Girl Out of Water

by Nat Luurtsema

  I jump out of the car. To my surprise, the boys follow.

  “Can we do anything?” asks Roman, helping Gabe out.

  “I don’t know,” I say, honestly. “I don’t know what’s going on.” I’m fumbling for my keys. Mum’s already opening the front door. “Mum!” I say. “This is Roman and Pete and Gabriel.”

  “We met,” she says icily. “At the police station.”

  Well, there’s an introduction. I look back at the boys. Pete and Roman smile like they’ve been sick in their mouths but Gabe sways a little and puts his hand on the wall to steady himself. Mum steps forward.

  “Come in,” she says, and I think it’s going to be all right.

  Meanwhile, the Hannah situation is so far from all right that “all right” is just a tiny dot on the horizon. Apparently, she finally spoke when she last called the house. She told Mum that she wants to leave the training camp but doesn’t want her parents to know.

  “So she’s going to run away?” I ask, baffled. “But surely the camp would call her parents as soon as they realized she was gone. And where would she go if she didn’t go home?”

  “She’s not herself,” Mum says. “She sounds completely overwhelmed and panicked. I’m worried she might do something stupid. I’m sorry, Lou, we need to tell her parents. Your dad’s on the phone to them now.”

  Poor Han. As soon as my life improves, hers goes rubbish and I’m having too much fun to notice. Bad friend.

  Mum makes everyone a cup of tea and forces Gabriel into a couple of jumpers. He says if we get bored we can play Pass the Parcel with him. Pete and Roman decline. Lav waggles an eyebrow at me.

  Shut up, my flared nostrils say back to her. I do not want to unwrap him.

  We’re all squeezed into the tiny kitchen. I’m sitting on the worktop with Lav perched on the fridge, while the boys loiter in whatever space they can find. Dad is on the phone, pacing around the living room. I feel reassured with him in control; he’s always been good with Hannah’s mum. He says his tactic is to show no fear and try not to blink.

  Mum picks her way through boy limbs to stand next to me. I rest my chin on her head and hug her. She feels small like this, but she still smells of Mum: moisturiser, dry shampoo and fabric conditioner.

  “I’m glad you’re not at the camp!” she says. I give a little shaky laugh. I feel the same.

  “Glad I’ve got slow arms?” Debs would have a fit if she could hear us.

  “Yes, Goldfish,” Mum says into my hair.

  We break apart. Gabe pretends to be sick into his jumper.

  Dad has now paced out into the garden. He looks annoyed and is gesturing forcefully. He accidentally deadheads a few roses.

  “I wonder if they’re angry at us for not telling them sooner?” Mum wonders. “He’d better not punch my geraniums.”

  She remembers the boys suddenly.

  “You know what you need?”

  “I’m OK for jumpers, thank you,” says Gabriel, a little muffled.

  “Soup!” she declares and heads for the cupboard. “Now, if I mix tomato and vegetable, will it be nice?” she muses.

  “No,” everyone answers.

  Only Mum could ruin tinned soup; this is why Dad does all the cooking.

  A few minutes later we’re all drinking soup out of mugs because there are too many people in here to open the cutlery drawer. When I finish taking another slow sip I can see Dad hanging up and stomping across the lawn towards us.

  “Uh-oh,” I say.

  Dad comes through the doorway with a halo of cold air and the smell of garden clinging to him. He takes a deep breath and looks at the phone.

  “Hannah’s parents think she’s being ‘melodramatic’,” he tells us. We all do surprised Big Eyes at him and then each other.

  “What? Did you tell them about the emails?” I demand.

  “We sent them over,” Dad says. “They read them while I was on the phone but chalked it up to teenage angst and a bit of jealousy on your part. Apparently this is Hannah’s chance of a lifetime and she has to stay there and tough it out. I said I think she’s actually quite ill, and if she’s not she will be soon, but they’re not listening.”

  I thought Hannah’s mum and dad would flip out and I’d be in trouble for not telling them earlier. I should have remembered they’re weirdos.

  “Then we have to go and get her,” I say. It’s a mad plan, but it’s the month for that, and of course we have to – we’re the only people who know her mum and dad are officially Awful. “Essex to Dorset isn’t that far, surely?”

