by Gwyneth Rees
Upstairs, I shut my bedroom door and pushed a chair up against it. Then I fished Mum’s diary out from under my mattress. Flicking through it quickly, I discovered that the second half of the book was empty. She must have got fed up and stopped writing it. The last entry on the twenty-third of June was scrawled in huge untidy letters:
‘I HATE HER! She ALWAYS gets Mum on her side. Just because HER hair looks all pretty with a ribbon in it Mum says I’VE got to wear one to Guides tomorrow as well. My hair looks stupid with a ribbon. Everyone’s going to laugh. I want to take it out before we get there, but I know that if I do she’ll tell on me when we get home. It’s not fair! I used to love Guides before SHE joined. Now all she does is spy on me and report back to Mum all the time. Anyway, I’ve figured out a way to get rid of her once and for all! I’m going to try it out tomorrow! I’ll let you know if it works!’
And that was it. There was nothing else written in the book. It was really frustrating. I flicked through the blank pages again, just to check, and then I saw it. At the top of one page, about a week later, a single small tidy sentence was printed: ‘Kathleen’s funeral was today.’
I dropped the diary. I felt sick.
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t say anything to Mum that evening. Call me a coward if you like, but would you be able to march downstairs and ask your mother if she’d murdered her little sister twenty-three years ago? Wouldn’t you rather just convince yourself that there had to be some other explanation because, let’s face it, your mum was your mum and there was no possible way she could ever have murdered anybody? I mean, the whole idea was completely fantastical. I refused to even think about it any more.
The trouble was that, even though I refused to think about it, I still felt terrible. I just said I wasn’t hungry when Mum wanted to know why I couldn’t eat up all my tea, and when I woke up sweating in the night with a really scary dream, I didn’t do what I usually do when I have bad nightmares, which is to go into Mum’s room. Instead, I did what Mrs Bishop (who never lets her children wake her up in the middle of the night) says you should do if you have a bad dream. I turned on to my other side and tried to imagine some sheep in my head so I could count them.
I was really groggy when Mum got me up the next morning – the sheep had taken ages to work – and I was glad I’d got all my things ready the night before to take to Marla’s.
‘Here.’ Mum handed me my kilt as I rolled out of bed. Try this on again. I’ve altered the button.’
I took it from her and wrapped it round my waist, fastening it over the top of my pyjama bottoms. The thought of my Highland Dancing competition this afternoon made me feel ill. I stood stiffly as Mum hugged me and kissed my hair and said, ‘I wish I was coming to see you dance today. I will be there next time, I promise.’
‘Unless you’re on call or something.’ I pulled away from her, undoing the kilt. ‘What time is Marla coming?’ She was feeling bad about leaving me behind, I knew, but I didn’t feel like helping her to feel any better.
When she’d gone downstairs to join Hamish – he’d stayed the night last night – I put on my jeans and my favourite top, which she’d ironed for me yesterday. Like I said before, it’s usually unheard of for Mum to iron anything a whole twenty-four hours in advance, and her having done it now made me feel even worse. It reminded me of the last time Mum had lain out all my clothes in readiness for me like this, which was on the morning of Grandpa’s funeral in Scotland. That morning Mum had been really tense too and there had been the same we’re-all-going-to-burst-into-tears-if-we’re-not-careful sort of atmosphere. I remember Mum had nearly had a fit because Dad said he thought I was too young to go to the funeral.
‘There’s no such thing as being too young to go to a funeral! Children need to say goodbye the same as everybody else!’
‘Well, let’s hear what Laura thinks shall we?’ ‘Don’t you dare do that to her! Don’t you dare make her take sides!’
