“Yes,” I say. “My mum will never agree to a festival.”
“Aha!” Jack says.
I briefly close my eyes. “What have you done?”
“She’s agreed to it! Yay for me again! Any further questions or compliments?”
“No, Jack,” I say. “My mother does not simply agree to us going to a festival. What did you say to her exactly?”
Jack runs his tongue along his lips. “Anything is possible, when you’re prepared to give and take. We have something we want to do; she has something she wants us to do.”
“Oh, no,” I mutter. “You’ve made a pact with the devil.”
“What’s the worst it could be?” Jack smiles. “Come on! What’s the worst thing it could possibly be?”
I take a deep breath. “An outward bound centre where we’re forced to do something in water with a load of other kids our age.”
Jack nods, tight-lipped.
“Jack?” I say.
“OK, so it’s an outward bound centre with some other kids our age, OK, yes, but I’m not sure there’s water involved.”
“What’s the centre called?”
Jack chews his lip. “White Water Lakes.”
“Right,” I say. “Well, that’s it. We’re fucked.” Just as I dared to imagine we might start having a good time, this happens, because THIS IS MY LIFE SO OF COURSE IT DOES!
“It sounded fine!” Jack protests.
“Argh! This is what she does! She’s always trying to get me to do things she thinks her nightmare sister and my insanely critical grandma would approve of! Seriously, it’s always awful museums for their educational value, bloody art galleries, frickin’ anything involving physical exertion in the outdoors because my grandma comes from a generation who think boys especially need wholesome physical pursuits else we’ll just wank ourselves to death. You’ve literally just given her everything she’s ever dreamed of!”
“OK, well, I was just trying to do a nice thing for us,” Jack mutters.
We sit in silence for a bit until Elliot says, “Kid at my school actually died kayaking.”
I take an unsteady breath.
There’s a lot of huffing and banging to my right. “Don’t worry, you healthy, fit boys just relax while your ageing parents and small sister pack all the luggage back into the van!” It’s Mum, with Dad and Rose in tow.
“I didn’t know where you were, nobody tells me anything, as per.”
She gives me a very pleased-with-herself smile. A smile that basically says, Joke’s on you, you’re gonna be in a canoe within twenty-four hours!
“Hear you’re joining us, Elliot?” Dad says.
“Buzzing!” Elliot grins.
Rose rolls her eyes. “Just what this sausage party needs – more sausage.”
“Rose!” I’m totally outraged. What the hell? “You can’t say things like that! Where did you even get that from?”
Rose shrugs.
“Probably just one of those Disney Channel shows,” Mum says, tapping her phone. “Why isn’t Google Maps loading?”
I screw my face up. “Really, Mum? Really? I’m pretty confident that’s one phrase that’s never been broadcast on Disney Channel, but only I seem bothered, so that’s cool.”
Jack leaps up and takes Rose’s hand. “You are hilarious and I love that, and as reward, I’m going to tell you a magical story during the journey, would you like that?” Jack smiles at me maliciously.
“Yes, please, Jack,” Rose says, all saccharine sweet.
“Very well,” Jack says. “Once upon a time there was a handsome, charismatic, intelligent and weirdly single prince, and a mean, grumpy, spiteful ogre. Even though the prince tried to do nice things for the ogre he just got it slapped back in his face the whole time, because the ogre was an old miser who just wallowed in gloom and was a literal killer of joy. In fact, the ogre had killed all the joy in the whole kingdom, so there was no joy left and everyone was very sad. But the brave prince had a plan, because he knew the ogre didn’t used to be so bitter…”
“Right!” I say. “So, I hear we’re off to the outward bound centre?”
“That’s tomorrow,” Mum says. “We’re staying the night at Auntie Karen’s.”
I stare at her as the blood drains from my face. “Oh, no.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JACK
I’d assumed Nate’s lack of enthusiasm about staying the night with Auntie Karen was just Nate being Nate, but within five seconds of meeting the woman, I can see she’s a nightmare. I’m not sure how much older than Mrs Nate she actually is, but she gives the impression it’s at least ten years. She wears a blunt bob cut and a permanent look of disapproval. But that’s not the worst of it.
“I wasn’t expecting quite so many of you,” she says, as she ushers us all in through the massive front door of her huge farmhouse, somewhere just north of Cambridge. “I’ve put you boys in the barn; I’m sure you’ll prefer having more space to all bunking up in one room together, and there’s plenty of straw in there.”
“In the barn with straw – like animals?” I hiss at Nate.
Nate just shrugs and gives me an I told you so type of look.
“Sorry, Karen,” Nate’s mum says. “We’ve somewhat multiplied.”
“Hmm, positively viral,” Karen replies. “In you come anyway – shoes off, boys, please! We don’t need three pairs of muddy trotters running through the house.”
“Oh my god,” I mutter, as I kick my sparkling silver trainers off.
“It’ll get worse,” Nate whispers.
We’re herded through to the huge kitchen at the back of the house, which is decked out in marble worktops, an Aga, four other ovens fitted into a unit on the wall, and even a built-in coffee machine. On one of the walls some words are
