by FJ Campbell
Milo was supposed to work with the school groundsman that afternoon, but he took one look at him and said, ‘Get yourself home, you daft fool. You look a shambles. Get some kip and for pity’s sake have a wash. See you tomorrow.’ If the weather was fine, he’d be on the mower, and if it rained, they had work to do in the boathouse.
*
After a good night’s sleep, Milo felt like a different person. It was another warm, dry day so he had an easy time sitting on the mower. He listened to some tapes on a Walkman he’d borrowed from the lost property box while he mowed the cricket outfield, the athletics track and the perimeter of the sports pitches.
In the evening, the whole grounds staff, some of whom were Milo’s old friends from the village primary school, went to the Buck’s Head pub together. The landlord was famously relaxed about underage drinkers from the village, but had no truck with the ‘posh-school kids’, who, if they dared to cross the threshold of his establishment, were served watered-down drinks at twice the normal price. He made an exception for Milo, who watched them all get drunk, sipping his one beer, laughing when they called him Kojak and challenging them all to beat him at darts, which nobody managed. He even won some money on the fruit machine, so he bought his round without having to dip into food money.
All week he worked from dawn to dusk. He’d be more than two hundred pounds richer by next Saturday, which wasn’t really enough to see him through until half-term, but it would have to do. He would have to get the phone cut off and eat every meal at school. He couldn’t remember the last time he bought new clothes. And he didn’t have a clue how he was going to pay his poll tax bill; even twenty per cent of it was going to be a struggle. He thought of asking Mrs Toms or even Beth for help – a loan until the summer, when he could work for eight straight weeks – but he was too proud.
Was it really only one year ago that his dad had killed himself? His mind wandered back to last Easter, when, with his dad, he’d been doing the same work at The Island: dismantling the rugby posts and the football and hockey goals and packing away the winter sports equipment; preparing the boats and boathouse for the summer, as well as mowing, rolling and lining the cricket pitches and grass tennis courts. Every day, Milo, who was good with horses, had mucked out, fed and exercised the three horses that had been left at the school by the pupils. For him, it had been a normal Easter, albeit without his mum. For his dad, it had been the last few days of his life.
All year since then he’d worked flat out, trying to keep up with his schoolwork, rugby training, the play and his paid work. He felt a tinge of resentment, and not for the first time, that his dad had left him in this mess, not caring enough about his only son to stick around. Had he felt that Milo was one burden too many to bear? Milo would never know the answer to that question. So he pulled himself together and put these thoughts aside, knowing there were plenty of people his age who had a lot less than he did. At least the cottage was mortgage-free.
*
On Thursday, when he turned up for work, the groundsman gave Milo a copy of The Sun with a scowl.
‘That’s your girl, int it?’
Milo frowned as he scanned the story.
‘She in trouble?’
Milo nodded.
‘I can’t spare you, we’ve got too much to do.’
‘I’ll call her, that’s all. Then I’ll work through my break.’
The groundsman watched as Milo sprinted to his bike. He was a grumpy middle-aged man, with only this job and his pretty nineteen-year-old daughter to be proud of in his life. He hated the privileged, spoilt kids at this school, every last one of them, except for Milo, whose dad had been a mate of his, and who worked twice as hard as any of his other lads. Also, Milo had never, not once, tried to lay a finger on the groundsman’s daughter, unlike all the other boys in the village. Real, proper gentleman. Right soppy about this famous girl, though; that stunt he’d pulled with the bulbs, it was as clear as daylight Milo had done it, although he never owned up to it. That soppiness, reading books and all, came from his mum. Too much education, that woman. Although the groundsman did envy her collection of Beatles LPs.
*
Milo was desperate to speak to Beth, but either the number she’d given him was wrong or she wasn’t answering. He tried again later in the morning and spoke to her at last. She sounded like she’d been crying, and his heart twisted for her. He was secretly relieved that he didn’t have to go and fetch her; it would have been a disaster for his precarious finances. Livvy would cope. Milo tried not to be envious that Beth would need a lot of consolation and that his arms would not be the ones to give her that. He pushed this selfish thought out of his mind.
