Suzy P and the Trouble with Three (7 page)

“Are you
ever going to go at more than twenty miles per hour, Dad?” Harry asks, peering at the speedometer.

“Shhh,” Dad says, straining to see out of the windscreen. The rain is lashing down, like someone’s chucking a bucket of water at the car over and over again.

“Harry, don’t be so distracting,” Mum says. “Can’t you see Dad’s concentrating?”

“But it’s going to be dark by the time we get there,” Harry says. “And I’m bored. I’ve been sitting in this car so long the blood’s stopped flowing into my bum.”

For once, Harry is right. This journey is taking forever. Six hours and counting. We were supposed to be there for lunch. It’s now approaching teatime.

Turns out, towing a caravan is not Dad’s forte. After we set off, every time we picked up speed the caravan juddered and shook, making Dad turn all kinds of pale, so he immediately slowed down again. When we got
onto the motorway, things got even worse. He stayed in the slow lane, but lorries kept overtaking us and every time they did, the caravan weaved and wobbled worryingly, shaking the entire car, and causing Dad to curse violently. I had to put my hands over Harry’s ears for a whole minute at one point. Mum had her hands over mine.

Dad’s so shaken we’ve had to stop at every other service station on the way for a cup of tea and a soothing biscuit, and so that Mum can issue words of encouragement to keep him going. Any service station he didn’t feel the need to stop at, Amber did, because she needs to pee all of the flipping time. And now we’re off the motorway, somewhere in mid-Wales, on the tiniest, windiest roads I’ve ever seen, and any minute now I think Dad’s going to start hyperventilating.

As if all that wasn’t bad enough, I suspect we’re lost. Amber’s a terrible map-reader and Dad’s sense of direction abandoned him somewhere off the M5.

Not that he’ll admit it, of course. No way.

“Keep that rat on your side,” I say to Harry as she lifts a box up to examine Hagrid.

Several hours into the journey, we discovered Harry had snuck Hagrid into the car under her jumper, but has no cage or anything for him. The rat’s currently residing
in a Tupperware box with one corner of the lid left open so he can breathe.

“Do you think he’s all right?” Harry says anxiously.

“He’s stuck in a plastic box, what do you think?” Mum says. “Honestly, Harry, I don’t know what you were doing, bringing him along. We told you not to. Mark said he was perfectly happy to look after him.”

“I’d have missed him,” Harry says. “He’s happier when he’s with me. And how am I meant to do magic without my assistant?”

“I don’t know where we’re going to keep him,” Mum says. “He can’t live in that box. We’ll have to go and find a pet shop, I suppose, and get him a new cage.”

“Will you lot be quiet?” says Dad. “Amber, we’re coming up to a crossroads. It seems horribly familiar. Weren’t we here earlier?”

Amber doesn’t answer.

“Amber, which way do I need to go? Amber? AMBER?”

Amber sniffs loudly. “Hmm? I was thinking about Mark…” Tears start gushing down her cheeks again.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Dad pulls over and grabs the map book. Good job these lanes are deserted.

“While we’re stopped, I’m going to go to the loo,” Amber says, inhaling in deep, gulpy breaths. “Look away, everyone, I’m nipping behind that hedge. Pass the brolly, Mum.”

Dad’s still trying to work out which way to go when Clare appears at our window, her mac pulled tightly around her face.

“Everything okay?” she says, swiping away the rain that’s dripping off the end of her nose. “We were here earlier. We seem to have come in a big loop.”

“It’s Amber,” Mum says. “A few minor issues with the map-reading. She’s missing Mark so much she’s finding it hard to concentrate.”

“Well, why don’t you let me go in front?” Clare says. “We’re nearly there. If you give me the postcode, I’ll stick it into the satnav.”

Dad’s shoulders stiffen. “You’ve got satnav? Why didn’t you say?”

“Because you said you knew where you were going and Jen told me you hated satnavs,” Clare says. “Plus, you thought it wouldn’t be that much further. But as that was an hour and a half ago, it might be a good idea if you follow us for this last bit.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Mum at this blatant disregard of Dad’s ability to get us to our destination.

