How Hard Can Love Be?

by Holly Bourne

  He laughed and touched me briefly on the shoulder, making me sit up really straight.

  “Not one of them is crying and you’re not in the first-aid tent. That is incredible, believe me. It’s first day of camp! They’re too excited, all you can do is try and keep them alive. Russ is already freaking because one of his almost drowned.”

  “What?”

  “The kid’s okay. Russ lined them all up on the jetty to teach them The Rules of the Water and this one just got so excited he jumped right in. Even though he couldn’t swim.”

  “Jesus. Is he okay? Russ, I mean?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. He’s just flipping out that the kid will tell his mom. He doesn’t want to get sued.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why would Russ get sued?”

  And Kyle touched my shoulder again, making each freckle there burst into flames.

  “Oh, you innocent British person. I wish I had your naivety.”

  I smiled slightly. “Where’s Whinnie?”

  “Calming Russ down.”

  “Well now I feel like I’ve got off the hook,” I said, gesturing towards all the intact children exploding about the hall.

  Kyle furrowed his brow. “Your mom still shouldn’t have left you.”

  “Mum shouldn’t have done a lot of things…”

  It came out without thinking – my voice was tight and bitter and choked. How the hell was I going to keep them all entertained until she’d decided she was rested enough? Maybe I could sing them Queen songs? That was British?

  Kyle pulled his tiny stool in closer, making a screeching sound as it grazed the floor.

  “Well, this was my last juice stop. You want me to stay and help out?”

  Relief pooled in my stomach. “You sure? You don’t need to be anywhere?”

  “I think I need to be here,” he said, just as two children collided head first and started crying.

  Half an hour later and they were all wearing beautifully decorated necklaces, singing Freddie Mercury and dancing madly. Kyle and I were at the front of the hall, conducting them ferociously with our arms. Kyle’d made a quick dash to his cabin to pick up his old iPod and speakers.

  “Who knew Queen was such a good pacifier for children?” Kyle said, watching them twirl.

  I nodded with pride. “I have the younger stepbrother from Hell. I worked this out the hard way.”

  He pulled a face. “Ergh, is there any worse word in the world than ‘step-something’?”

  “I know.” I nodded again, sadly this time. “It just means – the first attempt failed, doesn’t it?”

  Mum walked through the door, sunglasses on her face, and a pashmina draped over her shoulders. I leaned back off the wall and stood up straight. Kyle didn’t.

  She took in the music, and the dancing children, came over and rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “Amber, what’s going on here?”

  I stood up straighter.

  “Their name badges are all done. Kyle and I have just got them dancing to get rid of any excess energy.”

  She patted me. “You’ve done great, Amber. You know what my migraines are like when they hit. I really needed that lie-down.”

  I did know…

  The headaches started soon after that day they got back from the hospital. I’d hear crashes in the kitchen at night, the shrill sound of glasses clattering.

  Then Mum wouldn’t get out of bed.

  First Dad was okay with it.

  “It’s okay, Amber,” he’d say. “Your mum is just grieving. Give her some time. We need to be patient.”

  “Grieving for what?”

  Though I think I knew. They’d told me once I was going to be a big sister. They’d told me once I was going to get to choose its name.

  But then they went to hospital and they never talked about it again.

  “Just…just…we need to be patient.”

  A year later, when it was still happening, at least four days a week, he began to lose it.

  He threw back the curtains and light burst into the stinky room, bouncing off the mirrored cupboards. Mum – a cowering lump under the duvet – whimpered from beneath the blankets.

  “No, Brian, please. I’ve got a migraine.”

  He ignored her, picking up her piles of discarded clothes and hanging them over his arms.

  “You’re taking Amber to school,” he instructed, all businesslike. “I need to be in a meeting in half an hour. I told you I needed you to take her in today. Enough is enough, come on.”

  More whimpering.

  “But, I’m ill. I’ve got one of my headaches.”

  He raised his voice, knowing it would hurt her head. “And we all know why!”