That afternoon, Mr and Mrs Toms found him painting the cricket boundary with the line-marking machine. When Mrs Toms had got over the shock of his missing hair, they explained to him that they needed to get in touch with Beth, but there had been no answer from her aunt in Melchester, so Milo gave them the number of the flat in St Emit.
Exhausted at the end of the day, he called again and spoke to Livvy. She filled him in on what she’d managed to glean from various school friends who lived in London. He told her that when they left Cornwall, they should come to his cottage.
On Friday he had no choice but to go to work and let everyone else sort out the mess. He was handed the newspaper again; there weren’t that many new details, only a few more quotes from so-called friends and more photos of Beth’s parents. More background stuff. That meant they hadn’t found Beth yet. If she could make it back to The Island, then maybe the story would fizzle out, as the story about her parents had done in 1974.
He had at least persuaded Livvy to bring Beth to him tomorrow, so that she would be somewhere unknown to the press, but close to The Island. One day, then he’d see her again. He couldn’t wait to talk to her, to comfort her and to scrutinise her eyes, her face for minuscule clues as to what she was thinking. He got a call from James, who was at Heathrow airport, wanting to know where Beth was, desperate because Anne had gone AWOL in Australia and he was out of his mind with worry. Milo advised him to stay in London that night and gave him his address for the next day.
He tidied the spotless cottage and made the bed in the spare room, leaving the Swatch watch he’d bought for Beth for her birthday by the side of the bed. He wanted to write something witty and unforgettable on a note for her, but he was too nervous and tired to think of anything.
Saturday: at work at the stables, he saw Mr Markham arrive at the school, recognising him from the TV. Milo watched him and Mr Toms as they drove off through the rain to his cottage. Which meant Beth was already there. Mr Toms hadn’t said anything to him about what was going to happen to Zack and Justin, but he hoped with all his heart that they would be chucked out, the pair of them, and that he would never see them again.
Three hours to go; two, one, half an hour. Done.
He raced to the bursar’s office to give him his time sheet and collect his wages, rode his bike like the wind down the main driveway, skidding in the rain and the dark until he finally saw the lights of his cottage, arriving at the same time as James was knocking on the door. James looked rather startled to see him, but they shook hands. Milo saw James glancing up at his bald head, so to reassure him, he turned around, pointed at where he thought the scar was and said, ‘Rugby injury.’ When he turned back round, James was looking slightly queasy.
His heart hammering, they stepped inside together and Livvy motioned for them to be quiet. There Beth lay, flushed cheeks, long lashes brushing bruises under her eyes, her hair falling in dirty strands over her face, beautiful, hurt and fast asleep.
‘Can you carry her up to bed please, Milo?’ whispered Livvy. ‘Blimey, what’s happened to your hair?’
CHAPTER 19
On Sunday morning, Milo woke at dawn. He had tried to persuade James to take his bedroom, as Beth and Livvy were sleeping in his spare room, but James had insisted that the sofa would be perfectly satisfactory. Milo ha
dn’t known what to expect when he met James; Beth hadn’t talked about him much. Perhaps somebody sophisticated and eloquent – or a bit scatty like Anne, or determined and stubborn like Beth. But James was reserved and so soft-spoken that when he asked them about Beth, Livvy had to ask him to repeat himself several times. Milo thought that James might have been surprised that Beth had a friend like him, a big, scruffy, beaten-up rugby player. So he showered in the morning, found some clean clothes and tried to make himself look presentable.
James was fast asleep on the sofa, but stirred as Milo made coffee.
‘Sorry to wake you. Did you sleep well?’
‘Not really, but I took the liberty of borrowing a few books from your shelf. It’s the jet lag, you see. Are the girls up yet?’
