by Terry Tyler
Today is the most brilliant day yet. It's mad hot, we go out on the boat in the morning, and in the afternoon we have a relay race along the water's edge, splashing through the waves―I pass the baton (which is actually an empty Stella bottle) to Shay, and our team wins! When the sun starts to go down in the evening, we light the barbecue on the beach, throw on burgers and huge prawns, and crack open the beers.
Everyone is mellow and a bit drunk, and Shay asks me to walk along the beach with him, under the stars.
I'm euphoric with happiness. I didn't know life could be this good. For some people it must be like this all the time. How can they stand being this happy?
Shay puts his arm around my waist and tells me I've bowled him over. He can't stop thinking about me, he says. I curl my arm around his waist, too―I'm feeling brave 'cause of the four beers I've drunk, so I dare to slide my hand under his t-shirt. I could melt when I feel his skin under my fingers. It still feels hot from the sun, and he laughs about working too hard on his tan; he's scared he's going to have a red nose in the morning.
I tell him I think about him all the time, too, and he says he's so glad we've met; he lives miles away, but we'll message on LifeShare, talk on Skype when he gets home, and meet up again, soon.
When he leads me up the beach into the dunes, I know what's coming and I'm happy about it, I'm ready for it, because I'm in love with him, and even if he's not quite in love with me yet I think he will be, soon. I don't stop him when he starts to remove my clothes―I help him; I can't get them off fast enough―and I think how lucky I am, that my first time is with someone who really, truly cares for me.
It hurts a bit, but I don't care; it's a lovely sort of hurt. I want to capture this moment in my heart and mind forever, and experience it over and over again. When he holds me in his arms afterwards, I feel like a proper, complete person, for the first time in my life. I have someone, something that is really mine, not borrowed, second-hand or given reluctantly.
He holds my hand when we walk back, and he tells me all about his plans; local theatre first, then he'll get an agent and audition for British films, and when he's made his name, he'll hit Hollywood.
I wonder if I'll fit into any of those plans? I daren't think about that. I've got now, and the weeks to come; that's more than I could ever have hoped for.
He notices that I go a bit quiet, and says, "hey, but don't worry; I'll need you to help me learn my lines!"
That makes me happier than anything else. He sees me as a part of his future. It's proof; this is real, not just a dream.
One of my social workers used to say to me that great things could happen to anyone, and although my childhood was a struggle, it wouldn't always be so. That I could be truly happy, too. I just had to believe.
When we rejoin the others I expect him to sit with me, arms around each other, so that they can see we're a couple now, but he just fetches me a beer from the cool box, and then hares off down to the water with his mates to go swimming, even though it's quite cold now. A couple of the girls run in, too: Alice and Eloise. They're squealing about how freezing it is. I want to join in, but no one has invited me. Alice and Eloise are best friends, the mega-close type who have no room for anyone else.
I sit by myself, a bit of a spare part. Catherine has gone home because she is not allowed to stay out late, and the others are laughing about private jokes to do with their school. I have no one to talk to, until Shay finishes his swim.
Delia leans over to me; she has a nasty grin on her face.
"You shagged Shay, then? Bad move!"
And she and Tamara laugh.
Tamara is Delia's friend, and just as bitchy.
I don't say anything. I want to protest that it wasn't just a shag, but I don't, because they won't understand. They'll just take the mickey, and, anyway, it's private.
I'm so relieved when Shay comes back. He grins at me, shivering as he wraps himself in his towel, and sits down next to me. He kisses me on the cheek, but only once. I understand. We're not going to show off by snogging in front of everyone else, like Chelsea and Devon, with everyone telling us to 'get a room'. He's not that sort of person, and neither am I.
When it's time to go back to the house, he takes my hand as we walk up the beach, but then he drops it to light a cigarette. Once the cigarette is alight, he puts his free hand back in his pocket.
It's silly of me to mind about little details like that. Especially with all there is to look forward to. I can't help it, though.
