Suzy P and the Trouble with Three (3 page)

“Calling Italy? How much is that going to cost?” Dad asks.

“I won’t be long,” Mum soothes, when we all know full well that once she gets on the phone she won’t be off again for at least an hour. “It’ll be lovely to spend time with Isabella. You’re all to be nice to her. Especially you, Suzy.”

“Hey! Why wouldn’t I be nice?” I ask.

“Just making sure, because she’ll be staying in your room,” Mum says, ignoring my splutters of indignation. “I’m sure you’ll get on brilliantly. Caro and I used to have such fun together…” Her eyes glaze over as she’s transported to some distant time.

“Why does she have to stay in my room?” I ask.

“Because you’re about the same age and you’ll be the best of friends by the time she goes home,” Mum says.

“Do I get any say in this?”

“Nope,” Mum says, getting up to mix the pancake batter. “Now, finish your breakfast. Anybody else want pancakes?”

As Harry and Dad shout that they do, I fold my arms and sit back in a huff.

Fan-flaming-tastic. Now I’m stuck sharing my room with some random for weeks.

It’s my room! My space! My summer!

I don’t even
know
this girl.

Thanks for nothing, Mum.

Later that morning,
I’m sitting with my mates in Millie’s room, listening to The Drifting’s new album. Danny’s spinning around on Millie’s desk chair, Jamie’s flicking Millie’s fairy lights on and off and Murphy, Millie’s ginormous dog, is chewing on a slipper.

Millie’s attempting to see how many jelly babies she can get into her mouth at once, and I’m helping her keep count.

Yeah, we’re bored.

Completely and utterly out-of-our-skulls bored.

It’s crazy, we always look forward to the holidays so much, then they get here and we can’t think of anything to do.

Happens every. Single. Time.

There is no summertime magic, just summertime tragic.

“Anyone fancy getting the bus into town and going to Tastee Burga?” Jamie asks.

“I’m up for that,” Danny says, at the exact moment Millie and I groan.

“No. No more Tastee Burga,” Millie says firmly, through her mouthful of sweets.

“Why not?” Jamie asks.

“Because I’m fed up of that place,” Millie says. “It’s grim. There are loads of other things we could do. We could go to the park and play frisbee, or have a picnic, or take Murphy for a walk…”

“Yeah, if it was anything like a summer out there,” Jamie says, peeing rather effectively on her chirpy bonfire. “But it’s freezing. And raining.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t be,” Millie protests. “It’s summer. Where’s the
sun
?”

From downstairs, there’s a sound of shouting, then a loud crash. Millie freezes.

“What’s that?” Danny asks.

“Nothing,” says Millie. Her good mood has evaporated in a flash and now her face is tense. “It’s probably Sophie.”

“It sounds like your parents,” Jamie says, listening at the door. “Wow. It
is
your parents. And they’re really going for it.”

Millie laughs awkwardly. “God, they’re so embarrassing.
Jamie, stop earwigging, would you?” She turns up the volume on her stereo, drowning out the sounds of the yells from downstairs.

Jamie attempts to speak, but nobody can hear him over the music.

“You what?” Danny bellows.

“Maybe we should go out,” Jamie shouts. “Bojangles for hot chocolate?”

My friends look at each other and shrug their agreement.

“Let’s go,” I say.

Millie turns off the stereo, and all of a sudden it’s quiet. No music. No shouting. No crashes. She smiles with relief.

As we file down the stairs, I can see Millie’s dad out in the garden, hacking angrily at the soggy hedge. I’m kind of surprised to see him – he’s always at work these days. Then, as we pass the kitchen, we see Millie’s mum, Clare, sitting at the table, hands clasped around a mug of tea, staring at the fridge.

“We’re going out, okay?” Millie says.

Clare doesn’t answer. She just keeps staring.

She’s been acting really weird since she lost her job a couple of months ago. They shut down the company she worked for, due to ‘tough economic
times’ or something, and it’s made Clare proper miserable. It’s horrible, because Millie’s house has always been a fantastic place to hang out before. Not only does it look amazing – it’s full of art and sculptures and colourful walls – but Clare used to make us little treats to eat when we went over, or got us movies that she knew we’d want to watch. We haven’t had anything like that for ages.

“Mum?” Millie tries again.

Clare turns and sees us standing in the doorway. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are blotchy but she forces a smile.

“Sorry, lovely, did you say something?”

“We’re going to Bojangles,” Millie says.

“Okay. Have a nice time,” Clare says. “If you want, I’ll give you a lift back. I’m heading to the supermarket in a bit.”

“Whatever,” Millie shrugs.

I look at my friend in surprise. Millie and Clare have always been really close; I’ve never heard her sound so off with her mum before.

