Kitabı oku: «The Glitter Collection», sayfa 5
Chapter 11
my aunt cass drops the bombshell…
“We’ve got so much to sort out, Tiff, and not a lot of time,” says Auntie Cass when we’re settled in her car. But first let’s go and find somewhere to eat and I’ll fill you in on what’s happening.”
We drive to the centre of town and find an Italian place where we order pepperoni pizza, cheesy garlic bread and a big salad. While we’re waiting for our food to arrive my Auntie Cass drops the bombshell.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you, Tiff,” she says, holding my hands in hers, “but it looks like your mum is going to have to go to prison for a few months. She’s really sorry and she says to tell you that if she could change things she would. She loves you millions and is always thinking about you. She’s asked me if I would take care of you while she’s away and I’ve said yes. So you’re coming home with me, back to Sark, where you belong right now.”
My heart turns to ice. “She can’t love me that much,” I snap, “otherwise she wouldn’t have got us into this mess in the first place, would she? And she never thinks about me, not really, she only ever thinks about herself and what she wants. What did she actually do, anyway?” I ask. “Can you tell me what actually happened?”
“Well,” she says, looking worried, “I don’t want to worry you, but I think you deserve to know the truth about what’s going on. It looks like your mum got herself involved with a bad crowd. They’ve been accused of stealing some pretty big things, by all accounts, and for using other people’s credit cards. And trying to get on a ferry to leave the country just made things worse.”
“I knew it. She always does it,” I bark. “Everywhere we go, it’s like she just can’t help herself. I thought she was getting up to some dodgy stuff; it was Mikey wasn’t it and that stupid red car? She’s so embarrassing. I hate her. And what about Chardonnay? What’s going to happen to her?”
Auntie Cass’s face drops. “Tiff,” she says, trying to comfort me by holding my hand, “I’m afraid that the money your mum used to buy her was money she made from the stolen car. The police need to reclaim the cash, so Chardonnay’s had to go back to the breeder you bought her from. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not fair,” I whisper. “None of this is fair.” I pull my hand away and stuff it in my pocket, her words still stinging. The little box where I’d hidden my feelings unlocks itself. Hot tears spill down my cheeks and my whole body trembles. Our waiter brings us our food, but Auntie Cass pushes it to one side and pulls me into a hug. I pull back, trying to sniff it all away, trying to be brave. But my tears keep coming and coming in great fat sobs and as hard as I try, I just can’t hold them in any more. I want to just scream it all out, and break all the plates and trash all the food. I want to punch and bite and scratch and kick someone. I want to push it all away and scrunch it all up and throw myself in the bin. My explosion of rage travels up through my body, wanting to escape me, wanting to be free. My feet scuffle and stomp on the floor and my fists curl like Matilda’s, ready to fight. But my auntie just pulls me back into her hug and holds me close.
“It’s OK, Tiff,” she whispers into my hair. “It’s OK.”
“But it’s not,” I scream, pulling myself away from her hug. “My life is never going to be OK again.”
After our food we drive away from Dover, back to London, back to our flat to collect my things before going off to Sark. Auntie Cass picked up the keys from my mum when she’d visited her in the police station. Apparently, my mum is going to be moved to a proper prison soon, where she’ll have to wait until some judge person decides how long she’ll have to stay there for. If she hadn’t tried to run away she’d be allowed home to wait for the judge’s decision, but now they have to lock her up in case she tries to run again. I decide it’s about time I stopped being pushed around by everyone and make some decisions of my own. And my first decision is that I’m not going to visit her in prison. Or even speak to her on the phone.
It feels weird going home without my mum. And it’s scary when we open the door. The dresses that Chels and I borrowed are still strewn across the room and the Shirley Temple mess is still sticky on the table. But there’s other mess too. Someone has been rummaging through our drawers and has tipped our stuff out all over the floor. And there are big empty spaces where our sofa and TV and stereo used to be. I freeze.
“It’s OK, Tiff,” Auntie Cass soothes. “Your mum warned me that things might look bad. The police let themselves in, they were searching for stolen goods and it looks like they found what they were looking for. Sorry I didn’t warn you before.”
I run to my room and loads of my stuff has gone. My laptop, my stereo and TV, my iPods and my jewellery, even my bed. I’m glad everything’s gone. I don’t even want her stolen stuff, her shiny stuff, her new, new, new stuff. Doesn’t she know that I don’t care about having new things all the time? Doesn’t she know that having a mum who looks after me is way more important than junk that will soon be thrown on the rubbish dump? Just like me.
Auntie Cass starts sorting me a pile of clothes and folding them into a black bin liner.
“I don’t want them,” I say, “I don’t want any of this.”
Auntie Cass leaves the clothes and heads for the door. Anger-bubbles fizz through my body, and my bottom lip trembles.
“Why did she do it?” I whisper.
“I don’t know, Tiff.”