‘Why? Because you’re afraid she’ll take my side?’ I suddenly realized I was breathing very fast indeed. I had that horrible, gnawing, wanting-something feeling again right in my middle. I sat down on my bed, hugging myself, taking quick, sharp breaths, trying to slow them down to longer, slower breaths, counting each one from one to ten over and over, like Mum had shown me when I’d had these panicky feelings before. I used to get them quite often for a long time after Dad left, at least Mum said it was to do with Dad leaving. I thought it was really unfair, the way she blamed everything on that. I mean, I know I stopped doing so well at school after he left but it wasn’t because I was sitting there missing him or anything. I don’t really know why it was, except that I just couldn’t be bothered to race Janice any more to see who could get their sums done quickest, or put up my hand when I knew the answer to one of our teacher’s questions. I hardly ever did my homework either, and Mum seemed to have forgotten there was any such thing as homework until she got called up to the school about it. She got much stricter with me after that, but in the end what made me start working properly again was the way she kept blaming every spelling mistake I made or sum I got wrong on the adverse effect of Dad’s leaving until I just couldn’t stand it any longer.
Downstairs I could hear the front door being opened and Mum and Marla’s voices, high-pitched, in the hall. I glanced at the time on my alarm clock. We would have to leave for the airport soon. We were all going in Marla’s car, then Marla and I were going back to her house.
‘Laura, I know you don’t want us to miss our plane, so could you get a move on, please?’ Mum shouted up the stairs.
I glanced round my room to see if I’d forgotten anything, then I slipped my hand under the mattress and pulled out Mum’s diary I put it on top of the other stuff in my bag and zipped it up.
I went downstairs. They were all in the kitchen. Mum was standing at the sink, vigorously splashing soapy water over the breakfast dishes. She wasn’t wearing her rubber gloves, which she usually only neglects to do if she’s in a very bad mood or a very major flap about something. Hamish and Marla were sitting at the kitchen table watching her warily. Mum turned when I came into the room, and said carefully, ‘Laura, I made you cup of tea but it’s gone cold. Do you want some cereal or something?’
‘Hadn’t we better get moving, Sylvie?’ Hamish said, tapping his watch before I could reply. ‘We don’t know what the traffic to the airport’s going to be like.’ He grinned good-naturedly at me as he added, ‘Now, Laura, as Italy is the home of the ice-a-cream-a please tell us what-a flavour you would like us to bring home for you!’
I would have laughed at his pathetic attempt to talk in a funny Italian accent (which I know was meant to cheer me up) but Mum suddenly snapped, ‘For God’s sake, Hamish, stop teasing her, will you?’ and glared at him as if she couldn’t stand the sight of him any longer.
Hamish looked taken aback.
I stared at her in astonishment.
Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, Marla stood up quickly, placed her hands on my shoulders and firmly propelled me out of the door. ‘Let’s fetch your things from upstairs, shall we?’
I only made a pretence of joining in as Marla noisily flapped round my room checking for things I might have forgotten to pack. I was too busy straining to hear what was happening downstairs. Were they having a row? Was Mum going to change her mind about going to Venice with him? Presently I heard the phone tinkle in Mum’s room, which meant the phone downstairs was being put down. Who had they been phoning? What was going on?
Marla was unzipping my bag to put my slippers inside. ‘What are you doing with this?’ She was taking Mum’s diary out of the bag. I froze. I knew from the way she was holding it that she recognized what it was.
She looked right into my eyes. ‘What are you doing with this?’ she repeated.
I opened my mouth but no words came out.
‘Laura . . .’
‘I’m just borrowing it,’ I mumbled.
�
�And your mother knows?’
I stared at her, terrified. Lying to Marla was a pretty suicidal thing to do. Oliver used to lie to her all the time and as far as I remember, even with all that experience, he never managed to get away with it. But if I told her the truth –
‘Laura, does your mother know you’ve got this?’ She looked so stern my knees started to tremble.
I didn’t answer. I was starting to back towards the door.
‘Got what?’ Mum demanded. I jumped. I’d backed straight into her. How long had she been there? How much had she heard? Had she seen the diary? How could I possibly escape before Marla had a chance to tell on me?
‘Listen, we’ve just booked a taxi to take us to the airport. We think it’ll be easier.’ She was frowning at my terrified expression. ‘Laura, I’ll only be gone for three days.’ And suddenly, to my absolute horror, she started to cry.
Marla instantly stepped forward, holding the diary out of sight, saying firmly, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sylvie. Laura’s a big girl. Of course she can cope with you going away for such a short while. Can’t you, Laura?’
