Читать книгу Gone Missing - Jean Ure, Stephen Lee, Jean Ure - Страница 5

“But where would we go?”

It was the day following my big row with Dad. My latest big row with Dad. Me and Honey were on our way back from school. We were the ones that lived furthest away, so it was just the two of us left on the bus. Kirsty had stayed on for something: the drama club or whatever. Not for a detention! Little Goody Two-Shoes never got detention. I was the one that got those.

“I mean…” Honey lowered her voice to a whisper. “Where?”

“We could always go and stay with Darcy,” I said. I’d been fantasising like mad all night. I’d got it all worked out–well, the broad details. “All we’d have to do is just get ourselves down to London, then jump on a tube train. I know how to do it! I’ve been down to London, I’ve been on a tube. ’S easy! They’ve got maps and everything.”

Honey gazed at me, doubtfully. She had her lower lip all bunched up and was gnawing at it like a rabbit.

“Stop doing that,” I said. “It makes you look daft!” Honey was really pretty, far prettier than me, but she had this kind of vacant expression she sometimes put on, like her brain had gone to mush.

“Concentrate,” I said.

“Sorry.” Honey stopped gnawing her lip and sat up, very straight and stiff and purposeful. “OK,” she said. “I’m concentrating.”

“We get the train to London, right?”

She nodded. She still seemed doubtful.

“We get on a tube, we go to Darcy’s place. Yes?”

“Y-yes. I—I s’ppose.”

“Now what’s the matter? Darcy said, if ever I wanted a place to crash—”

“She meant you,” said Honey. “Not me.”

“Both of us!”

“No, you.”

It was true that Darcy had been my friend rather than Honey’s. She’d always said that Honey was “soft in the head”. I used to tell her it wasn’t true, but maybe, looking back on it, I didn’t stick up for Honey quite as much as I should have done. I’m not easy to impress, I really am not, but I think I was sort of, like, a bit smitten where Darcy was concerned. I mean, this was a truly wild and whacky person! I’d never met anyone quite like her. We hung out together all through Year 8 and part of Year 9. We were thick as thieves! Sometimes we were thieves…Darcy used to nick things off the supermarket shelves, and I used to copy her. Only small things, but it was just so exciting, I used to get prickly all over. It was like being in the SAS, or something. Going off on these dangerous missions.

Yeah, well, OK, I can see now that it was wrong. I knew at the time that it was wrong. But we never took anything valuable. We just did it for kicks.

Once when her mum had gone off somewhere she stayed at my place for a couple of days, though I have to say that was a complete disaster owing to Dad and his insane prejudices. He took one look and that was it: that girl has got to go. She couldn’t actually go cos she didn’t have anywhere to go to and not even Dad would throw someone out on the street, but afterwards he said she was a bad influence and I hadn’t got to see her any more. We had some of our worst rows over that. Not that it stopped me seeing her! It hardly could, considering we went to the same school. Course, when Darcy got excluded Dad was like “I told you so! I said that girl was no good.” That was when Darcy’s mum said she couldn’t cope and sent her off to London to live with her sister, and I took up with Marnie, instead.

“Darcy didn’t like me,” said Honey.

“She didn’t even know you!” I said.

“She wouldn’t want me.”

“Look, we’d only be there a few days, till we found somewhere else. I’m not going without you,” I said. “How could I go off and leave you here, all by yourself? If we do this, we gotta do it together!”

She was back at her lip munching again. I did wish she wouldn’t!

“Honey?” I said. “Are you listening?”

She dipped her head.

“So are we agreed? We could go and crash with Darcy. Just for a few days, till we get sorted. OK?”

The bus pulled up at the Green Man, and we both got out. I said, “Yes?”

“Yes, all right,” said Honey. “But what would we do afterwards?”

“After we got sorted?”

“After we’d stopped crashing with Darcy.”

“We’d go and crash somewhere else!”

“But where?”

“How do I know where?” My fantasies hadn’t reached that far. I’d only got as far as the actual running away. “I can’t plan everything at once,” I said. “Some things you just have to…wait for them to happen!”

“What we have to do,” I said, “we have to cover our tracks.”

It was Tuesday, and we were on the bus again. Going in to school, this time.

“It’s very important,” I said. “We have to lay a trail.”

Honey had been looking faintly worried, like she didn’t quite know what I was talking about. When I said lay a trail, she brightened.

“Bread crumbs!” she said.

