Invisible Girl (14 page)

W
hen Dad and Amy get back from the shops I freeze. Lizzie sits up very straight in the chair. She coughs, quietly. Amy’s mum gathers the teacups, gently squeezes my shoulder and disappears into the kitchen.

Beckett takes my hand and I can feel his heartbeat through his skin.

“What in the name of sunshine is going on here, then?” says Dad, popping his fat, wobbly tummy through the doorway.

“We’re leaving,” says Beckett.

“Oh, right, I see,” smirks Dad. “You’re barely out of nappies yourself, boy. Who do you think you are, coming in here and throwing your weight around?”

“That’s right, Dave,” says Amy, barging forward with arms full of shopping bags. “You tell him.”

She peers at Beckett.

“And who in heaven’s name are you, anyway?”

“I’m Gabriella’s brother,” says Beckett, pulling the Emergency Care Order out of his pocket and thrusting it in Dad’s face. “And it’s legal. I’ve got every right to be here.”

Then Lizzie stands up, shakes Dad’s hand and tells him all about the law and everything. Dad leans back with his mouth wide open, looking like someone has just pulled all the soft purply bits inside him out and laid them on the table in front of him. I’m holding on tight to Beckett, keeping my eyes down, with this big guilty feeling eating huge chunks out of my heart. I’m praying that Dad won’t look at me, wishing Beckett and I could just make ourselves invisible and slide away unnoticed.

But he does.

His eyes land on me and feel sticky and heavy on my skin.

“You’re not really going, are you, Gabriella?” he says, his voice fading away, like it does when Amy shouts at him. “You’re not really going to leave me, are you?” And I’m five years old again. Hating feeling so small and weak, wishing I were as tall and as strong as a tree so I could prop Dad up and kiss his hurts better. I flick my eyes up to meet his and they kill me with all the sadness swimming inside them.

“I have to, Dad,” I croak. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Dad stumbles, his knees buckling. He flops into a chair, his cheeks sagging because he knows there’s nothing more to say.

We climb into Lizzie’s car and Beckett sits in the back next to me. He clicks my seatbelt in and I dig my hand deep in my pocket and hold on to Blue Bunny’s ear. I look at Amy’s mum’s house, and Dad’s there with his face pressed against the window, steam from his breathing smudging around him.

Lizzie puts the radio on. It’s a song called
I Know You Care.
And I feel so shy being next to Beckett and yet every part of me knows him like not even a day has gone past since he left.

“How did you find me?” I whisper.

“Long story,” he smiles. “I was in Selfridges with my girlfriend, Leila, looking at bridesmaid dresses for her friend’s wedding. And Blue Bunny was just sitting there by the till looking so lost and alone. Leila asked the shop assistant how he got there and she said someone had dropped him. She decided to leave him by the till in case someone came looking for him. Then a few days later I was lying in bed and it suddenly hit me – he was yours.

“I couldn’t make sense of it at first. I mean why would your Blue Bunny be in Manchester? But I got up and ran straight back to the shop as fast as I could. I remembered I’d drawn the heart on his chest and my name on his label. And there it was. Something told me you needed me more than ever.”

“And then what happened next?” I say.

“Well,” he says, “I visit Connor at school every week to check he’s OK. We chat through the fence and I give him sandwiches and stuff. He said you’d been at Mum’s, looking for me. That every time you saw him, you asked him if he knew me. He said now you’d gone back with your dad and he was to tell me that you were living near the swimming pool. I went straight to Social Services. They had Amy’s mum’s address because they were on to your dad for negligence already. He should never have left you on your own, Gabriella.”

I feel bad about Dad. The word
negligence
makes something thump and twist in my chest. I think about his fat wobbly tummy and Amy poking it. I think of him pushing the vacuum round, doing his exercises. I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. I know he didn’t really want it to be like this. He would’ve watched another eclipse with me one day. I know deep down that he wanted to.

