That was when Dad arrived back with the fish and chips. He was great about it and made us all sit in the kitchen round the table with my candle on it. We had to eat from the paper with our fingers, though, as no one knew where the plates or knives and forks were either.
‘This is great,’ he said. ‘Our first supper in the new house. We’re warm. We’ve got food. We’ll get everything else sorted in the morning.’
‘But where are the kids going to sleep?’ asked Jen. ‘We have our bed, but the others need putting back together.’
‘We can sleep on the floor,’ said Joe, who was still worried about getting a telling off when the hole in the ceiling was discovered. ‘It will be like camping, only indoors.’
‘That’s my boy,’ said Dad.
‘But I’m bored,’ said Emma. ‘I want to watch my cartoons and . . . I don’t like the dark.’
I was about to lean over and get her to come and sit on my knee when she got up and went to Jen.
‘We can tell stories,’ said Jen as she gave Emma a cuddle. ‘Or sing some songs.’
‘Don’t want to,’ said Emma. ‘I’m scared.’
‘Yeah, the place might be haunted,’ said Joe. ‘Wuhoooooooo. Yeah, I bet there are ghosts right now looking in through the window, watching us, waiting . . .’
‘Now stop that, Joe,’ said Dad.
‘Yeah,’ said Luke. ‘Ghosts who really like little girls to eat . . .’
‘Luke!’ said Dad.
Emma, who is easy to scare, looked freaked as she stared at the dark window. ‘This house might be haunted,’ she wailed. ‘We can’t stay here.’
‘It’s not haunted,’ said Jen. ‘I promise you.’
‘Cat, draw the curtains,’ said Dad.
I got up to draw the curtains. Only there weren’t any. ‘Er, slight problem, Dad,’ I said, and everyone burst out laughing when they realised.
So much for the fab new start, I thought as I went back to my place at the table with the others. No light. No phone. No curtains. No electricity and no one knew where anything was.
It was then that I got the giggles. ‘New chapter, hey, Jen?’
‘Ah,’ she replied. ‘Well that’s the thing about new chapters, nobody knows exactly what’s in them . . .’
THE CHURCH DOOR OPENED. An usher released a basket of white doves, another let go of fifty white balloons, and a hundred guests turned to look at me as an orchestra of violins began to play. Everyone ooh-ed and ah-ed as I began to walk up the aisle with Becca and Lia behind me as my bridesmaids. Waiting at the altar for me with a white rose in his hand was Jamie. As I reached him, he smiled into my eyes and leaned down to ki—
‘Whose boots are these on the floor?’ Jen yelled up the stairs. ‘And who has left this T-shirt on the banister when it belongs in the laundry basket?’
My snog reverie about Jamie was further shattered by the sound of a door slamming down below and footsteps coming up the stairs. I got up from my bed and went out to the corridor to see Luke with the offending T-shirt in hand. He was about to go into the bathroom, and rolled his eyes when he saw me.
‘Honestly,’ he said as he threw the T-shirt into the basket. ‘I wish she’d chill! It’s not even as if it’s term time.’
‘She’s just not used to us,’ I said, although I had been feeling the same way as Luke in the last few days since we moved in. Living with Jen was like having a very strict teacher come to stay. Do this, don’t do that. Up until now, she’d only stayed at our house for the occasional night and sometimes the weekend. She’d never lived with us permanently before so we’d never got a true impression of what she was like.
On one hand, life in the new house was beginning to feel more normal as the electricity went back on, things were unpacked and put away, and our daily routine began to be established again. On the other hand, it was slowly becoming clear that Jen liked things to be done a certain way. Her way.
‘You can’t be serious,’ I heard her say as I went downstairs. ‘You’re not putting that up in my living room.’
‘Er . . . our living room,’ said Dad.
‘That’s what I meant. Sorry. Sorry,’ said Jen as I entered the room in time to see her taking down an oil painting of a landscape that had been up in the other house as far back as I can remember. ‘But . . . I mean, it is hideous.’
‘Is it? I rather liked it,’ said Dad. ‘But you know I haven’t got a clue when it comes to art. What do you think, Cat?’
