Free Coming of Age by Valerie Mendes Page A

door with it. Amy said quickly, “Dad?”
    â€œYes, sweetheart?”
    â€œWhat you said at breakfast. About wishing you had six weeks off.”
    â€œSo I did.”
    â€œHave you planned a holiday?”
    â€œD’you know, it’s amazing you should mention it . . .”
    â€œOh?” Amy kept her head down. She drizzled olive oil on the salad, watched the raw spinach leaves gleam.
    â€œIt’s exactly what we discussed over lunch. We thought while you’re in Paris we could go to Wales. Just for a week. I wouldn’t want you to be alone in the house . . .”
    â€œI could always stay at Ruth’s.”
    â€œNo, a week will be fine. Hannah wants me to meet her parents in Cardiff. Then she and I can spend a few days walking in the mountains. Fresh air, exercise . . .”
    â€œJust what the doctor ordered.”
    So now he’s meeting her parents!
    Dad laughed. “Really? You wouldn’t mind? You know, if Hannah and I . . .”
    It wouldn’t matter much if I did.
    â€œWhat’ll we do with Tyler?”
    â€œI’ll ask Dora to have him. She’ll spoil him rotten and he’ll adore it. It’ll give her a holiday too.”
    Better and better.
    â€œThat’s settled, then.” Amy picked up the salad bowl. “Could you tell Julian supper’s ready?”
    Amy watched Dad leave the kitchen. This afternoon, her plan had seemed far-fetched and ridiculous. Not any more . . .
    Amy opens her wardrobe and takes out the new dress. It swishes against her.
    â€œWhat d’you think?”
    Ruth gasps. “It’s gorgeous . It must’ve cost a fortune.”
    â€œLess than half price.”
    â€œPut it on.”
    Amy kicks off her trainers, strips off her T-shirt and jeans. Gently, she pulls the dress over her head. The silk rustles seductively.
    â€œYou don’t think it’s a bit over the top?”
    â€œNonsense. You look fantastic . I’ve never seen you in red before. Give us a twirl.”
    Amy twirls. The flared knee-length skirt lifts around her thighs.
    â€œYou’ll need shoes to match . . . and to put your hair up.”
    Amy scoops it into a high ponytail. “Like that?”
    â€œWith a red ribbon, something to set it off. You’ll look fabulous. ’Specially with that new sparkle in your eye.”
    â€œWhat new sparkle?” Amy pretends to adjust the scoop of the dress’s neckline.
    â€œYou tell me.”
    Amy giggles. “If you must know, Christopher’s coming to the party.”
    Ruth sits up on the bed. “Julian’s friend? The one you met in Cambridge last year?”
    â€œYes,” Amy says. “And I met him before, at Julian’s school. When I was thirteen.”
    Ruth stares at her. “You never told me! Amy Grant, you’re blushing! You’re as red as your dress. You fancy him like mad. Come on, Miss I-Can’t-Be-Bothered-with-Boys! Own up to Auntie Ruth.”
    Amy slides the dress off, sorry to part with it. She runs her fingers down its skirt, turns to look at Ruth.
    â€œHe’s not a boy,” she says. “He’s twenty years old.”
    â€œDon’t you think –” Ruth hesitates – “he might be a bit old for you?”
    Amy starts to dance around the room in her underwear, leaping and bounding, clapping her hands above her head, clicking her fingers to the beat of her body.
    â€œ Old ? My Christopher? He’s perfect . . . Just you wait and see!”

Eight
    On Friday Amy wakes to the heavy pattering of rain.
    She wrenches the curtains aside and opens the window. A warm summer wind batters the trees. Lupins and delphiniums sag their bright heads beneath the torrent. Fairy lights dangle from drenched branches, trying to hold on. Puddles collect on the terrace. A drove of starlings, blue-black and glittering, swoops noisily to drink.
    At midday Julian says, “I’m going to collect Chris from