On Saturday I board the coach heading to Sal’s in Wales. Somehow I’ve made it through post-break-up-hell week, but now on half-term, I feel anything but free.
I’m noticing things about Isaac I never saw before. I thought he hated me. Now, he makes a little joke, or looks at me with a twinkle and I see something else in him. Something exciting. I want to grab those moments by the bull horns and hang on. Do I like Isaac? I mean, like like? No, I can’t, must be residual Finn-feelings. I’m projecting. Anyway, it’s not as if I’ve got time to explore the possibility. Hello? EXAMS COMETH.
My shoulder aches from the fight as I lift my bag into the overhead compartment.
I’m looking forwards to seeing Sal and hearing about her adventures down under: wallabies, boomerangs, all that stuff. My knowledge of Oz is limited to watching Neighbours and Muriel’s Wedding. It needs some updating.
The air con’s set to cryogenic.
I stare out of the window at the traffic, people shopping on Oxford Street, the park blurring by, until we’re out of the city and onto the M4. I put on some music and try to fade away. This break will be good. I’ve got to get my head straight. I’ll be away from Finn, Isaac, drugs. That’s good, I guess.
Three hours and a huge bag of Maltesers later, I remove my earphones to hear an announcement scratch out of the coach speakers: “Next stop, Cardiff.”
I’m greeted with an enormous bear hug from a very tanned Sal.
“Good to see you, kid,” she says, voice muffled in the fuzz of my unbrushed hair.
“You too. Welcome home,” I say. “I’ve been banished.”
“So they sent you to the naughty corner, AKA, the Welsh countryside,” Sal says, in what sounds like an Aussie twang.
We walk to where she’s parked.
“Hop in the awesomobile!” She opens the boot and chucks my bags in.
I’d forgotten how amazing Sal’s car is. A ’72 Ford Maverick Grabber with a not-so-classy brown and yellow paint job and furry seat covers. Zoom, zoom. Hello, retro.
“I love this car. I want to pet the seats like puppies. And what is that?” I point to the stereo. “An eight-track player?”
“Sure is. How do you even know what an eight-track is? You’re, like, eight years old.”
“I like vintage.”
Sal steers the awesomobile like a guided missile out of Cardiff and into the sticks. It doesn’t take long for the questions to start tumbling out.
“So tell me about your trip,” I say. “Did you have fun with Toadie and Dr Karl?”
“Screw that, Carla! What’s happened to get you exiled to the valleys?”
“Oh. Nothing. Mum and Dad whipping up a shit storm over nothing as usual.”
From the car window, jagged limestone outcrops burst from murky green hills.
“If you say so,” Sal says, “but either you’re going to spill it now or I’m going to hassle you for the next week. I’ll use my Jedi mind powers if I have to.” Sal wobbles a hand towards me. “Use the Force.”
“Watch the road, Sal.”
“Ooh, tetchy. Fine.” Sal huffs. “But I’m a good listener, you know. And I can tell something’s up. You’re white as a sheet and getting really skinny.”
I pinch my stomach. “Am not.” But I’m secretly pleased she’s noticed. Not that I’ve changed my diet much; stress, drugs and dancing have a slimming effect.
Sal shrugs. “You totally are.”
Sal hammers the awesomobile around a few more hairy bends up the country lanes. My bum flies off the seat several times, and then we’re here.
Janice and Sal live in a house that smells of sawdust and old board games. The floorboards squeak. It’s homey. Warm. The sofas are scarlet and there are hand-sewn throws and crocheted cushions everywhere.
There’s a big leather armchair that can eat you whole. I love it. This is my first visit in years. We spent holidays here when I was little, and it’s all coming back to me now: the sunlit conservatory where we left our muddy wellies and the kitchen that reminds me of those individual variety pack cereals we only ever had on holiday. The big back garden with pear trees and a rope swing. I remember Dad giving me a sparkler there one Guy Fawkes night. We ate hotdogs and sat on the patio steps and he told me about the stars. There was no light pollution, and we could see the whole band of the Milky Way.
“Earth to Carla.” Sal taps me on the noggin. “Hellloooo?”
