Skylarks

by Karen Gregory

  I hesitate, but she looks so worried I end up saying, ‘OK. But only for a bit, all right?’

  She smiles.

  ‘It’s properly smart,’ I admit, and hate the wistfulness in my voice.

  ‘Why don’t you go for a ride?’

  I do a couple of circuits of the car park. The bike’s smooth, fast. So much easier to pedal than Jamie’s with the knackered gears. I could probably ride for miles on this. I hear myself laugh as I whizz past Annabel, see her face light up. Maybe it’s OK, for someone to do something nice for you, just because they can. But still, I feel a twinge of unease as I come to a stop in front of her.

  ‘You know you don’t have to –’ I stop myself saying ‘buy me’, because that seems harsh and I don’t even know if that’s what she’s trying to do. ‘Do this, Annie.’

  Annabel blinks, then says, ‘What did you call me?’

  ‘Oh! Annie. I just call you that sometimes, like, in my head.’ It seems like a big thing to admit somehow. As if it makes her mine in some way.

  This smile blossoms over her face. ‘I like it.’

  I look at the two bikes chained up side by side. One familiar and rusty, the other sparkling new. ‘Um, how am I going to get two bikes home?’ I say.

  ‘We’ll ride them. Both of us,’ Annabel says, her eyes shining.

  ‘What about your car?’

  ‘I’ll call a taxi from your house.’

  For a rich person, Annabel definitely knows how to waste money. ‘Or we could put one in your boot? Save the cash,’ I say.

  ‘I want to ride with you. Please? It will be fun.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  She insists on taking Jamie’s bike, and rattles off in front of me.

  I hop on to the new bike to follow and Annabel pauses at the entrance to the car park, and looks back. Her blonde hair tumbles down her back and her eyes are sparkling.

  I get a sudden mischievous impulse. ‘Race you!’ I sprint past her, laughing at the surprised look on her face. She drops back, but starts to gain again on the first big hill, until we’re neck and neck, gasping for air. Then we’re at the turning to my estate and I cut in front of her, hear her yell as I shoot around the corner and pull up in front of my house a few seconds before she does. I put my feet on the ground, raise my arms up like I’ve scored a goal, then give her a smug grin. ‘Looks like I’m the winner.’

  Annabel is breathing too hard to say anything, sweat running down her forehead. For once, her make-up’s smudged, eyeliner in a greasy line under her eyes, her hair properly messy, not designer messy, her face bright red.

  She looks real. And hot as anything.

  ‘You’d better come in and get a drink,’ I say.

  We lock both bikes away in the shed and go in through the back door. I listen for a moment, but there’s only the tick of the kitchen clock and an odd high-pitched squeal from the fridge. Something else on the way out. A note on the side from Jamie tells me he’s out with Jack, Mum’s at work and even Dad’s managed to get himself down the shop. We have the place to ourselves. I remember the other day, how these huge feelings came up out of nowhere, like they were this massive wave ready to sweep us both away. I swallow and grab some water for us both – tap, not bottled from the fridge like at her place.

  Annabel goes over to one of the finger paintings next to the flower calendar on the wall and touches it. Above are the loops of fairy lights we put up one Christmas and decided were too nice to take down. ‘I love this. Whose is it?’

  I squint. ‘I think that’s one of my baby masterpieces actually. Mum’s kept ones from all of us.’ I gesture to the row of pictures with bits of crispy, yellowed Sellotape holding them up. ‘She’s got boxes and boxes of stuff in the loft.’

  Annabel raises her eyebrows and for a minute I feel all defensive, then she touches a picture of us all together the day we went down to Weymouth. Jack’s about two and is wearing only a nappy because he got covered in this huge chocolate ice cream. You can see the ring of it around his mouth like a mini beard and moustache. Jamie and me are both doing stupid poses with huge grins on our faces, me with a T-shirt tied over my head because we forgot a hat, and Mum and Dad have their arms around each other’s waists. The whole beach is heaving.

