Summer Journal

THE CARAVAN—TATE'S HOLIDAY PARK

JULY 23, 2010

Met this girl on the beach today. Never met anyone like her before.

Dorset for the summer cos my folks have the school holidays off from teaching. Mum and I voted for the Algarve but the budget didn't stretch. The weather isn't as crap as I thought it might be though. Got this naff "Summer Journal" in a service station on the way down as I always need somewhere to write my thoughts. That's being an only child for you.

I found a fossil. But it's like it found me.

While Mum and Dad unpacked I came down to the beach, had a poke around in the rockpools. Sixteen is too old for rockpools but the beach was packed with all these kids with bodyboards and tans who knew each other and I didn't want to sit on my own like a loser. Or like the only other solo kid there: twelve or thirteen, skinny with home-cut dark hair.

I was watching him when I felt something against my toe. I looked down and this thing was looking back up at me. Trapped inside a lump of rock: an eyehole and what looked like a beak, or jaw. Tiny jagged teeth. Super creepy. Maybe I yelped or something? Cos suddenly there was this voice next to me saying holy shit, never found one like that and it was one of the guys who'd been mucking around with the bodyboards. Couldn't look at him straight on cos I'm a total loser round boys (Streatham High for Girls does that to you), especially fit boys, but he had toffee-colored hair and smelt like salt and sweat (a good smell on the right boy).

Then his mates were coming over to see and most of them were looking at the fossil but one of them shouted over at the small dark-haired kid: all right Shrimp, tell your mum I can't give her one tonight cos I'm busy. Know she's gagging for it. Some of the others sniggered but the boy with the toffee-colored hair said: don't be a dick, Tate. I liked him for that. The kid didn't say anything back. Just hunched over himself.

Then this hush and everyone started moving aside for three other people. A girl, two older twin boys. Like they'd beamed down from another planet. And like you could just tell the Shrimp kid was poor, you could tell they were rich. Their hair, their teeth, even how they stood. The girl came right up and said in this deep, posh voice: that's fucking cool. Put out her hand. I gave it to her without thinking. She had big black sunglasses with PRADA on the arm in silver letters and a belly button piercing. I had to beg Mum just to get my ears done.

Hey, she said, holding the fossil. Can I take this? Before I said anything, she goes: and you can come to The Manor tomorrow, if you like. Granmama and Grandfa have a pool. It's so much better than the beach. No locals.

She touched my arm then. It would be fun, if you came. She smiled at me, although I couldn't see her eyes behind those big sunglasses.

I said: yeah, sure. No idea why, but out of all the kids on the beach, she chose me.

JULY 24, 2010

You know in that Narnia book, when they go through the back of the wardrobe? Today was like that. Started out in a caravan, ended up in a palace. Or a manor... but still.

Dad drove me over in the Corsa. This sounds bad but I wished the car wasn't so small and old. He stopped at the closed gates: two big pillars topped with stone foxes and TOME MANOR carved on one. You couldn't see the house, just the driveway stretching ahead. Dad was like: did she say it was a bloody great estate? I don't want to get shot with some local lord's twelve-bore.

Then the gates creaked open and we crawled up the drive and finally you could see this huge house appearing, sea on one side and dark, spooky-looking woods on the other. And maybe this sounds naff but I had the idea that the fossil was this magic amulet that had let me into another world, like in a fairy tale.

Dad cut the engine halfway up the drive and said something like: look, love. People who live in places like this, they're not like us...

He doesn't get it. That's kind of the whole point. When would I ever get to go hang out somewhere like this in Streatham?

It's only to swim in the pool, Dad, I told him. So he carried on driving until we saw the girl waiting for us in front of the house, standing with one hip cocked in a hot-pink bikini and cut-off denim mini. I waved and she didn't wave back but she had her hand shielding her eyes from the sun so maybe she didn't see me.

Well, Dad said. Off you go, love. It's your funeral.

JULY 27, 2010

I've been to Tome Manor every day and it has been literally amazing. The pool is so nice. Frankie (that's her name) is super generous... she gave me a bikini to sunbathe in (still had the tag in... ￡40!!!!!!). She was like: it's too small for my boobs but you're pretty flat, so it's perfect. And anything's better than that horrendous tankini, Sparrow (she's been calling me that for the last few days cos of my skinny legs). She says I have to sort my "pube sitch" out too. She's given me some wax strips but I've been too chicken to use them.

Frankie is always going on about how boring it is here, how there's nothing to do. But it's AMAZING. The house has more rooms than I can count! It has a library. A cellar. Like, twenty bedrooms. Then there's this wood full of trees that are thousands of years old.