I said, “Yeah, right! Bread crumbs! Remember those two boys we met that time? Ian, and—” I waved a hand.

“Duncan.” She blushed. Duncan had been the one she fancied. I think he’d fancied her a bit, too. We’d gone into Birmingham for the day, just me and Honey on our own, and we’d bumped into these two lads in McDonald’s and got talking. We’d really hit it off! Well, to be honest, Honey and Duncan had hit it off. Boys always went for Honey. In spite of her dad being Italian, she had this silvery hair and ivory skin, like her mum, but with her dad’s eyes, deep and dark, like rich chocolate. I guess she was what you’d call striking. Mum always said that with looks like those she would need to be careful. I knew what she meant. It doesn’t do to be too trusting, and Honey had this tendency, she’d trust anyone that was nice to her.

“Duncan McAleer,” said Honey.

Wow! She’d even remembered his surname. It was more than I’d done. I hadn’t even remembered his first name. All I remembered was that they’d lived in Glasgow. They’d given us their addresses and said to call if ever we were up there. I’d chucked the addresses in the bin cos a) I couldn’t see I’d ever be going to Glasgow, not in the foreseeable future, and b) even if I did I wouldn’t particularly want to meet up with them again. Duncan wasn’t actually too bad, but Ian had been a geeky little thing with red hair and a pointy nose and a face like a ferret. Yuck! Not my type at all.

“Is that where we’re going to go?” said Honey. “To Glasgow?”

I said, “No! That’s where the bread crumbs are going to go.” I could see that I’d lost her, but the bus was starting to fill up and I didn’t have time to explain. “I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“Because it’s a secret,” I hissed. “Our secret…just between you and me. Right?”

She nodded. “OK.”

“Promise you won’t tell anyone!”

Honey was always very biddable. She ran a finger across her throat. “Slit my throat and hope to die.”

I giggled. “You probably would die, if you slit your throat!”

She meant “cross my heart” but she sometimes got things a bit muddled. It could be quite funny.

On the way home that afternoon, I explained to her what I meant about the bread crumbs. I’d stayed awake half the night hatching elaborate plots, laying false trails, like I was in some kind of spy movie.

“We have to make them think we’ve gone to Glasgow. Not London. We don’t want them to be on to us!”

Honey muched at her lip. “Why can’t we do it the other way round? Make them think we’ve gone to London?”

“Because we are going to London!”

“I’d rather go to Glasgow.”

“We don’t know anyone in Glasgow!”

“Yes, we do. We know Duncan! I’d rather go and stay with Duncan than with Darcy.”

“Well, we can’t, cos I’ve lost his address. And anyway, we don’t actually know him.”

“I don’t actually know Darcy.”

“No, well I do, and that’s where we’re going.”

Honey fell quiet for a bit. I could see she was turning things over in her mind.

“Are we really going to run away?” she said.

“We are if things don’t improve at home! You don’t know what it’s like, living with my dad. And you can’t go on living with your mum. She’ll destroy you! You know that, don’t you? You do know?”

I fixed her with this stern look. Honey just made a vague mumbling sound and let her eyes slide away. Honey’s mum was like a forbidden subject; she wouldn’t ever talk about her. I went on about Dad practically non stop, but Honey never once said anything bad about her mum. I knew she was a bit frightened of her-not physically, I don’t mean, cos I don’t think her mum was ever violent. It might almost have been better if she had been; at least then someone would have had to sit up and take notice. As it was, I think I was probably the only person that knew how hateful she could be to Honey. Honey was just scared, the whole time, of displeasing her. Doing the wrong thing. Saying the wrong thing. Dropping something, breaking something. Being told she was stupid.

Stupid, useless, hopeless. Clumsy, gawky. Nothing but a liability, can’t ever do anything right. Totally moronic! Drive me up the wall.

These were all things I’d heard Mrs de Vito say to Honey. When she’d had too much to drink she actually used to jeer at her. Make fun of her.

“Look at it! Great lumping thing! Can’t even walk straight.” And then she’d imitate Honey moving across the room, bumping into chairs and knocking stuff over. “What’s the matter with you? You got cerebral palsy, or something?”

She could be really nasty. Sometimes she used to try and rope me in. She’d look at me and roll her eyes, like she was expecting me to agree with her. I hated it when she did that! It made me feel so bad for Honey. I mean, they were cruel, the things she said. She didn’t deserve Honey being so loyal! Maybe, in spite of everything, Honey still loved her; I guess it’s always possible. I just don’t know. But I honestly did feel she had to get away, I really did! I wasn’t only thinking of me. At least, I don’t think I was.

