Читать книгу The Last Charm - Ella Allbright, Элла Олбрайт - Страница 9

The motorway that’s whizzed by for most of the journey melts away into grey pavements and red-roofed houses, and Jake can see his reflection in the car window. He turns away. His mum always says he’s striking looking, but Jake’s not sure that’s a good thing, even though she tries to make it sound that way. The last time his dad, Terry, caught her saying it, he’d said Jake was a freak. That it was her fault their son had been born with a cleft palate and different coloured eyes. Having a normal healthy baby, he’d yelled, was more than she was capable of.

The car journey’s taken forever. They’d left Birmingham as dawn was breaking and Jake can’t wait to get to their destination. He’s fed up of moving houses. He’s twelve or thirteen – he doesn’t know his actual age because his dad won’t let them celebrate his birthday, even though his mum has tried to – and they’ve moved at least six times that he can remember.

Finally, they roar up outside a white house with pebbles on the bottom half and a red front door. It has double-glazed windows, and the small front garden has trimmed grass. It’s nice. Hopefully it’ll last more than a few months. His dad called their last house a shithole, but it hadn’t been when they first moved in. Even Jake knows that if you don’t mow the lawn, if you leave rubbish in the grass, and kick in the walls and doors when you’re angry, a house will soon fall apart. Just like a family will if you don’t care for it.

A few minutes later, he’s following his dad up the beige-carpeted stairs with a heavy box in his arms. ‘You’re probably not going to be happy about this, because you’re a moaner like your mum,’ Terry smirks, ‘but your bedroom is at the back of the house, and well … Follow me.’

There’s a sinking feeling in Jake’s stomach as he trudges along behind his dad’s bulky body. Opening the white door at the end of the corridor, Terry makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. As Jake walks in, the first wall he sees is candy-floss pink. The carpet is thin, also pink, with coloured dashes and dots of what looks like dried paint ground into it in patches. Purple, green, brown, black, yellow, grey and blue. The room is babyish and girly, and he looks at his dad questioningly. He tries not to flush with discomfort but knows he hasn’t succeeded when his dad lets out a nasty laugh.

‘It was the daughter’s bedroom. I know it’s going to embarrass you when you have mates around – if you manage to make any this time, that is – but you’ll just have to wait until I have time to paint it another colour.’ The gleam in his eye says he’s enjoying this.

Jake can feel his jaw quivering with rage. One day he’ll be strong enough to punch his dad right in his big, stupid mouth.

Then he steps around the corner and his mouth drops open. There are doors painted on the two walls nearest the window. He thinks the first set of doors is supposed to be the wardrobe leading to Narnia, but he doesn’t recognise the others. What he does know is that they’re really cool. He longs to step through one of them into another world, but he rearranges his face so his dad can’t tell, shrugging his shoulders the way he’s learnt to. Like he’s not bothered. ‘I’ll have to wait until you’re ready then, I guess.’ He tries to inject a note of disappointment into his voice and turns away to traipse over to the window.

‘Come on, boy.’ His dad yanks him backward so he nearly trips over and bumps his head on a set of empty bookshelves screwed into the wall. ‘Lots to do. Get a move on.’

Setting the box down on the single bed in the opposite corner of the room, Jake lopes down the stairs after Terry, thinking about the painted doors and wondering what other magical places they lead to.

***

Later, Jake’s straightening up from the car with the last box in his arms when he glances up and sees her. She’s sitting in the front of a van a few cars down, staring at him. He sucks in a breath. Everything seems to go into slow motion.

She looks a couple of years younger than him, although because he’s small for his age they’re probably the same height. A white-blonde ponytail is sticking out from under a baseball cap and she has milky skin with dark eyes. He’d have to get closer to see what colour they are. She looks like an angel. He bets her dad doesn’t breathe booze all over her or use his belt on her legs ’til they bleed. As Jake’s wondering about going over and saying hello, hoping his clothes aren’t too scruffy, she pulls the cap down low and turns away. She obviously saw his scar and eyes. He doesn’t know what he was thinking. He’s not good enough to be friends with someone like her.

