Читать книгу Things the Eye Can't See - Penny Joelson - Страница 14

8

On Monday, it doesn’t take us long to find Tia, Charlie’s sister. The Year 7 girls tend to hang out in the quad, so Kyle and I head there at lunchtime.

‘You’re Tia Smithson, aren’t you? Charlie’s sister?’ I hear Kyle say.

‘Who are you?’

‘Kyle. You probably don’t remember me. I used to walk to school with Charlie sometimes when we were at primary.’

‘No, you’re right. I don’t remember you,’ she says abruptly. ‘What d’you want?’

‘We’re looking for Charlie,’ I tell her.

‘Why?’ There’s a suspicious tone to her voice.

‘Do you know where he is?’ Kyle asks, ignoring her question.

‘I might. I asked you why you’re looking for him.’ Her voice is defiant, but young. I’d take her for nine or ten, though she must be eleven or twelve.

‘Is he OK?’ I ask. ‘We were just worried. He was in our form group, and it’s ages since he’s been at school.’

‘Yeah, six months. And now you worry?’

‘Is he at home?’ Kyle asks.

‘No,’ she replies. ‘I haven’t seen him for ages. But I do know where he is. So why should I tell you anything?’

‘I’ll be honest with you,’ I tell her softly. ‘We’ve heard he’s in trouble – in danger. We don’t want anything to happen to him. Maybe you could just check on him and let us know?’

‘Me?’ Tia sounds stunned. ‘You want me to go checking up on him?’

‘Don’t you care about him?’ I ask. ‘He’s your brother. If my brother was in danger, I’d want to check on him.’

‘Look,’ she says. ‘Oh – sorry – I shouldn’t say that, should I? You can’t.’ She sniggers. She’s mocking me and I don’t like it. But I put up with it as I want information.

Kyle has other ideas. ‘Whoa, Tia . . .’ he says, jumping in to defend me, which is rather sweet.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say.

Tia pauses, then says, ‘Sorry. I don’t want to be mean to you because I know you can’t see. But you don’t see. You don’t get it, you don’t know what he’s like. I’m glad he’s gone. Life’s better without him. And you’re right, I don’t care. He’d changed. He never spoke to me any more, you know? Not a word – not an answer to a question. When he bothered to come home, he shut himself away in his room. And I reckon he was stealing ’cos he was buying stuff, and Dad’s asking him, “Where d’you get the money for that?” and he just swore at him – and Mum too. That’s not the way you treat people you care about, is it? So why should I care about him?’

‘If you don’t care about Charlie,’ says Kyle, ‘then why do you care about telling us where he is? Why does it matter?’

She’s quiet now. Then she sighs. ‘You really want to find him that much?’ she says. ‘I’ll tell you then, just to get rid of you. If you’re trouble for him, so what? He’s staying at our nan’s. I’ll give you the address. You got a pen? I’ll write it down. Just don’t tell him I told you, OK?’

‘Thank you so much,’ I tell her.

‘You don’t have to thank me. Just leave me alone.’

‘Come on Libby,’ says Kyle, once Tia’s written the address and given it to him. ‘Let’s get some lunch.’

Kyle actually wants to eat lunch with me? I’m relieved, as I know Madz is eating with Ollie. I follow him towards the dining hall and he even offers to carry my tray.

Once we’re sitting down and eating, I say, ‘She was unbelievable! She couldn’t care less about her own brother.’

‘It’s sad,’ says Kyle.

I feel a pang, remembering what Kyle said about Charlie swinging his sister round in the playground. It makes me think about my relationship with Joe. We never played or laughed much together when we were younger and I’ve never felt close to him, though I don’t know why exactly. I always felt he was jealous that I got more attention because I couldn’t see. But it wasn’t my fault.

‘Where does Charlie’s nan live?’ I ask.

‘In Golton,’ says Kyle. ‘About twenty minutes on the bus. We could go there after school.’

That ‘we’ gives me a warm feeling inside. Kyle and I are going to go together to find Charlie.

‘Oh, but only if you want to,’ he adds. ‘I thought . . . I mean, you don’t have to . . .’

‘I do want to come,’ I say. But now I have a tingly feeling in my legs. The thought of getting on a bus and going off somewhere strange – and with a boy I barely know – feels scary. I usually like to know exactly what I’m doing, have everything planned out so that I feel safe. But I’m also excited. For me, this feels like a real adventure.

‘I’ll just have to let my gran know I’ll be late home,’ I tell him.

‘Great,’ he says.

I walk beside Kyle with Samson slightly ahead on his harness. My heart’s beating faster than usual, but I’m trying to act like this is a normal, everyday thing to do. I texted Gran to say I’m staying late to get some help with homework. I’ve never lied to Gran before, and I don’t want to think about it or I’ll feel guilty. Samson dutifully stops when we reach the corner and I ask Kyle which way to turn.

‘I thought Samson guides you,’ he comments.

‘I have to tell him where to go,’ I explain. ‘He’ll stop at the kerb and move round cars parked on the pavement. He’s even trained to watch for low hanging branches, but he doesn’t know which way to go unless I tell him.’

‘I never realised that,’ says Kyle. ‘Do you – do you want to take my hand? If it would help, I mean.’ He sounds really awkward, but so sweet with it.

