Chapter 28

‘Hi, Frederika!’ said Jess.

‘Hey! Miss Jordan! How are you?’

‘I’m just great – I’ve come to St Ives to see my dad. My mum went off to the Eden Project today, and my granny wanted a day by herself. I was just walking round Penzance and suddenly I saw this bus which said St Ives, so, naturally, I jumped on.’

‘Wow, you’re such an action-packed superhero! You make me feel quite limp and drained.’

‘How’s Riverdene?’

‘Oh, you know – sixty thousand people all queuing for about three loos.’

‘I can’t hear any music in the background.’

‘Ah! We’re between acts, or something.’ Fred sounded a bit vague.

‘So has Flora managed to track you down yet?’

‘I haven’t seen the creature. I swear it’s true. If I lie to you, may I be changed into a sofa belonging to a fat family addicted to daytime TV and baked beans.’ Jess laughed. ‘But listen, Jordan, can you ring me again in half an hour? I’m running out of –’

‘Why can’t you talk now?’ asked Jess suspiciously.

‘There . . . some . . . got . . .’ Suddenly Fred was breaking up again.

‘OK, I’ll ring again later!’ shouted Jess.

Her dad came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with some corn snacks and a dip – and two Cokes with ice.

‘Wow!’ said Jess. ‘You drink Coke! So reckless! Mum says it rots your teeth.’

‘Ah, well, she always was a bit of a health fanatic,’ said Dad, putting the tray down on the coffee table. ‘Actually, we both were. It was our shared love of pumpkin seeds and chickpeas that brought us together. We kind of bonded over hummus.’

‘But now you’ve regressed to junk food?’ asked Jess, helping herself to what she hoped would be the first of many guacamole-crowned crispy things.

‘I go through phases,’ said her dad. ‘One week I’m on the salad and fruit diet, next week I force-feed myself entire farmyards. How was Frederika? Tell me about her.’

Jess choked slightly on her guacamole.

‘Frederika is great,’ she said. ‘She’s at Riverdene, and so is Flora, as a matter of fact. I wanted to go myself, but Mum wouldn’t let me.’

‘You had to visit your tiresome dad instead. Terrible! I feel so guilty.’

‘Listen, revered ancestor!’ said Jess. ‘I was so desperate to see you that I came a whole day early.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘If it had been up to me, I’d have seen you last week, Dad. Last month. Last year.’

‘You did see me last year,’ said Dad. ‘Four times, actually.’

‘Yes, but not down here in your house,’ said Jess. She looked around the lofty white spaces, admiring the blue sofa, the blue vases, the light pouring in through skylights in the roof. ‘It’s brilliant! I really will come and live with you one day. And is there any chance I could stay the night, Dad? Oh please! I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa.’

‘Er, fine by me,’ said her dad, ‘as long as your mother doesn’t mind. Phil can sleep on the sofa, though. You can have the spare room. I’m not having my divine daughter roughing it.’

‘Let’s ring Mum, then!’

Jess’s dad hesitated for a moment, then picked up the phone and dialled Mum’s mobile number.

‘Hi, Madeleine,’ he said in a peculiar and rather awkward voice. ‘It’s Tim again. This daughter of ours wants to stay over with me here in St Ives. Would that be OK? I don’t want to mess up your plans.’

Jess watched as her dad listened to what her mum had to say – which was quite a lot, as usual. Dad pulled a few faces, winked at Jess, made some polite noises and eventually rang off.

‘It’s OK,’ he said, ‘although she says she’ll get into big trouble with Bernie, whoever he is.’

‘He’s the guy running the B&B. But I’m sure Mum will be able to charm him into submission.’

‘Great! OK, let’s look for a spare room. I think I’ve got one somewhere, if I could only remember where I left it.’

They went upstairs and down a whitewashed corridor at the back, and into a small room with a futon and a white-painted chest of drawers. There was a lovely view over rooftops and a tiny, glittering patch of sea was visible far over to the right, between two houses.

‘It’s lovely!’ cried Jess. ‘I do want to come and live with you right now after all! I’ll do all the shopping and cooking, Dad! No, wait, I’ve changed my mind, you do all the shopping and cooking. No need to go overboard, is there? I shall be far too busy becoming a professional surfer.’

‘If you do become a surfer,’ said Dad, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go overboard on a regular basis.’

‘Oh, I love it here!’ said Jess. ‘Sun, surf, art, fish and chips – what else do you need in life?’

‘Speaking of art, let’s go back to the studio,’ said Dad. ‘I’ve got an idea for something I want to do.’

They went back along the corridor and into the studio.

‘Sit over there!’ said Dad, pointing to an old sofa scattered with shawls. Jess obeyed. ‘Now, find a comfortable position, because I’m going to paint you and you won’t be able to move for at least an hour.’

‘Oh wow!’ said Jess. ‘You’re going to do a portrait of me? That is so utterly cool. Everyone in school will be insane with jealousy.’

‘Wait and see if I manage to get a likeness,’ warned Dad. ‘You might end up looking like a chimpanzee.’

‘If you manage to get a likeness, I will end up looking like a chimpanzee!’ laughed Jess. ‘I know! I’ll try and look like the Mona Lisa! She is divine! Tell me if my mysterious smile sort of topples over into cheesy, though, won’t you?’ Jess folded her arms and attempted to ooze Renaissance charisma.

As Dad painted, he fell silent. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. When they were quiet, Jess could hear the distant sounds of the sea, and the screaming of gulls. It was all extremely wonderful – but even in the depths of her happiness, Jess never forgot for a moment that at the first opportunity she was going to ring Fred again.

Sitting still seemed terribly easy at first, but gradually it got more and more uncomfortable.

‘Dad! Dad! Ow!’ said Jess eventually. ‘I can’t hold this pose a minute longer! My back is going to snap in half and my head is going to roll off under that chair.’

‘OK, relax!’ said Dad, and Jess at last let her screaming muscles go, fell over sideways with a hysterical howl of relief, and then yawned and stretched like a cat. Then she sprang up and ran to his easel.

It was brilliant! OK, it was in the very early stages, but somehow the way Dad had sketched in some sea and rocks in the background did remind Jess of the setting of the Mona Lisa. And though he hadn’t done much detail on Jess’s face, he had even made her actually look a bit like the Mona Lisa, at the same time as recognisably being herself.

‘That’s me!’ she cried. ‘You’re brilliant, Dad!’

‘Yes,’ said Dad. ‘I like the way you look kind of haughty and disapproving. Just like your mother.’

‘But I am like you as well!’ said Jess.

‘I hope not. Poor child! You’ve got enough to cope with,’ said her dad, smiling at himself and shaking his head as he put his brushes away.

‘No, I am like you, Dad!’ insisted Jess. ‘In my head!’ And she threw her arms round him and gave him a big hug. ‘I shall have to send you away to cuddling school, though,’ she added. ‘It isn’t considered polite to carry on clearing up while someone is trying to hug you.’

‘Sorry, old bean,’ said her dad, and he tossed his paintbrushes to one side and put his arms round her.