According to the weather reports on TV, Saturday is going to be the hottest day of the year so far. Stella, Mikey, Kimmie and I decide to make the most of it and head to Rushton Lido.
‘Do you see him, do you see him?’ Kimmie asks, as we unload iPods and magazines and sun lotion and spread our towels out on the burning concrete. She’s kneeling up, scouring the hordes of half-naked people for Aaron Butler.
Along with Stella’s brother Stu, Aaron Butler was in the same year as Grace at Queen Mary’s, and Kimmie has fancied him ever since she first clapped eyes on him back in Year 7. He didn’t stay on for sixth form, so for the past three years Kimmie has had to rely on visits to the lido where Aaron works to satisfy her crush. I only hope this summer will be the one where she finally stops driving us mad with all her staring and squealing and actually tries talking to him.
Personally, I don’t get what all the fuss is about. It’s not like Aaron is all that; he never has been. He isn’t even the nicest-looking lifeguard. He’s as skinny as a rake with knobbly knees and has this stupid quiff that makes his pale blond hair look like a Mr Whippy ice-cream cone.
‘There he is,’ Stella says, finally locating Aaron in the throngs of people; he’s patrolling the kid’s paddling pool, a whistle dangling from his mouth.
‘Don’t point,’ Kimmie gasps, slapping Stella’s arm down. ‘He might see us.’
‘Isn’t that the whole point?’ I ask. ‘That he actually notices we’re here?’
‘Well, yes, but not like that. It should happen naturally.’
I roll my eyes at the others and wriggle out of my denim shorts.
The paddling pool is predictably busy, dozens of children jostling for space in the shallow water. Their excited shrieks whizz me back to when I was six years old and slipped and fell on my way in, banging my head on the concrete path. I remember Grace cradling my bloody head in her lap while she screamed for Mum. I’m guessing adult help must have come pretty quickly because it was the summer holidays and the pool would have been crowded, but over the years, time has interfered with my memory, increasing the number of seconds Grace was holding my head and bleaching out the crowds of people that must have surrounded us, so that it’s just the two of us – me and Grace, her desperate screams echoing into the abyss as I drifted in and out of consciousness in her lap.
I ended up going to hospital and having six stitches. And even though it hurt, I secretly loved every second. I loved the nurses fussing over me, the jelly and ice cream I was rewarded with for being ‘so brave’, the way Dad carried me to the car like a baby when he came to pick us up. I still have the scar. If I part my hair in the right place, you can see it, pale and shiny.
‘Ooh, nice bikini, Mia,’ Kimmie says, yanking me back into the present.
I look down. The bikini is a recent purchase. It’s white with fringing on it, very Bond Girl and very, very skimpy. It’s only from Primark but I’m not going to volunteer this information if I can help it. I bought it with my pocket money last month, smuggling it upstairs under my sweatshirt so Mum and Dad wouldn’t see. Tonight I’ll have to rinse it out in secret in the bathroom sink and hang it to dry outside my bedroom window.
‘I wish I could wear white,’ Stella says, sighing and holding out a freckled arm. ‘But it does nothing for me.’ Stella’s skin is as pale as a porcelain doll’s.
‘I hear you, sister,’ Mikey says, offering up his palm for a high-five of solidarity. He’s stripped down to a pair of tiny blue swim shorts and is slathering his glowing limbs with what looks (and smells) suspiciously like cooking oil.
‘What the hell is that stuff, Mikey?’ I ask, scrunching up my nose.
‘Just a little something to give my tan a head start.’
‘Either that or skin cancer.’
‘It’s all right for you,’ he says, glancing disdainfully at my legs. ‘You have no idea the pain I have to go through to avoid people mistaking me for Boo sodding Radley. I’m telling you, I’m getting a tan this summer if it kills me.’
We lie in a tightly packed row, turning over every fifteen minutes, Kimmie constantly asking if Aaron is looking in our direction. By silent agreement, we all lie and say ‘yes’ to keep her happy.
After about an hour he comes to patrol the main pool, climbing the ladder to the elevated seat overlooking the deep end.
‘Hey, maybe you should pretend to drown, Kimmie,’ Mikey suggests. ‘Get Aaron to give you the kiss of life.’
