A MILLION ANGELS (9 page)

W
hen we get back home, Mum makes me a nest on the sofa.

“Try and sleep it off,” she says.

But I can't sleep. I have too much stuff whizzing around my head. I need to be much more ill than this for the army to send my dad back home.

I clutch my tummy.

“Ooooowww,” I cry. “Mum, I think I might have appendicitis. I'm in so much pain. I really need the hospital or at least the doctor.”

“You said it was meningitis an hour ago,” she says. “Jemima, where exactly is the pain?”

“It's here,” I say, pointing to my head. “And here.” I clutch my tummy again and twist my body so it looks like I'm in pain.

She slides the thermometer under my arm and rests her hand on my forehead.

“You don't have a fever,” she says, checking the thermometer reading, “and you'd definitely have one if it was meningitis
or
appendicitis. Mrs Spencer's right, it's probably just a migraine, Mima. Let's get you upstairs; we'll pull your blind down and make the room dark. Drink plenty of water and probably best to avoid food for a while.”

So here I am. In the dark. Alone. With nothing to do.

I'm bored and I can't see anything. I pull my gas mask on and breathe. I need to make more noise, create more fuss then they'll have to take me to hospital. Mum wouldn't be being a good parent if she watched me be in so much pain for too long. I pull the gas mask off and stuff it under my bed.

“Muuuumm,” I call. “Graannnyy, I feel so ill. Oooowww!”

Granny thuds up the stairs. She perches on the edge of my bed.

“What's really up, pet,” she says, “because you don't look ill to me. You look the perfect picture of health. Are you worried about something? Someone upset you?”

“I fainted,” I say. “I'd just shared my presentation idea and then everything went really dark, like I was falling into a big black hole. I'm not pretending, Granny – I really do think something terribly bad is wrong with me and I'm scared. I'm scared I might die.”

She prods my tummy and tells me to lie on my side and raise up my knees.

“See, you wouldn't be able to do that, pet,” she says, “if it were appendicitis – it would be too painful. I think you've got schoolitis more like or something else. A duvet day should put you right. Lots of rest. Like Mum says: no food for a bit. Have you emptied your bowels today, Mima? Might just be a bit of wind. Something disagreed. Mum's off to baby yoga after lunch, but I'll be downstairs if you need me.”

I turn beetroot because of Granny asking about my bowels. Of course I've been today! And then she leaves me in the dark room again. Alone. I try sleeping, but I can't get comfy and I'm not even tired. I lie on my back
and imagine I'm an angel soaring across the sky to my dad. I feel around my shoulder blades to see if any wings are sprouting. It would be so cool to have them hiding there under my top, then I could fly away whenever I please. I open my arms and set a million angels free. They hover in the blue shadows, then flash from my room like lightning. They fly through the camp sprinkling angel dust along their way. Flapping their great white wings towards my dad. I see him sleeping in the dark of the desert, in the cold night air, with a trillion bright stars sparkling in the sky. And they'll fly into his room and settle round his bed. Watching him. Guarding him. Keeping him safe.

I wish he'd call again. I need to hear his voice.

“Mmuuuuuuummm!” I call. “Don't forget to call me if Dad phones.”

Then I remember that he won't be allowed to call again until next week.

I have to stay home. I have to stay home. I have to stay home.

I can hear everything going on downstairs but I'm a thousand miles away from them. I'm trapped on the island of my bed, in the bubble of my room.

The Bean cries out for a feed. Mum bustles around, getting ready for yoga. Granny clatters in the kitchen making lunch. My tummy grumbles and grinds like a peppermill when yummy soup smells float up the stairs. There must be something else I can do. If only I could somehow find a way of getting to hospital and staying there long enough for Dad to be called back home. It wouldn't be terrible. No one would get hurt and I'd get to have Dad back home and he'd get to meet the Bean. Everyone would thank me in the end. And even Dad said he's tired of the heat.

