Forbidden Friends, Page 3

  I left her to it and trailed up to my room. My new suitcase from Nan was brilliant – really funky with bright pink and purple flowers all over it, and a handle that pulls out so you can wheel it along the ground. I took ages sorting everything out. I made little piles of clothes all over my bed and then arranged them in the case, layer by layer, with my books spread out on top.

  I think I ended up with more books than clothes. It was just so difficult trying to decide which ones to take and which ones to leave behind. I put some school books in as well. We had a brilliant poetry topic to do over the holidays – we had to write a series of poems on any theme we liked, and then when we got back, Mrs. Wren, our literacy teacher, was going to publish them in a book for the school library.

  I hadn’t picked a theme for my poems yet but I decided to take a few poetry books in case I got any ideas while we were away. Two weeks of reading and writing by the sea sounded like my idea of heaven... If only Dad could be there to enjoy it with us. I checked my phone again to see if I’d missed a call from him or another text, but the only message I had was from Bailey, saying, Stuck in a field, raining x.

  When I’d finished packing I hauled my suitcase downstairs and left it ready by the front door. I was pretty scared about the flight and mega scared about what was going on between Mum and Dad, but when I thought about Melissa Knight and school, there was a part of me that was desperate to leave for Spain right that minute.

  It was packed at the airport. The queue to check in our cases moved quite quickly, but then we had to go through security. That took ages. Just when we finished at one desk, we had to move along and queue up at the next. They asked us lots of questions about liquids and creams and whether we understood all the rules and regulations. We weren’t even allowed to take a bottle of water through with us.

  Mum was fine to start off with but she seemed to grow more anxious with every question they asked her. She kept checking and rechecking the passports as if she was scared they might disappear, her hands shaking so badly at one point she could barely turn the pages. It was so unlike her.

  As soon as we’d passed through all the checks, Nan sent her straight off to the bar.

  “Get yourself a whisky or a brandy or something to steady your nerves,” she said. “Don’t worry about us; I’ll take Bee to buy a magazine.”

  I linked arms with Nan, feeling happy for the first time in days. I was safe at the airport; far away from Glendale High. I hadn’t told Mum and Dad or Nan about the bullying. They were all so excited when the letter came to say I’d been offered a place at Glendale; they said it was the proudest day of their lives. And I was just as excited as they were to begin with... But that was before I realized that a geeky scholarship girl like me – or a “charity case” as Melissa likes to call me – was never going to stand a chance.

  It was crazy to be so scared of someone, but every time Melissa looked at me, with that nasty sneer on her face as if she’d just stepped in something disgusting, my brain literally froze up. It was like an automatic response. Almost as if she was a GIANT and I was a tiny ant and all she had to do was put her foot out and squash me flat.

  Bailey was right about take-off, it was really noisy. I held onto Nan’s hand, digging my nails in as the plane tore down the runway, but as soon as we were up and through the clouds I began to relax. I pressed my nose to the window, watching the cars and houses and fields shrink below us until they looked like little plastic toys. I tried to work out where exactly in the sky you crossed from one country to another and relaxed even more when the pilot announced that we’d left England and were flying over the western tip of France.

  Mum hardly said a word the entire time we were in the air – she was just frozen in her seat like a waxwork. But as the plane touched down she suddenly came to life, grabbing hold of Nan’s arm as she hauled herself up. “I’m really not sure about this,” she said, as if we’d only gone five minutes up the road. “I know what you’re going to say, but I think maybe Phillip was right. I’m not ready. I can’t face it.”

  Nan steered her off the plane and towards the arrivals area, doing her best to calm Mum down. I followed behind, a sour feeling in my stomach. I wished I knew what was upsetting her so much, and what she meant when she said she wasn’t ready. I knew there was no point asking her though – she’d never tell me. It was obviously something to do with Dad and coming away to Spain without him, but the way she was talking made it sound far more serious than that. It was as if they were breaking up for ever.

  The airport was really small compared with the one in London, and flooded with light. I tried to read all the Spanish signs – it was one of the languages I was going to start learning at Glendale when I moved into Year Eight. Bienvenido a España – Welcome to Spain. And Control de pasaportes – This way to passport control. I hurried along, practising my accent, rolling the unfamiliar words around in my mouth.

  We had to queue for a while at passport control, but as soon as we were through, Mum went to grab a trolley and Nan and I made our way over to the baggage reclaim area to find our luggage. It was easy as anything to spot mine amongst all the boring black and brown cases. I watched it trundle towards me around the baggage carousel, ready to grab it as it came past. I waited until it was just about level with where I was standing and then snaked my arm through the crowd of people in front of me, reaching for the handle.

  I was sure I had it, I’d timed it just right, but at that exact same moment, a girl standing next to me thrust her arm out, grasped the handle and yanked the case off the belt.

  “I’m really sorry, but that’s mine,” I said, turning to face her, surprised. “Look.” I showed her the label where I’d written my name in big, blue letters.

  “Here you are then,” she said, letting go quickly. “Only my case is exactly the same as yours.”

