Chapter 7

It was time for silent, urgent praying – again. Mum waited for Flora’s mother to pick up the phone, and all the time she was glaring at Jess. Jess tried to look casual and confident, but she was secretly making emergency plans to escape within seconds – possibly to run up to the bathroom and flush herself down the toilet.

‘Mrs Barclay?’ said her mum suddenly. Jess’s heart gave a sickening lurch. ‘Oh, sorry, Freya: you sound just like your mum. I was so sorry to hear she’s had this dreadful accident.’ Thank goodness Jess hadn’t lied about that bit. ‘Might it be possible for me to have a word with her?’ There was a terrifying pause. ‘Oh, I see . . . I’ll try again later, then. Thanks a lot. Bye!’

Jess’s mum put the phone down.

‘She’s having a bath,’ she said. ‘Of course it takes a bit of time, with her leg in plaster and everything, and there’s a nurse come to help her, so she’s not available for half an hour or so.’

Jess knew she must disguise her intense relief as relaxed indifference.

‘I suppose I’d better start packing,’ she said. She had to ring Flora right away, to warn her. She just hoped her mobile was fully charged by now. She ripped it out of the socket, with desperate, urgent casualness.

‘I’ve got a bit of packing to finish, too,’ said Mum, and went upstairs.

It would now be virtually impossible for Jess to phone Flora from her bedroom without being overheard.

‘I think I’ll just go for a little walk to the corner shop first,’ called Jess. ‘I need some chewing gum.’

‘No! Pack first!’ insisted her mum, glaring down the stairs at her. ‘I’m not having you running around all over town, and me not knowing where you are. I’ve had enough of that, Jess. Come up here and pack!’

Jess shrugged sweetly, even though she was longing to hurl a wet sponge or raw burger into her mother’s face. She went upstairs to her bedroom, closed the door and listened. How soundproof was it? She could clearly hear her mother moving around. So her mum would have no problem hearing every word Jess said to Flora.

Jess put on her favourite album (the loudest CD in the world), dived under her duvet and switched on her mobile. It bleeped excitedly. What now? A text from Fred and one from Dad! Too bad! They’d have to wait! Frantically Jess dialled Flora’s mobile.

‘Hi!’ said Flora.

Thank goodness! She’d picked up. Jess had to explain. And fast.

‘Listen, Flo, thisiscrucial. My mumsgonnaringyourmum and ask her about Riverdene!’

‘What? Did you say Riverdene?’ said Flora, rather stupidly, Jess thought.

‘Yeah! You’ve gottapretendyouandI have been planningtogothere –’

Suddenly the deafening music stopped, and Jess heard her mum’s voice in the room, right next to the bed. Nightmare!

‘What on earth’s going on, Jess?’ she demanded.

Jess just had time to press the OFF button and thrust her mobile under the pillow, before her mum ripped the covers off.

‘What are you doing under the duvet?’

What indeed? Jess’s mind whirled, desperate for a convincing reason why she might have been in this rather unusual posture.

‘Sounds kind of silly, Mum, but I’m doing these exercises to train myself not to be scared of the dark.’

Her mum gave her a deeply suspicious glare.

‘You’re up to something, I can tell,’ she said. ‘I’ve got my eye on you, my girl. Now get on with your packing – and no music! I don’t want any more of that infernal racket!’

And she stalked off – but she didn’t close the door behind her.

Jess decided she’d better not do anything so obvious and guilty as closing her bedroom door right away, so she started packing, humming to herself in an innocent kind of way – the sort of song that pure, angelic milkmaids might sing as they tripped through the dewy fields at dawn.

But she had to get another message to Flora. Their mums could be talking on the phone any second now and Flora had to be fully briefed. Jess grabbed her mobile and whizzed off a text.

I TOLD MUM WE WERE PLANNING TO GO TO RIVERDENE — PLEASE, PLEASE BACK ME UP. I TOLD HER YOU ALREADY HAD THE TICKETS. SORRY!

About five minutes later the house phone rang. Jess jumped in terror.

Granny called up the stairs, ‘Madeleine! It’s Flora’s mother!’

‘Right! I’ll take it up here in my study!’ Mum answered.

Jess listened, her heart racing like the rhythm section of a samba band.

‘Hello!’ she heard her mum say, in her slightly posh telephone voice. ‘I just wanted to talk to you about this plan the girls have cooked up about going to Riverdene. Has Flora mentioned anything about it?’ Then there was a long pause while Jess’s mum listened to whatever it was Flora’s mum was saying.

The next thing Jess’s mum said would be crucial. If she sounded relaxed, Flora would have got the message and Jess would have escaped by the skin of her teeth. If she sounded angry, Jess would be hurled into a black pit of evil-doing and be pronged to death by devils in red Lycra.

