by Sue Limb
‘Anyway,’ said Jess, taking a deep breath and looking around at everybody except Gerard. ‘Now we’ve got that sorted, let’s have some fun!’
‘How about charades?’ suggested Flora.
‘You mean, more charades?’ murmured Jess out of the side of her mouth.
‘Come on, Fred!’ called Flora. ‘Charades! You’re the champion!’ Fred came out from under the tree and marched up to the fireside.
‘OK,’ he said, and offered his hand to Jess. ‘Divorced, then? You can keep the cat – I’ll have the grand piano and the Ferrari.’
Jess reached up and shook his hand. For once she couldn’t think of anything to say. She just wanted to get the moment over, and was grateful to Fred for managing to make a joke of it.
‘You go first, Fred,’ said Flora. She was really tactful and clever at times like this. She could smooth anybody’s ruffled feelings. Even if they were all a bit of a charade in the first place.
‘Let’s do countries,’ said Jodie. The Frenchies all looked puzzled.
Flora patted Marie-Louise on the hand. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘We kind of act out the name of a country. You’ll soon understand it.’
‘OK,’ said Fred, gangling about in his absurd way.
He seemed to come to a decision, and then launched into his charade. He staggered about with his knees bent, flapping his arms and making a gobbling sound. Everybody started laughing – even the French people. Fred could be just hilarious. He was a natural clown.
‘Gobble, gobble, gobble!’ gasped Fred, sinking to his knees. ‘Oh no! It’s Christmas! Aaargh!’ He crawled along the ground then collapsed in a heap with his legs in the air.
‘Turkey!’ cried Jess, in a flash of inspiration.
Of course, Turkey was a country as well as a bird. Jess wasn’t sure if doing countries was a good idea. The Frenchies looked puzzled and were whispering to one another. Still, everybody cheered, and Fred collapsed down on to the grass, across the fire from Jess.
‘Your turn, Jess!’ said Jodie.
Jess got up, feeling awkward. She still hadn’t dared to even take a peep at Gerard and now she had to perform a ridiculous charade in front of him. She decided to do Wales – a disastrous choice, as she had to lie on her tummy, kind of rocking up and down and performing the Song of the Humpback Whale – a sort of high-pitched moan. She knew she had never looked so absurd.
‘When are you going to start?’ asked Fred mischievously.
‘Greece!’ said Flora, but without any conviction whatsoever.
Jess shook her head, while diving down to the ocean depths once again.
‘Canada?’ asked Marie-Louise, trying hard, bless her, despite being totally mystified.
This is hopeless, thought Jess. She was going to have to give up being a whale. She’d just blow one last blast through the hole in her head. At this, of all moments, she somehow caught Gerard’s eye. He was grinning at her and his eyes looked strangely shiny.
‘This is pointless!’ cried Jess, getting up. ‘It was Wales, right? I was a whale!’
‘Typecasting,’ observed Fred teasingly.
‘One moment!’ said Marie-Louise, grabbing her dictionary. ‘Ah! In French, Wales is Pays de Galles.’
‘I think, in retrospect, football would have been preferable to charades,’ said Fred. ‘And I say this as a confirmed football-hater.’
‘Nevair mind!’ said Marie-Louise, smiling cheerfully. ‘I sink ze sausages are ready!’ The beans were also bubbling nicely.
‘OK, supper time!’ announced Jodie. ‘We can do some more charades afterwards!’
Sometimes Jodie just didn’t have a clue. She was really getting irritating. Jess sneaked another look at Gerard and, to her amazement, he wasn’t looking at the food, like everybody else. He was looking right at her, and his eyes were kind of smiley and magnetic. Suddenly Jess lost her appetite. Could this be love?
What on earth was going to happen after supper? How were they going to get some time alone together? Jess was beginning to have a burning ambition – to be French kissed by a French boy.
Chapter 24
Supper was great: jacket potatoes, beans and sausages. The jacket spuds had been done in Jodie’s auntie’s oven indoors, which was cheating, really, but who cared? It was all delish. Jess, however, was having problems eating. Despite a lifetime of rampant greed, she now struggled to force down a few mouthfuls. Once or twice she took a quick peep at Gerard.
