Gypsy Girl (6 page)

I looked down at the boy beneath my foot. “He told me to get out of town. I was showing him I didn’t want to.”

“Who cares what he thinks? I want to get me earrings!” said Sabrina.

I stepped back, and the boy scrambled to his feet, hatred on his face now.

“Hope you learned your lesson,” I said. “Don’t ever attack a girl again.”

“You wish.” He spat out a bubble of blood. “Later.”

“If you like.” I dusted the grime of the alley from my jeans. “I won’t forget your face.”

The other two were trying to get to their feet, holding their jaws, gasping for breath. I pocketed my phone, turned my back on them and walked away.

Gypsy’s Acre should’ve been quiet and peaceful, but it wasn’t.

The noise from International Express floated through the trees – truck engines idling, the whine of the forklift, the banging and clanging of lorries being loaded, even though it was now night. Over the top of that I could hear the faint sound of country-and-western songs coming from the Mitsubishi Warrior parked by the gate, where me daddy was sitting and thinking.

Granny Kate was in her trailer doing something with the blackberries to turn them into her special wine. Me and Sabrina were in our trailer. It was small but neat, with comfy cushioned seats at one end, next to the little kitchen, and a tiny bedroom with twin beds at the other end. At least that was how it usually looked. Now it had been taken over by dresses. The bridesmaids’ dresses were hanging in a line above the seats, so that ever time we sat down we were suffocated by net underskirts. And the wedding dress was hanging between our beds, taking up all the space. I had to fight through layers of net to see Sabrina asleep in her bed, wrapped in her Disney Princess quilt cover that she’d had since she was little. I wished I could fall asleep so easily. I lay back on my bed, but I couldn’t relax. I kept going over the fight with the feral boys who’d jumped me. They didn’t know me, but they wanted me to leave their town. And Mr McCloud was the same.

Earlier, I’d gone over to the hedgerows near International Express to check on the wild roses for Sabrina’s bouquet. The place was busy – a lorry was being loaded – but there were no mistakes by the forklift driver this time and no split sacks lying on the ground. The silver Range Rover was parked in front of one of the buildings, which meant McCloud was around somewhere. The red, boy-racer Subaru with the
HUD18
number plates was next to it. I wondered who it belonged to, because I bet none of the lorry drivers or packers could afford that kind of car.

I didn’t get to find out because the ponytailed man had noticed me. Straightaway he called out to someone in one of the offices, McCloud probably. He must’ve answered because the man nodded and came swaggering menacingly over to the fence. I waited until he got close and then walked off. As if I’d want to hang around near their stupid property.

Not him nor anyone else would guess it from my face, but McCloud and the feral boys had disturbed me. Even lying on my bed, far away from International Express, I couldn’t stop thinking about them. I don’t like people hating us – we’ve never done anything except live a bit differently to most, that’s all. Jeez, as if that’s a crime. So I was glad when my phone beeped. It was a text from Kimmy.
Bored. There’s a fight tonight. Big money. Let’s go to it. Pleeeeeeeeeeeease. x

Kimmy’s the sister I should’ve had, but instead I got Sabrina. Kimmy’s my soulmate, the kind who you can look at in a certain way, without saying a word, and they’ll know exactly what you’re thinking. She isn’t a Gypsy girl, but we’ve been training and fighting together since we were both four years old. She’s small and fair-haired, with freckles all over her face, like she’s been splattered with fawn paint drops. Her skills are in Muay Thai and tae kwon do, but she can’t fight in Maltese Joey’s fights because there’s not enough women fighters her weight and size. She doesn’t have my strength. It doesn’t matter too much what size my opponents are. I can fight boys who are heavy and taller than me, no problem. When we go off into the back streets, she’s always there with me, watching my back, collecting my prize money, making sure we don’t get ripped off.

I messaged her back straightaway.
No. I told you. No more before the wedding
.

This was the sensible thing to do, but I still couldn’t relax. I tried to banish McCloud and the boys from my mind and turned over, so my back was to Sabrina. But that meant I was looking out of the little window right next to my bed. And in the distance across the fields I could see the lit windows of Langton House. I found myself wondering which one was Gregory’s room.

And why did that bother me?