‘What are you doing just standing there? You’re bloody useless.’ His dad cuffs him hard around the side of the head, catching him by surprise. He stumbles over his own feet and shoots into the house before he can get hit again, face red as he realises the girl must’ve seen. Racing up the stairs, he kicks open the door to his pink bedroom, throws the box on the floor and rubs his ear. It throbs. Swinging around, he frowns at the door. No lock. That means he’ll be out on the roof tonight, depending on his dad’s mood later. Hopefully, he’ll be too drunk to climb up after him. Or if he does, maybe he’ll fall off. That would be something.

As Jake drops to the floor with a thud, he notices scuff marks on the base of the bed and a few loose pieces of stitching hanging down. Frowning, he lies down on his back and shuffles to push himself along until he’s lying directly below where he’ll sleep. There’s enough daylight coming in through the bare windows to illuminate the underside of the bed. As Jake looks up, his eyes widen at the picture stuck there. It’s childish, but altogether beautiful.

Something about the magic and imagination of it makes him feel fearless.

***

A few minutes later, ignoring his throbbing ear and the chance his dad will cuff him again, Jake runs back downstairs and onto the street.

Racing down the road, he takes a deep breath and goes up to the window of the scuffed white van, knocking on the door with a dull metallic clang. The girl stares at him through the glass, fair eyebrows drawn together, dark eyes unreadable. She bites her bottom lip but after a moment, opens the door. Jake steps back as she climbs down onto the pavement. She’s in baggy blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

‘Hello,’ he says, keeping his voice steady even though inside he is quivering. What if she doesn’t like him? What if she turns away?

But ‘Hi,’ she replies quietly.

‘I moved into the neighbourhood today.’ He can smell strawberries and is sure it’s coming from her. It reminds him of the time he and his mum went strawberry picking, just the two of them. It’s a good memory, a rare one.

‘Yeah,’ the girl scowls, ‘into my house.’

‘It’s yours?’ He thinks of what he just discovered under the bed, and the painted walls. ‘I mean, sorry. Didn’t you want to move then?’

‘No, I didn’t. It’s Mum’s fault.’ Her scowl deepens. ‘We’re leaving at the end of the week.’

‘Oh.’ His stomach drops with disappointment. ‘Where is she?’

‘Not here. I don’t know.’ A sigh this time.

‘Sorry.’ This isn’t going well. He’s upsetting her. Jake takes a step back and rubs his scar. It used to pull his lip up when he was little, but his mum managed to get him into a hospital for surgery, so it’s now just a straight vertical line cutting down into his top lip on the right-hand side. ‘What’s wrong with your mouth?’ she asks.

‘Um … I was born with a defect. But it’s fixed now.’

‘Huh.’ She stares at his face. ‘I can still see the scar though.’

‘Yeah.’ He blushes then stares at the ground. When he looks up, she’s studying him, her eyes warmer.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. Besides, I think it’s good to be different.’

‘Thanks,’ he mutters. Though he is touched by her kind words, he wants to change the subject, so he nods to her wrist. ‘That’s a nice bracelet. Who gave it to you?’

‘Mum, before she ran off.’ Her face twists. ‘I guess it’s something to remember her by. It sucks that she left but the bracelet’s my favourite thing, even though I’m cross with her.’

He feels privileged she’s sharing her feelings with him. Or maybe she’s just so angry at her mum she’ll talk to anyone about this. ‘Well, maybe—’

‘Oi, what do you think you’re doing? Get inside, now.’ A large hand hauls Jake backwards.

‘Dad. I just—’

‘Back in the van, little girl.’ Jake’s dad smirks at Leila, his voice rough. ‘Didn’t your dad ever teach you not to talk to strangers?’

With a start, she scrambles into the van and slams the door shut, her eyes round.

The last thing Jake sees before he’s frogmarched inside is her face, full of fear and disgust. He realises he doesn’t even know her name.