I had never liked the painting either, but it seemed that more and more of Jen’s stuff was on display and more and more of ours wasn’t. ‘Um . . . Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I know it’s a bit naff, but it would be good to have a couple of things up to remind us of the old house.’
‘Where did it come from?’ asked Jen. ‘A junk shop?’
‘Um . . . it was a wedding present, I think,’ said Dad. ‘From Laura’s Aunt Dora.’
Jen immediately looked embarrassed. ‘A wedding present? Oh! In that case . . . I would never ask you to throw out anything that has sentimental value, anything that belonged to your wife. You know that, don’t you? Oh God, now I feel like I’ve been so insensitive.’
Dad put his arm around her. ‘Come to think of it, Laura never liked that painting either, but was always worried that Dora would turn up and demand to know where it was. Dora’s passed away too now, so if you hate it, then it goes.’
Hmm, this is going to be interesting, I thought as I went into the kitchen. I had been to Jen’s flat over in Plymouth before she sold it. It was nice, but she obviously favoured a very different style in décor to Dad. Jen’s style was clean, simple and modern. Dad’s style, if you could even call it a style, was comfy clutter. Our furniture was a real mess, with wobbly legs glued back on, scratched surfaces, rips and tears in old chairs – make-do stuff that no one else wanted. It was strange because, until I saw our bits and pieces in the ‘to be chucked’ pile, I hadn’t realised how attached I was to them. They were like old friends – emphasis being on the word ‘old’. Ah well, I thought as I grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen table and headed back up to my room, I will leave them to get on with it. Maybe we should all move forward, and as long as Jen didn’t start telling me what to do in my room and didn’t go poking around in the trunk of Mum’s stuff that I had found, I didn’t care.
I’d hidden the trunk under my bed and even though Dad knew it was there, he seemed only too relieved to hand the responsibility for it over to me. I guessed that it was hard for him to have something so personal of Mum’s turn up at a time like this – a time when he was about to get married to another woman. I tried to get him to talk about it, but I should have known better; Dad’s way of dealing with difficult or painful emotions was to shut them out and pretend that they weren’t there. Like the day he had found me in the old house looking through the trunk. I would have thought that he’d have been interested, but he only gave the things a cursory glance. Maybe it was too raw for him still, even after six years. I tried to understand and respect his way of doing things, but I couldn’t help but wonder if part of him felt like I did, guilty for moving on and leaving Mum behind.
Luke and Joe had taken Emma out to the village so I knew that I had some time alone to look at the diary in the trunk. I’d been dying to look at it properly, although when I’d first found it, I felt I shouldn’t be looking at it at all. However, as the days had gone by, my curiosity had begun to get the better of me. Strange turn around of events, I thought as I pulled the diary out and sat on the bed with it. It should be her finding my diary and feeling that she was intruding, not this way round.
I turned the page and began to read . . . and read . . .
‘So how’s it going with the love birds?’ asked Becca later in the day, when I met her down by Kingsand Bay to get ice creams.
‘What me and Jamie?’ I said as I bought two vanilla cornets and we went to sit on the bench overlooking the bay. ‘Looks like I might be seeing him soon, at least I h
ope I will.’
‘Actually I meant with your dad and Jen, but first things first, how come you’ll be seeing Jamie?’
‘Jen said that I could stay an extra day with TJ after we’ve been wedding shopping, and come back on the train, so I’m going to go and see him then. I haven’t managed to tell him yet, although I’ve been calling and calling but I keep getting his voicemail or the machine at his house. I also sent him a text message in the hope he’d pick that up. I hope he’ll be pleased to see me and hasn’t gone off me.’
‘Why would he go off you idiot? He wouldn’t have sent the flowers if he’d lost interest.’
‘I guess. I just wish I could get through.’
‘You could surprise him,’ said Becca. ‘Find out from Ollie where he might be, like a café or somewhere he hangs out, and then just casually walk by. It will blow his mind and he’ll be so knocked out to see you.’
‘Hey, good idea,’ I said. ‘Jamie likes surprises, but no way will Ollie tell me where he is. He was well peeved that I dropped him for Jamie.’
