by Linda Green
‘We might have to find something else for breakfast, I’m afraid,’ says Mum. I try to hide how disappointed I am, then crouch down and spot them on the bottom shelf.
‘There,’ I say, pointing to a pack of four sausages with the little green tick on the front.
‘Fantastic, well spotted,’ she says, picking them up. ‘How about I get one of those bottles of smoothie you like too?’
I nod and smile at her. I love that she’s making a special breakfast for me. I am trying not to think about what will happen when we go back home and imagining that we will have breakfast outside our tent every day for the rest of our lives.
Mum picks up a mango and pineapple smoothie and we go up to the till. The man who was filling up his car is paying for his petrol. The grey-cardigan lady is standing in front of us, but she still doesn’t have any shopping and there wasn’t another car outside, so I don’t understand why she is in the queue. She is staring into space like I do sometimes. She looks a bit sad. Even her plaits are droopy. The man in front goes and it is her turn. She asks for a bottle of something on the shelf behind the counter. It is when I hear her voice that I remember that I have seen her plaits before.
‘Mum,’ I whisper, tugging her sleeve. ‘It’s the sheep apron lady from the café.’
‘Is it?’ she says.
‘Yes, but she hasn’t got her sheep apron on. What if she recognises us and phones the police?’
‘She won’t do, love. She’ll have seen hundreds of people in that café, she won’t remember everyone.’
She might not remember everyone, but I think she will remember me because of my hair and because I made a big scene. I am not the sort of kid who people forget.
I watch as the probably-a-student man serving puts her bottle on the counter. It has see-through liquid in it. I think it is alcohol because there is a big sign saying alcohol and cigarettes cannot be sold to those under 18 above the shelf that he got it from. The sheep apron lady hands him some money. I notice that her hand is shaking as she takes the change. She picks up the bottle, turns round and sees me. I can tell that she remembers me straight away.
‘Hello, pet,’ she says, her voice not as sing-songy as I remember it. ‘You came in for your breakfast, didn’t you?’
I nod. I wonder if she is going to mention that I also ran out before we got it, but she doesn’t say anything. . She glances down at the bottle in her hand and tries to put it under her cardigan. I don’t know what to say and she doesn’t seem to know what to say and Mum is keeping quiet even if she does know.
‘Take care, then,’ sheep apron lady says and starts to walk away. I hear the door open behind us; I look round in case sheep apron lady spotted us earlier and called the police. It isn’t the police, though. It’s two men. A big one and a smaller one, and both of them are dressed in black and they have their hoods up and scarves wrapped round their faces and they’re wearing gloves, which is weird because even though it is night-time, it is still warm and I don’t even know where my scarf and gloves are because they have been put away until next winter.
The smaller man runs to the counter and the big man stays by the door and shouts something and points his rolled-up carrier bag at us and the sheep apron lady. It takes me a second to work out that he shouted, ‘Get down,’ but Mum is already grabbing me and pulling me to the floor. I think we are being arrested and he is one of those undercover detectives I have seen in films.
‘Are they policemen?’ I whisper.
‘No,’ Mum says in a tiny voice. I hear the smaller man shouting at the probably-a-student man behind the counter. He is telling him to open the till. And that is when I realise what is happening. It is also when I scream.
‘Shut the kid up,’ the big robber shouts. Mum is holding me very tightly. I can feel her arm shaking on my back. All the time I was worried about the police and I should have been worried about robbers.
The smaller robber is yelling at probably-a-student man to go faster. My face is pressed against Mum’s chest, so I can’t see anything, but I hope he is giving him the money. As soon as he has the money he will run away. Only then the police will come, and they will see us, and we will be arrested anyway. I burst into tears.
