Kite Spirit (8 page)

‘We also found a letter from the conductor who came to the funeral. It was addressed to me and Jimmy, but I suppose Dawn must have hidden it. It said how the conductor wanted to have a
meeting with us all. It was a kind letter, you know. What was it he said? That she wasn’t just good, she was “extraordinary”. They wanted her back as their top oboe. I can’t
understand why she hid it from us.’

Kite nodded, but she felt as if she should find a way of telling Hazel what she felt to be true. Music wasn’t just a hobby to Dawn. It was her way of speaking . . . and once she had
stopped playing, she had stopped speaking too. Sitting here with Hazel, it felt like a mistake to be going away at all. It seemed that the only people who would really understand what was going on
inside her were Hazel and Jimmy. Hazel spoke about Dawn as if she was still here too; she couldn’t bring herself to place her in the past either.

Hazel lowered her eyes as she finally released the card from her grip. Kite’s name had been written in Dawn’s best italic ink pen. She turned it over to find the neatly resealed
edges of the envelope and lifted it to her nose. It smelt of Dawn.

Ruby walked in with a tray of mugs, and Kite swiftly took the card and placed it in her bag.

‘Let’s be off!’ shouted Seth, bounding up the steps. ‘Where’s your stuff? The car’s all packed!’ He was freshly shaven and had put on his favourite blue
denim shirt and beaten-up suede jacket. He was wearing some new linen trousers and the leather Converse Ruby had bought him for his birthday the week before. As soon as he saw Hazel he slowed his
pace, walked over to her and clasped her hand in his.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were visiting.’

‘Have some tea,’ intercepted Ruby, handing him a mug.

Hazel took a sip and placed the mug back on the table.

‘And I was wondering, is there anything you want of hers?’ murmured Hazel without looking up.

Kite’s mind went blank. What possession of Dawn’s could give her real comfort now? Hazel raised her hand to the plain silver cross she wore around her own neck and that sparked an
idea.

‘Maybe the locket I bought her?’

‘She’s still wearing that,’ Hazel said.

Actually Kite was relieved to hear they hadn’t taken the locket off Dawn. As far as she knew, she had worn it every day since she’d given it to her in Year 6. And now she thought of
it there was something else of Dawn’s that she would like to hold close.

‘I’d like . . . the little box I gave her for her birthday, with her reeds in, and if I could just listen to her iPod?’ It sounded like an odd request even to Kite, but somehow
she felt that if she could only listen to Dawn’s music she might be able to sleep again.

‘Of course. We don’t know what to do with all her oboe things – sheet music and everything. Jimmy thinks we should give it to the school, so someone else gets to play. Are you
sure that’s
all
you want?’

Kite nodded.

‘OK, well, I must be off. We’re packing up ourselves. We asked for an emergency move. The council’s been very understanding actually. I just wanted to wish you . . . well, if
Dawn had been here we would have seen you on your birthday . . .’

‘Poor, poor woman,’ sighed Ruby as they listened to her walk down the stairs.

A part of Kite wanted to rip up the card. What was the point of it anyway? It’s not as if Dawn had cared enough to confide in her. She didn’t want Dawn’s beautiful writing or
her words haunting her from beyond the grave. She just wanted Dawn back and everything to be how it was before.

Ruby stood on the pavement waving them off. In the car, Kite lowered her head as some students in her year walked past chatting and laughing on their way into school. It felt
wrong that the world was going on just as it always had. At the far end of the road she spotted the familiar face of the postman working his way up the street. A removal van had double-parked, and
Jimmy was loading Dawn’s little blue bedroom sofa into it. How many times had they come in from school and slumped down on that? Jimmy caught Kite staring at him, dug his hand deep in his
pocket and came over to the car.

‘Hazel says you wanted these,’ he muttered, handing her a gift bag through the half-open car window. Kite looked inside to find the tiny leather reed box, Dawn’s iPod and three
bars of lemon soap.

