Drawing with Light (11 page)

Rachel stops to hug me. ‘That's exciting! Aren't you pleased?'

‘No.'

‘Not even a teeny bit? Oh, Em, a little baby sister! Cassy will be a lovely mum. It'll be so cute.' She's almost skipping along, ridiculously happy.

I just want to cry.

‘Don't be so grumpy about it, Em. When's it due?'

‘June, Kat says.'

‘A summer baby, like you. So you'll have moved into your huge house by then. You'll have so much space you'll hardly notice a baby.'

‘How can you say that? It will change everything! Just imagine if your dad was having a new baby with that woman he's going out with –'

‘I know. I think I'd be pleased. For them, and for me.'

‘Well, maybe that's because you're living with your mum. And you don't already have a sister. You wouldn't feel like you were being pushed out.'

‘Your dad's not pushing you out, Em!'

‘Isn't he? That's what it feels like. It's like a slap in the face. We're not enough, me and Kat. They want their own proper family, him and Cassy.'

We have to shut up, then, because we've reached the market stall and Polly's waiting impatiently because we're a bit late.

‘Thank goodness!' she says. ‘It's been hectic all day. They've been here in coachloads. I need to go and fetch some new stock.'

We sort ourselves out. We put on our scarves and necklaces. But my heart's not in it any more. All I can think of is the stupid baby.

‘Shall I get us something to eat?' Rachel says. ‘We forgot, on the way here. I'm starving!'

I watch her disappear through the crowds. It's dusk already: a grey gloom that even the fairy lights don't seem to lift. The market stalls look tatty and dull instead of magical and Christmassy.

I sell one scarf, one stripy basket and a pair of silver snowflake earrings. The coachloads have gone home. It's quieter than it has been all week. I get out my phone. One message, from Seb. My heart lifts as I read it:

Pick you up after work? Got Mum's car for the evening. xx S

YES!
I text back.
Thank you! xx E

Rachel comes back with two hot cheese pasties and two cups of spiced apple. ‘There! That'll cheer you up.'

‘Seb's going to meet me after work,' I say. ‘You can meet him.'

‘At last! How's it going with you two?'

‘OK,' I say. ‘I thought he might be a bit fed up with me. Something I said last time. But he wants to go out tonight, so that's good.'

‘I don't know why you're so secretive about him.'

‘I don't know either.'

‘You keep things to yourself. You always have done. But you like him a lot, don't you?'

‘Yes.'

We have to stop talking to serve a customer. Polly is very insistent about it: not to keep chatting while we're serving. We're supposed to pay attention to the customer instead. Be nice to them. You sell more that way.

‘How's Luke?' I ask Rachel, once the woman has moved off.

Rachel shrugs. ‘OK. Ish. He's always busy, though. With the band and everything. Practising, or doing gigs. Or seeing his mates.'

‘At least you get to see him at school.'

Polly turns up again with an armload of boxes. She plonks them down on a chair. ‘There you are! You can unpack that lot while it's quiet. Put some more earrings on display too. The seasonal ones are selling best. Snowflakes, stars and the little silver Christmas trees. Everything OK, girls?' She's off again before we've even answered.

‘She's always in a rush,' I say.

‘Can you imagine doing what she does, all day? A scarf shop! Honestly!'

‘Don't suppose she planned it. You wouldn't think, now what shall I do when I grow up? Oh yes: sell scarves.'

‘Yeah. She'll have drifted into it. Like Mum and the video shop.'

‘What did she do before?'

‘Before what? Before Dad left? She stopped work when she had me. Before that, she was a PA for some businessman. But Dad started earning so much, she didn't need to work. Now look. He's got loads of money and a huge house, and she has practically nothing.'

‘Your dad works ridiculously long hours, though,' I say. ‘And he never seems happy, really, does he?'

Rachel doesn't answer. She's watching a group of homeless blokes ambling along between the stalls in the row next to ours. ‘What happened to that bloke who had the heart attack?'

‘Bob? He's still in hospital,' I say. She already knows about Mattie.

* * *

‘There he is! In the black coat and jeans, with the brown hair.'

We watch Seb navigate his way to our stall. I'm dead proud of how lovely he looks.

