Suzy P and the Trouble with Three (4 page)

“Mum, have you been shopping again? That must’ve cost a fortune. Dad’s going to kill you.”

“I didn’t buy it. I won it. Can you believe it?”

“You won a
caravan
?”

Mum nods happily. “They delivered it about ten minutes ago. Apparently they rang about it during the week, but I didn’t get the message.”

“It’s not my fault I forgot to tell you,” Harry says. “And all they said was they were dropping something off. I didn’t know it’d be a caravan, did I?”

“The fact they were calling from Caravans4U might have been enough of a clue for most people, but never mind,” Mum says.

“What are we going to do with a caravan?” I ask.

“We’re going to go on a wonderful holiday,” Mum says, beaming. “Camping is great fun. I used to go all the time with my parents when I was younger.”

Am I actually going to be forced to stay in that thing, for days at a time, mere centimetres away from my parents and sisters?

Oh dear Lord. What a horrifying thought.

Outside I hear several cross expletives before Dad charges through the front door.

“Who’s left that bloody caravan on the drive?” he fumes. “Can you believe the nerve of some people? A chuffing caravan, of all things. Do you know which of the neighbours it was, Jen?”

“It’s ours,” Mum says.

“Ours?” Dad says, freezing on the spot. “What are you talking about, ours?”

“I won it!” Mum tells him proudly.

“You won it?” Dad says.

“Yes, from one of my magazines,” Mum says.

“So that thing actually belongs to us and we have to keep it?”

“Yes!” Mum says.

“Oh God,” Dad groans, rolling his eyes upwards. “What do we want with a caravan, for heaven’s sake? Can you send
it back? No, wait. I suppose we could always sell it. The money would come in handy.” His face brightens. “I’ll go and see what kind of price those things go for on eBay.”

“Dad, no,” Harry says. “I want to keep it.”

“I’m not selling it, Chris,” Mum says. “Not until we’ve used it at least once, anyway. Just to try it, and see if we like it. It’ll be a cheap holiday. You’re the one who’s always banging on about us saving money, saying that we can’t afford to go anywhere. Well, now we can. And soon.”

Dad wanders off, muttering darkly.

“Knock, knock,” calls Clare. She walks over to Mum and kisses her cheek. Sometimes it blows my mind that they’re such good friends. They’re so different.

Clare isn’t exactly what you’d call a traditional mother. She’s really cool, with cropped-short hair and wears super fash clothes. Each of her ears is pierced a billion times and she accessorises with large funky jewellery and these gorgeous floaty scarves. It’s easy to see where Millie’s love of colour and fashion come from. She’s also got loads of amazing stories about ghosts she’s seen
and
reads tarot cards.

I regularly have serious mum-envy.

Clare’s usually round and smiley, but looking at her now, she’s slimmer than normal. She must be on
a diet. And she looks kind of tired, with these bags under her eyes I’ve not noticed before.

“It’s been too long,” Mum says, releasing her from the embrace.

“Ah, you know what it’s like,” Clare says, shaking her head. “I’ve been job hunting, which is a full-time job in itself.”

Mum makes a sympathetic face. “How’s it going?”

“Don’t ask. The market’s completely dead. Sorry I’m early, Millie, but we need to pick up Sophie from her friend’s house.”

Millie ignores her.

“How’s Martin?” Mum asks. “We should meet up soon.”

“He’s always at work,” Clare says, shrugging dismissively. “Anyway, what’s new with you? I see you’re getting all geared up for a holiday.” She nods out of the window. “I didn’t know you were caravanners.”

“We’re not,” Mum says. “Well, not yet.” She goes into the speech about how she won the caravan, holidays to remember, yada yada.

“You’re so lucky,” Clare says. “I’d kill for any kind of break at the moment, even one on a campsite.”

“Well, why don’t you come with us?” Mum says. “The caravan’s a six berth, we’ve got plenty of room. We’d need to put the girls in a tent, but that wouldn’t be a problem.
We’re not sure when we’re going yet – we need to find a campsite – but the offer’s there if you want it.”

Maybe my sanity can be saved if Millie comes along too. I look over at her, wide-eyed with hope.

“Well, Sophie’s going away to summer school for a month, so she wouldn’t be coming. And there’s no way Martin would take time off,” Clare says. “But we could go. What do you think, Millie?”

Millie and I exchange an excited glance.

“I’ll chat to Martin, but in principle, yes, that sounds great, thanks,” Clare continues. “Right Millie, we need to get going, I want to grab some petrol before we pick up Sophie. I’ll ring you later, Jen, to talk through the details.”

