by Jean Ure
“Can’t we just stay here?” I said. “Wait till Mum gets back?”
Gravely, Cal shook his head. He said, “I’m afraid that’s not really an option.”
“Why not?” Tizz sat up, very straight and aggressive. “So long as you stay here with us!”
“You know I can’t do that,” said Cal. He said it very gently, like he really regretted it, but I just had this feeling there wasn’t going to be anything we could do to persuade him.
Tizz’s face had gone all puckered. “Why can’t you stay with us?”
“Cos I’m not your dad. Not even your adopted one.”
“What does that matter?”
“It matters,” said Cal.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” said Tizz. She was blinking, rather furiously. Cal stretched out a hand and squeezed one of hers.
“Listen, baby, I’m not going to desert you! But we need to find somewhere safe for you. Just till your mum gets back.”
That was when alarm bells started ringing. “We’re not going into care,” I said. “Cal, please! Please! You can’t do that to us!”
“Sooner run away,” said Tizz, knuckling at her eyes.
Cal sat for a while in silence, a frown creasing his forehead.
“This Nikki,” he said. “Do you have a number for her?”
I shook my head. “Mum’s probably got it on her phone.”
“I take it you have tried calling your mum?”
“She’s switched her phone off,” said Tizz. “Either that or it needs recharging.”
“Or it’s run out of money.”
“So how about an address?”
“For Nikki? We haven’t got one.”
“Not even sure where she lives,” said Tizz.
“And anyway,” I said, “we couldn’t go and live with her. She’s an idiot!”
“Yeah, I remember,” said Cal. “I just thought she might have some idea where your mum could have gone. What about the place they used to work? Chicken ’n’ Chips, or whatever it was?”
“It closed,” said Tizz.
“Hm.” Cal drummed his fingers on the table. “In that case, I wonder…”
Me and Tizz sat waiting. What was Cal going to say?
“I wonder if there’s any way we could get in touch with your nan?”
Our nan? We stared at him. We didn’t even know we had a nan!
“You never hear from her?” said Cal.
Silently, we shook our heads.
“Your mum never mentions her?”
A faint memory came back to me. “I think she might have done,” I said, “one time when I was little and I was, like, refusing to eat my sprouts, or something.”
“You still do,” said Tizz.
“I know, I hate them!”
“And Mum always lets you off.”
“Yes, cos she says she doesn’t believe in forcing a person to eat stuff they really don’t like, but her mum used to make her sit there until she’d cleaned her plate. That’s what she told me.”
“Sounds about right,” said Cal. “I always gathered she was a bit of a martinet.”
I looked at him, doubtfully. I didn’t know what a martinet was, but it didn’t sound like it was anything good. Tizz, boldly, said, “I never heard Mum say that, and what’s a mart’net?”
“Someone who’s very strict,” said Cal. And then, catching sight of my face, he quickly added that it could just have been Mum’s interpretation. “She’d have been a handful, you can bet.”
Tizz, in her aggressive manner, immediately demanded to know how. “How would Mum have been a handful?”
“Playing up?” said Cal. “Acting out? Never doing what she was told.”
I thought privately that it sounded a bit like Tizz, but I didn’t say so. I wanted to hear more about this unknown nan. Already I was starting to not like the sound of her.
“I just met her the once,” said Cal. “Remember when you lived in Portsmouth? Some dreadful dump down near the Docks. D’you remember?”
I did, vaguely, though we had lived in lots of places since.
“I don’t,” said Tizz.
“You were too young. And Sammy wasn’t even born. Anyway, this woman suddenly turned up when your mum was out, saying she was Deb’s mum, so I let her in and said she was welcome to wait, and I remember she sat there looking like she’d stepped into a pig sty and got pig muck on her. Ugh!”
Cal gave a little high-pitched shriek and a ladylike shudder and crossed his legs. Both Tizz and me giggled.
“Mind you,” he said, “I can’t honestly blame her. Your mum was going through one of her bad patches. The place really was a bit like a pig sty. I was pretty glad to get out of it. I guess I should have stuck around, but—”
“You had itchy feet,” I said. I didn’t want Cal feeling guilty.
