Read Online The Twice-Lived Summer of Bluebell Jones by Susie Day - Free Book Online

I realize the Pavilion is packed. Maybe it’s because it’s later in the summer. Maybe it’s Tiger and her magnetic tendencies, drawing them in like the tide – but it’s as if people aren’t passing by or there by mistake, like most of the Whalesgigs I’ve been to over the years. Dad’s going to get a big head. I can see him glancing back at Mum, and they both look white and wowed.
    I spot Red at last, perched on a speaker stack at the edge of the stage, hair blazing crimson at the edges where the spotlights hit, gazing down on the band.
    Dad straps his show-time face on. “It’s good to see you here, Penkerry,” he drawls in his best Vegas voice. “Now show me what you got.”
    They rip into “Johnny B Goode”, and the glitter ball drips light across the surge of bodies.
    The bass thrums up through the floor, loud enough to pound in my chest. My chair shakes. I hold Diana out, up, and snap the bob of the crowd, the band onstage. Too far and too fast for focus, so they’ll be blur and light.
    Tiger dances with the elf girl, as if there’s no one else on the dance floor.
    Dad stuffs up the lyrics of “Hey Baby”, and nearly falls off the stage laughing.
    They play “Summertime Blues”, and Fozzie launches into gleeful, uncoordinated arm-flailing, too adorable to critique. Dan plays air guitar and tries, briefly, to scoop Fozzie into a proper rock’n’roll dance hold, which goes sideways when she tries to dip him. He’s so surprised he ends up doing a slide between her legs, and they both fall over, lying flat and floppy with laughter.
    It’s their best gig ever. Theyplay three encores, and the last one even has people listening to it.
    I meet them backstage like always, to help them get the gear up to the car.
    â€œTop night!” yells Fozzie, as Dad locks up the backstage door. “See you around, Blue!”
    I wave back as she dances wonkily along the pier.
    â€œ Blue , now, is it?” says Dad, smirking. “I see. I think we need to reassess our naming strategy for Peanut, honey. Stuff flowers, let’s go with colours. Vermilion? Or Aquamarine? Orange?”
    â€œHeliotrope!” shouts Tiger.
    â€œBeige,” says Mum. “My granny always said you can’t go wrong with beige.”
    â€œBeige Jones: future rock god,” says Dad thoughtfully. “If you say so, sweetness.”
    We get to the car, parked up on the prom, and Mum and Dad have a snog while we pile things in the boot. They’re always like that when the gig goes well.
    Tiger wolf-whistles. I give them a slow clap.
    â€œThank you, thank you, we’re here all summer,” Mum says.
    â€œWell, I think you can say we’re officially settled in,” says Dad, as we pile in and drive off. “So, my gorgeous girls: what do we think of Penkerry?”
    Tiger’s smile is electric. “Love it,” she breathes.
    Dad quirks an eyebrow at me in the rear-view mirror.
    â€œIt’s good, yeah. It’s, um. . .” I look at the lights from the pier, reflections flickering on the black water as we head up Penkerry Hill, hunting for the right word. “It’s . . . tidy .”
    â€œHa!” yelps Dad.
    â€œOh my god,” says Mum. “You’ve made my children Welsh.”
    â€œIt’s in the genes, sweetheart!”
    â€œI know this dents your patriotic pride, love, but you were born in Kent.”
    â€œAh, but I grew up here, that’s what counts. Welsh parents. Welsh grandaddy. It all counts.”
    We pick out Welsh names for Peanut all the way up the hill, to add to the list on the fridge. I hope we call Peanut “Myfanwy”. That way, if we’re going to buy her Myfanwy-themed birthday presents, we’ll have to come back.
    â€œHey, can we come to Penkerry next year? For my fourteenth birthday?” I ask as we climb out of the car. I’m so