The Longest Holiday (40 page)

‘Hi.’ My face heats up so I look at Dyson. ‘I thought he was going to fall off the cliff.’

‘It’s a steep slope all the way down. There’s a fence at the bottom.’

‘Aah, okay. Dyson is a funny name for a dog.’ Said dog is now sprawled out in a coma-like position next to him.

‘I named him after the vacuum cleaner.’ Joe reaches across and pats him. Dyson’s tail pounds the grass as it wags.

‘What do you mean?’

‘He snaffles up rubbish on the pavement like it’s steak.’

‘Yuck!’ I pull a face and laugh.

‘He’s one gross dog,’ he says affectionately. ‘So you’re here for six weeks?’

‘Yeah.’ I focus on his chunky black boots. I feel tongue-tied. Come on, Alice, talk or he’ll walk! ‘My mum’s a painter,’ I explain quickly.

‘Oh, right. That’s cool.’

‘Was that your dad working at the pub?’

He rolls his eyes and pulls up a handful of grass. ‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t you get on?’

He looks across at me. His eyes are so dark. ‘Not particularly,’ he replies.

And then there’s that feeling again, that magnet, pulling me in. For pity’s sake, I said I was psychic, but at this rate psycho would be more apt.

‘Have you lived here for long?’ I ask, trying not to act like a crazy person.

‘Only since May.’ He breaks eye contact and I feel an immediate sense of relief. He rests back on his elbows.

‘Where were you before?’

‘Somerset, then Cornwall. We’ve lived in Dorset before, though. We used to have a pub in Lyme Regis.’

‘Wow. You move around a lot.’

‘Not by choice,’ he admits, turning the tables before I can press him further. ‘Where do you live?’

‘London.’

‘Which part?’

‘North London. East Finchley. Do you know it?’

‘No. I don’t know London very well. But I’m going to move there soon.’

‘Really?’ My heart leaps and then crashes when I remember I’m off to Cambridge in September. I tell him this.

‘Are you? Why?’

‘I’m going to university.’ His eyes widen. ‘The former polytechnic,’ I hurriedly explain. ‘I’m not smart enough for the actual university.’

‘I’m not smart enough for any university,’ he replies.

‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ I feel compelled to say.

‘It is.’ He shrugs and stares ahead. ‘But I’m getting out of here, anyway.’ He stands up. ‘I’ve gotta get back. Tomorrow night is Quiz Night,’ he says with derision. ‘And I’ve got to write the questions. Which way are you going?’

‘Back up there.’ I scramble to my feet and point to the gorse walkway.

‘I’ll walk you.’ Re-sult! ‘You know, seeing as you’re desperate for company, and all that,’ he adds. I blush, but he elbows me jokily.

‘Bugger off,’ I reply and his corresponding laugh fills me with warmth.

He has a grey hoodie tied around his waist and his bare arms are tanned from the rare heatwave we’ve been enjoying this summer. I unzip my waterproof to let some air in – the exercise has warmed me up, too. We walk side by side as we navigate the rocky path.

I return to our conversation. ‘This place is so beautiful. Why would you want to leave?’

‘Yeah, it’s pretty nice, but … I don’t know. Im leaving as soon as I get a car, I’m out of here.’

‘Are you taking Dyson with you?’

‘Of course.’ He frowns. ‘I wouldn’t leave him with my parents. ’

‘Why do you work for them?’ I ask, seeing as they clearly don’t get on.

‘I can’t afford to move out yet, but working pays my rent.’

‘They make you pay rent?’

‘Well, I am eighteen. Just.’ He snorts. ‘Not that they didn’t have me working behind a bar for a few years before that …’

‘Isn’t that illegal?’

‘Yep,’ he replies bluntly.

I can’t imagine my parents ever charging me to live at home with them, or putting me to work behind a bar when I was just a kid. Maybe I’m naive.

Dyson runs ahead and we soon catch up to see him trying to drag an impossibly large stick out from underneath a tree. He drops it and growls at it before barking at Joe and wagging his tail.

‘You daft dog,’ Joe says, shaking his head. ‘You can’t play fetch with that.’ Dyson barks again. ‘Find a smaller one. Go on!’

Nope. Dyson wants that one.

‘I’m not throwing it,’ Joe says adamantly, and there’s something endearing about the way he speaks to his dog.

Woof!

‘No.’

Woof, woof, woof!

‘Bloody hell,’ Joe mutters, grabbing one end of the stick while stamping hard on it somewhere in the middle. With a crack, the wood snaps in half. I watch, smiling, as he throws it a hefty distance into the field and a deliriously delighted Dyson bounds after it.

‘You softy,’ I say.

‘Too soft.’ He glances sideways at me.

‘How long have you had him?’ I ask.

‘About two years. I found him roaming the beach when we lived in Cornwall. He followed me home and I made the mistake of feeding him. He wouldn’t leave me alone after that.’

‘I wonder who he belonged to.’

Dyson returns with the stick so Joe throws it again. ‘Who knows? He didn’t have a collar. He was really scrawny, so either he was treated badly or he’d been homeless for a while. My dad nearly kicked off when he found out I was giving him leftovers from the pub kitchen.’

‘Why should he care? Waste not, want not, right?’

‘He can’t stand dogs.’

‘Why did he let you keep him, then?’

‘He was pretty distracted at the time.’

‘What with?’

‘You’re going to know my whole life story at this rate.’ He grins at me and changes the subject. ‘Alright, then, Brainiac, help me come up with some questions for this stupid quiz.’

By the time we reach the cottage, I’ve found out that Joe has the same taste as me in music, TV and film, so it’s been an amusing walk back trying to outdo each other with our knowledge of indie rock, British comedy classics and sci-fi flicks.

‘I’m going to have to come to this quiz now, just so I can win,’ I say.

He laughs and leans back against the cream-painted wooden gate. My nerves swiftly return. ‘I haven’t finished with the questions yet. I might put in something about Big Brother, just to trick you.’

‘That would mean watching it. Are you sure you’ve got the stomach for that sort of research?’ I ask drily.

‘Actually, no.’ He stares at me and the butterflies go berserk. ‘So you’re coming, then? To the pub tomorrow night?’

‘Is that okay?’

He smiles. ‘Definitely.’

I smile back at him. ‘Cool.’

‘Right, then. See you tomorrow.’

‘See you tomorrow.’

We stand awkwardly for a brief moment until he realises he’s blocking my way. He leaps away from the gate and then recovers by reaching over and undoing the latch.

‘Thanks.’ I’m still beaming as I pass. ‘See you tomorrow,’ I say again as he closes the gate after me.

‘See ya.’ He turns away and clicks his fingers at Dyson. ‘Come on, boy.’

I stand and watch them until they’re out of sight.

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Bridget

Leo