Suzy P and the Trouble with Three (5 page)

“She’s got a new duvet too?” I howl indignantly, as Mum removes another plastic wrapper.

“Shhh!” Mum scowls and glances over at Isabella, but she’s not listening, she’s far too engrossed in checking her phone. “Hagrid ate the spare too and I couldn’t put her in half-chewed bedding, could I?”

“You’ve put me in half-chewed bedding,” I point out.

“You know full well that’s different,” Mum says. “Right, Isabella, here we go. You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” Isabella says. She catches sight of my massive suitcase on the bed and raises an eyebrow. Mum sees what she’s looking at and makes a cross noise. “Suzy, that’s not the case I left for you. That’s the one for me, your father and Harry to share.”

“I couldn’t fit everything I needed into that other one,” I protest.

“Then you’re taking too much,” Mum says. “Isabella, can you help her? You didn’t bring much. Teach Suzy the value of a capsule wardrobe.”

As Mum leaves, I turn to Isabella, to see what words of wisdom she’ll share about packing, but she’s lying down on the bed, iPod out and headphones in, texting.

When I
wake up the next morning, my throat is dry and there’s a revolting taste in my mouth. I push myself up from the pillows onto my elbows, and stare down at the floor. Isabella’s lying there, wide awake and sending a text message. Annoyingly, she looks as perfect as she did when she arrived, hair flowing over the pillowcase like Sleeping Beauty and her face flawless.

Whereas I’m guaranteed to have crazy bed head and mascara streaked halfway down my cheeks.

“Morning,” I say, with a cheery smile. “Sleep okay?”

“Not really. You were snoring,” Isabella says.

That explains the grim taste in my mouth, then. I probably slept with it gaping open all night.

“Sorry. Who are you texting?” I ask.

“Uh, just a friend,” Isabella replies.

Oh. Clearly she’s not up for sharing much personal info just yet. Never mind. We’ll get to know each other
a bit better soon enough. Today she’s off with Mum, who’s taking her round Collinsbrooke to show her the sights.

Which will take about five minutes, because all there is to see is the local church, a clock tower and a covered market street.

Mum wanted me to go with them, but I pointed out it was my last day with my boyfriend until we got back from holiday, so I was let off. There was a dodgy moment where it looked like Mum was going to send Isabella to join us, but the need to do something cultural and worthy with our visitor won out.

“Do you want breakfast or something?” I ask.

“I think I’ll go and have a shower,” Isabella says.

“Go ahead,” I tell her. “I’m starving. I need to eat.”

The rest of my family are already in the kitchen, Amber eating her usual mountain of food, while Crystal Fairybelle sits under the table. Every now and then, Amber slips pieces of sausage or bacon under the chair.

“That dog will get fat,” Dad warns.

“Don’t say that,” Amber screeches, scooping the dog onto her lap and covering his ears. “You’ll give him a complex.”

“We don’t talk about weight issues in front of the dog,” Mark says solemnly.

“Morning,” Mum says, spotting me in the doorway as the phone starts ringing.

“Want me to get that?” I say.

“No, I’ll go. It might be the campsite.”

At the mention of the word campsite, Mark’s face crumples. “I can’t believe you’re going away,” he says.

“And I can’t believe you’re not coming,” Amber wails, also starting to cry.

After days and days of painful deliberation, Mark’s decided he’s not coming with us, as he needs to save his holiday time for after the babies arrive. But Amber needs a break, and Mum wants to keep an eye on her, so they’ve agreed to be separated.

From the fuss the 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 fades away.

This is so totally awkward.

Isabella’s only response is to pull her phone out of her bag and scan it. She’s permanently attached to the thing.
All the way here she’s been sending texts and laughing at secret messages she doesn’t want to share.

“There are my friends.” I point to where Danny, Millie and Jamie are messing around on the street corner, waiting for us. Jamie’s throwing a football at Danny’s head. Danny’s trying to head it back, but keeps missing.

“Hi, Suze.” I see the boys checking Isabella out and trying not to stare. Danny blushes a bit and chews at the corner of his thumb, something he always does when he’s nervous.

Yup, Isabella is
seriously
pretty. Even my utterly unobservant boyfriend’s noticed.

“This is Isabella,” I say, gesturing to her. “Isabella, this is my boyfriend, Danny, my best friend, Millie, and Jamie, who’s Millie’s boyfriend.”

“Hey! And your friend too,” Jamie says.

Isabella forces a smile and we all stand around, nobody quite knowing what to say. “Shall we go?” I ask. “That’s Bojangles up there, Isabella.”

“It’s amazing,” Millie enthuses. “They do the best cake in the world.”

“We hang out there a lot,” I explain.

“Are you sure it’s open?” Jamie asks. “It’s kind of dark.”

“Course it is,” Millie says confidently, reaching out her hand to push the door. “Bojangles is always open… Oh. It’s locked.”

“Look, how unobservant are you?” Danny says. “There’s a sign up. What does it say?”

“Oh no!” Millie says, reading the notice. “It’s from Hannah. She says a pipe burst yesterday, it flooded the café, and now it’s closed for renovations. It’s going to be shut indefinitely until they get it all sorted. This is the worst news ever!”

