Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture

by Sue Limb

  My family is so trashy, thought Jess. I wish we had lovely old distinguished leather suitcases like Flora’s family has.

  Jess was wondering how on earth she was ever going to broach the subject of Fred and Riverdene. Maybe she would just never find the necessary courage.

  ‘So how is Flora?’ asked Granny, perhaps hoping that, since they had last met, Flora might have been arrested for a homicide.

  ‘Oh, she’s more or less heartbroken,’ said Jess. ‘They’ve had to cancel that fabulous holiday in Costa Rica. Her mum’s broken her leg.’

  ‘What?’ Jess’s mum stopped packing. ‘Oh no! Oh dear! That lovely holiday! How terrible! How did it happen?’

  ‘She slipped in the bathroom,’ said Jess. She was relieved that at last they were talking about something other than her own crimes. ‘Getting out of the bath.’

  ‘How awful! And poor Flora! She was so much looking forward to that holiday!’ said Mum again, looking devastated.

  Jess was beginning to get irritated. OK, it was fine to feel sympathy for Flora’s cancelled holiday, sure, but Jess wouldn’t have minded a little motherly sympathy for her own tragic dilemma. Although, come to think of it, her mum was her own tragic dilemma.

  ‘Yeah,’ she agreed. ‘Poor Flora.’ Then suddenly a brilliant, brilliant idea shot across her mind, like a jet-propelled banana. ‘But we’ve hatched a plot to cheer her up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, she’s invited me to go to Riverdene,’ announced Jess with a daring, reckless flash of genius. Mum wouldn’t object to her going with Flora, surely. She could secretly go with Fred, but pretend she was going with Flora. Flora would play ball. She must! After all, Jess had lied to Flora’s dad hundreds of times last term when Flora was going out with Mackenzie.

  ‘But surely Riverdene’s next week?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Jess reached deep into her store of charming persuasion. ‘If we went on our trip a bit later, that would give Flora and me time to go to Riverdene, yeah? I mean, it would give you more time to do your research into ruined abbeys. And it would so cheer Flora up.’

  Jess’s mum hesitated. You could see she was going to say no, but she was just gathering her arguments together.

  ‘It’s out of the question,’ she said. ‘For a start, those tickets cost a fortune.’

  ‘Flora’s already got the tickets,’ said Jess recklessly. ‘She says she’d be happy to pay for me – as a sort of early birthday present. It would be so nice for Flora to have something to cheer her up, Mum. You could see yesterday she’d been crying for ages. Her eyes were all red.’

  Although Jess’s mum was ninety-five per cent against the whole idea, it was as if five per cent of her felt so sorry for Flora, she might just postpone her own holiday in Flora’s honour.

  Jess waited, on tenterhooks. It had been a crazy impulse to disguise Fred’s offer as Flora’s offer, but it just might work. If her mum said yes, she’d obviously have to call Flora right away to make sure she was fully briefed, in case her mum rang Flora’s mum … In fact, come to think of it, Flora really might have to come along to Riverdene, too, as a sort of smoke screen.

  Oh, for crying out loud! Things were getting more and more complicated. Jess loved Flora, and she loved Fred. But what if Flora started flirting with him? What if, as they sat round a campfire, Flora’s eyes met Fred’s through a hazy drift of smoke? What if the strings of his heart went ZING and he realised in a flash that it was Flora he loved, not Jess?

  ‘It’s out of the question,’ said Jess’s mum.

  Jess was almost relieved. After the horrible hallucination she had just had about Flora and Fred round the campfire, she suddenly didn’t fancy the idea of Riverdene quite so much. And anyway, she was now in such hot water, having lied to her mum so recklessly, that she just wanted to change the subject to anything else, to anything in the whole wide world.

  ‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect you to say yes. Fine. OK. Forget I ever mentioned it. So, Granny – how many people did that guy kill with the spade?’

  ‘Still, I’d better just ring Flora’s mother,’ said Mum, with a sudden disastrous lurch into politeness. ‘I ought to apologise for the fact that you can’t go to Riverdene. And I must offer my sympathy about the accident.’

  ‘No!’ cried Jess in dismay. ‘Don’t ring!’

  Her mum stopped and looked at her with deep suspicion.

  ‘Why not?’ she demanded.

  Jess’s mind went blank, and she began to gibber. Nightmare! Why had she ever told that stupid lie?

  ‘Because she was saying … Flora’s mum was saying yesterday that she’s just fed up with people ringing up to express their sympathy. It makes her feel so much worse.’ Catastrophically, Jess blushed at the feebleness of her own excuse.

