Finding phoebe, p.1
Finding Phoebe, page 1
CONTENTS
Cover
Praise
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
Praise for Finding Phoebe
‘Understanding the world is often easier from a shifted viewpoint, and this is what Extence does so perfectly. The eponymous Phoebe lives with ASD, and it is her navigation of the strange and often inexplicable world of the “normal” that is so warm and utterly captivating. Neurodiversity has a voice, and it’s witty and uplifting and enlightening all at once’
Jasper Fforde
‘Totally enchanting, it’s warm and funny with such a kind heart, just like Phoebe, who is a wonderfully charming character to spend time with’
Ciara Smyth
‘A humdinger of a story packed with infectious humour and heart, Finding Phoebe is reading for pleasure at its absolute best’
Jessica Scott-Whyte
‘A lovely story with a compelling and unique protagonist. Extence tackles a subject that has almost become taboo these days and deserves to see the light in YA fiction’
Susin Nielsen
First published in 2023 by
Andersen Press Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road, London SW1V 2SA, UK
Vijverlaan 48, 3062 HL Rotterdam, Nederland
www.andersenpress.co.uk
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
The right of Gavin Extence to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Copyright © Gavin Extence, 2023
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
ISBN 978 1 78761 250 1
1
The Interesting Clouds and the Car in the Sea
Dear Mum,
2018 was the year Bethany went off the rails. It was the year many things happened, but Bethany is the main thing I need to talk about here. After all, she was pretty much the catalyst for everything else, from my doomed attempt at self-improvement to my decision to flee the country for an indefinite period. I’m not trying to absolve myself of responsibility. I should make that clear. I made my own decisions, some of which ended up causing a great deal of damage. All I’m saying is that I had to respond to a situation that was often beyond my control, and even further beyond my comfort zone. This continues to be something I struggle with.
I am, however, getting ahead of myself. I need to start at the start, on the evening my routine was broken. It was a turning point because it marked the exact moment my life stopped feeling safe and predictable.
It began with the car in the sea.
I was walking Gladys, our Welsh Border Collie, back from the north beach when the screaming became audible. It was faint at first, barely distinguishable from the shriek of a gull carried on the wind, but as we made our way across the dunes, the sound gradually resolved, becoming more human. It was unfortunate because prior to this, everything had been going well. There were some extremely interesting altocumulus clouds gathering in the northeast, under lit by the setting sun. The rest of the sky was turning a pleasing shade of pink, and the air smelled of salt and sand and wet vegetation. But now I worried that our walk was about to be ruined. Gladys had started yipping in response to the screams, and I was faced with a dilemma.
On the one hand, I already knew what the problem was – or I had a very strong suspicion, based on the time of day and phase of the moon – and it was unlikely that anyone was going to die. If I avoided the causeway and stuck to the dunes, then I’d be home by eight o’clock and could continue my evening as scheduled, with no harm done.
On the other hand, this was probably not the ‘right thing to do’.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to draw up a flowchart of options and potential outcomes. The screaming was ongoing, and it was having a significant impact on my ability to think. I resolved to take a peek at the situation to assess the danger; afterwards, I’d be able to make an informed decision about what action, if any, was required.
When we reached the top of the dune abutting the causeway, the car was approximately twenty metres distant. It was stationary in a couple of feet of swirling seawater. I doubted that any water had got inside the car as cars are designed to be watertight, but the woman in the passenger seat had started to panic nevertheless. She was halfway out of her window, trying to climb onto the roof, while the man in the driver’s seat was shouting at her to calm down and stop being so bloody hysterical. In response, she continued to scream hysterically.
I observed the scene for a minute or so, taking in the relevant facts. The car was a BMW, and it looked sporty and impractical: certainly not suitable for driving on a flooded road. As for the people, the woman looked to be approximately twenty-five to thirty years old. She had dark hair and was wearing some kind of flimsy wraparound beach dress and was not very good at climbing. The man was mostly bald, red in the face, and I estimated his age to be fifty years minimum. My first thought was that he was probably the woman’s father, except he kept shouting at her and telling her to get back in the car and stop being such a fucking drama queen, and this didn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d say to your daughter. So it was also possible that he was her much older husband or boyfriend. I was unable to draw any firm conclusion.
I was loath to go down to them, but Gladys had decided that enough was enough. She darted down the embankment, plunged into the sea and started barking again, with great enthusiasm. This caused both the man and the woman to turn and look in my direction, which was not easy for them because the man had to pivot in his seat and the woman was still clinging to the side of the car. And it was not easy for me because I don’t like being looked at, especially not by strangers. This is something else that hasn’t changed in the last six years.
