‘You’re a snob,’ he smiled.
‘You’re a bad boyfriend.’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘Whatever.’
‘You want a drink?’
I nodded way too enthusiastically. He laughed, then disappeared headfirst through the window, back into the castle. I followed him in.
‘Hey Weseley, you’re not giving Hannah Montana our cans, are you?’
Weseley ignored Gary and handed me a can.
‘What is this?’
‘Diamond White.’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘How can I explain this so that you’d understand?’ He thought hard. ‘Think of it as champagne, but made with apples.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘If you think I drink champagne then you don’t know me at all.’
‘Well, I don’t, do I? It’s cider. Americans call it hard cider.’
‘I’m not American.’
‘You don’t sound Irish.’
‘And you don’t look Irish. Maybe Irish as the world knows it has changed.’ I gasped sarcastically. ‘Oh my God, who should we tell?’
‘My mam has red hair and freckles.’
‘So she must be Swedish.’
He laughed, then pointed at a crate behind me and I sat down. He sat opposite me.
‘Where’s your dad from?’
‘ Madagascar.’
‘Cool, like in the movie?’
‘Yep, exactly like the Disney animation,’ he said heavily.
‘You ever go there?’
‘No.’
‘How come he moved here?’
‘Because.’
‘Ah.’ I nodded understandingly. ‘Always a good reason.’
We both laughed.
Someone in the next room said something about me being a racist again.
‘I only meant your clothes,’ I said quietly. ‘You’re dressed better than John Boy in there, and Mary Ellen, who walked off in her fake Uggs in a puff of Dewberry.’
He laughed and exhaled at the same time, his eyes steady on mine. ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘So you said. But that’s not what my super spy glasses told me.’
‘Yeah well that was just…’ He stomped out his cigarette and then put the butt in a jar. I was thankful for that. I felt like I was a parent and had returned home to find the kids had trashed my house. ‘There are buses, you know,’ he said. ‘Things with wheels that carry people to the big smoke.’
‘From where?’ I think my reaction would have been the same if he’d revealed a cure for cancer. A way out of here…
‘Dunshaughlin. It’s less than thirty minutes in the car.’
‘And how do you get there?’
‘My dad drives me.’
Well, mine is dead.
‘By the way, is this yours?’ He rooted around in a bag and handed me a pen. It was the one I’d stolen from Arthur’s writing desk and had dropped yesterday.
I had a feeling someone was there. Someone was watching me.
‘Were you here yesterday?’
‘Em…’ he thought hard.
‘You shouldn’t have to think about it,’ I snapped.
‘I don’t know. No. Yes. No, I don’t know if I was. I found the pen tonight, if that’s what you mean.’
‘You weren’t here yesterday when I was here?’
‘I’m here most days with Arthur.’ He still didn’t answer the question.
‘You are?’
‘Well, I have to be, don’t I?’
‘You do?’
‘I work with the man.’
‘Oh.’
‘I thought you said Arthur told you.’
‘Oh…yeah. So does Rosaleen know you work with Arthur?’
He nodded. ‘I don’t think she likes me being around, but since Arthur put his back out he needs a hand around here.’
‘How long have you worked with him?’
He thought hard and stared into the distance, ‘Ooh let’s see. Me and Arthur go back about…three weeks now.’
I started laughing.
‘We only moved here last month,’ he explained.
‘Really?’ I felt my heart lift. He was one of my kind. ‘From where?’
‘ Dublin.’
‘Me too!’ My excitement was way too Famous Five. ‘Sorry,’ I felt my face flush. ‘Just a little overexcited to meet a member of the same species. So how did you rise to be leader so quickly? Did you cast a spell? Show them how to make fire?’
‘I find that politeness goes a long way. Spying, party crashing and insults is a bit of a no-no when you’re trying to fit in.’
‘I don’t want to fit in,’ I said sulkily. ‘I want to get out of here.’
We were silent then.
‘Do you know anything about what happened here? In this castle?’ I asked.
