Phosphorescence (8 page)

‘Please come home now,' I sniff, and hot tears stop me shivering even though they are only on my face. She has spoken to Dad.

‘Don't worry, Lola. He's fine. I spoke to Grandma after your father rang me. I'm coming back now, and we'll call Grandma together. Just hold on, darling, I wish you weren't there on your own.'

I don't think I'm going to cry when I speak to Grandma, but she sounds so comforting. If I shut my eyes I can believe we are in the room together.

Mum sits next to me as we talk. She can hear Grandma too, I can tell, because she is so silent, listening intently.

‘Do you know, darling, I was only just back from looking for those blasted dogs of mine when they brought Jack home. He came in with a doctor beside him, and I was so surprised, I didn't know what to say, and then a cyclist arrived with the dogs.' Her voice is slower, more crackly than I have noticed before. ‘It was mayhem here.'

My face is wet but I laugh when she says, ‘Anyway, I've managed to get Jack to stay in bed this afternoon, and do you know, Lola, the only way I could do it was to hide his clothes. He's been listening to the racing and none of the horses he backed won. So he's very cross and I think you are the only one who
could cheer him up, so I'm going to get him to speak to you. Remember, my dear, he pretends to be deaf on the telephone.'

Jack says, ‘When are you coming to see me?' and I look at Mum.

She holds up three fingers and mouths, ‘Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and then you'll be there.'

‘I'm coming for the weekend.'

‘I can't wait. We'll have some fun when you get here.'

Jack sounds so jolly, I can't really worry too much now I've spoken to him. And anyway, it is so exciting to be going home, my first visit back there, and I wasn't expecting it yet because Dad's been away. But just before I go to sleep I have a fearful thought. Are they letting me go home because Jack is very ill? No one will tell me if that's the case. All I know is that he slipped over and bumped his head on the stone quay. I asked Mum if he was unconscious, but she said, ‘He's going to be fine, don't worry, you'll see for yourself on Friday.' I don't know if I should believe her. I'm always the last to know. Look at the whole Mum and Dad thing.

Dad's car radio will only work on Radio Two, so driving into Staitheley I turn off the lame country music he insists on singing along to, and open the window, craning out, this big smile slapped on my face by the warm wind and the electric excitement I feel being back. My school ended before lunchtime because all the dinner ladies in North London have gone on strike, so it's teatime and I'm home with the whole weekend ahead and Nell coming over tomorrow. My phone beeps with a message. It's from Josh.

‘
Sadie says come 4 a cupcake + tea, she saw U in car just now so no escape 4 u.
'

‘Dad, stop.' I am secretly relieved to put off going home. I can't quite imagine our house without Mum's presence, and I know the Christies will be just the same as usual. I also know Dad won't like it very much. ‘Look, I've got to go to the Christies' for tea with Sadie. She's really excited that I'm back. Come and pick me up at five to go to Jack and Granny's.'

Dad opens his mouth to make a suggestion, but I've got my hand on the door handle and when he stops for the corner by the village shop I jump out, waving.

‘Bye. Don't forget to bring Cactus, I've
got
to see him.'

‘You've
got
to see everyone, and I'm waiting my turn,' Dad shouts back, and there is pain as well as teasing in his voice. But I can't be held responsible for grown-ups' feelings. I need to see everyone back in Staitheley, and small children are the most impatient. I walk through the Christies' boatyard and open the red-painted back door.

‘Hell-oo, it's me, Lola,' I call, and I don't realize that I've breathed in until my senses brim with the smell of toast almost ready and tea just brewed, and the Christies' family life, with all its noise and chaos, engulfs me.

‘Look, Lola, I've iced one for you and one for me. They're purple princess cakes so we're allowed to eat them first.'

Sadie charges towards me, waving two very sticky cakes, and wraps her arms around my legs. I reckon it's best to keep still, and anyway, it's a treat to hug her back. She's so small and solid but she's grown and got more of her long blonde hair falling in front of wide blue eyes since I last saw her.

‘Hello there, Lola, my dear.'

