Summer Secrets (11 page)

“You OK, Gramps?” Clover asks.

“Just drive. Quick!” he says frantically. One of the Alsatians leaps up at his window, barking and smearing the glass with its paws. Gramps jumps in his seat. “Get me away from this place!”

As Clover powers down the bumpy drive, Gramps begins to fill us in on what happened. “As soon as I walked in the door, Esther lurched against me and spilt elderberry wine all down the front of my trousers.” He winces. ”I looked like I’d wet myself. And it gets worse. I went into the conservatory, where we were eating, and there was a dead rat on my chair. It was just sitting there, staring at me!”

Brains and I make gagging noises.

Clover says, “You’re a pair of big girl’s blouses. Rats can’t hurt you when they’re dead. Continue, Gramps.”

“It gets far worse,” he says. “Next, I got electrocuted.”

“What?” I ask.

“Man, this is getting so weird,” Brain adds.

“It’s true!” Gramps says. “The fairy lights weren’t working and Esther asked me to try and fix them, but as soon as I touched the wire…
POW!
I thought my arm was going to fall off! It went all numb and then all tingly. She was lucky she didn’t give me a heart attack.”

“Surely she apologized,” Clover says.

Gramps shakes his head. “No, she just muttered something about finally getting what I deserved. I’m telling you, she’s completely barking.”

“Why didn’t you just leave, Gramps?” I ask.

“I thought about it, but I was hungry and Esther always was a great little cook.”

Clover laughs. “So you decided to brave it out until you’d been fed.”

“Well, yes. Terrible idea. She dumped my steak in my lap! Just like that. And then her blooming dogs started to attack me, trying to get at the meat. It was terrifying! And all Esther did was throw back her head and cackle like a witch. ‘That’ll teach you, Len Wildgust,’ she said. ‘You won’t forget me
now
, will you!’”

“Maybe she
was
trying to kill you,” Clover murmurs.

Gramps gives a loud harrumph. “Course she was; that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Well, I’d had enough then, so I ran into the hall, locked myself in the loo and rang you.”

“And we saved you.” Clover grins. “I do like a good rescue.”

I sit back in my seat. When it comes to odd behaviour, it just goes to show, age means
nada
. You’d have thought Esther would have forgotten all about being stood up – but oh no, even after forty years she’s still bearing a grudge the size of a small continent. But you have to hand it to her: for an old lady, she’s full of new tricks.

When we get back to Haven House, Gramps goes straight upstairs to change his trousers. “Not a word to Sylvie about any of this, understand?” he says firmly. “Or to any of the others.”

“What’s it worth?” Clover says.

He just glares at her and storms off.

Brains and Clover go upstairs to work on the Golden Lions’ playlist for regatta night. At least, that’s what they say they’re up to, but I think they just want some time alone. They haven’t snogged all day. Brains kept swatting Clover away and nodding in my direction. He’s too sweet. But judging by the way she grabbed his arm and frog-marched him up the stairs I’d say she’s having kissing withdrawal symptoms.

I walk into the kitchen and catch Prue swigging out of a wine bottle.
Prue!
I nearly faint. I give a cough and she swings round, spitting red wine all down her white top.

“For heaven’s sake, Amy,” she says. “Why are you sneaking around like that? You gave me a start.”

I stare at her. She’s wearing a pair of cut-off denim shorts that barely cover her bum, a vest with spaghetti straps and white wedge sandals. She’s not wearing a bra, and her large breasts are pressing against the cotton, firm and perky like Barbie’s. I’m impressed. Why does she hide them under those prim shirts all the time?

She hiccups.

“Are you OK, Prue?”

“Never better,” she says, lurching to the left and steadying herself on the kitchen counter. “What are you up to, Amy?” She hiccups again. Her breath smells fruity and her tongue is blood red.

“Just getting a Coke. See ya.” I leave her to it and walk into the pantry to grab a can. I hear someone walk into the kitchen.

“There you are, Prue.” It’s Dan. “Are you coming back inside?” he goes on. “We’re just about to start Scrabble.”

