I was interested in a show about young girls. I said I wasn’t particularly, but it was better than sitting at home attempting to reassemble a three-dimensional puzzle of The Statue of Liberty.’
‘Really?’
‘My niece thought it would be something I’d enjoy. She is rather a strange person. Anyhow, I reflected Han’s question back at him. I asked him why he liked watching the models when I was sure he had much more interesting things to do with his day. He said he watched them for the same reason that university students watch cartoons. To rest his brain, he said. I thought that was rather good. Of course I didn’t believe it for a second.’
We were interrupted by the roar of the crowd as the race finished. One girl kept getting the biggest cheers. She was hamming it up, waving and bowing. The crowd lapped it up and a few mums and boys whistled like they were seeing the Queen. To look at them you would never have known that a half mile away there was a smoking wreck of an airplane and half the police force of Cornwall combing through the debris.
I looked back at the girl putting on the display for us, the winner of the challenge, and I frowned. Vega. I moved along the quay a bit and listened to the judges talking. It was obvious they adored her. They said she was the new Lily Cole. Then they said she would set the modelling world on fire. Because not only did she have the looks and the natural posing ability, she also had a huge amount of confidence. They called her a dauntless spirit and said they had never had a girl on “The Show” like her. At sixteen years old, Vega had more self-esteem than all the girls of this hick town put together, they said. She walked on water to them. She could have scratched her bum in a picture and they’d have given her top marks. They said she was a born supermodel because she knew how to move her body to offer the photographer the most interesting angles; she knew how to smile with her eyes, and she knew how to give good mouth. Giving good mouth was important apparently. You couldn’t show any tension in your mouth or jaw if you wanted a photo to be appealing. They reckoned clients hated a girl who looked uncomfortable and it was the clients and their money that made the fashion world go around. But then you couldn’t always be smiling either, so you had to do this relaxed mouth with a ‘come on over’ eyes thing. It seemed complicated from what I gathered, but Vega seemed to be breezing it.
The only bright spot on my horizon was that Vega apparently had a powerful temper and that wen
t against her. In the camp arguments she could go from being cool as an ice sculpture to a raging madwoman. The problem, the thing that really unnerved the other contestants, was that she didn’t give any warning. She was like those dogs that didn’t give proper signals to other dogs to warn them that they was about to bite. From the fighting I did in the past I knew that you had to do a bit of a scary face. That was part of it. If you didn’t give proper warning, people didn’t prepare themselves, so when you did flip out it looked even more shocking and people would think you was insane rather than just angry.
According to the whisperers on the quay, Vega had been involved in some of the most shocking television fights that the Channel had ever seen and it was bound to draw in massive numbers of viewers. The news and the radios would be talking about it for days. For all Vega’s posh voice, when she lost her rag people said they were less shocked by that girl on The Exorcist.
I didn’t even know her, had never said two words to her but I was already sick of her. I was sick of her pale oval face. I was sick of her slow walk with squared shoulders and head held high. I was sick of the look in her deep blue eyes, like she was examining racks of stained dresses in a charity shop. I was sick of her everything.
I was interrupted by these thoughts when an old soldier with a face like a cockle marched up and made the models stand to attention. He didn’t seem to care that they was gorgeous. He talked to them like they were dog poo on his shoe.
‘I am Sergeant Mills. You will call me Boss. Because of you I am stuck in this stinking fleapit of a town so you will do what I say. If I say jump over a cliff, you will jump over a cliff. Now get your bony asses into single fecking file,’ he shouted.
I couldn’t believe it. Who talked to people like that? Didn’t he know that the town was the centre of a crisis? Didn’t he care that people had been crying in the streets?
It was bad enough hearing that little lot first time, but then he had to say it all again when the old producer woman with jet black hair and a lot of make-up said that he couldn’t swear like that on camera. He nodded.
‘Get your bony bums into single fecking file,’ he shouted again. The woman shook her head, but said ‘Carry on. We’ll beep it out.’
A few of the girls looked annoyed but there were some giggles as they followed his orders, shuffling themselves into a long line. Sergeant Shouty kept barking at the models to march up the path this way, then back again, which was irritating for the locals what was trying to walk their dogs around the quay. When he was satisfied with the marching, the girls was made to strip off their clothes right there on the path and put on pink overalls that the soldiers gave them. The overalls had the words ‘Model Soldiers’ printed on the backs in red lettering.