“Fantastic,” says Mum. “We’ll have a lovely time. I’m sure Isabella will enjoy it, too. Give her a taste of a traditional British holiday.”

Oh yeah. Isabella. I’d forgotten all about her.

“Isabella?” says Clare.

“I’ll tell you on the way,” Millie says.

As Clare and Millie leave, with Millie promising to call me later to discuss holiday outfits, Dad wanders back, flicking the kettle on.

“Clare’s joining us on holiday,” Mum calls from the hall.

Dad’s face brightens. “Brilliant. That means Martin is coming, right? He’ll balance up the male to female ratio somewhat.”

“I don’t think so,” Mum says. “As far as I know, it’ll only be Millie and Clare. I don’t know about Mark. I’ll ask him and Amber when they get back.”

Dad swallows as he does the quick calculations in his head. “So I’m going to be on holiday with seven women?” he says weakly. “Seven women and Mark?”

“Absolutely,” Mum says. “You’ll have a wonderful time.”

“Can’t I stay at home?” Dad asks. There’s excitement in his eyes as he ponders the prospect of time to himself, with nobody bothering him.

“No chance,” Mum says firmly. “We need someone to tow the caravan.”

It’s not long
until our fate is sealed.

Much internet research and several phone calls later, Mum has booked us into a place called Bluebell Campsite, in west Wales.

I’m not even getting to go in the stupid caravan but will be sleeping under canvas, because Dad said seeing as how he’s sharing with Mum, Amber, Mark and Clare – not forgetting Crystal Fairybelle – there was no room for anyone else. Millie’s bringing a tent, so we’ll share that, and Harry and Isabella can have the awning.

With the climate getting colder and soggier by the day, we’re going to freeze to death.

But at least Millie’s coming. Silver lining and all that.

“They have professional musicians,” reports Harry, returning from her online nosy into where we’re going to be staying.

Hmm. Well, I suppose that doesn’t sound
too
bad.
I mean, if professional musicians go there, it must be pretty cool, right? Maybe The Drifting will turn up to do an impromptu gig or something.

Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s a long shot. But I’m still hopeful.

“Right, we’re off to get Isabella from the train station,” Mum says.

“Do I have to come?” asks Dad. “I don’t need to be there. I’m sure she’d much rather meet you by herself. And the darts is on…” He stares longingly in the direction of the lounge, and the TV.

“You’re coming,” Mum says. “Anybody else joining us?”

“I’m going for a lie down,” Amber says. “I’m not feeling too great.”

“Do you need anything?” Mum says. “We can take you back to the hospital if you think something’s wrong.”

“They said everything was fine when they saw her yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that, too,” Dad says.

“I know, but she needs to be careful,” Mum says. “It’s no trouble to run you back in if you want to be checked over,” she tells Amber.

“I’ll look after her, don’t worry,” Mark says, putting a reassuring hand on Amber’s back. “She’s tired, that’s all. The babies were dancing a jig in there all night.”

“Go and have a lie down then, it’s important you rest,”
Mum says. “Suzy and Harry, you’re staying here. Suzy, I want your packing started and your room spotless by the time we get back, with the camp bed made up. Harry, your packing needs doing too.”

“My room’s tiny,” I complain. “There’ll be no room with a camp bed in there.”

“It’s not for long,” Mum says. “And there’d be a darn sight more room if you’d tidy it properly. And I mean
properly
. Not shoving everything into the wardrobe and forcing the doors shut. As for your packing, there’s a suitcase on our bed you can take.”

“And you’re only taking one case,” Dad says. “I know what you lot are like – clothes for every occasion with a few spares in case. We haven’t got room to take everything everyone’s ever worn. Are you listening, Suzy?”

“Uh huh,” I say, not really listening.

Mum checks the time. “Right, we need to go. Isabella’s train is getting in soon.”

As Mum hustles Dad out of the door, I huff back up the stairs. Stacked outside is the bedding for Isabella and the camp bed, ready to go into my room next to the desk. Talk about a squash. Isabella won’t have any space down there. It feels really weird, thinking about sleeping so close to a complete stranger. I know I’ve met her before, but it was about a hundred years ago.

My room really is a pigsty. I’ve got tons of clothes lying everywhere – some waiting to be washed, some waiting to be packed – plus there are bowls, mugs, a pile of sweet wrappers from the last time Millie was here and about six half-finished books littering every available surface.

My phone goes with a text from Millie.

I tap back:

I lie on my bed to flick through a magazine for a bit, then decide I may as well get on with the tidying. Mum will only go nuts if I don’t, and who needs the hassle? I chuck all my dirty clothes into the corner of the room, before grabbing the suitcase from Mum and Dad’s room, and dumping it onto the bed.