The first time, he was eating his potato skin whole, and had stuff hanging out of his mouth and a smear of ketchup on his face, but it only made Jess love him more. The second time she looked, she caught his eye, and for a split second there was a flash of electricity between them so powerful, Jess was afraid her eyelashes might have melted and her earrings fused to her lobes.
Everybody carried the dirty dishes indoors to Jodie’s auntie’s kitchen for the washing-up. Mrs Bradshaw herself was sitting in a little office beyond the kitchen, dealing with an enormous pile of paperwork.
‘Take your shoes off!’ she shouted whenever the back door opened. A smelly old sheepdog lay in a basket by the Aga and she wagged her tail lazily whenever anyone arrived, and gave a kind of grunt.
‘This is Betsy,’ said Jodie. ‘She’s retired.’
‘I won’t bother to bark when I’m retired, either,’ said Jess.
The washing-up was all done by Marie-Louise and Edouard. Jodie had worked out a rota. Jodie was due to do the chores tomorrow lunchtime with – guess who? – Gerard. It was kind of pathetic.
But Jess could understand why Jodie was so besotted with him. Whenever Jess heard his name or caught sight of him, her heart kind of exploded secretly. It was so bizarre.
‘So,’ said Jodie as they gathered round the fire again after all the chores were done. ‘Hmmmm, what now? I know! Sardines!’
‘Sardines?’ protested Jess feebly. ‘But we’ve just had supper!’
‘No, it’s a game,’ said Jodie. ‘We used to play it when I was a kid. One person goes off to hide, and the others all look for him. Or her.’
‘What, like hide-and-seek?’ asked Flora.
‘No, it’s the opposite, really, because in hide-and-seek you all go and hide, but in Sardines only one person goes and the rest look for him, and if you find him, you join him and hide with him till, one by one, all the others find you.’
‘Ah! It is vairy amusing play!’ cried Marie-Louise, slapping her hands. She explained it to Edouard, and then they all drew straws for who was going to be the one to hide. (Real straws – another advantage of being on a farm.) It was Gerard who drew the short straw, so he was ‘it’. Had Jodie fixed it, holding the straws in a certain secret way? Almost certainly.
‘OK!’ said Jodie. ‘Gerard, you go off somewhere and hide.’
Gerard shrugged and looked useless, though delicious.
‘Bof?! Where?’ he asked, looking round.
‘Anywhere!’ said Jodie. ‘Any of these fields, in the barns, the woods – anywhere you like. My uncle’s got 150 acres,’ she said, sounding posh and rich. ‘We’ll wait for ten minutes. Then we’ll be coming to find you! We’ll all go into the girls’ tent so we can’t see where you’re going.’
Jodie ushered them all into the tent, rather like a sheepdog, and zipped the flap firmly shut.
‘Fred!’ she said. ‘You time us. Ten minutes, OK?’
‘Why me?’ protested Fred. ‘I’m already exhausted.’ He flopped down on Jess’s sleeping bag and closed his eyes. Everybody else sat down. Edouard sneezed, then blew his nose. Marie-Louise cleaned her fingernails and chatted about ‘ze beautifool English countryside’. Flora rubbed some anti-insect cream on her flawless arms. Jess passed the time by choosing a new ringtone – one which sounded like a microscopic Latin American samba band trapped inside a washing machine.
‘Right!’ said Fred. ‘Time’s up!’
Jess tucked her phone away safely under her pillow, and they all piled out of the tent. For a moment
they hesitated. There were so many directions they could take: fields and woods and barns galore – if you like that sort of thing. And right now, Jess couldn’t think of anything more convenient. Within minutes, probably, she would be cuddling up with Gerard under some divine and very private bush.
‘Scatter, scatter!’ cried Jodie, running off up the field towards the house and barns. She sounded like an army captain in the SAS. ‘We’ve got to separate!’
Jess plunged down towards the stream. She was sure Gerard would be down in that direction somewhere. After all, that was where they had flirted with their fingers in the mud. The place was already sacred to her. She would have a plaque put up, nailed to a tree: HERE JESS JORDAN FELL UNDER GERARD’S SPELL.
Jess arrived at the sacred spot, grabbed the hanging rope and swung across the stream. The other side was quite steep and rocky and led up to an inviting little wood.
