Читать книгу The Alibi Girl - C.J. Skuse - Страница 16

I’m on the train, little suitcase next to me on the seat, legs swinging freely. I’ve got my Jelly Tots and my books and Miss Whiskers beside me, and Dad is sitting opposite, wearing his Bristol City away shirt, playing with his phone. If I close my eyes, this could be the Hogwarts Express. We could be going back on the first day of term. I’m on a huge red steam engine roaring through the misty countryside. I’ve bought some Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and Miss Whiskers is a real cat, like Hermione’s cat, Crookshanks, and therefore, magical. But Dad keeps talking to me and there are no parents allowed on the Hogwarts Express so I can’t fully imagine it.

‘You excited?’ says Dad, fidgeting with his phone, turning it round and round in his hands. I nod and carry on colouring my picture. ‘What are you and Foy going to get up to this Easter then?’

‘Uncle Stu is going to do us an Easter egg hunt. And Isaac’s going to teach me to ride his bike. And Chelle’s going to do some plaits in my hair. And we’ll probably play over the churchyard and in our castle.’

‘The castle?’

‘Our castle in the trees.’

‘I thought that was Paddy’s treehouse?’

‘He doesn’t want it anymore. He said we could have it. So now it’s our castle.’

‘Oh right.’

A man with a black box on his hip stops by our table and asks to see our tickets and I get mine from my strawberry purse dangling around my neck.

‘Are you staying with me this time?’ I ask Dad when the man has passed by.

‘No, love, I’ve got to work.’

‘I thought you didn’t have a job?’

‘I’ve got a job.’

‘At the phone place?’

‘No, I didn’t like that one.’

‘With the man on the market stall?’

‘No, I didn’t like that one either.’

‘With those men who came to the house last night?’

‘What men?’ He frowns. Oops. I was supposed to be in bed. ‘Oh those weren’t men – that was the Three Little Pigs.’ I chuckle. ‘They’re my mates. They keep asking me to build them some proper houses cos the wolf keeps blowing theirs down.’

‘Liar, liar, pants in the drier.’

‘It’s true, Squish. They’re going to pay me lots of money so we can have a brilliant Christmas this year.’

‘I thought you liked working at the phone place.’

‘Nah. The boss was a bit of an ogre.’

‘What, a real ogre?’

‘Yeah, a proper ogre. She’d eat whole humans for her lunch.’

‘Urgh.’

‘And she lived under a bridge and everything.’ He checks his phone screen.

‘Trolls live under bridges, Dad.’ The train goes under a bridge and all goes to black, briefly. ‘Like that one.’ ‘How come we came by train this time?’

‘The car’s being serviced.’

‘Can I have something to eat? The lady’s coming with the trolley.’

‘Wait ’til we get to the station. Auntie Chelle will get you something in town.’

The train cannot roll into Taunton Station quickly enough and I’m already in the aisle with my case when it comes to a stop. My knees almost buckling with excitement, I look through every window, whizzing through the faces on the platform for signs of Auntie Chelle. And then I see her. She’s in a red wrap-around dress and a blue cardigan and petrol blue boots with buckles. I can’t see Foy. The disappointment comes upon me like a sicky belch. Foy said she was coming. Where is she?

And then I see her. In her blue ballet tutu and blue tights and gelled back bun. She’s swinging on the bike racks behind Chelle. That’s when my holiday begins properly – the moment I start running along the platform towards Auntie Chelle and she sees me coming and shrieks with delight and I crash safely in her embrace and she lifts me up and we hug so tightly and I breathe the familiar jasmine scent of her curls. The nearest thing I have to a mum is a perfumy waft that comes from Dad’s second wardrobe. Chelle is a living breathing mum and it’s all I can do to stop touching her.

‘How’s my precious girl?’ she cries, stroking my cheeks with her thumbs and gazing down at me with tears in her eyes. ‘Oh we’ve missed you, Ellis. We’ve all missed you so much.’ She cuddles me against her.

‘I’ve missed you too.’

And she sets me down and Foy skips over and hugs me as well.