That evening, I sat upstairs in my bedroom laying trails of bread crumbs…all the way to Glasgow! First off, I doodled hearts and flowers all over my school books, with the name DUNCAN in big capitals. (I chose Duncan rather than ferret face. I couldn’t stand the thought of being linked with ferret face!) Then I took our surnames, McAleer and Rutherford, and crossed out all the letters we had in common. Precisely two! I’d have been in despair if he’d really been my boyfriend.

I got a bit carried away with the doodling. I was still at it when Mum and Dad got home from the shop (the Steeple Norton Mini Mart. Oh, please!) and I had to go downstairs and report on school and whether I’d done my homework. It was like the Spanish Inquisition every night. Dad used to say, “This doesn’t please me any more than it pleases you.” He never did it with Kirsty because Kirsty could be trusted. She’d never bunked off school or failed to hand in her homework three weeks running. But all that had been back in the winter term! Back when I was still mates with Darcy. It was very belittling that Dad still kept grilling me.

I told him that I was doing my homework. Dad said, “You’d better be.” I said, “I am!” and went rushing back upstairs to scatter more bread crumbs. I would look up train times! On the computer, Birmingham to Glasgow. I knew the first thing the police would do when they started to investigate would be to take away the computer and examine it. They can find out all sorts of things, from a computer. Just to make sure, I even went to Google and put in the word “Glasgow”, so they’d think I’d been looking at the map. I’d have liked to put in Stonebridge Park, which was where Darcy had gone to live with her sister. I knew that Stonebridge Park was in London, and I knew you could get there on a tube train, cos Darcy had told me. She had said it was totally brilliant.

“You can be in the West End in thirty minutes!”

I wasn’t bothered about trains from Birmingham; I knew there were plenty of those, all times of the day. Money was the real problem. I had some saved up in a piggy bank-an old china pig with a slit in its back, which had belonged to one of my nans when she was a girl-and I thought I probably had enough for a single fare to London, but it wasn’t going to leave very much over. What did other kids do when they ran away? Did they steal off their parents? I couldn’t steal off mine, or only very tiny amounts. Dad didn’t believe in having large sums of money lying around. He’d been robbed twice at the shop and it had made him very grim. But I didn’t think most people would exactly have fortunes waiting to be taken, so what did kids do? I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe they went on the streets and begged, or even worse, they sold themselves. I wouldn’t want to do that! No way!

I decided not to think about it. As I’d said to Honey, you can’t plan everything in advance. Sometimes, you just have to wait and see what happens.

That’s the good thing about fantasies. If there’s a part you can’t work out, you just skate over it and move on to the next bit.

It was still a fantasy. But growing more and more real, every day.

Next morning, at school, Marnie comes up to me and says, “Hey! Wanna know something?” So I’m like, “Yeah, what?” She tells me that this boy, Rory Mansell, that’s in Year 10, has a thing about me. She knows this cos she’s going out with Jason Dobbs that’s also in Year 10. She says Rory told Jason in the hope that he would tell Marnie and Marnie would tell me, and then maybe I would—

Would what? Marnie giggles and says, “Ask him if he’d like to go on a date?”

I think to myself that if Rory Mansell wants to go on a date he could ask me himself, but Marnie says he’s too shy. I say in that case he’s a wimp.

“He’s not a wimp,” says Marnie, “he’s just scared you’ll turn him down.” Then she tells me off for being prejudiced and says, “He’s actually quite nice.”

He’s not bad, I agree, but as I explain to Marnie, I don’t really fancy him. Marnie says, “So who do you fancy? You haven’t been out with anyone for ages! You’ll get out of the habit if you’re not careful. People’ll start thinking you’re a lesbian!”

I say, “Now who’s being prejudiced?” And then, without any warning, I hear myself blurt out, “There is someone I fancy!”

“Oh?” Marnie spins round. All ears. “Who’s that, then?”

“This boy I met. In Birmingham. Me and Honey, we bumped into them, there were two of them, they were down here from Glagow and we all got talking and—”

My voice burbles on. It’s got a will of its own. I can’t control it, it’s gone mad! Now it’s telling Marnie how me and this boy have been speaking on the phone every week. We’ve been texting, we’ve been emailing. We fancy each other like crazy.

Marnie says, “Wow! What’s his name? How old is he? Gimme, gimme, I want to know!”

