Chapter 15

Eloise refuses to get out of bed the next morning.

“I’m not going in today, Dad,” she grunts from under the duvet. Her failure to show up in the kitchen for breakfast has forced Gareth to take the unusual step of climbing the spiral staircase up to her room. Her bedroom door has a panty liner stuck to it on which Eloise has written “Keep Out” in red felt tip pen. The red ink has bled into the panty liner as Eloise fully intended it to. It doesn’t deter her father.

“School isn’t optional Eloise. You don’t get to say if you are going in or not.”

Eloise grunts at him “Go away. I’m still sleeping.”

“Evidently you’re not. Now get out of bed.”

Eloise emerges slowly from under her duvet and props herself up on her pillows.

“Leave it out, Dad! I’ve got just one lesson in English on The Grapes of Wrath, which I’ve already read anyway because you and Mum forced me to last summer when I made the stupid mistake of complaining I was bored in the long holidays. I’ve finished my AS exams. Just because you were such a good boy at school and never missed a day in your life doesn’t mean I’ve got to be like that too. Anyway, Grace has been invited over to Jenny’s later for more erudite discussion about boring books and I am going to walk her over there.”

“What does your mother say?”

“She didn’t actually say anything because I haven’t seen her yet this morning. On account of the fact that I was sleeping till you waded in here in your size tens. But I texted her and she texted me back to say she was fine with it. That I’m growing up and need to get used to planning my own time ready for university.”

“That’s if you manage to actually get into university, what with all this lounging around in bed.”

“It’s not even 8am, Dad. Fine! I’ll get up now. But I am NOT going into school today.” She flings the duvet back angrily and jumps out of bed, scowling at Gareth. “Happy now, dictator!”

She is wearing a pair of pink spotted cotton pyjamas that she has had for years, too short now in the leg and arm. Her hair which she usually has crimped up high has flopped around her face. Gareth feels a deep longing for the way he used to handle her tantrums when she was five which was to pin her down and blow raspberries in her ear, making her squirm and laugh.

“You can stay home on condition that you make tea tonight for everyone. And that does not mean ringing for a takeaway.”

“Fine!”

“And there’s one more condition.”

“What now?”

“Come give your old dad a kiss.”

*

Grace watches as Eloise crimps her hair back into its upright position.

“How long does that take you every day?”

“It used to take ages, like an hour, but I can do it in fifteen minutes now.”

“That’s quite a lot of effort every day?”

“It is, but why on earth would anyone want flat hair?”

“My hair is flat.”

Eloise pauses slightly. “It is. And that’s fine, honestly. Pay no attention to me. I should have said, I like my hair crimped but that’s a personal choice. Everyone else is free to have flat hair. Even if it looks…”

“Flat?”

“Precisely.”

Once Eloise has finished crimping her hair and loading herself up with eyeliner and silver jewellery, she and Grace set out on the short walk to Jenny and Alastair’s house. They cut through the streets of tall Edwardian and Victorian red brick houses and through Penarth town centre.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” Grace says to Eloise. “All these little shops – butchers and bakers and greengrocers and gift shops. A proper high street.”

“Penarth is so boring Grace! It’s got no place for edgy, urban young people like us to go. Honestly! You talk just like my parents sometimes – shop local, preserve community, blah blah.” Eloise punches Grace lightly on the arm to show she is only kidding.

“Ow!” says Grace. “That hurt!’

Eloise looks mortified. “I’m sorry! So sorry! Did I hit you where…”

“Where what?”

“Nothing.”

“Where I cut, you mean?”

Eloise looks at Grace through her fringe. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It’s just we are sharing a bedroom. It’s pretty impossible to miss the state of your arms. I was leaving talking to you about it until you’d settled in a bit more.”

“You’re OK. Iris beat you to it anyway.”

“Iris did?”

“Yes, you’re a nosy lot you Maddoxes.”

“Do you want to talk about it some more?”

“Have I got any choice? I’m pretty sure that’s why Jenny has invited me round. I think she plans on using Theo’s loneliness in The Goldfinch as a theme to lead me onto a discussion about self-abuse.”

“Fuck! I skipped school and got landed with making tea tonight, all for a therapy session with our local librarian!”

“Don’t be mean Eloise. Jenny is cool. And she’s nice. You all are. And I’m ready to talk about it. A bit. I think deep down I wanted you all to find out what I’ve been doing, stopped being so careful to hide my arms like I do from my mother. I think not being so secretive is me starting to face up to my problem.”

“Do you want to skip going to Jenny’s and go drink cider in the park? I know an off licence that will probably serve us. I find the best kind of therapy is talking about these things when you are off your face.”

“Don’t tease me, Eloise.”

“I wasn’t! I meant it. Seriously, Grace, a couple of my friends have had issues. Not cutting like you. Anorexia and bulimia. Anxiety. It’s shit feeling like shit, and teenagers are better than anyone at feeling shit about themselves, but it helps to talk about it. We can skip the cider if you prefer.”