Caroline crouches to remove the buns from Sadie's hands. She has funny pink slippers on over socks, tight green leggings and a baggy T-shirt. I am shocked to find myself thinking I'm glad my mum doesn't wear clothes like that. Caroline leans to kiss me, and I hug her back awkwardly. Josh's dad, Ian, appears in the doorway, also smiling, and by the time I am in the kitchen I feel exhausted by being smiled
at, and under pressure of some sort because they are all so pleased to see me.

Josh, perched on the edge of a chair in front of a pile of washing, is strumming on a guitar, and is the only one who doesn't stop what he's doing to greet me.

Everything that I expected to be the same is a little bit different. Even Josh; he looks smaller, and younger, which is weird, but maybe it's because I've got used to hanging around with people like Aiden Black and he's mega compared to Josh.

Sadie tugs my arm.

‘Come on, Lola, we need to play fairies to practise for when I get a loose tooth.'

And I pick her up and twirl her around, hiding my face in her neck. My feelings for her are so uncomplicated compared to everything else. When I put her down again, Josh has left the room, and the next minute he crosses the yard past the kitchen window, his skateboard under his arm. Caroline leads me to the table, chatting.

‘We've all missed you, Lola. How are you getting on at your new school? Is London fun? It must seem very quiet to be back here again.'

I laugh, looking round the kitchen. A radio is perched on the window sill, mumbling away to itself, and Neoprene whistles fruitily when I catch his eye.

‘Coffee and cake. Coffee and cake,' he suggests, twisting his head to one side and selecting a peanut from his bowl with one delicate claw.

Sadie has found a skipping rope and is trying to swing it in the small space between the cooker and
the table while chanting, ‘Two-four-six-eight, who do we appreciate?'

On the cooker, a pan of potatoes is boiling, the lid clanging, steam rising and clinging to the glass panes of the window.

‘No, it's not quiet here. In London I'm on my own in the flat a lot because Mum is working, but that's OK. And school isn't so bad now that I've got some friends, but it's nice to be back here again.'

I nod stupidly and push my hands deep into the back pockets of my jeans.

‘I'm sure. And how is your mother finding it back in town? I expect she's meeting old friends again.'

Caroline's smile is gentle. I wish she would stop talking to me and looking at me in that very kind way she has. I just want to be with Sadie for a bit with no one paying me any attention.

‘Lets play fairies outside,' I suggest. We walk down to the quay. Sadie chats for a bit then falls silent. I look down and find her staring gravely behind me.

‘What are you looking at?'

‘Your bum. It's waving about all over the place.'

Great. And I haven't got any other jeans with me.

When Dad comes to fetch me, I run to the car and hurl myself into the passenger seat to hug Cactus, and it is the warmest feeling I have had since I left Staitheley. He licks my face and sits on my knee, singing a long sigh. Dad doesn't talk much, but then he never did, even when I was here all the time. He
likes his own company, or that's what Mum always says about him, and I suppose it must be true.

‘I hope your visit over there was everything you expected,' he says as we drive the short distance to Grandma's house.

He didn't come to the Christies' door but revved his engine and hooted his horn outside the entrance to the boatyard. Dad still looks a bit doleful, and I sat through a couple of his long silences on my way from the station, so I realize that it's best to be busy, and occupy myself by changing the settings on my phone. It suddenly shrieks (a really good sound I got for it off www.freakfone.com) and see a message from Jessie in London replying to one I sent her worrying about my bum. She is on the case.

‘
4get crazy infant nonsense. Yr bum is top.
'

Mind you, she would say that because she was with me when I bought these jeans in the market. A message from a new schoolfriend who knows nothing of my life in Norfolk is weird, but I like it. As for my rear view, I'm only seeing Grandma and Jack, and Dad, so it doesn't matter if it's a bit wobbly.

The first thing I think when Grandma opens the door is that she's shrunk. The second is that the smell of her house is the best and most familiar smell in the world and I wish I could put some in a bottle and take it with me to smell when I come in from school to the flat and no one is there. It smells of clean laundry and flapjacks, pale tea and the flowery trace of the scent Grandma always wears. Oh, and a tiny whiff of the soft salt air of the marshes.