  She turned back and a second later stretched her arm through the crowds again and pulled an identical suitcase off the carousel. She held it up to show to me, as if she was worried I might not believe her, and then set it down, striding off towards the exit as if she’d been travelling the world for years and knew exactly where she was going.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mum didn’t mention the anniversary again until we were at the airport. We’d found a quiet cafe away from all the crowds while we waited for our flight to be called. I could tell she wanted to talk – she had that tense, nervy look on her face – but I shrank back into the corner, pretending to read my book, praying she’d leave me alone. It was great to be away without Dad, but I couldn’t face talking about Luke.

  “I don’t want anything big,” she started, pulling my book down slightly, forcing me to look at her. “Just a few words to mark the date and the fact that it’s been ten years. We could go to the beach, find a nice quiet spot...” She picked up one of the little sugar packets lying in her saucer, tearing off tiny bits of paper until the sugar started to spill out.

  “You’re not expecting me to say anything, are you?”

  She glanced down, scared to meet my eye. “Well, I did think it would be nice if all three of us joined in the ceremony, you know, said a few words or read out a poem. Perhaps you could write your own poem?”

  “But, Mum, what would I say? I was only three when Luke died. And why are you calling it a ceremony? It sounds so formal, like it’s a funeral or something.”

  Mum flinched, shrinking back as if I’d raised my hand to hit her. “I wish you wouldn’t argue with me, Lizzie,” she pleaded. “Just for once. A few words, that’s all I’m asking.”

  I looked back down at my book, irritation surging through me. I didn’t want to say a few words about Luke. At least, not ones that Mum would want to hear. Like, Why did you have to go and die? Why did you leave me here with them? Why did you ruin my life?

  It was worse once we were up in the air. Mum was serious about me writing a poem. She gave me a notepad and pen and then sat there watching me, as if I was going to come out with some brillia
nt masterpiece just like that, right there on the plane. I pushed the notebook back at her and took out my diary, doodling a load of words that rhyme with Luke, like puke, fluke and spook. Mum tried to see what I was writing, but I covered the page with my arm.

  I reckoned I could write a pretty good poem but it wouldn’t be one Mum would approve of – or let me read out at this stupid ceremony she was planning. I shuddered at the thought. Our holidays to Spain were bad enough without some morbid memorial to mark the anniversary of Luke’s death. They could leave me well out of it as far as I was concerned.

  As soon as we were through passport control I raced ahead to get my suitcase. Mum was beginning to get that awful, haunted look in her eyes. It happens every year. She seems to cope okay when we’re at home, but the second we arrive in Spain it’s like she gets caught up in the grief of losing Luke all over again.

  I used to enjoy coming here when I was really little, four or five, six even; I looked forward to it for weeks. But that was before I realized what the holidays to Spain were really about. That they weren’t holidays at all – just a chance for Mum and Dad to relive what happened to Luke, like watching some sort of awful video clip stuck on a loop, playing over and over again.

  Mum had hired a car; a small, bright red Citroën. It took ages to sort out the paperwork and we had a job squeezing all our bags into the tiny boot, but eventually she pulled out of the airport and onto the main road that leads down to the coast. I started to get a heavy feeling, like something pressing down on my chest. Everything was exactly the same; the suffocating heat, the view out of the window, even the smell of the citrus and vanilla air- freshener hanging from the mirror at the front of the car.

  “Who was that you were talking to when you rushed off to get your suitcase?” said Mum, glancing over at me.

  “No one. Just some girl who had exactly the same case as me. I picked it up by mistake but then mine came round a few seconds later.”

  Mum smiled. “That happened to me once, believe it or not, except I actually took the wrong suitcase home. It was such a muddle, but at least it was at the end of the holiday. Imagine how awful it would be if you lost your suitcase at the beginning...”

  She was trying to smooth things over. Make friends. She always does that when we row. I stared out of the window, trying to wish myself away. Her voice was so irritating that I wanted to block it out, pretend I was on my own. I’d thought a week away together would be okay – that we might actually have a good time without Dad there to spoil things – but not if she was going to spend most of the time talking about Luke and the ten-year anniversary.

  There are two hotels at the Costa de las Cuevas resort. La Cueva Secreta, The Secret Cave, and Bahía de las Cuevas, Bay of Caves. We always stayed in a sea-view room at The Secret Cave. It’s much bigger and more expensive than the Bay of Caves, with a fancy marble reception area and over a hundred rooms. It’s the same hotel we were staying in when Luke died.

  A smart-looking woman in a blue uniform greeted us from behind the reception desk.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Michaels,” she said, smiling. “I’m Alana. Welcome to La Cueva Secreta. I’ll call someone to help you with your luggage in just a minute, but please could you first fill out these registration forms.” She handed Mum a form on a clipboard with a pen attached and then turned away to answer the phone.

  “Excuse me, please.” A small man in a different coloured uniform slipped out from behind one of the huge marble pillars, shuffling towards us. Mum turned round.

  “Mrs. Michaels?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have important message for you,” he hissed, holding out a folded piece of paper.