“I’d actually prefer to go talk to Jenny about The Goldfinch.”

“You’re really weird, you know that, but OK fine. There’ll be cake at Jenny’s. And, actually, if we ask her nice, she may give us cider too.”

“Come in,” Jenny shouts when they ring the doorbell. “It’s unlocked.”

They find her tucked up in a battered, caramel coloured, oversized leather club armchair in the corner of her kitchen, reading.

She doesn’t get up to greet them.

“Hello sweet peas, shove the kettle on will you? I made banana bread if you fancy some.”

Eloise looks at her, her brows knotted together.

“Keep your jet black hair on! I made chocolate and raspberry brownies too.”

“Better!” Eloise says. “Tea everyone?”

While Eloise throws teabags into mugs, Grace stands at the kitchen window, looking out at the garden. It is wildly overgrown, with ivy growing up along the fences and up into a tree at the bottom. The grass is waist high.

“Are you looking at my environmentally friendly wildlife garden?”

“Oh is that why the grass is so long?”

“No, of course not! It’s because I can’t be fagged doing gardening. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“It’s…um…interesting.”

“It’s not interesting. It’s a mess. But Daniel likes it. He goes on expeditions down there. Disappears for days on end sometimes. I think perhaps there may be an Amazonian tribe hiding out in there. Comes back happy and smelling of dirt. Alastair moans about it all the time. I tell him if it bugs him that much he should do something about it, but actually he’s as lazy as me and never does.”

“That sounds fun for Daniel. A company comes in to mow our lawn every week. Mum likes it to be so flat and green you could play bowls on it. Not that anyone ever plays anything at all on it. Mum doesn’t like anyone even walking on the grass let alone playing ball games. She likes to keep it nice.”

“For whom?” Jenny asks. “Is the Queen coming round for tea soon?”

Grace smiles. “You never know!”

“Well, if the Queen comes round to this house she’ll have to wash her own mug out, just like I’ve had to do with this lot,” Eloise announces, as she puts three mugs down on a coffee table next to Jenny’s chair. Grace fetches the plate of banana bread and brownies. They pull up two kitchen chairs and sit for a few moments, swigging their tea and eating cake.

Eloise surveys the walls of Jenny’s kitchen. Every available space is lined with bookcases and every bookcase is jammed full.

“Ever thought of getting a Kindle?” Eloise asks, through a mouthful of brownie.

“I’ve got one! It’s very handy for travelling or holidays. But it’s no substitute for actually owning a book, being able to feel the weight of it in your hands, smooth the page with the tips of your fingers when you read a really good passage.”

“That just sounds creepy Jenny!” Eloise wrinkles her nose.

“When I was little, if I’d enjoyed a book, I used to kiss the back of it when I finished it,” Grace confesses.

“Ew, you two have got book fetishes. Right! I’ll leave you to your deep and meaningful and go out to our delightful little High Street to shop locally for tea. I’m going to go to the butcher’s and get some of their lush meatballs and I’ll do a load of spaghetti. Easy peasy. I may even get a bag of rocket and some tomatoes to keep Mum happy.”

There is a long queue at the butcher’s. There always is. Eloise has been coming here with her parents most weekends since she was little. Her father says it’s the best butcher in south Wales. She doesn’t mind waiting, watching as the butcher and his assistants, their white and green striped overalls stained with blood, sharpen their knives and serve the people in the queue in front of her. They know most people by name.

Eloise sees one of the assistants grinning at her. She recognises him immediately. It is Liam Williams who was a year above her at school and who went off to university last September. He was a good rugby player she remembers. He has thick sandy coloured hair in need of a cut and lots of freckles.

When she gets to the front of the queue, he elbows another assistant away so that he can serve her and gives her a wide smile.

“You’re Eloise Maddox, aren’t you? Didn’t recognise you at first, now you’ve gone all Emo and…,” he stares at her hair and her bangles…”and your hair’s turned black. And vertical. Are you mitching from school?”

“Ssh, don’t talk so loud – not really mitching, only had one lesson of English. Grapes of Wrath.”

“We did that. I really enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, so did I, but don’t let on to my parents. They think it was a huge deal I managed to get through it. What you doing back?”

“It’s the summer holidays.”

“Already?”

“Mad isn’t it. A whole three months of summer holiday but no money to go anywhere. Had to come home and work here again.”

“Have you worked here before?”

“Er, yes. Every Saturday since I was 16. Served your dad loads of times. Some of those times you were standing right next to him.”

“Oh. Where are you studying?”

“Skilful change of subject, right there… London School of Economics. Politics and International Relations.”

“Is London amazing?”

“Well yes, I guess. Very big. Lots of people there. I’m glad to be home actually.”

“How long are you back?”