“Scrabble?” Prue laughs a little manically. “Scrabble?! Can’t we do something more exciting? How about strip poker? Or spin the bottle? Do you think Dave would be up for it? I’d say it’s right up Sylvie’s street.”

Is this really Prue? Intrigued, I spy on them through the crack between the pantry door and the wall.

“Prue!” Dan says, sounding shocked. He pulls the wine bottle rather roughly out of her hand. “Haven’t you had enough? Why don’t you go for a nice lie-down? Or a walk.” He cups a hand under her elbow and tries to steer her out of the kitchen.

Prue is having none of it; staggering a little, she pulls her elbow out of his hand. “Don’t want a walk. Want to have fun. Why don’t we have fun any more, Big Bear?” She snuggles up to him. “Let’s go skinny-dipping, just the two of us. It’d be romantic.” She gives a fruity burp.

I press my hand over my mouth, and try not to laugh.

“It’s cold outside, Prue,” Dan says, struggling to hold her up.

“Not that cold!” she squeals, peeling off her vest.

I screw my eyes tightly closed. But it’s too late; I’ve already seen her boobs. What an eyeful! That’s what you get for spying.

Chapter 19

We
arrive at Mary Ann’s bar in Castletownshend just after eight on Saturday night.

It’s a warm evening and people are spilling out on to the street, standing under the fluttering bunting, chatting and laughing.

Prue and Dan kindly offered to stay at home to mind Evie and Alex with their own brood. After the other night Dan’s probably afraid to let Prue near alcohol. She was back to her ironed jeans and buttoned-up shirt uniform on Friday morning and has been in a very grumpy mood ever since. Everyone has steered well clear of her.

Gramps stayed put too. I think he’s still traumatized by his near-death experience with Esther.

Clover’s wearing a tiny gold-sequinned mini over white three-quarter-length leggings, gold flip-flops, a white cotton vest top with a golden sun embroidered on the front and a gold-sequinned headscarf tied in a knot under her chin, like a disco Queen Mum.

Even in my new black and white stripy T-shirt, white jeans, silver belt and ballet pumps, I feel a bit dowdy beside her. I’ve even clipped two silver butterfly hairgrips in my hair and layered more glittery green Urban Decay eyeshadow on to my eyelids, but I still don’t look as good as Clover.

Inside, the pub’s rammed with bods. We have to wiggle our way through the sweaty hordes to find Brains. We eventually spot him with his band in the beer garden, setting up their equipment.

Clover whistles under her breath and pokes me in the side to get my attention. “Would you look at Dr McSteamy over there?”

“Which one?” I stare over at the band.

“
Him
. Hubba-hubba. Must be the new lead guitar.” Clover is staring at a tall, muscular boy with a tattoo of a skull on his hand. He’s adjusting the strings of his guitar. “I do like a tasty Indie boy. Hubba-hubba,” she says again. “He can tighten my strings any time.” She gives a dirty laugh.

“Clover! Brains is just over there, remember?”

At the sound of his name, Brains lifts his head. “Hey – it’s our very own teenage fan club.” He grins and waves us over.

The boy with the skull tattoo looks up, presses his lips together in an impressive bee-stung pout and cocks his head. “You must be Clover.” He checks her out. “And
you
must be Amy. Brains has told me all about you both.” His eyes lock on mine. “Are you really only thirteen? You look older.”

“Thanks.” I grin like an idiot and he gives me a slow wink. My stomach flips. Clover’s right. He is something. Green eyes, long dark Bambi eyelashes – totally wasted on a boy – white scar on his top lip.

“I’m Felix,” he says. “Lead guitar. Fender Stratocaster, to be precise.” He strokes his guitar with pride. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“And here’s the man with the plan. Diablo,” Brains says. A wiry, freckled guy smiles from under a shaggy strawberry-blond fringe.

“Hiya, girls,” he says chirpily. “Nice to see you again, Clover. How are the ol’ hols treating you? Weather OK? Been swimming yet? Any jellyfish in the water?” He says all this without waiting for an answer, shooting his words out like gunfire,
rat-a-tat-tat
.