“Sorry, miles away.”
“Mum’s here.”
Aunt Janice smooshes my face against her in a tight, borderline awkward hug. “Your dad says you need a break.”
“I suppose,” I say, nodding.
She’s wearing jeans and a knitted jumper with an oh-so-bad-it’s-good blue diamond pattern, and I can’t work out whether it’s intentionally retro or just a coincidence. Her wavy blonde hair’s pulled back in a ponytail. I wonder whether she’d look like Mum if her hair was neat and her clothes, designer. Probably. If Mum chilled out and let herself get scruffy once in a while, would she be more like Janice?
I move to take my stuff upstairs.
“Don’t unpack, Carla. Had an idea on the way home.” Sal turns from me to Janice. “Mum, we’re going to take the awesomobile and go camping out at the Rock. Think of it as a vision quest. We’re young and going off to find ourselves in the wilderness.”
“That’s a bit sudden, love.”
“Carla’s in need of spiritual guidance. The kind you can only get by being at one with nature. Also, it’s sunny. In Wales. We’d better make the most of it.”
“Well, if that’s what you want to do… I’ll pack you some food.”
“Your mum’s so nice,” I whisper.
The Rock is actually a pile of rocks on a hill. Below it is a group of oak trees.
“How about that thicket over there?” I ask.
“Thicket?” Sal mocks. “Right-o, jolly good. Looks like a spiffing spot!”
In a clearing among the trees, a couple of logs lie on the ground beside a blackened patch for fires.
Sal takes a large disc from the boot of the car and unzips its edge. She throws it in the air and a tent magically appears. “Help me peg, will you?” she asks.
I take a metal rod from the peg bag. “This isn’t a peg. It’s a barbecue skewer.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sal chuckles. “Tino and I had a peg incident camping in the Bush in Oz. Wine plus hammer equals bent pegs. I was lucky to escape with all my toes. Not an example I want you to follow, by the way.”
“I see.” I smile at Sal then roll my eyes. I hammer in the last improvised peg. “That’s got to be record time for setting up camp.”
“I like to keep things simple. Besides. Let’s not waste time. Tell me what’s been going on, CC. I’m worried about you. You look ill.”
“Cheers, mate!”
“Well, you do. Your pasty complexion offends me. You look like an anaemic ghost.”
“Compared to you, maybe. Ronseal’s not good for your skin, you know.”
“Ha bloody ha.”
The temperature drops a few degrees and I pull on a hoodie. After gathering some wood, we light a fire. The moon looks chalky in the grey-blue sky but brightens as night falls. Sal twists a marshmallow on a stick over the flames. It starts to bubble and she pulls it out, blowing furiously on the gooey pink blob which slides off the stick and onto the ground.
“Oops.” She shrugs and spikes another one. This time she manages to get it toasted and to her mouth. “Spill it, then.”
I shake my head, pull my hood up, and try to hide.
“No story, no marshmallows.”
So I tell Sal all about Finn and Violet, the drugs, the dealing, the lies, Isaac, the almost-kiss…
She listens and nods, without judgement.
“Shit.” Sal moves to sit beside me on the log. I stick out my hands to warm them by the fire. She puts her arm around me and I rest my head on her shoulder. I can’t believe I didn’t talk to her earlier.
I pull out a pack of tobacco and roll a cigarette. Sal gawks.
“Yeah, and now I feel like I need to smoke,” I say, disappointed in myself. “Hangover from doing it all the time with Finn. I want to stop, but it’s hard.”
She lets me light up.
“You’ve changed so much. What happened to the studious kid? You never said anything in your messages. I thought it was just the usual teen-angst stuff. But the drugs. You’ve got to give those up.” Sal squeezes my arm. She doesn’t sound preachy.
“I haven’t done them for ages.”
“Good.”
We talk until the sun appears over the distant hills, painting a pink pastel crown on their heads.
I tuck into my sleeping bag, wrapping it tight to my ears. My eyelids are heavy as lead and I fall quickly into a sweet, dreamless sleep. The best I’ve had in months.