I didn’t have to wait too long to find out what was going on, as when I left my bedroom to go to the bathroom, I could smell coffee and I knew that Dad was downstairs. Mum didn’t drink coffee, only Dad did and he was very particular about grinding the beans himself. I felt tears fill my eyes as I realised, I wouldn’t smell that lovely familiar smell any more. Mum’s camomile tea stinks of washing-up water.
I grabbed my dressing gown and raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dad was on his own with his back to me as he busied himself with his coffee machine.
‘I want to go with you,’ I said. ‘You have to let me.’
Dad turned and his expression was both tender and sad. ‘Oh, Becca . . .’
I went over to him, wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my head in his T-shirt, which smelled of a mixture of herbs from his vegetable garden, coffee and lemon. Dad smell. ‘You can’t go, Dad. Please don’t go. You’re my dad and we’re meant to live in the same house.’
Dad hugged me back for a few moments and then gently extracted me. He pulled out a chair from the table and urged me to sit down. He went to the back door.
‘Carole,’ he called. ‘Becca’s up.’
Mum appeared at the back door, looked anxiously at Dad and then at me. She nodded briefly and the two of them came and sat down. It felt so weird. This was the table that we’d sat at a million times, for hurried, manic breakfasts, lazy Sunday lunches, afternoon teas, late-night suppers. And now it felt awkward. It felt unreal, like I was floating – not really there. My parents looked so uncomfortable. My stomach tightened into a huge knot. I don’t want this to be happening, I thought. I want to close my eyes and it to all go away. I can’t deal with feeling like this.
Mum nodded at Dad to say something. He glanced over at me, then back at Mum. They were clearly finding the situation as difficult as I was.
‘Becca,’ Dad started. ‘You know that we both love you very much, don’t you?’
I felt a lump in my throat and tears threatening to well up. I tried to nod. I couldn’t even meet his eyes. ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ I blurted. ‘You and Mum are breaking up. Where are you going to go?’
Dad took a deep breath. ‘For the time being, I think I’ll stay at my sister Marion’s.’
‘In Bristol? But that’s miles away! I’ll never see you. Why are you going?’ I knew this would happen, I thought. It’s going to be exactly like what happened with Mac. He was miserable for ages and ages and even though his dad promised Mac his own room in his house in London, his dad’s new girlfriend moved in and she had a daughter, who got the room instead.
Dad glanced at Mum again, then back at me. ‘Because I can work from anywhere.’ He attempted a smile. ‘Have computer, will travel. Your mum needs to be here so she can get over to her job in Plymouth.’
‘I don’t need to be here. I’m on holiday until September. I could come with you.’
‘I’ll be back every week to see you at some time,’ said Dad. ‘Bristol’s not that far away. An hour if the traffic is good.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then?’ I said harshly. ‘Why can’t I come with you? Have you got a new girlfriend?’
‘No. No. Absolutely not.’
I glanced up and Dad was looking pleadingly at Mum.
Mum reached over to take one of my hands. I snatched it back as if it had been scalded.
‘Then why is this happening? Why?’
This time it was Mum’s turn to take a deep breath. ‘Sometimes in relationships people . . . people change. As your dad said, Becca, we both love you very much and that will never change. You’re our daughter. But . . .’
Dad took over. ‘We don’t feel we can live together anymore, Bec. We’ve tried. Both of us. And we decided in Prague that . . . well, it would be best to take a break for a while . . .’
‘A break as in temporary or permanent?’ I asked.
Dad hesitated. ‘We . . . we don’t know yet.’
‘When will you know?’ I asked.
‘Soon, love,’ said Mum. ‘And you’ll be the first to know what’s happening at all times.’
‘But where will I live? Where will I go to school?’
‘Nothing is going to change for you, Becca. You can stay here. You can stay at the same school. We think that is best for you at the moment. The least disruption the better. You have great friends here and you’re doing well at school and I’ll be back every week to see you until I find somewhere more permanent.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘Yes, I will. Of course I will.’
‘Every week?’
