pair of them are making you think they’re about to be parted for all eternity. They haven’t stopped crying for days.
As I ponder whether to brave the value cornflakes (which taste of sawdust) or value branflakes (which taste of cardboard), I can hear Mum on the phone.
“Oh hello, Sarah. Everything okay? Aunt Lou well?”
It’s not the campsite, then. It’s the carer from Aunt Lou’s nursing home.
“We did?” Mum says on the phone. “I don’t think so. We’ve got someone staying at the moment. I don’t remember saying anything about that. Is Aunt Lou sure?She is. Right. And she’s very upset. Well, that puts me in quite a difficult position… No, I understand it puts you in a difficult position too, I know what she’s like. Okay then, we’ll be over after lunch. She’s expecting us sooner? Right. In that case, we’ll see you at about ten. See you then. Bye, Sarah.”
She replaces the handset with a sigh so heavy it practically echoes around the hall. As she walks back into the kitchen, Dad puts down his mug with an ominous thud and glowers.
“Don’t say it…”
“Aunt Lou’s expecting us at the nursing home this morning,” Mum says.
Dad groans. “I’m supposed to be helping Ian mend his fence today. We were only there a couple of days ago. You didn’t really tell her we’d go, did you?”
Mum shakes her head. “Of course I didn’t. I’m supposed to be showing Isabella around this morning. But you know what Aunt Lou’s like. She’s apparently moaning on to Sarah that her family have abandoned her, nobody comes to see her, and is very distressed. I can’t leave her like that.”
“She’s so manipulative, that woman,” Dad says, as he loads his crockery into the dishwasher. “I wish we
could
abandon her, nasty old trout.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Mum protests, but she’s laughing. “Yes, she’s impossible, but what can we do? Suzy, could you take Isabella out with your friends today and show her around?”
“Do I have to?”
It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just it’s the last time Millie and I are going to get to be with our boyfriends until we get back from holiday.
Which means it’s our last time as a foursome for ten whole days.
Anyone else with us would be weird. It wouldn’t be the same.
“Can’t you take her out with you?” I ask. “I’m sure they’d love her at the nursing home.”
“No, we can’t,” Mum says. “She’s a teenage girl. She doesn’t want to be hanging around with old people. She’ll have a much better time with you and your friends.”
“That’s so unfair,” I mutter, crossly sloshing milk onto my cereal.
“Do you need anything, Isabella?” Mum asks.
I turn to see Isabella standing in the doorway, wrapped in an expensive-looking satin dressing gown with a towel on her head and a fierce scowl on her face.
“Do you have an adaptor for my hairdryer?” she asks.
“No, but you can borrow mine. I’ll go and get it for you,”Mum says, steering Isabella from the room. “There’s been a bit of a change of plan for today. You’re going to be spending the day with Suzy and her friends.”
I don’t hear Isabella’s reply.
Darn you, Aunt Loon,
I think.
This is all your fault, you evil old bat.
As soon as Isabella’s finished getting ready and had breakfast, we head off out. While we walk, I’ve got that horrible prickly feeling of awkwardness and an uncomfortable silence hangs over us. I’m getting the impression that Isabella would rather be anywhere else in the world than hanging out with me and my mates.
“Erm, it’s not far to the coffee shop,” I say, desperate to make conversation.
Silence.
“Bojangles is great. I think you’ll like it,” I continue, starting to babble nervously. “It’s probably not as nice as the cafés you have in Italy. I expect they have great places there, don’t they, with really fancy coffee and stuff, but Bojangles is still pretty cool…” My voice
As I ponder whether to brave the value cornflakes (which taste of sawdust) or value branflakes (which taste of cardboard), I can hear Mum on the phone.
“Oh hello, Sarah. Everything okay? Aunt Lou well?”
It’s not the campsite, then. It’s the carer from Aunt Lou’s nursing home.
“We did?” Mum says on the phone. “I don’t think so. We’ve got someone staying at the moment. I don’t remember saying anything about that. Is Aunt Lou sure?She is. Right. And she’s very upset. Well, that puts me in quite a difficult position… No, I understand it puts you in a difficult position too, I know what she’s like. Okay then, we’ll be over after lunch. She’s expecting us sooner? Right. In that case, we’ll see you at about ten. See you then. Bye, Sarah.”
She replaces the handset with a sigh so heavy it practically echoes around the hall. As she walks back into the kitchen, Dad puts down his mug with an ominous thud and glowers.
“Don’t say it…”
“Aunt Lou’s expecting us at the nursing home this morning,” Mum says.
Dad groans. “I’m supposed to be helping Ian mend his fence today. We were only there a couple of days ago. You didn’t really tell her we’d go, did you?”
Mum shakes her head. “Of course I didn’t. I’m supposed to be showing Isabella around this morning. But you know what Aunt Lou’s like. She’s apparently moaning on to Sarah that her family have abandoned her, nobody comes to see her, and is very distressed. I can’t leave her like that.”
“She’s so manipulative, that woman,” Dad says, as he loads his crockery into the dishwasher. “I wish we
could
abandon her, nasty old trout.”
“Don’t say things like that,” Mum protests, but she’s laughing. “Yes, she’s impossible, but what can we do? Suzy, could you take Isabella out with your friends today and show her around?”
“Do I have to?”
It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just it’s the last time Millie and I are going to get to be with our boyfriends until we get back from holiday.
Which means it’s our last time as a foursome for ten whole days.
Anyone else with us would be weird. It wouldn’t be the same.
“Can’t you take her out with you?” I ask. “I’m sure they’d love her at the nursing home.”
“No, we can’t,” Mum says. “She’s a teenage girl. She doesn’t want to be hanging around with old people. She’ll have a much better time with you and your friends.”
“That’s so unfair,” I mutter, crossly sloshing milk onto my cereal.
“Do you need anything, Isabella?” Mum asks.
I turn to see Isabella standing in the doorway, wrapped in an expensive-looking satin dressing gown with a towel on her head and a fierce scowl on her face.
“Do you have an adaptor for my hairdryer?” she asks.
“No, but you can borrow mine. I’ll go and get it for you,”Mum says, steering Isabella from the room. “There’s been a bit of a change of plan for today. You’re going to be spending the day with Suzy and her friends.”
I don’t hear Isabella’s reply.
Darn you, Aunt Loon,
I think.
This is all your fault, you evil old bat.
As soon as Isabella’s finished getting ready and had breakfast, we head off out. While we walk, I’ve got that horrible prickly feeling of awkwardness and an uncomfortable silence hangs over us. I’m getting the impression that Isabella would rather be anywhere else in the world than hanging out with me and my mates.
“Erm, it’s not far to the coffee shop,” I say, desperate to make conversation.
Silence.
“Bojangles is great. I think you’ll like it,” I continue, starting to babble nervously. “It’s probably not as nice as the cafés you have in Italy. I expect they have great places there, don’t they, with really fancy coffee and stuff, but Bojangles is still pretty cool…” My voice
Similar Books
