Love Bomb (19 page)

I peek through my fingers. ‘So, what did you think?’

‘Well, Kat was a bit slow on the second verse,’ he says, ‘but she managed to catch up … you, on the other hand … you were perfect.’

‘Really?’

‘Betty,’ he says, ‘I was rocked by your love.’

I step into his arms and rest my head on his chest. I feel his heart through his T-shirt and I close my eyes. I know I’ve come home. After a moment, I say, ‘That’s another quotation, isn’t it?’

‘A bit of Sappho and a bit of me,’ he says. ‘You know, Betty, you could have told me what you felt on the beach … or the other day at your house … or even just sent me a text.’

‘Or maybe I could have dropped hints through mysterious lines of poetry …’

‘My own words weren’t good enough,’ he says, and he rests his cheek on my head.

‘This is a big hug,’ I say into his T-shirt.

‘I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.’

‘How long?’

‘About two years.’ So Bill and I stand there, under a starry sky, and we don’t need to say anything because our hug says it all.

*

Eventually, we wander home and Bill tells me about the awkward conversation he had with Dad and Rue, and how Rue took Dad off to the pub to recover from the shock of hearing me sing.

At my door, we face each other and I know from all the films I’ve watched and all the books I’ve read, that this is the moment when we should kiss.

‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ I say. The lights are on in the house so Dad and Rue must be home.

‘What?’

‘Basically,’ I say, looking at the hedge rather than at Bill, ‘I’m scared of kissing.’

He laughs. ‘That’s OK. We can do something else.’

‘Like what?’ Suddenly, I’m bit alarmed.

‘Something like –’ he thinks for a second – ‘high-fives!’ He raises his hand and our hands slap together, but we don’t let go. We leave our fingers entwined.

Bill walks backwards down the steps still holding my hand. ‘Who wants to do kissing?’ he says. ‘Yuck.’

‘Thanks, Bill,’ I say.

‘Don’t thank me,’ he says. ‘You’ve got me out of an embarrassing situation.’

‘One last high-five for the road?’

‘Let’s make it a long, lingering one.’

After three more high-fives, I let myself into the house, shut the door and rest my back against it. All I can do is grin.

I stick my head into the kitchen.

‘Hey,’ I say.

Rue and Dad look up from the table. They’re having a cup of tea. ‘There she is,’ says Dad. ‘My little girl … wearing the shortest skirt in the world.’

‘Sorry if I surprised you, Dad,’ I say. ‘I mean, I wanted you to be surprised, but in a good way.’

‘It was definitely good,’ says Rue. ‘Wasn’t it?’ She nudges Dad.

‘Yes, good,’ he says. ‘And a bit freaky.’

‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to go up into the attic.’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes, Dad, it’s very important … It’s to do with true love.’

‘Alright,’ he says. ‘Just watch where you tread. I don’t want you coming through the ceiling.’

‘Why not take a hot chocolate up there,’ says Rue, getting to her feet. ‘And wear a jumper. It’s going to be chilly.’

Getting a mug of hot chocolate and a cat up a ladder is dangerous, but I manage it. After a few minutes of searching, I find the Quality Street tin. There’s nothing inside except one purple envelope and the faint smell of Christmas chocolates. ‘True Love’ is written on the envelope. I sit down with Mr Smokey on my lap. Then,
after I’ve had a sip of my drink, I open the envelope and pull out two folded sheets of paper.

Dear Plumface,

True love … Has Dad told you about The Falling Star, and the moment we first set eyes on each other? Here’s how I remember it.

It was a hot evening and I was singing with The Swanettes in this pub in the depths of the countryside. We were stuck inside, performing our set to a handful of old boys. It was such a warm evening the doors were all propped open and, as the sun set, moths found their way in and batted around my face. Just as I was singing the opening of ‘Then You Can Tell Me Goodbye’, this tall, blond man walks in, ducking down to avoid hitting his head on a beam. He looked at me and I looked at him – our eyes literally met across a semi
-
crowded room. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t describe
it as love at first sight – your dad has got pointy ears and oddly small hands, but his eyes … they were the kindest eyes I had ever seen.

After my set, your dad and I sat out in the beer garden until we were the only ones left, except for the cows in the next field, and told each other what we’d been doing with our lives while we were waiting to meet each other. When I got back to my B&B, I couldn’t sleep. I was so excited about my future with pointy
-
eared Nick Plum. At six in the morning, I crept outside and sat on a wet bench in the garden. Birds were singing all around me. It felt like the world was just beginning. I had to tell someone how happy I was, so I went into the village, found a phone box and rang up Nanna and told her I’d fallen in love. She said, ‘Are you drunk, Lorna?’ then hung up.

I was head over heels in love. But, you know what, Betty, your dad was just a warm-up act for the big one … for you.

When I first held you in my arms, all hot and pink, staring up at me with those dark eyes, I was overwhelmed with the biggest, craziest love ever. I held you close so you wouldn’t feel scared – after all, you’d just popped into the world and you looked quite annoyed about it.

‘Hello, Betty Plum,’ I said. You scowled and opened your fingers like a starfish. ‘I’m Lorna Plum. I’m your mum and I love you.’ You looked a bit like you didn’t believe me so I added, ‘Really. I’m going to look after you forever.’