‘Look, I got you a surprise,’ she says and then holds out her hands and I have to pick one. I pick the one that has a little cat pencil topper inside it. Then she opens her other hand to reveal a tiny fold of paper. She’s drawn me a picture of us standing on top of our castle with our swords pointed up to the sky. Standing around us are some of our army – The Knights. Monday Knight, Tuesday Knight, Thursday Knight and our Chief Knight, Saturday. Our own personal bodyguard service.

‘That’s us,’ she giggles.

‘I love it!’ I say. ‘Did the storm blow the castle down? I was worried.’

‘No, it only took the roof off so Isaac and Dad patched it up. It’s really strong now. Dad found us a sheet of wavy plastic for the top. Come on, let’s do this,’ she says and leads me over to the bike racks while Chelle talks to Dad. I don’t catch their conversation – it’s usually boring brother-sister stuff. They don’t hug like we do.

Me and Foy sit in the back of Chelle’s car and pretend we’re being chauffeur-driven by our servants. Foy is the Duchess of Fowey because that’s the place she’s named after, and I am Lady Kemp of Ashton Gate because I live near Ashton Gate. We are so stinking rich that we have our own castle and every animal you can think of. We are off into town to buy new saddles for the unicorns and bamboo for our pandas.

‘Yes, turn here, Jeeves,’ says Foy with a dismissive wave of her hand as Chelle’s car turns at the traffic lights into the road at the back of the church where we usually park. Dad’s come along to have a quick bite in town before his train back to Bristol.

‘Dad, can you come and stay at the pub as well?’ I say.

‘I can’t love,’ he says. ‘I told you, I’ve got work.’

‘What work is that?’ asks Chelle.

‘Got a job with a mate doing a bit of cash in hand.’

‘Sounds lucrative,’ she says. And they don’t talk about it anymore.

‘It’s for the Three Little Pigs,’ I say, ‘building houses for them.’ Nobody laughs.

We park up in the pay and display behind the big church.

‘Mum, can we go to Wimpy?’ asks Foy.

‘Yes, you two go on ahead and order. I’ll have a Coke.’

‘I’ll have some chips and a Coke,’ says Dad. ‘I’ve got a quick errand to run actually so I’ll meet you all in there.’

‘What errand?’ says Chelle.

He checks his phone, then puts it back in his pocket. ‘Well there’s this princess, you see, and she’s been asleep for a thousand years and if I don’t climb up this big tall tower and give her a kiss, she won’t ever wake up. So I’ll dash off and do that and I’ll be back, alright Squish?’

He yanks my plait and wiggles Foy’s bun and we both laugh and then he rides off like he’s on his horsey, which makes us laugh even more. ‘I won’t be long.’

Chelle’s not laughing.

Me and Foy have cheese burgers and chips and strawberry milkshakes and scoff them greedily as Chelle sits taking the ice out of her Coke and placing it in the ashtray.

‘How many Easter eggs have you got?’ Foy asks between red-saucy mouthfuls.

‘I don’t know. Dad packed them in my case to give to Chelle.’

‘We’ve got to buy some, Ellis,’ says Chelle. ‘He didn’t get round to it. As usual.’

‘Oh right.’

‘We’ll nip to Woolworths on our way to the car. And I must do the bank.’

‘Maybe that’s what his errand was?’ I suggest.

‘I doubt it,’ Chelle smiles, stealing a couple of Dad’s untouched chips. ‘Woolworths is nowhere near the betting shop, is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Anyway, never mind him. What would you like to do this holiday, Miss?’

This is my favourite bit of any holiday – the bit before it all begins. She leans forwards, like she’s telling us both a great big secret. ‘Everything,’ I say, licking at the dried line of tangy ketchup around my mouth. ‘I want to do everything!’

‘Right, well, we’re doing our Easter egg hunt on Sunday and then we’ll all go for a ride out in the country to that nice tea place and have poached eggs and soldiers—’

‘Yeah!’ says Foy. ‘They have a wicked climbing frame there, bigger than the castle. And they’ve got the dogs we played with last time, remember?’

I do remember, every second of it. One of the dogs had a thorn in its paw and we reported it to the lady and she gave us a free scone each.

‘And then we can go asparagus picking up the farm on Monday, cos there’ll be nothing open in town. And the boys will be around so I’ve asked if they’ll take you out flying kites again, or maybe some fishing down at the stream. How about that?’