We’re going for ten days. So how many pairs of jeans should I take? Probably best to take them all. And a few pairs of shorts, on the off chance the sun comes out at any point. My leggings – black, navy, brown, grey and charcoal. And then tops, and jumpers because it’s guaranteed to be cold, so my snuggly hoody, even if not the most fash, is definitely going in.

Plus I also need my hair-taming equipment (practically
a suitcase’s worth by itself) and make-up and jewellery… Okay, there is no way everything is going to fit into this ridiculously small case.

I swap it for the larger one and carry on packing. It’s still one case, so Dad can’t complain. Swimming costumes, books, a couple of bags, oh and shoes, mustn’t forget shoes – trainers, trusty Converse, boots, pumps, a couple of pairs of sandals and flip-flops… That’s the trouble with this stupid British summer, you never know what the weather’s going to be like. You have to take clothes for every eventuality – rain, shine or hurricane.

Finally I’m done. And actually, it’s
a lot
tidier in here, probably because ninety per cent of everything I own has been crammed into the case, but never mind. So now I’ll chuck my dirty clothes into the washing basket and I’ll be done.

Oh dear God.

There is a massive, creepy moth nestled on top of my dirty clothes, giving me the stink eye.

My breathing gets quick and my chest tightens.

I could squish it with a magazine, but it’s resting on a top I don’t want covered in moth guts. What if I grab the clothes and shake them out of the window? Then the moth will fly off on its merry way and I won’t have to go that near to it.

I just need it out of my room. Now.

It’s more scared of you than you are of it
, I repeat in my head, not that it helps. As I open the window and see our car pulling up, I realise I need to act fast. I was under strict orders that everything had to be in place before Isabella got back, and the bed still isn’t in the room or made up. My eyes flick onto Isabella for a moment, and see that, wow, she’s
seriously
pretty.

Actually, no.

She’s
stunning
.

Long, dark hair and a gorgeous outfit. But I don’t have time to take much in before my attention returns to the problem at hand.

The moth.

I gingerly seize the pile of clothes.

Don’t want to get too close… Now, don’t start moving, moth. Stay there, nice and still… Oh God, it’s flapping!

I shriek and drop the bundle in alarm. The moth flutters back down again. Luckily it’s still on the clothes, but now it’s hugging my bra and stinky socks. With any luck, it’ll die from the toxic fumes.

Nervously, I gather the clothes again and make my way to the window, where I lean out and start to shake them.

Mothy doesn’t budge.

I shake harder.

And harder.

Will you just
get off…

Mum, Dad and Isabella are coming now, walking up the path.

“Suzy?” Mum says, glancing up in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

I give another violent shake, but it’s too hard and the bundle of clothes falls out of my grasp. The moth flies away, the clothes fall through the air, and my bra lands on Isabella’s dark head.

She seems seriously unimpressed as my B-cups flap round her cheeks in the breeze.

Way to make a first impression, Suze.

“Um, hi,” I say, waving weakly. “Sorry about that.”

Isabella mutters something darkly in what I suspect is Italian as she plucks at the bra disdainfully, holding it between her thumb and forefinger while stepping over the dirty socks and pants littering the path.

“You’ll have to excuse my daughter,” Mum says, grabbing the bra and shoving it into her handbag. “That’s Suzy. You’ll be sharing her room.”

“Really?” Isabella says, sounding deeply unenthusiastic. She stares up at where I’m still hanging out of the window. “I can’t wait.”

Once Isabella’s inside, I quickly start to realise she’s one of
those
girls.

A Mulberry girl.

She has that frosty, groomed, detached look about her. She’s not the geeky girl from the photo any more. Her hair falls in a lustrous curtain down her back. She’s got huge blue eyes, with amazing olive-y coloured skin. She’s wearing a dress (a
dress
! As casual wear!) with these gorgeous grey pumps and her luggage has got the Louis Vuitton logo all over it. That can’t be genuine… can it? No wonder she was a bit narky at having my cheap and cheerful H&M bra dangling around her chops.

Wow. Do I ever feel inferior now. God knows what she must think of me in my hoody, baggy jeans and
scragged-back
hair.

How did Mum ever think this was going to work, me and this girl sharing such close quarters? She’s coming away on holiday with us and everything.

I suspect Isabella’s having the same thoughts.

She’s clutching her bag to her chest, staring around warily. Mum mentioned their house being a villa on a lake or something. This place must be a bit of a let-down. It kind of needs redecorating, and some of the carpets are really threadbare, although Mum’s tried to cover them up with colourful rugs.