‘Ah, I see. I thought as much . . . No, I agree absolutely. Of course they’re too young. And besides, I’m taking Jess away on holiday tomorrow, so it would have been out of the question anyway.’

She didn’t sound furious. Just mildly irritated. Jess felt a wave of relief.

‘Yes, I was so sorry to hear about that,’ her mum went on. ‘You must all be very disappointed.’

Jess could hear her mum winding up the phone call. Moments later she came straight into Jess’s room without knocking.

‘I’ve sorted that, then,’ she said. ‘Sorry, love, but you and Flora are just not old enough to go to Riverdene. Maybe next year, OK?’

‘Yeah, OK. Fair enough, Mum,’ said Jess, feeling relieved. She seemed to have escaped from the dreadful sticky web of lies. Just.

All she had to do now was tell Fred the sad news that Riverdene was off. The minute her mum was out of the room, Jess pounced on the texts from Fred and her dad. Fred had sent his late last night.

WHAT’S HAPPENING IN THE WAR ZONE? IS THERE NO HOPE? SHALL WE ELOPE? I CAN’T POSSIBLY SLEEP UNTIL I’VE HEARD FROM YOU. ZZZZZZZ . . . SNORE . . .

Poor Fred! Jess felt terribly guilty that she hadn’t been able to text him last night. She must keep her phone in her pocket, always, from now on, and never lose it again. The text from Dad was one of his usual wacky wisecracking messages.

DEAR CHILD, I HEAR YOU ARE COMING DOWN TO CORNWALL TO SEE ME. I AM THRILLED TO BITS. COUNTING THE DAYS. HASTILY TRIMMING MY NOSTRIL HAIR AND SCRAPING THE COBWEBS OFF MY FACE. HAVE YOU GROWN MUCH SINCE EASTER? TEMPTED TO PAINT THE WHOLE HOUSE PINK IN HONOUR OF YOUR ARRIVAL. LURVE, THE DAD.

Jess felt guilty about this text, too. Her dad was being so lovable and excited about the prospect of her visit – and she would have moved heaven and earth to stay right here at home!

Drained by this unexpected double dose of guilt, she could not face answering either of the texts. Somehow she had to tell Fred that Riverdene was off, and that she had to leave with her mum tomorrow. But she couldn’t tell him by text. It would be too cruel. It would have to be in person.

She whizzed off a text. SEE YOU AT 7 BY THE PARK GATE?

The answer came straight back.

WHAT’S HAPPENING? WHY DIDN’T YOU TEXT ME LAST NIGHT? SEEMS AGES SINCE WE LAST MET. CAN’T REMEMBER WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. JUST REMIND ME — WHO ARE YOU AGAIN?

Jess was suddenly broken-hearted all over again at the thought of the fabulous time she and Fred would have had at the festival. And if twelve hours’ separation was unbearable – what would two or three weeks be like? But there seemed to be no way out.

Still, Fred would understand. And they’d be able to keep in touch. There’d be internet cafes and she would send him a postcard every day. Maybe even whole long letters.

It was nearly lunchtime when the phone rang again. They were all downstairs. Jess was laying the table, her mum was fixing some soup and Granny was reading the murder trial reports.

‘Oh, who on earth’s that?’ said Mum. ‘Someone always rings up when I’m cooking. Keep your eye on this soup, Jess. Don’t let it boil.’ She walked over and picked up the phone. ‘Hello? Madeleine Jordan speaking.’

Jess stirred the soup and turned it down. But right away she noticed there was something odd about her mum’s body language. Something bad.

‘What?’ said Mum. ‘What? I see . . . No, no, I can assure you this is news to me. It explains a lot, though.’ And she turned round and gave Jess a glare that could have grilled bacon.

‘There’s been a murder in Bognor,’ said Granny, irrelevantly. Jess quailed. It seemed as if there might be a murder a lot nearer home, any minute now.

‘No, I’m sorry, but it’s out of the question,’ her mum said, quite snappily, to whoever it was on the phone.

Jess’s mind whirled blindly. She couldn’t imagine who it was. She just knew she was deeply submerged in elephant poo, right up to her chin.

‘I don’t think Jess is nearly old enough, and besides, we’re leaving for a family holiday tomorrow . . . That’s OK . . . Bye!’ Her mum slammed down the phone and turned to confront Jess, her eyes spitting rage.

‘That was Fred’s mother,’ she said, ‘asking if I’d prefer you to take two tents rather than one to Riverdene, and offering her spare one. Very considerate of her, wasn’t it?’