And Hunter is just … standing there. He’s lost, it’s over.
And I’m laughing.
And so is Jack, and so is Elliot, who is busy also snapping away on his phone.
And for the first time ever, I don’t care. I’m happy, I’m drenched to the bone, soaking wet, but I’m dancing about, waist deep in water singing about our “Homo Love Boat” and it feels like we’re bulletproof, invincible, we’re actually unstoppable.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JACK
The pics Elliot took look crazy. We’re all drenched. My hair is a catastrophe. I think Nate has some algae around his neck. But our faces are pictures of unadulterated joy. It’s weird, in the circumstances, but this is the first photo where we all genuinely look happy. No faking it. Our cheeks are ruddy, our smiles broad, you can tell the laughter is really full-on, deep, proper belly laughs. The caption I add isn’t fake either:
Proper jokes today with these crazy boys. Love these guys so much.
Something else. It felt good when Nate called out Hunter’s bullshit comment, ’cause usually it’s just me defending myself, so to have him do that, it felt … it felt pretty damn great, actually. So the caption is all true – I am feeling the love.
Not feeling the love is Nate’s mum, after she saw the state of us, although Nate’s dad thought it was hilarious.
“Micky, they’re wet through!” she said, scowling.
“They’ll live!”
“This is utterly ridiculous – you don’t know what’s in that lake. All sorts of diseases!”
“Then why did you book it, Mum?” Nate asked, throwing his hands in the air. I was impressed. That boy is getting more dramatic by the minute.
That shut her up. Luckily, she’s driving the camper van today, and since we have to get to the other side of the country, just north of Gloucester, she has a lot of driving to do, so we were saved from further interrogation as she navigated various motorways, A roads and country lanes on our way to – fanfare – THE FESTIVAL! I’m determined we’re gonna have a good time. Especially since Dylan and Tariq have vague-posted something really annoying: a pic of a big question mark with the caption: Huge announcement coming later today! I mean, piss right off. Whatever mundane little thing it is, I am not going to let it play on our minds. We’ll show them. I cannot wait until we start posting pics of the bands and general partying, and with everyone in a much better mood now, I reckon we’re going to get some fantastic posts. I’m seeing mosh pits, everyone with their hands in the air, glitter cannons and confetti, amazing light shows and music so loud it hammers through your very soul. And then chill, time has no meaning, just us and some random dudes we meet, everyone friendly, crashing in someone’s tent, it doesn’t matter whose, one glorious piece of summer ecstasy.
Within minutes of our arrival at “V Machine” it becomes apparent that’s not what we’re going to be getting. The first clue was the tag line, under the main title on the huge banner we drove under at the entrance:
V MACHINE
The family-friendly festival
celebrating all things veg!
We all see it. There’s silence. Probably shocked. And then Nate pipes up.
“Veg? As in … carrots?”
I swallow. “I mean, it’s in, it’s cool, right? No one’s eating meat these days.”
“I eat meat,” Nate replies darkly.
“It’s not about the food, it’s about the bands,” I tell him. “I’m going to message Leila Bhatia, let her know we’re here.”
“Why do you insist on always using her full name?” Nate mutters.
I don’t answer him, since Mr Grumpy appears to have resurfaced. Shit, shit, shit. I really hope this isn’t a gigantic mistake. I’m counting on this festival to really do the business, likes-wise. I ping Leila Bhatia a quick message, super cool, like we’re equals:
Heeeeeey, Leila, we have ARRIVED at V Machine! So buzzing for this, ha ha! Let me know if you’re about, would love to say hi, thanks again for this amazing chance. Jack. (We met at the hotel, I’m sure you remember, but just in case, ha ha, lol)
I sit back as the camper van slowly snakes its way in a queue, along the track towards the camping area, while Nate sits there, shaking his head and actually muttering to himself. Up ahead, there’s a human-sized parsnip and cauliflower entertaining the passing vehicles by dancing. “Join us tonight in the Vegscape for veg-tastic cabaret!” they shout through our open window.
I turn to Nate. “That’s just the family-friendly stuff,” I whisper. “Don’t worry, we’ll find the real party!”
“I don’t know why I didn’t do this before,” Nate says, tapping away on his phone. “I just assumed you knew what this thing was.”
“Which I do!”
“Be sure to check out the vegetarian cooking demonstrations in the Vegzilla tent,” Nate reads aloud.
“Go to the bit about the bands.”
“And don’t forget to visit our mini-festival within the festival, VegVerse, a celebration of poetry and art with the theme of … wait for it, Jack, can you guess the theme?”
“Veg?” I say in a small voice.
He tucks his phone back in his pocket. “So cool, because I bloody love courgettes.”
I smile. “Do you?”
“Shut up, of course I don’t.”
“I like tomatoes,” Elliot pipes up. “But they’re technically a fruit, which is mental.”
“OK, so, we’re not here for the veg, we’re here to party.” My phone pings. Thank Christ. “And that’s Leila Bhatia, so now I can introduce you and we can find the VIP stuff and get properly mashed.”
“No one’s getting ‘mashed’,” Nate’s mum says. “Not on my watch. You can have one supervised glass of cider each, and that’s it.”
“The only things getting ‘mashed’ at this veg fest are the potatoes!” Nate’s dad grins, twisting his head around to look at us, mouth open like a muppet at his fabulous joke.
We all just stare at him.
“Everyone, this is the Leila Bhatia,” I say, waving my hands up and down the length of her body like