I say that I can’t give her his name. “It’s a secret!”

Marnie says, “Why? Is he someone famous?”

I struggle with a momentary temptation to say yes, but manage to resist it. I say no, he’s not famous, he’s just an ordinary boy.

“So why’s it a secret?”

“Cos he’s a secret! I shouldn’t ever have mentioned him. I don’t want Dad finding out! You know what my dad’s like. He nearly went ballistic that time I went out with Soper. He did go ballistic!”

Marnie says, “Yeah, well…Soper.” She then agrees with me, however, that my dad is impossible. “I’m surprised he even lets you have a mobile phone.”

I say, “He wouldn’t, if he had his way. It’s only cos of Mum.”

“I bet he checks on your calls!”

I mutter darkly that nothing would surprise me. “It’s like living under a dictator.”

“So what you gonna do?” says Marnie. “About this boy?”

I tell her that I don’t yet know. “But if things get much worse, with my dad—”

“What? What?” She’s all breathless and eager. “What d’you reckon you’ll do?”

I say, “Something desperate!”

I spend the rest of the day trying to decide whether I’ve finally flipped and started to believe my own fantasies, or whether I’ve just been laying more bread crumbs. I decide that it’s got to be bread crumbs. It’s part of the trail! If Honey and me do run away–when Honey and me run away–the police will be bound to talk to Marnie. She’ll be one of the first they talk to. And she’ll just be bursting to tell them about “this boy she met that lives in Glasgow”. I begin to feel rather pleased with myself. I’m obviously good at this sort of thing!

I do a bit of thinking about Rory, wondering whether he’s really a wimp or just that mythical creature, a boy that’s sensitive. But no, that’s truly sexist. I’m sure there are boys that are sensitive, they just don’t like to show it. Soper wasn’t, of course. He’d have bashed someone’s head in, if they’d suggested he was sensitive.

I think for a while about Soper. I try to remember what his first name was, but I can’t. He was always just Soper; he was that sort of boy. The sort of boy that Dad thought should be locked up and the key thrown away. I know he was a bit mad and bad, but it was just totally humiliating when Dad actually chucked him out of the house. It was like, “Never darken my door again”. We had the hugest row of all time over Soper.

That was when I finally rebelled and said I wasn’t going to his stupid church any more. I did it to pay Dad out! I knew if there was one thing that would really upset him above all else, it would be having to admit that he’d lost control. That one of his daughters was leaving the Family. That was like heresy! That was like denying God.

The church thing had happened just a month ago; things had been getting steadily worse ever since. Dad was cold and tight-lipped, I was defiant. Sometimes I thought he hated me. Sometimes I thought I hated him. He was convinced I did things for no reason than to annoy him, and I have to admit that he was partly right. But I had to assert myself! I mean, otherwise I would just have been ground down.

Later that day I gaze at Rory across the assembly hall. He catches me at it, and blushes. I think to myself that Dad would probably approve of Rory–well, as much as he’d approve of any boy. But even if he did, we’d still fall out. Dad and I are fated to disagree about pretty well everything. In any case, he’s not my sort. Rory, I mean. He’s too nice! How could I go out with a boy that Dad approved of??? It’s not worth staying on to be oppressed and humiliated just for the sake of going out with any stray male that happens to be available. I have more pride than that!

On the other hand, as Marnie reminded me, I haven’t been out with a boy for simply months. That’s not normal! Leave it too long and people will think I’m not interested. Plus I shall forget how to do it. How to talk to them. How to be with them. Cos being with a boy is definitely not the same as being with a girl.

It’s Dad’s fault. It’s all Dad’s fault! How can I ever hope to grow up sane and well balanced with him thwarting me at every turn? I feel in such a muddle!

When Honey asks me, on the way home, whether we are still going to do it–“That thing that you were talking about?”–I tell her yes, I’m working on it. Honey says, “So when do you think it will be?”

What does she expect me to say? It’s not something you can put in your diary, like a dentist appointment. I tell her that I’m waiting to see what happens. “I’m giving him one more chance.”

“Oh.” Honey nods. “All right.”

I say, “Why? You didn’t want to go right now, did you?”

“I just thought you’d decided.”

“I haven’t decided anything! Have you?”

“No. I thought you had.”

I tell her that I haven’t made up my mind. Yet. “But if he comes on heavy just one more time—”

“That’ll be it?” says Honey.

I say that that will definitely be it. “Cos I have had enough!”