Levi Jordan blew me out? Unacceptable. I am utterly out of his league.
Suddenly, my phone beeps. It’s a message from Betty! So happy you’re alive. Clearly you fancy Leo. Even thousands of miles away I can read your mind because it is so simple. x Betty
The girl’s a clairvoyant. Quickly, I reply: Anyone would fancy him. He is a genuine 9/10. I know I said that Frankie Pellett was a 9, but now I’ve met Leo, Frankie is demoted to a 7. In fact, Leo’s turned my whole ranking system upside down. It’s very confusing.
Betty: Oh my God. Frankie Pellett, a 7?!? Are you sure you’ve not got cabin fever? Maybe he looks like a troll (could he actually be a troll?) but you can’t see it because you are currently boy-deprived! PS We’ve sent you a letter!
Me: Leo’s no troll.
Betty: Evidence?
Me: My smile right now. J
Betty: You are so freakin adoraballs!
Just as I’m replying that I’ve heard she’s rocking some blue facial hair, the reception goes. I actually shake my phone to see if I can get it back. I stare at it. A second ago I was laughing with my friends; now I’m on my own on a rock in the Baltic. But if I got reception once, I can get it again … Can’t I? I hang around for five minutes, but nothing happens. Tomorrow I’ll come out here again, and the day after that, and every single day until I can text my friends again. I will not give up!
Luckily, the tape is still sticky and my phone goes back into its Sellotape nest. I slip and slide back into the water and start to swim back to the island, my grinning head sticking straight out of the water.
Levi Jordan? Outrageous!
I go straight to the shop to see if there’s a letter waiting for me. I avoid the paths and, instead, off-road through the forest. I think the Sellotape has done bad things to my forehead and I can’t risk bumping into Leo.
After checking the mötesplats is clear, I dash into the shop. Before I ask about the letter, I get a bottle of water and a watermelon lolly out of the freezer cabinet. Then I have a brainwave. Obviously, the shop has electricity – it has fridges, freezers and a till. It must have its own generator. I follow the cable coming out of the back of the freezer until I find a plug socket … A plug socket! Such a beautiful sight. I wonder if I could plug my phone in for a while?
‘Ah, Frida’s niece,’ calls out Juni. Guiltily, I stick my head out from the back of the freezer. She’s holding a basket. ‘You have a letter.’ I know which is mine because only one letter is covered in heart-shaped stamps, foam stickers and glitter. Plus it’s addressed to Lady Kat Knightley of Fartington Manor. It’s the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.
After checking the mötesplats again, I run back into the woods, clutching my letter, pink watermelon juice dripping on my legs. ‘Kat!’ a voice calls out. ‘Wait for me.’ Nanna comes running after me. For once, she’s not wearing anything eccentric. In fact, she’s wearing some serious running gear, which on her actually looks quite eccentric. ‘I’ve been training with Sören for Tuff Troll,’ she explains. ‘He kept imitating me running. Like this.’ She runs ahead of me, her knees lifted high, her hands raised like a begging dog. She stops and waits for me to catch up. ‘But I don’t run like that, do I?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve never really seen you run. Not properly.’
‘OK. Watch this.’ She does a quick sprint. Once again, her knees are high and she has begging hands.
‘You look like you’re pretending to be a horse,’ I say, deciding to kick out the truth.
‘Really?’ She frowns and shrugs. ‘I punched Sören and made him cry. Will you walk with me back to my cabin?’ It’s out of my way, but I’m starting to enjoy drifting around Stråla.
As I lick my lolly, Nanna explains her training schedule. Apparently, Otto fancies himself as a bit of a personal trainer because of his days spent in the Swedish Navy and has created a Tuff Troll regime for her and Sören. ‘Tomorrow we have to run three times round the island,’ she says.
‘Maybe I’ll join you,’ I say. We’re at the cabins by the youth hostel.
‘Really?’
‘No!’ I give her a shove. ‘I can’t run.’
‘Everyone can run.’
‘Not me.’
‘You’re coming to the disco on Friday, aren’t you?’
‘Every Friday is disco night?’