‘You mean with the Normans and everything?’
‘No, not that. What happened to the family who lived here, more recently.’
‘There was a fire or something, then they moved out.’
‘Wow, you should write history books.’
‘We’ve just moved here,’ he smiled. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m just wondering.’
He studied me for a while. ‘We could ask them if you want.’ He meant the group next door.
There was an eruption of laughter from the next room. I think they were playing Spin the Bottle.
‘No, it’s okay.’
‘Sister Ignatius would know. You know her, don’t you?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I told you, I work around here. I’m not blind.’
‘But I’ve never seen you.’
He shrugged.
‘She told me to ask Rosaleen and Arthur,’ I explained.
‘You should. You know Rosaleen lived in the bungalow across the road from the entrance all her life? If anyone knows, she would. She could probably tell you everything that’s happened around here for the past two hundred years.’
I couldn’t tell him that the diary stated I should not ask her anything. ‘I don’t know…I don’t think they want to talk about it. She’s so secretive. They must have known the people and if somebody died, well then, I don’t just want to blurt it out. I mean, they probably still know them. Arthur can’t be working for free. Actually,’ I clicked my fingers, ‘who pays you?’
‘Arthur does. Cash.’
‘Oh.’
‘So how come you’re here?’
‘I told you, I heard you from my bedroom.’
‘No, I mean, here in Kilsaney.’
‘Oh.’
Silence. I thought fast. Anything but the truth. I didn’t want his sympathy.
‘I thought you said Arthur told you about me.’
‘I’d deserve an award if I got anything more out of him. He just said that you and your mam are staying with them.’
‘We just, you know, we just had to move. Just for a little while. Probably only for the summer. We sold our house. And we’re waiting to buy a new one.’
‘Your dad’s not around?’
‘No, no, he, em…he left Mum, for someone else.’
‘Oh, man, sorry to hear it.’
‘Yeah, well…she’s a twenty-year-old model. She’s famous. She’s always in magazines. She brings me out clubbing with her.’
He frowned at me and I felt like an idiot. ‘Do you still see him?’
‘No. Not any more.’
I was following the rules of my diary. I wish I hadn’t told Weseley about Dad. But I didn’t feel better for it. I was lying to Marcus as it was, and that was kind of justifiable because everything with Marcus was one big fat lie, but I didn’t feel like lying to Weseley. Besides, he’d only find out from Arthur, in about ten years.
‘Weseley, sorry, that’s a lie.’ I rubbed my face. ‘My dad…he died.’
He sat up. ‘What? How?’
I should have said something else, like he died in
war or-I don’t know-just something else like a more common kind of death.
‘Eh. Cancer.’ I wanted us to stop talking about it now. I couldn’t go there. I couldn’t do it. I wanted him to stop asking me. ‘In his testicles.’
‘Oh.’
That did it.
I’d left after that. I thanked him and climbed back out the window. Halfway towards the house I stopped walking and turned round and ran back.
‘Weseley,’ I whispered, slightly out of breath, standing at the window. He was tidying away all the cans and butts from the window room.
‘Did you forget something?’
‘Eh, yeah…’ I whispered.
‘Why are we whispering?’ he whispered, smiling, and came towards the window and leaned on his elbows.
‘Because em…I don’t really like saying this out loud.’
‘Okay…’ His smile faded.
‘You’ll think I’m weird-’
‘I already think you’re weird.’
‘Oh. Okay. Em. My dad didn’t die of cancer.’
‘No?’
‘No. I just said that because it was easier. Though the testicle part wasn’t very easy. That was just weird.’
He smiled gently. ‘How did he die?’
‘He killed himself. He swallowed a bottle of pills and whisky at the same time. On purpose. And I found him.’ I swallowed.
There it was. The face change that I wrote about. The pure look of sympathy. The nice look you’d give any horrible person. He was silent.
‘I just didn’t want to lie,’ I started to move away.