“How can it be closed indefinitely?” I say. “It’s the
holidays
. Where are we supposed to hang out now?”

We peer through the window. Through the gloom we can just about see inside and it does look a real mess. Half the ceiling has fallen in, and there are water marks up the walls.

“Tastee Burga?” Jamie says hopefully.

“No,” I say. “Enough with the Tastee Burga already. How many burgers can one boy eat, anyway?”

“My capacity for meat is all-encompassing,” Jamie says proudly.

“You’re not kidding,” I say.

“There’s another coffee place just there,” Isabella says, pointing to the sign of a well-known coffee chain.

“We don’t go in there,” Jamie says. “Millie started boycotting them a couple of months ago.”

“What about the park?” I offer.

“The park?” Isabella says, looking up at the ominous
grey clouds above our heads. “Isn’t that for kids?”

“Anyone got any better ideas?” I ask.

Nobody has.

So we head to the park, where Millie and I huddle down onto a bench (Isabella refuses to sit on the soggy wood in case she gets her very expensive-looking coat dirty), and Jamie and Danny start messing around with the football again.

“So, are you liking being back in England?” Millie asks Isabella.

Isabella shrugs. “I only just got here. But I have to say, this place is dead.”

Millie laughs. “Tell me about it. You’re going to London in a couple of weeks, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. But I’d much rather be going back to Italy. It’s cold here,” Isabella says. “Isn’t it supposed to be summer?”

We stare at the grey sky. You’d hardly know it was July.

Millie sighs. “Rubbish, isn’t it? I’ve got a ton of new summer clothes I want to wear, but it’s too cold.”

“I love what you’re wearing now,” Isabella says.

Is the ice queen thawing? That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard her say since she arrived. Although, to be fair, Millie does look great. She’s wearing a gorgeous red pinafore dress with purple pockets over a long-sleeved turquoise T-shirt and zebra print tights. On top she’s got her vintage
cream mac. I don’t know how she does it. Anyone else would look like they randomly grabbed some clothes and threw them on, but Millie’s got the confidence to rock any outfit. It’s hard not to feel invisible next to her sometimes.

“Thanks,” Millie says. “I love your look too. Is it designer?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Isabella says, then starts rattling off a list of names. Millie’s engrossed, and soon they’re jabbering away about clothes.

“She seems nice,” Danny whispers, after the boys join us at the bench. “Your text said she was a bit frosty.”

“She has been with me,” I whisper back.

Wow. Isabella’s said more to Millie in the two minutes since they met than she has to me in the whole time since she arrived.

“So what’s Italy like?” Jamie asks.

“Pretty. Warmer than here,” Isabella says.

“That’s not hard, though, is it?” Danny says dryly, having finally worked up the courage to speak to Isabella.

Everyone laughs.

“I’ve got some photos, if you want to see,” Isabella says. She skims past the first photo on her phone with a dismissive, “Ugh. My mum and stepdad. Well, soon to be ex-stepdad. You don’t want to see them.” She sounds
flippant, but I’m sure a flicker of sadness crosses her face.

“Okay, here we go,” she says. “This is where I live, although I suppose it’s
lived
, now.”

When I see the photo, I have to try not to gasp. It’s huge. Like, properly, properly massive. Surely they can’t own all that building… can they?

“In, like, a flat or something?” Millie says, tentatively.

“Nope,” Isabella says. “The whole thing is ours. Well, I say ours, it’s my stepdad’s, really. It’s got, like…” She counts for a moment on her fingers. “Ten bedrooms. I think. But that’s only one of our houses. We have another in Rome. But that’s just an apartment. Although it’s still pretty big, I guess. And we have a holiday place at Lake Como, too.”

No wonder she thought our place was tiny. Our entire house is probably the same size as her toilet.

And when she shows us the holiday villa, it’s clear why she was horrified at staying in a caravan. The luxury villa is ginormous.

Crikey. Her stepdad must be seriously, seriously loaded.

Then she flicks through a load of photos showing her and her friends, hanging out together, pulling faces at the camera, having a great time. They’re all absolutely stunning, like they’ve wandered off the set of some Californian TV show. The Isabella in these pictures seems like a ton of fun.

Her life is
amazing
.

“Are you moving to London for good now?” Millie asks.

Isabella’s face darkens. “Yeah. Mum dumped me here while she gets the divorce finalised. She and Luca have been fighting loads.”

“That’s got to be tough,” Millie says.

Isabella shrugs, but her eyes go all watery and she gazes off into the distance for a moment. “It’s fine,” she says, dismissively. “I don’t care.”

Millie scooches next to Isabella. “Jelly baby?” she offers.

“Do you speak much Italian then?” Danny asks.

“Course,” Isabella says, taking a sweet from Millie’s packet. “I’ve lived there for years.”

“Can you say something?” Danny says.

Isabella immediately rattles off a stream of Italian. Why do things always sound so much better in a foreign language? Isabella could be saying she needs to pee really badly but it sounds soooo sexy.

The boys are staring in awe, their tongues practically hanging out.

“It’s way cool you can do that. I’m rubbish at languages,” Danny says.

“I’m sure you’re not that bad,” Isabella says. “I could teach you some Italian, if you like?”