Rachel starts smiling. She twiddles her hair like she used to do when we sat next to each other in Year Seven.

‘Hey,' Seb says. ‘Hello, Em. You look – a bit different!'

I laugh. ‘Bit more colourful?' I unwrap the orange silk scarf. ‘This is Rachel,' I say.

‘Hello, Seb! Emily's told me all about you.'

His ears go red. Then he recovers and says hi to Rach. ‘When do you finish?' he asks me.

‘About ten minutes,' I say.

‘You can go now, if you want,' Rachel says. ‘I'll close up the stall and everything. It's fine.'

‘Thanks!' I hug her.

‘He's gorgeous!' she whispers in my ear. ‘You jammy thing!'

‘I haven't really told Rachel all about you,' I say as soon as we're out of earshot.

‘No. I know that. You're a secretive person.'

‘Am I? That's what Rachel just said. Weird.'

‘Must be true, then. Anyway, it's fine. I'm like that too.'

We turn down Green Street to the cafe on the corner. We choose a table at the window and sit down. I'm exhausted, suddenly.

When the waitress brings our coffees over, she only looks at and speaks to Seb. She watches him from behind the counter. Seb doesn't notice.

‘What's the matter?' he says to me.

‘Nothing. Just tired.'

‘There's something else. I can tell.'

‘Secrets,' I say. ‘I'm sick of them.'

We sip our coffees. Seb reaches across for my hand and keeps hold of it, and for some reason that makes my eyes fill with tears.

I tell him about Dad's baby. ‘That's one secret that isn't a secret any more.'

He doesn't say anything for a while. He just holds my hand.

It's nearly seven o'clock, and I know I should've phoned home to say I'm going to be late. Dad and Cassy will be expecting me back any minute. But I don't phone. Let them worry. They deserve it.

We finish our coffees.

‘Did your sister get back OK?' Seb asks.

‘Yes. Last night. But she's in a funny mood and the caravan's too small for four and we're all getting on each other's nerves.'

‘Shall we go somewhere else, then?' Seb says. He leans forward and kisses me. ‘If you could choose to be anywhere, in the whole world, where would you choose?'

‘I don't know. An island, somewhere hot?'

It starts as a game. We take turns, thinking of places.

‘The Outer Hebrides, in an unusually hot sunny summer, on a beach of white sand.'

‘Antarctica. The last wilderness.'

‘Under the sea. That's supposed to be the last wilderness, isn't it?'

‘Actually,' I say, ‘where I'd really like to be is in the middle of a wood, away from any houses or people. Surrounded by really old trees all covered in silvery lichen. And it's just starting to snow.'

Seb glances at the window, as if he thinks I mean it really is snowing.

I laugh. ‘I'm just imagining it,' I say. ‘We're in this wood, and the first flakes are spinning down from the leaden sky. Soon everything will be covered in a carpet of white, and a deep silence will descend, all except for the sound of snow sliding down branches, a sort of shushing sound.'

‘You're bonkers!' Seb leans across the table and kisses me. ‘Lyrical, but crazy.'

He tastes of coffee. And cinnamon.

‘The best writers are,' I say. ‘Like Blake. Or Emily Dickinson.'

‘I didn't know you wanted to be a writer,' Seb says. ‘I thought you were a photographer.'

‘Why do I have to be just one thing?' I say.

We're both quiet, walking back across town to the place Seb's parked the car, near the children's play area. We go past the edge of the boating pond, where the ducks are sleeping with their heads tucked tight into their feathery backs. We pass the swings and the roundabout and the skate park. It's eerie, with no one there. We take a short cut across the grass. It's stiff with frost. Somewhere, a dog barks.

‘I wish we had Mattie with us,' I say.

‘We could go and see her.'

‘What, now? It'll be all locked up!'

‘We could go and look over the wall. See her in her pen. If she's in a pen?'

‘They'll have guard dogs!'

‘What, stray ones? German shepherd rescue dogs.'

‘Rottweilers, probably. Or Staffordshire bull terriers.'

‘Scary.'

‘I'd rather go in the daytime. We could take Mattie out for a walk.'