  “It’s a migraine. I’m too sick. I can’t drive, YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”

  “Shh, Amber will hear you.”

  “I’m here.” I’d been standing behind him the whole time – watching. Knowing my world was falling apart, but not sure why or how. He looked up, twitchy. I saw the pain seep through his face.

  “Amber?”

  I stepped out warily, and pushed my bush of hair down with my hand.

  “Yes?”

  “Your mum’s having one of her migraines so she can’t drive you to school. I can take you in, but that means you’ll be early. Can you be ready in five minutes?”

  The lump under the duvet was still. I looked down at my pyjamas. She’d once taken me to school in my pyjamas. They’d sent a letter home with me.

  “I…I guess.”

  Another pain-ridden smile.

  “That’s my girl.”

  The lump said nothing…

  “You feeling better now, right?” I asked her.

  “Oh yeah. I just needed to lie down. I think the music may bring on a relapse though.” She grinned. “You’ve done great,” she repeated.

  Kyle stepped forward with narrowed eyes.

  “I thought Amber wasn’t able to be left alone with the kids?”

  I almost reached out my hand to stop him.

  The only visible reaction she gave that she’d heard him was a small tight smile. I tried to give him warning looks with my eyebrows but Kyle ignored me, staring straight at Mum.

  You don’t question Mum. That’s the rule. She’s never wrong; it’s never her fault.

  “I mean, there’s thirty of them. And Amber’s only seventeen… It was lucky I turned up. And—”

  She interrupted him.

  “I thought you were on juice duty, Kyle?” Her voice was so cold, her smile still so tight.

  I ached for him then – for that smile, for what it meant. The and-now-you’ve-asked-things-I-don’t-want-to-answer-I’m- going-to-aggressively-deflect smile.

  “I was.” He struggled to hold eye-contact. I wanted to tell him it was okay. That she always turned on anyone who didn’t support her…which is why I always swallowed my objections. “This was my last stop.”

  “I thought then you were supposed to go help Melody set up the campfire for tonight?”

  “I was. But Amber needed my help here.”

  “So you ignored my orders?”

  She was still smiling. Kyle wasn’t. The easy effortlessness of his face was crumpled with expressions I knew so well – with disbelief, with that niggling feeling she shouldn’t be able to get away with it…yet, she could, because it wasn’t her fault.

  It’s never her fault.

  You can’t blame me, she’d said, when I’d cried. Because she was leaving. Because she was leaving broken bits of me, of us, of our family behind. It’s not my fault. It’s a disease. A horrible disease. I’m sick. Nobody can help getting sick. Anyway, you have a new family now…well your dad does…

  “I didn’t ignore them.” Kyle’s voice was losing its calm. “It was just obvious Amber needed a little help here.”

  I took a step forward, using his bravery to give me my own.

  “He really did rescue me,” I admitted.

  Mum opened her mouth to say something but the m
usic stopped, the last la la las from Freddy Mercury echoing out. The children stopped running about and turned to us all at the same time, like in a zombie apocalypse.

  Mum’s tight smile melted into a genuine one.

  “Aren’t you all amazing?” She clapped her hands together. “Now, who wants to go see the lake?”

  They jumped up and down on the dusty floor, and I remembered hearing once how if everyone in China jumped at the same time, it would cause an earthquake. “ME ME ME, I DO I DO I DO.”

  “Okay then, now buddy up. Don’t forget your name tags.”

  In a buzz, the kids ran to collect their things. Kyle was clenching and unclenching his fists. I attempted to tidy up – not sure where to look. I scraped stray bits of dried PVA off the table and stacked the glue pots neatly. When I looked up, the children had formed an orderly crocodile.

  Mum stood at the front, looking like someone who’d never had a headache before in their life.

  And Kyle had gone.

  SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:

  Working a fifteen-hour day

  +

  Difficult conversations about your childhood

  Eleven

  For the second night in a row, I was in front of a campfire, watching Melody stroke her crotch.

  “Don’t cha,” she hissed, jerking her butt back towards the flames. “Don’t cha.”