  Everyone looks at me.

  “Not that far,” I persevere. “I mean, I’m not planning to walk it, I’ll need a lift, but…”

  Mum runs a finger over her eye. “I don’t know what to do for the best,” she says, sounding uncertain. Very unlike her.

  “I’ll drive to Dorset,” Dad declares, “if Hannah’s dad won’t.” This is very unlike him. Bold, bossy and a bit competitive. Mum looks gratefully at him. Everyone’s gone mad this evening.

  “We’ll come,” says Roman unexpectedly.

  “Ah, now I don’t think that’s a good idea after your recent brush with the law, son,” says Dad, not unkindly.

  “What if you need some muscle?” says Pete, getting to his feet and looking suddenly very manly.

  “That’s why I’m taking Louise,” says Dad.

  Pete looks stubborn. “I don’t want to be in the way, but I’d like to help. After the trouble we’ve already caused you.”

  Dad gives him a nod and Mum says firmly, “Not Gabe.” Gabe doesn’t object: he has dark circles under his eyes and is resting his chin on his hands. Mum will drive him home and explain to his parents where Roman has gone. She asks if she needs to call Pete’s parents, and he laughs. I can’t imagine Pete Senior is a stickler for bedtimes.

  Roman, Pete, Dad, Lav and I all pile into Dad’s car and head off down the motorway. My stomach is fizzing with excitement. I’m worried about Hannah, but I’m so glad we’re finally actually dealing with it – and I can’t wait to see my friend.

  Plus, it is so cool heading off on a rescue mission late at night! There’s Dad and Pete in the front; me, Lav and Roman in the back. Lav’s in the middle as she’s the smallest. She’s sharing a blanket with Roman. They make a really beautiful couple. I catch her eye in the rear view mirror and she gives me a prim face that makes me smile into my scarf.

  Plus, we’re driving all the way to Dorset, and it’s like three hours there and three hours back! This is proper holiday driving, and it feels a bit like a holiday: everyone’s tired and eating sandwiches out of cling film.

  I keep calling and calling Hannah, but her phone is still off. I remember her saying if it wasn’t for me and Candy Crush she’d chuck her phone. I feel guilty, I haven’t been in touch as much as I should lately. I text her.

  Don’t run, we are coming for you.

  I realize too late that that sounds threatening.

  PRISON BREEEAAAK!

  After about an hour’s driving we stop at a petrol station to grab fuel, crisps and biscuits. Within a couple of minutes all the snacks are gone and we’re picking the crumbs out of our hair and laps. Roman and Lav are being very helpful to each other with this. So predictable. Well, they better not come running to me if feelings get hurt.

  “Um,” says Pete.

  “Yes?” says Dad.

  “Is Hannah a … is she … what size is she?”

  God, is everyone looking to pull this evening?

  “Lou, what would you say?” asks Dad tactfully.

  “She’s like me. Maybe bigger,” I tell Pete.

  “Outstanding,” he says. “Because there isn’t a seat for her. We’ve brought one too many people for a rescue attempt.”

  We all think about this.

  “OK,” Dad says finally. “If she’s not nuts we leave her there. And if she’s really nuts we strap her to the roof rack.”

  “Dad!” Lav slaps his little bald spot fr
om behind.

  “Oi!” he protests. “I’m a hero on a rescue mission. Show some respect and unwrap me a toffee.”

  32

  We drive for a couple more hours, listening to a lot of songs that only Dad knows. There’s a deep sigh of relief when we get near and he turns off the stereo “to concentrate”. Finally his sat nav says we’re there. It looks like a massive stately home. I had no idea the training camp was this plush; it looks like Hogwarts! A month ago this would’ve made me so jealous. I’m glad Hannah was too engrossed in her thigh gap to mention it.

  The building is set back from the road down a driveway, with large iron entrance gates open in front of us. Dad hesitates then turns slowly in. We look around for a security guard in a hut or a sign saying RECEPTION or VISITORS THIS WAY, but there’s nothing.

  The car crunches up the dark gravel driveway.

  “I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” I whisper.

