by Holly Bourne
The one thing that had got me through up till now, the one thing that helped, was knowing that – despite everything – she was sober. She was dry. And if that meant sacrificing me, if that meant her coming here, and having her healthy life in the mountains with Kevin and her never seeing me, if that was what she needed to stay dry, to not be that monster I lived with – well…that meant it was just about bearable. But if she relapsed…then why? If it was still hard here – why couldn’t she just come home to me?
I really was crying now. Kyle awkwardly patted my back, in that oh-God-I-really-don’t-know-what-to-do way all boys adopt when a girl is crying. It reached a crescendo whenever I pictured the scene, or whenever I remembered that we weren’t going to LA the next day after all. And then, slowly, the tears ran out. Maybe I was too dehydrated to make any more.
“Should I have told you?” he asked, nervously. “I’ve been wondering since I met you. I wondered how much you knew. Why we’d never really heard of you until this summer…”
“I’m glad you told me.” I looked up at him through my hazy tear-stained vision. The moon still caught all his best bits. In this light he looked like an All-American-Dream-Ghost – like if Casper won Prom King. He looked right back at me. We were so close. Our noses almost touching, his hand still on my back… I wondered if this was how close he’d been to Melody before they got together and did whatever they did… That thought hurt. I backed away, leaning against the tree again.
Noise. Noises in the wood.
“Guuuuuuys?”
It was Whinnie.
“Guuuuuys, you out here?”
Kyle took one last look at me and then turned in the direction of her voice.
“Whinnie?” he called.
“Where are you?” The uncertain wobble of torchlight came out from behind a tree, making both of us squint. I tried to stand, but struggled, and Kyle took my hand to pull me up. Whinnie’s torch found us like a spotlight, and I turned my face from it, as it scorched into my eyes.
“Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to get eaten by a coyote before I found you.” She ran over and hugged me. “How are you feeling? You look like the last survivor from a horror movie. Everyone else has gone to bed, but your mum is going frantic and Russ is pissed at you for drinking all the whiskey…”
“I bet he is,” Kyle muttered.
“Well, he wasn’t to know…everything,” Whinnie said.
My stomach blobbed with yet more guilt. “I’ll pay him back. I’ll get some in LA tomorrow. If I can get served.”
“You coming to LA?” Kyle and Whinnie both asked at the same time.
I shrugged. “What choice do I have? Where else do I go?”
“Do you want to go to LA?” Kyle asked. I shook my head instinctively.
“Honestly? No. But I don’t want to hang around here in Kevin’s cabin, feeling guilty that I’m not working. And I don’t particularly feel like wandering around San Francisco, waiting for my mum to give a shit about me. I don’t drive yet, and you can’t walk anywhere in this bloody country. So yeah…LA. Great…”
Kyle gave me another big searching look. I swear he got searching looks on special offer at the emotion store or something. 2-4-1.
I stretched my legs, my heart feeling numb. Probably because half of it was still burning on the campfire. “Let’s go.”
We all walked back through the darkness, past the smoking corpse of the spent campfire, and along the twisted path towards the centre of camp.
“Thanks, guys.” I was sobering up enough to feel very very embarrassed about the last two hours. “I’m not usually so drama.”
Whinnie smiled and squeezed my hand.
“Yeah,” she said. “What’s up with that? I thought you guys were supposed to repress everything with a stiff upper lip until you’re constipated.”
“America is wearing off on you,” Kyle added.
We all laughed. And I never thought I’d laugh on that evening. Not without Lottie and Evie anyway. All sorts of American sentimental gushes flooded through me – with added emotional gushes of something else that I felt for Kyle… Something that I was certainly going to repress, as I’d been hurt and rejected enough for one summer thank you very much.
Whinnie handed me some gum. “Here,” she said. “So you don’t smell like Jack Daniels.”
“Thanks, Whinnie, for you know, helping.”
She gave me a sad feeling-sorry-for-you smile. “Well the word ‘counsellor’ is in the job title.”