And suddenly, because Mum was crying, I really wanted her to have her holiday with Hamish, even though I still didn’t want her to leave me. It was all really confusing. ‘It’s OK, Mum,’ I said, rushing to fetch my box of multicoloured tissues to offer her one.
Mum gave a weak smile, sniffing as she pulled out a tissue. Marla zipped up my bag again and handed it to me to carry. I didn’t know where she’d put the diary but I didn’t care, just so long as she didn’t let Mum see it.
Hamish was standing in the hall, clutching Rory ‘He promises to be good,’ he announced, raising Rory’s right paw and pulling a solemn Boy Scout face on his behalf.
‘Marla, are you sure this is OK?’ Mum flapped.
‘Sylvie, stop panicking. Laura is in charge of the cat and I am in charge of her. What could possibly go wrong?’
I stood with Mum, holding Rory, while Hamish and Marla carried the things out to the taxi, which had just arrived.
‘Remember what happened with Dad’s taxi when he was on his way to the airport?’ I murmured, rubbing my face against Rory’s head. When Dad had called in to say goodbye to me, he’d kept his taxi waiting so long that it had nearly driven off without him. (Secretly I’d been praying that it would drive off without him and that he’d miss his plane and have to come back and stay with us and that while he was staying with us he’d decide that he didn’t really want to leave after all.)
‘Laura . . .’ Mum looked close to tears again and I suddenly had a horrible feeling that I’d mentioned Dad deliberately to make her feel bad. But I didn’t really want her to feel bad.
I dropped Rory and flung my arms around her, clinging to her really tightly. I didn’t even care that Rory had shot out the front door and that Marla was shouting to Hamish to catch him and nearly having a fit.
The taxi tooted again. It reminded me of Dad’s taxi, tooting its horn over and over. Tears were starting at the backs of my eyes. I felt completely helpless and horrible, like I wasn’t going to see Mum again for a very long time, even though I knew I was going to see her again in three days.
As their taxi disappeared from view I felt incredibly empty. I felt as though a giant hand had reached right down into me and scooped out all my insides. Then I felt as though Hamish and Mum had taken my insides with them. Marla put her arm round me. ‘Come on. Now that your mother’s out of the way, let’s go and find the chocolate biscuits.’
While Marla was making tea in the kitchen, I sat in the front room cuddling Rory, who we’d managed to entice back into the house with us.
I thought Rory looked sad, as if he was missing Mum already too. ‘She’ll be back in three days,’ I told him sternly. ‘Three days is hardly any time at all.’
I was trying to work out how long three days actually was in cat-time (because our vet told us that one year for a cat is the same as five years for a human being) when Marla swept into the room carrying a tray.
‘Tea,’ she announced. Sitting on the tray, between the teapot and the chocolate digestives, was Mum’s diary.
I stared at the grubby little book. I couldn’t believe I’d completely forgotten about it like that.
‘I think we should have a little talk about this now, don’t you?’ Marla said, putting down the tray very carefully and picking up the diary.
Chapter Fourteen
As soon as I’d finished telling everything to Marla I felt like I’d betrayed Mum and I started sobbing all over again. Mum would never come back from Venice now. Not when she found out I’d read her diary. Not when she knew that I knew about Kathleen –
‘Laura, stop that crying. It’s giving me a headache.’ Marla was frowning. ‘I don’t know what to say. I know your mother wanted to wait until you were older before she told you about Kathleen. She thought you’d understand it better then.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Well, understand that . . . Understand that what happened was . . .’ She sort of gasped and stood up. ‘No. It’s not right for me to tell you this.’
‘But—’
‘Come on.’
‘But—’ I wanted to know. I had to know. I wasn’t going anywhere until she told me.
‘Hurry up.’ She flung my coat at me. ‘We’re going to the airport. If we’re fast we might still catch them.’
Of course, there turned out to be sixty million sets of red traffic lights between our house and Birmingham Airport, and then Marla was in such a rush she missed one of the turn-offs and we lost about ten minutes trying to get back en route again.
‘Why am I doing this? I must be crazy!’ she kept wailing at two-minute intervals, while I sat holding in my breath, praying over and over again for the plane to be delayed and for them to still be at the airport.
