I stepped into my home for the next six weeks. It was simple. A single bed, a tiny cupboard, a night-table. That was it. And there, there was my photo. Of me and Mum. Framed on the bedside table that wobbled on unsteady legs as you walked towards it. It was exactly the same photo I’d been sketching on the aeroplane.
My fingers tingled.
Why was this in the guest bedroom and not her bedroom? Did Mum only come in and look at it when she was in the mood for remembering she had a daughter? When Bumface Kevin was out with his bumchin?
I blinked a lot, feeling my throat constrict.
Kevin wheeled my suitcase in behind us. “How d’ya like your room?”
“It’s lovely,” I said dismissively. I needed to bring up the photo. I needed to ask why it was here, and not out with the others. But I was too scared to. I didn’t want her to lie to me. And I didn’t want to tell her off either – because she’d never been able to handle it. So I found myself saying…
“Why wasn’t I invited to your wedding?” At Kevin. Staring accusingly at his bumchin.
He stepped back, like I was a bear. “Woah, Amber. Where did that come from?”
Mum crossed her arms, and looked at him desperately.
“Amber, come on, stop being silly.”
I threw my rucksack down on the bed, where it landed with a thump.
“I just saw the photo outside, that’s all. And I was wondering…”
… For two years.
They shot each other a look, and it was so deep, it basically broke me. I could see the bond instantly – they were having a communication about how to handle this, how to handle me – using only their eyes. That’s how close they were.
How close she should have been to me.
“We eloped, darling,” Mum said.
“Yeah,” Bumface Kevin butted in. “And we didn’t have much time. We needed to get your mum a visa quickly, and—”
I interrupted him. “I wasn’t talking to you, KEVIN!”
Even though I had asked him the question. It was easier to be mad at him than Mum.
He scratched his stubble – which grew AROUND the bumchin – and shot my mum another look. “Well, I’m answering anyway.”
“Of course you are.” I was so mad, so sad. I couldn’t hold it back, even though I wanted to. Even though I was already sabotaging everything. I felt torn – half of me wanted it all to be perfect, but the other half was just desperate for answers. It was like my ribs were expanding to make room for the emotions that had been suddenly unearthed – emotions I didn’t know how to let out without wrecking things with Mum. She wasn’t looking at me, she was looking at Kevin. The faces of Mum and me on that bullshit photo stared out, watching the scene, frozen in time.
He put his hands up in a gesture I’m sure his counselling training taught him, and used a calm, soothing voice. “Hey, you only just arrived. I’ve got dinner planned. Let’s talk about this later. Give you a chance to settle in?”
“I’m full from all that raw food in San Fran,” I lied – thinking, I need to get out, I need to get out. Before I make things worse… Before I ruin the summer. I’d rather fling myself onto a lakeside campfire where I knew no one, than sit down for dinner with Mum and Kevin when I was feeling like this. “Plus, I don’t want to miss all the staff getting to know each other.”
“At least let us eat first.”
I stretched my arms up, my fingers grazing the ceiling of the low cabin as I did.
“No.”
“Amber!” Mum pleaded – finally looking at me.
“I’ll see you later.”
And ignoring their protests, I dodged my way out of the cabin into the unknown woods.
Hoping Mum might follow to check I was okay.
She didn’t though.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
My personality
+
A gang of Americans
Five
I didn’t really know where I was going, who I was meeting. I just needed to put physical space between me and that framed photo in the wrong place.
Kevin had said the other employees were having a welcome campfire at the lake so I doubled back in the direction we’d driven. I doubted they’d be overjoyed with the bosses’ sort-of daughter turning up, but screw them. I was this close to punching someone, or crying, or both. Anyway, if I made it clear I hated Kevin and his bumchinny ways they would warm to me. And I’d try and talk like the Queen so they’d think I was quaint.
She keeps your photo in the guest bedroom.
She keeps your photo in the guest bedroom.
My flip-flops filled up with dust and dirt from the forest floor. Whatever insects make that night-time buzzing noise in hot countries were ramped up and cricketing away. The steady buzz in the air calmed me, as long as I stayed in denial about all the new people I was about to meet. I saw a flickering light through the dark clumps of trees, mingled with the sound of laughter and made my way towards it. I stopped in the safety of the pines and looked out. A circle of about twenty people, all a tiny bit older than me, sat haphazardly around a pretty-decent fire. All of them looked “bonded” already as they chatted and shared beer and shoved sticks onto the burning fire between them. My heart got all pumpy, my arms stiff with nerves.
I stepped out and gulped my arrival.
The group stopped mid-laugh to look at me.
“Hullo there,” I said, my voice more British than it’d ever been. “I’m, erm, Amber. Kevin said you guys would be here?” I waved, not able to make their faces out properly in the dark.
There was a brief silence then a girl stepped forward.
“Amber, hey! Wow, I love your accent! I’m Melody.” She shook my hand, and, as the campfire light hit her, I saw she was a Californian goddess. All tumbling blonde hair, and glowy skin, and teeth like cosmetic dentistry adverts, and legs so far up she’d have to apply deodorant to her knee pits.
“Hi, Melody.” I shook her hand, not knowing if I was doing it right as I’d never formally shaken hands with anyone before.
More people stood up, shook my hand, introducing themselves with names which I instantly forgot. They all told me they looooved my accent. A few faces stood out. There was this one guy who looked like Jacob from the Twilight films, all olivey reddy skin. He looked Native American but I wasn’t sure if that was the right term for it these days. One girl seemed extra excited I was there, Whinnie. She wore thick black glasses on her wide face and a Winnie the Pooh fleece. She pulled me into the circle and they all looked at me, like I should say something.
“So,” I said, trying not to freak out about all the new faces staring at me. “You guys all get here yesterday?”
A few nodded. Whinnie said, “Yeah, but for most of us this is our second year here. We all—”
Melody interrupted her. “So, do you, like, live in London?” she asked me.
“Umm. Just outside London, yes,” I replied.
Melody looked genuinely impressed. “Wow, have you been to, like, Buckingham Palace?”
“Er, no,” I admitted.
Her face fell.
“Why not?”
I shrugged, aware of the circle focused on my every word. This one guy caught my eye and rolled his. He was so tanned I could only really see the whites of his eyes and his perfect tablety teeth shining out. I gave a small smile back. “Well, erm, English people aren’t that excited about the Royal Family compared to other countries. Plus, Buckingham Palace is like, just there, you know? I could go whenever I wanted to, so I’ve never bothered. Like, have you guys all been to Disneyland?”
Lots shook their heads. “You see, I have been to Disneyland. The Florida one.” …On that horrific family holiday where Mum vommed over the side of the log flume. “But not Buckingham Palace, even though Disneyland’s much further. I guess…”