He's sleeping in a tent on his own, and I wonder if he will ask me to stay the night in it, with him; even though my foster parents would not approve, it would be worth the risk.
But he doesn't ask me. He just kisses me goodnight, says, "Sweet dreams, beautiful," and crawls into Sean and Leon's tent to carry on drinking beer.
It's a guy thing. I get it.
In the morning I'm dying to be with him; from my bedroom window I can see him and his friends cooking up their breakfast on the family barbecue. He waves up at me, smiling brightly; he blows me a kiss, and my heart sings.
I'm so excited I can hardly force down my scrambled eggs. Maggie asks me if I'm sick.
Delia says, "Lovesick, more like!", and gives me a horrible wink. Tim, Maggie and Catherine all laugh, not realising that she's just being a bitch, as usual.
It's my turn to do the breakfast washing up, and I rush through it, aching to go out and join him, but I'm just dashing upstairs to put on my make-up and choose something cool to wear, when Maggie calls out that as soon as I'm ready she wants me to help her with the supermarket shop.
"You've got ten minutes. Come on, look lively!"
I have no choice. I have to go.
I look for Shay when we go out to get into the car, but he's got his back to me, laughing at Sean who is trying to do cartwheels, and I'm too inhibited to call out.
The supermarket shop is agony. Maggie is so slow; she hums and hahs over every purchase and keeps returning to aisles we've already visited.
As soon as we've come back and unpacked the shopping I rush down to the beach.
I can see them all in the distance, lounging at the water's edge or splashing in the waves; I hear the shouts and laughter.
My eyes scan the scene, but I can't see him. I take off my deck shoes and run across the warm sand, a lump in my throat because I won't feel okay until I see him, until I know he's there, until he smiles at me.
I slow down as I get nearer.
I stop.
Alice and Eloise are larking about, waist-high in the water, with Sean and Leon. Devon is swimming; I see his dark brown arms thrashing through the water, far out. Delia is floating on her back, singing.
I can't see Shay.
He's not there. He's really not there.
I look to my right, down the coast, squinting in the bright sunshine at the little marina where the boat is kept. I see a blond boy on a jet ski; my heart leaps with joy, and plummets when I realise it's not him.
I flop down on the sand, on the edge of the group's base camp. Only Chelsea and Tamara are there, sunbathing.
Chelsea has her eyes shut and her earphones in, but Tamara sits up, peering at me over her sunglasses. "Looking for Shay?"
If I were older or more cool, or just not so hopelessly in love, I might pretend otherwise, but I'm not. I hear the desperation in my voice as I ask if she knows where he is.
Tamara just laughs, and reaches for the sun lotion. "He's not here, babe. He's gone."
I don't understand. "Gone?"
"Yeah. First thing." She laughs again. "Whassamatter? You look like the world's ended! Ask Delia. I'm not lying."
Delia's walking up from the sea, water dripping off her golden, plump flesh. Shay calls her fat, but at that moment she looks gorgeous to me, all curvy and sexy in her white bikini, while I sit there, the stupid daddy longlegs with her skinny pins splayed out across the sand, taking up too much room.
Delia glances at Tamara, grabs a towel and squeezes out her dr
ipping hair. "You looking for Shay? Didn't he tell you? He's a shocker, isn't he―Tam, didn't I say to him, you really ought to tell Lita you're going? I did, didn't I?"
"She did." Tamara nods. "I told him, too. I said, Shay, you can't shag a girl one night and then just disappear without saying anything, it's not kind."
They're loving every minute, I know they are, and I should just shrug my shoulders and walk away, but I can't help it, I have to know.
"Where's he gone? Is he coming back?"
"Nah," says Delia, laying out her damp towel and flopping down onto it, giggling as her huge tits nearly pop out of her bikini top. "His dad rang him, early this morning, before breakfast even, so he had plenty of time to tell you, but he didn't, did he?" She grins at Tamara. "What is he like, eh? Yeah, he's had to go home; some relatives have turned up from Australia, or something, I dunno. Anyway, Dad took him to the station to get the eleven o'clock train. Soz, mate, we won't be seeing him till term starts."