‘Laura, we’re not going to make it. I’m sorry,’ Marla said as we turned into the road leading to the airport building. ‘Not unless their flight’s been delayed, and even then they’ve probably already gone through to sit in the departure lounge.’
‘You’ll have to tell me about Kathleen then,’ I answered fiercely.
She sighed. ‘Just go inside and have a look round for them while I park the car.’ She drew up at the taxi rank to let me out.
It wasn’t very crowded inside the airport building. Straight ahead of me were loads of check-in desks with several queues of people lined up with their baggage.
I stood still and scanned the place, searching for them. I could hear my heart thumping really loudly in my chest. Please be here. Please be here. A middle-aged lady stopped dragging her suitcase to ask if I was all right.
‘Yes,’ I nodded. ‘Yes. I’m looking for my mum.’
‘Are you lost?’ Her face creased up in concern.
‘No. No!’ I ran off in the direction of the check-in desks before she could interfere any more. Grown-ups are terrible when they start thinking you’re lost. They don’t listen to a word you say because they’re so busy panicking at the thought of having to do something about you.
I suddenly saw the check-in desk for Venice straight ahead of me. There was one couple standing there putting their bags on to the little conveyor belt. I walked up to stand behind them. Where was Mum? If she was in the departure lounge already, would they let me through to speak to her? Was there time for her to come back through to speak to me?
‘Laura! Thank God!’ Marla was looking flushed and hassled, hurrying towards me with her car keys in one hand and her handbag in the other. ‘I’ve parked on double yellow lines. I’m bound to get a ticket. I might even get the car towed away. I’d better go back and move it! Have you found out if they’ve gone through? I expect they have. This is all my fault, getting you wound up like this. I wasn’t thinking. I’m really sorry, darling.’ She seemed completely harassed and exhausted.
‘Marla. Look!’ I could hardly believe my eyes but there was Mum, closely followed by Hamish, heading towards the c
heck-in desk where we were standing.
‘Mum!’ I called, jumping up and down and waving madly.
‘Laura!’ Mum came rushing up to me and put down her bags.
‘What’s going on?’ Hamish asked as he joined us. Now the four of us were standing in a little huddle, causing an obstruction at the check-in desk.
‘Thank goodness we caught you,’ Marla said.
‘You nearly didn’t,’ Mum said. ‘I was having second thoughts about going, so Hamish took me for a cup of tea to calm me down. But why are you here? Has something happened?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Marla said quickly. ‘It’s just that Laura’s got something she badly needs to ask you. Laura, why don’t you and your mum go and sit down over there for a minute?’ She pointed to a row of empty seats nearby, while at the same time pulling Mum’s diary out of her bag and handing it to her. ‘Here. Laura’s read the last page of this and she’s rather distressed by it. She thinks she knows what happened to Kathleen.’ She exchanged a long, hard look with my mother. ‘It wasn’t my place to tell her, Sylvie, and she needs to be told. It’s not fair to make her wait until you come back.’ She turned to me again. ‘Laura, take your mother over there and tell her what you told me. Go on. It’ll be all right.’
I gave Marla a helpless look. I wasn’t so sure.
‘Mum, I didn’t mean to read it,’ I panicked, the minute we were sitting down with no one around to overhear us. ‘I found it by accident . . .’ I was leaning further and further away from her. I was close to tears. It suddenly seemed to me that Mum was a complete stranger, not my mother at all, as she sat quite still reading the diary laid open on her lap.
Her face was flushed and tense-looking. ‘What did you think when you read this, Laura?’
‘It’s just that . . . I know you hated her and you wanted to get rid of her and . . . But I know you couldn’t have . . . It’s just that . . .’ I started to sob, feeling worse than I’d ever felt in my whole life, worse even than on the day Dad left. ‘I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know’ I had moved a whole seat away from her now I wanted to run away, to take back everything I’d said, to put back the diary and pretend I’d never found it, to never ask any questions about Kathleen ever again. I was too frightened to find out the truth. I was too frightened in case it meant losing Mum.