Girl, (Nearly) 16: Absolute Torture! (11 page)

But, strangely, everybody else in Totnes looked remarkably similar. This was certainly Mum’s kind of place. Immediately after parking the car they found a tea shop, in response to Granny’s plaintive plea: ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa!’

The tea shop was called the Fat Lemon – a strange name for a tea shop, but somehow, Jess suspected, typical of Totnes. They had so far only walked down one street but had already seen three old hippies with beards and two middle-aged women wearing gipsyish skirts and headscarves adorned with sequins and fringes.

‘They have over seventy varieties of tea!’ exclaimed Granny, reading the menu. Seventy! This was somewhat excessive, surely.

‘What poetic names!’ said Mum. ‘
Emperor’s Choice, Russian Caravan, Mountain Green
. . .’ Oh no! She was doing that poetry-reading thing again.

Jess ordered hot chocolate and a fabulous cheesy vegetarian bake. She soon began to feel a bit more cheerful. She liked the Fat Lemon. It was a great name. Thomas Hardy’s parents should have called him Fat Lemon instead of Thomas. Fat Lemon Hardy – he could have been a jazz trumpeter instead of a tortured and tragic writer.

‘Feeling better, dear?’ whispered Granny.

‘Yes, thanks, Granny!’ Jess squeezed Granny’s withered old hand. It was like a bundle of twigs. Granny’s eyes sometimes had a faraway, cloudy grey look which only old people’s eyes seemed to have. As if they were looking into the next world, or something.

Jess was alarmed to feel tears gathering behind her face! Oh no! Hastily she switched into a different gear.

‘What are we going to see tomorrow, Mum?’ she asked.

Her mum looked startled. It was the first time Jess had shown any interest at all in the trip.

‘I want to take you to Berry Pomeroy Castle,’ said Mum. ‘They say it’s the most haunted place in the country.’

At this point everybody in the tea shop should have suddenly gone quiet, and a cloud should have covered the sun. But all the customers just went on noisily eating their vegetarian delicacies and arguing about herbs and crystals.

‘Great!’ said Jess. ‘I love haunted places! In fact, I want to be a ghost when I grow up.’

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ whispered Granny with a cheery wink. ‘You will be.’

In Totnes they were booked into a rickety old hotel in a fairly noisy part of town. Jess’s room had a grandstand view: street life bustled away below, like a scene in a movie. But nobody in Totnes even faintly resembled Fred.

Now was her chance to go and buy more phone credit. But she decided to dash off another quick letter to Fred first, so she could catch the afternoon post.

Dearest Fred,

We are now in Totnes, hippy capital of the south-west. Here you can buy handmade shoes cunningly crafted from recycled loo rolls. My granny was elated by a tea shop selling seventy different types of tea. But she just ordered the same old boring tea as usual.

My mum decided to splash out and be adventurous, so she ordered a quaint brew made from came
l
’s droppings in remote Poshbeckistan. But then she decided she did
n
’t really like it. Tha
t
’s my mu
m
’s life, summed up in a single tragic teatime.

Earlier we visited the tomb of a tragic guy called Tom, who wrote tragic novels about tragic people. It was a blast. He had a pretty tragic life himself. He only realised he loved his wife after she died. So he left orders that after his death his heart must be cut out and buried with her. I ca
n
’t decide whether this is unbearably moving or horrendously gross, but I demand the same tribute from you, or there will be trouble, big time.

Anyway, it has given me the idea of writing my will. If I die first, I want to be stuffed. I want you to take my lifeless corpse out to a nightclub every Saturday. You can do this small thing for me, ca
n
’t you? And for goodnes
s
’ sake make sure they get my eyebrows right. Halfway between witty Manhattan journo and crazy Egyptian princess living in a garret in Paris.

I hope you are working hard and averting your eyes from Charlott
e
’s cleavage, however wrinkly. But if this Rosie character is taking my place in your heart, be advised that I shall personally cut out the aforementioned organ after your death. In fact, why wait for your death? I’ll cut it out while yo
u
’re still alive, stuff it with chicken livers and toss it to the nearest wolves.

I
’m in the mood now.
I
’m getting into my stride. I wo
n
’t rest until the pair of you are charcuterie. Hope yo
u
’re well.

Love, Jess.