‘There we are, how nice. Tike! Tansy! Get down now.' Grandma hugs me and her terriers leap to join in. ‘Now you must come through and see Jack. He's been waiting for you.'

In the drawing room, Jack's usual chair in front of the fire is more inviting than ever with a pillow and a multicoloured crocheted blanket on it, and in the middle of all that, with a newspaper sliding off his lap and his glasses propped on his forehead, is Jack, looking keenly towards the door like Tike the terrier.

‘Well, well,' he smiles, and holds out a hand to me.

My nose tingles and my eyes fill with tears. I'm not sure if I'm crying because I'm pleased to see him or because he looks so fragile. The copper band he always wears on his wrist is loose, but the smile in his eyes is the same as ever, and I perch on the arm of his chair until Grandma and Dad come through with a tray of tea. I don't like to say it's my second, so I don't. And it is never hard to find room for the food Grandma makes. We are all eating small sandwiches off pink china with gold stars. Tike, Tansy and Cactus are at our feet, licking their lips and looking soulful. Grandma shakes her head at them and says, ‘No feeding terriers,' as if she knows I was about to split my crusts between them. Jack and Dad are discussing the recent big tides.

‘There's a porpoise carcass up on the top of the island.' Dad has put his plate down and he leans back in his chair looking at the fire crackling in front of him. ‘A young one. It must have got exhausted and separated from the others in the storms.'

‘Unusual at this time of year,' says Jack. ‘D'you know what kind?'

‘No. I saw Billy and his dad today. They were collecting lugworms.'

‘They never stop collecting lugworms,' jokes Jack. ‘I can't think what they do with them all. The fish they're after must feast and never get caught.'

I stuff another sandwich in my mouth, as a random thought sails into my head: just imagine bringing someone like Pansy or gorgeous Harry Sykes here to Grandma's house. Imagine Harry Sykes sitting on a little low chair in his skateboarding shoes with the laces undone, eating small sandwiches off pink china. The thought makes me smile to myself, and when I go to the loo and look in the mirror, I can't really believe that I am part of both of these worlds. I look normal; well, as normal as I can with my hair out of control as usual and my eyeshadow a bit brighter than I reckoned for when I was putting it on. But I don't look like someone leading a double life, when actually that is how I feel.

I suppose it's possible that Pansy and people like her have grandparents, and maybe they even live in the country, but I can't imagine it. I am definitely the only one in my London school whose family thinks it's normal to talk about lugworms. I think I'll keep it to myself. It's better that way.

Nell is banging on the door before I have even finished breakfast the next day. Cactus leaps off my knee and quivers expectantly by the letterbox,
thinking she is delivering a news-paper. I open the door.

‘You know, you even sound like a paper round person now,' I tease, as we hug each other. ‘Cactus thought you were delivering something for him to eat.'

‘Don't laugh,' says Nell, putting a plastic box on the table. ‘But he's right. My mum has sent a batch of rolls she's made, and I don't know how old she thinks you are, but I'm afraid they're shaped like hedgehogs.'

We are both so inflated with euphoria that one peep into the Tupperware box at the shiny, brown, prickle-backed rolls with crinkled raisin eyes has us both collapsed in giggles.

‘I think it's most kind of her,' says Dad, removing the lid and picking up one of the hedgehogs to admire. ‘I shall take one for my lunch.'

He moves towards the chopping board with it, and as one, Nell and I shriek, ‘Don't!'

‘Don't what?' Dad is looking in the fridge, bringing out a few salad leaves and a heel of cheese.

‘Don't cut its head off,' I plead, giggling again because I am begging for the life of a dough hedgehog.

‘I wasn't going to,' he says, putting it down with its paler belly facing up. ‘I was going to stuff it.'

This has me slain again, leaning on Nell, who stops laughing first and digs me in the ribs with her elbow.

‘That's good,' she says encouragingly. ‘Mum does that with hers when she's doing them for her wine and cheese nights and stuff.'

Dad looks very pleased to be doing the same as Nell's mum, and grates his cheese for the stuffing with a jaunty speed.

‘What are you two up to today?'