‘All right. Thanks for telling me.’
‘I’ve never told anyone.’
‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Okay thanks. I’m really going now.’
Cringe.
‘Good night.’
He leaned further out the window and raised his voice. ‘I’ll see you around, Tamara.’
‘Yep. Sure.’
I just wanted to get out of there.
The gang in the entrance hall all whistled and laughed and I disappeared back to the darkness.
I learned something important that night. You shouldn’t try to stop everything from happening. Sometimes you’re supposed to feel awkward. Sometimes you’re supposed to be vulnerable in front of people. Sometimes it’s necessary because it’s all part of you getting to the next part of yourself, the next day. The diary wasn’t always right.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
One o’Clock
The diary told me I had until one o’clock that day.
It was quite unusual really, the morning playing out exactly as I’d read the night before. Rosaleen waking me, telling me to stay home, and it seemed so obvious then-the second time round-that she just didn’t want me visible to the rest of her little world. Imagine the horror and shame of having to tell people that Mum and I existed; that a man had taken his life, the worst sin of all. I’d felt angry about that and had to fight my desire to demand I go to mass too but I stayed under the covers, and as I listened to their car drive away in the sepia-coloured day, here’s where my day differed to the diary. It was unusual, having things happening that I felt had technically already happened, but I was sort of getting used to it.
Instead of falling back asleep after Rosaleen and Arthur had driven off, I got dressed and ran downstairs. I was sitting on the garden wall when the yellow Cinquecento came flying down the road, with the window rolled down.
‘Ah!’ Sister Ignatius’ eyes lit up. ‘Just the girl I wanted to see. Are you coming to mass?’
I looked in the car at the four nuns squashed together.
‘Oh, you can sit on Sister Peter Regina’s knee,’ she teased, and I heard a ‘pah’ from inside. ‘We sing at all the morning masses. You’re part of a choir, you should join us if the laryngitis isn’t still at you.’
Can’t, I mimed, grabbing my throat and opening and closing my mouth.
‘Gargle some salt and you’ll be as right as rain,’ she glared at me, then brightened. ‘Thanks for the book, by the way.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I broke my silence. ‘I picked it especially for you.’
‘I thought so,’ she chuckled. ‘You know at the beginning, I didn’t like her, Marilyn Mountrothman. She was stuck up and expected far too much, but by the end I grew to love her. Just like Tariq. It didn’t seem an obvious pairing but the way he knew just what she was thinking all the time, particularly when she was crying about the message from her father but wouldn’t tell him. Oh, that got me, I must admit. But he figured it out. He knew that she loved him. Smart man! I suppose that’s how he made his millions and became the oil tycoon. I like it when they put the photos of them on the front covers. It helps me visualise them all the way through. Him with his hair slicked back and all those muscles…’
‘You actually read it?’
‘Oh, yes, of course I did. Sister Conceptua has started it now.’
The woman in the front passenger seat twisted around. ‘Don’t tell me what happens. He’s just chartered the private plane to Istanbul.’
‘Oh, you’ve the best bits to get to yet,’ Sister Ignatius clapped her hands. ‘Two words-Turkish delight,’ she said.
‘I said sshh,’ Sister Conceptua snapped. ‘You’ll give it away.’
‘We have to go,’ Sister Mary barked from behind the wheel. ‘We’ll be late.’
‘Think of coming next week, okay?’ Sister Ignatius said to me then, seriously.
‘Okay,’ I nodded. ‘I’m thinking of going back to bed for the morning. If you see Rosaleen, you might just let her know that?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes, I’m really thinking about it.’
‘I see. What are you getting up to?’
‘We really have to go,’ Sister Mary started up the engine.
‘Wait,’ I panicked slightly. ‘I just need something from you. A name.’
Moments later I was watching them fly around the corner, no indication or brake lights visible, but Sister Ignatius’ arm high in the air in a salute.
It was ten o’clock.
