Paris Crush (16 page)

‘Here.’ She thrusts her camera at him. ‘Why not take a picture of me and Miss Davis?’

‘Savannah?’ He squints at her. ‘Is that you?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She points to the button on top of her camera. ‘You just press that. It’s easy.’

She squeezes in beside Miss Davis and grabs me and drags me close. ‘It’ll be a nice souvenir,’ she tells Mr Chapman. ‘I’ll email you a copy.’

I shuffle close to Savannah and smile as Mr Chapman clicks a photo.

‘Brilliant!’ Savannah flashes him a huge smile and takes back her camera. ‘That’s great.’

We leave them staring in puzzlement and rejoin Jeff, Marcus and Treacle.

‘We got him to take the picture,’ Savannah announces jubilantly. ‘The stars are now officially aligned. True love is bound to follow.’

As she speaks, the queue moves forward. Mr Chapman trips over a small child and crashes to the ground. Miss Davis disappears from view as she stoops down to help him up.

Jeff scratches his head. ‘I’m not sure if Mr Chapman is destined for true love.’

‘He’s just being a bit clumsy, that’s all,’ Savannah assures us breezily.

Miss Davis has his arm now and is leading him forward gently.

Marcus snorts. ‘The blonde leading the blind,’ he puns.

Savannah punches him. ‘This is not a joking matter.’

Miss Davis is helping Mr Chapman onto the ride, leading him off the platform and into the rock-shaped boat. She looks more like a Help the Aged volunteer, taking Granddad on a day trip, than a
woman taking a ride with her sweetheart.

I watch their boat chug away along the channel of water and disappear round a bend.

Jeff stares after them. ‘Let’s hope Mr Chapman doesn’t fall over the side.’

‘Come on!’ Savannah’s dragging Marcus away from the queue.

‘Aren’t we going on the ride?’ I call, following.

‘It took me thirty minutes to straighten my hair this morning,’ Savannah declares. ‘Do you think I’m going to drench it on that ride before lunch?’ She tosses her
mane like a thoroughbred horse. ‘
After
lunch I’ll go on any ride you like.’

Jeff rolls his eyes. ‘Once again, I’m glad I’m not a girl.’

Treacle tugs him out of the queue. ‘But unfortunately, you have to hang out with us.’

Jeff follows her, casting longing looks back at the water ride. ‘Do you promise we can go on it after lunch?’ he asks pleadingly.

Treacle stops and kisses him on the cheek. ‘Of course, baby. And if you’re very good, I’ll buy you a toffee apple too.’

Jeff turns monster and fakes an attack. Screaming with laughter, Treacle escapes him and they race away.

‘Hurry up, Gemma!’ Savannah’s beckoning me towards the exit of the Menhir Express. ‘I want to see Miss Davis get off. I do hope she had the sense to put her hood up on
the ride. I don’t want her looking like a drowned rat.’

As I catch up with her and Marcus, I spot Mr Chapman and Miss Davis staggering out of their boat. Miss Davis leads Mr Chapman along the platform and through the exit gate. Mr Chapman’s
holding his eyes like they’re about to pop out.

Savannah dashes to meet them. ‘Are you OK?’

Marcus is hopping about behind her. ‘What’s up, Mr Chapman?’

‘Is he OK?’ I look at Miss Davis anxiously.

Miss Davis throws back her hood. Every hair is still in place and she’s flushed and smiling from the ride. ‘He put his contact lenses in backwards this morning,’ she explains.
‘He’s only just realized.’

Mr Chapman leans over, blinking wildly. ‘No wonder I kept tripping over things,’ he mumbles. ‘I thought I’d gone blind.’ He straightens and wipes his red eyes with
a handkerchief. ‘There,’ he says with relief. ‘I’ve got them out.’ He wraps two tiny contact lenses in his hanky then slides his hand into his pocket and pulls out a
pair of glasses. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to wear these for the rest of the day.’ He hooks the heavy horn-rims on and looks at Miss Davis.

She smiles at him. ‘They suit you.’

He stares at her, a faint look of surprise on his face. It must be the first time he’s seen her clearly all day. ‘Gosh, you’re looking pretty today, Madeleine.’

Miss Davis blushes. ‘Thanks, Jim.’