‘I promise,’ said Dad.
I dared to look up and meet his eyes to check that he really meant it. I’d never seen him look so sad in all of my life and I felt that my heart was going to break. This can’t be happening, I thought, as tears filled my eyes. This is the worst day of my whole life.
THIS TIME I REALLY DID run away.
I waited until Dad had gone, then I packed my rucksack with the essentials. Lip-gloss, travel hairdryer, toothbrush, iPod, change of underwear, change of T-shirt, mobile phone (on which there were four messages to call Lal), recharger and twenty-five pounds from my secret savings box that I keep hidden behind my shoes at the back of my wardrobe.
I peered out of the window at the sky. Another glorious day, so I wouldn’t need heavy clothes – shorts and a T-shirt would do.
When I was ready, I crept down the stairs. I was going to take some fruit and bread from the kitchen, but I could hear Mum moving around in there so I changed my mind.
Adios, amigo, I thought as I opened the front door as quietly as I could and tiptoed out. I was going to do what Dad had done. Leave. Stay away until my head was clear. Grown-ups weren’t the only ones who could do that, and if he can do it without so much as a goodbye like he did when we got back from Prague, so can I. Yeah. Let’s see how they like it, I thought as I legged it down the road towards the bus stop.
Once on the bus for Cawsand, I thought about calling one of my mates to tell them what I was going to do. I’d talked on the phone to Cat and Lia a few times to catch up since I got back from Prague, but I hadn’t told them how awful it had been with Mum and Dad. Even though they were my bestest friends, I was hesitant to tell them everything now in case they tried to talk me out of running away. They might not understand. They might think I was being a drama queen and what did they know about what I was going through? Lia’s parents were Mr and Mrs Happily Ever After and so were Squidge’s. And Cat’s dad was about to marry his fiancée Jen. And he’d adored Cat’s mum before she died. So Cat didn’t know about the pain of unhappy parents either. I didn’t want anyone who didn’t understand telling me what to do. No, thank you. Mac was the only one who would understand, but I wasn’t risking calling him in case Lal was around. The last thing I needed at the moment was another day of snog-wrestling with him. I so wasn’t in the mood.
When I reached Cawsand, I bought a Cornish pasty, an apple and a Ribena Light, then walked out through the woods towards Penlee Point.
I’ve definitely picked the right place, I thought as I looked around at the dense wall of trees lining the lane and the canopy of branches overhead. No one would ever find me in here.
After walking straight ahead for about fifteen minutes, I spotted a narrow track leading to an opening in the trees to the right of the lane. That’s where I’ll set up camp, I decided, and headed off into the undergrowth.
I cleared a space of twigs and leaves and sat down.
Right, I thought. I have run away.
This is me having run away. Good. Great. This will show them.
Them. As in my parents. Mum and Dad. Soon to be Mum. Dad. As in separate. No longer joined with an and. I just can’t believe it, I thought as I replayed in my mind the scene from that morning in our kitchen when they told me they were breaking up. I just couldn’t take it in. That was the sort of thing that happened on the soaps. In Neighbours and EastEnders. Not i
n my life, where everything was supposed to be safe and certain and secure. ‘We don’t feel we can live with each other any more . . .’ Dad had said, and my stomach had churned with fear. If they could fall out of love with each other, they could stop loving me as well. It was too depressing.
As I sat there, I wished I had brought a book or magazine to look at, as it was a bit boring just staring at the bushes, feeling gloomy and thinking depressing thoughts. I don’t do moody-broody. Usually. Not my thing at all.
I ate my pasty and apple and lay back to look up at the sky.
Clouds. More clouds.
Still a bit boring.
Maybe I should have gone a bit farther away, like over to Plymouth, I thought. But then if I changed my mind about staying out for the night and wanted to go home, I might not have been able to get back, as the last ferry goes about half past nine. Even though I had run away, I wanted the option of going home. The idea was just to scare my parents and show them that they weren’t the only ones who could cause problems.
