Expecting to Fly (13 page)

After the Baths, we walked up to the fashion museum, where we trawled the corridors looking at clothes from different eras. In one section, they had a sample crinoline skirt for people to try on
and, of course, Joe had to have a go, so I took a picture of him in the full skirt and tight corset. He looked hilarious and a group of Italian tourists came through and started laughing and
pointing and taking pictures of him, as if he was part of the exhibition. I couldn’t stop laughing because, instead of being embarrassed, Joe got into it and posed for them. He even put a
bonnet on and let them take a photo of him in that.

‘I’ll publish that on the school website,’ I threatened, after the tourists had moved on.

He shrugged. ‘Go ahead. I don’t care. It will only show that I am in touch with my feminine side.’

I laughed. I thought it was cool that he didn’t care what people thought.

The rest of the afternoon, we did the market stalls lining the main street, then walked to the bridge where there were more shops. Just around the corner from there, we could look down over the
river and Joe took some photos of the water and the view of the bridge from there.

‘There’s only one other bridge in the world that has shops on it like Bath,’ said Joe, after he fired off several shots of the boats waiting to take tourists down the river,
‘and that’s in Florence.’

‘I know, the Ponte Vecchio. I have been there.’

Joe kissed my nose. ‘Miss World Traveller,’ he said.

‘That’s me. But I think I would like to come and live here some time,’ I said. ‘Maybe even study here.’

‘Me too,’ said Joe. ‘The place is always buzzing. It’s cool if you drive out, too. There are some awesome walks. I used to go with my uncle when I was younger.’

We held hands and walked back up the hill to the house where we had a chicken supper with Simon, Charlotte and Cora and when, later that night, I nestled down in my attic room, I decided that I
would put Bath on my list of places to live, maybe even try and persuade Mum and Dad to move there one day.

Our second day, we got up early and, after a breakfast of fresh croissants, we set off straight down the hill to do a boat ride that we had seen advertised the day before. Down
on the river, we boarded the boat and took seats on a bench on the upper deck. It was a bright sunny day, so we both got out our sunglasses and rolled up our sleeves to feel the sun on our skin.
The boat soon filled up, we set off and it was lovely to see a different view of Bath from the water. As we floated along, we soon left the tall houses of the city behind and travelled through
trees, fields and under bridges. Joe and I held hands and everything was exactly how I had hoped it would be, and I thought I would remember it for ever as one of my best romantic times. The boat
ride took about an hour there and back and, by the time we returned, we were starving. On the bridge, we bought fresh orange and carrot juices, then hit the lanes again, where we bought big, sludgy
yummy slices of pizza.
It really doesn’t get any better,
I thought as I watched Joe tuck in with relish. We bought each other an Easter egg, then spent the rest of the afternoon
cruising the shops in the lanes, where I bought ropes of beads to take back for the girls and postcards to send to Mum, Dad and Dylan.

‘What are you going to write?’ asked Joe, when we found a bench in the square where we sat and I got out my pen.

‘Don’t know. Um, the usual,
Weather is lovely, wish you were here?
’

‘Nah. Too boring. Write:
Weather is here, wish you were lovely
.’

‘Brill,’ I said and began to write. ‘Dylan will love that. And oh, it’s your mum’s birthday next week. Have you got her a card?’

‘How do you know that it’s her birthday?’ asked Joe.

‘Last time she was round at Aunt Sarah’s, she told your mum that she was going to buy theatre tickets for her as a treat and, when I asked when the date was, she said just after
Easter.’

Joe stiffened. ‘You don’t have to remind me,’ he said, and he looked slightly annoyed.

‘Oh, sorry. It’s just coming from a family with brothers, they are all so rubbish at remembering birthdays. I always have to remind them.’

Joe stood up. ‘Yeah, well no need to put me into the same category. You don’t have to nag me. I always remember my mum’s birthday.’

I felt hurt. The last thing I wanted to be was a nag. I got up and we began to walk back towards the house and, in the strange silence that had come down on us, my hurt turned to feeling
cross.

‘I was only trying to be helpful,’ I said.

‘About what?’ asked Joe.

‘About your mum’s birthday.’

‘You still on about that? Give me a break.’

His reaction surprised me. ‘I wasn’t
on
about it. I was only . . . oh never mind.’

‘No need to get upset.’

‘I’m not. I . . . oh forget it. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.’ I was beginning to feel tense though. Maybe he was right. I was getting upset. Had I been nagging him? I
felt confused.

Suddenly I got the urge to push Joe in the river. Luckily for him, I managed to surpress it, but I really hate it when someone doesn’t understand where I am coming from. I’d been
trying to be helpful. We walked back up the hill in a frosty silence and I couldn’t help but wonder what the heckity hoolah had happened.

The next day, the dark cloud that had descended over us had lifted and, after another breakfast of hot croissants and Cora’s home-made raspberry jam, we spent the morning
hanging around the house eating our Easter eggs, and looking at the many art books and at Simon’s paintings. They were mainly watercolour landscapes of the area and were really good.

After a lunch of soup and fresh crusty bread, Simon drove us out to the country in his battered old BMW and we went for a long walk.

‘Sorry about yesterday,’ said Joe, after we had escaped the grown-ups and were walking ahead of them along the river in the sunshine.

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘I think we were both tired.’

Joe nodded, took my hand and gave me a quick kiss.

