Читать книгу Summer At Willow Tree Farm - Heidi Rice - Страница 7

Eloise Charlotte Preston’s Diary: Do NOT read or you will die.

17 June 1998

My life is actually officially over. And my mum has gone stark raving bonkers. She woke me up while it was still dark yesterday – and it was Sunday, it wasn’t even a school day.

She said we were going somewhere really cool and all sorts of other mad stuff about starting a new life. I just listened to my Discman because she was acting weird. But the way she was going on, I thought we were moving somewhere cool, like New York or Disneyworld. And then where did we finally end up… After hours and hours of driving… Wait for it… FLIPPING WILTSHIRE! And not just Wiltshire, but a commune. That’s right, a commune. Obviously someone forgot to tell the people here communes went out of fashion a million years ago when hippies went extinct.

Mum said I’m missing school for the rest of the term, which could have been good. But it’s not. I miss my friends. It’s PE tomorrow and I even miss that! And I won’t get to go to Laura Gilchrist’s end of year party.

And all this horrible stuff is happening because she’s divorcing Dad. But I don’t get why we have to leave London and come here? Why can’t Dad leave instead? That’s what happened when Jess’s parents got divorced – she ended up with two cool places to live, her mum’s house and her dad’s new flat in Chelsea. And I’ve ended up living in a field.

I keep telling Mum I hate it here, but she just keeps smiling.

Mum’s friend Pam is here and she’s all smiley too – like me having my whole life ruined is a good thing.

I hate them both. There’s not even a TV so I’ve already missed one episode of Sex and the City – which I’ll probably never see ever again now. Or Friends. Or Beverly Hills 90210 (although that’s not so bad now that Luke Perry’s hardly even in it). And, even worse, forget about a computer or the internet, this place doesn’t even have a phone. So I can’t even ring Jess. She’ll probably think I’ve been kidnapped. I had to write her a letter. How tragic is that?

The woman that runs this place is called Laura and she’s a total psychopath. But her son Art is THE WORST. He’s only a year older than me, but he’s really scary. He’s sort of good-looking, if you fancied Jack in Titanic you’d probably fancy him too. He’s got a tattoo on his arm– which I thought was a little bit cool (it’s a big red rose with thorns) until I got a closer look at it today, and realised the petals are actually drops of blood. Yuk! And anyway, no one has a tattoo who isn’t a criminal or a biker. All the other kids here, who are miles younger than me and him, follow him around like a pack of wild dogs and treat him like he’s God. Which he is so not.

I bet he’s never smiled in his entire life. His jeans are ripped, but not in a good way, and covered in stains like he’s never cleaned them ever. And he doesn’t seem to go to school, so we were the only kids here today. He totally ignored me when I said hello. Then when I told him the room my mum’s given me here is nowhere near as pretty as my room at home (just to make conversation, like a normal person), he made a mean comment about me being like Princess Di. As if that was a bad thing. When EVERYONE loves Princess Di, especially now she’s dead.

He called me Princess Drama at supper, so now all the other kids have started calling me it too. They all hate me (AND Princess Di probably) but I don’t care because I hate them back.

I told Mum what Art said about me (and Princess Di) and she just smiled AGAIN and told me I shouldn’t judge people too harshly before I get to know them properly.

Like I want to get to know Art properly! As if!! Honestly, Mum acts like it’s my fault Art’s so mean to me. Why is she on his side? When she should be on mine?

I want to go home. I wish I was dead. I might have to kill myself if we stay here. I think I’ll start a hunger strike tomorrow and see what Mum does.

If you’re reading this, Mum, I’m not kidding!