Glitter (5 page)

U
sually my weekends are full of fun stuff like horse riding, violin playing and boarding house pizza and movie nights. This weekend is different. Since my dad’s weird crying episode last night all the air and anger has been let out of him and he’s just moping about the place looking like a sad and soggy balloon. He keeps on staring at me with these big watery eyes, like he thinks I know what we should do to get us out of this mess. And every now and then he just bursts into uncontrollable tears.

When we pop to the supermarket I’m on red alert for Tyler and I put my head down as we pass the gangs of boys lurking in the street. Living on benefits means we have to
be careful about what we buy. I take charge and lead my dad down the vegetable aisle. Healthy eating is important even if we don’t have any money. My dad’s used to having millions of pounds in the bank to spend on anything he likes so he keeps picking up all the expensive stuff. Our fridge in our old house was huge. We had an icemaker and double-opening doors and it was crammed full to the brim with every type of food you could imagine. Our fridge in our flat now is tiny. It sits under the worktop and has little bits of old food mouldering away in the rubber seal around the edge of the door. I have to keep pulling Dad’s expensive shopping out of the basket without him noticing and exchanging it for stuff we can afford. The affordable stuff looks boring. The packaging is plain and dull and I bet it tastes disgusting. Alice would do a pretend vomit at the thought of eating cheap food. But I don’t have any choice now, do I? It’s all right for her she doesn’t have to get used to life in the credit-crunch zone. She’s floating above it all in la-la land.

I take Cali’s advice and lie low for the weekend. I make myself some snacks and settle down with my iPod. My dad’s lying on the sofa watching telly and eating biscuits,
so he won’t even notice. I close my door, lie under my duvet and plug myself in. The music immediately takes me to a far, far away place. I feel as if I’m on a white sandy beach, like the one near our French house, with gentle lapping waves and sand trickling through my fingertips. I can almost feel the cool water glittering in and out of my toes and swishing back across the sand. And now I’m in California and three dolphins are leaping and twirling and calling to me to play. The music has turned my body into a helium balloon and I’m floating high above the world a million miles from here. And if I hold my hand out far enough I can almost touch the cool white moon and fly through infinity into the glittering night sky. Nothing can hurt me here. Nothing! Not even Tyler, not even my dad’s snappy words.

I spend most of the weekend plugged in to my iPod and my dad spends most of it plugged into the telly. We’ve built a castle of sound around us that is keeping our worries away. Neither of us talks much because there’s really nothing to say and I’m worried that if I do talk I’ll set my dad off on another fit of crying. I’m not sure what’s worse, his shouting or his tears. Both of them grip their claws into my tummy and pinch me tight, leaving me
feeling sore. By Sunday afternoon I’m so bored I go on up to Cali’s.

Cali’s whole flat is bursting with life and smiles and noise. Little kids are all over the place playing with toys, making things from card and glitter and glue and crowding around Cali’s mum looking for cuddles.

“Hi,” she calls to me, “you must be Liberty. Cali told me all about you. My name’s Hanna. Come on in and make yourself at home.”

Hanna clears a space for me on the crowded sofa and tells me to sit down. I’ve never been in a house like this in my life. For a start our flats are small and you’d never imagine that you could fit so many people into one small space. And for another thing the place is full to the brim with colourful stuff and toys and kids’ paintings on the walls and clothes tumbling out of a wash basket and rainbow rugs and multicoloured scatter cushions. It’s homely and warm and I like it because I feel welcome. Most of the houses I’ve visited in my life feel like they’ve been cut out of a page in a glossy magazine and they make me want to hold myself all neat and quiet and still.

Cali cuts us some slices of warm, freshly baked honey cake and we escape from the kids’ noise and into her room. Her room is amazing. The walls are painted deep red and they’re covered in posters from all the Broadway musicals. She’s got
Cats
and
Les Miserables
and
Phantom of the Opera
and at least a million more. And she has this amazing mirror with lights all around it like something from a Hollywood film.

“Have you seen all of these shows, Cali?”

“Nah,” she says. “We’ve never got enough spare cash to go to stuff like that. But one day, Libs, I’m going to
be
in one. I promise you. I’ll have the star part and I’ll post you tickets for my opening night and we’ll ride in a limousine and drink champagne.”

I’ve been in a limousine a hundred times before, but I don’t tell Cali because I don’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Don’t forget the old folk, Cali,” says Hanna peeping her head around the door.

“As if I would,” smiles Cali.

“Good girl. Why don’t you take Liberty with you?”

So Hanna loads us up with honey cake and flasks of homemade hot soup and Cali and I have to take it round to all the old people in our flats.