We wandered on but both of us were quieter than usual.
I wonder if he’s having doubts about me now that he’s spent more time with me than usual?
I asked myself.

When we got back to the house, I was hoping that Joe and I would go down into town to explore a little more, there were so many places I still wanted to see, but Joe wanted to watch the football
on telly. It had started to rain and I didn’t want to go off on my own, so I went up to the lovely honey-coloured living room where I fell asleep on the sofa whilst looking at an enormous
book about Picasso. I had my study books upstairs waiting for me, but the ones in the living room looked more interesting. Cora insisted that we stayed in for the evening and sent out for an Indian
takeaway, then we watched a hysterical film called
Withnail and I,
which was about two mad actors and their trip to the country. Simon told me that it was his all-time favourite movie and
that he had watched it about twenty times, and I did enjoy it but, if I had been given the choice, I would have gone out somewhere. It seemed a waste to be in watching a movie that I could see
anytime when there was a whole new place to explore at the bottom of the hill, never mind a chance to spend more time alone with Joe.

Charlotte, Simon and Cora went up to bed around eleven and I thought that Joe and I might have a cosy half-hour snuggled up on the sofa.
Bliss,
I thought. However, after five minutes, Joe
asked if I minded if he put the sports channel on. I said I didn’t mind at all, thinking that we could still snuggle up, but Joe fell asleep. S
o much for us having a romantic sesh,
I
thought, as I watched him as he softly snored, his right arm up over his head, his hair tousled.
Is this what it’s like in a long-term relationship? Some days you just don’t gel, you
have little to say to each other and it feels a bit flat?
The trip hadn’t worked out the way I had imagined and I hadn’t done any studying either. I felt guilty about not doing any
work and slightly peeved that I hadn’t had more special moments like the one on the boat with Joe.
Oh don’t be such a misery,
I told myself as I remembered one of Dad’s
favourite sayings: Blessed is he who has no expectations, for he is not disappointed.

I got out my phone to text Brook, Leela, Zahrah and Erin. I had promised that I would give them regular updates but, apart from a quick message when we had arrived and one from the boat, I
hadn’t been in touch and nor had they, apart from a quickie from Leela saying she was studying and it was raining. I felt the need to talk things over with one of them now and hoped someone
might still be up and might even phone me for a girlie chat.

Anyone up?
I texted.
SOS from Bath.

I sent that off to the four of them, then realised that it might sound like I was in trouble. I quickly wrote another one:

Nthng urgnt. Just need to talk to a mate.

I had just sent it off and was wondering whether to wake Joe and tell him to go to bed, when I heard the doorbell ring. I waited a moment to see if Joe was going to stir or if there was any
movement coming from Simon or Cora’s room. All was quiet. The doorbell rang again, so I got up and went to see who was there.

I put the chain on the door before I opened it, then peeked through the gap.

‘Who’s there?’ I asked.

A boy of about eighteen was standing on the porch. An exceptionally beautiful boy, not just handsome, this boy was in a league of his own, with shoulder-length hair and cheekbones to die
for.

‘I’m Finn,’ he said. ‘Son of —’

’Ohmigod. Cora and Simon,’ I said. ‘I’m, er . . . India Jane, guest. Er, don’t you have a key?’

Finn nodded. ‘Lost them. Drives Ma mad. You going to let me in?’

I realised that I still had the chain on the door so I quickly unhooked it, opened the door and stood aside to let Finn in.

He stepped into the hall, put out his hand for me to shake, looked into my eyes and, as I looked back, I felt a bolt of electricity.

‘
Very
pleased to meet you, India Jane,’ he said as I shook his hand. He didn’t look away and held my gaze a while longer.

Wo-ah, a hubba hubba
, I thought, as I felt my cheeks turn red.

I am the worst person in the world,
I thought, as Finn caught my eye over the breakfast table and, as he had last night, held my gaze that moment too long, that moment
that says, there’s some chemistry going on here.

Cora came in from the studio at the back, saw her son and her face lit up. ‘ Ah, so you’re back.’

‘Last night,’ he said and got up to hug her. ‘Didn’t want to wake you.’

‘Have you met our guest?’ Cora asked.‘Finn, this is India Jane Ruspoli. She’s here with Joe.’

Finn glanced over at me. ‘ Indeed. Lucky Joe.’

‘I . . . o h . . . yes,’ I muttered. ‘We met.’ Why hadn’t he said that we had met last night and spent a good half-hour chatting in the kitchen whilst everyone
slept on the floors above us? He had been charming and made me feel like I was great company; he laughed at all my pathetic attempts at jokes and asked loads of questions about my life as if he
really wanted to know.

Moments later, Simon and Joe came down and greeted Finn before tucking into breakfast. Finn looked across at me at one point and winked, and the croissant I was eating felt like glue in my
mouth. I found the whole situation uncomfortable. I was sure it was written in neon lights on my forehead.
India Jane fancies Finn.
I tried to act casual and normal while he and Joe caught
up, but I was sure that Finn was aware of the effect he was having on me because, for one thing, I blushed every time he caught my eye and, in return, his expression was one of amusement like we
were sharing a good secret.

After breakfast, Charlotte wanted to get going on the journey back so it wasn’t long before we had packed the car and said our goodbyes. Finn came out to see us off with his mum and dad
and, while Joe was putting the last bag in the boot, Finn whispered that he hoped that we would meet up again sometime. I blurted something non-committal about loving Bath and hoping to come down
with my family.