  “Well I’m not turning back now,” says Dad.

  “Shall we turn the lights off in case we wake everyone?”

  “Good idea,” says Lav.

  Dad turns off his headlights and we keep inching forwards over the gravel.

  “Now we look like burglars,” Lav whispers in my ear. She has a point. I do hope the boys aren’t about to be arrested for the second time in a month.

  There’s a sudden clunking noise and the car jolts to a halt. It’s really spooky in the car with darkness all around.

  Dad makes a puzzled sound and turns the lights back on. Everyone screams with fright at the woman standing in front of our car.

  We’ve bumped into a statue. It’s a stern-looking woman holding a jug on her head. (No wonder she’s moody – she’s using all the wrong muscles. Must be agony.)

  Dad reverses slowly … and she comes with us! Everyone makes a Gah! of shock. It looks like some bit of her is snagged on the front of the car. This rescue attempt is rapidly going wrong.

  “Did anyone see that Doctor Who episode, ‘Blink’?” Lav asks and everyone shouts, “LAV!” crossly. Which I guess is a yes.

  Pete tuts and gets out of the car to deal with Moody McJug. She’s quite awkward to move and he obviously doesn’t want to break the arms or the jug, so he hesitates for a moment then grabs a boob with each hand.

  We all snort with laughter from the car. He gives us a look over her shoulder, like: Oh, grow up. But, no! Not gonna. Sozzlecopters.

  Roman gets his phone out and leans forward to take a photo. Pete unhooks her from the front of the car with a scraping noise that makes Dad wince. He gets back in the car, bringing a waft of cold air with him.

  “Did you get her number?” I ask. He gives me a sniffy silence while everyone sniggers. We carry on up the driveway. I try calling Hannah again, suddenly realizing that this rescue mission is going to be extremely difficult if our damsel in distress has calmed down and gone to bed.

  It rings! She picks up.

  “Lou!” she whispers. She sounds like she’s got a cold.

  “I was so worried, where were you?” I say. “Have you started running away or are you still there – I mean, here? Do you want to come home? You don’t have to. We can turn around and go back, but…”

  Lav is making slow down gestures. There’s a silence from the other end of the phone.

  “Are you here?” Hannah says as if she can’t believe it.

  “Yes!”

  “With my mum and dad?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer. “Yes! I want to come home.”

  “Can you see us on the driveway?” I’m whispering now too. I can hear her moving, pulling back a curtain.

  “That’s not my mum’s car. Why have you come in a different car?”

  Now is not the time to say, “Han. Bottom line: your mum and dad are a bit rubbish. Soz. Not all bad news, though, as mine are champions and we can share.”

  “Um. It’s my dad’s. Tell you in a minute. Can you come out? Are you going to tell them you’re leaving?” I say.

  “I’ll leave a note.”

  “It’s not you, it’s me?” I suggest and she gives a little giggle.

  Dad’s mouthing something at me.

  “Han, do you want Dad to come in and talk to your coach or something?”

  “I can’t face it. I will, but right now I just want to come home.”

  “OK. Meet you at the front door?” We hang up.

  Lav and I get out of the car. Roman and Pete make to follow but Lav stops them.

  “We’ll go,” she says. “She doesn’t know you.” The boys see the sense in that and sit back.

  “Be quick, girls,” hisses Dad. “This doesn’t feel very legal.”

  “It’s OK, Dad,” I tell him, “I’ve watched a lot of TV crime shows.”

  We creep across the gravel, Lav holding tightly to my upper arm and guiding me towards the front door. I have terrible night vision, as a water butt and an upended bike can confirm. I still manage to trip over a couple of tiny statues.

  “Stop that,” Lav hisses in my ear. “Not again.”

  This tickles me and we’re both snickering quietly as the large wooden door creaks open and then Hannah is standing there, silhouetted in the dim light from the hallway.

  We stop laughing – she looks bad. (This is coming from me, who’s covered in scabs and bruises.) She’s thin and pale, with dark circles under her eyes to rival Gabe’s, and she’s buckling under the weight of her bag.