  It turns out Bumface Kevin wasn’t just a mother-stealing loser, he was a pervy loser. And therefore he’d asked Melody and her other Pussycat Dolls to re-perform last night’s show “so the kids can see it”. Because, you know, it’s not summer camp without s’mores and mild stripping.

  Whinnie leaned in and whispered: “She’s rubbing her crotch so much, I’m scared she’ll get a friction burn.”

  I was almost too exhausted to giggle. Almost…

  I’d never worked so hard. We’d taken all one hundred kids to the lake, and then we’d had to get them all into their swimming costumes – which they seemed incapable of putting on themselves. Then, in the blazing sunshine, we’d had to see how well they could swim, grading them, putting them into relevant groups, marking who would be allowed to play each water sport safely. Then they’d all had to eat lunch. Spaghetti – great choice. I’d hardly had any time to eat as I dashed from smeared face to smeared face, frantically dabbing at them with a damp cloth, trying to make sure they didn’t get sauce on their clothes. Then we’d taken ALL the children on a long walk around ALL the camp. Again. I’d trekked in the heat to the paintballing field, around every single cabin, to the sports section, down to the lake, and then up to the go-karting circuit, which was right near the road. All in all, we’d walked at least five miles.

  But still the children weren’t tired.

  They’d demonstrated as much at dinner – burgers – squirting each other with ketchup, constantly changing their seats to make new friends. I’d dolloped baked beans into my mouth, almost too tired to chew. We still weren’t done yet.

  Now we were at the campfire. We’d painted their faces. We’d sung “You Can’t Step In The Same River Twice” and “She’ll Be Comin’ Round The Mountain”. And, once Melody had stopped rubbing herself, we would be sorted into our camp teams – splitting the kids and staff members into four groups.

  If Mum put me in the same team as Melody…

  The music stopped. Everyone clapped. Bumface Kevin the hardest. Mum put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. It annoyed me that I hadn’t inherited her ability to do that. It annoyed me she was wolf-whistling Melody.

  About eight hands pawed at my long legs.

  “You ask her,” a whisper said, loudly.

  “No, you ask her.”

  I looked down at the children wedged beneath my feet, their faces decorated and all glowing and cute in the firelight.

  “What is it?” I asked, half-clapping.

  A girl with s’more chocolate all round her mouth, straightened up.

  “If you’re from England,” she asked, “have you met the Queen?”

  I closed my eyes for a little longer than I should. It was the eighth time I’d been asked that day.

  “No.” Their little faces dropped. “No, I haven’t.”

  “I TOLD YOU,” one of them yelled. “I told you she wasn’t English.”

  I held my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I am English,” I explained. “Not everyone in England has met the Queen.”

  Their little heads looked up at me, their eyes all wide.

  “What do you do, then?” Chocolate-smeared girl asked.

  Whinnie nudged me to show she was trying not to laugh. Russ, on the other side of me, withheld a snigger.

  “I don’t know. The same as you guys, I guess. We live our lives.”

  “Is that ALL?” she demanded.

  “Isn’t that all any of us do?”

  “Not me,” she announced. “I’m going to Disneyland.”

  There isn’t much you can say to that.

  Kevin stepped into the circle, still applauding Melody and her mates – oh, and Kyle, who’d been asked to be a “backing dancer” again – as they climbed over the logs back to their places. Kyle shuffled in between Russ and me.

  “Dude, I’m so jealous, I could kill you,” Russ said. “Melody is fiiiiiine.”

  Kyle shifted uncomfortably and I stared ahead, pretending to listen to Kevin moan on about the ceremony of The Sorting. Kyle nudged the chocolate girl with his foot and she turned around. “Hey, Jenna, you like the dancing?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It was okay, I guess,” she said. “You looked kind of creepy up there though.”

  Whinnie and I burst into hysterical giggles.

  “Creepy? Right… That’s, erm, not good.”