“My mum’s obsessed with helping people,” explains Cali. “She’s set up this Community Action Scheme so that vulnerable people can get the help they need.”

First we go into Len’s flat. Len is ninety-five years old. I’ve never seen anyone so old before and he has wiry grey hairs growing out of his nose and ears.

“Tell your mum she’s an angel,” he says while he’s slurping on his soup. “She’ll have many a feather on her wings when she gets to heaven. And you too by the looks of things.”

Cali sets me on to washing up while she vacuums Len’s flat. Then we empty his bins and carry his rubbish down to the bin bay in the car park.

“Do you do this every weekend?” I ask Cali.

“Most,” she smiles. “I don’t mind, really. I mean, I’ll be old too one day and there are benefits, you’ll see.”

After we’ve been to eighty-nine-year-old Ivor’s flat and to seventy-eight-year-old Jean‘s, we climb to the top of the building to see eighty-year-old Joyce.

“I always save the best till last,” smiles Cali, knocking on a bright pink door. “She always give me food and never makes me work.”

“Daaaarrrrrlings,” says Joyce, wrapping us in her arms
and planting pink lipstick kisses on our cheeks. “Come on in, come on in.”

Joyce’s flat is amazing. Everything is pink and I mean
everything
, even the piano sitting in the corner of the room. And the best thing is that she doesn’t need any house cleaning or chores done, all she wants is company. Cali and I make us all a pot of tea. We get out Joyce’s best pink tea set and slice the honey cake into three. When we’re all stuffed full, our afternoon really begins.

“Read the newspaper to me will you, girls?” asks Joyce. “You two can take turns reading out loud.”

Cali and I take turns reading out bits from the paper. It’s so full of credit-crunch stories that I can’t believe my eyes and ears. Businesses and banks and shops all over the place are closing down, even shops that have been open for years and years and years. Loads of people are losing their money and ending up in situations like my dad and me. I wonder about where they’re all living now. Maybe some of them are in flats like me with mums and dads who can’t stop crying and shouting.

“Stop now,” says Joyce after a while. “This is all too depressing for me. I don’t know, what is the world coming to? Time for a song, I think; something to cheer us all up.
Do you like singing, Liberty?”

I nod and Cali’s eyes shine and we’re up and at the piano in a flash. Joyce totters over, plops herself down at the stool and pulls out a big fat music book full of 100 Best Musical Songs. We work our way through all of Cali’s favourites and she’s so excited by it all, but I can’t really concentrate. The credit-crunch stories are travelling round my brain in a bus full of worry.

O
n Monday morning gossip is buzzing round the school. Mrs MacDougall’s husband has had a heart attack and needs nursing, so she’s left school until further notice and a new drama teacher is arriving this afternoon.

“I can’t wait to tell Joyce,” screams Cali, jumping up and down like a five-year-old. “I just hope whoever comes is a better teacher than Mrs MacDougall. I’m telling you, Hollywood here I come! What d’you wanna to be when you grow up, Libs?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I sigh, “it’s too late now anyway.” “What’s too late?”

“It’s too late to be a proper violinist and that’s all I’ve
ever wanted to be. You have to start playing when you’re really young to truly be successful at it and I’ve only had second-hand lessons from my friend Alice. I’ll never make it now, so just forget about it, OK.”

“Never say never,” she smiles. “That’s my mum’s favourite motto.”

At lunchtime I keep my head down and my mouth closed. Cali and Dylan stay close to me and we somehow manage to stay out of Tyler’s way. Our last lesson is drama and when we all pile into the drama studio it’s clear that things in Cherry Grove Community School are changing before our very eyes. The stage lights are on, the piano lid is open and a man wearing a red satin waistcoat and a yellow bow tie is beckoning us to hurry on in.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” says the man, running his fingers up and down the piano keys. “Welcome to Broadway! I’m Mr Forrest, your new drama teacher, so come, come,” he smiles, “gather round and let us begin.”

Mr Forrest is brilliant! We spend the entire lesson learning songs and dances for our school Christmas production of
Bugsy Malone
. Cali is over the moon of
course and is bursting with tales of our brilliant time singing and dancing with Joyce.

“You’ll have to make sure she has a ticket to come to our production,” Mr Forrest smiles.

The auditions are on Friday and we have to sing a song and read a piece from the script. Cali wants to play the part of Blousey Brown and Dylan’s going for Bugsy. He’s already trying to act all cool, like a 1930s American gangster and he hasn’t even got the part yet.

“I can’t believe we’re doing a real live musical performance,” Cali squeals, when we’re heading out of the playground, on our way home. “It’s gonna be such fun and I’ll have a new poster to add to my collection with my name on the front! Which part are you gonna audition for Libs?”