“I know where I’m going,” Dad blusters. “Get back in your car and keep following us.”

“Really?” Clare says.

“Yes!” Dad says.

As soon as Amber’s safely back in the car, still sobbing, Dad pulls away. But when we arrive back at the crossroads for a third time, Dad admits defeat and gestures for Clare to pass. She gives a cheery toot of the horn, Dad snarls, and then we’re on the move again.

Soon Dad’s having to drive faster than he’s comfortable with to keep Clare in sight, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel to navigate through the narrow, windy roads.

“I hate this damn caravan,” he mutters through gritted teeth as a gust of wind buffets us and we all squeal with fear.

“It’ll be worth it when we get there. We’ll have a wonderful time,” Mum says. “I’m sure it can’t be that much further. Look, Clare’s indicating. We’re here!”

We all sit upright, keen to see the place we’re going to be staying. Down some kind of dirt track, and then we’ve arrived at a wooden hut. I can’t see the campsite itself – there’s a gateway shielded by overhanging trees blocking the view, but it must be in there.

A man with long hair and wafty grey beard comes out and Clare waves him over to us. He’s wearing felt trousers, with a patchwork waistcoat over a white shirt, underneath his raincoat.

“Hello there,” he says with a broad smile. “Lovely to meet you. You’re a bit later than you said you’d be. Probably down to the wonderful weather, isn’t it?” He chuckles, but then sees Dad’s stony face. “Ah, not impressed with the rain, I see. Anyway, I’m Devon. You find us okay?”

“Devon?” Harry says. “Like the place?”

“Yeah, no problems,” lies Dad, practically limp with relief that we’ve finally arrived in one piece. He’s obviously not feeling his normal self. He’s let the mention of Devon’s name slide without comment.

“Here’s your map. Park your caravan where you can find a space in the field,” Devon says, handing over a bundle of papers. “There are plenty of fire pits around, all we ask is that you don’t use kindling from the woods. We sell wood – help yourself and put some money in the honesty box,” he continues in his gentle Welsh accent. “We also sell fresh bread, milk and eggs in our shop over there. There’s information on the nearest shops in that pack I’ve given you. Mobile reception is a bit patchy, but you can use the payphone in the shop if you need to. We hire bikes, if that takes your fancy. Just come and talk to me and I’ll get you set up with wheels and helmets. What else do I need to tell you… Oh yes, we have entertainment some nights in the marquee, so keep an
eye on the noticeboard for details of what’s going on. Give me a shout if I can help you with anything. Enjoy your stay!”

Hmm. What was that about mobile reception? That didn’t sound good.

But the entertainment he mentioned, that’ll be the professional musicians. Excellent. Although it’s a bit odd they’re performing in a tent, isn’t it? Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be great. Like those exclusive intimate gigs you never hear happened until afterwards. Oooh, I can’t wait.

“Where’s your internet café?” I ask, leaning forward between the two front seats.

Devon laughs. “We don’t have one.”

Say
what
now?

“People are usually here because they like to get away from it all,” he continues.

Really? Who wants to get away from their email and their internet? Are they mad?

“Thanks very much,” Dad says, as Devon goes over to unhook the piece of rope holding the gate shut. As we follow Clare in, I’m eager to see what the campsite’s going to be like. But all I can see in front of me is a huge field, rimmed with hedges.

It actually is just a field, with a wooden building in the middle. Scattered around the field are tents and caravans, and at one end there’s a big multi-coloured marquee.

“Well, this can’t be the right place,” I say. “It must be the basic level camping. Where’s the bit we’re staying in?”

“This is the campsite,” Mum says. “What were you expecting?”

“Something better than this,” I mutter. “And what’s that?” I point with apprehension to the hut in the middle of the field.

“Looks like the toilet and shower block to me,” Mum says.

You. Are. Freaking. Kidding. Me.

It’s like something from a prison. There’s no way on this earth I’m going in there. And just one block? For the WHOLE campsite?