Eventually we stepped out of the dense forest overhang, the moonlight almost as bright as the sun. It hung all big and proud of itself in the sky.
“Why don’t I take you back to the cabin?” Whinnie suggested. She gave Kyle a knowing look. “It might be better if it’s just me.”
Kyle nodded. “Cool, well I better go see if the weekenders have managed to get my clan to sleep. See you tomorrow, Amber. For LA?”
LA. I really didn’t want to go to LA…
“Yeah, sure.” I wanted to say so much more but Whinnie was there. I didn’t know how to thank him. “Thanks again, and tell Russ I’ll try and replace the drink.”
“Don’t worry about that. Night.”
“Night.”
Whinnie steered me to my cabin without asking what had happened while she’d been gone. She didn’t even ask why I’d gotten so wasted and I loved her for that. Maybe she was just doing what Winnie the Pooh would’ve done.
Mum flung the door open and her arms around me. I was so shocked by the intensity of her affection I almost fell over.
“Amber, you poor thing. How are you feeling?” she gasped into my shoulder. “Was it the hot dogs? Aww, you poor munchkin. Have you been sick? You smell quite sick.”
Despite everything that had happened I dissolved into her, hugging her back so hard – like a diver gasping for oxygen, not knowing when they’d get any more.
Kevin stepped out, stopping halfway through the door, so he was all highlighted from the lamp inside.
“Thanks for looking after her, Whinnie. We’ve got her from here.”
I waved as Mum took me inside, her arm still round me. “My poor little baby. You just vanished! We didn’t know where you were. I was so worried. It’s horrible being sick, poor thing. What can I get you? Let’s tuck you up on the sofa, hmm? Kevin? Will you get Amber some water?”
Water came. I drank it. More came. I drank more.
I wasn’t even the slightest bit drunk any more, just drained.
Mum was stroking my hair, singing softly, one of my favourite Peter Alsop songs, the one she used to sing at bedtime – if she wasn’t passed out before me.
“Go to sleep, you little creep,” she sang softly, her husky voice warming each word like a microwave. “It’s time to get undressed.”
I was being carried to my room. My sicky T-shirt was raised over my head, I was put on my side. My pillow was fluffed. She kept stroking my hair. Everything was warm, so warm. Mum was being the mum I remembered from way back. The one that I knew was in there, somewhere…
I was so very tired.
“We love you when you’re wide awake, but when you sleep we love you best.”
And the last thing I heard was Mum giggling at the funniest line as I slumped into a happy but confused unconsciousness.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
Woken before 5 a.m.
+
With a hangover
+
By a boy you really quite like
Nineteen
I woke.
It hit me.
It all hit me.
I wasn’t going to LA with Mum. She’d chosen a rehab centre over spending time with me. I’d gotten so drunk. I’d drunk all of Russ’s whiskey. I’d been sick – oh God! In front of Kyle! And Whinnie! I’d cried, I’d told Kyle everything.
Why why why why why why why why? WHY?
I sat bolt upright, the uncomfortable yanking twist of humiliation wrenching my stomach. Such an idiot. Why was I
such an idiot? Why was I just like her?
All the sadness came too – she wasn’t coming with me today. She cancelled.
Just like that.
Just like that.
There was a gentle knocking at my window. What? I was still half asleep. Did I really hear that?
Another knock.
I leaned over and opened it.
Kyle’s face was in my window, smiling in a way that could make you hand over all your money and worldly belongings. My eyes widened, in total shock.
“It’s you,” I said. So shocked I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Good morning.” He was smiling so hard now.
“You’re in my window.”
“I am.”
I rubbed my sleepy eyes. “But why?”
I noticed something was wrong. Different. The forest was very quiet. The sun wasn’t out yet… Hang on…it was still dark.
“I’m taking you away,” he said.
“What?”
“I’ve got my jeep. It’s got a full tank of gas. I’m taking us away for the weekend.”
