I can’t help grinning, excitement fizzing through me. ‘I know,’ I squeak, ‘she’s so adorable. I’ve waited so long.’ I think back to the other morning when Dad called me out to his work van and a tiny tri-coloured beagle exploded out of it. I almost cried with joy as I ran my hands over her wriggling little body and tan, white, and brown silky fur. ‘Well, I did what he asked.’ I nod. ‘I stayed in school and took all my GCSEs. I can’t believe I’ve only had her for three days – it already feels like for ever! It’s a bit of a drag that she’s not allowed out yet though. I can’t wait ’til I can walk her. Are you guys still coming to see her tomorrow?’ I crane my neck round to look over my shoulder at Shell and Chloe.
‘I wouldn’t miss meeting Fleur for the world,’ Shell says, face glowing with colour from our days spent basking in Bournemouth Gardens and on the pier approach.
‘I’ll be there, as long as she doesn’t wee on me.’ Chloe replies, before raising an eyebrow. ‘Fleur. You’re such a Potter geek. Couldn’t you think of anything more imaginative?’
I stick my tongue out at her, used to her gentle sarcasm. ‘Fleur Delacour is cool, and totally owned the Triwizard Tournament. And that French accent! You wish you were that cool.’
Chloe mutters something about Harry Potter being for kids, and I stick my tongue out at her again as if to prove my childishness.
‘Come on, you two,’ Eloise says with a grin, ‘pack it in. We’re here to party.’
Someone obviously agrees with her. ‘Yeah, move it along. I wanna get trashed!’ A voice shouts out above us, and I notice a gaggle of people behind Chloe. We’re holding things up.
‘All right, we’re going,’ Chloe yells over her shoulder, irritated.
We pick our way carefully down the steps cut into the side of the cliff, following each other in single file. Looking up, I take in the amazing view. The rich blue sea, reminding me of Winsor and Newton’s oil colour French Ultramarine, laps against the stony shore. A pale sky hovers above us, stretching into the distance. It would be so pretty to paint. My fingers itch for a graphite pencil and paper to draw an initial sketch.
As soon as we reach the beach, we take our sandals off, Chloe complaining about the millions of tiny stones beneath our feet. ‘These are going to get absolutely everywhere. Why couldn’t we go to Bournemouth beach?’ she grumbles, pushing her newly feathered fringe from her face self-consciously and straightening the empire line of her flowing red dress. ‘It’s sandy there, and right next to town.’
‘Not to mention there’s a pier you can go hide under to snog Simon’s face off,’ Eloise jokes. ‘You’re going to tell him you like him tonight, right? If you don’t, you won’t see him ’til September and he’s bound to have got off with someone else over the summer.’
‘Shut up,’ Chloe hisses, glancing around. ‘One of his friends might be listening.’
‘Well, I hope so. If they’re not here, he’s not likely to turn up either. Now, relax –’ Eloise reaches into her bag, pulling out some cans of beer ‘– and have one of these. It’ll put a smile on your face.’
I reach for a beer as Chloe shakes her head. I don’t really like the taste, but I do like the floaty feeling I get after drinking a few.
Shell touches Chloe on the arm, her hazel eyes kind. ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be here. And we’ll find a way for you to talk to him. I’m sure he likes you.’
‘Thanks,’ Chloe mutters, pushing a lock of straight black hair behind one ear.
When I moved back home at fourteen, Chloe was trying to be a carbon copy of Eloise, with a shoulder-length wavy bob and heavily filled-in eyebrows. But for the last year or so her confidence has improved, and she’s let her hair grow out, no longer plaiting it to make it kink, and wearing less make-up. She’s much prettier this way, and nice with it too – despite the fact she tends to moan a lot. Maybe it’s because neither of us has mums that we’re so dysfunctional.
Michelle is lovely, but in a kinder, more thoughtful way than Chloe. The spots that caused her such misery when we met are long gone, and she’s even taller than Eloise, with endless legs and envy-inspiring boobs. She towers above me, and I sometimes feel like a little girl compared to them all, being the shortest by at least three inches. Eloise regularly says they’d all love to be five foot, slim, and tiny-waisted, but I’m not convinced. It’s no fun not being able to reach the top shelf or being constantly told I look younger than I am. I’m going to have to sort some fake ID out soon. We start Sixth Form in three months’ time and Eloise is already talking about going clubbing. It would be so humiliating if I couldn’t get past the doormen.
‘So, why Durdle Door?’ Chloe persists as I crack open my beer and take a long deep gulp, shuddering at the taste. ‘I mean, it’s miles away. Look how long it took us to get here, and how many types of transport we had to use.’
‘Because of that,’ Eloise answers, pointing at the craggy, beige limestone arch that bends over gracefully into the sea, solid and immovable. ‘Later on –’ she leans in, arching her eyebrows ‘– some kids are jumping off the top. I also heard from Megan Whateley that others are planning to go skinny-dipping. You can’t do either of those things at Bournemouth beach; there’s too much of a risk of the police getting called.’
‘Isn’t jumping a bit dangerous?’ Staring up at the stone archway created by hundreds or potentially thousands of years of erosion, there’s a funny dip in my stomach. I’ve got a bad feeling at the thought of people jumping off it, and as I slide my chunky mobile phone out of my pocket and see the low signal, the feeling gets worse. It’s just past 7pm, so we’ve got hours to go. Eloise’s older brother Max won’t be here to pick us up until midnight.
‘Don’t worry –’ Eloise catches my eye ‘– people do it all the time. Just enjoy,’ she encourages me, smiling. ‘Feel the vibe in the air.’
I must admit it’s a beautiful setting for a party. The endless sea views in the evening sunshine are incredible. I can’t believe I never knew this existed, right on my doorstep. There’s no hint of a breeze and the sea is calm and flat. Lines of brown seaweed form lacy patches along the beach. I can hear birdsong and the waves make only a rhythmic whisper of sound against the shore. Far noisier than the elements are the couple of hundred or so pupils from our school and others from the surrounding areas. I look around, following my friend’s advice and soaking up the atmosphere. Various groups of kids are unfurling blankets, setting up ice boxes and stripping down to swim shorts and bikinis before racing down to the water.
‘Come on, let’s go –’ Eloise jiggles on the spot ‘– I want to find Jonny, and you never know, Chloe, Simon might be with him.’ Turning to glance over her shoulder, she grins as she looks back at us. ‘It’s chaos. I love it!’
She sets off, sure we’ll be following in her footsteps. I’ve always envied her vivacity and confidence. And why wouldn’t she be those things, with her cloud of curly black hair, heart-shaped face, big blue eyes, and curvy figure? Looking down at my skinny knees in denim shorts and my virtually flat chest, I sigh, knowing I’ll have to go in the sea later. I’ll be keeping my T-shirt on when everyone else is using the excuse to strip off. Hollyoaks has a lot to answer for, and just underlines how boring and sensible I am for not sleeping around or crushing on the wrong person.
If I had a mum, maybe I’d talk to her about how inadequate those TV programmes make me feel, and how my figure means I’m practically invisible to boys. Perhaps she’d pour me a cup of tea, pass me a slice of homemade cake, and say it won’t last for ever. Reassure me that one day I’ll blossom, and they’ll notice me, and having a boyfriend isn’t the most important thing in the world anyway – it just feels like it sometimes. She’d hug me tight and stroke my hair and finish off by saying that if I’m happy being single, that’s all right. But I don’t have a mum, and there’s no way