Boy Meets Hamster Page 5

  It didn’t, really. But when she mentioned it, I realized that it hadn’t been feeling quite right for a while. Not since it had violently introduced itself to the hand drier in the loos. I covered it with the palm of my hand, then yelped, unprepared for the burst of pain that spiked up into my skull.

  ‘It was getting redder and redder the whole time we were walking back. I didn’t want to say anything, you know, after you saw Jayden-Lee . . .’

  After Jayden-Lee saw me. I sat down heavily on the floor, head (carefully) cradled in my hands. Kayla crouched beside me. ‘It’s not that bad, really. Want to see?’

  I puffed out an anxious breath between my knees. ‘Maybe. But if you’re lying, then you’ve got to help me dig the hole in the ground I’m going to bury myself in.’

  ‘Deal.’

  She returned a couple of minutes later with a mirror. I took it, cautiously, then nearly flattened her with a panicked wave of my arms. ‘IT’S HUGE.’

  ‘It’s a magnifying mirror,’ Kayla said, patiently. ‘Look in the other side.’

  It was still horrible. There was a purple ridge across the bridge of my nose, which must have been the impact point. Everything below that was a swollen, throbbing red. It looked like the middle of my face had been swallowed up by the world’s biggest boil.

  ‘He wasn’t impressed by my kick,’ I said slowly, as the truth finally hit me. ‘He was impressed by the actual volcanic eruption on my face.’

  ‘It’s not—’

  ‘Look at me,’ I snapped, not wanting to be reassured when I knew it was a lie. ‘Better take a few steps back before molten lava starts pouring out of my nose.’

  Kayla clicked her tongue and stole the mirror back so I couldn’t keep staring at my hideous disfigurement. I was just wondering how realistic it would be to pretend I was my own ugly twin when she held a hand out. ‘Come on, we’ll cover it up.’

  Along with every Deathsplash Nightmares lyric, and about a dozen reasons why homework should be classified as child labour, make-up was one of the things Kayla knew best. She tidied the small herd of sliced cattle Mum had left us into the fridge, restocked Jude’s biscuit supply, then shepherded me into the bedroom carrying a make-up bag the size of Mars.

  Kayla’s bag went everywhere with her. Sometimes I thought she had a closer relationship with the things she smeared on her face than she did with me. She rummaged inside it for a minute, then pulled out a tube so big it looked like you could hammer nails in with it.

  ‘Coverclear Concealer,’ she announced, holding the thing out like it was the top prize in a game show. ‘This is what’s going to make you beautiful again. Now, hold still.’

  I held still. The next few minutes were dark and unsettling, as she spread what felt like thick cake batter across my face. I had a feeling that if I peeked, I’d find her using a trowel.

  She got it from the internet, the concealer stuff. I knew because I still remembered the day she’d turned up in class looking totally different. No lipstick, no mascara. She just looked really . . . skin-coloured.

  Because, before that, she didn’t. Kayla’s got this birthmark, kind of an unusual one called a port wine stain. It looks a bit like someone’s splashed a big glass of it all over her. The whole of one side of her face is covered in splotches of red.

  Obviously, when she started school, none of the other kids knew what a port wine stain was. So they called her Ketchup Face.

  Kayla was shorter, and a few dress sizes bigger than most of the other girls, but she seemed to brush off any dumb comments made about that. It was Ketchup Face that stuck. So, as soon as she found a way to cover her birthmark up, she did. I just had no idea it took this much work.

  ‘Are you nearly done yet?’ I growled through gritted teeth, trying not to let the muscles in my face twitch and mess everything up. ‘I think I feel it starting to set. You know, like concrete?’

  ‘Nearly done,’ Kayla replied. ‘Just putting on the blusher and eye shadow.’

  ‘WHAT?’ Every muscle in my face twitched as I opened my eyes and tried to push her away, but she was already doubling over with laughter.

  ‘Your face! As if I’d do that to you. Well –’ she quirked one eyebrow – ‘not unless you think Jayden-Lee would like it?’

  I scowled, lightly shoving her away. ‘Have I ever told you how unfunny you are?’

  ‘All the time. That’s how I know when I’ve achieved genius. And speaking of genius, take a look.’