  I look to Lavender. I don’t know what to say. I am fifteen. This is one of those times when I want to say, “Sorry, but I am a child. I’m going to bed to watch The Simpsons and dip some cookies in milk. If I can just leave you guys to tidy up this rather adult mess? Ta.”

  Lav doesn’t let me down. Her year of seniority steps up and she reaches out a hand to Hannah.

  “Han, this place looks lame. Shall we go home?”

  Han gives a small noise, half-laugh, half-sob. Lavender takes her bag and I put my arm around her and we all head back to the car. I can see the boys pretending not to stare. I bet they thought this would be more action-adventure, less emosh.

  As we walk, I can feel how skinny Hannah has become. Dad flashes the car lights at us and I wave back. He flashes again, more rapidly. Lav and I look at each other and wave at him again. Is he being cutesy? Time and a place, Dad?

  He points behind us with Big Eyes, struggling to get his seatbelt off. We look over our shoulders and squint to see, running silently over the grass, two massive guard dogs.

  All three of us jump and scream uselessly, then start running towards the car, but we’re running on gravel, which is slow. Lav is carrying a holdall and I’m basically carrying Han, who weighs less than the bag but is a more difficult shape, and there is NO WAY we’re going to make it.

  My legs feel like water. Are guard dogs trained to kill? Bite, anyway – definitely – right? Dad’s car is now tearing towards us, spewing up gravel as he makes a sharp turn and cuts between us and the dogs.

  Roman grabs me by the arm in a familiar grip and bundles Hannah and me into the back seat while Pete shoves Lav in the front and dives in behind her.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  We all wince as we realize that was Dog vs Car.

  Dad pulls the car around in a wide sweep and we race towards the gates. In the mirror we see the dogs giving chase again and two security guards bringing up the rear.

  One of them takes something out of his back pocket and points it at the car. A red dot appears on the rear windscreen.

  “He’s got a gun!!” cries Lav, and everyone screams in terror and flattens across their seat. I feel Roman’s protective arm over my neck, which is sweet but surprisingly painful as my knees dig into my eyeballs. When nothing happens I sit up slightly, pushing his arm away.

  “Has he?” I ask. We all sit up, Dad keeping an eye on the gates but feeling around with one hand to check that everyone’s all right.

  “No!” says Han with a wobbly little laugh and we all relax.
r />   “No,” says Pete, “it’s a remote gate thing.” We look at where he’s pointing and the massive iron gates, wide open a moment ago, are now closing.

  “HANG ON!” yells Dad, flooring the accelerator. The wheels spin uselessly, flinging up gravel behind us and I feel a moment’s concern for the guard dogs, who are having a really bad day at work. Then we suddenly roar forward at a stately 20 mph and burst through the gates, losing both wing mirrors in the process.

  “Sorry!” Dad yells out of the window as the rest of us cheer and whoop and bang on the roof.

  “Can we go back for my wing mirrors?” Dad asks.

  “No,” I tell him, “that was the coolest getaway ever! Let’s not ruin it by creeping back, like: Hi guys, did I leave my phone charger behind?”

  “Don’t worry, Mr Brown,” Pete pipes up. “My uncle’s a mechanic, he’ll sort you out.”

  We drive back through the night, slowly because it’s dark and rainy and Dad has to lean forward over the wheel to stare intently at the road.

  “Hannah, this is Roman and Pete. They’re the synchr— swimming team I mentioned.” (I still can’t call them a synchronized swimming team without imagining them in flowery rubber swimming hats. It would make this prison break seem so much less cool.)

  Lav calls Mum, Roman and Pete call their parents and I see Hannah take out her phone and look at it thoughtfully. It has fourteen missed calls from me and one from “Home”.

  “So… My parents didn’t believe you?”

  Dad peers even harder at the road. Roman and Pete become very interested in the interior compartments of the car. Pete even opens the glove box with an engrossed air, like: A box for gloves, eh? This I must see…

  “Well, they thought maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed,” I say diplomatically.

  “They need their bloody heads knocking together,” says Dad, less so. “Don’t worry, Hannah,” he adds, “you can call them in the morning and stay with us as long as you need to. My wife is very accommodating to waifs and strays. Me, for one.”