Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture! (27 page)

After lunch, it seemed the grown-ups no longer needed any support or counselling. Phil went back to work. Mum lay on a lounger in the shade on Dad’s terrace and closed her eyes. Granny and Dad went through an old photo album, looking for photos of Grandpa to help Dad prepare for the painting he was going to do.

‘Come on!’ whispered Fred. ‘Let’s go to the beach!’

‘Yes! Let’s swim!’ said Jess. ‘Though you must promise not to stare in dismay at my podge when you see me in my bikini!’

‘And you must avert your gaze from my puny stick-like legs,’ said Fred. ‘It’ll only be a matter of time before a bodybuilder comes up and kicks sand in my face.’

Jess grabbed her swimming kit and a couple of beach towels. Mum had made them promise they would rub Factor 30 on each other.

‘Oh,
Mum
!’ sighed Jess as if the very idea was deathly boring. Although, of course, she was looking forward to rubbing sun cream on Fred as much as a cat looks forward to finding a dropped sardine under the kitchen table.

They went out. The sun was bouncing up and down the street as if it had been ordered as part of a Sun, Surf ’n’ Lurve Holiday Romance Package.

‘Oh!’ sighed Jess. ‘I’m so happy it’s absolutely revolting! I expect some scaffolding will collapse on to us, or something.’

‘Or maybe we’ll get run over,’ said Fred. ‘Being very happy is just asking for trouble.’ He grabbed her hand and squeezed it so hard it made her knuckles crack. This was the best day of her life so far – even with several broken fingers.

The beach, though crowded, was immense, and they soon found a semi-private corner only a short distance away from three bickering families and some clinically obese people playing badminton. It was heaven on earth.

‘Right,’ said Jess. ‘I’m going to the loos to change into my bikini.’

‘I’ll stay here,’ said Fred. ‘I’ve got my swimmers on under my jeans.’ And he clambered clumsily out of them to reveal a very long pair of quite stylish grey shorts. ‘I’m not taking my T-shirt off yet. I hate my nipples and when you see them it will be all over between us.’

‘You should learn to love them, Fred,’ said Jess. ‘Give them names. Treat them as pets. It worked for me.’

Fred grinned, laid out the beach towels side by side and lowered himself gently into a relaxing horizontal position.

‘Hurry up!’ he said. ‘And you might as well get us a couple of ice creams while you’re there. Anything with chocolate and peanuts will do for me.’

Jess set off for the rather distant loos. St Ives had four beaches, and Dad had said this one was best for swimming. It backed on to a steep hillside covered with trees. It was about as scenic as anywhere could be without actual coconut palms, and added to Jess’s mood of crazy joy.

Even the loos seemed touched with divinity. The faint smell of disinfectant would be forever etched in her memory as the most delightful whiff. She might even buy some and squirt it on her pulse points for all future hot dates.

She crammed herself into her bikini. It was a mistake, of course: yellow with blue polka dots. But at least it covered most of her bum. Would Fred find it ludicrously old-fashioned that she hadn’t got a gold lamé Brazilian thong? Too bad. Her buttocks must never be revealed to the general public.

Jess had established once, with the aid of two big mirrors, that her bottom looked like two bald men whispering to each other. This misfortune could only be disguised with a tattoo of the map of the world, with the Americas on one buttock and Africa on the other. Until Jess had saved up enough for the tattoo, the thong would have to wait.

She stuffed her clothes into her shoulder bag, slipped into her flip-flops and ventured out of the loo, feeling very embarrassed. There was a big queue of women and they glared at her for keeping them waiting.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured, and rushed outside. The sunlight felt good on her bare flesh, but she knew she only had a few minutes before she would begin to burn. She had to get back to Fred and force him to rub on the Factor 30. But first she must get the ice creams.

The ice-cream seller didn’t have anything with peanuts and chocolate, so Jess bought two enormous cones with a towering, fluffy pyramid of whipped ice cream leaning dangerously out of each. Then she squinted into the bright glare of the beach to find Fred again.

He wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there!
Jess’s heart leapt in alarm. Her eyes raked the beach. He wasn’t where she’d left him. There was a couple talking where she thought he would be.

Wait, don’t panic
, thought Jess, licking both ice-cream cones urgently as they were already wilting under the hot sun.
Maybe he’s just gone for a swim
.

She scanned the people in the sea. They were just bobbing heads, but none of them looked like Fred. Oh my goodness! He’d drowned! Just minutes ago she’d felt it was the happiest day of her life, and now, suddenly, she had plunged right back into absolute torture.

Jess advanced down towards the beach, still holding the two ice-cream cones, and still licking them now and then, even though she was already planning what to wear for Fred’s funeral. She would go back to their beach towels. Maybe somebody had seen him. There was a couple nearby, the guy sitting on his towel, the girl standing up, talking. She would ask them.

Wait! Jess looked at the couple again. The guy wasn’t just anybody – it was Fred!
Fred!
Fred sitting on the beach talking to a girl! A slim blonde girl, of course, tanned and – unless Jess’s eyes deceived her – wearing a gold lamé Brazilian thong. She was flashing her gorgeous pert little body at him, the tart! Her golden thighs were right in front of Fred’s hypnotised face!