“Is that what your mum says? I’ve got itchy feet? Well, I guess she’s right. But I should have stayed on. I was really worried about you kids, how your mum was going to cope. I kind of assumed, now your nan had turned up, that she’d take care of things. See, I’d really just dropped by to say hallo, and – then I was off. I didn’t stay around long enough to check how things worked out. It was only later, like months later, I found out what had happened. Seems your mum and your gran had a big bust up. A real set-to. You know what your mum’s like when she loses it. She said your nan was an interfering old – well, I won’t say what she called her, but apparently your mum told her to get out of her life and stay out, and as far as I’m aware that’s exactly what she did. You say she’s never been in touch?”
“No, and if she had,” said Tizz, “I wouldn’t want to speak to her! Not if she upset Mum.”
I loved Tizz for being so loyal, but I knew that when Mum was going through one of her bad patches it could make her a bit unreasonable.
“I reckon what it was,” said Cal, “she thought your nan was having a go at her. Which she probably was. And that’s one thing your mum can’t stand. I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s one of the reasons she moved. So your nan wouldn’t be able to trace you.”
“Did we ever meet her?” I said. “Cos I don’t remember.”
Cal said no, we’d both been at school.
“How old were we?” I said.
“Well… when did you move to Southampton? Some years ago. You must have been about… five?”
And now I was twelve. “If she hasn’t bothered to get in touch after all this time,” I said, “she obviously doesn’t want to know.”
“That doesn’t necessarily have to be true,” said Cal. “If she didn’t have your new address, what was she supposed to do?”
“She could have hired a private detective,” said Tizz. “If she’d really wanted to find us, that’s what she’d have done.”
“Well, yeah, OK, maybe. But if your mum gave her a load of mouth—”
“If Mum was rude to her,” said Tizz, “she must have deserved it!”
“But she is still your nan. We’re going to have to try and find her.”
My heart sank. “Do we really have to?” I said. “Can’t we just wait for Mum to come back? I know you have itchy feet, but it’d only be for a few days and then you could go off again.”
“Baby, I’m not going anywhere,” said Cal. “But I don’t think we can take it for granted that your mum’s just going to turn up on the doorstep. She might, she might! I’m not saying she won’t. But remember I asked you what you’d have done if I’d been the police? It might be time that we actually went to them.”
“The police?”
“We might have to. Your mum’s missing. We need to find her.”
Angrily Tizz said, “She’s not missing! She’s just doing her own thing, like she did last time.”
“If she’s not been taking her meds,” said Cal, gently, “she probably doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
I knew, deep down, that Cal was right. “But if we go to the police,” I wailed, “they’ll say Mum’s neglecting us a
nd they’ll take us into care!”
“That’s why we have to find your gran. Now, let’s get our thinking caps on! My thinking cap. I’m trying to remember anything your mum might have told me about her.” Cal stood up and began pacing the room. “One thing I remember, she was fraffly fraffly.”
“What’s fraffly fraffly?”
“Fraffly posh, dontcha know? A bit like the Queen… except she barked a lot.”
“Like a royal corgi,” I said.
“Yeah! Good one.” Cal laughed. “Like a royal corgi. Oh, and yeah, it’s coming back to me… she was like the Queen. She was horsey! Ran a riding stables. Somewhere in the New Forest. Place called…” He tapped a finger against his teeth. “Began with a B… Black – Brack – Brock – Brockenhurst! That was it. Your mum once told me how she was brought up there. They moved there after your granddad died. Let’s Google it! Riding stables in Brockenhurst. Where’s your computer?”
“It doesn’t work,” I said. It hadn’t worked for months. Probably because it had been second hand and already worn out when we got it.
Cal clicked his tongue, impatiently. “OK! Let’s try the telephone book.”
“Haven’t got one,” said Tizz.
“We have,” I said. “We’ve got a yellow one.”
“Yellow pages,” said Cal. “That’ll do.”
I scampered off to get it, pleased that I had remembered and Tizz hadn’t.