Jess was sure Gerard was waiting up there, with open arms. She toiled up the steep bank, breaking into an unattractive sweat. Never mind. Gerard would be sweaty, too. She wouldn’t mind. In fact, she would bottle his sweat and sell it to younger girls. Jess reached the top of the bank, paused, sniffed her armpits suspiciously, and then entered the wood. Thick undergrowth and brambles pulled at her clothes and hair. At first it all seemed part of an enchanted game.
‘Leave me alone, you thorny beasts!’ she giggled. ‘We’re just not meant for each other. You’re a vegetable and, let’s face it, I’m an animal. It would never work. And anyway, I wouldn’t want to have buds till I’d had a career.’
But after about ten minutes it started to get tiresome. By now Jess was out of breath, hot and bothered. She paused, and listened. Birds were singing in the canopy above. But there was no sign of Gerard. Maybe, if Gerard had come this way, he’d have left evidence: a fabulous French footprint in the mud or a path of lucky old crushed undergrowth leading to his hiding place. But there was nothing.
Jess paused. She was beginning to feel really annoyed. She was definitely not going to find Gerard here. In fact, it would be a miracle if she found her way back.
Gerard, you idiot, she thought. Why didn’t you hide up here? We could be halfway through our twentieth kiss by now. Jess turned and floundered among the trees for about twenty minutes.
Suddenly, up ahead, she saw a bush move. She froze. Had she imagined it? She watched. It definitely twitched. Something alive was in that bush. Jess braced herself. Maybe it was Gerard. But maybe it was a fox, badger, deer – whatever wild things hung out here. Jess prepared to be bitten. Preferably by Gerard.
‘Hello?’ she called softly. ‘I can see you!’
The bush shook slightly.
‘’Allo?’ came a reply. It sounded French. Jess’s heart leapt in excitement.
‘Gerard?’ she called again. ‘Is it you?’
The bush shook violently. Somebody backed out in a chaos of crackling branches and twigs. Disaster! It was Edouard.
Chapter 25
‘Edouard!’ cried Jess, trying to hide her total horror and dismay. ‘What are you doing hiding? You’re supposed to be looking for Gerard.’
Edouard frowned at her and shrugged with total blank incomprehension.
‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ said Jess quickly. It wasn’t his fault he hadn’t understood the game. It wasn’t his fault she had headed straight for his hiding place. It wasn’t his fault he had failed to understand what she’d just said. None of it was his fault. She just might have to murder him all the same, though. Life was tough sometimes.
‘I ham perdu,’ said Edouard. Jess raised her finger to her lips.
‘Shhh!’ she said, and managed to crank up a pretend smile. Why did he have to make conversation at a time like this? Didn’t he realise they were in a deep crisis? They were lost in the wood, for goodness’ sake. This was no time for all that ‘I ham perdu’ business – whatever it meant.
Jess beckoned in pantomime style. There was no point in trying to find Gerard now. He couldn’t possibly have come up this way. They were already miles and miles away from the campfire. Possibly in another county. Possibly in another country. Wales, for instance. And even if they found Gerard, Jess’s chances of a French kissing lesson were nil, now that Edouard was hanging about talking about ham.
There was only one sensible course of action. They had to get back to the campfire and those lovely cosy tents before night fell and the werewolves came out. Jess led the way back in vaguely what she imagined must be the right direction. After a while the ground started to slope a bit again. This, surely, must lead back down to the stream, she thought. Jess hated nature now. She just wanted all this vegetation removed and replaced with nice level pavements, pizza parlours and, best of all, a bus route.
It ought to have been better having Edouard with her for company, but somehow it made it worse. It was just awful being marooned with him in a wilderness. If they were at home, at least he could have done the decent thing and locked himself in his room while she watched TV downstairs.
Eventually they found themselves at the edge of the wood, and, looking down, Jess could see the stream glinting below. She reckoned it must be the same stream, but it wasn’t the same place where she and Gerard had held hands. It was a different field, further along the valley, or something. Aargh! How she hated geography!
‘The stream,’ she said, and immediately regretted it.
Edouard unleashed a stream of his own: a tumbling, splashy flood of French words. It sounded a bit like, ‘Honour truvila rivvy air may honour purrpar traversila.’ He’d flipped. It wasn’t French now. It was a Hobbity version of Elvish.