We stop in town to get a drink and a snack and then drive the long ribbony motorways back to Manchester, talking about everything in the world. I’m still finding it hard to believe that Beckett wanted me to come and live with him all this time.

There are things about us that are the same, but others that are different. Beckett likes drawing too, but he’s not much into telly. He lives on the canal; he shows me photos on his phone of his narrow boat. It’s called
Providence
and it’s all red and green paint and shiny brass.

He shows me photos of his girlfriend, Leila, and I almost burst open right there and then. It’s the girl with the bubbly hair and smudgy eyes. The one with the guitar at Manchester Piccadilly station, with the voice that’s smoother than chocolate.

“You’ll have to learn to make the fire,” says Beckett, “if you want to keep warm in winter. And we’ll have to get you a bike so you can zip down the towpath to school.” He pauses then he says, smiling, “One thing I want to know is, how exactly did Blue Bunny find himself in Selfridges?”

“That’s a long story too,” I say. “And I will tell you one day. But there’s more important stuff I need to know. Beckett, what happened with you and Mum?” I ask, “Why won’t she talk about you? It’s like you never existed.”

Beckett runs his hand through his scraggy hair and tips his head to one side.

“That’s another long story,” he says. “The short version is that once we got to Manchester she had this string of crazy boyfriends. When I was fourteen I decided I’d had enough, so I went to live with my best mate and his dad. It was cool. His dad helped me get my exams done and get a job and stuff. Then I heard that Mum’d had Connor and it made me so mad. She wasn’t fit to be a mother, she shouldn’t put another child through the same nightmare she’d put you and me through. And I went round there and told her so.”

He rests his hand on his lap and rubs the soft bit of skin between his fingers.

“She didn’t like hearing the truth,” he says. “So she said she never wanted to see me again. And then she went on to have Jayda. Sometimes I wonder why she had any of us. She doesn’t even seem to like kids, but she keeps on having more. I worry about them. It’s why I visit Connor at school. I watch the house sometimes to make sure Jayda’s OK.”

“It was horrid in there,” I say. “She’s horrid to them.”

Lizzie’s ears prick up.

I look at Beckett.

“We can’t do anything yet,” he says, “but you mustn’t worry. Social Services have their eye on them. They’re not invisible.”

Lizzie drops us off by the canal, handing us my bag and saying goodbye.

“Ready?” he says, leading the way down the towpath to the boat.

And gripping Blue Bunny’s ear tightly, I nod.

I
have a little cabin of my own on our boat. It’s painted white and has a tiny porthole window with a circle of shiny brass around the edge. When I wake in the mornings the world is full of duck quacks and sunshine and when I go to bed at night I get rocked to sleep by the soothing swish of the water. I never knew this much happiness was possible. When I was out that night by the Cathedral, with the rain glittering down and no shoes on my feet, I never knew that all this love was swimming towards me.

“Hey,” says a man, knocking his fist on the top of the boat and jumping aboard. “Anyone home?”

“Hey, Joe, come on in,” says Beckett, leaping up to greet him. “Come and meet Gabriella.”

And there he is. The lemon juggling man with the beautiful swoosh of black tattooed angel wings down his back. And everything inside me crackles and thrums.

“Hi, I’m Joe,” he says, making a little wave. “I’m Beckett’s mate. Pleased to meet you, Gabriella. How’s boat life treating you?”

This big blush rises in my cheeks, knowing those silky wings are hiding under his jumper. I can hardly look at him.

“Hi,” I say. Then I think my face might explode if I sit there any longer so I tell Beckett I’m going for a walk.

I walk to Connor’s school and watch him through the fence trying to kick the ball in a straight line. I sprinkle some magic dust in my palm and blow it through the air to him. I blow some more to Jayda and go past my new school, which I start at on Monday. I peer through the gate at all the children in navy blue jumpers, looking to see if there’ll be someone as special as Grace there.

