Читать книгу Naked Angels - Judi James, Judi James - Страница 6

The day they moved the old windmill from the cowfield behind Mrs Jackson’s house to its new home looking out over Saul Peterson’s cranberry bog, the local school turned out to cheer its progress down past the wild apple trees along the high street and around Jeakes’s corner. The truck doing the towing took the corner a shade too sharp, though, dragging strips of vine down off the white clapboard walls, and a smell of sour grapejuice filled the air along with the stench of the diesel.

Summer was sweet that year. The children ran barefoot down the old dirt track, skirting vast uncut fields that were thick with golden-rod and clicking with grasshoppers, and making for the cooler air that hung around the lower marshes. They waved at the workmen and the workmen waved back, and the sound of the World Series came at them from the radio inside the truck’s cabin, mingled with plumes of grey smoke from fresh-lit roll-your-owns.

One child did all the route-planning for the others. When Evangeline Klippel grew up she grew ugly-attractive. At six, though, she was just plain ugly – but that didn’t matter so much because she was rich enough not to have to notice.

Ever since the youngest of the O’Connell boys got expelled for doing things to Chimney, the school dog, Evangeline could claim quite fairly to be able to spit further and out-wrestle any of the boys in her class.

She cut a fearsome enough sight, running wild through the emerald marshes, her shock of crinkled brown hair bouncing with each beat of her small thumping feet and the sun glinting off her gleaming silver braces as she smiled her gummy, victorious grin.

She had grass stains on her dress, which would mean trouble at home that night. Not big trouble, just a grumble or two, maybe – and if Patrick jumped up at her the minute she got in, like he usually did, she could say it came off his paws instead.

No one ever scolded Patrick because he was easily the oldest hound the town had ever known – maybe even the oldest hound alive – just like no one scolded her baby brother Lincoln, because he was too little and wouldn’t understand.

Last month Evangeline had loved Patrick the most but the sun was no friend to old dogs and made them smell pretty bad. It was this month baby Lincoln had gone and learnt how to smile, too, and so Evangeline loved him far the best for the moment. His grip was getting good, as well – she tested it each morning with her finger. The way he was growing she reckoned they would be climbing the cedar outside the nursery window together by the fall, easily.

As Evangeline stood squinting in the sun Ryan Hooley landed panting at her feet and she squished mud into his ratty hair for losing the race so badly. At that moment Miss Starmount – the crabbiest teacher with the grey-flecked moustache – caught up with them, her face as red and shiny as a rose hip.

More winded even than Ryan Hooley, she was unable to speak and could do no more than stare. Evangeline smiled her gimpy smile at her as Ryan wiped cowpat off his shorts. No one scolded Evangeline because of who she was. Her parents were famous; not world-famous, maybe, but local-famous. They had even been in the papers and on the television.

Darius and Thea Klippel were Boston’s golden couple. Both respected artists, though Darius retained the celebrity tag while Thea was an also-ran for her occasional sculptures, they were every bit as beautiful as they were talented. Darius was beautiful; Thea was beautiful; baby Lincoln was drop-dead beautiful, even Patrick the dog was beautiful – in an old kind of way – which made Evangeline the odd one out, though everyone was far too well-meaning to mention it.

Besides, the whole town knew she was not Darius’s real daughter; he had adopted her soon after he’d married her mother, so that explained things, somehow. Evangeline had never set eyes on her real father but she knew he must be double-ugly, or she would never have looked as she did.

She had to shoe-up and walk back to school hand-in-slippery-hand with Ewan Goodman, which was punishment enough for running off because his father was a butcher and he smelt of raw meat.

They got back to the school by pick-up time, which meant parents were waiting and the drive was full of cars. Evangeline searched about but there was no sign of her mother’s dusty Oldsmobile, which was odd because Thea was always on time, even when she was sculpting.