‘One of them is.’ Livvy trudged down the stairs in her pyjamas, yawning and stretching. ‘The other one’s out for the count.’
‘What’s the plan for today, Milo?’ said James.
Milo looked at Livvy, hoping she would take charge.
She turned to James. ‘Well, just practical things, really. You and I should go back to Melchester and pack Beth’s bags for term. Anne won’t be back until the middle of next week, is that right? Beth wasn’t sure.’
‘I’m afraid I’m not sure either.’
‘Billy and Jake, my brothers, are arriving this afternoon with my stuff and I’d like to go up to school then. I want to find out what everyone’s saying and sort a few things out. Milo, this morning, you can do that thing you do with Beth to stop her freaking out’ – James raised his eyebrows questioningly, but was ignored by Livvy – ‘and then James, you should drive her up to school at bedtime – not before – so she doesn’t have to face too many people until tomorrow morning. Mr Toms is making some sort of announcement in assembly tomorrow, something about how we need to all pull together and stiff upper lip, you know, that sort of thing.’
James looked impressed and slightly overwhelmed.
Livvy continued, ‘I’ll just shower and then go and get us all some breakfast and today’s papers. Let’s leave her to sleep for as long as you can bear it. I know you’re both dying to see her, but she’s knackered and fluey and apart from that, she’s the same sulky, difficult, recitent Beth that we know and love.’
‘D’you mean reticent, Livs?’ said Milo kindly.
‘Yes, that too.’
They did as they were told, both Milo and James glancing upstairs when they thought they heard a sound. When Livvy came back with croissants, milk, bread, jam and a jumbo carton of orange juice, they tucked in and pored over the papers to try and find the relevant stories. Beth had been relegated to the inside pages now, so they enjoyed reading out some of the statements they found ridiculous.
‘They’re starting to make stuff up now; this is good, they have nothing new,’ laughed Livvy. ‘Listen: A school friend of Beth Sauveterre/Atkinson recalls how she took part in a fashion show arranged at school, and what a natural she was. That’s utter crap – Beth refused point-blank to do the fashion show.’ She chuckled. ‘Now I know why.’
It was nine o’clock when they heard floorboards creaking upstairs. Livvy poured a cup of coffee and slid it towards Milo. ‘Here, you take it up to her.’
Milo shook his head and slid it to James. ‘She won’t want me to see her yet, before she’s showered and dressed.’
Livvy and James smiled knowingly at each other and James stood up to take the coffee. They heard some excited squeaks and a lump came to Milo’s throat when he thought he heard sobs.
Livvy patted his hand. ‘It’s probably a good idea for her to do as much crying as possible today, so it’s out of her system. She’s going to need to go back into Ice-Queen mode tomorrow.’
‘D’you think?’ Milo was at a total loss. How was Beth going to manage to do all the things that Livvy and Mr Toms and every other person in the world expected her to do? It was like acting – in front of an audience every day, always being watched and never being able to let down your guard. Milo got why Beth had been so daunted by the prospect of being mega-famous.
James came down the stairs and gave them both a weak smile. ‘Beth wants us to leave straight away to fetch her clothes from home. If she’s already thinking about her appearance, well, that’s a good sign.’
‘That’s no sign at all; she never stops thinking about her appearance,’ pointed out Livvy.
‘Unfair,’ shouted a hoarse voice from upstairs.
Livvy and James made tracks and Milo was left alone to wait for Beth. She took ages in the shower, so he put on a record to pass the time. What on earth was he going to do with an agoraphobic, bad-tempered, flu-ridden girl on a rainy day?
When she came down the stairs, he stood up, but thought that looked ridiculous, so he sat down again. He scratched his neck and smiled an apology at her, trying to swallow that lump in his throat. He was doing this all wrong.
‘It’s OK, you don’t need to make a big deal of it, you know. I’m not going to break.’