I’m so excited I could burst but I settle for kicking my heels against my chair.

‘Can they take us to the cinema as well?’ asks Foy.

‘Yes, I’m sure they can,’ says Chelle, sipping her Coke and looking at the time.

‘We can go to that burger place they took us to last time,’ I say. ‘Where we got the free Frisbees.’ The Frisbees that kept going over the beer garden wall into the stream and Isaac had to keep climbing over the wall to fish them out.

Paddy and Isaac are the two best boy cousins I could ask for. Isaac’s fifteen and sporty, and always working out on the machines in the old stable behind the cellar. Paddy’s twelve and he’s more into art and styling his hair. Isaac’ll be starting his GCSEs soon. I hope he still has time to chase us around the car park on the bikes.

‘Can we have chicken pie and mash one night please, Auntie Chelle?’

‘I don’t see why not.’

I love it when that’s the answer.

‘And chocolate sponge and alien sauce?’ says Foy.

‘Yeah, baby! Oh that reminds me, I’ve got to nip in the comic shop and pick up Stuart’s birthday present.’

‘What is it?’

Chelle rolls her eyes. ‘His dream Tardis.’

‘Not a big Tardis though,’ says Foy. ‘A little one with a little Doctor Who inside and a Dalek and it plays the theme tune when you open the door.’

‘He’s had his eye on it for a while,’ says Chelle.

‘Can I buy him something as well?’ I ask. ‘Maybe a Doctor Who comic?’

‘Yeah he’d love that. Do you want me to look after your pocket money?’

‘Dad’s looking after it for me.’

‘Okay,’ she smiles, looking towards the door as a family with pushchairs struggle in out of the rain. ‘How is he at the moment, sweetheart?’

‘He’s okay.’

‘How much did he get for the car in the end, do you know?’

Foy dances her little unicorn pencil topper along my arm. ‘How much?’

‘Yeah. He’s sold it, hasn’t he? That’s why you came on the train.’

‘He said it was having a service today.’

‘Ah, right. My mistake. Finish your burger, love.’

All the ice in Dad’s drink melts and his chips go cold so Chelle tips them in the trash. He sends a text to Chelle that he’ll meet us at the car at 3 p.m. instead. So we do Woolworths for the eggs and Chelle banks the takings at NatWest and me and Foy steal armfuls of leaflets for our bank, which the castle doubles up as sometimes.

We’re back at the car by 2.55 p.m., but Dad isn’t there. By 3.15 p.m. we’ve played I-Spy, Yellow Car, the memory game, and Foy and me have planned all the things we’re going to do in the castle when we get back – first paint the walls, then we must clean the carpet and deadhead the window box. Then play Banks. And then we have to do a supermarket run because the dinosaurs are getting low on tins of Jurassic Chum.

At 3.25 p.m. Chelle puts another hour on the car cos there’s still no sign of him.

‘I’m sorry, hon, I know he’s your dad but he does my bloody head in sometimes. Why is he so unreliable?’ she huffs. ‘There’s nothing consistent about him at all.’

Foy picks up Miss Whiskers and makes her growl and roar around Chelle’s neck until she reacts, turning round in the driver’s seat and swatting it away.

‘Will you stop that, please? I’m not in the mood.’

Then we see Dad coming.

‘Uh-oh,’ says Foy, and Auntie Chelle slams the driver’s door when she gets out. Me and Foy laugh at first but then we see her shouting at him and they both stand in front of the car, him being barked at like a stranger at the gate. Foy winds down the back window so we can hear what they’re saying. Chelle’s patting down his jacket and she wrenches something out of his grasp and holds it up – small pieces of paper.

‘Can’t fucking stay away from them, can you? You utter loser.’

We aren’t laughing then. The F word makes Foy go quiet and then cry.

I hold her hand. She grips mine tightly.

‘She bought Stuart a birthday present,’ says Chelle. ‘So you owe me a fiver.’

‘I haven’t got it, Chelle.’

‘You spent your ten-year-old daughter’s pocket money? Jesus Christ.’

Foy buzzes the window up. ‘I don’t like it when Mum gets stressy.’