In the end I got up and pulled on my cheetah-print Lycra fight shorts, my tight, matching crop top, and a hoodie over the top. I shoved my fingerless padded gloves in the pockets. I rang Kimmy.

“OK. Come and get me.”

She gave a yelp of delight. “Yes! On my way!”

Most people will never see the places where I’m called Gypsy Girl. They’re tucked away among dark streets, hidden from sight, staying open all through the night. If people wanted to find me, they’d have to knock at a door on a deserted estate, or ring the bell of a gym on the outskirts of a town somewhere. Maltese Joey has lots of clubs in different places.

They’d have to squeeze in through the crowd of fighters, their trainers and their supporters, some with girlfriends hanging on their arms. They’d place their bets and head for the cage in the middle, where lights blaze down, and wait to hear the loudspeakers hollering my name.

Then they’d learn about my secret.

Usually I worried that my father would find out about the fights. But that night all I could think about was Gregory Langton. If he knew that I fought like this, he’d be so shocked he’d never want to see my face again. He’d be wishing we’d leave town as well.

Those thoughts didn’t stop me beating my opponent, an eighteen-year-old Irish boy with as many freckles as Kimmy and no technique at all. No wonder he ended up fighting in these places. Kimmy held up my hand as the crowd roared, and then she counted out my winnings as I nursed my aching ribs. She got her split. I pocketed the rest. The wedding was costing more and more, but me daddy would never know. I’d made sure he let me take care of the bills.

Two hours later, I crept back through the trailers, the grass soaking wet with dew. I was exhausted, but I didn’t mind. No one was about, just a lone fox sniffing around the place and giving me a sly look before heading off across the fields. And two magpies sitting on top of one of the trailers. Two for mirth, according to Granny Kate. Except there was no mirth about Sabrina today. As I tiptoed into our trailer, she was already awake, cross-legged on her bed, wrapped in the princess quilt and stressing out about something.

“Where have you been?” she said.

“I got up early to go running,” I lied. I shook my damp hair. “Look at me, I’m covered in dew.”

She wasn’t interested. She was holding one of her wedding brochures, screwing it up in her hands. “That stupid manageress woman! She never told me, and now the marquee’s all wrong!” A tear ran down her cheek. “She said the white satin roof drapes were the best. But I’ve seen something much better. I can’t believe she never showed them to us.”

We were holding the reception at the best hotel in Langton, the White Swan. There were too many guests coming to fit into their function room, so we were having a huge marquee on the lawn.

“Stop crying and show me.”

She held out a brochure. “Look! They do starlight roof drapes. We should’ve had those. Ivory and gold silk with lights, Sammy-Jo! Little twinkling lights, like stars.” Her eyes went diamond shaped, and she gave a shuddering breath. “Imagine me and Tyson doing our first dance and little stars twinkling above us!”

She looked at me, pleadingly.

I looked at the brochure. They were in the deluxe section. Maybe the manageress didn’t show them to Sabrina because they were so expensive. As if that would mean anything to my sister. “OK. I’ll sort it. Just shut up and get dressed.”

By the time we were ready, my father was outside enjoying the sunshine and shaving at the same time, the mirror balanced on the bonnet of his Mitsubishi, his face covered in foam.

“We’re off to the White Swan. More changes,” I shouted to him as Sabrina hurried me along. We were dressed for the summer weather, Sabrina in short shorts and me in pedal pushers – to cover any bruises – and a tiny gingham shirt tied in a knot at my waist.

He looked up. “Behave,” he said, but only to me.

“As if I’ve got the chance to do anything else!” I said. “Sabrina’s wearing me out.”

“Just keep her calm.” He glanced nervously at her as she backed the car over the grass towards us at speed. “Don’t set her off.”

I’m the youngest in the family, but you’d never know it. Sabrina was always our mother’s favourite, her baby girl. She suffered the most when our mother died. Planning this big, fat wedding was the one thing that kept her going. She’s been mad about Tyson since she was little, and she’s always been dying to marry him. That’s why I wanted to make her wedding the best ever.

And to shut her up, of course.

Thursday morning.
Only two more days to go
,
I told myself, as I trailed round after Sabrina and the manageress.