‘Fucking shut him up,’ the big robber shouts. I try to stop crying but I can’t, and it gets louder; screams and sobs and huge gasps of air, all somehow rolled into one. I hear footsteps approaching. I lift my head up for a second and see the big robber’s boot kick Mum hard in the back. She screws her face up, lets go of my hand for a second and gives a little yelp, like the noise a dog makes if you step on its tail. He’s hurt her. He’s hurt my mum who would never hurt anyone. I feel something rising up inside me. It is hot, and in a hurry to get out. I scramble to my feet and kick the big robber in the shin as hard as I can.
I can hear lots of noise, like I could in the playground that time. Everybody yelling at me. Mum screams, ‘Finn, no,’ and her hand is on my arm and she is pulling me back down, but the big robber turns and grabs me too. He is holding up his hand with the rolled-up carrier bag in and pushing me to the floor and as I land, Mum rolls over on top of me and then I hear Mum scream and I have never heard anyone scream like that before. It is so horrible it stops all the other noise. For a second, I think maybe it was a bad dream and I have just woken up and am lying in the tent next to Mum. But then someone shouts, ‘No!’ and I think it is the sheep apron lady and I know it wasn’t a bad dream at all. The noise starts again, and other people are shouting and moving, but Mum is not doing either of those things. She is lying completely still on top of me. Someone is dragging me out from underneath her. The first thing I see is the robber’s carrier bag stuck in Mum’s side and I do not understand how it could do that and then I see blood coming out from under it and Mum’s head falling back on the floor.
I look up to see if the robbers are still here, but I think they have gone. When I look back down again the probably-a-student man is kneeling next to Mum, holding her wrist and shaking his head. He gets his phone out of his pocket and stands up and walks away. I sit up a bit and see there is a black handle sticking out of the carrier bag and lots more blood and I know then that it is a knife he was carrying and he has stabbed Mum; my soft, gentle mum who loves dancing and baking and doing the chicken dance.
I shut my eyes and scream and the person who dragged me out from under Mum puts their arms round me and hugs me and a plait falls in my face, so I know it is the sheep apron lady and she is crying and telling me it’s over now but it is not over, Mum is lying on the floor next to me and the pool of blood is getting bigger and it reaches the veggie sausages, which Mum must have dropped.
I start crying and sheep apron lady tries to lift me up and pull me away from Mum but I am not going to leave her and I am kicking and screaming so she lets go and I lie down and curl myself round Mum’s head and put my head on her chest but it is not moving up and down because she is not breathing and I know we will never sit outside our tent eating sausages for breakfast. Not tomorrow and not ever again.
Sheep apron lady sits next to me stroking my head while I cry until an ambulance man comes in and kneels down next to Mum. He looks up and shakes his head too and then I see there are two policemen behind him and I think they have come to arrest Mum and take her away and I start screaming at them and telling them to leave her alone because she is my mum and she was only trying to help and that the note fell down behind the shoe rack and none of it is her fault; she was only trying to do her best.
Everybody starts talking at once and I feel sheep apron lady’s arms lifts me up gently and she is crying almost as much as I am. She holds me very tightly and keeps whispering that she’s got me. I see the bottle she bought lying on the floor. It isn’t smashed but she doesn’t stop to pick it up, just takes me out through the door. I feel the fresh air get stuck in my throat as I gulp back the tears. I can hear one of the policemen talking into his r
adio and another police siren somewhere in the distance. She takes me round the corner away from the ambulance and we sit down on the ground and she puts her arms round me and rocks me back and forth and strokes my hair and it feels like I have known her forever.
‘I’ve got you,’ she whispers over and over again. ‘I’ve got you, Terry.’
BEFORE 16
16
Kaz
I hold him for what seems like a long time but may only be a matter of minutes. Rocking him softly to and fro. Like I used to do with Terry, when he was little. I don’t know what else to do. His mam has just been murdered in front of him. His life will never be the same again. And for some reason I am the one holding him. I am not even supposed to be here. I was on my way home to chuck some vodka and pills down my throat. That is what I am supposed to be doing. But instead I’m here, holding a little boy whose mam has been killed in front of him. And I know already that I will not take my own life now. Not tonight or any other night. Not when I have seen a life snuffed out in front of me like that.