‘Except the one before Tuff Troll. Otto takes Tuff Troll very seriously.’ Wow. Stråla loves a disco. Suddenly Nanna’s eyes widen and she grabs my hands. ‘Can we get ready together? That would be so totes amazeballing!’
‘Amazeballs,’ I say. ‘OK, you come round to my place.’
‘Yes!’ she says, then she starts running, or should I say galloping, towards her cabin. ‘Leo will be there,’ she yells over her shoulder. ‘He always helps Otto with the discos.’ Then she whinnies and lets herself in.
A letter and a guaranteed Leo-moment on the horizon. Definitely totes-amazeballing.
I decide to take a shortcut home. On the way, I read my letter. I just can’t wait.
Dear Kattingtons
Betty AND Bea here, although it’s the Betty-Bomb in charge of writing. I’m round at Bea’s house and we’ve been helping Emma make a model of a fried breakfast because we got inspired when we were watching Mr Maker. Bea’s so lucky to have a little sister. Anyway, we decided to get a bit crafty with your letter too. Hope you like it!
In case you are worried about missing out on some mad summer action back here, allow me to repeat myself: we were watching MR MAKER. Seriously, you aren’t missing a thing. Here is our main news:
Me:
Have been to Brighton with the sexiest boy on the planet. That’s right, my boyfriend, Bill. Still can’t believe I have a boyfriend.
Argued several times with Dad over length of my hot pants. Didn’t help myself when I said, ‘But, Dad, they need to be short. Why do you think they are called hot pants and not daggy pants?’
Am about to go camping in Devon with Dad and Rue. Have allowed his GF to come on holiday with us on the condition that Bill is allowed to come for a few nights. Dad says Bill has to sleep in the tent with him, and Rue has to share with me!!! Both hilaire and horrific all at the same time.
Bea (it’s Bea writing now, Kat, because I don’t trust Betty):
Jived in the town centre with Ollie as part of WW2 Day. V embarrassing as some girls from our year (including Pearl Harris) stood at the front sniggering. Pearl shouted out ‘Jive-tastic!’ loads of times in a sarcastic voice.
Made doughnuts. Not good. Looked like something Pinky might produce.
Went to Ollie’s grandad’s seventieth birthday party and Ollie sang ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ for him. Despite this, I still fancy him!
Betty here again. While Bea was writing that I had a serious chat with Emma:
Emma: What’s a baby monkey called?
Me: I don’t know.
Emma: It must be something that rhymes with monkey … Is it a funky?
Once again, I wish I had a little sister who says funny things and wanders around in her pants. Hang on, I do: that’s exactly what you do! You’re my little sister, Kat.
Well, we miss you, Scandi-Kat, even though you’ve only been gone three days. Only twenty-nine to go!
Loads of love,
Beatty xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
TEN
I read the letter twice, then put it back in the envelope. I’ve left a trail of sequins and glitter all through the woods.
I look around me. I’ve been so distracted that somehow I’ve managed to get lost. Below me I can see a path. Holding on to a branch, I try to scramble down the slope. Unfortunately, it turns out the branch isn’t attached to a tree and my feet shoot out from under me and I start to slide down the hill, picking up speed as I go. I grab a passing rock, but I miss, spin round and tumble on to the path at the bottom with a painful bump.
I rub my head, then look up. This isn’t a path – it’s a garden, a garden that surrounds a tent. Leo’s t
ent. I know it’s Leo’s tent because he’s standing a few feet in front of me, hanging out his washing in his pants. Well, this is starting to even things out a bit. He stares at me, a peg in one hand and a towel in the other. ‘Hello,’ I say, jumping to my feet. ‘I just fell down a hill!’
‘Are you OK?’ In a flash he wraps the towel around his waist. ‘You’ve got something in your hair.’
I pat my head. ‘Oh, that? It’s just where leaves and stuff have stuck to the Sellotape …’ I start to pull out twigs and pine needles. ‘How do I get back to the path? I think I’m lost.’
‘Over there,’ says Leo, pointing.
‘Great!’ I say. ‘Thanks.’ I start to walk away, trying hard to hold my head high.
‘Kat,’ Leo calls out. ‘Your head is bleeding.’
‘Oh.’