  ‘You all look so happy,’ Annabel says. I’m trying to work out the expression in her eyes. Were there any pictures of her family at her house? I can only remember one or two of those glossy studio ones, plus pictures of her parents’ wedding and graduations. There was one of her on a horse, I remember now, super smart in a jacket, the horse shining in the sun and a yellow rosette that said ‘Third’, but she wasn’t smiling. Then I think about that feeling I had looking round her giant house. Not quite envy, more a sort of wistfulness. I realise suddenly what Annabel’s eyes are saying.

  Maybe we’ve got something in common after all.

  ‘So I pulled up his voting record – did you know he voted three times against gay marriage?’

  We’re back in Kelly’s room, having a look at some of the stuff she’s dug out on Douglas Lattimer. I’m still tingling from the time me and Annabel spent in my room, kissing, before Dad came home. I’m not sure what might have happened if Dad hadn’t banged on the door fifteen minutes or so after we got in.

  I pull my attention back to Kelly. ‘Figures. But people round here would probably like him for that.’

  Kelly frowns. ‘You really think that?’

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe for some of the old biddies or whatever, but people like us would mind he’s a raving homophobe, wouldn’t they?’

  I shrug. Probably they would, but then the voices of people like us don’t count for as much next to the Edrington type.

  And at the thought of her school, Annabel, Annie, is back in my head again. Another thing I’ve been thinking since her friends came to the library is how to talk to her about coming out. I don’t want to put pressure on her or anything, but at the same time, she’s going to have to tell her family sooner or later …

  ‘Joni?’

  I haven’t been listening again. ‘Sorry. I was thinking about Annabel.’

  She leans forward. ‘Details, please.’

  Kelly grins as I bring her up to date. Then she says, ‘Just remember, once things get physical it all gets a lot more complicated.’

  Kelly’s had sex with a couple of people so I guess she’d know better than me, but she always makes out like it’s not that big a deal. I wonder what’s got her so serious all of a sudden. Then I realise, and could give myself a swipe to the back of my own head. I’ve got so wrapped up in myself, I haven’t been paying attention to my best mate.

  ‘Is this about Pete and Ananya?’

  ‘Them? Nah. They’re welcome to each other.’ She grabs a nail file from her cluttered desk. ‘Got a snag.’

  I watch her draw the file over one perfect nail, and wait.

  Eventually, without looking at me, she says, ‘I mean, I just guess I never realised, until they got together … Pete’s always just been there, you know?’

  ‘But now you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘Something like that. Ah well, them’s the breaks,’ she says with a grin that totally doesn’t convince me.

  I shuffle up the bed towards her and she puts her head on my shoulder briefly. That’s about the nearest Kelly gets to bawling.

  We sit like that, both of us thinking about other people, about what ifs and complications.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The leaflets are ready; Kelly’s new logo looks cool. We’ve gone for: S.O.S. – Save our Streets, which was Deal’s idea. I wasn’t that keen but got outvoted. He wanted to use Comic blinking Sans for the lettering and all, but Kelly shoved her foot down over that. We’ve written a bit about the buyout, put in all the social media links and a list of actions to take. So far we’ve got:

  •Visit or write to MP

  •Sign the online petition

  •Write a letter of c
omplaint to White Light Holdings

  •Come to the meeting at The Olde Inne

  Me, Jamie, Deal and Kelly are having another meeting, the leaflets spread out over Jamie and Jack’s desk.

  Deal picks one up. ‘We’ll go knocking on doors tomorrow. We shouldn’t just do the estate but some of the other streets too. We could put a poster and leaflets up in shops, pubs, the library. How many have we got?’ he says.

  ‘Fifty leaflets and ten posters,’ I say. I didn’t have enough money to pay for printing any more.

  ‘Well, it’s a start. Let’s see what that gets us.’

  Kelly says, ‘What we really need is a celebrity or someone to get on our side. I’ll look into it. We should get the rest of the gang involved too.’

  Deal scribbles on some paper while I shoot her a grateful look. I’m glad we told each other about Annabel and Pete respectively. I feel bad for neglecting her recently; Kelly’s the best mate I’ve ever had and I want her to know it.