Savannah squeezes my arm. She’s grinning like a maniac. ‘Come on, Gem. Let’s find Treacle.’ Yanking Marcus by his hood, she scoots away. ‘Have a good day!’
she shouts back to Mr Chapman and Miss Davis. ‘See you on the coach!’

She throws her arms over mine and Marcus’s shoulders. ‘
Marie Claire
might not be Jessica Jupiter,’ she announces. ‘But that was a pretty good outcome.’

Marcus is looking confused. ‘What just happened?’

‘Remember the horoscope?
Don’t keep your eyes in your pocket
?’ Savannah explains. ‘It meant his
glasses
.’ She tousles Marcus’s hair
affectionately. ‘It’s a good job boys aren’t in charge,’ she tells me. ‘The human race would die out.’

Twelve rides and four hot dogs later, I’m exhausted. I’ve given up worrying about my hair.

Jeff and Treacle are leaning against each other as we head back to meet the rest of the school party beside the entrance. Marcus and Savannah have stopped to suck face.

I spot Cindy and Sam milling round a plastic Astérix. Sam’s staring at clouds while Cindy peers into a compact mirror and brushes on lipgloss. Barbara and Rupert are talking
animatedly beside them.

I approach. ‘Where’s David?’

‘He’s spent all day taking photos of Astérix characters for his scrapbook,’ Barbara tells me. ‘I think he’s planning to use them to create his own graphic
novel.’ She pats Rupert on the arm. ‘I’m so glad Rupert decided to join our group. He’s such a great companion.’

I try not to let my jaw drop too far.
Rupert the Bore? A great companion?
I paste on a smile. ‘Yeah.’

‘I hope you had fun, Gem.’ Rupert searches my gaze as though looking for clues. Was he hoping to make me jealous by hanging out with Barbara all day?

Cindy slaps shut her mirror compact. ‘Rupert and Barbara have been inseparable.’ She looks adoringly at Sam. ‘I’m just lucky I had you to hold my hand on the scary
rides.’

I wonder what ride could be scary enough to make the Ice Queen shiver.

Sam flexes his fingers. ‘I think you broke a few.’ He glances at me. ‘Did you have fun, Gem?’

I look back for Treacle and Savannah and catch sight of Mr Chapman and Miss Davis wandering dreamily towards the exit. ‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling suddenly pleased. ‘It’s been
great.’

So what if I haven’t got Barbara and David together yet. There’s still one more night
and
the journey home. And Barbara’s glowing; her new hairstyle is framing her face
so it’s as pretty as a picture. Once David has stopped obsessing over cartoon characters, how could he not notice her?

There’s a warm wind blowing and we’ve opened the French windows onto the tiny balcony outside our room. Treacle’s plaiting her hair ready for bed and
Savannah’s carefully smearing on a face pack, as she sits on my moth-eaten quilt.

I lean out and breathe the Paris air. The smell of food makes my mouth water. Madame Sacré Bleu’s meagre supper of egg and chips has left me hungry. Fortunately, Treacle’s
filled her pockets with sweets and crisps from the theme park.

‘Are you joining the midnight feast, Gem?’ she calls.

I take a last breath. Even the car fumes smell magical.

‘Coming.’ The trees lining the pavements are lit by street lamps. I can see the vibrant green of budding leaves close to the bark. Another fortnight and the city will be laced with
emeralds like a queen.

I drag myself away and scuff across the carpet in my bunny slippers, wrapping my dressing gown tighter round me. Savannah pats the bed beside her and I leap on it and sit cross-legged while
Treacle unpacks her hoard of goodies.

‘Did you see Sal and Ryan on the water splash?’ Savannah shoves a handful of crisps into her mouth.

‘I know!’ Treacle’s eyes goggle. ‘Ryan was practically sitting in Sal’s lap.’

I laugh. ‘Sal didn’t seem to mind.’

‘She was probably using him as waterproofing,’ Savannah suggests.

None of us look convinced.

‘What was she using him as at the candyfloss stand then?’ Treacle wonders. ‘A toothpick?’

I shudder at the thought of touching tonsils with Ryan.

Savannah leans forward. ‘So, Gem, you never told us what happened in the Eiffel lift. You were stuck for an hour with Rupert. Any sparks?’

I spear her with a look. ‘Savannah, I’m not going to say it again. I am totally not interested in Rupert. The only way he could get sparks out of me is to hook me up to a generator
and pull the On switch.’