Maybe breaking a bone would work? That's a serious thing. I fling my arm against the wall. Ouch! I could probably make myself trip down the stairs. But then I might actually break my neck and die, and Dad would definitely come home then, but I wouldn't be here to see him. I need to think harder and better than this. I pull on my gas mask again and breathe and start thinking about Derek. I have to find him and bring him back to Granny otherwise my presentation will be rubbish. I'll have nothing to show. But how do you even start finding someone who has been lost for the past seventy-one years?

I turn over and lie on my tummy. It's all useless and rubbish.
I'm
useless and rubbish. I wish I could have the Bean here in bed with me – I want to talk to him about the world.

I'm here alone for hours and hours and hours. Mum comes back from yoga, Milo gets home from school and the TV is blaring through the ceiling. I'm just lying here trying to find a way to make my plan work.

I think my family have forgotten about me.

The doorbell rings. Granny is talking to someone. There's a thud, thud, thud up the stairs and a tap, tap, tap on my door.

I take a sharp breath in.

“Who's there?”

In my wildest dreams I imagine it's my dad come home. I don't know why, but maybe the angels worked, maybe they've really brought him home. Maybe the war has suddenly ended and he thought he'd give us a lovely surprise.

“Hey,” says a voice, “it's me, Ned.”

Then Ned appears in my room with a guitar slung over his shoulder.

“Ned! What are you doing in my house? In my room?”

I shuffle around and sit up. I smooth down my hair. At least I'm not wearing my pyjamas!

“Hey,” he says, sitting on my bed. “I just wanted to make sure you're OK. I could hardly believe it – one minute you were up there talking about your presentation and the next you were splat down on the floor.”

He strums a few chords on his guitar. The sound ripples through me like silk.

“How d'you even know where I live?”

“Jess,” he smiles. “I came on my bike; it's not that far. Never been to an army camp before – it's weird.”

“You get used to it,” I say, “just like anything else.”

I'm fluttering inside and I don't know why and I can't stop twiddling my hair.

“Are you still ill?” he asks.

“I never really was,” I whisper. “I think I just fainted through nerves. I hate speaking in public. It's so embarrassing. But I really want to do this presentation. I really want to help my granny.”

“It was a pretty impressive slide to the floor,” he smiles, getting up and opening my blind. “Like something out of a film.”

The sunlight kisses his halo hair and if Ned were to
grow wings he would make an awesome angel. I've never had a boy sit on my bed before, except Milo. In fact I've never even had a boy visit me at home. In fact, in fact, I've never even had a boy talk to me. Not
really
talk to me, because he wanted to. I've never known anyone like Ned.

“Can I tell you a secret?” I whisper. “I'm going to burst if I don't tell someone.”

Ned pulls his skinny-jeaned legs up on the bed, crosses them and turns to face me. He strums his guitar and sings the verse of the John Lennon song about peace. His green Converse laces trail across my bed like vines.

“I'm all ears for you, Jemima Puddleduck,” he smiles.

“Well,” I whisper, “I have this plan to get my dad back home and I'm trying to make something bad enough happen so that the army will
have
to put him on a plane. I don't like him being in the army. I want him here with me, doing a normal job. You might be campaigning for peace, Ned, but I'm standing up for love and no matter what I fight for I will rearrange the alphabet and put U and I next to each other and then you'll finally notice.”

I blush.

“I mean, I'll rearrange the alphabet and put my dad next to me and then he'll finally notice that I need him here, not across the other side of the planet. I will do it, Ned. I have to. It's not fair. Thousands of families get split up every year because of stupid wars. Millions of hearts get broken.”

Ned sighs. “Jemima Puddleduck,” he says, resting his finger on my foot, “you can't play God and go around rearranging the alphabet for anyone. Families get split up for all sorts of reasons, every day; it's not just war that does it. Enough bad things happen in this world without you making more.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” I snap. “Just wait around and do nothing? Wait until we get a phone call saying he's dead?”