  I turn to Jamie. ‘What about telling Mum and Dad?’ I say.

  Jamie twists his lips together. ‘I don’t know. Mum’s pretty knackered.’

  This is true. She managed to pick up some more shifts and she only seems to be in the house to eat and sleep these days.

  I start to say, ‘Dad?’, then stop. I think about him crying and how much he stays in bed or slumped in his dressing gown in front of the TV. I can’t bear that look on his face, all helpless humiliation.

  Jamie shakes his head. ‘Let’s try and catch Mum first.’

  ‘All right. I’ll do it though, yeah? Probably best coming from me.’

  At this, Jamie grins.

  So that evening, when Mum comes in from work, I’m waiting for her with a cup of tea and the leaflet and poster. Dad went straight to bed after Pointless Celebrities, but he forgot to turn the TV off and it’s still blaring out, which is unlike him because he’s usually a fanatic about turning off lights and stuff when you’re not using them. It’s like he’s just given up.

  I turn the TV off.

  As I push the door to, I see Jamie hovering halfway up the stairs, listening. He makes the ‘OK’ sign with his finger and thumb.

  ‘What’s up, Joni?’ Mum says from the sofa, her voice heavy. Maybe I shouldn’t be bothering her with this, but surely she’ll see a poster or speak to one of the neighbours at some point.

  I take a deep breath and go for it. ‘Well, it’s about the buyout,’ I say. I show her the leaflet and poster and explain what we’re doing. ‘And we’ve got stuff going on online too. We’re starting to pick up followers. We already have fifty signatures on the petition.’

  Mum sits still, taking this in. She smells like antibac gel and faintly of sweat and I know she just wants a bath and sleep. But she makes an effort to focus on me and sighs again. ‘This is all lovely, Joni, and I can see how hard you’ve worked, but I don’t want you to spend so much time on this when you should be studying.’

  What?

  I suck in a long breath through my nose and then let it out slowly. ‘So you want us to give up before we’ve even tried?’

  ‘It’s not that, it’s just, I’m a bit older than you, sweetheart. I’ve seen a few more things. You’ve got to remember, people round here … They’re not used to, well, this sort of thing.’

  ‘You reckon no one will come? This isn’t only about us, Mum. Most of the people round here can’t afford the new rent either.’

  ‘Yes, but others can. There’ll be plenty of people who’ll want to move in when –’ Mum breaks off and looks around the room, lips pursed. ‘And a big company like White Light? There’s no fighting them.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  Mum puts her hand on my arm. ‘I do, love. I’ve been to the Council and Citizens Advice and they’ve said there’s nothing they can do. White Light aren’t doing anything wrong, legally speaking.’

  I didn’t know that; she never said.

  ‘But it is wrong.’ It bursts out of me. ‘You’ve got to see that. It’s like what Jamie said, about those billionaires and the rest of the world.’ I know I’m not making much sense, but I plough on anyway. ‘Other people will see it’s wrong if we explain what’s happening. And then it’ll be, I don’t know, like bad PR or something, right? And White Light might back down on the rent stuff.’

  Mum gives me this sympathetic look, but doesn’t say anything. It makes me even more angry.

  ‘I just don’t think you should be getting your hopes up. We’ve got to be realistic,’ she says.

  I think about all the times Mum and Dad have said not to rock the boat, to be happy with what we’ve got. But this time it’s different, surely she can see that? Why shouldn’t we at least stand up and say it’s wrong? Even if it doesn’t get us anywhere.

  I clench my teeth together and breathe out hard. Then I square my shoulders. ‘You can’t stop us doing this. We’re going to anyway. I don’t care what you think.’

  I never talk to Mum like this and her face works to stay calm as she looks at me.

  Eventually, she says, ‘Well, as long as you get all, and I mean all, your coursework and revision done, there’s no harm in it, I suppose. Just understand these things rarely go how you want them to. We’ve got to prepare ourselves for, well, what’s probably going to happen. And you’re not to tell your dad. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.’

