Читать книгу Finding Cherokee Brown - Siobhan Curham - Страница 15

‘One of the crassest mistakes a new novelist can make is to waste acres of paper telling their reader all about their characters and their motivations. You must SHOW us this information, dear writer, through the character’s actions, rather than tediously tell.’

Agatha Dashwood,

So You Want to Write a Novel?

‘How did you know it was me?’

Steve – Dad – Steve looked at me. Then down at his pint. Then all around the beer garden.

After he’d called to me on the microphone I’d stood rooted to the spot. Then I’d heard footsteps running up behind me and felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned round and there he was. ‘Cherokee?’ he’d said, as if he was asking a question. I just nodded and stared. What happened next was all a bit of a blur. I followed him back to where he’d been performing, watched him pack up his things and apologise to everybody for finishing so soon. And then we’d come here. To a pub called the Water Poet at the back of the market.

‘Well, there’s the fact that you’re the spit of me,’ he finally replied, looking back at me with a nervous grin.

‘The what?’

‘The spit. You look just like me.’

‘Do I?’ I tried to study him without looking obvious. When he smiled crescents of small lines formed around his dark brown eyes like fans.

‘Yeah, course you do. And then there was the stake-out.’

‘The what?’

‘The stake-out. At your house. Last week.’

‘You staked out my house?’ I took a sip of my lemonade to try and stop myself from giggling. Nerves were bubbling up inside of me like gas.

He shook his head and sighed. ‘Yeah, man. They wouldn’t tell me where you lived so I had to follow your mum home. And then I waited outside, till I saw you.’ He took a cigarette paper from the packet on the table in front of him and a pinch of tobacco from a plastic pouch.

‘Are you serious?’ I was so shocked at what he was telling me that for a second I forgot to be nervous.

He placed the tobacco on the paper and began rolling it with his finger and thumb. ‘’Fraid so.’ He licked the edge of the paper. ‘I didn’t want to, but I had no choice. I wanted to see you.’ He looked away, obviously embarrassed.

I replayed what he’d just said in my mind. ‘Who wouldn’t tell you where I lived?’

‘Your nan and granddad.’

I looked at him blankly. He was staring at some fat men on the next table who were stuffing their sweaty faces with burgers.

‘Cheryl and Paul. Your mum’s folks. I went round to their house. Wasn’t even sure they’d still be living there to be honest but I thought I’d give it a go. I was made up when Cheryl answered the door. But as soon as she realised who I was she went all moody and told me to do one.’ He lit his roll-up and a wisp of smoke ribboned around his face. ‘So I left, but only as far as the end of their road. Then I waited for Fi – your mum – to turn up.’

‘But how did you know she would turn up?’

‘I didn’t. And she didn’t.’ He sighed and more smoke streamed from his mouth. ‘Not for days.’

‘Days?’

He nodded. ‘Yep. Well, nearly two days, stuck in deepest darkest Surrey with only my guitar for company. Good job I’ve got a camper van, eh?’

‘You waited for two days outside my grandparents’ house just to see if my mum would turn up?’

He nodded again. ‘Yep. Nearly didn’t recognise her at first, she looked so – well, anyway, once I’d worked out it was her I waited for her to leave and then I followed her back home. To your place.’

‘Oh my God.’

He frowned. ‘Sorry, I know it sounds a bit radio rental.’

‘A bit what?’

‘Radio rental – mental. It was just that I really wanted to see you and I didn’t want any more arguments. There’s been too much bad karma as it is. I thought tailing her would be the best option. The quietest option.’

I nodded, but not really understanding at all. ‘So when did you – ?’

‘When did I what?’

‘See me.’

‘Oh. Last Monday morning. On your way to school.’

My heart sank. ‘On my way to school?’

‘Yeah.’ He frowned and looked away.

‘Did you follow me?’

‘What?’

‘To school. Did you follow me to school?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah, course not. I just wanted to see you and then I thought I’d send you the card. See if you wanted to see me too.’ He began to smile. ‘I was made up when I saw you there in the market, on the floor.’

My face burned as the whole tragic falling-over scene very kindly replayed itself in slow motion in my mind.

‘I wasn’t made up that you was on the floor,’ he added quickly. ‘I was made up you’d come. I’d been crappin’ it all morning, wondering whether you’d show.’

I glanced across the table at this person, this stranger, who I was technically biologically half of. He looked down at his hands and began fiddling with a silver skull ring on one of his thin brown fingers.

‘I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you never wanted to see me at all. I ain’t exactly been Dad of the Year, have I?’

‘No.’ My reply popped out before I could stop it. There were so many things I wanted to ask him but I felt way too shy.

‘I’ve always thought about you though,’ he went on, still looking down. ‘Always wondered what you were doing and what you were like.’

My face started to burn again. I wondered how different I was to what he had been expecting. ‘So why didn’t you . . .?’ I couldn’t finish the question.

He looked straight at me. ‘I was an idiot – when I was younger. I suppose your mum’s told you all about it?’

I didn’t say anything; I wanted to hear his version of things.

‘I suppose I just wasn’t ready,’ he shrugged slightly and tilted his head, ‘for the responsibility – of a family and that.’

Whenever my mum goes on one of her rants about my real dad and his commitment issues I always end up feeling angry and hurt, but now he was sat in front of me saying it to me himself I felt weirdly numb.

He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘I was a twat. My band had the chance to tour America – to take part in this music festival in Austin and –’ he took another drag, ‘your mum told me if I went that would be it for me and her. And us.’ He stopped again and shifted sideways on his seat. ‘Bloody hell, this is hard. When I practised last night on Harrison it came out all right, I sounded like Winston Churchill going on about fighting on the beaches, but now –’

‘Harrison?’ My heart sank. He had a son, another family. One he wanted to live with.

