A Home for Shimmer (2 page)

I liked her attitude. ‘Let’s swim!’ I said.

We both mimed front crawl at the same time and then burst out laughing. We were completely in sync already. Our air swimming caused a few funny looks from people nearby, but I didn’t care. For me, it sealed the deal. My new friend was super fun and didn’t care what people thought of her.

‘Great,’ said Caitlin. ‘We can’t change the fact we’re here. Maybe it won’t be so bad and maybe we’ll get to follow
our
hearts when we’re older. I want to be an actress. What about you?’

‘Not sure yet. Maybe artist. Maybe writer. I like making up stories.’

‘Cooool,’ said Caitlin. ‘Maybe you can write me a part and we can both be famous.’

By the time we left school that day, we’d already swapped phone numbers and email addresses and had arranged to meet at each other’s houses. Life in Compton Truit was looking up already.

Chapter Two

Sad Cat, Stray Cat

‘Mum, it’s freezing,’ I called down the stairs, ‘can’t you put the heating on?’

‘It is on. Put another layer on,’ Mum called back. All week she’d been saying, ‘Put another jumper on . . . put another pair of socks on . . .’ It’s because the heating system here is prehistoric and the boiler gurgles, which is spooky late at night. I thanked God my old friends in Bristol couldn’t see me sitting here on a Saturday morning with a woolly hat on
indoors
. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my wardrobe. A girl with long hair wearing a green bobble hat stared back. I tried pulling the hat over to one side to make it look more stylish but it looked even madder. I didn’t care. It was cold.

Caitlin was coming over later so I got out my diary while I was waiting for her.

I closed my diary and texted Natalia, my best friend back in Bristol.
Help! I’m in the middle of Nowhereland
, I wrote.

Her reply pinged through a minute later.
I’d swap with u any day. Ur so lucky.

I knew she wouldn’t be sympathetic. She’d always wanted to live in the country. When I first got to Silverbrook, she insisted that I Skype her then carry my laptop around and show her exactly where we were. She loved it, saying it looked romantic.

I texted back.
Knickers to you.

Underpants to you
, she texted back.
Exploding ones
.

Natalia and I can have deep and meaningful conversations that go on like that for hours. We pride ourselves on them. Mum said it’s juvenile to text such silly messages to your friend. She can talk. She says ‘Oh, poo!’ when she’s fed up – and if that’s not juvenile, I don’t know what is.

I put the phone aside and got up to look out of the window. Caitlin was coming to hang out. I did explain to her that hang out was all we could do because there is nothing to do here apart from look at trees or go New Age mad and hug them.

‘That’s cool,’ she’d said, but I got the feeling that she was as much a townie as I was.

As I stared at the grey skies and mist outside, Ginger, our cat, leaped up on to the windowsill and sat looking out longingly. ‘Countryside, lots of it to see,’ I said to him, ‘and lots and lots of rain.’ There were views from every window and some days, you could see for miles over fields to hills in the far distance. But for the last week, all I had seen was drizzle.

Ginger’s the family cat, but everyone knows that he’s really Josh’s. Ginger loves my brother and follows him around the house like a dog would. He sleeps in his bed, sometimes actually on Josh’s head. Mum wasn’t too happy about him being in Josh’s room most of the time, but when she told Josh to close his door at night, Ginger howled the place down, clawed at the door and kept us all awake so Mum relented. He’s a funny cat. We think he imagines that he’s from royal blood because he always likes to sit above the rest of us if he can – on a shelf or top of cupboard – and look down on us as if we are his loyal servants – which we are – running about opening doors for him when he cries, giving him food or water when he goes to his food bowl. He’s been stuck in the house for over three weeks now, since we arrived, and he’s not happy about it but Dad said under no circumstances were we to allow him out, no matter how much he paws at the window or cries, or he might run away from our new house. We don’t want to lose him, but he’s dying to get out there and start exploring. I asked if I could have a pet of my own but Mum said no. I’ve a good mind to write to the prime minister and let him know that I am being ignored in this family on every level.

‘I know, Ginger,’ I said as I stroked his head. ‘
So
unfair.’

He butted my hand with his head in reply.

I felt so lonely when we first arrived in Compton Truit. I even cried myself to sleep the first few nights. I’m not usually a cry baby but I missed Natalia and I’d been brought to this bleak cold place where the only sign of life outside is chickens. Dad went and bought those last week. ‘This is just the beginning,’ he said and looked at me as if he expected me to do a dance of joy. Over chickens.
I know
. Mum wasn’t too pleased either. She often gets cross with Dad and says that he has his head in the clouds. She’s right. He does live in his own world. Mum’s always saying, ‘Earth to Richie, Earth to Richie . . .’ It seems like he lives in a happy world though. He looks like an absent-minded professor, with his messy dark hair and glasses, and he doesn’t care about clothes at all. He often wears odd socks or puts his jumper on inside out. He especially annoys Mum when he does his tuneless humming. It’s never a song you can recognise. I can tell how Mum is feeling about Dad by the way she comments on it. If she’s in a good mood and Dad comes in going, ‘Lala, mnn, nn,’ she will say in a normal tone of voice, ‘Richie – humming.’ If she’s in a bad mood, she will say, ‘Richie!’ then add in a sharp voice, ‘
Humming
.’ He takes notice to begin with, then forgets he’s doing it and wanders off again going, ‘Hmm, nmm, hmm, nmm.’ I don’t mind it, plus it lets me know when he’s coming, which isn’t a bad thing when I’m reading under the covers past my bedtime. Mum and Dad are an unlikely pair; opposites really. She’s small, blonde and neat and used to dress in smart clothes when we lived in Bristol, though she’s taken to wearing fleeces, jeans and wellies since we got here. With all the mud outside, we have no choice. She used to take a lot of pride in her appearance and liked the getting-dressed-up part of her job. I wonder if she misses it.