  She held up the mirror. I peered into it, prepared for the worst. But I looked . . . normal. A bit suspicious and squinty-eyed, and my nose was still a few centimetres bigger than usual, but mostly I looked normal. Skin-coloured. I looked up at Kayla, gratefully. ‘I could so give you a Hamster Hug right now.’

  ‘No thanks – I saw what happened during the last one.’ She started putting her magic kit away again. ‘Anyway, unless you get it wet, that stuff’s set like . . . well, yeah. Like concrete. You never did tell me how you messed your nose up, by the way.’

  ‘I had an accident with my jeans.’

  Her eyes widened.

  ‘Not that kind of accident.’

  There was no way I was telling her all the details of how I’d embarrassed myself. She was going to stop letting me out on my own. I tugged on her arm, instead. ‘Come on; let’s see if anything’s happening in the Dramavan. It might be the only entertainment we get all night.’

  When we went to the window, though, the caravan opposite was deserted.

  ‘Oh well,’ Kayla shrugged. ‘It’s too early for a fight, anyway. Fancy a beef sarnie?’

  Four hours later we’d eaten three corned-beef sandwiches each, watched two DVDs of Twinkle (I was mentally picking out the most romantic episode to play when Jayden-Lee made his big apology), and I was just coming back from putting Jude to bed when I found Kayla standing at the window again.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ I asked. ‘The whole park’s dark tonight.’

  Literally everybody must have been in the showhall. We were missing a comedy legend.

  Kayla pressed her palm to the windowpane. ‘That’s why I’m looking. Tonight you can see the stars.’

  I watched her for a minute, thinking. ‘You know what I said about going out tonight?’

  ‘Nothing’s going to stop us? Yes, that went well.’

  I shook my head and caught her hand in mine. ‘It was just delayed, that’s all. Come on, we can at least get a decent view.’

  We only went a few steps. Just far enough to be able to lie down in the grass. You really could see the stars. The sky looked broader and there seemed to be more of them than there were in Woking. I turned my face towards Kayla. She looked more delicate in the moonlight than she ever let herself appear by day. ‘The view’s better, right?’

  ‘Yes, and the glow-in-the-dark flamingos really add to the ambience,’ she deadpanned. But her mouth turned up at the edges.

  ‘It’s just nice that, wherever you go, you can look up at exactly the same stars.’

  ‘Unless you go to Australia, or anywhere in the southern hemisphere, really, where they have an entirely different set.’

  ‘Really?’ I leaned on my elbow to look down at her. ‘I mean – stop spoiling it! I’m trying to say your dad could be looking up at the same stars, right now. He’s not that far away.’

  Kayla smiled at me. ‘I know what you were trying to say, even if it was horrifically corny, and I think you might have got the idea from a cartoon mouse. But thanks. I just need to remember I have a bit of home here with me, too.’

  ‘Is it in your make-up bag? Because that thing’s massive. Did you bring the kitchen sink? OW, no need to kick me!’ We were both trying not to admit we were laughing. Kayla had her arms crossed over her chest to keep from shaking.

  ‘No, I meant—’

  ‘I know what you meant. Me too.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘I hate you too.’

  I flopped on to my back again, looking up a
t the millions of stars. Australia was totally missing out: just then, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

  ELEVEN

  Kayla was right about her magic make-up. The next morning my nose hurt more, but it was still mostly the same colour as my face. I carefully washed around it to preserve the effect. It was like having one of those peel-off facemasks that supervillains use as disguises, except this one just made me look like myself.

  I emerged from my room and did my now-habitual check of the Dramavan, trying to catch the Slater family sitting down to their cornflakes. Jayden-Lee probably looked amazing with morning hair. I smoothed my hands back through my own bedhead, trying to calm down some of the weird angles it liked to stick up at while I slept.

  Jude’s coat was missing from the hook on the door, so he and Dad must have gone out early. Meanwhile Mum was in the kitchen, picking at a slice of corned beef on toast in between ironing some sort of evening dress that looked like it was made from tinfoil, and beating the contestants to all the answers on a TV quiz show.

  From the smile she gave me when I joined her, she hadn’t discovered Jude’s new hairdo yet. I wondered if I could convince her that monk-chic was in.