The White Swan is in the centre of town, but at the back it has a lawn as big as a park. Our marquee was already set up in the middle of it. Sabrina was spending ages discussing the roof drapes. Even the manageress looked like she wanted to make a run for it. And when my phone rang I found out it wasn’t just us being driven mad by the wedding.

“Hey, gorgeous,” said Rocky. “Big panic. Alert BBC news. Tyson’s lost the receipt for his suit.”

“He hasn’t. We’ve got it here. It’s in Sabrina’s car. What’s he want it for?”

“He needs it. He’s changed his mind again, and wants a different one. He’s driving me insane.”

“Join the club. You’ll have to come and get it. Sabrina’s changed her mind about the drapes for the marquee, so we’re at the hotel.”

“Jesus. Can’t me and you just run away together and leave them all to it?”

“Tempting.”

He sighed. “Wait there. I’ll come and get it.”

By the time I got off the phone, Sabrina and the manageress had agreed that twinkling lights and ivory and gold silk would look much classier than plain white.

“We’ll go back to my office, and I’ll ring the hire company up and get it changed for you,” the manageress said.

Her office was at the front of the hotel, overlooking the road. She checked the price of the starlight drapes. “It’s quite expensive, plus the fitting costs,” she said, looking at me.

“How much all together?”

She told me. I swallowed. “That’s fine.” I got out my winnings, a big, fat roll of notes, and handed over the cash.

“Shall I give a receipt to your father?”

“No. To me,” I said, quickly. “I’m dealing with the money.”

She began going through the arrangements for Saturday, but I’d stopped listening. I don’t believe in coincidences, but one was happening in the window right behind her head.

One of the feral boys, the leader, was looking in at us, his hands cupped round his face, his nose touching the glass. When he’d said “later”, I’d thought he was saving face, but it seemed not. Soon as he saw me looking, he gave me the finger.

Sabrina glanced up and noticed him as well. “Jeez, look at that ugly mug!”

The manageress turned round. “Damn.” She banged on the window and shouted, “Clear off!”

He gave her the finger as well and called us a few names through the glass before strutting away.

Sabrina grabbed my arm. “That’s the boy you were fighting yesterday.”

“I know.”

“Why’s he here?”

That’s what I wanted to know. The whole town to roam in, and suddenly he’s outside the hotel at the same time we’re inside. Maybe Sabrina shouldn’t have said out loud that she recognized him, because the manageress was staring at us in horror.

“I hope you’re joking about fighting,” she said. “That’s Milo Scarret. He’s always hanging round the town centre with his two brothers, looking for trouble. If I were you, I’d keep away from them.” She lowered her voice. “Their father’s in prison for murder. It was all over the papers.”

“What did he do?” said Sabrina, who liked all the bloodthirsty TV programmes, like
Criminal Minds
and
CSI
.

“Hate crime. Attacked a foreign student.”

Seemed he’d passed the hate on to his sons. I rubbed my arms – they were covered in goosebumps. Danger was back again. I squeezed past the desk and looked out of the window. So his name was Milo Scarret. He was strutting down the road with the other two. I was right about them being brothers. They must’ve followed us, but from where? We’d arrived in Sabrina’s car.

“Have they gone?” said the manageress.

“Yeah.”

But they hadn’t. As I watched, all three of them turned off the street and into the entrance to the hotel’s car park at the side.

“My sister will go through everything with you,” I said, quickly, pushing Sabrina into a chair and backing towards the door. “I’ve got to get something for Rocky from our car.”

And I wanted to see what Milo and his brothers were up to. I had visions of them slashing our tyres, or running a key along the paintwork and spraying “bitch” all over it. I was out of there before Sabrina could moan and heading towards a door that looked like it might lead to the car park.

I didn’t reach it. All thoughts of protecting our car flew out of my head because coming towards me was Gregory Langton. My heart – which hadn’t speeded up when facing Milo’s threats – began thumping.

He’d seen me.

He was smiling at me.

He was going sweetly pink in the cheeks.

He was doing his golden-eyed stare.

I stopped dead in his path. I didn’t get it. What was fate up to? Why make two people, me and him, so different and then decide to throw them together again? He came to a halt. We were inches away from each other. He was wearing a black T-shirt and trousers, with a black apron tied around his waist. His hair was moussed back to make it less unruly.