As Danny and Jamie walk on ahead up the road, Millie’s unusually quiet. What
is
going on with her?

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, fine,” Millie says. “Why?”

“Dunno. You seem a bit stressed. Like you did the
yesterday. What was all that about, anyway? You left me in the shop stuck in that hideous dress. Don’t think I’ve forgiven you yet, you know.”

Millie flushes guiltily. “I’m so sorry. I still feel terrible about it.”

“Meh, it’s all right,” I say. “I’ve been through worse. I’ll just add it to the ever-growing list of embarrassing things I’ve done to myself. So why’d you have to dash off?”

“No reason.”

I frown. “Are you sure? Sophie sounded pretty upset, and I’ve hardly heard from you since.”

“I’m sure.”

“So there’s nothing bothering you?” I press.

“I guess… um… I guess I’m just worried about Mum and Dad,” Millie says.

“What? Why?”

“They’re rowing a lot, and I dunno…” Millie’s voice trails off.

“That thing this morning? It was just an argument,” I say dismissively. “My parents bicker constantly, you know what they’re like.”

“Yeah, but it’s been happening all the time.”

“Well, they’re probably tense because your mum lost her job. It’ll be better when she gets a new one.”

Millie forces a smile. “I suppose. It’s just…”

“You’re freaked about nothing, I promise,” I say, flinging my arm around her shoulders. “You should try living with my parents. Then you’d have something to stress about.”

Millie slowly breathes out. “Maybe. So, um, how are things in the house of Puttock? What’s the goss?”

“There’s a girl coming to stay with us,” I announce, loud enough that Danny and Jamie turn around.

“A girl?” Millie asks, as we wait at the crossing.

“What sort of girl?” Danny asks.

“And how old are we talking here?” Jamie says.

“Some daughter of an old friend of Mum’s,” I say. “She’s our age, from Italy.”

“An
Italian girl
,” Jamie says. “That means she’s going to be hot.”

“Oi,” Millie says, mock indignantly. “It does not.”

“It does,” Jamie says. “All Italian girls are gorgeous, everyone knows that. Just like Australian girls are sporty, and Swiss girls are excellent skiers and cow-milkers.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s true,” I say, as the green man appears and we start to walk across the road.

“Don’t shatter my illusions,” Jamie says. “It’s true. I know it. So why is this divine creature coming?”

“Her parents are getting divorced,” I say.

Millie makes a strange, strangled noise.

“Sorry,” she says, blushing. “Um, I was thinking that must be hard for her. Coming to a foreign country to stay with a family she doesn’t know that well.”

“It’s not a foreign country because she’s English, she’s just been living in Italy for ages,” I explain. “But Caro – that’s her mum – is moving back because of the divorce. It’s all been getting a bit full-on so she’s sending Isabella back over early to come and stay with us. Says she needs to take some time out to relax or something.”

Everyone bursts out laughing.

“I know, it’s bonkers,” I say. “Dad’s stressy about money, Mum’s obsessed with babies, Amber’s pregnant, and Harry will probably try to saw her in half within an hour of her arriving. Our house is about as relaxing as a war zone.”

“Hey,” Danny protests. “Your family’s not that bad.”

Danny is crazily protective of my family. Everyone can see they’re stark raving loonies except Danny, who thinks they’re merely eccentric. He’s an only child who lives with his dad, so I think he has sibling envy.

Plus, he doesn’t have to flipping live with them.

“You’re seriously deluded,” I say. “Would you want to spend a fortnight with us? Really?”

“Good point,” Danny says. “Two weeks
is
quite a long time.”

“Are we going to get to meet her?” Jamie asks. “Is she going to come and hang out with us?”

“I guess,” I say.

“Then let’s hope she’s nice,” Danny says. “And that she likes hanging out in Bojangles, because I predict it’s where we’ll spend most of our summer. Especially if the weather doesn’t improve.”

“Mmmm, Bojangles hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows,” I say dreamily, reaching my hand out to push open the café door.

Bojangles is one of my favourite places in the world. They serve the best hot chocolate and cake I’ve
ever
tasted. I often go to sleep dreaming of it, that’s how good it is. The only benefit to this cold and rainy summer is that I can keep drinking my favourite bevvy.

“Hi, guys,” says Hannah, Bojangles’ new owner, from behind the counter.

When Bojangles went up for sale recently we were all dead worried, wondering how things were going to be different. It was a huge relief to find out that Hannah’s lovely and she hasn’t changed the place at all.

We nab our favourite table, the one in the window.

Jamie and Danny grab the menus, but I don’t know why because we’re here all the time and know everything they serve. I know exactly what I’m going to have. Hot chocolate
with cream and marshmallows, and a slice of Death by Chocolate cake.