Treacle’s shoulders droop. ‘Are you ever going to hook up with anyone, Gem?’

I bristle. ‘What’s the rush? Am I cramping your style?’ I see hurt flash in her eyes. ‘Sorry, Treacle. I know you’re just thinking about me, but really, I
don’t need a boyfriend. Homework and the webzine keep me busy enough.’

Savannah smoothes the bump in the conversation. ‘Have you planned what you’re going to write about Paris for your webzine article yet, Gem?’

My thoughts immediately spiral off as I drift through memories of the past two days. The streets and shops, windows piled high with cakes and chocolates, cars and traffic, buildings and people
– so many people – rushing and chattering. In
French.

Treacle pokes me. ‘You have to write about David and the frog’s leg!’

‘And Rupert pulling out your chair.’ Savannah stifles a giggle with her hand. ‘I wish I’d seen that.’

‘And this crummy hotel,’ Treacle adds.

‘And getting stuck in the lift.’ Savannah pushes on with the catalogue of catastrophes.

I hesitate. ‘But I wanted to write something serious.’

‘Leave the serious stuff to Will,’ Savannah advises.

I picture my Journalist of the Year Award slipping away. ‘I don’t want to spend my life writing fluff.’

‘It’s not
fluff
,’ Treacle argues. ‘It’s
real
. It actually happened. You can’t get more serious than that.’

Perhaps they’re right. Maybe I should forget the romantic guidebook I’ve been typing in my head and focus on the reality of a school trip to Paris. My readers are students after all.
They’ll probably enjoy the frog leg story way more than a textbook description of the Arc de Triomphe.

And it hasn’t all been mishaps. Suddenly I remember staring at the starry picture in the Louvre with Sam. Amid all the hustle and bustle and disasters, it stands out as a perfect moment.
But I can’t write about that. It was my moment. And Sam’s. I don’t want to share it with anyone.

Savannah screws up her empty crisp packet and tosses it across the room. It lands beside the bin. ‘I’m tired.’ She rolls off the bed and heads for the door. ‘If I miss
any juicy conversation, I want a full account at breakfast.’

‘OK.’ I salute.

Treacle waves goodbye as Savannah heads out of the room. ‘Night, Sav. Sweet dreams.’

Treacle’s looking sleepy too. I start clearing the junk food debris off the quilt. As I dump it in the bin, Treacle snuggles down under the covers.

‘Are you tired, Gem?’ she yawns, her eyes already closing.

‘Yeah.’ I flick off the lamp and slide under my duvet. I leave the windows open and the sound of traffic rumbles comfortingly below.

Treacle’s snoring in minutes. I would be too, but I need the loo. I cross my legs and wonder if I can make it until morning. The bathroom’s all the way down the hall and I’m
feeling too cosy and sleepy to move. I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift. They wander through the streets of Paris and stop beside a fountain. A big fountain, gushing water. I try to drag my
thoughts clear, but the splashing, foaming torrent has me transfixed.

I sit up crossly. It’s no use. I’ll have to use the bathroom if I’m going to get any sleep.

I tiptoe through the darkness, tripping elegantly over Treacle’s rucksack and landing like a ballerina beside the door. I curtsey to my invisible audience, who are applauding my skill and
grace, then slip out into the corridor. The fire door at the end is ajar. I nip into the bathroom, go to the loo and nip out.

The fire door’s still open.

Should I close it?

I creep to the end of the corridor and grab the handle. Peeking through the gap, I see Sam sitting on the metal staircase outside. He’s scribbling something on a scrap of paper on his
knee. The door creaks as a gentle breeze catches it and Sam turns round. Hastily, he shoves his paper into his jacket pocket.

I stiffen. ‘Sorry—’ I start apologizing for spying. ‘I was just—’

‘It’s OK.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m just sitting.’

I hesitate on the threshold. I want to ask him what he was writing, but I don’t want to seem nosy.

‘It was a song,’ he says, reading my mind.

‘Sorry,’ I say again. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

He looks at me now. ‘Don’t apologize.’

‘Sorry.’ I blurt out another one. I’m probably getting on his nerves. I start to back away.

‘Come and sit with me,’ he says suddenly.

‘No. Really. I should get to bed.’ I feel suddenly awkward; I’m wearing my bunny slippers. And the pink fluffy dressing gown Mum’s promised to replace on my birthday.