  Kevin clapped his hands, sensing he didn’t have our undivided attention. “And without further ado,” he said, “let’s start The Sorting. Now, we don’t like to group you by age at Mountain Hideaway Camp, as we feel you can learn so much from people both older and younger than you. So we’ll be sorting you into teams based on the questionnaires we sent out.” He beckoned to Mum. “Rosie, if you will?”

  Mum walked out into the circle, carrying a big oversized hat.

  “No way,” I whispered. “That actually isn’t a…”

  “A sorting hat?” Russ answered, grinning at my reaction. “Oh, yeah, they use an actual sorting hat. I better not get put in Ravenclaw this year.”

  “What?” I felt my eyes bulge. “They even use the Harry Potter houses?”

  Russ nodded. “Yeah, the kids love it.”

  I looked down at the children congregating on my feet. I could almost hear the vibrations of excitement chill through their bodies.

  “As always,” Kevin said, “we’ll sort the staff first.”

  I instantly panicked and grabbed Whinnie and Kyle on either side of me. “They’re sorting…us? Too? They’re using the sorting hat on us now?!”

  Kyle answered. “Yeah, we all get put into four groups. It makes the timetable easier to sort out.”

  “But – I never got a questionnaire! How do they know where to sort us? We’re going to get sorted like, right NOW?”

  Kyle gave me a weird look. “Yes…why are you freaking out?”

  Two kids on my ankles looked up at me. I lowered my voice to a whisper.

  “You don’t understand. I…I…don’t want to get sorted. I’m too scared. I’ve never even joined Pottermore for this very reason.” Also, it wouldn’t have felt right, being sorted on my own, without Mum doing it too…

  Another weird look – this time from Kyle, and Whinnie and Russ.

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” I threw my hands up, not knowing how it wasn’t obvious to everyone else. “Because…what if I don’t get into Gryffindor?”

  They all cracked up.

  “It’s not funny. It’s always been a genuine anxiety of mine.”

  Kevin pulled out a list and called a name loudly: “WAYNE?”

  It was Wat
ersports. He was called Wayne? He bashed knuckles with the guy next to him, pushed back his bleach-blond curtains and walked into the circle. The buzz from the kids thrummed harder, almost like they were generating their own electricity. Mum lifted up the battered hat and ceremoniously plopped it onto his head.

  “Hufflepuff,” she yelled. Just the word “Hufflepuff” sparked the children off. They clapped and cheered and generally freaked out from the thrill of it all. Wayne – obviously unbothered by the fact that he’d now never get to share a dorm with The Harry Potter – shuffled to where Mum pointed.

  Kevin looked down at his list. “Russ?” he called.

  “Ahh, man.” Russ levered himself up off the log. He grinned down at the children under him. “I hope you get into my house y’all.”

  He stepped over them and approached the circle. I was worried for him. I was terrified for myself. Mum would put me into Gryffindor, surely? She’ll remember…she must remember. One of my hands grabbed Whinnie, the other grabbed Kyle’s T-shirt. He looked down at my hand but I didn’t care. Russ looked pretty gorgeous in the dark, his black hair absorbing all the light from the fire. He waved at Mum before she dropped the hat onto him.

  She was quiet for a moment, all dramatic.

  “Dumbledore’s Army!” she yelled.

  Everyone cheered… Apart from me who yelled: “What the actual fuck?”

  I covered my mouth the moment I said it, but there was a hiss of giggles below me and Kyle threw me a desperate look.

  “She cussed! Amber cussed!”

  “Ummmmmmmmmm,” one said, their little American accent changing more octaves than Mariah Carey.

  “I didn’t cuss,” I said, frantically wracking my brains for an excuse. “I said…umm…FECK, I said ‘feck’. It’s an English word. You don’t have it here.”

  It seemed to work, they settled, and all started saying “feck”.

  Russ was siphoned off to another bit of the circle and another camp counsellor walked up to meet their fate.

  “Gryffindor,” Mum called. It got the biggest cheer. I wondered how many distraught kids would be crying tonight, gutted they didn’t make it into Gryffindor. I would probably be one of them.