“Until the end of September. Till then I’m working here. If I manage to save enough I may go to Greece on holiday for a couple of weeks, otherwise it’s Barry Island for me.”

Eloise stacks the meatballs she has bought into a canvas shopping bag.

“That’s a lot of meatballs. Are you having a party? “

She looks at him disdainfully.

“Sorry, I forgot there are hundreds of you.”

“Even more than usual. My cousin Grace is staying for a while.”

“I got my lunch break in twenty minutes. Want to come with me for a walk on the pier?”

“Um, sure. OK. I’ll go finish the rest of the shopping and come back when I’m done.”

“Cool. I’ll put your meatballs back in the fridge till later so they don’t go bad.”

Eloise buys the salad stuff she needs and two French sticks. She feels very self-conscious hanging around outside the butcher’s waiting for Liam, even more so when he bounds out of the shop door grinning at her. She wishes she hadn’t bought the bread as soon as she and Liam start the short walk down the hill to the pier. They stick out the top of the canvas bag and bash against the back of her head as she walks.

“Here, give me your bag,” Liam says. He breaks the French sticks in half and shoves them deeper into the bag, then slings it across his shoulder. He brushes her shoulders gently.

“You have breadcrumb dandruff,” he explains.

He buys them a can of Coke each at one of the pier kiosks and gets himself a tray of chips.

“Sure you don’t want any?”

“Nah! I’m full of chocolate brownie, thanks.”

“Just so long as you’re not one of those girls who doesn’t like to eat in front of people. Or not eat at all. Girls that don’t eat freak me out.”

They walk past the newly renovated silvery art deco Pier Pavilion which houses art exhibitions, a cinema and a café. It twinkles in the sunlight. At the very end of the Pier they sit down on a bench. It’s a bright day and they can see clearly across the Bristol Channel to the islands of Steep Holm and Flat Holm and, further away, the English coast.

“So, what are you doing this summer?” Liam asks her.

“I’m back at school tomorrow but there’s a week left then till the end of the term. We’re meant to be going on holiday to Tresaith in west Wales for a couple of weeks but we’ve been going there for years and the place does my head in. Beach, shop, pub. Nothing else. I haven’t told my parents yet but I’m not planning on going with them this time. Thinking about going to a festival instead, I’ve never been to one.”

“I’ve been to loads. I can tell you which ones are the best.”

“Cool.”

“When did you decide to dye your hair black?”

“Just before sixth form. Wanted to look different for a new start.”

“Suits you. So did your red hair, though.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Have you ever been on those islands?” Liam asks, pointing in the direction of Steep Holm and Flat Holm.

“No. We went on a boat trip once with school and sailed round the outside but we didn’t get off. Aren’t they uninhabited?”

“Except for some wardens. And a derelict hospital where seamen arriving in Wales with cholera and bubonic plague used to get isolated. You can go on day trips. A big group of us stayed overnight at Flat Holm a couple of years ago for my dad’s 50th. There’s a dormitory and you can camp. It was a blast. We could go there together this summer if you like?”

Eloise pauses for a while. “Shall we just try the pictures first? Or going for a pizza? We might not get on. Overnight on an island could be an ordeal.”

“Brilliant. Want to go out tonight?”

“I’ve got to serve meatballs to my enormous family first but I’ll be done by 7pm.”

“I’ll call for you then.”

“You’ll call for me? What are we? Seven years old? Are you going to ask my Mum if I can come out to play?”

“Trust me Eloise. Your parents will be happier about stuff if I call for you. It’s a nice thing to do.”

Suddenly and without warning he pulls her towards him and kisses her. He tastes of tomato ketchup and she can smell sunshine on his skin. She doesn’t pull away and the kiss goes on and on. When finally they stop kissing, he puts his hand on her cheek and looks into her eyes.

“We’re going to get on Eloise,” he smiles. “I’m absolutely positive about that.”

*

Eloise collects Grace feeling a little giddy.

“What are you smiling about?” Grace asks her. “You normally favour a sarcastic scowl.”

Eloise ignores her. “Did you and Jenny have a good time?”

“We did. She gave me a reading list of books she thinks I should read and a load of information about self-harming. And a notebook. She wants me to write everything I feel down. She says I should think about writing a novel and that whenever I feel overwhelmed I should channel it all into writing instead. I’m going to give it a try anyway.”

“You’re becoming a different person Grace.”

“I know. Much more positive.”

“You want to watch it. You know what’s happening to you, don’t you?”

Grace shakes her head.

“I’m sorry to be the one who has to tell you this Grace but the thing is…” She pauses.

“What? What’s the thing?” Grace asks worriedly.

“The thing is that it seems likely you are turning Welsh. Next thing you know you’ll be calling everyone ‘butt’ and bursting into song every whipstitch and getting misty-eyed when anyone mentions the Mabinogion. We’ll have to get you one of those daffodil hats to wear to rugby games.”