I had my priorities in order and Mum was top of my list. I flicked through the phone book and searched for the name Sister Ignatius had given me. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then just as it went to answering machine a man answered.
‘Hello?’ he croaked, then cleared his throat. ‘Hold on.’ I could hear he was out of breath and he fought with trying to turn the answering machine off.
I cleared my throat. Tamara Big-Girl had work to do.
‘Hello, I’m calling to make an appointment with Dr Gedad.’
‘Uh, he’s not here.’ He sounded half-asleep. ‘Can I take a message?’
‘Em…no…will he be back before one o’clock?’
‘His surgery isn’t open on Sundays.’
I paused. There was something familiar.
‘It’s actually a house call.’
‘Is it an emergency?’
I held my breath. Then: ‘Weseley, is that you?’
‘Yeah. Who’s this?’
Lie, Tamara, lie, make up a name.
‘It’s Tamara. Sorry for waking you.’
‘Tamara.’ He sounded a little more awake now. ‘Are you okay? You need a doctor? He’s my dad.’
‘Oh…it’s not for me, it’s for my mum. But it’s not an emergency or anything. Do you think he’ll be back by one?’
‘I don’t know. They go to mass and then the market. Usually they’re back at around one.’
‘What is it with the bloody mass and market here?’
‘I know, they all love it.’ He yawned. ‘I think my dad goes just to hand out business cards to anyone that coughs.’
I laughed. ‘Did you stay out much later last night?’
‘About another hour. Didn’t you hear us?’
‘It took me about a half-hour to climb back into my bedroom. I closed the window by mistake and broke all my nails p
rying it back open.’
He laughed. ‘You should have come back, I’d have helped you get in. I know where Arthur’s secret stash of tools are. Do you want me to get my dad to call around at one?’
‘No, it’s okay. Before one suits me best.’
‘What about tomorrow?’
I would have to wait another week for Rosaleen and Arthur to leave. Unless…I had one small window of opportunity when Rosaleen called to her mother.
‘Between ten and eleven tomorrow?’
‘I’ll run it by him. I’ll get him to call you.’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘He can’t call here.’
‘Well, do you have a cell?’ he teased.
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ he sighed. ‘It’s far too early in the morning for me to have to think. Give me a second.’
I waited.
‘Right, I take it you don’t want Rosaleen and Arthur to know, so when my dad gets back I’ll find out if he’s available and then I’ll meet you at the castle at two to let you know.’
I smiled. He could have phoned; he wanted to see me again.
I rang off, feeling fired up. One thing almost crossed off my list.
Mission two was to explore the bungalow. Or at least to have a look in the back garden; I didn’t want to scare the life out of the old lady. With my alibi prepared, I emptied a few berries into a bowl, I boiled the kettle, toasted a few slices of bread, scrambled a few eggs…very badly, managing to burn the bottom of the pan. I soaked it in the sink and dreaded the look on Rosaleen’s face when she saw it. I put everything on a tray and covered it with a tea towel just as Rosaleen did each morning. Feeling proud of my first attempt of breakfast, probably ever, I left the house and made my way, very slowly, so as not to spill the cup of tea I’d prepared. With two hands holding the tray, climbing over the gate without being able to lean on the pillar was difficult. The towel became soaked with tea but I pressed on. I passed the net-curtained living room and walked down the side passage. Again, my vision was taken from me as a bright light shone directly at my face. I closed my eyes tightly, then tried to balance the tray against the wall on one side so that I could rub them. I almost dropped the tray, making a racket as cups and plates collided. When the light had left my eyes and my vision returned, I continued on, choosing to look at the ground as I walked. As soon as I reached the end of the passageway, I stepped into the back garden and prepared to be blown away, prepared to see a little old lady tending her garden, giant mushrooms and fairies and unicorns and an entire magical world that Rosaleen was hiding. But I saw nothing. Nothing but a long grassy field, with trees on either side. Rosaleen’s mother didn’t have green fingers, that was for sure.
The Book of Tomorrow Page 16