I gather up my special set of old movies and my ruby slippers that Chelsea bought me last Christmas and shove them in my bag. There’s one more thing I want and it’s in my bedside drawer. Everything else can stay.
Chapter 12
it’s time to go…
“There’s something I have to do,” I say, while we’re locking up.
I lead the way to Chelsea’s flat, take a deep breath and knock on the door. Lying about things isn’t going to help and lying to friends is especially bad. As far as I can see, lies just get people into trouble. It’s time to face the truth.
“What do you want?” says her dad’s boiling-mad face. “I told Chels that I didn’t want her speaking to you any more.”
“Dad,” says Chelsea barging her way through, “stop it, leave her alone.” And then we’re hugging each other tight, Chelsea and me, besties forever.
“I came to say goodbye,” I say. “I’m sorry Chels, I lied to you, we weren’t in France, you were right, my mum’s in big trouble and I have to go away. But I wanted to give you this.” I give her the special heart-necklace from my bedside table, the one I bought on our school trip in Year Six. “You know,” I say. “To remember me by.”
“And you have this,” she says, pulling off her favourite silver ring and putting it on my finger. “I’ll never forget you, Tiff,” she smiles. “Never ever. Hey, let’s make a pact, let’s meet up at Tiffany’s when we’re seventeen – at twelve o’clock on Valentine’s Day. Promise?”
“Promise,” I say. “Besties forever?” Her Dad’s patience runs out and he goes to slam the door in my face.
“Besties forever, Tiff,” Chelsea shouts back.
“Come on,” says my Auntie Cass. “It’s time to go.”
After a really long drive we stop in some place called Weymouth. Auntie Cass finds a hotel and books us in for the night. I’ve fallen asleep in the car and haven’t realised that it’s way past midnight. It feels like my brain’s shutting down. My thoughts and worries sit heavy on my cloudy head.
In the morning we have some breakfast then make our way to the dock where we’ll catch the ferry to an island called Guernsey. From there you get another ferry to Sark. The November chill slaps itself around our cheeks and icy-grey water laps the sides of the ferry. Once we’ve bought our tickets we get back in the car, turn the heating on full and wait in the queue to get on the boat. My tummy starts its washing machine thing again, going round and round, spinning tighter and tighter. My hand starts tap, tap, tapping on the window while I’m watching the rain. I’m nervous. The last time I was in a ferry queue, things didn’t exactly turn out so well.
The ferry is full of white-haired old people going on holiday and businessmen in smart suits. It isn’t half term, or anything, so there are no other kids around. My Auntie Cass doesn’t keep staring into my eyes like the others did and she doesn’t squirrel away at my feelings. She lets me get used to the fact that my old life is moving further and further away from me with every choppy wave we sail over. Occasionally she gives my hand a friendly squeeze, or strokes my hair or sends me a reassuring smile. But I ignore her. I’m never trusting anyone in my whole life, ever again. We buy some drinks and one of those puzzle books and she tries to get me interested in working out the clues. But I’m not interested in her stupid puzzle book. Mum and I laugh at people who are interested in stuff like that. We like glossy magazines full of cool, fun stuff and celebrity gossip. I sigh. What will life be like on an island where people like puzzle books?
Chapter 13
some welly boots…
“Right,” says Auntie Cass, once we arrive in Guernsey. “We’ve a couple of hours before we catch the Sark ferry and quite a lot to do.” We park the car and head off toward the shops. “Life on Sark is a bit different,” she continues, “so you’ll need some new clothes.” She doesn’t mention the fact that I’d refused to take any of my clothes from home.
At least Guernsey has good shops. Auntie Cass buys me a few new outfits, some underwear and a new pair of pyjamas. Then we go into a shop that’s full of sailing and boaty things.
“It rains a lot on Sark,” she says, “so you need proper wet-weather gear, you know, a jacket and boots.”
“I’m not wearing one of those,” I gruff, when Auntie Cass pulls an anorak thing off the shelf.
“Well, you’ll have to get something,” she says, “or you’re going to get very wet.”
Eventually I choose a red sailing jacket with a big hood that’s OKish because it has these bright flowers all over the lining. But Wellington boot buying is different. I haven’t worn wellies since I was about six years old, which I think is a good age to stop wearing them. But Auntie Cass has a very different opinion.
“Everyone wears them on Sark,” she says, noticing my worried face. “We have to, there aren’t any proper roads, and when it rains, it really rains and everything gets covered in mud. Don’t worry, you’ll fit in, Tiff, I promise.”
I’m not worried about fitting in. I’d rather fit out. Who wants to ‘fit in’ to a place where they all wear wellies and it rains all the time? My mum was right to leave Sark. I can’t ever imagine her wearing stupid boots and anoraks. She wouldn’t be seen dead in them. But I don’t have any choice about anything in my life any more. So I find myself trying on wellies and flopping about with massive welly feet. I’m not interested in them but Auntie Cass insists that I choose. I go for red ones covered with little cream polka dot hearts. They’re OK, I suppose.