‘Well, I’ll be seeing you then.’ Jimmy tapped on the side window, lowered his head and started making his way back towards Fairview. Before Kite knew what was happening, Seth
had flung open his door, leaving the car stranded in the middle of the road, and jumped out.

‘Wait up!’

Jimmy stood frozen with his back towards Seth, who took hold of his broad shoulders and turned him around. As far as she could see the two men said nothing at all. They just stood in the pouring
rain holding each other. Jimmy clung on to Seth so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Back in the car, Seth took off his sodden jacket and waved to Ruby one last time, slammed the door and revved the engine. Kite stared into the rear-view mirror and saw the postman hand a small
package to Ruby. She signed for it, then read the label, raised her hand in the air, shaking it wildly, and came hurtling towards the car.

‘Wait up! Wait!’

Seth, who had almost negotiated his way around the removal van, slammed on the brakes.

‘What is it now?’ he groaned.

‘You can’t go without this!’ Ruby panted, handing the package to Kite through her window. ‘It’s from Grandma Grace; she was desperate for you to have it on your
birthday.’

Ruby held her daughter’s chin for a moment, then turned quickly. Kite saw her lift her hands to her eyes as she walked away.

‘She misses Grace so much, you know,’ Seth explained, turning to Kite as he pulled away. ‘I can’t even begin to imagine how Jimmy and Hazel are going to carry on. Sorry I
haven’t been able to write your song, just haven’t felt up to it . . . but maybe once we’re in the Lakes.’

Along with money to go shopping with, the kite and the song had been her birthday presents for as long as she could remember. It was always the same: the kite from Ruby and the song from Seth.
She had never wanted anything different, but she was glad that Seth had not been able to write anything this year. There was nothing to sing about now anyway.

‘What did Grace send you then?’ asked Seth as he peered down at the envelope that lay on Kite’s lap beside Dawn’s reed box.

Kite unpeeled the Sellotape. Inside was a small black box. She lifted the lid to find Grandma Grace’s precious rose-gold St Christopher in her hand.

‘I never thought she’d part with that!’ Seth whistled.

Kite felt around in the envelope and found a little notelet.

Kite opened the little catch and placed the chain around her neck. The small pendant lay flat against her chest. It felt good to be wearing something sent from St Kitts. She
could picture her grandma sitting on her chair outside her beach house, feet planted in the sand, admiring the waves and the setting sun as was her evening ritual.

Dawn opened the second box to find a single reed nestling in the middle groove of the moulded green velvet. She recognized the golden thread that Dawn had tied around the reed to mark that it
had been her best one yet. It had taken Kite a long time to understand exactly what went into this reed-making ritual, but somehow the ceremony and the perfection of it all seemed to fit
Dawn’s personality.

‘If I were you I’d keep all of them, so I could say, “This is the reed I was using when I played my first concert,” or, “This is the reed I was using when I got
into my music school . . .” You could tell your life story through your reed collection. First-kiss reed, First day at Uni reed . . .’ Kite joked.

‘It’s not like that.’ Dawn laughed. ‘Once it’s let you down you never trust it again, so you don’t want to keep it, but this one’s different.’
Dawn held up the golden reed. ‘I’ll keep this, because even though it’s all worn out, it’s never let me down. Anyway, this is the one you saw me play at the Brahms
concert.’

Kite stared down at the delicate reed. Dawn had always been the one to think deeply about things, to weigh her words carefully. All these glowering thoughts that had started gathering in
Kite’s mind since the Falling Day were new to her. The truth was that until now she had never thought that deeply about anything. Never curbed the things she’d said either, and this
directness was what had always made Dawn laugh. She turned the worn bamboo over in her hands; it reminded her of a tiny oar. If this little reed really could speak to her now, what sad, desperate
music would it play? She placed it back inside the leather box and closed the lid. Then she reached into the bag that Jimmy had given her, took out a bar of soap and unwrapped it slowly. What an
odd collection of things she found herself clinging on to. She closed her eyes and breathed in the lemon scent.

