A MILLION ANGELS (12 page)

B
ack at home the wind whips around the house. Mum's eyes brew like thunder. The Bean screams his head off for his midnight feed. Milo snoozes in his bed and Granny's in the kitchen making tea.

“I need you to go through it again, Jemima,” says Mum. “Tell me exactly what happened, just one more time. So it's straight in my head.”

“I didn't do it, Mum,” I say. “I promise you! It was an accident. It was
them
in the wrong.
They
were teasing
me
! They made me freeze in the shower, then they threw my things out of the window.”

“This is the bit I don't understand,” says Mum. “Why
in heaven's name would they do that? You were having a sleepover. Sleepovers are supposed to be fun!”

“It's your fault,” I say, “for not believing me. I told you they hated me. They only invited me because you
asked
if I could go!”

My words slap my mum's face. Her cheeks bloom red.

“I was just…” she says, “you know…”

“It was so embarrassing, Mum. Jess told me what you did and I felt so stupid!”

Her eyes move around the room, avoiding my gaze. She nibbles her nails.

“So, if Jess is telling the truth you would have a motive then?” she sighs. “They were being mean to you… so… It's not uncommon to want revenge, sweetheart. But this is taking it a bit far, Mima! And what's all this stuff Jess is saying about death threats? Did you really say you wanted Tory to die?”

I break open like a wave. Salty tears roll down my cheeks. I need a hug, but I'm too scared to ask. I need my dad!

“I did
say
it,” I cry, “but I didn't
mean
it. I promise! I was upset and angry. I didn't expect
this
to happen.”

“Well, what did you think might happen if you're messing about near open windows, Mima?” She slumps down on the sofa and groans. “I would have thought you were all old enough to know better!”

I can't tell her I'd decided to jump. I can't say I needed to fly. I can't say anything. Everyone would think I was mad.

“I wish Dad would call,” I say. “He'd believe me. He'd know what to do.”

Mum makes a little gasp. Her hand flies to her mouth. She fiddles with her lips.

“Oh, Mima, sweetheart, I'm so, so sorry…” she whispers. “With all the fuss about Tory and everything I completely forgot to tell you that he called this afternoon while you were at Jess's. He sent his love, Mima, and he's OK. He's well. But I'm truly sorry you didn't get to speak to him.”

“I knew it!” I say. “I
said
he'd call!” My eyes start swimming with tears. “I need to talk to him so badly, Mum, and if only you hadn't made me go!”

My tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I need my dad so much.

Mum lifts her arms up to hug me, but I pull away.
I don't want her. I want my dad! I take a sharp breath in and glare at her. It's all her fault!

Heat, the colour of hate, rises up my spine.

“I told you I didn't want to go to the stupid sleepover in the first place and now because of
you
everything's gone wrong. I'm going to bed,” I say. “I don't want to talk any more.”

Mum runs her hands through her hair. Her eyes look tired and grey.

“Mima, sweetheart,” she says, “I need you to think really hard about what exactly happened at Jess's tonight. We want to get the facts right before we go into the details with Tory's parents, so Jess and Georgie are coming back in the morning to talk. I'm so worried about it all, about you and everything and we just need to get this straight!”

 

I can't sleep, not for hours and hours and hours. Tory's eyes flash in mine. Her terror squeezes my chest. I didn't mean for her to fall. I replay the whole thing a thousand million times and on every replay the picture changes. Sometimes I'm an angel about to fly, my white wings ruffling in the wind, the bright moon shining in front of me. Then sometimes all I see are both of us scuffling
on the window ledge and me giving her an extra little nudge. The problem is that it all happened so fast. How will anyone ever know the truth? I thought I'd tried to push her back inside. I was the one who wanted to fall. But why would Jess say I pushed her if it wasn't really true?

My mind skips to my dad and missing his call. I can't believe I wasn't here. We get one half-hour-long call each week and so far I've missed them both! All the other weeks the communication systems have been down. It's rubbish. My life is rubbish. My poor dad probably had to stand there in the baking heat listening to Milo going on and on about
Toy Story 3
. Then Mum whining about sleepless nights with the Bean and Granny telling him to eat his green vegetables. At least
I
would have had a proper conversation with him.
We
would have talked about interesting and wonderful things.

Tory Halligan's still moon face looms again like a big round cheese in my eyes. She haunts my sleep, she creeps me out. I've never seen a near-dead person before. Her utter silence was like a sting. And it might have been me all twisted on the ground. Dread thumps the dark corners inside me. What if I had died? What then?
Where would I be right now? Would I be a ghost yet, or a shadow or an angel floating above everyone, looking down? Would everyone be crying for me?

My own near-dead face dangles in front of my eyes. Then Dad's. Red blood on yellow sand. I can't breathe. I squeeze my leg hard. I slap my cheek. I pinch my arm. I need to make sure I'm alive. I might've been an angel, but I don't want to die!