Kimmie blushes like mad. ‘As if.’
‘Mia would,’ Mikey says.
‘Yeah,’ Stella agrees. ‘Fake drowning to get a guy to kiss her is so something Mia would do.’
‘I’m going to take that as a compliment,’ I say. ‘Mikey has a point though, Kimmie. You can’t just wait for Aaron to notice you all summer – you need to be a bit proactive.’
‘But I’m not like you,’ Kimmie wails, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her legs. ‘I can’t just go up to him. What would I say?’
‘Anything! Ask for the time if you have to. Just open your mouth.’
I turn onto my front and untie my bikini top so I won’t get a tan line across my back. As I turn my head to the left, away from the others, I realize I’m being watched.
By Aaron.
The second he realizes he’s been caught staring he looks the opposite way, peering through his binoculars at the swimmers below. I pretend to close my eyes. Through my eyelashes though, I see him squeeze in another look in my direction; longer this time, his eyes daring to drift up and down my body. I resist a smile before turning my head back the other way.
Just before lunch we venture into the crowded pool. Stella announces she doesn’t want to get her hair wet, which makes it Mikey and mine’s mission to dunk her head under the water. We succeed shortly before the lifeguard (not Aaron, but his colleague who clearly has no sense of humour) blows his whistle at us.
‘Relax, Stells,’ I say, as we dry off. ‘You’re acting like we tried to drown you in a vat of acid or something.’
‘If my highlights turn green, you’re paying for me to have them redone, that’s all I’m saying,’ she says, pouting.
I shake my head. For someone with a really pretty ordinary head of hair, Stella manages to make a lot of fuss about it. It kind of annoys me, especially when I’m the one with the Afro and I don’t make even half the drama she does.
Kimmie loses the coin toss and is despatched to the cafe. She returns with ice-cold Diet Cokes, assorted sandwiches and a giddy smile on her face because she passed Aaron on the way back and she’s almost eighty-five per cent sure they made eye contact. I feel a bit weird about it but don’t know why. After all, I don’t control who Aaron looks at and when.
We sit in a circle to eat, the midday sun beating down on our backs.
‘I think we should all learn to surf in Newquay,’ I announce.
‘Really?’ Stella asks, wrinkling her nose. ‘How come?’
Despite being super-skinny, Stella tends to avoid formal physical activity if she can help it. The one time she ran for the ball in PE, Mrs Cates almost fainted from shock.
‘Duh! It’s the way to meet hot surfer boys,’ I say. ‘I thought everyone knew that.’
Ever since Stella’s mum booked our plane tickets I’ve been indulging in daily fantasies about boys with sun-kissed hair, six-packs and walnut tans.
‘And I’ve found a club for us to go to on the Saturday night,’ I continue. ‘I’ve emailed them and asked if they can stick us on the guest list so we don’t have to waste time queuing up. I was thinking we should start off with a few drinks at the caravan, then head into town around nine.’
‘You should be a travel agent, Mia,’ Kimmie says, peeling discs of cucumber off her tuna mayonnaise sandwich and lining them up on her napkin. ‘You’re really good at this stuff.’
‘I’m so friggin’ excited,’ Mikey says. ‘How many weeks to go again?’
‘Six!’ Stella and I chorus in unison.
‘Jinx!’ we crow, linking pinky fingers and giggling.
‘How’s Grace?’ Kimmie asks once Stella and I have stopped laughing.
Her question instantly kills the mood.
‘Still pregnant,’ I say in a bored voice. Kimmie has been going on about Grace and the baby all week.
‘Which reminds me,’ Stella says, discarding her bread and eating only the slivers of ham and tomato. ‘I went on her Facebook last night and checked Sam out. Why didn’t you tell us he was so fit, Mia?’
I roll my eyes. Stella clearly has the same vanilla taste in men as Grace.
‘Fit?’ Mikey says. ‘Seriously?’ He grabs his phone. A few seconds later Grace’s Facebook profile picture fills the screen. In it she and Sam have their arms round each other in front of some Greek ruins, the sun setting behind them. ‘He’s proper cute!’ Mikey says. ‘I thought you said he wasn’t all that?’
‘He’s not,’ I grumble.