I’d pay a lot of money to see Isabella’s face right now.

“If that’s the toilet, I’m going in,” Amber says. “Let me out, Dad.”

“Again?” Dad shakes his head. “You only went five minutes ago.”

“You try having two people kicking your bladder and see how you like it,” Amber retorts as she slams the car door. She’s definitely grumpier with all those hormones sloshing about in her system.

Dad parks the car over in one corner.

“Here looks good to me,” he says. “Right, you lot,
macs on and get out. I need to unhook the caravan, then you can all help me move it into position.”

Dad wrestles with the tow bar for about half an hour. Eventually he gets the car and caravan separated.

“Right, let’s have everyone pushing,” Dad says. “Okay, over to the left a bit. On three. One… two… threehhuuuuhhhhhhhh…” With a huge grunt, we all heave at the caravan.

It doesn’t move.

“Hmm,” Dad says. “Let’s try that again…”

I shove as hard as I can, but nothing’s happening. Dad’s turned purple with exertion and Mum’s on the verge of bursting something. Isabella’s pushing half-heartedly with one hand, the other clutching her phone again.

“There’s no mobile reception,” she says.

“What?” Millie and I screech, stopping to grab our phones from our pockets and check the screens. We hold our phones up in the air, waving them around like crazy, twisting and turning, blinking as the rain splashes into our eyes, but there’s nothing. Not a single bar.

No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening! How am going to keep in contact with Danny if I’ve got no reception and no email? This is a disaster!

“Mum, we can’t use our phones,” I say.

“Jen, you have to do something,” Isabella pleads.

Mum laughs. “What do you expect me to do? Magic up a phone mast?”

“I’ll have a go, if you like,” Harry offers.

“Um, I don’t think you understand,” Isabella says. “I need my mobile. I have to contact my friends. And what if there’s an emergency? What if Mum needs to get hold of me?”

Mum shrugs. “Caro knows the name of the campsite. I told her before we left. She can phone and leave a message if she needs us. Don’t worry. You’re on holiday. It’s time to relax. Get away from it all. And that includes mobiles. We never had mobiles when we were growing up and we managed fine.”

Ugh. What’s she like? She has no idea. Of course she didn’t have a mobile when she was growing up, the dinosaurs were still roaming then.

“Anyway, there’s a payphone you can use,” Mum continues.

A payphone? Nobody’s used one of those since the dark ages.

Millie and I exchange stricken glances, while Isabella appears to be about to puke.

“What about you, Clare?” I say in a moment of inspired genius. “What if Martin needs to get hold of you?”

Clare’s expression freezes for a moment. “I’m sure
he won’t. But if he needs to, he can leave a message.”

“You know what, let’s leave the caravan here,” Dad says, giving up on anyone returning to help him. “It doesn’t matter that we’re so close to the hedge.”

“All right,” Mum says. “Oh look, here’s Amber. You’ve been a while. And you’re looking very pale.”

“I’m feeling a bit funny, to be honest,” Amber says.

“What’s wrong?” Mum says, rushing forward.

“I think it’s because I’m missing Mark so much,” Amber says, reaching into her bag for her phone. “I’ll give him a ring.”

“There’s no reception,” Mum tells her.

“What?” Amber shrieks, and then bursts into more hysterical tears. “How am I meant to talk to my husband? I want to go home. Right now!”

Mum pulls a face at Dad over her shoulder as she leads Amber over to the car to sit down. “There’s a payphone, don’t worry,” I hear Mum say soothingly.

As Dad bustles about trying to set things up, Millie and Isabella are still trying to get signals. Millie’s holding her phone in the air while jumping up and down.

“Nothing,” she says eventually, surrendering with a sigh.

“This is like living in the Stone Age or something,” I say. “How do my parents expect us to survive in these circumstances?”

Millie laughs. “It’ll be fine. There are phones. Retro old-school-type ones. Anyone fancy exploring?”

Isabella shakes her head. “I think I’ve seen all I need to.”