My biro angels have faded from the shower. I find my pens and ink them in, then set their brilliance free. A million white flashes through the twinkling night. Then Tory's twisted leg smashes into my brain. The black-silhouetted tree creaks and cracks and
Stinky knickers! Stinky knickers! Stinky knickers!
clashes like cymbals in my ears.

I creep along the hallway to Granny's room. She's fast asleep with her mouth wide open. She's snoring to the stars. I stand and watch her for a while. She looks like a chicken. Puckered skin sags round her mouth. Coarse grey hairs sprout from her chin. I imagine her as a little girl with red apple cheeks and sparkling eyes, all alone in the world because of angry people with bombs. I'm scared to wake her in case I make her jump.
Granny's had too many things make her jump in her life.

The Bean screams his head off again in Mum's room. Mum sighs and swears under her breath.

I pull Granny's cover back. I nudge her over and slide inside.

It's warm in here, close to Granny. And Granny is a miracle because although she's fast asleep her wrinkly hand searches for mine. We link our fingers and hold on tight.

W
hen the sun peeps its head over the horizon and the early morning mist still hovers on the grass, Granny brings us in some tea. She pumps up our pillows and settles us both down. I wonder if Granny misses Grandpa in her bed? If every morning she wakes up and expects to find him there, and every day it's a shock when she remembers he's dead? I wonder if when she held my hand last night a faded old memory inside her thought my hand was his?

Or maybe her hand spends the nights searching for a small boy named Derek with a solemn face and big soft eyes.

We sit and sip our tea in silence. Then Granny speaks.

“Must have been a shock, I 'spect, watching that friend of yours fall and everything.”

I take another sip.

“She's not my friend, Granny,” I whisper. “She's mean. She made me do this Dare game. I had to have a freezing cold shower and she threw my clothes out of the window.”

Granny looks at me with the same piercing eyes she uses on my dad.

“Are you sure you didn't give her an extra little push then, Jemima?” she asks. “You know, without thinking, like. Just to get her back?”

My eyes search hers for the truth.

“Because you'd better get your story straight, pet,” she says. “Once and for all, see, before that Georgie woman comes over and starts talking. She's a gossip that one.”

I rerun the whole of yesterday afternoon in my head. Me not wanting to go. The cinema. Ned. The pizza. Me drawing Dad's angels and then the Truth or Dare game. Everything is clear, except for that bit. I can
remember all the tiny details, but the Truth or Dare sticks in my throat.

“I remember feeling panicked,” I say, “when they started throwing all the towels out the window. Then Jess and Tory Halligan got into such a frenzy they started on my clothes.”

“Slow it down, pet,” she says, gently taking hold of my hand. “Bit by bit. That's what you have to do with things when you're not so sure.”

“Well, they were teasing me,” I say. “I was like piggy-in-the-middle, and Tory Halligan started flapping my clothes and stuff out in the wind and letting them go, one by one.”

“And then?” asks Granny.

“And then she had my knickers,” I say. “That's it, she had my knickers and she was shouting ‘Stinky knickers, stinky knickers', and I couldn't bear it, Granny. I was all naked and she made me feel so… so… low. Do you know what I mean?”

She nods and waves me on with her hand.

“Then I started reaching for them, and she pulled and stretched further and further away and then we both pulled and stretched and we started to topple and
the shampoo went everywhere and… I remember now…”

I see myself standing on the window ledge. Waiting to fly. My feathers ruffle in the wind. Stars twinkle in the night.

“We looked at each other,” I continue. “We both knew we were about to fall and then…”

I take another sip of tea and squeeze Granny's hand hard, like if I don't I'll somehow fall out of myself and tumble to the ground.

“And then…?” she prompts.

Tears well in my eyes and plop like sparkling diamonds on my cheeks.

I look at Granny. Her eyes hold me tight, willing me to dig right down to the truth.

“The truth will set you free, pet,” she says. “See, either way, whatever happens, it's the most important thing. You know what you're dealing with once you've got the truth in your hands, out on the plate, so to speak, for everyone to see.”

“It's so hard, Granny,” I say.

I wish I were brave enough to tell the absolute truth. I wish I were brave enough to stand on the bed and say,
GRANNY, I WAS ABOUT TO JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW! I THOUGHT I COULD FLY! I THOUGHT I WAS AN ANGEL! I THOUGHT I COULD BRING DAD BACK HOME!

Ned's right. How could I be so dumb? So stupid? What was I thinking?

“I didn't push her out of the window,” I say. “I know that for sure. I tried to push her back inside, but never out. There, that's the truth. It was an accident, I promise.”

“So you didn't push her then?” says Granny, checking one last time.

“I didn't push her,” I say. “I'm sure of it now.”

Like someone has drawn a line under a story and written
The End
, Granny gets up sharp and tips me out of bed.

“Off to the shower with you,” she says, pulling her dressing gown on. “Then downstairs smart, we've got pancakes to make and lessons to learn.”