I go to Manchester Piccadilly station and stand next to Leila. I watch the coins twinkle and clink in her hat and I swim in her chocolate-smooth voice. I run to the coffee shop and bring her a creamy latte and she winks at me while she’s singing.

I walk through the maze of streets, past the shops, past the silver people and the man playing the big xylophone thing, swinging the sticks so fast that they blur. And when I get to Piccadilly Gardens, Henny’s there, plaiting a girl’s red hair.

“Hey,” she says, smiling. “You back?”

I shake my head and nod at the same time. “Kind of,” I say, “but not really. I found him, Henny. I found Beckett. I get to live with him now on a boat on the canal. Come and see it. Come and meet him. Come and see me.”

Henny shrugs. She blinks and wipes her eye. “Cool,” she says. “That’s really cool, kitten.”

She finishes tying the girl’s plait and they both look up at me.

“This is Chicky,” Henny says. “She’s the new girl. You know me. Cluck! Cluck!”

I slip two of my bracelets off and give them one each, then wander over to Tia. She’s sitting on the grass with her arms wrapped round her legs, twisting her jumper sleeve. I sit down next to her and her eyes shine when she sees me. We don’t talk about
that
night. I know that she can’t.

Instead, I tell her about Beckett and our boat. I tell her if it’s raining she can come to the canal and find
Providence.
I tell her if she comes for a sleepover we might have to squeeze in tight like sardines, but Tia doesn’t mind about things like that and neither do I. I give her a bracelet and we lie back on the grass together and look up at the sky, making pictures in the clouds.

And then I go into the Cathedral alone. That deep quiet hush drapes over me like the softest duvet ever. And I drink it all in.

All of it.

All the whispering people and the glass windows whose colours fall on my hands, the nave, shining like a golden chocolate wrapper.

I sit on one of the chairs and listen to the choir practising songs that soar up to heaven like doves. And without anyone noticing, I open my mouth and make a sound that flies right up with theirs, up to the rafters, through the roof and out into the wide open sky.

I find some coins in my pocket and with a steady hand I light one of the little candles on the stand. I watch as it flickers for a moment and then rises bravely up, shining so brightly for everyone to see.

Thank you Daniel for your presence, for your tender heart, for holding my hand as we walk the streets of this wonderful life together.

Thank you my beautiful children, Jane, Tim, Sam, Joe and Ben, for bringing so much love and joy to my life. I am so proud of you all.

Thank you Tim and Susie for your love, for witnessing my entire life, for always seeing me.

Thank you Paul for your constant encouragement and support – for the love that we share – for our children.

Thank you Michael and Jules for cosy bed space when I’m in London and for all your love and support – and Dao, Amida, Nikki and Benita for being my family in Devon, Sura-land.

Thank you Andy McCullough for sharing your own story, for helping me sense what life for a child living on the street is really like and for all your wonderful support.

A big thank you to Rob, Kate and everyone else at Railway Children, and to John, Stephen, Moira, Claire and everyone else at The Big Issue Foundation for being so wonderfully enthusiastic and helpful – and for coming up with so many great ideas.

Thank you Eve for your enduring commitment to my work, for your love, for our heart sharing.

Thank you Lizzie and Rachel for your patience, care and editorial expertise. I feel so blessed to have your support.

Thank you Eliz for the gorgeous cover design, I love it!

Thank you everyone else from HarperCollins who’s involved in some way or other with my books. I have so much appreciation for all the hard work that you do.

Thank you Mike and Pete – I’m blown away and touched beyond measure by the incredible gifts you’re laying at my feet.

Thank you Sophie for being the first reader of
Invisible Girl
and offering your helpful comments.

I have such gratitude for all the people I never get to meet – those who plant and cut the sustainable forests, make the paper, print the pages, wrap and pack and drive and stack and sell my books – without you
Invisible Girl
would be left drifting in my imagination – Thank you for the part that you play in bringing my books into being.

Thank you Adam for seeing me when I couldn’t see myself.

Thank you to the space in which we all appear – in and as this…

Love Love Love x