I stand up, looking out to sea. He didn't say goodbye. Didn't even send me a text. Nothing.
"Still, at least you got a shag out of it!" Delia laughs. "Mind you, that's all you'll ever get from Shay; he's not one to stick around once he's got what he wants!"
"Yeah, but it's so-oo worth it," says Tamara, in a silly, dreamy sort of way, and Delia agrees, then they collapse into childish giggles.
I don't believe them. I don't believe Shay would have sex with Delia. He thinks she's fat. They're just being horrible to me because I'm the skanky foster kid.
I turn and walk back up the beach, not allowing the tears to fall until I can no longer hear their laughter.
I cling on to the hope that they're wrong. That he was real. That even if he does treat other girls casually, it doesn't mean he'll do the same to me.
Every time my phone bleeps―and it doesn't bleep very often―my heart lurches, but it's never him. He never sends those messages he promised me. I put a silly, larky comment on his LifeShare page, and all I get in reply is a smiley face.
I'm not stupid. I understand.
A week or so later, Delia completes my utter humiliation by revealing that Shay, Sean, Leon and the other boys at their stupid drama school have an ongoing contest. They get extra points for a virgin.
"Sean and Leon said it wasn't worth trying to do you, even for the extra points, because they reckoned you were frigid and it would be too much effort, but Shay was determined to win."
The final count takes place in September, when they're all back at school. The winner is presented with some dumb trophy that Leon gets engraved.
It was all lies. No, it was worse than lies.
I lowered my defences, and took a bullet in the gut.
How Shay must have laughed about me, down in Sean and Leon's tent, when I was lying in bed thinking I'd found true love.
The signs were there, as soon as we rejoined the others, but I chose to lie to myself, too.
I'll never kid myself like that again.
This isn't the best summer of my life after all, but it's the summer I learn my most important lesson: the only person you can rely on is yourself.
My wall must be built back up. I must picture it every day, every brick, keeping me safe, until I can feel it around me. It will be my saviour, and even if, one day, I find good people who really do care for me, I must not dismantle it.
That way, I will never suffer such pain and shock, ever again.
2
Mona: Self-Control
As a child, she was always lonely.
Old family photographs show a moon-faced, happy little girl, but she can't remember ever feeling that cheerful.
Not as a child.
Her earliest memories are but faint snapshots of the too-big house in Surrey, bought for the large family that never materialised―her mother was never well enough to provide her with siblings. When she was five they moved to America, to the Long Island mansion with the huge rooms, high ceilings and immaculate green lawns, and the sense she always had that she was creeping around, lest she make someone cross with her. Now and again a daredevil prank would get her into trouble, but that was okay; any attention was better than none at all.
The house was so quiet.
Her father was rarely at home. She knew he was a Very Important Man, upon whom thousands of people relied for their jobs. Nanny told her so, often. He left for work around the time Nanny nudged her to wake up, and he didn't return until she was in bed. When he was particularly busy he was gone for days on end; as well as the Long Island mansion, he had another home in a place called Manhattan.
Mona asked Nanny, once, why Daddy spent less time with his family than with the jobs people, but Nanny said she should be grateful for all she had, and stop complaining.
She wished he was a proper daddy, though, like Joanna-at-school had; hers was a famous writer. Joanna's father spent all his time in his study and drank too much, but at least he was there. So was Carol's; her dad was a lawyer. He worked for long, long hours too, but Carol said he was often home to read her a bedtime story, and every Sunday they had proper family days. Carol's daddy was nearly as important as Mona's (Nanny said no one was as important as Paul Bettencourt except the President), but he still had time to make Carol feel like she mattered to him.
Joanna and Carol didn't spend all their time in their playrooms, alone. They had mums (they called them 'moms') who took them to the park, and out for ice cream.
Mona's mother was often asleep, or in her bedroom with the door locked.
Laura Bettencourt wanted to go back to England, Nanny said, because she missed her family.