“You just have to trust,” he says. “I know I don't believe in war and I said your dad's stupid for putting his life at risk, but he must have his reasons, Jemima Puddleduck, and maybe you should respect them and let him get on with his job.”

“It's all right for you,” I snap. “You have a cosy little life. You don't know what it's like.”

I huff down in my bed and cover my head with my pillow.

“Leave me alone, Ned.” I snap. “I wish I'd never told you. You don't know anything!”

“Suit yourself,” he says, heading towards the door, “but for your information, apart from checking out how you were after your fainting fit, I also came to say I've been talking to my gramps about that Derek bloke. He might be able to help. But… whatever!”

He opens the door. I peep out from under my pillow and I hear him mutter under his breath, “You know nothing about my life either, Jemima Puddleduck, because I promise you, it's not all roses.”

He shuts the door, then seconds later peeps his head back round.

“So it
was
you that set off the fire alarms. I knew it! You've been acting so weird lately, Jemima. If you thought no one noticed you keep sliding off on your own at lunchtimes, you thought wrong, because I did. How could you be so dumb, Jemima? I've fooled myself. I thought you were made of better stuff than that!”

The door clicks shut.

I am made of better stuff, Ned, if you really want to
know. And that's exactly why I'm doing what I'm doing. Without my Bring Dad Home mission he stands no chance of getting home.

At least I'm trying to help!

I
've given up pretending to be ill. It's boring. It's boring, boring, boring lying up here alone listening to all the interesting things going on downstairs. Granny's really busy in the kitchen. She's creating loads of yummy things to eat and the delicious cooking smells keep wafting up the stairs to tempt me. Then every time I tell her I'm hungry she says the food she is making is not for me! I can't believe my own granny is being so mean. She says I can have tasty things when I'm better, but for now I'm only allowed dry toast or boring vegetable broth or disgusting lemon and honey tea! I think I need to make myself better very soon. Before I starve to death.

I need to put some serious thought into my Bring Dad Home mission. I need to make something much bigger happen, something much more serious. And I don't care about Ned. What does he know about anything anyway? He should try being me for a day because apparently I'm unhinged!

It's Saturday and we're sitting around trying to choose a name for the Bean.

“I think Derek's a grand name for a boy,” says Granny. “You can't go wrong with a name like that.”

Mum laughs and rolls her eyes.

“I think we should call him Woody,” says Milo. “Woody's a cool name.”

“Whatever it is,” says Mum, “it needs to work on a birthday card. You know,
Lots of love from James, Bex, Jemima, Milo and…”

A worrying thought sits on my tongue, but I'm too scared to speak it.

If my dad dies before we register the Bean's name I know we'll call him James.

“How about James?” I say. “After Dad.”

“Not James,” says Mum. “Too confusing.”

Then the phone goes.

We all take a sharp breath in and stretch our ears. We all hope it's Dad, calling to say hello.

“Hi,” says Mum.

I stretch my ears as far as I can down the phone, listening out for his voice.

“Yes, I'm sure she'd love to! Thanks, Georgie! You're a star! Yes, twenty minutes. She'll be ready.”

“It was Georgie,” says Mum, taking the Bean from Granny. “She's taking a gang of kids to the cinema and phoned to invite you, Mima. Isn't that lovely? They're picking you up on the way.”

“I'm not going,” I snap.

“Why ever not?” says Mum. “You'll have great fun.”

“I just don't want to go,” I snap. “No reason.”

“You're going, Mima,” she spits. “And that's that! You need to stop isolating yourself from everyone and start going out.”

“I'm not going,” I shout, running upstairs. “You can't make me, you don't understand.”

I run upstairs and hide in Dad's wardrobe. I take a sniff of his fading smell. Then Granny comes up and opens the wardrobe door.

“Give it a try, pet,” she smiles. “It mightn't be so bad as you'd imagine. You might even have a bit of fun.”

“I won't, Granny,” I plead, “I promise you. Please talk to Mum, please don't make me go! They keep laughing at me about my presentation.”

Granny takes hold of one of Dad's sleeves and strokes it. She lifts it to her nose and smells.