He nodded. ‘Yeah, my lodger. He’s not much older than you actually. Eighteen. He thinks I’m a twat too, for leaving you.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Do you have any kids? Any other kids?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. That’s why –’ he broke off, looked around, then back at me and I saw that his eyes were all shiny. ‘That’s why I want to get to know you. I mean, I know it’s too late for me to be your dad and all that.’ He picked up his lighter and began flicking it on and off. ‘I saw your stepdad during my – er – stake-out. He looks . . . nice.’ He put the lighter back down and stared at me. ‘He is, isn’t he? Nice? I mean, you like him, yeah? He treats you all right?’

I nodded numbly. Alan is the king of nice – that’s the problem, he uses his ‘niceness’ to get everything his own way the whole time.

‘Cool. Cos when I got back from America your mum told me she’d met him and that you were all settled and happy. She said it would only confuse things if . . .’

‘If what?’

‘If I tried to be a part of your life.’ He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked away.

‘Oh.’

I started doing some calculations in my head. My mum had met Alan when I was one. She had last told me my real dad was in America last Christmas when I’d got all emotional after watching It’s a Wonderful Life and The Champ back to back. But if Steve had spoken to her since then why had he needed to stake out Gran and Granddad’s to find out where I lived?

‘When was that?’ I asked, for some reason suddenly finding it really hard to swallow.

‘When was what?’

‘The conversation you had with my mum. When did you get back from America?’

‘Oh – about thirteen years ago. Yeah, you would’ve been about two.’

‘Thirteen years?’ I whispered.

He nodded, obviously embarrassed. ‘I know. I’m sorry. She was right though. I probably would’ve been a crap dad.’

Yes, I wanted to yell at him, but couldn’t I have been allowed to decide that for myself ? I sat on my hands and stared down into my lap. For all this time Mum had been lying to me. All these years I’d been imagining my dad in his Stetson and medallion, having commitment issues along with his pancakes and syrup and he’d been – well, where had he been?

‘So where have you lived since you got back from America?’ I muttered, not daring to look up.

He coughed and I heard the clunk of his glass being put down on the table.

‘Here, mainly.’

‘Here, as in the UK?’

‘Here, as in east London.’

My world began to shrink in on itself. I’d been thinking there was an entire ocean between us and it had been a tiny little underground line.

‘But you could have –’ I broke off, suddenly remembering that really he was a total stranger and I probably shouldn’t shout at him.

‘I’m sorry.’ He coughed and shifted in his seat again.

We sat in silence for a while. Only it wasn’t silence for me because the voice in my head now seemed to have acquired a loudhailer. HOW COULD SHE HAVE LIED TO ME ALL THIS TIME? WHY DID SHE TELL HIM WE WERE BETTER OFF WITHOUT HIM? HOW COULD SHE THINK I WAS BETTER OFF WITH ALAN WHEN ALAN ISN’T MY REAL DAD? WHY DIDN’T I HAVE ANY SAY IN IT?

On the other side of the beer garden a girl started laughing. Her hair was short and spiky and dyed jet black with electric-blue tips. She looked so happy and relaxed – despite the metal bolt through her nose and her unbelievably tight leather trousers. I wanted to scream at my mum till I had no voice left.

‘Happy birthday, Cherokee,’ Steve said gruffly. I looked at him and he smiled and a dimple popped up in his right cheek. I smiled back, knowing that an identical dimple would have popped up in exactly the same place on my own face. I felt a weird tug inside of me, like there was some kind of invisible cord linking us.

‘So, what do you want?’ he asked.

‘Oh, er –’ I picked up my glass of lemonade. It was still half full. ‘It’s OK, I’ve got loads left thanks.’

He shook his head and laughed. ‘Nah, I don’t mean to drink. I mean for your birthday. What do you want for your birthday?’

‘Oh!’ In all the drama I’d completely forgotten what day it was. I gave an embarrassed laugh and some lemonade sloshed over the top of my glass. Across the beer garden the girl with the nose-bolt leant back on her seat and ran her hand through her electric-blue hair.

‘A haircut.’ Oh, God! Where had that come from? Now he was going to think I was crazy for sure.

‘A haircut?’ Steve looked at my stupid stringy hair and frowned.

‘Yes, but not just any old haircut . . .’ I stopped mid-sentence, mortified. It was like some idiot game-show host had seized control of my mouth!

‘Oh yeah?’ Steve’s dimple sprang into life again as he grinned across the table at me.

I nodded, figuring I had nothing left to lose. ‘I want a cool haircut. Like hers.’ I pointed to the girl with the blue hair who just at that moment let out a loud belch.

Steve started to laugh and I wanted to crawl under the table and dig myself deep into the dry ground. Now he’d be thinking I was some stupid wannabe kid. He probably wished he’d never sent me the card, that he’d been right to leave it for thirteen years. I may as well just tell him I wasn’t Cherokee Brown at all – that my name was Claire Weeks-as-in-weak and I had no friends and actually people preferred to call me names and throw eggs at me and –

‘Come on then.’ Steve got to his feet and picked up his guitar.

‘Where are we going?’ I felt sick. He’d had enough of me and wanted me to go. He was probably going to march me to the station and put me on the first train back home.

‘Your wish is my command, madam.’ He held out his hand to me, then stuffed it into his jeans pocket. ‘If a haircut’s what you want, then a haircut’s what you’re gonna get.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. But don’t worry – I ain’t gonna do it. Not unless you want a skinhead? I’m a dab hand with a set of clippers.’

‘No!’

He threw his head back and let out a raucous laugh. ‘I’m joking, man. Come on, I know just the place. And don’t worry, it’s so cool you’ll come out of there with frostbite.’