Читать книгу The Last Charm - Ella Allbright, Элла Олбрайт - Страница 11

Jake’s sitting on the pitched red roof outside his bedroom window for the fourth day in a row. It’s steep and his mum doesn’t like him being out here, particularly when it’s hot. The beating sun does sometimes make him feel dizzy, but it’s the best place to stay out of his dad’s way. Terry’s less fit than he used to be, so can’t get out here anymore.

Anyway, he’s been out here hundreds of times over the last year and has perfected the art of climbing in and out of the window without even a wobble, just like Joey in Dawson’s Creek. Besides, his dad is out of work after punching someone down at the yard and being fired, so he’s at home a lot more. His jobs never last long, and their spare room is full of DVDs, CDs, electrical goods, and gym equipment he sells down the market or on eBay. He’s always wheeling and dealing, and Jake’s mum joked last month he’s like that TV character Del Boy from Only Fools and Horses. The comment earned her a black eye, because Jake’s dad prides himself on his good looks and took offence at being compared to the actor who plays Del Boy.

Jake’s own ribs are still healing from a few weeks ago when Terry came home drunk from the pub and accused Jake of not being his son. He was yelling and screaming that Jake was an impostor, and his mum must have cheated.

He doesn’t remember the actual punches, or what it felt like to be curled up on the kitchen floor with his dad standing over him. He only knows that once it was over, his whole body ached, a mass of sore parts and bruises. In the bathroom afterwards – the only room in the house with a lock on the door, because his dad likes privacy to shower – he spat blood into the sink and held his side. It was hard to breathe, a sharp pain stabbing at him every time he inhaled. But he’s used to it now, and broken ribs heal with time.

His mum stayed in bed for two days, but he had to get up for school to see out the end of term. He didn’t mind, because it was a relief to be away from home. Even though he doesn’t get on with many of the kids in his classes, he stays on for as many extracurricular activities as possible, to extend the school day. He knows parents are supposed to love and protect their kids, but that’s not his experience. Maybe his mum used to try and stand in his dad’s way when he was little to stop him being hit, but he’s not sure if that’s a real memory or just wishful thinking. Nowadays, she seems to have simply accepted their life as it is. She has never done anything to change it, never taken action that he knows of to rescue them. There’ve been no hastily packed bags, hidden tins of cash, or bus journeys to refuge shelters. Jake and his mum are like two strangers locked in a prison together, passing the time and trying to avoid eye contact. He doesn’t expect anything from her. He’s simply waiting until he’s big and strong enough to stop his dad. Surely if Terry sees he can stand up for himself, and for his mum, he won’t bother them. He’ll find someone else to take his anger out on. Jake just needs to survive until then. A couple of years ago, he’d hoped that becoming a teenager would mean the arrival of muscles. It hadn’t, but he still has hope that he might shoot up at some point. It’s hard to get strong and grow when some days he doesn’t eat though.

He sighs, wishing he were anywhere but here. There are birds singing in the leafy trees nearby, and in the distance he can hear the buzz of a lawnmower, so he pictures a patch of bright green grass in his head. It helps pass the time. Grey smoke floats up from the garden a few houses over, and he imagines a party of people crowded around a BBQ. He can almost taste the meaty sausage, and his mouth fills with saliva. He hasn’t eaten anything since last night, and his stomach is growling and clenching in spasms. If he’s lucky, Terry will go out for a bit and he can sneak to the kitchen. There’s no predicting the pattern of his comings and goings, so it can be difficult. And the last time his mum tried to give him some food, Terry broke her finger. ‘I hope you’ve learnt your lesson,’ he said, glaring as she cowered against the kitchen counter cupping her hand. ‘If your son wants food, he can come down and get it himself.’ After that Jake decided he’d rather go hungry than see his mum get hurt or get an extra bruise himself.

Now, he picks at the knee of his black shorts as a distraction. They’re tattered, fraying at the edges and at least two sizes too small for him, tight around his thighs and hips. His T-shirt is a brand that went out of fashion when he was twelve. Unlike his school mates, he doesn’t wear the latest trainers or sports gear. It’s why he doesn’t go out with anyone at weekends, or in the evenings. He’s too embarrassed about his clothes, and what people might say about them. What they might think of him and his family.

The only person he trusts, who never judges him, is Ray. Leila’s grandad. When he’s with the older man, he knows he won’t get sympathetic glances or be asked awkward questions. Ray knows Jake’s situation is difficult, although not the full extent of what happens behind closed doors. He doesn’t try to stick his nose in, although he mentioned once there are services that can help Jake and his mum. Jake shut down when Ray said that, and left quickly, so Ray hasn’t brought it up again. Recently though, Ray has offered Jake the opportunity to do occasional chores, giving him little brown envelopes of coins, feeding him hot meals after every task he completes. Jake keeps the money at Ray’s house so his dad can’t take it and spend it on alcohol.