I rubbed my eyes again, to check he was really there.
“What time is it?”
“Four a.m. Don’t you want to know where we’re going?”
“FOUR A.M.? I’ve only been asleep four hours.”
“You can sleep in the jeep.”
What was happening? Why was he here? Why was a Prom King in the window? That doesn’t happen to people, especially to people like me.
“I thought you’d be more excited.”
“I’m still trying to work out if you’re real.” I folded my arms over myself to hide my not-in-bra boobs. I was wearing practically nothing – just a tiny pair of shorts and a vest.
“I’m real.”
“What about LA?” I asked, starting to wake up now.
“You don’t need LA today. I’m taking you somewhere much better.” He really couldn’t stop smiling. I hadn’t seen someone look more proud since Craig did a poo so big it blocked the toilet and he made Dad take a photo of it. Yep, that happened.
Slowly, realizing what was going on, I smiled.
“So where’s better than LA?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“What do I bring then?”
“Good climbing shoes, sunscreen, lots of water. Your sketchbook.”
“Hang on. I won’t be long.”
I closed the curtains and cobbled some stuff together. Smiling the whole time.
Within half an hour we were in Kyle’s jeep, careering through the winding mountain roads, the sun just about to rise. There was a dark red scorch mark in the sky where it was due to go up, but other than that, it was just an inky blue sky, and the sound of nothing but our engine.
I’d scribbled Mum a quick note:
Gone to LA. Back tomorrow. Have fun at the centre.
If she knew where I was, and who I was with, she would go mental. Or maybe she wouldn’t care. Either way, yesterday’s pain had matured overnight into a simmering pot of anger. But I put it on the backburner so I could enjoy the wind blowing my hair, and the sight of Kyle driving confidently, one arm slung casually on the ledge of the open car window.
There were some questions I deliberately wasn’t asking myself. Why was Kyle here? Why was he doing this? Where was he taking me? What does this mean? I mean, one, I hardly knew him and, two, I seemed to be his charity project for the summer or something. He’d been with Melody and probably was still with Melody, and I didn’t know how she felt about any of this. But I was fed up with questions. That’s all my life had been for years. Why? How? But? Why? Please? Why? Why? Asking them constantly – of my mother, of the universe, of myself. I wasn’t getting any answers, so I reckoned I’d try being one of those smug people who live in The Now for a weekend.
Kyle reached down by his long legs and pulled out a flask, handing it over to me. “Here,” he said. “Have some coffee.”
I unscrewed the top, and took a sniff. It smelled so good, steam rising up from the narrow funnel of the flask. “How did you have time to make this? How do you even own a flask?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I’m American. I live in the mountains. I know how to do long car journeys.”
“And how long will this car journey be?”
“It will be approximately as long as it needs to be.”
“Since when did you become Yoda?” I took a sip of my coffee, it was still super hot. And nice, very nice.
“Is that helping your headache?”
I took another sip. “I don’t have a headache. I never get one if I…” Puke. But I didn’t want to say that, I didn’t want to remind him of all the vastly unattractive puking I’d done in front of him the night before. “… Drink water before bed,” I finished meekly.
I handed the flask back to him and he took a deep swig. It was so hard to look at him without looking like I was looking at him. He handed it back so I could screw the top back on, then nestled it down under his legs again.
“Well then, if you don’t have a headache, you won’t mind listening to some music.” He smiled slyly, pressed play on his beat-up stereo system, and Peter Alsop came blaring out the speakers.
I sat up in my car seat.
“Oh my God. You have the Peter Alsop CDs? I’ve literally not listened to these in years!” The opening song of the Wha’ D’ya Wanna Do? CD started playing and I almost felt like crying. Those guitar chords, his voice, the funny-for-kids lyrics, “No one ever plays with me, I’m bored, bored, bored!”
I was back there, in the car with my mum, singing along at the tops of our voices, giggling at all the jokes we knew so well.