Mona said, "Why can't we then, if being here makes her so unhappy? Doesn't Daddy care?"
Mona knew that Mummy was English and Daddy was half-English, so she couldn't understand why they had to live in America, if it was only a quarter of what they were.
Sometimes Mummy would smother herself in make-up and perfume, go out to lunch, and come back with shopping bags from posh shops. Mostly, though, she stayed in her room, watching TV and playing music. Nanny and Rosita the maid would make 'tsk' noises when they took empty bottles out, and tell Mona that she couldn't disturb Mommy because she wasn't well.
Mona knew better, though. She knew about drunk, because of Joanna's writer daddy. Some afternoons Mummy would drift around the house, still in her nightie, looking for Mona to give her sloppy kisses and cuddles. The smell of drink made Mona feel sick, but she loved the feeling of her mother's arms around her.
Now and again she would go to a special hospital called a clinic that was supposed to stop her being drunk. When she came home she would be a real mother for a little while, and those times were wonderful, but they never lasted for long. A few days later, the nasty smell would come back.
When Mona was eleven, Paul Bettencourt called her into his big office to tell her that her mother had to go to an extra special clinic for a long time, so Mona was to go live with her Aunt Patricia in a place called Windermere in England. She would attend one of the best schools in the country, where she would sleep as well as have her lessons, and live at Aunt Patricia's house in the holidays.
"Patricia is your mother's sister, so you'll be with your family," Paul Bettencourt said, and his smiles made her happy. "I'm afraid Mom is very sick; a girl your age needs a mother, so I've decided this is the best plan, for all concerned. Aunt Patricia has two daughters―your cousins, Emily and Catriona. There, what do you think of that? You'll have two new girlfriends!"
But why couldn't he look after her? And who were 'all concerned', that this was best for? When she asked him, though, he just ruffled her hair and told her she was a 'funny one'.
His next words were to stay with her forever. He put his arm around her; it felt so good, and she thought he was going to give her a real, proper cuddle, but instead he poked her in the tummy.
"I want Aunt Patricia to help you get rid of this puppy fat, before it grows into a real problem."
For days aft
erwards she could still feel his finger, prodding the bouncy flesh of her stomach. She would lift up her clothes to see if it had made a mark, but all she could see was the protruding balloon of her fat tummy.
If she wasn't fat, Daddy wouldn't have sent her away. She wouldn't need to go to live with Aunt Patricia to get rid of it.
As the days went past, though, she began to grow excited about the coming adventure. She couldn't remember what England was like, so Nanny showed her pictures in a book; it looked lovely. Ancient castles, lots of seaside and cutesy villages. She couldn't wait.
Alas, it was nothing like the pictures. Mostly it was just boring drab towns, then hills, and Aunt Patricia's stern-looking house. And it rained and rained, nearly all the time. Emily and Catriona said she talked funny, and Aunt Patricia told her she needed to lose weight.
"It's not puppy fat. There's nothing sweet and cuddly about it; it's just fat."
Aunt Patricia's food was horrid; too many vegetables, no cookies, and ice cream only once a week. Lots of fruit, which Mona liked, but who wanted to eat strawberries without sugar and aerosol cream?
The school where she would have to live for months and months was another huge, stern building, and there the food was even worse. Even more vegetables. No burgers and pizzas, but boring old lean chicken and white fish. The other girls made her say words over and over again, because her accent made them laugh, and two nasty bullies―Veronica and Sophie―called her 'Yankee Doodle Fatso' and 'Cookie Monster'.
Until Daddy poked her tummy and sent her to England, she hadn't minded being chubby. Joanna and Carol said it didn't matter because she was so pretty, and Carol was plump, too. But Daddy thought it mattered, so it did.
Once, when she was eight, he'd tried to send her to a place called a 'fat camp', to make her thin, but she cried and screamed so much that they had to call the doctor in to calm her down.
Other times Daddy would say, 'I'm going to get Nanny to put you on a diet', but after Nanny gave her salad and fruit she would sneak into the kitchen, where Rosita would give her ice cream.