What on earth was he playing at? She would kill him for this! She would kill the girl as well – even more sadistically! In the time it took her to slip into a bikini, Fred had slipped into a whole new relationship! Jess marched furiously down towards them. Fred had taken his T-shirt off. So the blonde in the thong had been allowed to see his nipples before her! What an insult! This was so
completely
the worst day of her life!

Chapter 40

For a moment Jess wondered if the girl might somehow be Flora – crazy, she knew Flora was at Riverdene, but your mind plays strange tricks when you are plummeting from Cloud Nine down towards the blackest pits of hell.

As she got nearer to them, Fred looked round guiltily, caught her eye and pulled a weird, embarrassed sort of face.

‘Hi, Jess!’ he called.

The beautiful blonde looked across at her and smiled. It was one of those catty, insincere smiles that hide a wicked desire to truss you up, fling you off a cliff and run off to Acapulco with your helpless boyfriend.

‘Well, I must dash!’ said the girl, and suddenly slapped both her buttocks playfully as if to draw attention to their splendour. ‘Shall I go for a swim or not? What do you think?’ She turned round and looked at the sea – to show Fred her bum, obviously.

‘Oh, go for it,’ said Fred, rather urgently.

‘OK! Here goes! My mum was breast-stroke champion of Swindon, so I suppose I should make an effort!’

And she ran off, her cute little bottom wobbling tauntingly all the way to the waves.

‘I hope she drowns!’ said Jess. ‘For goodness’ sake! I can’t leave you unattended for a split second! All I did was go and get a freakin’ ice cream and when I come back you’re chatting up some flashy tart in a thong!’

‘I was
not
chatting her up!’ said Fred, scrambling to his feet. ‘She just came over and hit on me! I can’t help it if other women find me irresistible!’ He was grinning, the pig! He thought it was some big joke!

A wave of red-hot fire surged through Jess’s veins. She couldn’t help it. Her whole body shook with jealous rage. In an instant, perfect happiness had been replaced by sheer hell. Fred had been chatted up while her back was turned – and he thought it was a laugh!

Giving in to a moment of sheer weird madness, Jess plunged both ice-cream cones on to Fred’s chest – one on each nipple. For a few seconds they sort of stuck to him, looking like a rock star’s pointy bra, and then they fell off, streaking melted ice cream down his shorts and his legs. The cones fell into the sand, and became tragic and ruined.

‘You idiot!’ said Fred, looking deeply embarrassed. ‘I was looking forward to that!’

‘Well, if you want it, you can lick it off your nipples!’ hissed Jess. ‘Or maybe your glamorous new friend can lick it off for you!’

Suddenly Jess became aware that some of the families nearby were sniggering.

Oh, what a nightmare!
she thought.
I look a complete idiot!
For an instant she was frozen in total horror. She felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her. She was suddenly the biggest idiot on the beach. There was no way out of this mega-humiliation.

No, wait! There
was
a way out. Jess reached desperately, blindly, for her old friend, her guardian angel: comedy.

‘It’s just not good enough, Quentin!’ she bawled, her voice gradually becoming more and more ridiculously upper-class. ‘I can’t trust you anywhere! There was that croupier in Las Vegas – what was she called? Rosie. Such a ludicrous nose – and
not
a natural blonde. Then there was that milkmaid in Switzerland. What a fat cow! And the milkmaid was a tad overweight, too.’

There was a ripple of laughter from families nearby. Fred’s face – Fred’s darling face – cleared, and the horrible look of embarrassment gave way to his usual witty grin.

‘I only asked if I could squeeze her udders!’ he protested. There was more laughter from their audience. What a crude lot this bunch were. Trust Fred to appeal to their baser instincts.

‘It’s no use! I’ve had it up to here with you and your floozies!’ said Jess. ‘When we get back home you’re going back in your box!’

‘No! No! Not the box!’ pleaded Fred.

‘Yes! Six months in the box, and then you’ll only be allowed out to go to church! With a paper bag over your head!’

‘OK, OK! Mind you, that lady vicar is a good-looking gal. I think a dog-collar does something for a woman.’

‘Quentin, you’re an animal!’ roared Jess. ‘Jeeves, my horsewhip! You’ve gone too far, and you’re going to get a hiding!’

Fred gave a terrified yell and ran off towards the sea. Jess followed, brandishing an imaginary whip. And behind them, just for a moment, she thought she could hear people
applauding
.

But she didn’t look round. She just plunged into the sea and chased Fred, who was swimming off with madly flailing arms. Jess easily caught up with him, grabbed him and ducked his head underwater. Fred dived down, escaped her and bobbed up again nearby. Jess attacked him again, laughing, but he grabbed both her arms and wouldn’t let go. He was surprisingly strong for a thin bloke who lay on the sofa for most of his leisure hours.

‘I thought that went rather well,’ said Fred, treading water. ‘But maybe we should save up the ice-cream hurling for the end. In fact, next time I think you should hit me in the face with a whole custard pie.’

‘Fred, your approach to comedy is so crude!’ said Jess. ‘That gag about udders, too. I prefer sophisticated one-liners.’

‘Yeah, but they loved it,’ said Fred. ‘A seaside audience is always a bit coarse. And so am I!’

He grabbed her leg underwater. Jess kicked him away, laughing. She was so relieved. Everything was OK again.