  Knowing Jess very well, her mum saw the blush and smelt a rat. Very firmly, she pushed past Jess, picked up the phone and dialled Flora’s number.

  ‘What’s the time, dear?’ asked Granny irrelevantly, from somewhere on a different planet.

  Jess sighed. It was time to run for cover. Because the poo was about to hit the air-conditioning unit.

  Chapter 7

  It was time for silent, urgent praying – again. Mum waited for Flora’s mother to pick up the phone, and all the time she was glaring at Jess. Jess tried to look casual and confident, but she was secretly making emergency plans to escape within seconds – possibly to run up to the bathroom and flush herself down the toilet.

  ‘Mrs Barclay?’ said her mum suddenly. Jess’s heart gave a sickening lurch. ‘Oh, sorry, Freya: you sound just like your mum. I was so sorry to hear she’s had this dreadful accident.’ Thank goodness Jess hadn’t lied about that bit. ‘Might it be possible for me to have a word with her?’ There was a terrifying pause. ‘Oh, I see … I’ll try again later, then. Thanks a lot. Bye!’

  Jess’s mum put the phone down.

  ‘She’s having a bath,’ she said. ‘Of course it takes a bit of time, with her leg in plaster and everything, and there’s a nurse come to help her, so she’s not available for half an hour or so.’

  Jess knew she must disguise her intense relief as relaxed indifference.

  ‘I suppose I’d better start packing,’ she said. She had to ring Flora right away, to warn her. She just hoped her mobile was fully charged by now. She ripped it out of the socket, with desperate, urgent casualness.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of packing to finish, too,’ said Mum, and went upstairs.

  It would now be virtually impossible for Jess to phone Flora from her bedroom without being overheard.

  ‘I think I’ll just go for a little walk to the corner shop first,’ called Jess. ‘I need some chewing gum.’

  ‘No! Pack first!’ insisted her mum, glaring down the stairs at her. ‘I’m not having you running around all over town, and me not knowing where you are. I’ve had enough of that, Jess. Come up here and pack!’

  Jess shrugged sweetly, even though she was longing to hurl a wet sponge or raw burger into her mother’s face. She went upstairs to her bedroom, closed the door and listened. How soundproof was it? She could clearly hear her mother moving around. So her mum would have no problem hearing every word Jess said to Flora.

  Jess put on her favourite album (the loudest CD in the world), dived under her duvet and switched on her mobile. It bleeped excitedly. What now? A text from Fred and one from Dad! Too bad! They’d have to wait! Frantically Jess dialled Flora’s mobile.

  ‘Hi!’ said Flora.

  Thank goodness! She’d picked up. Jess had to explain. And fast.

  ‘Listen, Flo, thisiscrucial. My mumsgonnaringyourmum and ask her about Riverdene!’

  ‘What? Did you say Riverdene?’ said Flora, rather stupidly, Jess thought.

  ‘Yeah! You’ve gottapretendyouandI have been planningtogothere –’

  Suddenly the deafening music stopped, and Jess heard her mum’s voice in the room, right next to the bed. Nightmare!

  ‘What o
n earth’s going on, Jess?’ she demanded.

  Jess just had time to press the OFF button and thrust her mobile under the pillow, before her mum ripped the covers off.

  ‘What are you doing under the duvet?’

  What indeed? Jess’s mind whirled, desperate for a convincing reason why she might have been in this rather unusual posture.

  ‘Sounds kind of silly, Mum, but I’m doing these exercises to train myself not to be scared of the dark.’

  Her mum gave her a deeply suspicious glare.

  ‘You’re up to something, I can tell,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my eye on you, my girl. Now get on with your packing – and no music! I don’t want any more of that infernal racket!’

  And she stalked off – but she didn’t close the door behind her.

  Jess decided she’d better not do anything so obvious and guilty as closing her bedroom door right away, so she started packing, humming to herself in an innocent kind of way – the sort of song that pure, angelic milkmaids might sing as they tripped through the dewy fields at dawn.

  But she had to get another message to Flora. Their mums could be talking on the phone any second now and Flora had to be fully briefed. Jess grabbed her mobile and whizzed off a text.

  I TOLD MUM WE WERE PLANNING TO GO TO RIVERDENE — PLEASE, PLEASE BACK ME UP. I TOLD HER YOU ALREADY HAD THE TICKETS. SORRY!