I stood up and practised my singing exercises and then I imagined that I was in front of the audience at the Maker Festival. I bowed and went to stand in front of an imaginary microphone. What would be an appropriate song for this being out here in the woods? Hhmm, I thought as I searched through my inner library of songs. The classic hit by Gloria Gaynor immediately came to mind so I sang ‘I Will Survive’ at the top of my lungs. It usually made me feel better to sing something upbeat like that, but half way through the song, I began to think, what if some poor unsuspecting soul was out walking their dog and heard me singing like a mad lunatic. It might scare the living daylights out of them. So I shut up and decided to do something that wouldn’t attract the attention of anyone passing by.
I sat back down and listened to my iPod for a while. I wished I had brought something to sit on. The ground was hard and little stones and bits of bark were sticking into the back of my legs. I tried to ignore them and relax. The sun was warm and after a while, I removed the iPod and drifted off to sleep.
Some time later I woke with a shiver. The wind had picked up and dark clouds had appeared in the sky. Oh no, I thought, it’s going to rain. Just my luck. But that won’t make me go back. Well, not yet anyway. A little rain never hurt anyone. I am strong. I shall survive . . . And all that.
I drank half of my Ribena Light, turned my iPod back on, and listened for a while on song shuffle. Above me, the clouds continued to gather. I glanced around. The fringe of dappled foliage that had earlier welcomed me had now become a wall of jagged shadows. Then it hit me. If anyone was around, I wouldn’t be able to hear them over the music. I snatched off my headphones, trying to ignore the fear building in the pit of my stomach. Behind me, a couple of crows cawed and flapped off into the sky. I jumped to my feet. Get a grip, I told myself.
‘Stupid birds’ I said out loud.
I checked my watch. One o’clock. It felt like I’d been in there for hours. I took another slurp of my Ribena, then grabbed my headphones and threw them in my rucksack. I looked at what I’d brought with me. A hairdryer? How dumb can you get, Becca? I asked myself. Like I was going to find a power point out here in the woods. Ditto the mobile phone charger. And I knew the battery was low before I left home. Stupid. I’m not thinking straight, I told myself. It’s Mum and Dad’s fault. If I get murdered out here they’ll have to live with that all their lives. And good job too. Tabloid headlines formed in my mind. Teen runaway found dead in Penlee Woods. She ran . . . but not fast enough. They’d probably use the rotten photo that was taken when I came third in the Pop Princess competition. It was in a number of local papers earlier this year. I’d die of embarrassment. Haha. Die of embarrassment. Cat and Lia would be devastated and realise that they’d been so busy with their new London mates that they hadn’t noticed how unhappy I was. Hah. Me being dead would show them. And Mum and Dad would never forgive themselves, as they’d know that they were to blame for my premature and horrible end. They’d wear black for years and Dad would abandon the book he’s writing and only write books about me called My Duchess, Volume One, Two, Three and Four. Lal would be heartbroken and write tortured poetry about the pale girl with red hair who haunted his days and nights.
As I began to picture my funeral and considered whether I’d like to be buried or cremated, another thought hit me. Maybe being out in the woods on my own wasn’t such a good idea. Suddenly all the classes we’d had at school about being streetwise came flooding back. No one had mentioned being ‘woodwise’.
The survival mantras ran through my mind: Don’t go into isolated places where no one could hear if you called for help. Stay on well-lit busy streets where you can be seen and heard.
I looked around at my surroundings. Shadowy. Plenty of places for people to hide and jump out. Definitely an isolated place.
Oops.
Oh, get a life, I told myself. I’m OK. No one ever comes down here, apart from people walking their dogs and the odd miserable-looking jogger.
Exactly, said an ominous voice at the back of my head. No one ever comes down here. No one could hear you screeeeaaaammm.
Just then, the blackest cloud in the sky blotted out the last weak rays of the sun and the temperature dropped dramatically.
I shivered and gulped down my rising panic. No. I am not going back, I told myself. I have run away! I can’t give up this easily. I tried to say it out loud to reassure myself, but my mouth was so dry only a croak came out.