Josh shares Dad’s enthusiasm about the move. He’s loved it here from the start. He loves the outdoors whatever the weather, unlike me who is happier inside snuggled up with a book or watching TV. Out of the window, I could see him and Dad strutting around in the land to the right of the house. Both were oblivious to the rain. All they talked about now was boring stuff like fencing or what they could do with the stables. I suggested knocking them down and building a leisure park and they both laughed as if I was joking. I wasn’t. Mum’s not been around either, she’s been up and down to the village buying paint or buying furniture online, busy and happy to have a project.

‘It’s just you and me, Ginger.’

‘Meow,’ he replied and put his paw up to the window again.

I could see a car coming up the lane. I don’t know what kind because I’m not into cars apart from what colour they are. This was a green one. It drove into the yard and stopped. Caitlin got out of the passenger side and looked up at the house. She was dressed in jeans, a red quilted jacket over a navy jumper with silver hearts on it, a grey knitted scarf and grey Converse. She looked older and very cool. I whipped off my hat before she saw me then raced down the stairs to find her already chatting away to Dad and Josh.

A man with a beard and tousled red hair got out of the car. Caitlin introduced him as her dad.

He gestured at the house and land with his arms. ‘Amazing place you got here,’ he said to my dad. ‘Great position.’ They seemed to hit it off immediately and soon Dad was showing him around. He looked nothing like a geography teacher, more like a country and western singer in jeans, a red checked shirt and leather jacket.

‘So you’re at Amy’s school?’ Josh asked Caitlin. I was pleased that he’d asked her but I knew that he was being polite rather than actually interested. Mum had drilled it into us both to make conversation with visitors and not act, as she put it, ‘like gormless idiots who don’t have a tongue in their heads’. As if. Mum can be Very Insulting as well as Annoying and Strict.

Caitlin nodded, put her head to one side and looked at him coyly. ‘Amy told me she had a handsome brother,’ she said.

Josh looked embarrassed by her attention. He looked around like he wanted to get away, which made Caitlin laugh, which made Josh even
more
embarrassed.

‘I so did not,’ I said. ‘I said I had a brother. End of.’

Caitlin punched my arm playfully. ‘Just joshing,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you, Josh.’

‘You too,’ said Josh but he was already backing away and looking in Dad’s direction. ‘Er . . . think I’ll go and join . . . over there.’ And off he stumbled.

‘He’s quite shy really,’ I said when he’d gone. ‘And I told you he wasn’t into girls.’

Caitlin looked after him. ‘Give me time,’ she said, then continued in a strange accent, ‘no-von can resist ze charms of la belle femme Madame Caitlin O’Neill.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. He’s boring really, just into animals, being outdoors and computer games,’ I said.

Caitlin looked over in the direction that Josh’d gone. ‘Didn’t look boring to me,’ she said, then sighed longingly, a bit like Ginger had earlier when he’d looked outside.

‘So give me the grand tour,’ she said when we saw that Josh had caught up with our dads.

‘Where do you want to start – in or out?’ I asked.

‘In,’ said Caitlin. ‘And pretend you’re an estate agent and I’m looking to buy.’

I laughed. ‘You’re the one who wants to be an actress, not me.’

‘All good practice,’ said Caitlin. ‘I am ze very rich foreign lady who is looking to invest her money. You want to be a writer, make up a story.’

‘OK, Madame Belle Femme, step this way,’ I said as I led her through the hall into the kitchen. ‘Follow me. Inside, the décor is shabby chic . . . with plenty of shab but not much chic. Some estate agents might say “in need of modernisation”. I’d say, the place is falling down and I don’t think it’s been redecorated in a hundred years. Note the original flagstone flooring and how it has been worn away by the feet of those gone before us. The house has four bedrooms upstairs and has built-in air conditioning because there are draughts everywhere, ensuring a flow of cold air at all times of the day, whether you like it or not. And in here, a typical farmhouse style kitchen,’ I pointed above at the dark wooden beams, ‘the beams date back to the days of our ancestors and the damp patches by the window give the place an authentic sense of history.’

‘
Merveilleux
,’ said Caitlin. ‘Or, as you say in English – fantabulous.’

‘And if you follow me, we have a cosy living room through here. The stone fireplace you can see and the heavy velvet drapes came with the house.’

Caitlin wrinkled her nose. ‘And vot is dat smell?’

‘Eau de Peat. From the fire. Dad builds a real fire most nights because the house is freezing.’

‘
Oui
,
je comprends
. It is – how you say? – quaint?’