  About five minutes later the house phone rang. Jess jumped in terror.

  Granny called up the stairs, ‘Madeleine! It’s Flora’s mother!’

  ‘Right! I’ll take it up here in my study!’ Mum answered.

  Jess listened, her heart racing like the rhythm section of a samba band.

  ‘Hello!’ she heard her mum say, in her slightly posh telephone voice. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about this plan the girls have cooked up about going to Riverdene. Has Flora mentioned anything about it?’ Then there was a long pause while Jess’s mum listened to whatever it was Flora’s mum was saying.

  The next thing Jess’s mum said would be crucial. If she sounded relaxed, Flora would have got the message and Jess would have escaped by the skin of her teeth. If she sounded angry, Jess would be hurled into a black pit of evil-doing and be pronged to death by devils in red Lycra.

  ‘Ah, I see. I thought as much … No, I agree absolutely. Of course they’re too young. And besides, I’m taking Jess away on holiday tomorrow, so it would have been out of the question anyway.’

  She didn’t sound furious. Just mildly irritated. Jess felt a wave of relief.

  ‘Yes, I was so sorry to hear about that,’ her mum went on. ‘You must all be very disappointed.’

  Jess could hear her mum winding up the phone call. Moments later she came straight into Jess’s room without knocking.

  ‘I’ve sorted that, then,’ she said. ‘Sorry, love, but you and Flora are just not old enough to go to Riverdene. Maybe next year, OK?’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Fair enough, Mum,’ said Jess, feeling relieved. She seemed to have escaped from the dreadful sticky web of lies. Just.

  All she had to do now was tell Fred the sad news that Riverdene was off. The minute her mum was out of the room, Jess pounced on the texts from Fred and her dad. Fred had sent his late last night.

  WHAT’S HAPPENING IN THE WAR ZONE? IS THERE NO HOPE? SHALL WE ELOPE? I CAN’T POSSIBLY SLEEP UNTIL I’VE HEARD FROM YOU. ZZZZZZZ … SNORE …

  Poor Fred! Jess felt terribly guilty that she hadn’t been able to text him last night. She must keep her phone in her pocket, always, from now on, and never lose it again. The text from Dad was one of his usual wacky wisecracking messages.

  DEAR CHILD, I HEAR YOU ARE COMING DOWN TO CORNWALL TO SEE ME. I AM THRILLED TO BITS. COUNTING THE DAYS. HASTILY TRIMMING MY NOSTRIL HAIR AND SCRAPING THE COBWEBS OFF MY FACE. HAVE YOU GROWN MUCH SINCE EASTER? TEMPTED TO PAINT THE WHOLE HOUSE PINK IN HONOUR OF YOUR ARRIVAL. LURVE, THE DAD.

  Jess felt guilty about this text, too. Her dad was being so lovable and excited about the prospect of her visit – and she would have moved heaven and earth to stay right here at home!

  Drained by this unexpected double dose of guilt, she could not face answering either of the texts. Somehow she had to tell Fred that Riverdene was off, and that she had to leave with her mum tomorrow. But she couldn’t tell him by text. It would be too cruel. It would have to be in person.

  She whizzed off a text. SEE YOU AT 7 BY THE PARK GATE?

  The answer came straight back.

  WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHY DIDN’T YOU TEXT ME LAST NIGHT? SEEMS AGES SINCE WE LAST MET. CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. JUST REMIND ME — WHO ARE YOU AGAIN?

  Jess was suddenly broken-hearted all over again at the thought of the fabulous time she and Fred would have had at the festival. And if twelve hours’ separation was unbearable – what would two or three weeks be like? But there seemed to be no way out.

  Still, Fred would understand. And they’d be able to keep in touch. There’d be internet cafes and she would send him a postcard every day. Maybe even whole long letters.

  It was nearly lunchtime when the phone rang again. They were all downstairs. Jess was laying the table, her mum was fixing some soup and Granny was reading the murder trial reports.

  ‘Oh, who on earth’s that?’ said Mum. ‘Someone always rings up when I’m cooking. Keep your eye on this soup, Jess. Don’t let it boil.’ She walked over and picked up the phone. ‘Hello? Madeleine Jordan speaking.’

  Jess stirred the soup and turned it down. But right away she noticed there was something odd about her mum’s body language. Something bad.

  ‘What?’ said Mum. ‘What? I see … No, no, I can assure you this is news to me. It explains a lot, though.’ And she turned round and gave Jess a glare that could have grilled bacon.