I grabbed the Ribena and shook it. Empty!
The wind picked up and around me the branches began to creak and groan. I wished I’d brought my fleece. Another thing to add to Running Away list! I thought. I so wished I’d been more organised.
I’m scared, said the voice at the back of my head.
Oh, grow up, said a more confident voice. I’ve been in Penlee Woods a million times, with my mates, and with Mum and Dad.
Never on my own, though, said the quiet voice.
And then the wind dropped. Silence prevailed. Phew. I don’t like the wind. I’ll just call Cat and Lia and ask them to come and join me. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. They could bring supplies and we could have a laugh.
I stood up and, as I pulled out my mobile, I noticed that my fingers were trembling.
Behind me, in the shadows to my right, I heard a sharp noise. A footstep? Ten more cracks in quick succession. Yes, that’s the sound of twigs snapping. Definitely footsteps. Someone’s there. Instinctively, I crouched down, making myself as small as possible. I listened, suddenly aware that my heart was thumping deafeningly in my chest. I held my breath.
Silence. Silence is good. No more twigs snapping.
Then the voice in my head cut in with a new thought.
Ohmigod. I’m being watched.
I grabbed my rucksack and fled for the cover of a large bush. Bedunk, bedunk, bedunk pounded my heart. Shut up, I whispered. You’re making too much noise.
A gust of wind rustled the trees behind me and my heart almost jumped into my mouth, and started to beat even faster. My breathing became short and sharp as I strained to hear the tiniest sound. I was surrounded by eerie noises. The soft, deep moan of the wind, the rustling of dry leaves, creaking branches, snapping twigs and, in the distance, the boom of the sea breaking on the rocks.
I sooooo wished that I hadn’t seen The Blair Witch Project on the night of Squidge’s barbie. It’s one thing watching something like that with your mates and a bowl of popcorn and another when you’re alone in the woods and everything in the movie starts happening. I was a quivering mess, more Blair Twitch than Witch.
Another sharp crack from the shadows refocused my thoughts.
Now I was really frightened.
Running away wasn’t my best idea, I thought. Maybe I should go home, and rethink the plan.
A crack of brilliant lightning shattered the black sky and I picked up my rucksack and ran. As I reached the lane, the sky opened and large drops of rain sploshed down all around m
e. Soon I was soaked to the skin, hair plastered flat, black rivulets of mascara running down my face. I gulped for breath, but didn’t stop until I reached the bus stop where, luckily, I didn’t have too long to wait.
Mum was in the hall when I burst through the front door twenty minutes later. She looked surprised to see me.
‘Becca! You’ve been out. Oh look, you’re soaked. I . . . I thought you were up in your room.’ She gestured vaguely up the stairs and gave me a weak smile.
So much for the dramatic runaway scene, I thought, as I dripped up the stairs. Hah! She hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.
Revised Running Away Essentials:
Waterproofs
Mobile (that has the battery charged)
Lip-gloss (always need that)
Groundsheet
Magazines
Food and drink supplies, especially chocolate (lots of it)
Cricket bat for bashing suspicious people over the head
Waterproof mascara
Fleece
Revised Running Away Philosophy
Don’t bother
SNOG. SNOG. SNOG. SNOG.
Cuddle. Cuddle. Cuddle. Cuddle.
Stroke hair. Stroke hair. Stroke hair. Stroke hair.
Zilch. Nada. Nothing.
It wasn’t working.
I shoved Lal away.
‘Wha . . .?’ he blustered.
I sat up. We had been lying on a blanket in the grass out in a field near Cremyl.
‘I’m sorry, Lal, but I feel like I’m using you,’ I said.
‘I don’t mind. Really,’ he said with a wicked grin and stretched his arms out above his head. ‘Use me. Do what you like with me. I am at your service.’
‘I’m serious, Lal. It’s doesn’t feel right. I’m not myself. My mum and dad are breaking up and I’m freaked out of my mind and sorry, but snogging you isn’t taking my mind off it.’
Love Lottery Page 6
