I clicked onto his business website and searched his name. Phil Mirren popped up. The company obviously had an open policy, as there were little contact buttons under each person’s picture. At least the message would go straight to him. I clicked the ‘contact me’ button and a small inset screen came up, the cursor flashing. Some grey-out words read ‘write your message here’.
My message. What would my message be?
Hi Dad, long time, never seen.
Perhaps not.
Hello Phil, I have some information about your daughter you might like to know.
Hm, sounds a bit too like a blackmail threat. I didn’t want to come across as some kind of loser-freak.
In the end I wrote:
Hi, my name’s Cam. You don’t know me, but I’m your daughter. I’m 16. Would you like to meet up?
I read it through. Seemed OK. Friendly, but not too pushy. I’d given him some details, but not too many. And I’d left the ball in his court. If he said he didn’t want to meet up, then that would be the end of it. And no regrets.
I pressed send. I wondered how long it would take for him to answer.
An error message pinged up. Message not delivered. I groaned. My nerves could not take this kind of crap.
I googled him again and searched for another way to contact him, but he was like a person from another century. I couldn’t find a trace of him on any social-media site. The man must be a monk. Honestly, how did anyone survive like that?
I searched for the rest of the morning. When Papa John finally returned, I had exhausted every idea I had. I clicked the browser shut after deleting the history.
‘Good morning, Papa John?’ I asked. I nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments as he talked about new lines of screwdrivers and a deluxe range of power tools.
‘I’m popping out for a sandwich. Do you want me to get you one?’ I said when I’d had as much tool-chat as I could stomach.
‘Yes, thanks, love.’
Walking down the street, the fresh air on my face and the sun warming my arms, life felt possible again. So what if I couldn’t contact him via the internet? That was only one way to get in touch. Perhaps I needed to think differently. Think off-line, more real world. As I returned to the shop with two warm bacon butties in my hands, I knew what I had to do.
Papa John and I sat in the back office, mugs of dark builder’s tea and hot, drippy bacon rolls on the desk between us.
‘Papa John?’ I said, between mouthfuls. ‘Could I have a day’s holiday?’
His eyebrows shot up. Papa John may not be much of a talker, but what he doesn’t say with words, he makes up for with his eyebrows. ‘What for? Aren’t you enjoying it?’
‘I’m loving every second of it, obviously. It’s every girl’s dream to work in a hardware shop.’
Papa John snorted his tea.
‘I mean,’ I said, ‘it’s great. I could do with a day to go into Plymouth, that’s all.’
He took a massive bite of his bacon roll and chewed. I waited patiently. You can’t rush Papa John.
‘OK. That’s OK. How’s Thursday?’
Thursday. Three days away. I’d have to wait three days.
‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Thursday’s great.’
That evening, I was sitting on our bench with Nell. It was weird being just the two of us. I was used to having the loudness of Sasha to bounce off and the well-researched insights from Hetal. I wondered if Nell was missing them too and was feeling a bit short-changed having to spend her summer with me.
‘What are you planning to do on Thursday?’ she asked.
I hadn’t exactly figured out the details. Sometimes it played out in my head like a cheesy movie where I ran towards him and he hugged me and spun me round. I was annoyed that I even allowed that kind of cliché into my brain. But it was there – irritating the hell out of me with its persuasive rose-tintedness.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. Which was at least truthful. I had some vague idea about turning up at his work and waiting outside to see if I could spot him. Maybe talk to him. Maybe not.
‘Have you told John and Jackie?’ asked Nell. She doesn’t pull her punches, Nell, prosthetic hand or not.
‘Not yet,’ I admitted. I’d been debating with myself. Papa John and Jackie are great and everything, but fostering’s their job. They can trade me in whenever they want and, once I’ve left them, whether that’s at sixteen, eighteen or twenty-one, that’s it. I need to find myself some long-term family. Someone who can’t decide not to be related. So, despite wanting to ask Jackie’s opinion, I’d decided to leave it – no point in encouraging them to get rid of me.