‘We could kidnap her. Steal her away and hide her somewhere.'

‘Dognap.'

‘What?'

‘Not kidnap: dognap.'

‘Oh. Dognap sounds like a kind of sleep.'

‘That's catnap.'

‘A dognap would be noisier. More smelly. Lots of grunting and snoring and dreaming.'

‘Mattie used to dream. Her legs would kick out, and her ears twitch, and she'd make little whimpering noises.'

‘We'll go after school one day, shall we? Or at the weekend? Unless you're still working.'

‘We finish on Friday.'

‘Saturday, then?'

We wipe the thin film of ice from the windscreen. Seb draws my initials in the frost.

‘I thought I might have upset you, last time,' I say.

‘No. Well, you did, but you were right.'

‘Really?'

‘Come here, you.'

He kisses me under the orange street light. When I close my eyes, I see orange stars.

‘You could at least have phoned,' Dad says the minute I walk through the door. ‘You knew we'd be worried.'

‘Sorry.'

‘Where've you been all this time?'

‘School, work, then a cafe. Then I had to get back here, which is miles and takes ages, Dad. As you know. Anyway, where's everyone else?'

‘Kat's at a friend's house, and Cassy's in the shower.'

‘Which friend?'

‘Mara. Her and lots of her old school friends. Tea?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘Did that boy give you a lift home?'

‘Yes. So?'

Dad doesn't answer. He fills the kettle and then he makes me a sandwich, without me even asking. He drops the knife and fumbles about as if he's nervous. He puts the plate and my tea next to me on the sofa. Finally he clears his throat.

‘Em, there's something I want to tell you.'

‘Don't bother,' I say. ‘I already know.'

Dad stares at the telly, which isn't even on.

‘You and Cassy are having a baby.' I say it in a silly sing-song voice.

He looks hurt. I don't care.

‘Did Kat tell you?'

‘Yes.'

‘She was supposed to wait.'

‘Well, she didn't. What difference does it make?'

‘Are you – what – I mean . . .'

‘What?'

‘Cassy is very happy. WE are very happy,' Dad says.

‘That's all right, then.'

‘You're not making this very easy,' Dad says. ‘Don't be like this, Em.'

‘Like what?'

‘Cross and unhelpful.'

‘What did you expect?'

‘I thought you might be pleased. Excited, even. Happy for me and Cassy.'

‘You thought wrong, then.'

It's too late to take the words back. Later, when Cassy comes back from her shower, I hear their low voices, urgent and anxious, whispering to each other. I feel bad for hurting Dad. A bit bad, anyway.

I peer out of the oblong slit of window into the darkness. I think for a moment about Bob, stuck in his isolation room, in the hospital with its windows all lit up like a ferry sailing into the night. I imagine Mattie curled in a corner of her horrible pen in the dogs' home, alone and afraid. I wait for Seb to send me a goodnight text. I wait and wait. Finally I send one to him, instead, and he answers straight away.

Thinking of you. Love you.

I stare at it for a long, long time.

13

Seb meets me at the top of the lane on Saturday afternoon. I climb in the car and lean over to kiss him.

‘Mmm. You smell nice,' he says. ‘Your hair.'

‘Cassy's drawn us a map of how to get there,' I say. I spread it out on my lap.

‘You two are speaking again, then.'

‘Yes. It's all calmed down a bit. Kat's been staying over at Mara's. I've been making an effort to be nice.'

The reception area at the dogs' home is crowded with people. Seb can hardly believe his eyes. This is all new to him. ‘A queue? To take a mangy dog for a walk?'

‘Got some identity?' the woman at the desk asks me. I show her my school student card, to prove I'm me, and over sixteen.

She prints me off a name tag, and puts it into a plastic cover.

‘Clip that on your coat,' she says, ‘then join the queue.'

‘It's like a top security prison!' Seb says. ‘Ridiculous! They're stray dogs, for heaven's sake!'

‘Shh! We'll lose our licence if we mess about.'

It's our turn. A girl leads us through a door to the dog cages outside. There's a terrible din of barking dogs and the smell is disgusting.

Mattie's ears prick up when she sees me. She stands up, legs trembling. She looks even thinner than before.