“Got him,”
Millie says, breathing heavily as she joins us in the awning. She’s soaking wet, and clutching a downcast Murphy by the collar. He ran off about twenty minutes ago, and has been circling the camping field at speed, barking ecstatically and ignoring all shouts to return.

“You said he’d be kept under control,” Dad says darkly.

“He’ll be good, don’t worry,” Millie replies. “He just got a bit overexcited after being in the car so long and wanted to stretch his legs. It won’t happen again.”

“Does it always rain like this?” Isabella says, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “At home I would be sunbathing by the pool. Does this place even
have
a pool?”

“The weather’s the fun of a British summer,” Mum says. “You never know what you’re going to get. You watch, it’ll be boiling tomorrow.”

“Really?” Isabella says. “And then we can find the pool?”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath on either count,” I mutter.

Isabella frowns in my direction.

“Well, at least the caravan’s in place and we’re all set up now,” Mum says. She’s determined to remain optimistic, despite everyone being cold and wet and cross. “Would anyone like a cuppa?”

A few minutes later there’s a shout from inside the caravan. “Chris, where’s the bag with all the mugs, glasses and plates in?” she asks.

“I put everything you gave me into the caravan,” Dad shouts back. “It should be there somewhere.”

“I’m sure I gave it to you…” we hear Mum say, then the sound of doors and drawers being opened and closed. Eventually she sticks her head out.

“I can’t find the mugs. I think they might have been left behind.”

Everyone groans. A vision of Bojangles’ steaming hot chocolate pops into my head, and my mouth waters. I would kill for one of those right now.

“I can find teabags, milk, coffee and sugar, but nothing to put them in,” Mum continues. “We’ll have to go out and get some cheap crockery in the morning, Chris.”

“You packed half the house and now we don’t even have a spoon to our name?”

“I need a cage for Hagrid, so we have to go out to get that, anyway,” Harry reminds them both.
Hagrid’s been set up in a cardboard box in the corner of the awning. Isabella’s eyes keep flicking in that direction.

“There you are,” Mum says. “We can pick up some new crockery at the same time.”

“And there was me thinking this was supposed to be a bargain holiday,” mutters Dad.

“We can pick up plastic bits and pieces cheaply enough from a supermarket,” Mum says.

“Are we seriously not supposed to drink anything until we buy some mugs?” Dad asks.

“Stop being so difficult,” Mum says. “Of course you can drink. Just not a hot drink. You’ve got a water bottle, haven’t you? Now, let’s get the beds set up. That’ll warm us up if we can’t have tea.”

“Where am I sleeping?” asks Harry.

“Well, Clare’s bought a tent, and there’s room in the awning, so you four can work it out between you. Dad and I are in the caravan with Clare and Amber,” Mum says.

“Goodo,” Dad says.

“And don’t forget Crystal Fairybelle,” Amber adds. “She has to sleep with me, in my bed. She’s my only reminder of Mark now.”

“He’s not dead!” Dad says in exasperation. “Stop talking like he is. We’re only away for a few days, not a lifetime.”

“Sorry,” Amber sniffs. “It’s just, I miss him so much.
It feels like forever since I saw him.”

“Come on now, love,” Mum says. “We’ll have a great time, and the days will fly by. You’ll see him again soon.”

Amber nods bravely.

“We should try to put your tent up before it starts pouring again,” Clare says to Millie.

“Can I sleep in the tent with you, Millie?” Isabella asks quickly.

I stare at her. Um, say what now? Millie’s
my
best friend. Obviously
I’m
going to be sleeping in the tent with her. What’s going on here?

Millie shoots me a glance. “Erm… I kind of thought I’d be with Suze.”

“Oh. Right. Never mind,” Isabella says. “We had such a laugh in the car on the way down here, I hoped…”

I’d wanted to share with Millie by myself, but don’t want to be mean and have Isabella feel pushed out. I can completely understand why she doesn’t want to share with Harry. Who would?

“I’m sure we can all fit,” I say generously. “We could squish the airbeds together.”

“Not with Murphy coming in, too,” Millie says.