As I look down at the boy’s tear-stained face, all I can think of is that it should have been me. The robber should have taken my life, not hers. That would have been fine. It would have saved me the hassle of doing it myself. I should have got up and confronted him. I mean, I had nothing to lose, did I? I couldn’t move, though. The woman who was supposed to be topping herself tonight froze, just like she had once before.
I am aware of footsteps approaching. I look up and see a woman paramedic who I hadn’t even noticed was here.
‘Can I give the lad a check-over, please?’ she says quietly. ‘I need to make sure he wasn’t injured at all.’
I nod. Though what’s it’s got to do with me, I don’t know.
‘What’s his name?’ she asks.
I realise I don’t know. I haven’t asked him that. I’m really not much use at all.
‘I don’t know,’ I say.
‘Sorry. I thought you were related.’
‘No. I met him once before in the café where I used to work, but I don’t know his name.’
The boy raises his head. Squints a bit in the light coming from the shop behind her.
‘Hello,’ she says, bending down to him. ‘My name’s Shagufta and I’m a paramedic. What’s your name?’
‘Finn,’ he whispers.
‘Finn, can I have a quick look at you to make sure you haven’t been hurt, please?’
Finn looks at me. I give a little nod. The paramedic gently unfolds one of his arms. He is hanging on to me with his other hand, though. I give it a squeeze. The paramedic gradually works her way across his arms and torso.
‘Can we get you to stand up, just for a moment?’ she asks. We hold one arm each and lift him to his feet. It’s only as he stands up that I notice the blood on his rucksack. For a second, I think he must have been stabbed too.
‘Let’s just slip this off you,’ the paramedic says. She takes it and passes it to me. I am relieved to see that there is no blood on him underneath. It’s not his blood at all. It’s his mam’s. I exchange glances with the paramedic. She was obviously thinking the same thing.
Finn is shivering now. It must be the shock setting in. The paramedic asks if it hurts anywhere. He shakes his head. She checks over every inch of him anyway.
‘Thank you, Finn,’ she says eventually. ‘Looks like you’re fine. I do want to keep you warm, though.’ She takes out a foil blanket from her bag and wraps it round him. I notice that he is looking across at me and realise too late that he has seen the blood on the rucksack. He starts crying again. I pass the rucksack quickly to the paramedic and wrap my arms round him, the foil blanket rustling as I do so.
‘Are you OK?’ the paramedic asks, turning to me. ‘Were you hurt in any way?’
‘No,’ I say, quietly, unable to look her in the eye as I remember the ambulance man who came to our kitchen to see to Terry after I dialled 999. The ambulance man who I’d lied to and told it was an accident; that my little brother had pulled the saucepan down on himself while I was taking up a cup of tea to my mum who was ill in bed. It was what she had told me to say. The shock seemed to have turned her sober enough to think straight and she always was a good actress.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘I’d better give this to the police,’ she says, gesturing to the rucksack. She goes back into the petrol station shop and I am alone with the boy again. It is only now that I wonder just how alone he is in the world. I’ve only ever seen him with his mum. He might not have a dad. Not one that lives with him, anyway.
A policeman comes out and walks over to us. His radio crackles, causing Finn to look up. The policeman crouches down to his height.
‘Hello, there. It’s Finn, isn’t it?’
The boy nods.
‘Finn Rook-Carter?’
He nods again. I can’t understand how they have found out his surname for a second, then I realise they must have checked for ID on his mum.
‘Are you going to arrest me?’ Finn asks. ‘Are you going to put me in prison because Mum said you wouldn’t. She said Dad would phone you and sort it all out.’
I hold him tight. I have no idea what he’s talking about.