  “Oh thank you, that’s very kind,” said Mum quickly. She grabbed the note out of the man’s hand and turned away to read it.

  “What’s that?” I said, trying to peer over her shoulder. “Who would leave a message for us here?”

  Mum shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she muttered, screwing the note up and stuffing it in her pocket. “It’s not even for us.”

  “Why are you keeping it then?” I said, looking round to see if the man was still there.

  “Please don’t start nagging.”

  And then I realized, my heart sinking. “It’s not to do with the memorial, is it?”

  “No, of course not, it’s nothing.” She turned back to the desk, flustered. It was so obvious she was lying. “Come on, Lizzie, let me finish filling out these forms and then we can go and get settled in our rooms.”

  I got changed as quickly as I could and then went through to Mum’s room to ask her if I could go down to the beach. She was still unpacking and seemed nervous about letting me go off by myself, even though we’d been to the resort so many times before.

  “No talking to anyone and no wandering off,” she said, sounding just like Dad. It was the same list of rules he always gave me on the first day of the holiday. “Stay away from the caves,” she went on. “Don’t spend too long in the sun, and absolutely no swimming in the sea.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, anything else?”

  “I mean it, Lizzie, and make sure you keep your phone switched on so I know where you are when I come down. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “Yes, Mum, I will. I always do, don’t I?”

  I escaped from her room as fast as I could, hurrying down the corridor towards the lifts. It was all such a joke anyway. Who was I going to go off with? Who was I going to talk to? I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had a normal conversation with someone else my age. All I ever did when we came to Spain was sit up on a rock, on the beach, with one of the books Dad forced me to read. He should have saved his stupid rules for someone who actually had a life.

  Sometimes I think about what it would be like if Luke hadn’t died. I’d probably have gone to a normal school and made normal friends. Dad blamed Luke’s death on the friends he made when he started secondary school. He was always telling me what a bad influence they were; how they corrupted his perfect son. It was crazy, but the older I got the more convinced he seemed to be that I was going to turn out exactly the same. That was why he insisted on homeschooling me.

  I pressed the button for the lift and a few moments later the silent, silver doors slid open and I stepped inside. It only took a few moments to reach the reception area. I waited for the doors to slide open again, catching a fleeting glimpse of myself in the tinted glass mirror: cropped blonde hair, blue eyes and deathly-white skin.

  People say I’m the image of Luke, they say we could’ve been twins, and they’re right up to a point. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes as me, the same pale skin. But judging by the photos that plaster the walls at home, Luke was always smiling – his eyes bright and sparkly – bursting with life. At least when he was alive he was really alive. I know it sounds weird, but sometimes, next to Luke, it feels as if I’m the one who died.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We were staying in a small, family-run hotel just along the coast called the Bay of Caves. Nothing too fancy but perfect for us. It had twelve rooms, a smallish swimming pool, and then steps down to a gorgeous, crescent-shaped bay with the softest sand and turquoise-blue sea. A plump, smiley man called Carlos showed us to our rooms. Mum and Nan were sharing a double with a pretty, white-tiled bathroom and a tiny balcony. Mine was a single with an even tinier balcony, just about big enough for one person.

  “What do you think of this then, Val?” said Nan, pressing the big double bed to check it was firm enough. I glanced at Nan. Did she already know that Dad wasn’t coming with us when she booked the rooms? Is that why Mum left the tickets out in the kitchen? So Dad would see them and change his mind?

  “It’s lovely,” Mum admitted, “but I really hope you’re not going to snore.”

  She’d hardly said a word since we’d left the airport. She still seemed tense, but I could see she was trying to lighten the mood.

  “Me snore!” cried Nan. “The barefaced cheek of it!
You’re the one who sounds like a dying goose every time you close your eyes. I’ve never snored in my life.”

  “A dying goose? Oh, that’s charming,” said Mum, and they were off.

  They carried on trading insults, each one worse than the last, as we changed into our swimsuits and headed down to the pool. Nan “sounded like a foghorn”, Mum “like a cow giving birth”. Nan was “loud enough to drown out a crowd at a football match”, Mum “a herd of stampeding elephants”. I started to laugh in the end, it was so ridiculous. How on earth were they going to share a room for two weeks?

  Carlos was in the reception area helping another couple, but he stopped for a moment and beckoned us over as we came out of the lift.

  “This very nice boat trip,” he beamed, holding out some leaflets and vouchers. “And please come to hotel paella night on Friday. We have music and dancing and very much tasty rice. It’s the best.”

  “Thank you,” said Nan, taking the leaflets. “We like a bit of paella, don’t we, Val?”

  She turned to Mum, but Mum was staring at Carlos with a look of total horror on her face, as if he’d just grown an extra head right in front of her eyes.

  “Val!” Nan nudged her and then turned back towards Carlos. “We’d love to come, Carlos, thank you so much.”

  “Oh sorry,” said Mum, blinking and shaking her head slightly. “Yes, we’d love to come. Of course we would.”

  “What was that about?” hissed Nan as we walked off in the direction of the pool. “Why were you staring at the poor man like that?”

  “It was just something he said,” muttered Mum.