‘Let me see!’ Kimmie cries, reaching for the phone.
Mikey holds it high above his head. ‘Sorry, Kimmie, he’s mine.’
She twists his nipple hard. Mikey swears loudly, prompting frowns and tuts from the family next to us, before surrendering the phone.
‘Ooh, he looks lovely!’ Kimmie says, studying it carefully. ‘I love his glasses.’ She holds the phone to her chest. ‘Their baby is going to be sooooo cute, Mia. Grace should sign the three of them up to a modelling agency as soon as it’s born, I bet they’d get loads of work.’
I snatch the phone from Kimmie’s hands and inspect the photo more closely, trying to see what all the fuss is about. Sam is OK-looking, but nothing out of the ordinary, and definitely not my type.
‘You really think he’s hot?’ I ask.
‘Um, yes,’ Stella says. ‘He can impregnate me anytime.’
The three of them cackle away like Macbeth’s witches.
‘I thought you didn’t do gingers,’ I say.
‘Never say never,’ Stella replies.
‘Does he have any brothers?’ Mikey asks hopefully.
‘No. He’s an only child.’
‘Is he nice?’ Kimmie asks. ‘He looks nice.’
‘To be perfectly honest, he’s kind of a try-hard.’
I tell them about getting home from school on Wednesday and discovering Sam sitting at the kitchen table with Mum, helping her cut out fondant snowflakes for yet another Frozen cake.
‘Well, it must be weird for him, living with someone else’s family all of a sudden,’ Kimmie says.
‘Weird for him?’ I say. ‘What about me? I’m the one who’s had to give up my bedroom.’
‘Um, not exactly. It was Grace’s bedroom all along,’ Stella points out.
‘So? It’s still rude of them to just turn up practically unannounced and expect everyone to shift around and make space for them both. Did I tell you about the bed?’
‘Only about twelve times,’ Stella says.
A brand-new double bed arrived on Thursday while I was at school. When I got home the mattress was propped up against the wall in the hallway, covered in plastic. Assembled, the bed takes up nearly the whole of Grace’s room.
‘I’ve been asking for a double bed for years,’ I say.
Stella mimes playing a violin. I stick my tongue out at her.
‘So, when can we meet him in the flesh?’ Mikey asks.
‘He’ll be at the wedding, I suppose.’
‘But that’s ages away!’
‘Are you really that desperate to meet him?’
‘I am now that I’ve seen his photo,’ Mikey says.
More cackling.
I check the time. It’s not even 1 p.m.
I love my friends, I really do. But sometimes they totally do my head in.
I blink and open my eyes. At first all I can see is the sky – clear and perfect, the only interruption the crisscross of plane tracks, white against cornflower blue. Then a shadow in the form of Mikey’s sunburnt face looms over me, and the picture is ruined.
‘Mia,’ he barks, spittle landing on my cheek. ‘Phone for you.’
Frowning, I take it from him. ‘Hello?’ I say.
‘Where are you?’ Grace sounds annoyed.
‘Why are you calling me on Mikey’s phone?’
‘Because I couldn’t get hold of you on yours. I’ve been ringing and ringing.’
‘Why? What time is it?’ I ask, rubbing my eyes.
‘Four o’clock. You were meant to be here half an hour ago.’
With my spare hand I fish my own phone out of my tote bag. Five missed calls from Grace, two from Audrey, two from Mum.
‘Sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t hear it ring. I’m coming now.’
‘Well, you’d better hurry, the shop closes at five.’
I hang up and struggle woozily to my feet.
‘What’s going on?’ Stella asks, shielding her eyes from the sun.
‘I have to go,’ I say, looking around for my flip-flops.
‘But why?’
‘Remember that bridesmaid dress appointment I told you about?’
She nods.
‘Well, I’m totally late for it,’ I say, balling up my towel and forcing it into my bag. ‘And that was Grace, being super-pissy about it.’
‘Oooh, are you trying on dresses?’ Kimmie asks, clapping her hands together.
‘Meant to be.’
She lets out a little squeal.
‘Ring us when you’re done?’ Stella asks.
‘I’ll try.’
I yank on my shorts and head for the exit, my good mood well and truly shattered.