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Jess. She particularly liked the sound of ‘purrpar’ and was already planning to have a kitten called just that. But first they had to get back to civilisation before dying of exposure. Just to get out of the wood and down to the stream, they were going to have to push their way through a dense hedge of thorns and clamber over some strands of rusty barbed wire.
Jess took a deep breath, and began to move slowly forward through the brambles. Eventually, badly scratched and by now in a vile mood, she arrived at the barbed wire. Suddenly Edouard sprang forward, taking the initiative.
‘Jerper ton ear sa poor tassistay,’ he said.
‘I can’t argue with that,’ said Jess. Masterfully, Edouard grabbed the top strand of wire and held it up, and placed his cute little right foot on the lower strand and trod it down. This created a kind of aperture through which Jess was able to crawl. Wow! thought Jess. He does have his uses after all.
Perhaps it was just as well she hadn’t murdered him a while back. She held the wire for him to crawl through, but somehow, as she was letting go afterwards, the wire kind of sprang back cruelly at her and anchored in her sleeve.
‘Ow!’ yelled Jess.
‘Merde!’ said Edouard. Carefully, he disentangled her. She pulled up her sleeve and examined her arm. The rusty barbed wire had given her a nasty little scratch. It was bleeding.
Suddenly, and startlingly, Edouard grabbed her arm, bent down and sucked the wound, then spat it out. Jess was stunned. Was he a vampire or something? Then he let go of her arm and from the left pocket of his jeans he produced a handkerchief that, weirdly, was spotlessly clean. He shook it out and tied it round her arm, without ever looking her in the eye or saying a word.
‘Honour purrpar lessay sallair,’ he said, with a certain grim microscopic expertise.
Jess didn’t understand a word. But it was obvious he had, in some Hobbity kind of way, saved her from a slow death by blood poisoning or something. She felt obscurely touched. Just as long as he didn’t try to take things further and demand a whole afternoon playing doctors and nurses when her mum was out.
They climbed down the steep bank towards the stream. It looked deeper and more dangerous than the bit of stream at the bottom of the camping field. Jess was boiling with rage. How had they got into this mess? They weren’t little kids, for goodness’ sake. Why hadn’t
they just stayed around the campfire, doing charades and being mellow?
Whose stupid idea had all this been? Jodie’s, of course. She obviously had wanted a chance to get Gerard on his own. How cunning was that!
They stood and glared at the stream. There was no rope here. There weren’t even stepping stones. They were going to have to wade to the other side. It wasn’t their camping field across there, it was a different field, but Jess guessed that the campsite couldn’t be very far away because she could smell woodsmoke. Unless it was somebody else camping – the annual field trip of the Mass Murderers’ Association, possibly? It would be just her luck.
She sat down and took off her shoes, swearing quite horribly out loud. It didn’t seem to matter – Edouard wouldn’t understand anyway. He also sat down and took off his shoes and socks. Jess ripped off her socks, got up and picked her way gingerly to the water’s edge. She didn’t even look at Edouard. She didn’t want to discuss it. Not in Elvish, anyway.
She dipped a toe in. Ow! It was freezing! Her foot almost fell off in shock. Still, there was nothing for it, no other way to get back. Jess set off, stepped on a sharp stone, lost her balance, lurched and fell, with a strange terrible squeak, into the water.
This is it! she thought. I’m going to drown. I didn’t even manage to scream properly. And, worst of all, Edouard is watching and I can’t be looking my best. Of all deaths drowning was the one she dreaded most. She had hoped to die in about ninety years’ time, in private, in a four-poster bed in Hollywood, attended by a posse of adoring young men in white silk livery.
And now this. She would arrive in the afterlife, spluttering her guts out, garlanded with frogspawn and crowned with a veil of green slime.
Chapter 26
She felt a hand grab her. The hand was tiny but strong. Edouard had rescued her – again. As she struggled to her feet, Jess realised that the water was only about knee-high after all. But as she fell, she’d dropped her shoes and socks, and one sock, still rolled in a sort of ball, sailed off merrily downstream as if it was having a whale of a time, and disappeared around the corner.