My mum told me once that cars weren’t allowed on Sark, but I didn’t know that there aren’t actually any proper roads. I start worrying about what all the other kids will be like. Will they all be boring old country bumpkin turnips who know nothing about anything? Will they have heard of things like computers or the internet? Do they even know that mobile phones have been invented?
“Do you have electricity on Sark,” I ask, “or do you still have to use candles?”
Auntie Cass cracks up laughing. “It’s OK, Tiff,” she laughs, “we haven’t been left in the Dark Ages, we’re part of the modern world, you know. Yes, we do have electricity. And telephones and inside toilets. And speaking of telephones, have you got a mobile?”
I nod.
“All the kids on Sark have them because you’ll be out and about all the time. It’s a really safe place to live – not like London, and all the kids have loads of freedom.”
My washing machine spin turns into an excited flutter and I can’t help it. Apart from leaving me in our flat alone, my mum has always been really over-protective of me. She says it’s not safe for me to go out on my own in London because you never know what might happen. But what does she care about me now? I can go wandering off with anyone I like, and she won’t even know.
“I know you’re feeling upset, Tiff, and it’s to be expected. Your whole life has just been turned upside down. But I promise you’re going to love it on Sark. I just know it. Everyone there knows your mum, and if she’d stayed on the island then you’d have grown up there too. You’ll take to it like a duck to water, you’ll see, especially when we get you on a bike and signed up at the school.”
“I don’t even know how to ride a bike,” I scowl.
“You’ve never ridden a bike?” she smiles. “What about a pony?”
I shake my head. I obviously have a lot to learn.
“Well, everyone has a bike on Sark. It’s the best way to get around.”
“I’ll walk,” I say. “That’s why I’ve got legs.”
Auntie Cass ignores my remark and we go into a café for hot chocolate and some food. Then we dash into a kids’ shop where she buys a pair of pink fairy-wings and a sparkly wand.
“For your cousin, Indigo,” she smiles. “She’s only five and she’s dying to meet you.”
“I didn’t know I had a cousin.”
“I didn’t know I had a niece. Suddenly both our families are a little bit bigger.”
We return the car to the car-hire place and hurry to catch the ferry to Sark. There are loads of people waiting at the dock and as we join them everyone’s eyes land on me. I stare at the ground, my face turning into a hot tomato.
“This is Tiff,” Auntie Cass announces, “Carla’s daughter, my niece. She’s coming to stay.”
“You didn’t really need to introduce her, Cass,” says a lady with a warm smile, “she’s the image of her mother. I would have recognised her a mile off. It’s incredible.”
Almost everyone agrees, and as we all pile on to the little Sark ferry they start clucking around me like old hens, asking me all sorts of questions about my mum and myself. Luckily, Auntie Cass answers all the difficult questions about how my mum is and why she hasn’t been home to visit for so long, which luckily means that I don’t have to.
“Carla’s got some stuff to sort out in London,” she says, “but she’ll be joining us soon enough and we won’t let her escape a second time, will we, Tiff?”
I stare straight ahead and ignore them all. My nose is full of diesel fumes, which make my tummy churn. And anyway I’m not interested in answering their nosy questions. There’s one lady who doesn’t ask anything. She’s wearing a brown anorak and a sourlemon face. She’s crammed herself into the back seat of the ferry with a girl about my age, whose green eyes keep peeping at me from underneath her fringe.
“Let’s go out on deck,” says Auntie Cass, leading the way, “so you can see your new home.”
The lady in the brown anorak mutters under her breath as we make for the deck. “The bad penny rolls home, then, eh? Well, well, well, I wonder what bother Carla Morris has got herself into this time?”
The green-eyed girl pokes her tongue slowly out of her mouth and points it at me. I send poison dagger eyes back.
“You keep your bitterness to yourself, Mandy, do you hear?” snaps Auntie Cass. “Leave her alone. And you, Holly.”
“What was she saying?” I ask as we step out into the strong wind.
“Nothing, Tiff, really, don’t you listen to her, she’s just a bitter woman, that’s all.”
The cold wind nips our ears and licks our cheeks. I hold my arms wide open like Jack and Rose do in the film Titanic and I feel the wind rush through my fingers and through my hair. Auntie Cass pulls a camera out of her bag and takes a picture.
“This brings back so many memories,” she sighs. “It feels like only yesterday that your mum and I were making this journey for the very first time. I was exactly your age, and your mum was eight.” She wipes away a tear and a splash of sea-rain, “I’ve missed her so much, Tiff. I know things aren’t easy for you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”
She edges closer and closer to me, wanting to be near. But I fold my arms and turn my face to the freezing, windy spray. I see the group of little islands getting nearer and nearer with each wave. They’re like great rocks rising out of the sea, and for a second I see my new life as a completely empty white page, stretching out before me, waiting for me to fill it in.