“I bet it’s out of date,” said Tizz.
She obviously wanted it to be. She was just so-o-o jealous! But Cal said it didn’t matter if it was a few years old.
“We know your nan was round six, seven years ago, so at least, with any luck, it’ll give us a number.”
“But she mightn’t still be there!”
“In that case there’ll be new people running the place and the chances are they’ll be able to tell us where she’s gone.”
“If they know,” muttered Tizz.
“We can but try.”
Tizz went, “Huh!” It occurred to me that she didn’t actually want Cal to find this unknown nan. I wasn’t sure that I did, either. But I meekly handed over the directory, all tattered and torn and scribbled over, and watched anxiously as Cal leafed through the pages.
“There’s three that seem likely. Number one, New Forest Riding School. Let’s give it a go… OK, it’s ringing… Hallo, good morning, I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a Mrs Tindall?”
I held my breath. I think Tizz must have been holding hers, as well, cos she let it out in a great whoosh! as Cal shook his head.
“Right. One down, two to go… let’s try the next one. Premier Stables and Livery… Yes, hallo! I’d like to speak with a Mrs Tindall?”
There was a pause. I could hear a voice speaking at the other end, but I couldn’t hear what it was saying. Then Cal said, “Thank you very much, that’s fine. I’ll do that. OK!” He turned to us, triumphant. “Call back in about half an hour. She should be there.”
I couldn’t think what to say. It was Tizz who burst out with, “Why is her name the same as Mum’s?”
“Tindall? Well—” Cal seemed puzzled by the question. “Your mum’s her daughter.”
“But Mum is Mrs Tindall.”
She meant that Tindall was Mum’s married name. The name of the man that had been my dad. It had to be. I knew it wasn’t the name of Tizz’s dad, cos that was Pike. Andy Pike. And Sammy’s dad had been O’Leary. So it had to be mine!
But Cal was shaking his head. “Your mum always kept her maiden name,” he said.
Tizz wrinkled her forehead. “Why would she do that? ’Stead of a married one?”
Oh, please! I rolled my eyes. Tizz saw me, and grew red.
“You mean, she never got married?”
“People don’t always,” said Cal. “Lots of people don’t. Not just your mum.”
I wondered, in that case, what my dad’s name had been. I’d never thought to ask. I’d just automatically assumed it was Tindall.
Tizz said, “Her Upstairs always calls Mum Mrs. She says –” Tizz folded her arms – “Mrs Tindall, I have cause to ask you yet again not to put your rubbish bin where mine is supposed to go.”
I had to giggle, cos she really did sound like Her Upstairs. Even Cal couldn’t help grinning.
“Let’s just hope we don’t bump into her before I take you down to your nan’s!”
“Do you really think she’ll want us?” I said.
“I’m hoping so.”
“Suppose she doesn’t?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” said Cal.
“S’ppose we don’t want to?” Tizz put the question, fiercely. “S’ppose we’d rather just stay here and wait for Mum? You don’t have to stay with us if you don’t want to. You didn’t before, and we managed all right. You could just lend us some money and we could look after ourselves, same as we’ve been doing. We’re not useless!”
“You’re not,” agreed Cal. “Ruby’s done a splendid job, holding things together, but it’s not fair expecting her to go on doing it.”
“She doesn’t mind! She likes bossing us around. Don’t you?” Tizz jabbed at me, daring me to say that I didn’t. “Tell him! You enjoy it.”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to go and live with this strange horsey barking person any more than Tizz, but I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on fighting battles, trying to get her and Sammy to do what they were told, always having to worry about whether there was going to be enough food, or whether someone was going to discover about Mum.
“Oh, you are such a wimp!” cried Tizz. She sounded thoroughly disgusted.
“Let’s not get too worked up,” said Cal. “We’ll see what happens when I speak to your nan. Why don’t you two go and keep Sammy company?”
“Why?” said Tizz, immediately suspicious. “What are you going to do?”
“I have one or two things I have to take care of.”
“You’re not going to call the police?”
There was a shrill note of alarm in Tizz’s voice. