Kitabı oku: «The Glitter Collection», sayfa 11
Chapter 25
making you shine…
It’s January and my grandpa and grandma have gone back to Spain and have promised we can all go and visit them in the summer holidays, hopefully with my mum, if she’s back home by then. Uncle Dan is busy drawing the plans for the barn and employing some builders to do the work. On the plans he’s drawn in a bedroom for me that actually overlooks the pony field, so I can watch Stardust and Cupcake from my bedroom window and make sure they’re OK. That’s if we can persuade my mum to come and live here. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Max says I’ve become pony obsessed and is worried that I might turn out like his mum. Well, he’s right, a bit, because I’ve covered my white bedroom walls with pony posters and with some sketches that I’ve done myself. Max bought me a sketchbook and some proper artists’ pencils for Christmas and he’s teaching me how to draw. I’m nowhere near as good as him, but at least I’m not as rubbish as I’d thought I was. And when I’m not reading about ponies, or drawing them, I’m off trekking round the island with Isla and Max or grooming them or picking up poo. And I’ve started a Friday-night film club at the school, and we’re busily working our way through all my old movies. On our first night we watched The Wizard of Oz, which made me miss Chelsea millions. I wish she was here too, joining in all my fun, still being my bestie. Isla’s slowly getting the hang of doing American accents and remembering all the words, but she’ll never be as good as Chels. Max doesn’t love old films as much as me and he doesn’t love ponies, but he comes along anyway and is teaching me loads about how to ride.
At the weekends we watch films, go for rides, drink hot chocolate at Kristina’s café, and then all huddle in Max’s tree house, drawing or playing games. Chelsea wouldn’t recognise me any more, nor would my mum because I’m mostly muddy and windswept and my hair’s a mess. Sometimes I don’t even recognise myself. One day, Auntie Cass takes a photo of me and Indigo on our ponies. We put it in a shiny silver frame and send it to Mum. A few days later I have a letter back.
Hi Tiff,
Thanks for your Christmas letter, babe. I miss you and love you so much and I’m so, so sorry for messing up. If I could change things I would, but I can’t. All I can do is apologise and promise never to get us into such a mess again. I’m sorry for leaving you at nights and for drinking so much I couldn’t stand up. I’m sorry for stealing stuff that I thought would make you happy and not noticing that you were scared. It’s only now that I haven’t got you around every day that I realise that none of that was important. The only important thing was me loving you and you loving me. And I know I haven’t done a very good job of that so far. But I plan to make it up to you, Tiff, I promise.
Auntie Cass will explain things to you in a bit more detail, but basically, my case has been to court and because you don’t have another parent to care for you, and because I’ve been a very good girl while I’ve been here, I should be out of here at the beginning of March. The judge said that really I should stay here for a whole year, but having you got me off, Tiff. I’m lucky. Mikey’s been put away for years, so that’s the end of him and good riddance I say!
I’m not sure about coming back to Sark. So much has happened there in the past, Tiff, that it scares me. I don’t know how to unravel it all and start again. I don’t even know if I’d be welcome. I upset a lot of people who were very special to me and I don’t know if they’ll ever be able to forgive me. But we’ll see. Let’s give it time.
Mostly, I’m sorry for running away from my family and for never letting you have the chance to know them. But I’m glad you do now and I’m glad they’re enjoying you and you’re enjoying them. I’ve been a silly girl in my life, Tiff, and I’m paying the price and learning my lesson the hard way. Don’t let that happen to you.
You look wonderful on Stardust and your hair looks great, I hardly recognise you, you’ve changed so much. It’s like happiness is just streaming out of you, making you shine. I’m so proud of you, take care my
beautiful girl; I hope that one day you’ll be able to
forgive me.
All my bestest and biggest and fattest and truest love,
Mama xxxx
P.S. You won’t believe it, Tiff, but my cooking’s getting more brilliant by the day! My tutor says I’m a natural and that I should think about going into business. xx
I open up the back of the photo frame that holds the picture of my mum and me and tuck her letter inside to keep it safe. Then I close it up, stroke her hair and kiss her photo face. I put the frame back beside my bed facing out, so that she can look at me when I’m sleeping. It’s good to hear from her, but I suddenly feel nervous and jumpy inside. My mum sounds different. It feels like prison has made her stop pretending. And hearing her admit to leaving me alone at night and drinking too much and actually noticing I was scared makes a hard stone grow in my throat, which I can’t swallow down.
She’s never said stuff like that to me before. She’s only ever laughed it off and covered it up, and I’ve always gone along, pretending and icing up the cracks, making it better all the time. But now she’s telling the truth, I feel like I’m falling into a black hole, losing my footing, losing what’s familiar.
A little panic bubble rises up inside me. If she’s leaving prison at the beginning of March that means there’s only about five weeks left to go. Of course I do want to see her, and I do want her to come home, I miss her, I love her, she’s my mum. But a scared part of me still wants to rub her out, wants to be Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan’s girl with Stardust and Indigo and a simple life. I want her back, but I don’t want things the same as they were. I love her, but it’s easy loving her from here where she can’t get into trouble and she can’t mess up.
What’s it going to be like when she’s back? What’s she going to be like? And will I ever actually be able to forgive her and trust her again? It all feels too much, too soon. Of course, I want to forgive her but Matilda is right. Every time I dig down deep, the hurt is still just sitti ng there, waiting to jump out at me, waiting to scratch my face and stab my heart.
Chapter 26
i hope so sweetheart…
Work on the barn is happening fast. Every day the builders swarm on it and buzz away with their tools, bashing and hammering and fixing and building.
“How are we going to persuade my mum that she has to come and live here?” I ask Auntie Cass, when we’re putting the finishing touches to a batch of cupcakes we’ve made for tonight’s school disco. Indigo’s face and hands are covered in pink icing and she’s busy scooping leftovers from the bowl.
“I’m not sure,” she says, “but knowing your mum we have to do it in a way that makes her feel like it was her idea all along. Carla hates being told what to do by anyone.”
“You’re telling me,” I laugh. “She’s gets like a toddler in a tantrum if she doesn’t have things her own way. Whenever I come up with an idea for anything, she always turns it into her own personal brilliant invention. But in her letters it sounds like this whole prison thing has shocked her and changed her, Auntie Cass. D’you think that’s really possible?”
“I hope so, sweetheart,” she says, dobbing a blob of pink icing on the end of my nose. “For all our sakes. And in some ways she doesn’t have a lot of options. Your old flat’s been cleared and the landlord’s rented it out to someone else, so you can’t go back there. And truthfully, it wouldn’t be good for her to move back to the same area, you know with all the gossip and stuff and mixing with the same bad lot.”
Then a thought hits me like lightning.
“I’ve got it!” I say, arranging the cakes on a plate. “It’s perfect!”
“Well, go on,” says Auntie Cass, “fill us in, share your inspiration.”
“Well,” I say, “in my mum’s last letter she says she’s become brilliant at cooking. And, I was just thinking, that well…”
“Come on, Tiff, spit it out, the suspense is killing me, you’ve got a great idea fizzing away in that brain of yours!”
“Well,” I say, “I was just thinking, that soon it’s going to be summer and, well, the hotel’s going to get busy and you’re going to need a cook, because you and Uncle Dan won’t be able to do everything on your own, and I was just thinking that maybe my mum could do the cooking? She’s learned how to in prison and she says she’s really good at it.”
“You clever, clever girl,” says Auntie Cass, mopping Indigo’s face with a damp cloth. “The only question is, how do we get your mum to think it’s her own idea?”
“Leave it to me,” I wink. I pour myself some juice, pick up a spare cupcake that’s just asking to be eaten and run upstairs to my room. I settle at my desk and take out some special writing paper with ponies leaping around the edge. Then I start…
Dear Mum,
Thanks for your letter. I’ve been cooking too. Auntie Cass, Indigo and I have just finished making some cupcakes for our school disco tonight and they’re delicious. I’m eating one now, looking out of my bedroom window.
Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan are a bit stressy today. The hotel’s getting busy and they’re worried about how they’re going to manage all the cooking through the summer, when all the tourists arrive. Their old chef just left and they’re having trouble finding someone who’s a brilliant cook. Mandy has applied for the job and Auntie Cass is thinking about giving her a trial run, but there’s some stuff she says she’s just not that good at, so she’s not really sure.
It’s not our problem though, is it? We’ve got enough of our own problems to deal with in deciding what’s going to happen when you leave prison. I mean, I know I wrote to you the other day saying that you and Mandy could work things out, but now I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. I’ve been thinking that it actually might be more fun if we moved back to London. You’re right, it’s a bit quiet and boring here. Nothing ever happens here at school except work, work and more work. There are no fights to watch to spice up my day. And maybe you could even get a job, as a school cook, that would be fun, Mum, wouldn’t it?
And I agree, why would you want to come back here to people who used to love you a lot? With everything that’s gone on they might have changed their minds. It’s just not worth the risk.
Anyway, I love you millions, although I am a bit nervous about seeing you again. Are you nervous about seeing me?
Love Tiff. You and me, Mum. You and me xxxxxxxxx
P.S. I know you don’t like talking about old stuff, but I’ve been thinking about loads of stuff and I’m curious to know what my dad’s name is.
P.P.S. What’s going to happen? Do I come to prison and meet you when you get out and then we catch the bus to our new home, or what?
I show Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan my letter.
“You’re brilliant, Tiff,” says Auntie Cass. “If she’s anything like the sister I remember, she’ll fall for it big time. Let’s post it quick and keep our fingers crossed.”
Chapter 27
i’ve never seen anything so amazing…
“I don’t believe it,” groans Isla, climbing up the tree-house ladder with a large letter in her hand. “I got in. I passed the stupid school entrance exam. I tried really hard to mess it up, but I still got in. Now what am I going to do?”
“Just tell them, Isla,” says Max, filling jars with fresh leaves for his insects to eat. “Just tell them the truth and be done with it.”
“Go on,” I say. “You can do it Isla; there’s no point in keeping on pretending. You’ll just get in deeper and deeper until one day you’ll find yourself being shipped off to a school you don’t want to go to.”
Isla buries her head in her hands and starts crying. “It’s just the worst news ever. My mum’s ecstatic, she’s practically ordering my uniform already and I’m not even due to start until September. I think today is the worst day of my whole life.”
“Maxie baby,” calls a voice from the bottom of the ladder, “come here a minute.”
Isla and I snigger. “Maxie baby” groans and pokes his head through the trap door.
“Hi, Mum,” says Max.
“I think Midnight’s about to foal, and I thought you and the girls might like to come down to the field and watch? You’ll have to be ultra quiet and still,” she says, “but I thought you might enjoy the experience.”
Max looks at us and shrugs, “D’you fancy it?”
“Do we? Of course we do, Max!” I squeal.
Max gathers up some pencils and a sketchbook and we head off towards the field. It’s Valentine’s Day and me and Isla are busy mulling over possible foal names. I like Romeo and Cupid best, and Isla likes Valentine and Sweetheart. Max sticks his fingers down his throat and pretends to make himself sick.
“Girls are so dumb,” he laughs.
When we get to the field we all huddle in a heap, close to the hedge. Midnight is walking round and round in circles, panting and swishing and looking all agitated. Her ears are twitching back and she keeps twisting around, staring at her tummy. Max’s Mum offers some sweets around, and I don’t even bother to look at what I’m eating, I can’t take my eyes off Midnight.
Suddenly a big white bag thing pops out of Midnight and water gushes everywhere. She lies down and her panting gets louder. I’m holding my breath, waiting and waiting to see what happens next. Isla is smiling so much I think her face might split in two, and as usual, Max is busy drawing the whole event. He’s done little sketches of Midnight and of his mum and loads of Isla and me. And all around the edge of the page he’s drawn these amazing rosebuds and cartoon hearts. Suddenly, a little hoof appears and then another and then I see a soft, wet foal nose and a face with big eyes. Max’s mum is whispering to us all the time, telling us what’s happening.
“The white stuff is the placental sac,” she says. “The foal’s been growing inside it, swimming in the fluid, for almost a whole year now.”
I’ve never seen anything so amazing in my whole, entire life. Ever. Midnight is panting and pushing and the rest of the little foal’s body shoots out fast and flops on the floor. The placental sac is still covering its body and sits like a wet hoodie over its sweet black head. As it falls away the foal peers around, breathing in its first gasp of air, seeing the world for the very first time. Midnight lies back, puffing and snorting. She rolls over and pulls herself up. Then she’s nuzzling her baby and licking its face. Max’s mum hops up and pulls the sac away from the foal and checks that everything’s OK.
“It’s a filly,” she says, “a sweet little girl.” She gives Midnight a big hug and whispers into her ear. “Well done, girl, well done.”
After a while, the filly tries to stand up. At first she’s funny, all legs and knees, and wobbly, then she finds strength in her back legs and pushes herself up. Her front legs follow, trying to steady her, stopping her from toppling over. Suddenly, she sort of reminds me of myself, finding my way into my own new life.
Later, when we’re back in the tree house, Max shows us his sketches.
“You were, like, non-stop drawing, Max,” I say. “Did you actually see the birth?”
“Course I did, dummy,” he laughs. “It’s just that I see the world through pictures, you know, things make more sense to me when I draw them.”
“Chelsea was amazing at drawing as well. You really should get yourself tested for dyslexia, Max,” I tease. “You might even find that you do have a brain after all! A bit like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz.”
“What is it with that film, Tiff? You’re totally obsessed.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, “I guess I like the idea that everything we need is usually right under our noses. You know, Dorothy travelled all the way along the yellow brick road to ask the Wizard how to find her way home, only to be told that she just had to click her ruby slippers and believe she was there already. I think we should all start believing in ourselves more often.”
“A bit like me,” sighs Isla, “finding the courage to talk to my parents.”
Max rolls his eyes. “Please, don’t go all philosophical on me.”
Just then Max’s mum pops her head through the trap door. “Wasn’t it amazing? The foal’s doing well but it looks like Midnight’s in a spot of trouble. The vet’s on her way, so can you get yourself some supper Max? I’ll be busy for a while.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” sighs Max. And I know he’s wishing he were the foal or Midnight so his mum would spare some time for him. “What are we gonna call her, Mum?” he says.
“Mmmmm, not sure, does anyone have any ideas?”
“Well,” I say, “as it’s Valentine’s Day, I was thinking of Cupid or Romeo, but neither would really work for a girl.”
“I like Sweetheart or Valentina” says Isla.
“What about you, Max, any ideas?”
Max smiles and taps his sketchbook with his pencil.
“You see, if you thought in pictures like me, you’d have seen that her name was right under your nose all along. Look at the white blaze on her forehead, it’s exactly the same shape as a rosebud.”
Then he tears two pages of sketches out of his book and gives one to Isla and one to me. Mine has loads of tiny sketches of Midnight and the foal to add to my wall, and Isla’s has loads of drawings of her surrounded by rosebuds and the cartoon hearts.