‘And I’ve got plasters. Also, I was just about to have some coffee …’
‘Fika?’ I turn round. Thank you, fika, you wonderful tradition!
‘I haven’t got any cake, just some chocolate.’ Still holding the towel with one hand, Leo throws a last T-shirt on the line and pegs it in place.
‘What kind?’
‘Plopp.’
‘Thank you, I mean, yes, please.’ Trying not to smile too much, I go back into the little garden. ‘I’d love to have some coffee and Plopp with you … and maybe a plaster.’
Soon, Leo and I are sitting in deckchairs and drinking coffee on his ‘veranda’ – a big flat rock that faces the sea. ‘This is the only tent I’ve ever seen that has a garden and mail box,’ I say.
‘My grandad used to own some land here.’ Leo passes me another square of Plopp. ‘He sold most of it, but kept this bit for us to come camping. I like to spend the whole summer here. Mum and Dad come out for a couple few weeks.’
‘My mum and dad would never trust me to stay on my own. Isn’t it spooky at night?’
‘I like it. It’s very quiet. During the day, I sit here and watch the birds in the juniper tree. They don’t even know I’m here.’
‘Let’s try it,’ I say. ‘Don’t talk.’ We sit in silence and stare at the tree. Occasionally, I glance at Leo, but only for a moment. He’s got dressed now, and he’s sitting cross-legged in his deckchair, his chin resting on his hands. For a few minutes, nothing happens, then little birds appear out of nowhere, too many to count, and they hop around from branch to branch doing their birdy thing. I take a sip of my coffee and they vanish with a flutter of tiny wings. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘My bad. Noisy sip.’
‘They’ll be back.’ Leo sits back in his deckchair and looks at me. ‘So, why are you staying here with Frida? Where are your mum and dad?’
‘Well. That’s a long story.’
‘Tell me.’ He looks at his watch. It’s the big waterproof type. ‘I’ve got until tomorrow evening.’
‘You made another joke! Like the Starbucks one. I like your jokes.’
‘I can do more jokes in Swedish,’ he says and he smiles. It’s amazing what strange things a smile can do to your tummy. Maybe it’s the smile, or the peaceful view, or maybe it’s the strong coffee, but something makes me mega chatty, and I find myself telling Leo everything. I tell him about the Marks and Spencer’s smoothie, Britta’s parents’ evening and Joel. I even tell him about Dad’s gross shorts.
And then, I don’t know why, but I talk about other things, things I haven’t really told anyone before. Like how I never see my family on Saturdays because they always do triathlons and races together, even on my birthday, and how Britta and I used to watch cartoons on Saturday morning, both of us in our PJs, lounging on the sofa. Then I tell him how Mum has framed six of Britta’s pictures from playgroup, but only two of mine. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Mum just ran out of space on the wall – Britta does a lot of things that need framing – but there was this one picture I did, a portrait of Mum made of pasta, that was really good and definitely better than Britta’s potato-print train. Mum left it on the kitchen table until all the pasta fell off.’
‘Perhaps it was too chunky to frame,’ says Leo.
‘I did use spinach spirals for her hair, but somehow they always find room for Britta’s trophies and medals.’
‘Well, my mum and dad never framed any of my pictures. As soon as I brought them home, they recycled them … and I’m an only child.’
‘Maybe you’re embarrassingly rubbish at art.’
He laughs. ‘Possibly. But I think it’s more that they didn’t realise that parents are supposed to get excited by what their kids do, even if they have to fake it. My mum and dad are quite …’ He frowns up at the juniper tree. ‘Distracted. You know, by their jobs.’
Leo tells me all about his family and friends, and what school is like in Sweden. Soon fika becomes lunch and while Leo makes us sandwiches, I take a tour of the tent. It’s neat and pretty and feels more like a cabin than a tent. It has two separate bedrooms and a proper kitchen, rugs, herbs growing on the window sill and even a guitar. ‘That’s my dad’s,’ Leo says. ‘You can play the guitar. Why don’t you play something?’