“In a perfect world I’d love to be part of the orchestra,” I say, “to play the violin. But that’s never going to happen, except if my dad…that is…on my birthday…Oh, I don’t know, Cali, it’s all a bit complicated.”

“I’ve told you once already, Libs,” says Cali, “never say never, OK? You have to keep following your heart and refuse to give up, just like me.”

“It’s all right for you, Cali,” I snap. “Your mum’s cool,
you can do what you want, but it’s not like that for me. And in any case, I don’t even have a violin.”

My rage starts bubbling up, hot and fiery inside me. I’m angry at Cali, I’m angry with my dad and I’m angry at the world. I hate everyone and I hate my life. I wish I were dead like my mum. I storm off ahead and ignore Cali when she shouts for me to stop. Why should I listen to her? She doesn’t own me, she can’t tell me what to do. The red fire burns in my eyes and ears and closes in around me like a fog. I don’t see Tyler coming towards me. The rest is a blur.

“I hate little rich girls,” he screams in my face, trying to intimidate me, “and I especially hate them when they get me a detention. I lost my after-school job last night because of you, rich girl, so you owe me. Do you hear?”

But I don’t hear him. I don’t hear anything because of the red rage in front of my eyes. The fire burns up through my body filling my fists with power. I’m sick of people shouting at me and I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do all the time. I’ve had enough of it and it’s going to stop, right now! I’ve spent my life being a yes girl, always trying to please everyone and it hasn’t got me
anywhere. The heat inside me is so hot that it turns into steam and Tyler doesn’t know what’s hit him. He’s the kind of boy that
everyone
in a school is scared of; he’s the kind of boy that no one stands up to; he’s the kind of boy who rules the playground with an atmosphere of fear. But not any more! I’m not afraid of anyone! I dump my bag and start lashing out. It’s not like usual, where I just shout and throw things, this is more serious, because
I’m
more serious now and this time I mean trouble, BIG TROUBLE!

I lunge towards him and throw an unexpected punch at his nose. I catch him unawares and his eyes flash with pain.

“Come on then, rich girl,” he taunts, “show me what you’ve got.”

I throw another punch, which misses and makes Tyler laugh. His laugh is like petrol on my flames and I throw myself into him scratching, spitting and tearing at his blazer, kicking his shins. Screams that sound like they belong to someone else are raging from my throat and ringing in my ears. When I catch Tyler’s eye things go from bad to worse, they’re twinkling with amusement and a great grin is spreading across his face. He’s managed
to grab my wrists and is holding me at arm’s length and laughing out loud.

“Show me what you’ve got, rich girl,” he laughs.

“I’ve had enough,” I shout, “do you hear me, Tyler? I’ve had enough!”

But he just keeps on laughing and laughing in my face and he’s so big and strong compared to me that I’m flailing about like a mouse being held down by its tail. His amusement turns me into a great white shark and I start biting his hands and pushing at him and kicking and kicking at his shins.

“Ouch…Eeh…Ohh…” he puffs, trying to get his hands away from my mouth. “You’re a right little number, you are. Go girl, go on, give me some more, I can take it.”

And he just keeps laughing and laughing. He’s not fighting back and he’s not hurting me in any way. He’s just holding me away, trying to protect himself from my claws. My rage keeps flowing, coming from deeper and deeper inside me and the more he laughs the more I fight.

A crowd has gathered around us and kids are chanting, ‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’

Just before Mrs Cobb grabs the back of my blazer, Tyler whispers into my ear, “You’re all right, you are, Liberty Parfitt. Respect!”

“I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon, Liberty Parfitt,” says Mrs Cobb when we’re standing in her office. “I made an allowance for yesterday’s behaviour, but today, I feel you have gone just one step too far. I have zero tolerance for violence in my school. Do I make myself clear?”

I just stare at the floor not knowing what to say. My legs have gone all weak and I’m worried I might faint.

“Please explain yourself,” she says, flashing an icy smile.

Tyler is glaring at me. He’s trying to tell me something with his eyes and although I can’t work out what he means, I do know that I really will be dead if I get him into any more trouble.

“It was all my fault, Mrs Cobb,” I say. “Tyler did nothing, I felt angry and I just took it out on him. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

Tyler’s shoulders relax. He looks relieved.

“Double respect,” he winks when Mrs Cobb finally
frees us from her jaws, “except you still owe me, remember. You lost me my job at the tyre place and somehow you have to pay. After that I’ll leave you alone. A debt’s a debt, Liberty Parfitt and if you’re gonna start playing with big boys then you have to play by big boy rules. Your Barbie days are over.”