“Come on, pet,” she soothes. “Mum does have a point; it's not healthy for a girl your age to be home all the time.”

 

So here I am,
forced
to wait on the drive for Georgie's car. I kick the gravel. I didn't even get to suggest a proper name for the Bean – I only thought of Dad's. My stomach is in overdrive, churning my lunch around, making me sick.

Pip.
We're on our way! My dad just called. Did yours? He had a lucky escape today. A bomb nearly went off in his face.

I flick an angel off my arm. Please be safe, Dad. Please be safe! Please be safe!

I listen for the phone. I can't go now. He might call. If only my mum would understand how I feel. But she
never understands me. That's Dad's job. Not hers! I don't see any problem with staying at home anyway. I'll go out when I'm ready. I'm a person, I have
rights
; she can't
make
me go!

I open the front door and peep my head inside.

“I'm not going, Mum,” I say. “Jess had a call from her dad, which means Dad might call us too, and I don't want to miss him again. And you can't make me go. I don't even feel well. I've got a headache. I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” says Mum, “it'll be good for you to get out, Mima, and Dad won't call, I promise. It's natural that you're a bit nervous. But you'll soon get over it. Next thing you know there'll be discos and boyfriends and all sorts of things.”

She chuckles and lifts her eyebrows. My cheeks burn. My mum is gross. She is so old!

When Georgie swishes into the driveway her car tyres send gravel spitting and popping like corn. My knees tremble. I don't want to go. Jess is in the front and squashed in the back like sardines are Tory Halligan, Sameena and Beth. Georgie makes me squeeze in next to Tory, so close I can smell the fruity shampoo on her hair.

“Yay! What fun!” says Tory, smiling at me. “I can't think of a more fun day out.”

I ignore Mum's wave as Georgie drives us away.

“Can we have a chat about fashion, Jemima,” says Tory, “for my presentation? Oooh, I've an idea.” Her eyes light up. “Can we have a sleepover afterwards, Georgie? Pleeeaasee? Then we can all get cosy and share more of our presentation ideas. It'll be fun. And Jemima, I want to hear more about luuuuurrrrrvvveeee.”

Then everyone starts laughing. I hate them all.

“Yay!” says Jess. “Pleeeaaassssseeee, Mum, please say yes to a sleepover!”

 

The cinema is full of kids jostling in the queue. Boys wearing skinny jeans and check shirts and gelled hair scuffle and play fight. Girls who stink of bubblegum flutter their lashes like bats. I touch the big bow on my head. I lace up my boots. I can't breathe. I need air. I think I'm going to faint. Inside I'm flapping about like a wet fish. Dying a slow and painful death on the slippery deck of a boat. I don't even
want
to look like these girls. I like what I wear. I don't
want
to fit in!

And Georgie isn't even staying with us for the film.

“You have fun,” she chirrups, stuffing a big stash of cash in Jess's hands, “and I'll meet you all later in Pizza Express.”

Now I have nothing to hold on to except popcorn and Coke and I'm scared of sliding down on to the floor.

“It's SO lovely having the vintage queen with us,” says Tory. She turns to me. “Now, Jemima, tell me all about this army tie you're wearing? Is it one of your dad's?”

Then she spots something in the distance. She squeals and bobs around. Sameena and Beth watch her every move. They copy whatever she does. They jiggle and giggle. They squeal and bob. They choose the same sweets and the same drinks.

Jess stands in the shadows and hands out the cash.

“Neddy! Neddy!” Tory squeals, pushing through the crowd. “What a surprise to see you here!”

Ned comes to join us, with Callum Richardson jostling at his side.

“What are you going to see, Neddy?” says Tory, sliding her body against his. “The new
Pirates
or
Kung Fu Panda 2
?”

“Wouldn't miss Johnny Depp for a panda, would I?” says Ned, smiling. Then he turns and whispers to me, “Done any more dumb things today, Jemima Puddleduck, or have you learned to grow up?”