Ray’s house is only three properties along, and Jake can easily see into his back garden because of the bend in the road. Jake often hears what’s going on in Ray’s house, particularly as he tends to leave his windows open. Most of the time, it’s not much – the muted sound of a presenter talking on TV, a jazz tune on the radio, Ray telling a cold caller that no thank you, he doesn’t need what they’re selling – but today is different. There are two voices approaching the back of the house from inside, getting louder as they reach the garden. Ray and a large pink man with scruffy blond hair step onto the shorn grass, walking over to the green plastic circular table and matching chairs. Jake recognises Leila’s dad, Henry, although they only met once in passing.

Ray’s carrying a round cake with a white base, hot pink icing and matching candles, while Henry balances a tray with porcelain cups, silver spoons, a teapot, jugs and sugar, which he places on the table. It’s the same set Ray uses when Jake sneaks around for tea.

His heart lifts. He’s been waiting weeks for this, ever since Ray mentioned their visit. He hopes he got it right. He would have given it to her himself, but his dad gave him a black eye yesterday. He’s too ashamed to show the purpling bruise and bloodshot retina to anyone. There would be too many questions. Usually his dad is more careful to hit him in places where bruises can be hidden. In the end he decided to just post the gift through the door late last night in an envelope with a simple L on the front.

Jake sits forward to get a better look as Leila comes into view. She’s grown a little since last year. Her long silvery blonde hair is as lovely as ever. She’s wearing it in a high ponytail, with her fringe pinned back in a mini-quiff. There are red and purple streaks of hair mascara in it right through to the ends. Her jeans have lines down the side of the legs and she’s wearing a black T-shirt that ends a few inches above her waistband, exposing her stomach.

‘Happy Birthday, Leila!’ Ray smiles, holding a big knife aloft before pointing it at the cake. ‘How does it feel to be thirteen? Officially a teenager?’

‘Yeah, y’know. It’s okay.’ She shrugs, dropping down into the seat next to her dad.

‘Leila, manners!’ Henry says.

She flushes, ‘Sorry.’

‘Do you want me to light the candles?’ Ray asks his granddaughter.

Jake shuffles further forward to watch, careful to dig his toes into the roof tiles.

‘Yes, please.’

When Ray holds a match to them and they’re all lit, her dark eyes sparkle and her pale skin flushes with excitement as she leans forward to blow them out. Managing them all in one go, she grins.

‘What did you wish for?’ Henry asks as she sits down, and Ray starts cutting the cake into neat slices.

Leila looks at her dad steadily for a moment, her grin fading. ‘A dog,’ she mutters at last.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ But her eyes skitter away from his, like she’s lying.

‘This arrived last night.’ Ray produces an envelope from his back pocket.

‘Thanks.’ Grabbing it from his hands, she rips it open eagerly.

Jake leans further forward, watching, holding his breath, wanting to hear. A car roars along the road, at risk of drowning out her reaction. Bugger off!

‘This is really cool,’ she says, holding up a small silver charm. ‘A tiny pencil! Mum must remember I like drawing. She remembered it’s my birthday!’ She beams, looking delighted. ‘There’s no note but that’s okay. Oh my God, I love it!’

Oh. Jake wraps his arms around his raised knees, biting his lip.

Ray opens his mouth to say something but subsides. Henry glances at him, and they exchange a look.

Leila fastens the charm on the bracelet and grins at it, before jumping up and crossing to the apple tree on the other side of the garden. She traces a shape on the knotted bark with her finger. Jake knows there are intricate patterns carved into the tree, a series of waves, circles, and hearts. He once asked Ray what they were and who put them there, but the older man’s face set into concrete lines and he changed the subject. Jake suspects it was Leila’s mum who engraved the bark.

Henry and Ray settle in the chairs with cups of tea in front of them, leaving the cake on its plate in the middle of the table as they chat. Jake’s stomach rumbles at the sight of it. Because he can hear and see everything, he feels somehow part of the scene. Almost there, but not quite touching. He knows that, even without a mother present, this is how a family should be. People who take care of each other and enjoy each other’s company.

‘We need to talk about that charm.’ Ray squints at Henry in the summer sunlight. ‘I’m not sure if—’

‘I know,’ Henry interrupts, glancing around, ‘but not right now.’

‘Soon,’ Ray says, and Henry nods. ‘So, what present did you get her this year?’

Henry lets out a short laugh. ‘I didn’t. She just wanted money to spend on stuff herself. CDs, clothes, and lip gloss, I think,’ he sighs.

‘She’s growing up.’ Ray’s smile is wry. ‘I remember those days. Except with Amelia it was the early 80s, so it was stomach-baring white T-shirts with rolled up sleeves and low-slung jeans with big hair. She used to get through so many cans of hairspray. Anna and I called it the Madonna effect.’ He chuckles, before trailing off. Henry’s staring at him. ‘Sorry,’ Ray says, ‘I forgot who I was talking to.’