“Make yourself at home, Isabella,” Mum says, going to put the kettle on. Dad disappears off into the lounge and soon the sound of the sports channel echoes through the house.

I guess I should say something to her. Try to make friends. Make amends for the bra.

“Did you have a good journey?” I ask.

“I guess,” Isabella shrugs.

“Cool. And, um, did you mind travelling by yourself? You weren’t worried you’d get lost or anything?”

The thought of travelling all the way to Italy by myself is pretty scary.

Isabella shoots me this look like I’m a complete imbecile. “Nope. I’ve been travelling alone since I was ten.”

“Here’s a cuppa for you,” Mum says, pressing a mug into Isabella’s hands. “I’ll shout the other girls. Amber! Harry! Come and meet Isabella, please.”

Harry comes clattering into the kitchen.

“Hi,” she says. “I’m Harry.”

“Hi,” Isabella replies.

“Want to see a magic trick?” Harry asks.

“Er, okay,” Isabella replies.

“This is my assistant, who’ll be helping,” says Harry, holding up Hagrid, her pet rat, in her cupped hands.
Hagrid’s pink nose twitches eagerly in Isabella’s direction.

Isabella squeals and backs away. “Keep that thing away from me. I’m allergic.”

“You’re allergic to rats?” I ask.

“Yes,” Isabella says. And then she sneezes.

It sounds awfully fake to me.

“Isabella, I had no idea, I’m sorry. Harry, put Hagrid back in his cage, please,” Mum says.

“But I want to show Isabella my trick…” Harry says.

“Go. Now,” Mum says.

Harry sulks away as Amber lumbers in, clutching Crystal Fairybelle.

“Oh, what a gorgeous dog,” Isabella says, rushing to stroke the Chihuahua.

“So you’re allergic to rats but not dogs? How does that work?” I ask.

“Different kind of fur,” Isabella tells me, still fussing over the dog. “She’s the cutest. Can I hold her?”

“Sure. Although he’s actually a boy.” As Amber passes Crystal to Isabella, and they get involved in a long conversation about how he was bought by Mark as a wedding present for Amber, Mum sidles over.

“Is your bedroom tidied?” she whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“And you’ve put up the bed?”

“I was about to do it when you came back.”

“Oh, honestly,” Mum sighs in exasperation. “Isabella, do you want to follow me and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping? We just need to get your bed sorted.”

Mum leads us up the stairs, and Isabella stands in the doorway of my bedroom.

“This is a very small room,” Isabella says. “There’s hardly any space. Isn’t there anywhere else I could go?”

“I’m afraid not,” Mum says.

“Your house is tiny,” Isabella says, matter-of-factly.

Mum’s slightly taken aback, but quickly recovers. “I suppose it’s a lot smaller than what you’re used to. But we’re going on holiday in a couple of days so don’t worry, you’ll only be staying here for a night or two.”

Isabella brightens. “A holiday?”

“Yes,” Mum says. “I won a caravan, so we’re going to a campsite in Wales.”

Now Isabella looks confused. “In a caravan?”

“Yes,” Mum says. “That one out on the drive.” She points out of my window.

“We’re staying in
that
? On a
campsite
?” Isabella asks, the colour draining from her face.

It’s hard not to laugh at her expression of pure horror.

She’s clearly as delighted about the prospect as me. Maybe we’ve got more in common than I thought.

“Oh no. You’re not staying in the caravan,” Mum says and Isabella breathes with relief. “You’re going to be in the awning,” Mum continues, and Isabella freezes.

“Mum didn’t say anything about camping,” Isabella says carefully. “I think there must be some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe I can go and stay in a hotel or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” Mum says. “You’re coming with us and that’s that. We can’t pack you off to a hotel by yourself, Caro would kill me! We’d love to have you join us.”

Isabella glances at me, and I shake my head slightly, rolling my eyes. For a moment, I think I see the start of a smile twitching around her lips.

“Now, let me get your bed set up,” Mum says, hauling the camp bed in. She disappears off down the corridor and appears a moment later with a brand new bedding set that she shakes out of its packaging.

“Is that for Isabella?” I ask.

“Yes, and I’m not supposed to be spending any money, so don’t tell your father,” Mum hisses, shooting me a look that says ‘don’t discuss this in front of the guest’.

“How come she gets a new duvet cover and I don’t?” I ask. “I’ve been asking for one for ages. Mine has massive holes in since Hagrid ate it.”

“You can have this one after Isabella’s gone home,”
Mum says. “Now help me put it on, would you?”