I thought I would look after you forever, Betty. I am so sorry.

You are lying next to me as I write this, fast asleep. Dad lifted you out of your cot and put you next to me. You’ve pushed your foot against my arm. It is smooth and strong and warm. Your face is red and your hair is stuck to your cheek. In a moment, I’m going to put this letter in its envelope, seal it,
and then put it in the Quality Street tin with all my other stuff that’s waiting to go up to the attic. Then I am going to lie so close to you that I can feel your breath on my face and see your chest move up and down. I’m going to watch you until I fall asleep.

When we were sitting in the garden of the pub, Dad told me that the stars in the sky aren’t all there, that some have died and what we can see is their light that has just reached us. I hope my love has reached you, Betty.

You see, these letters were never supposed to be my goodbye. They are my hello.

Hello, Betty Plum, I’m your mum and I love you. Always.

Mumface xx

‘Tack, Betty, tack!’ yells Bill as the wind hits the sail, swinging it round in my direction.

‘What?’ I say, then I’m smacked in the face by a metal boom and flipped out of the boat and into the lake. Quickly, I shut my eyes and mouth. I know the drill. This is the fifth time it’s happened today, but even so I manage to swallow some smelly water. I feel Bill’s arms pulling me to the surface.

‘I’m fine,’ I gasp, clinging to the side of the boat. I
pull some weed out of my hair. ‘Just got to catch my breath.’

I hang on while Bill does something involving a line and a cringle. I really wasn’t listening when the instructor was explaining it all. Kat’s right. Bill does look ripped in a wetsuit. It’s very distracting.

‘Bea, you loser!’ yells Kat. Their boat flies past us, heading for a collision with a small boy who’s learning to windsurf. It’s too windy for us to go out on the sea today so all the beginners have ended up on a lake in the middle of a park.

‘Sorry!’ shouts Bea as the boy flies into the water. He’ll be OK. The water’s not deep.

‘Ready to come up?’ asks Bill.

‘Yep.’ I heave myself against the side of the boat and Bill pulls me under my arms.

‘C’mon,’ says Bill. ‘You’ve got to help me.’ I push hard against the slushy bottom of the lake and suddenly shoot out of the water, landing heavily
on Bill. The boat sinks low and then bobs back up.

We laugh and then, because I want to and because he’s quite simply my best friend in the whole world, I kiss him. He kisses me back and I taste salt and Mars Bar, and the boat turns slowly in the water.

‘Hey,’ I say, looking down at him, ‘we just kissed!’

‘High-five,’ says Bill, and our hands meet. I wrap my fingers round his. I never want to let go. ‘Hang on,’ he says, wriggling out of my grasp. He looks at me intently then rubs his thumb across my cheek. ‘Swan poo,’ he explains. ‘Now … where were we?’

A small naked person is licking me. I don’t panic – this happens a lot. The naked person starts kissing my face. I smell Marmite and banana and … hang on … the person is not entirely naked. It’s wearing wellies.
Wellies?
This is new. And
totally
unacceptable.

I grope for my phone … 5.34 a.m.

5.34
a.m
!

‘Bea!’ Emma cries. ‘Happy birthday!’

‘Go away. It is
not
my birthday.’ I try to push her out of my bed, but she resists and we start to scuffle.
Mistake. For a three-year-old, my sister’s a mean wrestler. I briefly consider being grown-up, but before I know it we’re having a proper fight.

‘I got you a present!’ comes her muffled voice from somewhere around my feet.

‘Present later?’ I could probably sleep with her down there. It’s not so bad, quite cosy and –

‘PRESENT NOW!’ she screams.

She’s clearly in one of her extra-special moods, so I say what I always say when I want to get rid of her. ‘Did you hear that, Emma?’

‘What?’

‘I heard Dad’s voice … He’s home! Dad’s home!’ (He isn’t. He’s in Mexico.)

‘Daddy!’ She shoots out of my bed and down the stairs, leaving me to roll over and snuggle my face into something warm and squidgy. A forgotten bit of banana, perhaps?

I sniff it. It’s not banana.

*

Two hours later, Emma’s come to the door to see me off to school. Headbutting me in the stomach, she shouts, ‘Love you, frog-nose!’

Birds fly off our neighbour’s roof.

‘Love you, botty-breath,’ I say, pushing her firmly back into the house. I walk down the path. Now is the time
the shyness
sweeps over me and I leave Real Bea at home and take Shy Bea to school.

Already, as I walk to the bus stop, Shy Bea is making me hunch my shoulders and stare at the floor. The further I get from my house, with Emma’s broken slide sitting on the patch of tatty lawn, and our red front door, the less I feel like me.

‘Though she be but little, she is fierce!’ I whisper under my breath as I approach the Year Elevens who hang out on the wall outside the Co-op. I sit in my usual spot away from the others and get out my phone. One of the boys throws an M&M at me. It bounces off my
head and lands on my lap. He laughs and watches to see what I will do. I stare at it. It’s blue.

Though she be but little, she is fierce
, I think.

Eat the M&M, Bea! Go on, EAT IT!

I brush it to the floor. Not my fiercest moment.