We both started singing along. Kyle’s singing voice was as crap as mine – his voice too deep, too flat. But he knew every line, just as I did. We sang the first two songs all the way through, as the roads got less windy and downhill, and more straight and more uphill again.
“I still can’t believe you have these in your car.”
“I only play them when it’s just me driving. If there’s anyone with me, I play rap. Or anything else that’s supposed to be cool.”
“Other than me?”
He looked away from the windscreen then, to study my face, and I grew all hot. “Other than you,” he confirmed.
The first curve of the sun sneaked up on the edge of the horizon, casting arrowshots of yellow light into the blue of the dying night. Everywhere around us was so vast and empty. We hadn’t driven past another car for over half an hour. It was just us. It could be the apocalypse and you wouldn’t know. Not here. With just the trees and the bears for company.
A few songs passed.
“Are we there yet?” I asked, as the jeep inched its way around a steep mountain curve.
Kyle concentrated on steering. “As a matter of fact, we are.”
“Am I allowed to know where we’re going now?”
“We’ll see the sign soon.”
“There’s a sign?”
“Oh yeah.”
“And what else?”
He smiled to himself. “You’ll see.”
Two more twists and then the road widened. Two sleepy-looking cabins sat next to a large sign. My mouth fell open as I read it.
“Yosemite National Park!” I yelled at the top of my voice. So excited, so very excited.
Kyle smiled even more. “You said you wanted mountains.”
“I have no idea why you’re being so nice to me, but I’m very glad.”
A park. A national park. With woods, and trees, and bears, and no alcoholic mothers and screaming children. I was happy then, full to the brim with surprise and excitement and all the good feelings and none of the bad which NEVER happens. We pulled up alongside the cabin and a man dressed as Yogi Bear leaned out of the window.
“One-day pass, please.” Kyle handed over some dollars.
“Ya’ll here early,” Yogi Bear man replied, tipping his hat like a real-life park ranger.
&nb
sp; “We’re doing the Mist Trail before the crowds hit.”
Mist Trail? What’s the Mist Trail?
“Well that’s a mighty fine idea.” He handed Kyle a small sticker which he put in the front of his windscreen.
“Thank you, sir.”
And, before I had time to ask for a picture of the man, we drove right into the sunrise. Our surroundings had been pretty awesome just on the drive here, but it was like the car knew we’d just passed a “Welcome to a National Park” sign and upped the scenic ante. We curved around the bottom of rock faces, drove in and out of the dappled sunlight through a thousand pine trees.
“We’re almost at the falls, wait for it,” Kyle said.
We emerged into the most stunning meadow, with yellow and orange wild flowers peeking out of the tall grasses. And there, in a backdrop so pretty it was like someone had painted it on, was a massive waterfall. The water cascading from seemingly nowhere – like the cliff needed a wee, but something much more profound and artsy sounding than that.
“That’s Yosemite Falls,” Kyle said, his voice taking on an edge of tour guide. “You should see it when it’s at full strength.”
We drove past, and I craned my neck to try and hold the view longer.
“Aren’t we getting out?” I asked, desperate to get out and be in it. So glad that I had my sketchpad with me.
“In a second, we need to park and get the bus.”
“The bus?”
“Yeah. I think the first one is at six.”
He steered us past more eye-bulgingly beautiful sights, rapping out names for them with the kind of bored-but-excited-for-you voice I used whenever I took someone to London and they were excited at seeing Big Ben for the first time.
“Half Dome,” he said, as I pointed towards a rock reigning at the top of the canyon. It looked like it had been sheared right in half with a posh kitchen knife. The sunrise turned the flat rock face orange; I’d literally never seen anything on that scale before.
“Mirror Lake is down that path,” he said, pointing to a hole in the forest. “Maybe we’ll get time to see it later. It’s incredible. Like, well, looking in a mirror.”
We drove through another meadow of wild flowers. There were photographers everywhere, crouching down with their tripods in the long grasses.