You want to behave yourself in the woods here, Frankie told me, when I stayed the other evening and we watched Blair Witch together (her favorite film). Especially after dark. Or they'll come for you. They don't like outsiders.

Who? I asked. Who doesn't like outsiders?

She burst out laughing. Look at your face! I was just kidding. It's not real. Just local peasant gossip, Granmama says.

Granmama is posh, thin, and scary and spends all her time gardening. I met Grandfa today while we were lying by the pool reading mags. This shadow fell over us and this guy stood there: tall with smoothed-back white hair and kind of a mean mouth. Old but this powerful vibe about him. Like the picture of a Roman emperor I saw in a museum, but in red cord trousers. Has a Labrador called Kipling. He said something like: so you're Francesca's new playmate. You summer here too, then?

I was like, er yeah, we're at the caravan park.

Ah, he said. Graham Tate's one of our tenants. Then he peered down at me (wished I was wearing more than my Speedo then) and goes: I suppose that means we're hosting you two times over.

I just smiled awkwardly. What was I meant to say?

When he'd gone Frankie rolled her eyes at me. Don't mind him. He's only just back in the good books. Had an affair with his secretary. I must have pulled a face, thinking of a guy that old doing it, cos Frankie was like, yeah, gross right? Anyway, he's put it back in his pants. Thank God as Granmama was talking about selling up, moving into a flat in Marylebone. It's boring as fuck but I dunno what I'd do if I couldn't come every summer, specially as our cow of a mother's too busy sunning herself in the Med to bother with us. It's home, you know?

JULY 28, 2010

Today Graham Tate, who owns this caravan park, popped round to shoot the breeze with Mum and Dad. He's this big sunburned guy who wears a tied hankie on his head like in a cartoon and wanders round all day chatting to everyone. He likes ribbing Dad about Palace (Dad's team) being crap at the moment.

Dad pointed at me when I stepped out of the caravan and went, this one's been hanging out at The Manor (pronounced in this la-di-da voice). Graham went: Tome Manor, is it? You watch yourself there, girl. Can't say more as I'm a tenant. But I wouldn't trust 'em. Don't care about our sort—never have. Back in the day the lord kept some thoroughbred white horses. Didn't train 'em properly, so they were half-wild. One day he went hunting and cut along a footpath in the woods and there was a local girl there picking flowers. The horse reared up and struck her. Killed her. But a few days later he was overheard complaining to his rich mates about how the fox got away. No compensation for the family, nothing.

Mum was all like: oh, how awful! And I guess it is but I don't really see how some ancient story has anything to do with the place now or that girl and her brothers. Even if it's real it was hundreds of years ago?

That's not all, Graham Tate said, in this spooky voice. One night when the mist was coming thick off the sea, the stables were opened and the horses got out. Next morning it turned out they'd all gone over the cliffs. Every single one.

So someone did it? Mum asked. Someone led them over?

Not someone, Graham said, in this ominous voice. Something. The Birds.

Birds? Dad asked.

Not just any old birds round here, Graham Tate said and tapped his nose. Can't say more than that.

JULY 29, 2010

Spoke to Frankie's brothers today—the twins. Hugo has a white streak in his hair and is louder than Oscar, but they're both pretty loud. They dress in posh-boy sportswear: trackies with RUGBY 1ST XV down the side. On the beach they seemed like Abercrombie models, but up close they're tall and muscly but not that good-looking. They laugh like the hyenas in The Lion King. Today they came into the kitchen while I was waiting for Frankie to find some nail polish (to sort out my "rank" toenails). They smelt of Lynx, old sweat. They chugged milk straight from the bottle, one after the other. The kitchen was smaller with them in. Hugo reached right across my belly to grab a knife from the drawer.

Like the bikini, he said.

Part of me wanted to disappear. Part of me didn't. You know?

So you're the latest, he said.

I was like: latest?

Latest in the collection!

I did this stupid nervous laugh and was like: er... I don't get it?

And he went: yeah, you know how other people like collecting things? Like football cards? Birds that collect shiny things for their nests? Lil sis likes collecting people. He pulled this fake-sad face. Mummy never gave her enough love.

Both of them were grinning. I smiled to show I got the joke but it wasn't really funny. Actually, it made me feel like I was the joke?

Guess you're flavor of the month, Oscar said.

Yeah, Hugo said, till the next one comes along.

I was glad when Frankie came back in. She shook the dark purple bottle at me: here it is, Sparrow. Midnight Lagoon. Which reminds me, we could have a midnight feast soon. Fancy it?

Sure, I said, sounds good (though a midnight feast sounds weirdly babyish for Frankie?). The twins looked at each other. Yeah, we'll come along too, Hugo said. Gave his hyena grin. Know what I want to feast on.