Through The Storm (2 page)

Ross sighed. If
only he could take Chris’s place, but he knew his parents were
still adamant.

The next
miracle came when Ross’s dad arrived home from work. He looked even
more absent minded than normal as he hung his briefcase on the coat
pegs and put his coat on the hall floor.

“Got to
talk to your mother. Go and watch TV or something, will you Ross”.
He invaded the kitchen. Ross could hear his dad rumbling out the
problem in his deep down voice.

“Oh Simon!” Mum
groaned

There was more
deep down rumbling.

“But we can’t
take Ross there”. Ross was thankful for his mum’s clear and
carrying voice. His dad was no good at all when it came to
listening in to secret conversations, but at least he only had to
guess half the conversation. There was a bit more rumbling.

“Well, bang
goes the Isle of Wight”, said Mum, “You’ve no way out. Paris! Even
with you having all those seminars, I would have loved to have
come, but I can’t ask his gran at this late stage. It wouldn’t be
fair on Ross or my mum.”

A slow, hopeful
smile spread across Ross’s face as the penny dropped. His dad had
to go to a conference somewhere his mother had always wanted to go
and his mum could have shared the hotel room, but not Ross as well.
Ross dived for the phone. He was lucky. Carl answered on the fourth
ring, and his mum and dad were still in deep discussion.

“Carl,”
Ross whispered, “I can’t promise to solve all problems but it’s a
maybe. Can you get
LOOKING COOL

your mum to
ring my mum and ask if I can have Chris’s holiday due to the place
having been paid for. It’s important she does it now, straight
away. I haven’t time to explain, but something’s come up that might
swing it. Bye”. Hurriedly, Ross rang off and zipped into the front
room to put on the TV and sprawl in the comfiest armchair trying to
look as relaxed as a jelly fish in Barbados and not let the
exaltation show. Look natural, he commanded himself, even though he
felt like bouncing on the furniture and swinging from the light
fittings. He tried to concentrate on the TV. What was he watching?
Oh some cooking programme. He scrambled for the remote. That would
look suspicious. Yes, car racing, that looked better. Even on this,
he found concentration impossible. His whole mind was centred on
the non-ringing phone.

“Come on phone.
Ring.” He urged it.

The kitchen
confab came to an end and his parents came doubtfully into the room
to see Ross. Frown lines deep enough to lose the Titanic creased
their foreheads and their mouths turned down looking just like the
entrance to a railway tunnel. They exchanged glances, each inviting
the other to do the talking. The phone remained silent. They sat
down opposite Ross and gave him uncertain looks.

“Bad news,”
Ross’s dad announced. “I’m afraid the holiday is off”.

The phone did
nothing.

“Your dad’s
boss has demanded his presence at a conference in Paris for all of
the next week”, his Mum explained.

Ross tried to
look disappointed as he looked from one parent to the other. It was
a struggle. He tried to think of something to say. The phone rang.
Even though he’d expected it to, Ross jumped. He struggled to look
sad but could feel the hope rising inside him and lifting the
corners of his mouth. He pushed them down firmly and looked from
one parent to the other with his best attempt at a serious
look.

“I’ll get it”,
his dad said. There was more suspense as his dad rumbled in the
hall (why couldn’t they have a phone in the living room, Ross
wondered, like normal people). His mum tried to explain about the
conference, and Ross tried to listen to her and make sense of the
rumbles in the hall. Then his dad came in smiling.

“Problem is
solved”, he said. “I’ve found someone to look after Ross, if he’s
willing, which leaves you, my love, free to come to gay Paree, with
me.”

Ross gulped.
Could it have been the wrong phone call? “Grandma?” he asked.

“No, that
Outward Bound place you mentioned. It’s an amazing coincidence,
just as we are trying to work out how to get your mum to Paris
without abandoning you. That was Mrs Rice. She rang to ask if you
would like to take Chris’s place as apparently he has mumps and
can’t go. The Outward Bound Centre said they could not fill the
place at such short notice but she could sell the place on if she
wanted.” He paused and a look of doubt flitted, like a grey cloud
on a blustery day, across his face. “I suppose you are still keen.
I said yes, but really I should have asked you first”.

“Yes PLEASE”,
Ross confirmed. He glanced at his mother, and watched another set
of clouds dashing across her features. Worry, uncertainty, desire,
hope, “He’s too young, Simon,” she said hesitantly, not wanting him
to agree but afraid to change her standpoint from the position
she’d held for the last three months.

“Mrs Rice
assures me the instructors and centre managers are all highly
qualified and police checked”, came the reassuring reply. “She’s
dropping a brochure in tomorrow, and if you like we could have a
look online right now.”

Ross thought it
best not to mention Nick. Being qualified as Jack’s older brother
wasn’t a good thing in some adult’s eyes. His mother still looked
doubtful, but the lure of Paris loaded the seesaw of uncertainty
and she nodded. “We’ll check the website and if there’s no doubts
following that, I’ll agree.”

Ross ran to her
and gave her a hug. “Thanks, Mum”, he said. He turned to his dad.
“Thanks Dad”.

“No worries”,
Dad replied.

Ross
wanted to dance about the room, shaking a triumphant fist and
shouting “YES, YES YES” but he remembered he was trying to convince
his parents he was old enough to act responsibly so he suggested
they go to look at the website instead and then leaped exuberantly
up the stairs to the
computer room. The website was
professional and aimed at showing a safe and secure environment as
well as showing lots of grinning children having a great time. You
couldn’t say it killed any last remaining doubts but they were
certainly tucked away, out of sight on a high shelf, and Ross was
getting the holiday of his dreams.