‘I’m going to try to get some sleep!’ Kite announced as Seth switched on a CD.

‘Got the perfect music for you then!’

It was one of his band’s folk tracks. She’d always quite liked it but listening to him singing along to it now it irritated her. The world is not full of sweet harmonies, Kite
thought as she watched the wipers swish back and forth across the windscreen.

‘Mind if I climb into the back?’ asked Kite, but Seth was miles away, lost in his own thoughts and concentrating on the road. So she took off her seat belt and clambered over. Ruby
had covered the fraying upholstery with a blanket and placed a pillow and her duvet on top. This comfy little nest spoke of a cosy time when fresh bedding, a warm cup of sweetened milk and a hot
water bottle could make her feel like all was well with the world.

The heavy spray from the road splattered the side windows as she plugged in her earphones and began listening to Dawn’s iPod. The first track was something classical and discordant that
she had never heard before; she flicked forward and there playing in her ear was Brahms’s Symphony No. 1 that she had come to know off by heart, especially Dawn’s solos. She imagined
that Dawn was practising in her bedroom and she was listening to her playing through the walls. She tucked a bar of soap under the pillow, closed her eyes, wrapped her hands around the reed box and
let the music wash over her, feeling the weight and warmth of Grandma Grace’s gift against her skin.

‘Shh, shh, sleep now, child, listen to that English rain wash it all away my darlin’, wash it away.’

Kite followed Dawn’s oboe into the music, meandering along the pure smooth notes, and the rain fell and fell.

I am staring down into a deep puddle and the water gathers and swells and spreads across the land until I am standing on the edge of a huge river. The waves rise high and the wind roars. Out
of the waves steps a man, a giant man who turns to me with gentle grey eyes.

‘Are you looking for your friend?’

I don’t answer him, but place my feet in the water and, as I do, a flotilla of tiny bamboo reed boats floats towards me.

Now I’m sitting on a boardwalk, placing my bare feet into the cold, cold water.

‘You must stay on the shore,’ the giant warns me.

I lean down and try to scoop up all the reeds, but I can’t hold on to them; they slip through my fingers and I have to start all over again.

‘Are you looking for your friend?’ the giant asks again, and he lowers his body down into the water and re-emerges carrying a girl on his shoulders. He turns away from me and
wades her across the river.

‘Dawn!’ I cry after her, but she is slumped over his shoulder and she doesn’t lift her head.

‘Walk along a river with me,’ he calls beckoning me to follow
. . .

‘Walk along a river.’ Seth’s voice was . . . calling her back.

Kite’s head knocked against the hard plastic panelling of the car door. Her mind was thick with a dream-fog so heavy it took her several blinks to remember where she was. Cautiously she
opened her eyes to find that the rain had cleared, revealing a watery blue sky. Kite stared at Seth. As he sang, tears streamed down his face. Maybe he felt her watching him, because he half turned
towards her. She clamped her eyes shut as if she was in a deep sleep. It felt wrong to have witnessed him crying like that.

She was desperate to get back into the dream, no matter how weird it had been. It was so long since she’d experienced anything more than a fleeting sleep. The game Ruby had played with her
and Dawn when they’d first camped out at a festival filled Kite’s head.

‘Close your eyes and open your senses,’ Ruby ordered them as they lay underneath the bright blue canopy of their tent, Ruby snuggling up to them both.

Ruby had made it up for Dawn’s benefit. They had been nine years old then, but as long as she’d known her Dawn had always been afraid of the dark.

‘Listen! What can you hear?’ Ruby said.

At first Dawn had jumped at every rustle of the earth until Ruby had gone through each sound and identified it. A squirrel skittering through the leaves, the hoot of an owl, a car door slamming,
the patter of rain on canvas and eventually Ruby’s voice had faded away as they drifted into sleep.

Kite closed her eyes and listened to Seth singing and the cars and lorries speeding past on the wet road . . .