‘Oh, thank fuck,’ the man said. ‘Listen. We need you to get someone to tow us out of here. Can you do that?’
I told him I could not.
And there was a small pause as the waves continued to lap against the BMW’s wheel arches. Then the woman started screaming again. Or that’s what I thought at first. After a moment’s reconsideration, I decided that she was actually laughing, but her laughter was peculiar – a series of strangled, high-pitched yelps. Since the situation was not humorous, this was a confusing development.
So I explained, carefully, that there was close-to-zero chance that anyone else was going to attempt the causeway with the tide this high and still rising. And anyway, from the angle their car was at – approximately 45° to the straight line of the road – I found it unlikely that it could be freed so easily. My hypothesis was that at least one of the back wheels had come off the tarmac – probably the result of a poorly executed three-point turn – and was stuck in the marshy ground at the bottom of the embankment. The vehicle would be going nowhere until the tide had fallen sufficiently, which would be some time close to midnight.
‘Midnight?’ the man repeated.
‘The next low tide is at 3.06 a.m.,’ I shouted to him, ‘but the road is clear three hours before that. Give or take fifteen minutes. It depends on the wind speed and direction and the atmospheric pressure.’
The man stared at me. I don’t know why. It’s possible he was awaiting further information. But in the meantime, the woman had finally managed to scrabble out of the window and onto the roof. She started pounding on the metal with her fists, which made Gladys bark again. Gladys was finding the situation extremely exciting.
‘This genius said we’d be OK!’ the woman shouted. ‘He said it would be just like going through a ford!’
‘It’s not like a ford,’ I told her. ‘It’s the North Sea.’
She ignored this and kept pounding on the roof, and the man kept shouting at her to stop because she was making this ten times worse than it had to be, and I closed my eyes and bit the skin around my fingernails. It’s a habit I’ve been trying very hard to break, but right then, I needed the pain to distract me. The noise, the people, the situation – it was all very distressing.
‘He’s right,’ I told the woman, because she really was making everything worse. But she didn’t hear me, so I just kept repeating it – ‘he’s right
‘Who’s right?’ she yelled. ‘Who’s right?’
This seemed an odd question, given there was only one person I could be referring to. Moreover, it put me in a rather awkward position, not knowing the nature of their relationship. I decided the safest option was to hedge my bets. ‘Your father or significantly older partner.’
The woman started screeching again. I decided she was mentally unstable, and looked at my boots for a while.
Then the man said: ‘For fuck’s sake! Go and get someone else. Go and get a grown-up.’
I phoned Daddy.
‘Two tourists have driven their car into the sea,’ I told him.
‘Oh, Christ,’ he said. ‘Are they OK? Are you OK?’
‘I’m OK. I’m on the embankment.’
‘Stay on the embankment.’
‘Of course I’ll stay on the embankment.’
‘I know you will. What about the tourists? Are they OK? Have they called the coastguard?’
‘They’re not in any immediate danger,’ I said, ‘and the coastguard is not required; they got stuck at the first dip in the road, before they made it out into the channel. But the woman has climbed onto the roof and is intermittently hysterical. The man is still in his seat. And they keep shouting at each other. It’s highly unpleasant.’
I was having to shout a little bit too, because the wind was gusting and the phone line was not great. The tourists were both glaring at me.
‘OK. Just hold tight, Phoebe,’ Daddy said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.’
‘I know. Please hurry.’
I hung up and told the tourists that my father was on his way.
‘Is he bringing a tow cable?’ asked the man. ‘Please tell me he’s bringing a tow cable.’
‘He’s not bringing a tow cable,’ I said, rubbing my temples. ‘No sensible person would try to drive on this road.’
I sat on the grass and watched the sky for the thirteen and a half minutes it took Daddy to arrive. Gladys knew that he was approaching before he’d even appeared in the distance. She had been dozing at my side, but I suddenly felt her muscles tense against my leg. Her ears pricked up, and a moment later she was hurtling across the top of the embankment, wagging her tail and barking happily. Daddy appeared a moment later; he bent down so he could pat her head, but without really breaking his stride, since there was a more pressing matter to attend to (i.e. the car in the sea).
‘Hello, Phoebe,’ Daddy said.
‘Hello, Daddy,’ I replied.
He put his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re OK?’
‘It’s been stressful, but I’m OK.’
He nodded, then turned his attention to the tourists. The irate bald man had also climbed onto the roof now, and the sea had risen almost to the top of the wheel arches and was presumably starting to ruin the engine. He tried to place a hand on the woman’s back but she shrugged him off angrily. As you know, I sometimes miss the nuances of human body language, but in this instance, there was no nuance. Their feelings were as easy to read as Gladys’s.