  ‘Laika!’ she exclaimed, before I could say good morning. ‘First dog in space!’

  We both turned to the TV to watch a nervous girl in owl glasses repeat the same answer seconds later. Mum looked triumphant. ‘Ha!’

  She reached out to ruffle my newly smoothed hair. ‘Morning, my crumpled sweetheart. Congratulations on managing to join us in the waking world before noon. Then again, you did have a busy day yesterday, didn’t you – Jude hasn’t stopped talking about the party.’

  She offered me a corner of beefy bread, and I screwed up my nose. Even if I’d wanted to eat it, not knowing exactly what Jude had said was making my stomach turn over in uncomfortable ways.

  ‘He even wore his new hat to bed. I never – The artist was Caravaggio! Yes! – knew he was so enthusiastic about hamsters.’ She shook her head, popping the bit of toast into her own mouth.

  I tried not to sigh with relief. ‘Yeah, I totally don’t understand the appeal . . . Mum, about yesterday . . .’

  I stopped. Part of me really wanted to tell Mum exactly what had happened with Jude, with the party, my nose – everything. If I just explained now that Jude had gotten into a quite literally sticky situation, and the brutal scalping that Kayla gave him with her nail scissors had been the only way out of it, then she might not take the news too badly.

  If things went well, I probably wouldn’t get stuck babysitting my little brother for the rest of the holiday.

  Though, if they went badly, I might not be allowed to see the outside of the caravan for the rest of the holiday either.

  And I was starting to like Starcross Sands. I still couldn’t understand how its dated decorations and pitiful excuses for entertainment had ever qualified it for Park of the Year, but there were a few positive points. I liked the fact that it hadn’t rained yet. I liked the Pie-O-Ria’s double pepperoni. And the brochure had been right about one thing: it did have spectacular views.

  As if on cue, there was a loud screech from the direction of my favourite view in the whole park. Mrs Slater had the kind of high-pitched siren scream that made it sound like we should all start running for a bomb shelter. ‘JAYDEN-LEE, WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT KICKING YOUR BALL AROUND THE CARAVAN? YOU’VE TAKEN THE FACE RIGHT OFF MY LOVELY GNOME!’

  I wondered which of her gnomes the lovely one was. It couldn’t have been the angry fisherman, or the scary gardener, or the coal miner who looked like he needed the loo.

  Mum looked up from her ironing. ‘Mozambique, to win the round. Are they starting again over there?’

  On screen, the girl in the glasses failed to take the trophy home. Mum had won the quiz. But, as she turned off the TV and switched the radio to Ultimate 80s Classics to drown out the sound of another argument starting up across the way, I got the feeling she didn’t really approve of our neighbours.

  Which reminded me what the real downside would be if I chose to tell Mum the truth about what had happened yesterday. Hearing what Troy Slater did would send her straight over to the Dramavan to have a word. And Mrs Slater might have been good in a fight, but I doubted a single gnome would survive if anyone made another comment about Jude.

  Did I want Jayden-Lee seeing Mum in full on Boss Battle mode?

  No. No. If I dealt with it myself, I could fix everything . . . eventually. So when she turned back to me and asked, ‘What was that about yesterday?’ I’d made my decision.

  ‘It was so unfair.’

  I’d deflect.

  Because obviously the best way to get rid of any guilt I felt about hiding things from Mum was to make her feel guilty instead.

  ‘Do you know how boring it is in this caravan?’ I waved an arm around, managing to gesture to the whole tiny room in one movement. ‘There’s nothing to do. Even the TV’s only got three channels. It’s exactly like living in the Middle Ages. If you’d wanted me to spend the whole holiday trapped in one room, you could just have left me locked in the cellar at home. At least I’d have had my computer.’

  I was really getting into my stride, pressing home my point by standing and pacing the six whole steps it took to get across the floor and back, when I noticed Mum wasn’t arguing. She wasn’t even looking annoyed, or guilty, or however she was supposed to look when she realized she’d been neglecting her eldest child. She was just standing there, hanging her dress on one of the cupboards, calm. Then she dug out a brightly coloured leaflet from under her breakfast plate, and flapped it at me as I paced back to the kitchen counter.