 

By the time I get downstairs Granny's made an Everest of pancakes and Milo's already tucking in.

“Sit down, Jemima,” she says, “and tell me exactly
why
you let these girls treat you so badly? Where's your backbone gone, pet?”

My eyes settle on the floor. How do I explain that Tory Halligan turns me to milk?

“Because if I'm right,” Granny smiles, “you're a Taylor-Jones, is that correct?”

I nod. I squeeze lemon on my pancake and dribble a spiral of maple syrup from a spoon.

“And us Taylor-Joneses,” she says, “have backbone, see, lots of it! How do you think I managed when my world crumbled to dust? I didn't have anyone on this earth to run to, Jemima. I was nine years old and completely alone in the world. There were plenty of folk out there ready to take advantage of me, but I wasn't having any of it. That's 'cause I had backbone, see. I learned to take care of myself. There was one big girl in school when I was first evacuated to Wales who had me pinned up against the wall with her fists curled up tight. Her teeth clenched and grinding in my ears. But believe you me, Jemima, even
she
didn't get the better of me. Think on it now, if I hadn't been able to take care of myself I'd have been dead long before now, pet, and you might not even have been born.”

I stir my hot chocolate and drink in her words.

“I sometimes wish I'd never been born,” I say. “It would have been easier for everyone.”

Granny slams her mug on the table and shoots me with her glare.

“Don't ever let me hear you say such a thing again,” she snaps. “Do you understand? This is a precious life we've been given, Jemima. It's yours to make the most of. You can't go blaming others for making it grim or go about wishing you were dead. You've got to pick it up with both hands, pet, and treasure it. You've got to learn to take care of it. Life's a gift, see, a truly beautiful gift.”

Granny sits close to me. I feel her gentle breath on my cheek.

“But I don't know how!” I say.

“Well, that's what most people find difficult, pet,” she says. “You see, most people think taking care of yourself is about buckling up. About being strong, about shutting people out and pretending things don't hurt when they do. Most people hold their feelings in for a long time. They build great walls round their hearts. But then you see, pet, just like the little piggies in the story, if you've built up great walls round yourself it only
takes someone like Tory Whatshername to come along and blow them all down.”

She sips her tea.

“The real problem, pet,” she says, “is that you're still not trusting life. You're still trying to make things happen your way. I can see it in your eyes.”

She takes another sip.

“Trust yourself to tell Tory Whatshername how you feel. Tell your teachers how you feel. Tell your mum. Trusting life, Mima, starts with trusting yourself. Trusting yourself to see the truth of the matter. Because underneath all that tallywash you're quite wise, you know. You know what you need to do.”

Milo is eating his seventh pancake. Mum is on her way downstairs with the Bean.

“You see, pet,” she whispers, “the problem with walls is that it might mean people can't get in and hurt you, but it also means you can't get out. It means you're stuck inside yourself. All alone! And that's such a lonely place to be. So stay close to the truth,” she says, “and that will connect your heart to the rest of the world. Then never ever stray. That's true power, pet.”

Granny tucks my hair behind my ear.

“That's better,” she says. “Now I can see that pretty face of yours. I want you to promise me, Jemima, that you'll never let anyone bully you ever again. Not ever! If it starts to happen, then remember your backbone. Promise?”

I nod.

“Well, Bex,” says Granny when Mum comes up to the table, “she says she didn't do it, it was an accident and I believe her. We've got to believe her, see, that's what family's for.”

My mum's eyes shift around the room. She stands behind Milo with one arm resting on his back and the other cradling the Bean. She has no arms left for me and doubt wipes across her face like a smear.

“Well, I'm sorry,” she says, as if I'm not even in the room listening to the conversation, “but I'm confused. Why would Jess say such a thing if it weren't true?” She throws me a look full of bombs. “I love you, Mima, so much, but something doesn't fit. Something's not quite right.”

I shrink away from her and hide behind my wall.

Granny chips in. “Backbone! Jemima, pet, where's your backbone?”

I sip my chocolate. I draw my eyes up to Mum's.

“I
am
telling the truth,” I say, “and it feels like you don't believe me. It doesn't feel right because it's Jess who's telling lies.”

Granny's eyes shine. She pats my hand. And that is lovely, but I need a pat from my mum. I wish she'd leave the boys for a moment to come and comfort me.

But she won't. Her ears are made of cloth. Her eyes are full of fire.

“I don't know,” she says, latching the Bean on to her breast. “You've been acting so weird lately, Jemima. All that pretending to be ill and everything. I don't know who or what to believe. One of you is telling lies, that's for sure. And it's a serious matter. A girl's life is on the line.”

Her words slice through my chest. I run to Dad's wardrobe and build a deep, thick wall round my heart. I pull his red and gold mess dress jacket on to my knees. I breathe in his smell and hold him tight.

“I wish you were here, Dad,” I whisper. “I'm so scared.”