Evangeline sat on the gatepost in the shade and waited. When the last car had left she was still there, too, shooing a bluebottle and kicking whitewash onto her sandals. A small speck of fear had started to itch at the back of her throat and she had begun swallowing a lot to keep it in check. If no one came she would walk. It wasn’t so far, after all – a couple of miles, maybe. She could go past where the windmill had come to rest for the night and see if the workmen would let her have a poke around inside.

It was quiet now, in the drive. She knew the duty teacher was watching her like a sea-hawk but she felt lonely, all the same. When did it start getting dark?

‘Did your mother say she’d be late, Evangeline?’ It was the same teacher that had chased them across the marsh. Her face had cooled down now and her cheeks were back to mottled purple-white.

‘Did she have a meeting or something?’

Evangeline just looked. Why make things easy for her? She must know someone would come for her eventually. There was no point kicking up a fuss. Her mother was always there.

Miss Starmount stared down the road, looking annoyed. ‘We’ll have to phone,’ she said, after a while.

She led Evangeline into the school, clutching her hand in a grip tight enough to mash corn. Thea’s phone was engaged. Damn it. Evangeline’s mother was getting her into all sorts of deep trouble.

‘I guess that means I’ll have to drive you home myself,’ Miss Starmount said, but she didn’t sound as though she cared much for the idea.

Her car was old and the insides smelt musty – a bit like Patrick did before Darius bathed him.

‘Do you own a dog too, Miss Starmount?’ Evangeline asked. The teacher shook her head. She was having some sort of fight with the clutch. There was no air conditioning in the car and you had to wind the windows by hand if you wanted more. Evangeline felt too hot, but didn’t want to wind the window without asking.

The journey was a long one and Evangeline thought about her supper. Then she thought about her father. When he was working at home Darius would always wait by the gates to surprise her when she got back from school.

Yoo-hoo!’ he would yell like a crazy man as she and Thea drove past, and they would both yell, ‘Yoo-hoo!’ back – at the top of their lungs – then he would climb in and sometimes tickle Evangeline until she begged for mercy. Darius was red-haired and wild. One time he had Mickey Mouse ears on and Thea had gunned the car right past him, fast, and that had made them all laugh till they wept, watching him race up the drive behind them, trying to catch up with the stupid old mouse ears on his head.

They’d put the ears on Patrick later, for a photo, and then on baby Lincoln, too. Evangeline had the photos of Lincoln and Patrick wearing the ears stuck in the wallet of her school bag.

No one yelled, ‘Yoo-hoo!’ today, though. The drive to Evangeline’s house was blocked with cars and the iron gates were hanging wide open. Was there a party? Miss Starmount pulled on the handbrake and got out to look. Evangeline watched her bottom wobble as she walked from the car and back again.

‘Come with me,’ she said, holding out her hand.

They squeezed past the cars and up the drive. Something was badly wrong. Patrick should have got her scent by then because he had been a hunting dog in his youth and could still smell familiar flesh a mile off. Maybe all the cars had scared him off. Miss Starmount snagged her skirt on a fender and tutted.

The big old house that was Evangeline’s home gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The summer before Saul Peterson had taken time off tending his cranberries to paint the whole place afresh and he had done it all white with black shutters, which was the old colonial style, according to Darius, who knew a thing or two about local history – maybe more than old Saul himself. You couldn’t see much gleam today, though, for all the people that were standing about outside.

The front door of the house was open, which was strange. Miss Starmount looked quickly down at Evangeline and her expression changed to one of embarrassment. There were blue lights everywhere and blue ribbons around the porch. They pushed on closer but a policeman stopped them. Miss Starmount whispered something into the man’s ear and they had a conversation, and then she let go of Evangeline’s hand and gave her an odd sort of look. So did the policeman.

People had begun to turn and stare. Someone held a camera out and a flash went off in Evangeline’s face, then everyone started pushing.

Things were wrong – really wrong. It was then that the small speck of fear in Evangeline’s throat started to grow out suddenly until it was choking her and, without knowing what she was doing or worrying whether it would scare anyone, Evangeline Klippel threw back her head and howled her longest, loudest-ever howl.