‘Are you going to?’ Honestly, why was Nell so on my case about this?
‘And you tell your mum and dad everything, do you?’
She looked down. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
I missed Sasha. You could have a heated debate and she’d come right back at you, all guns blazing. Nell just crumpled.
‘I haven’t told them yet, OK? I’m not even sure there’s anything to tell. That’s all. No biggie.’
Nell nodded, still looking down.
‘I don’t want to hurt them. They’ve been brilliant. But what if they take it as a hint that I want to leave? I’ll have to move again.’
‘I get it,’ said Nell. She lifted her head at last and looked at me. ‘Are you going on your own then? All the way to Plymouth?’
I hadn’t thought about it. I guess I was. I’d been with the girls before, but never on my own.
‘I could come with you,’ Nell offered. ‘If you want.’
‘Why would you want to traipse all the way to Plymouth, just to watch me maybe talk to my father?’
‘Because, whatever you think is going to happen, it might go completely differently. And I might regret that I wasn’t there for you. That’s what friends do. Be there for each other. No matter what.’
Seemed a bit of overkill, to be honest, just for a trip to Plymouth. But the company would be good.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ I said.
‘Positive.’ Her face split into a grin. ‘It’ll be fun. A day out.’
‘We could go shopping too,’ I said. ‘You know, after we’ve done the dad bit.’
‘We could walk along the Hoe, have lunch by the sea.’
‘I have lunch by the sea every day.’
‘But not with views like those,’ said Nell. ‘You can’t beat the Hoe for panoramic.’
She was right. You couldn’t.
I was surprised that Nell would be allowed to go to Plymouth. Her mum didn’t even like her coming down to the quay. ‘What are you going to tell your mum?’
Nell nibbled her bottom lip. ‘I’ve got the job at the deli. It’s the perfect cover. Mum won’t suspect a thing.’ But she didn’t sound all that convincing.
Chapter 11
Sasha
I used to think if you were totally immersed in cringe-factor ten all the time, you would get used to it. But it’s not true. I’d spent nearly a week with Dad and Clarisse and the cringe hadn’t lessened. Neither had my nauseated reaction to them. I mean, I know the French are more tactile, but there is a time and a place, people. And this was neither.
On Saturday morning, Dad announced that he wasn’t going to work. We’d go out. Just the three of us.
Cue the internal sarky cheering. I couldn’t think of anything better. Anything I’d like more. Honestly. It was my dream come true, right there.
‘I thought we could catch the train along the lake to Montreux, then get the mountain train up to Gstaad.’
‘What’s at Gstaad?’ I asked. It sounded like a lot of train.
‘It’s a beautiful ski resort,’ said Dad.
I frowned. ‘But it’s August. And it’s like forty degrees out. Surely they don’t have snow?’
Dad laughed. Seriously. What was so funny?
‘Of course there’s no snow there now. But it’s a beautiful area – the mountains are stunni
ng.’
‘What else?’
‘Stunning mountains and wonderful scenery aren’t enough?’ asked Dad. He looked genuinely puzzled. ‘Well, there’s some chairlifts and cable cars in the area. Perhaps we could go up to the top of one of the mountains.’
‘And what’s there?’ I asked. Seriously. What didn’t he get? ‘Let me guess. More scenery.’
Dad nodded, a bit deflated.
‘So, there’s literally nothing there?’
‘I have heard,’ said Clarisse, butting in, ‘that there are some of the most gorgeous shops in the world in Gstaad.’
This time it was Dad’s turn to look less enthusiastic.
I googled the shops in Gstaad. Clarisse was right. And they were freaking expensive.
‘Perhaps we should do something more local,’ said Dad, ‘if you’re not keen.’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘I don’t want to stop you from doing what you want to do. Shopping in Gstaad it is.’