Chapter 17

Jess popped Fred’s letter in an envelope, sealed it and pressed a passionate kiss on the seal. Unfortunately the Body Shop lipgloss left a tell-tale smear. Jess took the envelope to the bathroom and tried to wipe the lipgloss off. But it just smeared it about even worse.

In the end she decided to do the sensible thing and kissed the envelope all over. Now it just looked as if it had fallen on to the floor of the sorting office and been trodden on by a postman whose route included a swampy area inhabited by incontinent donkeys.

OK, that was fine. Now she would go out and post it. She picked up her mobile phone and walked out of the room. She walked up and down the incredibly steep old main street until she found a post box. She posted the cards to Flora and Dad, took Fred’s letter out of her bag, and then hesitated. The next fingers to touch the letter would be Fred’s. Her fingers kind of burned excitedly as she let it go.

A few moments later she realised that the next person to touch the envelope would probably be a fat lady in the sorting office. Things are never quite as magical as one would hope.

Next Jess bought some credit for her mobile phone. At last communication could be restored between her and her beloved – well, all her beloveds, in fact. Her dad was certainly deeply beloved and Flora was the best friend in the world. First, though, Jess composed a text for Fred.

HOLIDAY GHASTLY. TRUST YOU ARE ALSO IN AGONY. HAVE JUST POSTED YOU A LETTER.

But when she tried to send it, she got the message,
Failed
. Oh no! There was no service here. She was tempted to ring him from a payphone, but she only had 20p with her – hardly enough for a cough. And anyway, he’d be working now – he worked every evening. His mobile would be switched off. And if he did pick up, he might be with Rosie.

It would be just awful to ring Fred if he was all polite and distant. Or, even worse, if he said he couldn’t talk and hung up on her. Possibly with mocking girlish laughter echoing in the background. It would be worse than not speaking to him at all.

Supper was in the hotel, because Granny was rather tired and couldn’t face climbing up the hill to a restaurant. Jess ordered chicken, even though she had completely lost her appetite.

Jess’s mum spent a lot of time talking about her alarm clock, and the fact that she couldn’t get it to work. This was a bit of a relief, because it took care of the conversation. Jess was also glad that her mum didn’t say anything weird and sad about men. Also, she had made an effort to look passable. She had changed into a black silk shirt and black crêpe trousers.

‘You look really nice tonight, Mum,’ said Jess pointedly. Her mum looked surprised and a bit panicky. ‘Black suits you. You should wear silver earrings, though.’

Jess’s mum was very obviously not wearing silver. Instead she had on a pair of earrings made out of painted wood shaped like palm trees. This was a major style failure, though possibly acceptable in Totnes.

Moments later Jess was to regret boosting her mother’s confidence with thoughtless compliments. A sweaty waiter approached.

‘Would you like to see the dessert menu?’ he asked. And Jess’s mum looked up at him and – horrors! – winked roguishly.

‘Some would say we were sweet enough already,’ she quipped. ‘But I have to admit I am secretly yearning for a slice of passion fruit pavlova.’

Jess hadn’t been planning on having a dessert, but the ordeal of having to watch her mum flirt again made her feel weak with shock, and only a portion of sticky toffee pudding could put strength back into her sinews.

‘OK, well, let’s get an early night, because in the morning we’re off to Berry Pomeroy Castle,’ said Mum, after the coffee. ‘The most haunted place in England.’

A thrill ran down Jess’s spine. She wondered what spooky experiences would be awaiting her tomorrow. Little did she know that, in the haunted tower, she was going to hear something that would make her hair stand on end with terror.

Chapter 18

Jess woke next morning to the sound of rain. Perfect weather for visiting a haunted castle. The first thing she did was to grab her mobile and walk around the hotel until she found a place where her phone worked. A text had come during the night! Two texts, in fact! Darling Fred! A text from him was the perfect start to her day. But wait! Neither of them was from Fred. One was from Dad, and one from Flora.

CLEAVAGES ARE NOT MY STRONG POINT
, said Dad’s text.
WHAT REALLY MATTERS IS A PERSON’S INNER BEAUTY, AND WHETHER THEIR FEET SMELL OF CHEESE.

Jess sighed. Now for Flora’s text. Flora, of course, had a fabulous dog called Lucky. Lucky was almost as impossibly blonde as Flora, though her nose was a little blacker and wetter than Flora’s.