‘I’ll find out then.’
‘You? How?’
Becca tapped the side of her nose. ‘Easy I’ll find out from Lia.’
‘Cool,’ I said.
‘And how are the other love birds? The old ones? Your dad and Jen? Are they happy in their new love nest?’
‘Oh, them . . .’ As we ate our ice creams, I filled Becca in on the situation. ‘They’re like total opposites, and I so hope that they don’t fall out before they even get married. It’s made me think that maybe it’s not a good idea to live with someone before a wedding, because they get to know all your annoying habits and moods and stuff. If you haven’t lived with them then you can still fool them into thinking that you’re cool and in a good mood and look fab all the time. Like Jen always used to look immaculate, but now I’ve seen her with her hair a mess and no make-up on in the morning and getting cross. If it’s been a shock for me, imagine how Dad feels.’
‘He won’t even notice,’ said Becca. ‘He’s smitten.’
‘I’m not so sure any more. Like Dad’s an early-morning person, up with the larks with loads of energy. Jen is a late-night bird and has told us all that we’re not to talk to her until at least ten, when she’s had minimum two cups of coffee. He likes the radio on in the morning. She switches it off the moment she goes downstairs. She likes silence until the evening and then she turns into Mrs Sociable, let’s have the whole world round. She has millions of friends. They’ve been coming round by the car-load to inspect the house. Dad, as you know, doesn’t have any friends. Between the shop and looking after the four of us, he never had any time. Jen loves a house full of people, the more the merrier. By the evening, Dad has wound down and likes it quiet. And she hates him smoking. He has to go and stand out in the garden to smoke one of his rollies. I don’t think he had a clue what he was letting himself in for. God help them if they ever make it to the altar.’
‘Nah,’ said Becca. ‘Opposites attract.’
‘Maybe. But all the more reason not to spend too much time together then. In fact, I don’t understand the need to live together, myself. I’ve been thinking about weddings a lot lately with Jen and Dad’s coming up, and am beginning to think that I may never get married. I mean, yeah, I’d like the dress and the ceremony and getting the presents and that – but having to live with someone . . . Like, why? If you have a choice, what on earth for? I have had to spend so many years sharing a room with Emma, plus the wardrobe and even sharing the bunk bed, and finally, finally, I get my own room with my own drawers and cupboard space, why would I want to share it with someone again? Ever? And if you get married you have to share your bed. Why? Seems mad to me, if you can afford to have two beds. If I do ever get married – and I think I’ve decided today that I probably never will – I would insist that we had separate beds, if not separate rooms, if not separate houses. Maybe live next door to each other.’
Becca laughed. ‘You old romantic, you. Isn’t it obvious why people want to share a room and a bed?’
‘No.’
‘To snog each other, dummy. And get naked and stuff . . . you know.’
‘Yeah, OK, but you could do that anywhere. Why not get that over with, and then luxuriate in your own space and bed without someone cramping you. I loooove having my own bed now. I’ve sprayed the sheets with perfume and Jen gave me some pretty white lace pillow cases. If some boy got in there with smelly feet and messed it all up, I’m afraid I’d have to kick him out.’
Becca rolled her eyes. ‘God help whoever you end up married to! How are the boys taking it?’
‘Don’t like being told what to do. I know I used to boss them around, but they could talk back to me. They don’t feel they can with Jen. And when it comes to telly, I think we’re going to have some major battles before the week is out. Dad likes documentaries. Jen likes the soaps. The boys like all the sci-fi and adventure films. Emma likes the cartoons. And I, when I can get in at all, like MTV and rom-com films. Another reason not to get married. If you’re single, you get the remote. That would be heaven to me: one evening watching what I want on telly for a change.’
‘You can always come to my house, if that’s all you want,’ said Becca. ‘We can watch the telly in my room or we can go up to Lia’s—’
‘And watch a different telly every ten minutes,’ I interrupted.
Becca laughed. There were about fifteen televisions up at the Axfords’. One in every guest room and others dotted around other parts of the house.