I’m reaching down to get my bag when I remember I’ve not got much money left. Less than a fiver, after the bus ride of shame yesterday and a magazine I had to pay Mum back for.

I open my purse, hoping a twenty pound note will have magically appeared, but nope. There’s only a couple of quid and a handful of coppers. Rats. That’s not even enough for a hot chocolate.

“What can I get you?” Hannah says, appearing at the table with a pen poised over her notebook.

I let everyone else place their orders first.

“Suzy?” Hannah says.

“Um, a glass of water, please,” I mumble.

“Is that all?” Hannah says.

“I thought you’d been dreaming about a hot chocolate?” Danny says. “With cream and marshmallows?”

“Yeah, um, I changed my mind,” I shrug, trying to look all casual.

“Liar,” Danny says. “Did you forget your purse again?”

“Nope, it’s here,” I say, showing him. “I’m, uh, a bit broke.”

“I’ll treat you,” Jamie says. His parents run their own
design business and are never around, the lucky so and so. They buy Jamie’s affection to alleviate their guilt at never seeing him (that’s what he says, anyway) so Jamie’s always loaded. Fortunately, he’s really generous and never minds sharing his cash. “Do you want that hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure?” I ask

“Course,” Jamie says.

“And you can share my cake,” Danny says. “See what sacrifices I’m prepared to make for you?”

“I appreciate it greatly,” I say solemnly. “Thanks, guys.”

My friends are officially the greatest ever. Trufax.

“So what are you lot up to this summer?” Hannah says, when she gets back with our drinks and food. “You going away?”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” I say.

“Nor us,” Millie says.

“We’re going to the States in August, but that’s forever away,” Jamie says, to groans of envy from the rest of us. He is so lucky. He’s going to Florida with his parents, and they’re visiting the theme parks and the Everglades. It sounds
amazing
.

“I’m heading to Cornwall for a bit to stay with Mum,” Danny says.

“Sounds good,” Hannah says, setting down the drinks and sliding the cakes across the table to us. “Enjoy.”

“I can’t believe you guys get to go away and we don’t,” I grumble as I stab a huge chunk of Danny’s chocolate cake with my fork. “It’s so unfair.”

“It’s not our fault you’re stuck here,” Jamie says, sucking half his smoothie in a single gulp. “You guys usually go on holiday, why not this year?”

“Too broke,” I say. “The Puttock Emergency Budget plan is still in effect, ergo no Puttock can spend more than ten pence without Dad’s express permission. And he says there’s no cash for holidays.”

“Why aren’t you going away, Mills?” Danny asks.

Millie shuffles uncomfortably. “Dad couldn’t get the time off.”

“He’s working loads at the moment, isn’t he?” Jamie says.

“He says he needs the extra hours since Mum lost her job.”

“Well, that sucks,” Jamie says. “No holidays for the girls, then.”

“Yeah, and what are we supposed to do while you guys are away?” I say.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something to keep yourselves entertained,” Danny says, popping a piece of chocolate flake into my mouth. “We won’t be gone for long. And we’re not going at the same time, anyway.”

“I still don’t think it’s fair,” I say.

“Ah, but you get the fun of a sexy Italian staying with you,” Jamie says, grinning wolfishly. He dodges out of the way, laughing hard, as Millie aims a thump at his thigh.

“She’s not Italian!” Millie reminds him.

“When’s she coming?” Danny asks.

“Next week sometime,” I say.

We eat. We drink. We chat. Then Danny flips his wrist over to look at his watch. “I need to get back,” he says.

“I have to go too,” Jamie says. “I’m meeting the lads in the park for a kick-about.”

“See you,” Millie and I chorus as the boys clatter out of the café.

“Want to come back to mine and hang out?” I ask Millie.

“Sure,” she says. “I’ll text Mum and tell her to pick me up from there instead.”

Millie produces a pack of jelly babies and starts munching away happily as we walk back. As we approach my house, I stare in confusion at the parking space to the side of it.

Because there’s a massive caravan sitting on it.

And I mean
massive
.

“I didn’t know you had a caravan,” Millie says.

“We don’t,” I say. “I have no idea what that’s doing there.”

When I open the front door, I can hear Harry screaming
with excitement as she runs out of the kitchen to greet us. This in itself is pretty alarming, as Harry is
never
pleased I’m around.

“Did you see it, Suzy?” she whoops.

“The caravan? I could hardly miss it, could I? Did you pull it out of that magic hat of yours or something?”

“Ha ha,” Harry says. “No. It’s ours!”

“What’re you talking about, idiot child? We don’t own a caravan.”

“We do now, and don’t call your sister an idiot,” Mum says, following Harry out from the kitchen. “Hi, Millie, good to see you.”