Good. Excellent. Bolshie Beth, I can cope with that, thought Milo. ‘Hungry?’
‘Bit.’ She yawned. ‘Where are the others?’
‘They’ve gone to Melchester to pack for you. We have all morning; what do you want to do?’
‘We don’t really have much choice but to stay here, do we?’
‘Well, I did have an idea… eat some breakfast and I’ll tell you about it on the way.’
Beth shrugged her shoulders and ate slowly, staring out of the window at the rain. Milo went to fetch the car and she climbed in with a blank look on her face. She didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t seem to care.
As they drove south towards the coast, the rain hammered on the roof of the car. Milo had wound up the window using a monkey wrench before they left. They parked in a deserted car park and climbed down some steep stone steps to a pebbly beach that curved round in a bay, with rocky cliffs on either side enclosing it partially from the sea, and white chalk cliffs rising up behind the beach. They were the only people crazy enough to come to the seaside on a day like this.
‘Why are we here?’ she sniffed.
Milo shrugged. ‘Might be the last time you get to leave school for a while. I thought you’d like it here.’
She shielded her eyes from the rain and shivered. ‘Yes, wow, great. Now can we go home?’
‘This was Dr Smythe’s favourite beach.’
‘I don’t want to talk about him.’
‘You don’t have to. I’ll talk, you listen. We came here during the last summer holiday we had, just before I started at The Island. Zack was a strong swimmer, but he was only ten years old. He was horrible that day, sulking and arguing. Dr Smythe and I went to get ice creams from the café up at the top of the cliffs, and when we came back, we saw Zack in the water, way out near the entrance to the cove, where the currents are strong. He was obviously panicking. Dr Smythe dived in, but Zack was too far away. Luckily, a rowing boat came around the cliff and dragged him in, otherwise he would’ve drowned.
‘When Dr Smythe asked him why he had gone swimming alone, even though he knew full well that it was dangerous, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, “My real father says I can do anything I want with my life. I wanted to swim. So I did.”’
Milo looked at Beth, the sound of the waves crashing on the shingle in front of them.
‘And the moral of this story is…?’
Milo turned towards the sea and she followed his gaze. They couldn’t see the horizon because of the rain and the mist.
‘Umm…’ He rubbed his hand over his head. ‘Not sure, really. I suppose I wanted to tell you that Zack is…’
‘…a selfish prick? Yes, message received and understood. Now can we go home?’
‘Not yet.’
She groaned. ‘Is this going to be another pep talk, Milo? Because I don’t need it.’
‘Come on, let’s get out of the rain.’
There was a café at the top of the cliffs. B
eth hesitated, but Milo assured her he’d called ahead; the cousin of a friend of his was working today. They pushed the door open and a bell tinkled. The café was warm and muggy, with a radio playing in the back, and no other customers.
‘Hi, Claire,’ said Milo to a girl a few years older than them who emerged from the kitchen behind the counter.
‘Hi, Milo. Did you reserve a table?’
They looked around at the empty tables and both laughed.
‘This is Beth.’
‘Pleased to meet you. Having a rough time?’
‘You could say that.’
They sat down at a Formica-topped table near the steamed-up window and Milo ordered tomato soup and a cup of tea for both of them. They could see the waves crashing on the beach and the dark clouds like a ceiling, with a lighter layer of rain underneath, streaming down into the water. At first, they ate and drank in silence, staring out of the window.
Eventually, Milo spoke up. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘Don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Maybe it’ll help.’
Beth gave a harsh laugh. ‘You want me to talk about my feelings? You, who never talks about anything?’
‘There’s not much to talk about.’
‘God, it’s like you’re not even human. In the last few years, you’ve lost your mum and your dad. You’re barely eighteen, you live alone, you have no living relatives, no money. Your dad committed suicide, for fuck’s sake. You never talk about it, you never cry; you never get angry. How can you be so… stoic?’
Milo sighed. ‘I do get sad and I do get angry.’