Isabella looks horrified. Hah. Now she’s torn. Risk being stuck in the awning with Harry, or in the tent with Millie and sleep in close proximity to her
insane mutt? And Murphy trumps like anything in his sleep. I’ve spent enough sleepovers at Millie’s house to know that canine is seriously toxic.

“I’m very sorry, but I don’t think I can share a tent with Suzy,” Isabella says. “It’s her snoring… I’ll never get any sleep.”

Ouch. That’s harsh.

“That’s okay,” I shrug. “I’ll share with Millie, in the tent out there. You can have the awning, with Harry. You won’t hear my snoring from here.”

Hah. That’s you outsmarted.

Isabella looks around her. “In here? Er, no, I don’t think that’s going to work. I’m really sorry.” She smiles prettily, then forces another sneeze. “But there’s no way I can share with that rat. I’ve got allergies, remember?”

Gnargh! She is
such
a faker! She’s totally using this made-up allergy thing to get her own way.

“Murphy’s in with Millie,” I point out. “Won’t that upset your allergies?”

“Nope,” Isabella says. “Only small mammals. I’m fine with dogs.”

Oh, come
on
. Are people seriously buying this? How can she be allergic to a tiny little rat but not a massive mutt? I’m not convinced she even has an allergy. Seems to me she doesn’t want to sleep in this awning.

“I’m sorry, Suzy, but if Isabella can’t sleep when you’re snoring nearby, and Hagrid’s going to make her ill, she’s going to have to go in the tent with Millie,” Mum says.

“But—” I start.

“Isabella, you go with Millie,” Mum says. “We can revisit the situation in a few days, and change around then if we need to. But right now, let’s get these tents up, and some food on. The sun’s coming out, look.”

Isabella and Millie smile at each other and I get a funny pang rippling through my body. Part of me wants to stamp my feet and shout, ‘But Millie’s
my
friend!’

Why do I have to be stuck in the stupid awning with Harry?

Then I have a brainwave.

“Can’t Hagrid go in the caravan with you?” I say. “Then I can share with Millie, and Isabella can share with Harry.”

“Nooooo!” wails Harry. “Hagrid has to stay with me. He has to.”

“And if you think I’m sleeping in with that damn rat keeping me awake all night you’ve got another think coming,” Dad says. “We’ve already got the dog in there.”

“In that case, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do,” Mum says, apologetically. “Millie and Isabella
are in the tent with Murphy, and Harry and Suzy are in the awning. Here are your airbeds, girls. Chris, where did you put the foot pump?”

“Foot pump?” Dad says. “I haven’t seen the foot pump.”

“You must have done,” Mum said. “It was by the door, next to the bag of crockery…” Her voice trails off.

“Aw, Mum, don’t tell me we forgot that too,” says Harry.

Mum glances at Dad. “I haven’t seen the foot pump,” he says again.

“Clare? I don’t suppose you bought one along, did you?”

“’Fraid not,” Clare says. “I assumed you guys would have one. Sorry.”

“Right. You lot had better get blowing, then,” Dad says.

Inflating the airbeds takes forever, and requires all of us, plus several more lungs than we have access too.

“After all that, I need a beer,” Dad says. “At least we remembered those.” He grabs a can and pops it open, taking a grateful sip.

“Mum, I’m starving,” Harry says.

Actually, now she mentions it, I’m starving too.

“Well, I’d brought pasta for tonight, but that’s going to be a bit tricky without plates,” Mum says. “So sandwiches it is, I guess. Harry, go and ask Devon if he’s got any crockery and cutlery he could let us borrow for the night.”

Harry whines for a bit, but then goes off and returns
a short time later clutching a cup, a plate, a fork, a knife and a spoon.

“That’s all he could spare?” Dad says. “There are eight of us! What are we meant to do, share?”

“He said he’d leant out all his spares and they never come back,” Harry says with a shrug. “This was all he had left. Sorry. Millie, he also said Murphy had to stay on the lead at all times.”

“He will, he will,” Millie says, patting Murphy’s furry head.

If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Murphy was smirking.