  ‘There’s been a murder in Bognor,’ said Granny, irrelevantly. Jess quailed. It seemed as if there might be a murder a lot nearer home, any minute now.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question,’ her mum said, quite snappily, to whoever it was on the phone.

  Jess’s mind whirled blindly. She couldn’t imagine who it was. She just knew she was deeply submerged in elephant poo, right up to her chin.

  ‘I don’t think Jess is nearly old enough, and besides, we’re leaving for a family holiday tomorrow … That’s OK … Bye!’ Her mum slammed down the phone and turned to confront Jess, her eyes spitting rage.

  ‘That was Fred’s mother,’ she said, ‘asking if I’d prefer you to take two tents rather than one to Riverdene, and offering her spare one. Very considerate of her, wasn’t it?’

  Chapter 8

  Jess opened her mouth to try and protest, but her mum had only paused for breath, and dived back in.

  ‘So it was Fred’s idea to go to the festival – he’s the one who’s got the tickets – and you didn’t have the guts to tell me.’

  ‘We were all going!’ shouted Jess. ‘Loads of us! OK, it was Fred’s idea in the first place. But the whole gang was involved: Flora, Jodie …’ For an instant Jess was so panicked, her mind went blank and she couldn’t remember the names of any of her friends. So she invented some. ‘Gloria, Toby, Hamish, Max, Cleo … Ben J, Ben S, Ben … X –’

  ‘I’ve never heard of any of these people!’ yelled her mum. ‘For all I know they could be drug dealers or something! Why do you have to sneak around doing things behind my back all the time? I never know what’s going on and you never come clean!’

  ‘You’re the one who never comes clean!’ exploded Jess. ‘I’ve been asking you for years why you and Dad split up and I never get a straight answer!’

  Granny, who had been watching the shouting match like a tennis umpire, suddenly put her finger up and, in the brief silence which followed, she said, ‘I just want to remind you, Madeleine, that you were young and foolish once – not that I’m saying Jess is foolish, mind.’

  Dear Granny! Jess made immediate plans to name her first child after her. Not ‘Granny’ obviously – that would be something of a soci
al handicap. But Granny’s first name, Valerie, would surely come back into fashion sooner or later.

  Jess’s mother gave Granny an exasperated glance, and shot a last ferocious glare at Jess.

  ‘I’m certainly not going to waste the rest of the day bickering. Go upstairs and finish your packing, Jess. We all need an early night.’

  It seemed as if Jess would have to abandon her plans for a secret meeting with Fred at seven o’clock by the park gates. She went up to her room and sent him a text.

  AS YOU’LL HAVE GATHERED, MUM ASCENDED THE NEAREST WALL. SORRY. NO HOPE OF GETTING OUT TONIGHT. BE GOOD WHILE I’M AWAY, AND FOR GOODNESS’ SAKE TEXT ME DAILY.

  Instantly the reply came back.

  MY HEART HAS BROKEN WITH A SICKENING CRACK AUDIBLE IN ICELAND. I’LL SELL THE RIVERDENE TICKETS AND BUY LOADS OF VIOLENT DVDS INSTEAD. WRITE ME A LETTER NOW AND THEN, OK? LUCKILY I WON’T HAVE TO REPLY AS YOU WON’T HAVE A FIXED ADDRESS.

  Jess felt slightly comforted by the thought of writing Fred letters. She started one straightaway.

  Dear Fred,

  This is the first of a series of letters describing the horrors of travel in the 21st century. I am upstairs in my tragic little bedroom, packing. I’m only packing black clothes, of course. I shall be in mourning throughout this doomed trip. I shall pose picturesquely against haunted ruins, at sunset, with ravens in my hair, utterly deranged and occasionally muttering, ‘Fred … Fred …’

  It’s a shame you haven’t got a slightly more tragic name. I mean – Fred. Not much grandeur there. I think I shall rename you. How about Archibald? Or would you prefer Hamlet? Hamlet Parsons – it has a certain ring.

  I’m bracing myself for an early start. My mum has OD’d on history guidebooks and I dread what’s in store: ‘Jess, are you listening? Here is the stone where King Egbert the Hard-boiled was mashed up with mayonnaise by the Vikings in the year 809. And this is the tower where St Kylie received the Sacred Acne. In this garden Prince Flatulent proposed to Lady Isabel Ginger-Niblets in 1678. And this flower commemorates their love, as well as being a cure for severe halitosis. It’s called the lesser spotted stinkweed. Rub some on your gums and feel it tingle!’