‘Thanks. But I’m OK with Samson guiding. If I do need your help, it’s better if I hold on to your arm, just above the elbow.’

‘Maybe we can try that some time,’ says Kyle. ‘It’s left here.’

‘Samson, left,’ I tell Samson, and he dutifully turns. We walk on without talking, but that suits me as I need to concentrate when it’s not a familiar route.

‘We can cross here,’ says Kyle, when we reach the road. His shape steps out beside me, but Samson stops abruptly and won’t cross.

‘Kyle! Wait!’ I say.

‘What’s wrong? There’s nothing coming.’ Kyle steps back on to the kerb. ‘I did look both ways, you know.’

‘Is there a crossing?’ I ask.

‘Yes, down there. But it’s safe to cross here, I promise.’

‘If Samson can see a crossing, he won’t let me cross here where it’s less safe,’ I explain. ‘He’s been trained to cross at crossings, if there is one.’

‘What’s Samson doing now?’ Kyle asks when we reach the crossing.

‘Showing me where the button is to press – pointing with his nose,’ I explain. ‘Under here, there’s a cone that spins when the green man appears, so someone who can’t see well knows it’s safe to cross.’

Samson stops again.

‘He’s sniffing the air,’ Kyle tells me. I sniff too. ‘Is it McDonalds?’ I ask.

‘You’re right!’ Kyle laughs. ‘He likes McDonalds, does he?’

‘Yes! He likes the smells in there.’ I bend down to Samson. ‘No, Samson, not today!’ I tell him. ‘Forward!’

The bus pulls up as we reach the bus stop so we don’t have to wait. I don’t often go on buses and I’m worried it will start moving before I’ve sat down.

‘There’s two seats near the back,’ says Kyle, but Samson is already guiding me down the bus and puts his head on a seat so I can find it. Kyle sits down next to me and Samson snuggles in close by my feet as the bus pulls away. I slide towards Kyle as the bus jolts and pull back awkwardly, feeling for the pole, so I can hold on.

‘What if no one’s home when we get to Charlie’s nan’s?’ I ask.

‘It’ll have been a wasted journey,’ says Kyle. ‘But we’ve got to try.’

Kyle’s quiet on the bus. I listen in on someone else’s conversation about the weather and how long this hot spell will last. It’s much hotter than usual for June. I check my watch, and we’ve been on the bus for twenty-five minutes.

‘Are we nearly there?’ I ask.

‘I think it’s the next stop.’

I tell Samson and he’s up and ready to guide me off the bus when it stops. I’m more self-conscious than usual, not wanting to make a fool of myself in front of Kyle by tripping down the step.

‘It’s just down this road, according to Google Maps,’ Kyle tells me.

‘Forward,’ I tell Samson. The road is narrow with cars parked half on the pavement, so Kyle walks in front and Samson carefully guides me round.

‘This is the house. I’m ringing the bell,’ Kyle tells me.

‘Sit, Samson,’ I tell him and he obeys. We wait. I wonder who will answer the door. What if it’s Charlie? What will he say when he sees me? But nothing happens. I’m starting to think no one is there at all when I hear the door click open.

‘You collecting for Guide Dogs for the Blind?’ a woman’s voice asks. She’s shorter than me and her voice is soft, kind. ‘I’m sure I have a few spare coins somewhere. Hold on . . .’

‘We’re not collecting for charity,’ I say. ‘We’re looking for Charlie.’

‘Charlie?’ Her surprise is clear as her voice goes high. ‘Well you won’t find him here.’

‘We heard he was staying with you,’ Kyle says.

‘He was.’

‘But not any more?’ I ask.

‘No.’ She sighs. ‘You friends of his? He’s never mentioned a blind friend . . . Don’t get me wrong – I love that boy to bits – but there was only so much his poor old nan could put up with.’

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘You must know what he’s like. I never knew whether he was coming or going. He was out all hours of the night. He worried me silly. Rude too, he was. No respect. I told him he had to change his ways. But he didn’t. In the end I told him to go home, sort things out with his parents. It was only ever meant to be a short-term thing, staying with me. And would you believe he raided my purse before he left!’

‘But he hasn’t gone home,’ I tell her. ‘Tia told us he was here.’

‘Not at home? Well, he hasn’t been here for a month or more,’ she says. ‘My son Vince – Charlie’s dad – he and I aren’t really on speaking terms. I never heard from him. I just assumed . . .’

‘Can you think of anywhere else Charlie could’ve gone?’ I ask.

‘Who knows?’ she says. ‘I despair of that boy. I tried my best, I really did. Let me think . . . There’s no one else in the family who’d have taken him. I don’t know who he was mixing with, apart from the one mate I sometimes overheard him talking to on the phone. Hassan – that was his name. I think he met him at that unit he was at for a time. I can’t think where he’d have gone.’

Charlie’s nan has been nattering on and yet we’re no closer to finding him. At least Hassan is a lead. ‘Do you know where Hassan lives?’ I ask.

‘Not a clue,’ she says.

‘Thanks for talking to us,’ I tell her.

‘No problem – and I’m sorry I thought you were collecting. I do always give to Guide Dogs for the Blind, you know. He’s a lovely one you’ve got there.’