More whimpering.
“But, I’m ill. I’ve got one of my headaches.”
He raised his voice, knowing it would hurt her head. “And we all know why!”
“It’s a migraine. I’m too sick. I can’t drive, YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!”
“Shh, Amber will hear you.”
“I’m here.” I’d been standing behind him the whole time – watching. Knowing my world was falling apart, but not sure why or how. He looked up, twitchy. I saw the pain seep through his face.
“Amber?”
I stepped out warily, and pushed my bush of hair down with my hand.
“Yes?”
“Your mum’s having one of her migraines so she can’t drive you to school. I can take you in, but that means you’ll be early. Can you be ready in five minutes?”
The lump under the duvet was still. I looked down at my pyjamas. She’d once taken me to school in my pyjamas. They’d sent a letter home with me.
“I…I guess.”
Another pain-ridden smile.
“That’s my girl.”
The lump said nothing…
“You feeling better now, right?” I asked her.
“Oh yeah. I just needed to lie down. I think the music may bring on a relapse though.” She grinned. “You’ve done great,” she repeated.
Kyle stepped forward with narrowed eyes.
“I thought Amber wasn’t able to be left alone with the kids?”
I almost reached out my hand to stop him.
The only visible reaction she gave that she’d heard him was a small tight smile. I tried to give him warning looks with my eyebrows but Kyle ignored me, staring straight at Mum.
You don’t question Mum. That’s the rule. She’s never wrong; it’s never her fault.
“I mean, there’s thirty of them. And Amber’s only seventeen… It was lucky I turned up. And—”
She interrupted him.
“I thought you were on juice duty, Kyle?” Her voice was so cold, her smile still so tight.
I ached for him then – for that smile, for what it meant. The and-now-you’ve-asked-things-I-don’t-want-to-answer-I’m- going-to-aggressively-deflect smile.
“I was.” He struggled to hold eye-contact. I wanted to tell him it was okay. That she always turned on anyone who didn’t support her…which is why I always swallowed my objections. “This was my last stop.”
“I thought then you were supposed to go help Melody set up the campfire for tonight?”
“I was. But Amber needed my help here.”
“So you ignored my orders?”
She was still smiling. Kyle wasn’t. The easy effortlessness of his face was crumpled with expressions I knew so well – with disbelief, with that niggling feeling she shouldn’t be able to get away with it…yet, she could, because it wasn’t her fault.
It’s never her fault.
You can’t blame me, she’d said, when I’d cried. Because she was leaving. Because she was leaving broken bits of me, of us, of our family behind. It’s not my fault. It’s a disease. A horrible disease. I’m sick. Nobody can help getting sick. Anyway, you have a new family now…well your dad does…
“I didn’t ignore them.” Kyle’s voice was losing its calm. “It was just obvious Amber needed a little help here.”
I took a step forward, using his bravery to give me my own.
“He really did rescue me,” I admitted.
Mum opened her mouth to say something but the music stopped, the last la la las from Freddy Mercury echoing out. The children stopped running about and turned to us all at the same time, like in a zombie apocalypse.
Mum’s tight smile melted into a genuine one.
“Aren’t you all amazing?” She clapped her hands together. “Now, who wants to go see the lake?”
They jumped up and down on the dusty floor, and I remembered hearing once how if everyone in China jumped at the same time, it would cause an earthquake. “ME ME ME, I DO I DO I DO.”
“Okay then, now buddy up. Don’t forget your name tags.”
In a buzz, the kids ran to collect their things. Kyle was clenching and unclenching his fists. I attempted to tidy up – not sure where to look. I scraped stray bits of dried PVA off the table and stacked the glue pots neatly. When I looked up, the children had formed an orderly crocodile.
Mum stood at the front, looking like someone who’d never had a headache before in their life.
And Kyle had gone.
SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:
Working a fifteen-hour day
+
Difficult conversations about your childhood
Eleven
For the second night in a row, I was in front of a campfire, watching Melody stroke her crotch.
“Don’t cha,” she hissed, jerking her butt back towards the flames. “Don’t cha.”
It turns out Bumface Kevin wasn’t just a mother-stealing loser, he was a pervy loser. And therefore he’d asked Melody and her other Pussycat Dolls to re-perform last night’s show “so the kids can see it”. Because, you know, it’s not summer camp without s’mores and mild stripping.
Whinnie leaned in and whispered: “She’s rubbing her crotch so much, I’m scared she’ll get a friction burn.”
I was almost too exhausted to giggle. Almost…
I’d never worked so hard. We’d taken all one hundred kids to the lake, and then we’d had to get them all into their swimming costumes – which they seemed incapable of putting on themselves. Then, in the blazing sunshine, we’d had to see how well they could swim, grading them, putting them into relevant groups, marking who would be allowed to play each water sport safely. Then they’d all had to eat lunch. Spaghetti – great choice. I’d hardly had any time to eat as I dashed from smeared face to smeared face, frantically dabbing at them with a damp cloth, trying to make sure they didn’t get sauce on their clothes. Then we’d taken ALL the children on a long walk around ALL the camp. Again. I’d trekked in the heat to the paintballing field, around every single cabin, to the sports section, down to the lake, and then up to the go-karting circuit, which was right near the road. All in all, we’d walked at least five miles.
But still the children weren’t tired.
They’d demonstrated as much at dinner – burgers – squirting each other with ketchup, constantly changing their seats to make new friends. I’d dolloped baked beans into my mouth, almost too tired to chew. We still weren’t done yet.
Now we were at the campfire. We’d painted their faces. We’d sung “You Can’t Step In The Same River Twice” and “She’ll Be Comin’ Round The Mountain”. And, once Melody had stopped rubbing herself, we would be sorted into our camp teams – splitting the kids and staff members into four groups.
If Mum put me in the same team as Melody…
The music stopped. Everyone clapped. Bumface Kevin the hardest. Mum put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. It annoyed me that I hadn’t inherited her ability to do that. It annoyed me she was wolf-whistling Melody.
About eight hands pawed at my long legs.
“You ask her,” a whisper said, loudly.
“No, you ask her.”
I looked down at the children wedged beneath my feet, their faces decorated and all glowing and cute in the firelight.
“What is it?” I asked, half-clapping.
A girl with s’more chocolate all round her mouth, straightened up.
“If you’re from England,” she asked, “have you met the Queen?”
I closed my eyes for a little longer than I should. It was the eighth time I’d been asked that day.
“No.” Their little faces dropped. “No, I haven’t.”