‘But Emma,’ said Becca, ‘I bet she loves having Jen.’
I nodded. I felt weird about that and was still getting my head around it. It was like I had been shoved out of the picture as far as being anyone’s substitute mum went, and although that was exactly what I wanted in one way, in another I felt unwanted. I was so used to being the one that Emma ran to for a cuddle or to tell her news. Now it was Jen, Jen, Jen. She wasn’t our mother. But then again, Emma had never known our mum. She probably couldn’t even remember her at all.
‘Honestly, though,’ I sighed, ‘it’s not exactly how I thought it would be. I thought Jen and I were going to be like mates, but now I’m not so sure. I mean it’s good and everything . . . just . . . I guess it’s going to take some getting used to, that’s all.’
Becca nodded. ‘For me too.’
I squeezed her arm in sympathy. Becca had been going through a hard time lately as her mum and dad had just separated. Although they were going to stay friends and her dad wasn’t moving too far away, I knew that Becca was having to do some readjusting too.
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘You’re getting used to having one less person around. We’re getting used to having one more around.’
Becca nodded. ‘Think it’s always going to be like this – life? Everything always changing? Nothing staying the same?’
‘Yep,’ I replied, and then chucked my cone over the wall, where it was instantly swooped upon by a seagull. ‘Except ice cream being good. That stays the same.’
‘I’M NEVER GOING TO find anything,’ sighed Jen, after she’d tried on what seemed like the hundredth wedding dress. ‘I’m exhausted.’
She wasn’t the only one. We’d been up since the crack of dawn. Dad had dropped us in Plymouth and we’d caught the six o’clock train to London Paddington. Since then we’d been to all the large department stores in Oxford Street, Regent Street and Knightsbridge, and although a couple of the dresses we’d seen looked OK, as Jen said, ‘Who wants to look “OK” on their wedding day? I want to look sensational.’
It was fun to be in the big city and take in all the crowds and the shops, but there was still a part of me that couldn’t let go and really enjoy it because I felt scared that something bad might happen. I didn’t want to be a total wimp, though, especially after having spent so long reading my mum’s file and diary. It seemed that she had been fearless, travelling all over the Far East, India and Africa before she was married
, and I got the impression that she had aspirations to be a travel writer. I didn’t like to think that I might be letting her down by being a pathetic scaredy-cat who was afraid to even go on the Underground when she had hiked up mountains, crossed deserts, taken planes to remote countries and gone into uncharted territory without a second thought. I liked to think that I had inherited some of her adventurous spirit.
‘It’s time to meet Lucy in Notting Hill,’ I said as I glanced at my watch. ‘She said she knows a great bridal shop there.’
‘I hope so,’ said Jen as she stuck her hand out into the oncoming traffic. ‘Let’s get a cab. My feet are beginning to kill me.’
A taxi driver soon saw us and stopped by the side of the road.
‘Notting Hill,’ said Jen as we climbed in.
Inwardly, I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Phew,’ I said as we sat back and the driver took off. ‘I don’t like going on the Underground.’
‘Too many people, huh?’ asked Jen. ‘It can be overwhelming if you’re not used to it.’
‘Partly,’ I agreed, ‘but also . . .’ I wasn’t sure whether to say anything in case she thought I was stupid.
‘Also what, Cat?’
‘Bombs,’ I admitted. ‘Remember a while ago there were those terrorists . . .’
Jen immediately put her arm around me. ‘Oh Cat. Why didn’t you say?’
‘Thought you might think I was being childish.’
‘Never,’ said Jen. ‘How do you think all us guys who work in the airlines feel, travelling the world? Believe me, we’ve all had our wobbly moments too. Days when I look at all the passengers with suspicious eyes and think they are terrorists – even little old grannies. And not just on the aeroplane. Some days I’m the same on buses, Tube, trains, any crowd situation. That’s the trouble. We no longer know what the enemy looks like or where they’re going to strike.’
‘I know. And I was doing what you said just now on the Tube,’ I said. ‘Everyone looked suspicious and my imagination was running riot. So how do you deal with it?’
All Mates Together Page 5