With any luck, I’d be able to get some guilty-absent-father money off Dad, then lose them for the day.
We started out early. Pre-seven early. That was the first mistake. Every idiot knows that teens operate in a different time zone. But no. We had to make the ‘best of the day’ and this required me to leave my bed at dawn and walk down the road to the station. Going in Switzerland’s favour was the absolute certainty that our train would arrive on time. Which it did. Also the guarantee it would be one of those swanky, state-of-the-art double-decker trains. Which it was.
I cheered up fractionally when I managed to obtain breakfast pastries and a strong coffee at the station for an excellent train picnic and I made them sit upstairs – like I said to Dad, if there are views, might as well be able to see them. The train followed the lake, sometimes skirting right along the edge, before veering off to higher ground.
The lake was sparkling as the sun rose higher over it. I tried my best not to look, as I thought if I paid too much attention to the scenery Dad would never let me hear the end of it. But he was too interested in Clarisse to care about me or the landscape.
We changed trains in Montreux, swapping the fast, sleek train for a smaller one.
‘It’s along this line that the language changes from French to German,’ said Dad.
‘Really?’ I checked the list of stations and saw that the very French-sounding Rougemont was followed by a decidedly German-sounding Saanen. It must be so weird for the people living round there. Or maybe not. Perhaps they switched and swapped languages so easily that they barely noticed. I would have to watch out to see if the conductor changed languages when asking for tickets.
As the train travelled up and up from Montreux, much slower than the previous train, I realised that I had to be engrossed in the scenery, or in my phone, or else I was going to be totally grossed out by my father. He had Clarisse’s hand in his and he was stroking it. Every now and then he would lean over and whisper something in her ear, and then she’d laugh, then he’d laugh.
‘Want to share the joke?’ I muttered.
‘Sorry, ma petite?’ said Dad.
‘Never mind, I’m going for a walk.’
‘On a train?’ said Clarisse, and they both laughed.
I got up and walked down the train. At end of the last carriage, I looked out through the back window, seeing the track falling away as we carried on up the valley. What I’d considered to be mountains along the side of the lake were mere hills. These were mountains. I had to crane my neck to see the summits through the train windows. The air was cooler, fresher and it seemed that the greens were greener, like the whole place had been digitally remastered.
‘Are you OK, mademoiselle?’ asked the conductor.
‘Oui, merci,’ I replied. And I was. Now I was away from the lovebirds.
I hoped that they’d want to do their own thing for the day. I could get some money off Dad, arrange a time to meet back at the station and have the day to myself. I could mooch round the shops, try out the famous hot chocolate and perhaps get a chairlift if there was time.
‘Oh, there you are.’ Dad swayed his way down the carriage towards me.
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘So? What do you think?’ He nodded towards the views outside.
‘You were right. This is amazing.’
He looked pleased. Now was my chance.
‘Listen, Dad. I thought I’d go off by myself today. You know, have a bit of an explore, take in the sights, do the shops, give you and Clarisse a bit of space. If I could get a bit of cash, I’ll be out of your hair for the day. Then I could meet you back at the station.’
‘What? No way. The whole purpose of the day is for me to spend some time with you, and for you to get to know Clarisse a bit better.’
‘Think I know all I need to.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. Why couldn’t I just do what I wanted?
‘No. You’re coming with us. End of.’ He walked away down the carriage, leaving me gripping the seat beside me and gritting my teeth. I would make him regret that decision.
The train pulled into Gstaad as the station clock ticked over to the exact arrival time. It was clear the staff took a disproportionate amount of pleasure in punctuality. Dad and Clarisse got off the train and I followed.
‘First stop: lunch,’ Dad declared. ‘We’ve got a choice. Either up the cable car and lunch on top of a mountain, or find a café in the town?’
Definitely in the town. Near the shops. ‘Café in town,’ I said.
‘I think the cable car first. Then we can walk down afterwards,’ said Clarisse over me.