Daddy addressed the tourists: ‘I think it’s probably best if you leave the car,’ he said.
‘Can’t someone tow us out?’ the man asked. ‘There must be someone with... I don’t know, a tractor or something.’
‘I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until the tide falls.’
And even though this was almost exactly what I’d told the man fifteen minutes ago, this time his reaction was very different. He just nodded a couple of times, then looked at the woman, who refused to look back. This is very typical of people. They don’t care about the facts or logic of a statement. They care about who’s saying it.
‘Listen,’ Daddy said. ‘I can give you the number of a garage on the mainland. They’ll recover the vehicle as soon as possible. But in the meantime... well...’ He gestured at the water. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to get a bit wet. There’s nothing else for it.’
The woman barely hesitated. She slid herself down the side of the car and immediately gasped as the water rose up past her knees. It was 3rd September, so I’d estimate the sea was approximately thirteen degrees Celsius (based on the daily average, which I’ve just looked up). The man threw his shoes and socks onto the embankment, rolled up his trousers, and then also slid into the sea and started swearing again. Daddy ignored this. He helped the woman onto the embankment and then took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders, which was kind but probably of little practical use since it was her lower half that was cold and wet.
‘I parked as close as I could,’ Daddy said, ‘but it’s still a bit of a walk to the car.’
These were troubling words.
‘You’re not going to bring them to our house?’ I enquired tactfully. ‘It’s just that I have school tomorrow. I’d find it extremely disruptive.’
Daddy held up his hands, the same way he might if trying to calm traffic. ‘It’s OK, Phoebe. I’m sure they’ll be far more comfortable at one of the hotels or B&Bs. There’s bound to be room somewhere.’
I nodded, instantly relieved.
The bald man was out of the water and putting his shoes back on. He looked at me, then Daddy. ‘You know, your daughter’s been pretty rude to us,’ he said, quite unfairly.
‘Just leave it,’ the woman hissed.
‘I will not leave it! She could see we were in trouble and... well, she was deliberately insulting. Sarcastic. There’s no other way to put it.’
Sarcastic? I was baffled. All I’d done was try to help!
Daddy also appeared speechless. That, or he was counting in his head, which was a strategy we’d been taught in a workshop on Managing Difficult Emotions. He looked at the man for a full ten seconds, then said: ‘I very much doubt that.’
The man said nothing.
‘Phoebe, you can go home now,’ Daddy told me. ‘Take Gladys. You’ve done really well.’
I didn’t need to be told twice. I went home.
2
The New Boy
It was almost dark by the time I got back, twenty-four minutes later than planned. I put fresh water down for Gladys, set the timer on my phone, and then spent an additional five minutes in the garden, hitting the punch bag beneath the beech tree. I reasoned that this would be time well spent, as my encounter with the strangers had left me with a lot of pent-up frustration.
Yet afterwards, as I removed my boxing gloves and conducted a swift body scan, I noted that my muscles felt just as tense as before, and my mind was still racing; all I’d achieved was an elevated pulse and aching wrists.
I continued with my evening ritual: I showered, brushed my teeth and changed into my pyjamas. When I picked up my phone to check the time again, I found a missed call and a WhatsApp message from Bethany.
I dropped by but no one answered the door. Everything OK?
In other circumstances, I might have told her what had just happened, but I knew I wasn’t at my best, and the thought of a protracted conversation, even with Bethany, was daunting. My priority now was to get my evening back on track: wind down, get a full night’s sleep, and be adequately refreshed for the first day back at school.
I’m fine, I wrote. Just got out the shower. Did you want something in particular?
Bethany replied almost at once. Just wanted to chat. I’m feeling a bit all over the place TBH.
I read the message twice; it was frustratingly vague, and possibly self-contradictory. How could you feel a bit all over the place? I spent a minute or two contemplating this puzzle, and was just about to ask what she meant when another message came through, saving me the trouble.
It’s fine if you’re too busy. Don’t worry about it.
I am a bit busy, I admitted. I’ve been re-watching Game of Thrones and was about to start another episode. I don’t want to leave it too late or it will disrupt my sleep!
I had to wait quite a long time for Bethany’s response to come through, considering how short it was.
Fine, forget it. See you tomorrow.
See you tomorrow.
It was a relief that we’d managed to resolve the conversation so amicably, and with minimal further disruption. I resumed my Game of Thrones re-watch and was approximately thirty-nine minutes in when Daddy poked his head around the bedroom door. He indicated by gesture that he wanted me to remove my headphones.