‘It’s always Dad that makes her stress.’

Chelle deep-breathes and gets in the car. He follows and she starts the engine. None of us say a word until we get back to the station. Chelle leaves the engine running. Dad pokes his head through my window and fist-bumps Foy, making the sound of starburst sprinkles coming out of his hand. He kisses me on the nose.

‘You be good, Squish, alright? Call me every night.’

By the time we get out of town and the car’s streaming along through the green countryside towards Carew St Nicholas, I’ve forgotten about the row between Chelle and Dad – my mind’s too full up with the possibilities that lie ahead. As we turn the corner down into the village and round the bend into the vast car park at the back of The Besom Inn, I spy Paddy and Isaac on their bikes, doing wheelies and bunny hops.

‘Isaac’s got a new bike!’ I say. I can’t wait to get out of the car.

‘Yeah,’ says Chelle. ‘It’s a Hellcat Something Something with front suspension and something-else splashbacks, apparently. He got it for his birthday. He said you could have his old one.’

‘REALLY?!’ I cry. ‘Ah wow!’ I spy it straight away, leaning up against the skittle alley wall, all shining silver and red with the word Apollo written on the downtube.

‘He’s pumped up the tyres for you specially,’ says Foy.

I leap out of the car and run across to Apollo, wheeling it over to Isaac.

‘Hey, Ellis. Like your new bike?’

‘Yeah! I love it! Can I really have it?’

‘Yeah, no sweat. I pumped the tyres up for you.’

‘Not you again, Smellis,’ says Paddy, wheeling over and skidding to a halt beside me. He tickles my ribs and chases me across the car park but lets me win, like always.

After an hour of wheeling around we go inside the pub and find Uncle Stu closing up the bar for the afternoon. I give him a hug and we help ourselves to crisps and cans of Rio. The pub is a rabbit warren of low ceilings, oak beams and a warm orange glow from every doorway. There’s a pervading smell of old log fire and spilled beer and somewhere a fruit machine plinks and whooshes.

Upstairs, there are four main bedrooms and two unused ones called the back bedrooms, housing old toys and various pub bric-a-brac, old tankards and unused bar stuff like beer mats and ice buckets. My hands run along the wallpaper, bumping over the little chips and dents. I want this holiday to last forever.

And once Foy’s changed out of her ballet stuff, we ride, four of us into nature, along the lanes towards the playing fields, me and Foy stopping every so often to pick up dinosaur food, or petrol for the Lamborghini or the Ferrari, or new school shoes for some of our kids. We have forty in all, but we live in a castle so there’s definitely room.

My ten-year-old self needs this. A break from worrying about Dad and his angry phone calls and disappearing acts in the night. I need weeks of itchy legs and Wham bars and cola cubes and board games played the wrong way and bare feet on cold evening grass playing Mad Rounders with leeks and sprouts. I need to run until my sides stitch and make up dance routines to Madonna songs with Foy.

I need to fly kites and make nests from cut grass in fields wider than oceans, in sunshine that warms our backs and stretches our shadows to look like giants. To jump on desert rock furniture and lava carpets and create assault courses from old fire guards and broken chairs and table cloths. To play for hours a day in our secret places where adults don’t go – the quiet churchyard over the wall from the pub, the castle, our duvet dens – places where time is decided by the colour of the sky, not clocks and watches, and my limbs are powered by fizzy drinks and melted ice lollies.

Where every morning Chelle says ‘Rise and shine, Clementine,’ when she opens Foy’s bedroom curtains and takes us downstairs for milky coffees and bacon sandwiches. And we help Stuart stock up the bar and he gives us five pounds to spend at the shop. And we buy felt tips and sketchpads and blue bootlaces and we take it all up to our castle in the tree where we draw our wedding dresses and watch over our land where popcorn fields sway in the wind and unicorns run wild and a T-Rex stalks the land, looking for half-open tins of Jurassic Chum.

And where everyone calls me Ellis. Or Elle. Or Ellis Clementine Kemp, when I’m naughty. Or Smellis or Elly Belly Cinderelly. But always, always Ellis.

If only I’d known then that everything would soon be taken from me – even my own name.