‘OK,’ I say. I take the guitar outside and start to tune it. Inside, Leo is clattering plates and whistling. As I pluck each string in turn, a brown bird – Leo would know what it is – lands by my feet and stares up at me, head tilted to one side. I’m shaded by trees and beams of sunlight creep through the leaves. One of these beams falls on the bird. I run through a few scales and then start playing a Spanish song that matches the sunshine. The bird carries on watching me with its beady black eyes. There’s a moment’s silence after I pluck the last notes. ‘Did you like it?’ I ask the bird.
Leo puts a sandwich on the floor next to me and the bird flies away. ‘Det var vackert,’ he says. It was beautiful. My cheeks go pink.
‘Thank you … Those sandwiches look vackra.’
‘They’re just cheese.’
‘I’m very hungry.’
I don’t go home after lunch. A couple of times I get up, but then we start talking again, or I play another song, or the chessboard comes out. Of course, I don’t want to go. I could stay here forever, studying Leo’s face and listening to him talk about nuthatches and tree pipits and his obsession with all things non-human. Leo is particularly into whales and he tells me all sorts of crazy things about them, like how they can suffocate if they accidentally swallow a bird and that killer whales are actually big dolphins … killer dolphins!
Somehow, I end up cutting Leo’s hair. He keeps blowing it out of his eyes, so he gets some scissors and starts to snip away at it, telling me this is how he cuts it in the summer. It’s painful watching how badly he does it, so I take over. His hair is warm from the sun. I know this because I run my fingers through it way more times than I need to. ‘There,’ I say, cutting off a final strand and messing it up. ‘Finished.’
A spluttering engine makes us both turn round. Otto appears on his scooter and stops by the tent. Leo jumps to his feet. ‘Hej!’ Otto says. He seems surprised to see me here. Leo goes over and helps him unload a cylinder of gas. ‘That should be enough for now,’ Otto says in Swedish. He glances at me. ‘I’ll collect the used one later.’
‘Tack,’ says Leo, folding his arms.
Otto turns to me. ‘I’m going to your cabin next,’ he says in English. ‘Do you want a lift?’
‘Oh.’ I look at Leo. ‘Well –’
‘No thanks,’ says Leo. ‘We’re going for a swim.’
Are we? Great! I turn back to Otto, trying and failing to hide my huge smile. ‘Can you tell Frida that I’ll be back later?’
He glances at Leo then back at me. ‘Of course,’ he says.
Together we watch as Otto drives up the path and the sound of the engine fades away. Somehow, Otto has burst the magic bubble that surrounded us. Leo starts to tidy up the plates and cups that are lying around and carries them inside. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go?’ I say. Suddenly, I feel like I might have stayed too long.
Leo sticks his hea
d out of the tent. ‘No. I don’t want you to go, Kat.’
‘So, are we going swimming?’
‘Not yet,’ he says. ‘It needs to be dark. I want to show you something. It’s something even more vackra than the cheese sandwich.’
When the sky is inky blue and the sun has almost set, Leo and I walk down a path that leads to the sea. There’s no beach, just a pile of smooth grey rocks.
‘We need to go in just here,’ Leo says, tapping the edge of a rock. ‘It’s not slippery.’
‘OK,’ I say, pulling my dress over my head, glad that it’s shadowy. For some reason we’re whispering. While we waited for it to get dark, Leo made pasta and I played the entire Frozen soundtrack on the guitar. Leo sang along, which was funny, until we both sang ‘Love is an Open Door’ and it suddenly got awkward.
We leave our clothes on the rock and slip into the water. Leo goes first and I follow. My feet sink into weed and the water makes me gasp. ‘Follow me,’ says Leo. We swim side by side. The water is dark and deep and I can’t even see my hands moving.
‘The moon is disappearing,’ I say. ‘Frida said this would happen. It’s called a dark moon.’
‘That’s even better.’
‘For what?’
Leo stops swimming. We face each other and we tread water. ‘This,’ he says. He waves his hand through the sea. On the surface, slipping through his fingers, are thousands of tiny neon lights, sparkling as if they are alive.
I gasp. I try to pick some up, but the green sparks just slip through my fingers. I kick my feet and a cloud of light bursts around me like fireworks. I laugh. ‘What is it?’
SUN KISSED Page 7