‘No, it’s okay.’ Henry clears his throat. ‘She was my wife. I would’ve liked to have known her back then. Perhaps if I’d understood her more, then what happened—’

‘You can’t blame yourself. My daughter is who she is, and I doubt anything you’d have said could have changed things. At the end of the day, she lived three doors down from me. You were out at work trying to earn a decent living and pay for the house, and your family. If she was struggling, she only had to come and knock on my door. I would have listened. Would have tried to help.’ He pauses, ‘It is a shame about the house though. I know how much you loved it.’

‘It’s just a building.’ Henry shifts in his seat, craning his head to watch his daughter. ‘My home is wherever Leila is.’

Up on the roof, Jake’s hands curl into fists, and he blinks away the tears suddenly glazing his eyes. Leila’s so lucky.

‘It’d be nice if the house was being looked after though,’ Henry adds gruffly. ‘I spent lots of time on it.’

Ray exhales, fiddling with a button on the sleeve of his brushed cotton shirt before looking at his son-in-law. ‘They’re not the type of family to take pride in their home.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘They don’t really speak to anyone, and never come to the neighbourhood BBQs. The few times someone’s gone round to invite them, they’ve had the door slammed in their face.’ He grimaces, ‘You know I don’t like to speak ill of people, Henry, but their only saving grace is their son.’

‘The boy Leila spent that week with before we moved?’

‘Yes. Jake. He’s a lonely boy, but so bright and engaging. He struggles academically but whatever you tell him, he absorbs. He’s a thinker. If he can get out of that situation, he’ll do well.’ Pausing, he adds, ‘I don’t think everything is quite right in that house.’ Henry raises both eyebrows in question, but Ray shakes his head. ‘It’s not my place to say.’

‘Sounds like you’ve spent quite some time with Jake.’

‘He comes here sometimes to visit and helps me out with chores. We talk. He’s a good lad.’

Jake’s face heats with embarrassment at hearing the truth of his family summed up so neatly, but at the same time, Ray’s words send a thrill through him. He thinks he’s bright and will do something with his life.

‘It’s been two years since Amelia left,’ Henry mutters, checking to see where Leila is before switching the topic. ‘Do you think she’ll ever come back? Leila still asks.’

Ray looks uncomfortable, and it’s a strange expression on his face. Jake’s never seen him look anything but self-assured.

‘I don’t know,’ Ray answers Henry’s question after a long pause. ‘But I know she’s okay.’

‘How do you know that?’ Henry sits forward in the chair, the plastic groaning under his weight. ‘Have you spoken to her?’

‘She sent me a letter. I don’t where she is. There’s no postmark or forwarding address.’

‘You’ve had a letter from Mum?’

They both jump in their seats.

‘Leila, I didn’t see you there,’ Ray exclaims.

‘Where is it? I want to see.’ She puts her hands on her hips, stepping closer to her grandfather. ‘What does it say?’

‘That’s probably not a good idea. I wouldn’t want you to get upset.’

‘I’ll be upset if I don’t see it. It’s my birthday. Please. I’m old enough. I just want to see it. I swear I won’t get upset.’

Henry winces. ‘Is there anything … worrying in there?’

Ray rolls his eyes up to the left, thinking. ‘No. It’s just general things. How she’s doing, what she’s doing. As I said, no location.’

Henry touches Leila’s shoulder gently, and for a fleeting moment, Jake’s stomach flips over in pure jealousy. ‘Sure about this?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’ She holds her dad’s gaze, her lips pursed.

‘Okay, then.’ His fingers twitch, as if he too is aching to read the letter.

‘All right.’ Ray pushes himself from his chair and heads towards the back door. ‘Why don’t you start eating while I go and look?’ he suggests, before walking into the house.

Father and daughter glance down at the birthday cake, and Leila shakes her head. Jake wonders if she’s too nervous to eat. She starts twirling the ends of her purple and red ponytail around her fingers, over and over, and Jake knows he’s right.

A minute later, Ray reappears clutching a white rectangular envelope. There’s handwriting on the front, but Jake’s too far away to see what it looks like. Taking the letter out, he holds it toward Leila before moving to hover over her left shoulder. Henry rises to stand next to his father-in-law.

Leila unfolds the paper. Her eyes moving from left to right, she reads its slowly, mouthing the words. Her face screws up and a single tear rolls down her cheek. ‘Not ready to come home yet?’ she shouts, throwing the letter onto the mown lawn and stamping on it with her high-top trainer. ‘She’s had long enough. She’s the most selfish person ever. That’s it. I don’t want anything to do with her!’

Twirling around, she flees into the house before Henry or Ray can react. But Jake’s already scrambling down off the roof, sliding in through his bedroom window with little regard for the skin scraped off his back, flying down the stairs into the lounge. He wants to make sure she’s okay, having forgotten about his black eye and other injuries.

Even though he’s sometimes jealous of her, she’s helped him and he’d like to think they’re friends. Yanking the net curtain back from the window, he sees Leila throw herself against the door of her dad’s van, scrabbling for the handle, sobbing. Henry follows her out, reaching for her.

Just as he does, a heavy hand clamps down on Jake’s shoulder. ‘There you are, son,’ Terry says.