‘Oh, good idea.’ Dad nodded. As if I had said nothing. Was I even here?
He led the way towards the chairlift station. Out of the building came a cluster of thick wires, which went steeply up, parallel to the mountain, with what looked like garden benches dangling from them. I gulped. It didn’t look safe.
‘Dad, I don’t want to cramp your style. I’m fine staying in the town. I promise I’ll be sensible. I’ll just stay on the main street.’ Anything but going on that contraption.
‘Listen,’ said Dad, ‘I’ve said already, it’s a day for us to be together.’ And he walked off into the building, Clarisse by his side.
I gulped and followed.
Within minutes we were queuing up, waiting for our turn. I looked to see how the chairlifts worked. All the wires seemed solid. No fraying. That was hopeful. I was still worried, though. It didn’t seem like a lot holding you up.
‘Natasha,’ said Dad, ‘the chairs are for two people. You go first and Clarisse and I will be in the chair behind you.’
Should I tell him how scared I was? Then I thought of home, and the gang, and Hetal’s nani. No regrets. Try something new. Live a little. But also, possibly, die young in a chairlift accident.
When my turn came, I walked forward and stood on the footprints. The bench came sweeping round the end of the run, slowed down momentarily before it bumped into my legs, knocking me back into the seat, and then it picked up speed and whooshed me out of the building, over a massive drop and out over the hillside.
It was amazing! I yanked the metal frame down over my head, giving my feet something to rest on rather than dangling. It was so quiet. Only the whirring as I bumped over each pylon disturbed the silence. And then I realised it wasn’t silent. There were birds singing in the trees below, the gushing of a mountain stream and, in the distance, the clang of Swiss cowbells.
I was starting to enjoy it when behind me I heard Clarisse laugh. I groaned. If a genie appeared now and gave me three wishes, I’d wish for Cam, Hetal and Nell. But there was no genie. I was stuck with that pair. As the chair approached the terminal building, I wondered if I ran quick enough whether I could lose them before their chair arrived.
‘How was that?’ asked Dad, as we stood outside the station. I opened my mouth to reply when Clarisse butted in.
‘Formidable! Thank you so mu
ch for bringing me here.’
Surely Dad would correct her? Say he was asking me.
‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Delighted you enjoyed it.’
He linked his arm through hers and they walked off together up the short path towards the mountain-top restaurant, leaving me behind, fuming and wishing there was some way for me to escape. But Dad had the money and the tickets. There was nothing for it. I started walking after them, kicking stones out of the way, the exhilaration of the chairlift gone, leaving me with nothing but an empty feeling in my stomach.
Chapter 12
Nell
Things were going my way. Definitely. Which meant that surely there would be no problem about asking for a day off when I’d only been working there three days and she had a member of staff already on holiday. No problem at all with that.
Why had I offered to go with Cam? It would have been so much easier to let her go by herself. She might even have wanted to, if it wasn’t for me and my big mouth not giving her the option. And now I had to somehow wangle a day off. Crapsicles.
I got to work just before seven. The day felt new, with the special sort of light you only get to see if you’re up too early or out too late. I pushed open the shop door, the bell jangling.
‘Morning, Nell,’ said Wendy. ‘How’s things this morning?’ She was the most cheerful person I’d ever met. I wondered if it was just a front or was she genuinely that happy all the way through?
‘OK.’ I found my apron and pulled it on over my head. On my first morning I’d had to ask awkwardly whether Wendy would help tie it behind my back. And she had, without a flinch, or an overly sympathetic air. She’d just tied the strings, carrying on her conversation without missing a beat. When I’d thanked her, she’d waved it away with a ‘no problem’. I wanted to carry her around with me and say to people, ‘Look, this is how you should treat me.’ The day after when I went to put it on, I found that my apron had been neatly adapted using Velcro, so that it could be fastened easily with one hand.
Summer of no Regrets Page 6