CHAPTER 3

The family were
packed and ready to go. Mr and Mrs Turner’s suitcases sat
respectably in the hall. Ross’s bulging rucksack bounced on his
back. On receipt of the brochure, there had been a mad late night
shopping spree, dashing from shop to shop to find hiking boots,
sleeping bag and waterproofs for sailing and walking in. Now, Mrs
Turner was fussing about an extra blanket and a first aid kit and
wondering about where to put a pack lunch and thermos flask. Ross,
looking over his mother’s shoulder, gave his Dad an exasperated
silent plea to step in and end the fussing. His Dad gave him an
unhelpful wink and almost laughed as Ross wriggled under his
mother’s fidgets. He was worrying, now, if there would be the
further embarrassment of being kissed goodbye at the mini bus, in
front of everyone. That would be just so uncool.

“It’s OK, Mum.
Look. I can put the sandwiches in my pockets and carry the thermos.
I don’t need the other stuff. See. It says here, in the brochure
“Extra blankets provided” and over here “, he thumbed a couple of
pages, “look “Instructors are qualified first aiders” so they’re
bound to carry their own first aid kits to use on us”.

“Come on, Mum”,
his dad said. “Let’s get rid of him”. The Turners had arranged to
pick up Jack and Dave en route, as the boys all had to meet the
mini bus in Cardiff, and there was a flight to Paris from Cardiff
airport, too. Ross was relieved to find his fellow adventurers also
had bulging rucksacks and carried pack lunches. David even had a
spare blanket, which he tried to hide from Ross’s gaze, not
realising Ross was gazing at it in sympathy, rather than laughing
at his friend. At Cardiff, they joined a line of fifteen other ten
to fourteen year olds.

“You never said
there’d be girls,” hissed David, carefully leaving the blanket in
the car before slamming the door, and standing so that Ross’s
parents couldn’t see what he’d done.

“Maybe they do
the cooking and stuff”, Jack suggested, a bit too loudly, and
received a look of pure cobra venom from the redheaded twelve year
old who’d overheard him. “My big mouth”, said Jack, with a grin and
tried to give the girl a look of apology. She pointedly turned her
back and ignored him.

”
Oh, oh.
Now I’m in trouble. I’m probably going to be ignored for the rest
of the holiday”.
“We’ll wait in the car until the bus
goes”, Mr Turner announced, deciding not to get involved. “Come on
Anna”.

He manoeuvred
her away to avoid the embarrassing kiss scene, Ross had been
dreading. Ross was extremely thankful.

“You’ve got our
number at the hotel. You can ring anytime. Even the middle of the
night…” Anna called over her shoulder as she was dragged
reluctantly away.

THE ADVENTURE
BEGINS

“All aboard”, a
man wearing a “Llyn Fridd Outward Bound” sweatshirt called as he
opened the doors of the two mini buses, and the lines disintegrated
into a mad scramble. The boys, and especially Jack, were relieved
to find the red headed girl, in fact all the girls, had made a
beeline for the other bus.

“Yes! Yes! Here
we go”, Jack chanted. “Not a parent in sight. Wales, here we
come”.

The man slammed
the doors, clambered into the driving seat and picked up a
clipboard.

“Right then,”
he said, twisting himself around so that he could see everyone.
“Welcome to Wales. Let’s see who we’ve got. Call out your name when
I point at you, and not too fast as I’ve got to tick you off this
list, here,” he waved his clipboard, ”and it has a lot of names on
it for me to sort through”.

He stabbed his
pen in the direction of the end of the first row. “Arthur Andrews”
a scrawny boy wearing spectacles responded, shyly, a tick went down
and the pen stabbed. “Dean Nicholson” a blond boy bounced up and
bounced down again with an eager grin, “Patrick McMahon” the next
boy announced with an arrogant tone, anticipating the pen stab. The
man gave him a look of recognition. “Welcome back, Patrick”, he
said, ticked off his name and looked at David. “David Rouse” David
replied, and so the list continued until everyone on board was
ticked off. The man counted heads and checked he had the right
number of ticks.

“OK, back in a
sec”, he said and bounced out of the bus to check with the other
driver. The boys glanced shyly at each other, not yet ready to make
friends. Only Patrick sat slumped and relaxed. Everyone else on
board was strung as tight as a guitar string.

The man
returned and dropped the clipboard next to his seat. “OK. Perfect.
Everyone’s here that is supposed to be and no one is here that
shouldn’t be. Hurrah for that. My name is Owen Jones. Any problems,
any time, come and see me. We’ll be stopping half way for lunch so
don’t start eating yet. I’m a crazy driver so you’d only miss your
mouths if you try and you don’t want to spend your holiday cleaning
mouldy breadcrumbs out of the bus. When we get to the Centre, we
need to show you around first and let you know the routine so DON’T
go rushing off on your own. Even if you have been her before”. He
glanced at the arrogant boy as he said this. Patrick was gazing out
of the window. “Got that Patrick?”

“Sure”, Patrick
said, without turning around.

Owen wasn’t
worried. He gave them all another grin and swung forwards. The
engine roared and they were off.

“Sing song,
anyone?” Owen yelled over the engine noise and without waiting for
an answer, launched into song. Brilliant. He knew all the chart
songs and never once touched on “Ten Green Bottles” or all the
other trendy holiday songs. Only Patrick curled his lip and didn’t
join in, but then, that was up to him, and even he smiled at the
breaking high notes as Owen tried to emulate the top female
artists. The others were rolling in their seats, and tears of
laughter ran down Dean’s face as he bounced in his seat.