‘No,’ says the policeman. ‘No one’s going to arrest you. You’re not in trouble, Finn. We’re here to help you. Your dad is on his way. He’ll be here very soon. A lady police officer is bringing him. She’s going to help look after you, too.’
Finn starts crying again. The policeman turns to me as I hug him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I don’t know your name.’
‘Kaz Allen. I’m not family. We were just in shop together when it happened.’
He nods. ‘Thank you for looking after him. I’m afraid we will need you to come down to the station so we can take a statement. The young man who works here will be coming too. We need as much information as possible.’
‘Right, OK,’ I say.
‘Have you got a phone?’ he asks. ‘Is there anyone you’d like us to call?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘No one, thanks.’
A few minutes later a police car pulls up in the forecourt. The woman driving gets out. So does a tall man with flecks of grey in his hair and beard. He looks pretty much how anyone would look if they had just been told their wife had been murdered. As soon as Finn sees him, he breaks away from me and runs over to him, throwing himself at him and pummelling his little fists against his chest.
‘You shouldn’t have called the police,’ Finn screams. ‘The note fell down behind the shoe rack. We were coming home in the morning but now Mum’s dead and we can’t have sausages on the campfire and it’s all your fault.’
Finn’s dad crumples and starts crying too. Huge, big, man sobs. I stand there, not knowing what to say or do. The policewoman looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. She walks over to me and speaks in a quiet voice.
‘Hello, are you the lady who’s been looking after Finn?’
I nod.
‘I’m the police family liaison officer. I wonder if you would be kind enough to look after him for a few more minutes. I need to take his father inside to do a formal ID. I don’t want Finn to go in there.’
‘Of course,’ I say. She goes back to Finn’s dad and puts her hand on his shoulder. Says something into his ear. He looks up and looks across at me. Wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. A few moments later he walks towards me, Finn still attached to him, half clinging, half pummelling.
‘Thanks,’ he says, prising Finn’s arms away from his body and letting him reattach himself to me.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. It sounds pathetic but I don’t know what else to say. He walks off into the shop, the policewoman holding his arm. I look down at Finn and pull him closer to me as I hear the anguished cry of his father from inside.
*
/> I only see Finn once more, when we arrive at the police station. He went in a different car to me, with his dad and the policewoman. His face is pale, his eyes scared. He reminds me of Prince Harry walking behind his mother’s coffin at her funeral. Red hair, sad face, looking tiny and absolutely lost without his mam. He stops as they go to walk past me. I step forward and bend down to him, giving him another hug.
‘You’re being so brave,’ I say. ‘Your mam would be really proud of you.’
He walks off solemnly. Like he is following the coffin. And I bow my head because I know, in some ways, he always will be.
AFTER 15
15
Finn
I stand there in the changing rooms in my shorts and rugby shirt, knowing that I am going to hate this more than I have ever hated any PE lesson in my life, and that is saying something. We are playing a game of rugby. It’s not going to be tag rugby, like we played for half a term at school and was just running about and kids pulling a coloured tag you tucked into your shorts. This is proper rugby. We did passing last week (I am no good at it) and today we are going to do tackling and play our first game. I have never played proper rugby and I have only seen a couple of bits on TV, when I went into the living room and Dad was watching it. From what I could work out, it is played by big men with beards who like head-butting and jumping on top of each other. I cannot think of anything I would rather do less, but although Mr Makin said about my long hair meaning I could go and play netball with the girls, apparently that is not an option now. I knew I shouldn’t have had my hair cut.
‘Hey, Gay Lord, ready to play a man’s game?’ says Harrison. He has been worse since. He knows he can do whatever he wants to me now and they will let him get away with it. Jacob and Toby stand behind him smiling. They are like the Crabbe and Goyle to Harrison’s Malfoy. If I was Harry Potter, at least I could cast a spell on him. But I’m not. I look like Ron Weasley. And my friend Hermione goes to a different school. So, I stand there and say nothing. That doesn’t make it stop, though.