He’s about to open his mouth again when Barra the drummer says, “Lions, are we ready to roar?” He rubs his drumsticks together.

“Sure thing,” Felix says easily.

Brains nods. “Bring it on. Bang a gong. Riff out the intro, Diablo, my man.”

We move away as Diablo starts to play the opening bars of “A Little Less Conversation” (an old Elvis song) on his keyboard. A crowd begins to gather and Brains grabs the microphone. There are cheers and claps as he belts out the first line in his strong, clear voice.

“Hey, they rock!” Martie says, appearing beside us. “What a relief.” She’s wearing black shorts and a silver-sequinned T-shirt. There’s a trace of mascara on her lashes and her lips are a glossy pink. Her outfit is simple, yet stunning.

“Last year’s band,” she continues loudly over the music. “One word: brutal. Two old geezers with blue satin shirts and false teeth singing along to backing tracks. These lads are cool. And would you at look him…” She fans herself with her hand as Felix goes down on one knee for a guitar solo. “A star in the making if ever I saw one.”

“I can introduce you later if you like,” Clover offers.

“Nah. Thanks – but I don’t do stars. Never know where you are with them.”

“Diablo’s nice. Not at all starry.”

Martie smiles. “Thanks, Clover, but I’m off men for Lent.”

Clover grins. “Oh, I’ve been there, girlfriend.
Muchos, muchos
times. But a girl can always look.” She gazes at Felix again.

I spot Mum to the left of the crowd, also gazing adoringly at Felix. I shake my head. Cringe City. Mum’s so embarrassing.

By ten o’clock the Golden Lions are in full swing, tearing through the Beatles’ back catalogue, from “Yellow Submarine” to “Love Me Do”.

“And here’s something a little different, especially for Clover,” Brains says. “ ‘Mamma Mia’.”

“Yeah!” Clover claps her hands together and starts wiggling her hips. She grabs Mum’s hand and makes her dance too. “Up on the table, Sylvie,” she yells at her.

I find it hard to believe, but apparently Mum was a big table dancer once upon a time. Clover swears there’s video footage somewhere of Mum prancing about on a table at her and Dad’s wedding. I’ve never seen it, but I’m taking Clover’s word for it.

Dave frowns. “That table doesn’t look all that steady.”

“Don’t be such an old man,” Mum says. “We’re very light. It’ll be fine.” She climbs up, followed by Clover and then Martie. They all throw their arms in the air and bump hips to the music.

“Why don’t you join them?” Dave asks me.

I shake my head. To be honest, I’m a bit self-conscious about dancing. And I’m certainly not going to draw any extra attention to my lack of co-ordination by dancing on a table.

“You were great on the guitar,” I say, changing the subject.

Earlier, Dave joined the Golden Lions for U2’s “One” and “With or Without You”. He played Brains’s acoustic guitar. I thought he’d look like a dinosaur beside Brains and the boys, but he was so confident and natural on the stage that I was blown away. For a second I forgot he was my almost-stepdad.

“Thanks. I miss performing, Amy. But hey, life goes on.” He shrugs. “But there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to—” and I get the feeling he’s about to launch into some sort of confession, when
CRACK
! The table collapses, and bottles and bodies tumble out of the sky and crash down to earth.

OK, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Basically, the Golden Lions stop playing, there are a lot of shrieks and screams, two beer bottles smash on the stone paving – and Mum and Clover slide down the table on top of Martie.

“Girl sandwich!” Clover shouts. “Everyone OK? Sylvie? Martie?”

Mum gets up and brushes herself down, nodding, and Martie is laughing so much she can’t speak.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Clover says. “How about ‘Dancing Queen’, Brains?” she calls over to him.

He gives her a thumbs-up and launches into the song.

Clover grabs my hand. “Come on, Beanie. Shake a tail feather.”

This time I do. And once I’ve stopped worrying about who’s laughing at my horrible dancing, I start to really enjoy myself. I wave my arms in the air and sing along.