  ‘While I doubt that depriving you of social media and satellite television counts as the human-rights violation you seem to think it is, your dad and I did think you and Kayla deserved a night to yourselves. So we picked this up at the show last night. It looks fun, don’t you think?’

  Slowly, I reached across to tug the leaflet from between her fingers. ARE YOU A STARCROSS SINGING SENSATION? It asked, in bright gold lettering.

  I held it at arm’s length, as though it might bite me. ‘Singing?’

  ‘Karaoke!’ Mum beamed like it was Christmas morning and I was unwrapping a brand-new bike. ‘Dad wanted to go at first, but lost interest when they told him football anthems aren’t allowed. It seems they’ve been responsible for one or two little disagreements in the past.’

  ‘Yes, but . . . Karaoke?’

  I couldn’t sing. I really couldn’t. If my one-time-only starring role in the school panto had taught me anything, it was that my singing voice was bad enough to break glass and make dogs run away whimpering. I lip-synched the hymns in assemblies. Why would I ever want to do karaoke?

  ‘We’ll be taking Jude to the water park for the day, then out for dinner. You two can enjoy yourselves.’

  ‘At karaoke.’ Somehow, Mum was missing the blank horror in my voice. I tried a different, desperate tactic. ‘You know, the water park sounds fun. And this is a family holiday, so maybe we could all go . . . ?’

  Mum gave me a sugary smile, which was always a bad sign. ‘Of course, darling. Are you going to tell Kayla, or shall I?’

  At that moment, the door to the caravan’s third bedroom flew open behind me. The intro music to a death metal power ballad filled the room.

  Kayla was standing framed in the doorway, her hair backcombed and a hairbrush clutched in one hand to form a makeshift microphone. She looked like she’d styled herself by sticking her finger in a plug socket. And she was staring right at me.

  ‘Tonight, Dylan Kershaw, you and I are going to be stars!’

  TWELVE

  The showhall looked different at night. Like the ‘after’ segment on a makeover show, it was the same place, but with a few new sparkly curtains hung up to disguise the dowdy bits, and a glitterball/smoke machine combo working hard to distract anyone from looking too closely at the rest.

  There was a queue at the
door when we got there, so we stood and listened to the playlist of slightly out-of-date pop music banging through the walls.

  ‘Told you they wouldn’t have anything by Deathsplash. It’s going to be a total cheddar-fest,’ I told Kayla.

  I’d managed to talk her out of planning a full-scale assault on the stage to ‘preach the gospel of rock’, and I was pretty sure I’d done the right thing. Most of the other people waiting weren’t quite Mum and Dad’s age, but they were definitely over the hill when it came to appreciating decent music. Kayla’s hair had calmed down a bit, too, and she was looking kind of incredible in a mermaid-coloured glitter dress. She was a magpie for sparkly things; apparently it was tough to find plus-sized dresses that were shiny enough for her taste, so when she found something, she bought it on the spot.

  I’d gone for black jeans, instead of blue, and a grey T-shirt I was almost sure had been washed before I packed it. I thought it really gave off the image I was going for: please no one look at me.

  Kayla was singing scales under her breath. She was approaching karaoke with the dedication of a trained athlete. ‘I can adapt my talents to cater for all tastes,’ she told me. ‘I’m going to do power ballads. I’ll power ballad their ears off.’

  ‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

  She pushed me, and I laughed. Then I hiccupped. Then I choked.

  Jayden-Lee was joining the back of the queue. Jayden-Lee, in a white T-shirt and his black faux-leather jacket. He looked just like the antihero from a black-and-white movie. A rebel without a cause.

  Suddenly I wished I’d made a bit more of an effort. I wanted him to find something other than my right foot impressive. Though I stuck it out a bit, anyway, just in case.

  Somehow, Kayla hadn’t noticed him. She obviously didn’t hear the same angelic choirs I did whenever he was nearby – and she was glued to her phone, again. I elbowed her, urgently, and she followed my tractor-beam stare to its source.

  ‘Has he seen you?’ she asked. ‘He’s coming this way.’

  And he was. My right foot must have had magical properties, because Jayden-Lee skimmed the back of the line altogether and started walking our way. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark, which should have been stupid, but just made him look even more gorgeous somehow. Like he needed them just to handle his own radiance.