Katie Fforde - Going Dutch

‘Mm,' said Jo, 'but they'll be for wind chimes and didgeridoos, not useful things like baby wipes. Here you are.' Jo handed Dora a packet. 'I bought them in case the bathroom was suffering from overload,' she explained.

‘I think my rucksack is suffering from overload,' said Dora, stuffing the baby wipes into an already stuffed pocket. 'It's too small for more than one night away.’

Jo, who'd helped her pare her requirements down to spare clothes, a toothbrush, a pot of moisturiser and a novel, tried to sound upbeat. 'Well, you won't get a chance to wear your pyjamas, will you? You'll be dancing all night.'

‘Listening to bands,' said Tom, who was fretting to go, 'waving your arms in the air.'

‘We should be back in a couple of days,' said Dora, uncertain if she was reassuring Jo or herself.

‘You'll have a lovely time,' said Jo, sounding like a parent sending a child to a party it didn't want to go to.

Dora managed a smile. 'I'm sure. Just promise not to tell my mother where I'm going.’

'Well,' said Dora, sitting by the window on the train. 'We've got this far.'

‘Public transport is brilliant in Holland, isn't it?'

‘Mm. And so clean.' She paused. 'Do you think their festivals will be clean and well organised, too?’

Tom smiled teasingly at her. 'You're not looking forward to this, are you?'

‘Well..

‘When you pretended to be disappointed before, you were really relieved, weren't you?’

A guilty smile started at the corner of her mouth. 'A bit.’

‘Don't worry. You'll have a great time, and then you'll only have two more dares to do.'

‘Oh, those wretched dares,' she said, laughing. 'What're they going to be?'

‘Still haven't decided.' He looked around airily.

‘Well, don't make them too hard.' She thought back to the karaoke night with a certain amount of horror. 'You've been a real meany so far.'

‘"Meany",' he repeated fondly. 'I love the way you talk. Anyone else would have said "bastard".’

Dora smiled. 'I've been very properly brought up.' She couldn't help noticing her heart give a little skip at this slight show of tenderness.

Somewhere between Ed's falling in and the rest of the trip, Dora was aware her feelings had changed. Whether she'd always fancied Tom and had just been denying it because it was all too soon after John, or whether seeing him be heroic and Carole fancying him so obviously, or what, she now knew she wanted him to be more than a mate. She just didn't know how he felt about her and whether or not he still saw her as a kid sister.

‘I've noticed,' he said. 'Now, why don't you get some kip while you can? You won't get much when we get there.'

‘But I want to look out of the window and see Holland.'

‘Well, do that, but if you can nod off, I would. You won't be getting much sleep over the next two days. Don't worry,' he added, 'I'll make sure we don't miss our stop.'

‘I can't believe I actually did doze off,' said Dora as they waited in the door area to get off the train.

‘Things have been a bit hectic,' said Tom, 'what with Ed falling in and everything.'

‘We didn't talk about it much, did we? Considering how dreadful it was.’

Tom shook his head. 'No. Ed thought he'd been careless and Marcus thought it was his fault for not knowing that the catch was loose.'

‘I don't see how either of them could blame themselves, it was just an accident.'

‘No such thing in their book. Still, we don't need to think about it any more, we're here!’

Any doubts they'd had about finding the festival were banished the moment they got out of the station. There were signs and flags everywhere and there was a bus laid on.

‘This is all going so well! I can't believe how easy it's been to get here and everything,' Dora said as they jolted along in the bus.

‘Mm, it has gone well so far,' said Tom.

‘What?' His tone alerted her; there was something he wasn't telling her. 'What's the matter?'

‘Well, you know I said my friend had got tickets for the festival?'

‘Yes?'

‘Well, we haven't. We have to go over the fence.’

Dora wondered if she'd ever be able to speak to Tom again, she was so cross. This was jacking up the terror-factor in a bet that was already enormous. It was too much! She forced herself to take a few calming breaths.

‘Tom, I can't. I just can't gatecrash a festival. You can call me a wimp or a piker or any other term you can think of, but I just cannot go in without paying. It's stealing.' She could just see herself banged up in a foreign jail. What would her mother say? She'd never forgive her.

Tom fended off her outrage. 'Whoa, Dora! That's a bit of an overreaction, isn't it?'

‘Maybe, but I don't care. I have my limits. I don't mind being brave – or at least, I do, but I admit it's a good thing. Being dishonest isn't. Sorry.’

Tom sighed and looked around at the other occupants of the bus, anywhere but at her.

Dora watched him, convinced she'd put him off her for ever, certain he wouldn't even be her friend now. She felt utterly miserable and bit her lip. She stared out of the window too, so he wouldn't notice if she started crying. It was mostly because she was tired, she told herself.

The bus reached its destination and they filed off, following fellow festival-goers who all seemed to be in the spirit of it already. When they finally were off, they were still not speaking, and by now, Dora didn't know if they just happened not to be talking, or if Tom was seriously sulking. He said, 'Wait here. I'll do some texting.’

Not wanting to ask, or even know, why he wanted to get away from her to do that, she stood by the entrance, watching happy ticket-holders go streaming in.

All humanity – well, almost all – seemed to be passing before Dora. There were dreadlocked hippies wearing tie-dyed drapery; nice girls with blonde plaits, short shorts and tight pink T-shirts. There were groups of Goths, wearing black studded leather, big boots and, in the case of one woman, a surprisingly delicate black net tutu over ripped fishnet tights who reminded Dora of Bib. I wonder if she'll be here, she thought. Lads in jeans carrying ghetto-blasters and cases of lager mingled with a group of jugglers, who juggled as they walked. There were couples with buggies and babies strapped to their bodies who looked as if they led middle-class suburban lives most of the time, and grey-bearded, long-haired, black-garbed men who had probably never had much to do with mainstream society. In vain Dora looked for someone who, like her, felt out of place and anxious.

The sun began to get hotter and she became thirsty. She drained the water in the bottle she had with her and realised that soon she'd have to buy some more. There wasn't a stall selling it outside, but she could see one through the gates.

Had Tom abandoned her? Surely he wouldn't do something like that. But she couldn't help wondering if he found her refusal to gatecrash the festival so irritating that he'd want to.

Time passed. Had she just been waiting, she'd have found plenty to entertain her in the passing crowds, but the tiny shard of fear that she was alone in a foreign country and might have to make her own way back to the bus, the station and eventually the barge on her own niggled like a splinter.

‘Hi there.' A tall, blond, tanned man wearing jeans and a T-shirt came up. He looked clean and personable and unthreatening. 'On your own?’

He had a faint accent; what kind, Dora couldn't tell. It could have been from any European country. But he had a nice smile and she gave him a small smile back.

‘Only for the moment. I'm waiting for my friend.' The man grinned. 'Girl or boy?'

‘Boy, if it's anything to do with you.' She smiled a bit more this time, so as not to sound rude. She wanted him to think a big strong boyfriend was going to emerge from the crowd at any minute. She wanted to think that herself.