  What – like staying in bed all day? I want to say, but even I know that’s too cruel. As much as I want my normal Dad to roll his sleeves up and start fighting with us, I also know he just can’t at the moment. And I know Mum’s picking up so much slack she’s permanently shattered, even with me, Jamie and Jack getting in the shopping and doing the cooking, but I can’t help it; I can feel my temper pushing up and up until I have to let it out.

  ‘Fine. You do that. I’m going to save my energy for actually doing something, not just sitting about waiting to get screwed.’

  ‘Joni!’

  But I’m already walking out of the room.

  Jamie’s looking down from his perch on the stairs. ‘Blimey. And I thought I was the only one with balls in this house,’ he says.

  The next day is my last one at the cleaning company. I meet up with the woman, Grace, who hired me, in the little coffee shop tucked up one of the side alleys at the end of the High Street, away from the main tourist bit. She gives me my last week’s money – just over thirty pounds, which isn’t bad going – and says if she needs cover again she’ll shout.

  Part of me is relieved to get out of the creepy offices and have more time, but the other part is conscious Jack’s school trip fund is going nowhere. I made the first instalment, but the second is due any day and I need to stop off at the shops on the way back home for washing powder and tea bags. There always seems to be things we’re running out of. And last week I gave Mum some of my library wages for petrol, so she could get to work.

  Deal comes around later and with Jamie we make the rounds of the neighbours. Some of them don’t want to know, or don’t answer their doors, even though it’s not that late in the evening, but most are worried, and angry. Dave’s at Number 26 and when we knock on his door and tell him about the meeting he nods several times. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there.’

  One old lady I don’t know smiles at us and offers us a biscuit from a packet of broken Rich Tea. ‘Good on you. About time someone stood up to this nonsense,’ she says, before Deal or Jamie have even had a chance to really get into their spiel.

  By the time we’ve finished, at least twenty people have said they’ll come and some have said they’ll help spread the word too. I save Lorraine next door for last and say to Deal, ‘I’ll speak to her on my own. She’ll be more likely to listen if –’ I stop, not wanting to say if he’s not there, but I reckon she’ll respond better to someone she knows than a stranger.

  Deal nods.

  Lorraine answers in tracky bums and a big T-shirt, which isn’t like her. ‘You’ve caught me at a bit of a bad time. A
lthough you’ve not got a tea bag, have you?’

  I run home to get one and then we go into her kitchen, which is similar to ours but with loads and loads of plants everywhere so it’s like a jungle. We sit at the table with a cup of tea. I have to shunt a heap of washing over to one side to make room. Lorraine heaves herself down with a low groan, one hand on her back. When she got the sugar down I saw rows of boxes of pills and medication for her diabetes in the cupboard. I get a twinge of guilt for judging her: I can tell from her face she’s in pain because she’s got that same shadowy look to her face Dad gets. So that makes another time I jumped to a conclusion and got it wrong, just because I was jealous someone had something I didn’t.

  ‘How’s your Jack?’ Lorraine says.

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘And your mum and dad?’ She looks at me closely and I weigh up what to say in my head, knowing whatever it is will be round the whole street before you know it. But that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? If we can get Lorraine on side she’ll bully and cajole everyone into joining in. I still remember the street party for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Lorraine organised when I was twelve. It was kind of epic. I smile, remembering the bunting we put up, all the food, everyone laughing together and setting off fireworks in the evening. We even rigged up a net to play volleyball in the street and Lorraine organised face painting and dragged out a massive ancient stereo for dancing. It was one of those days you could feel like part of something. Maybe we can get the whole community together again.

  So I give her the edited highlights of the last few weeks: Mum working and Dad so down, plus our ideas for fighting the buyout.

  Lorraine listens through without interrupting, then gets out her letter. ‘I spoke to your mum about this. She’s been up the Citizens Advice and they said there was nothing doing.’

  ‘Well, we don’t think so. We want to do something.’

  ‘You reckon it’ll make a difference?’ I see the lines on her face, the scepticism in her eyes, mixed with a kind of wary tiredness and for some reason Dad’s face when he got back from his disability assessment comes to me.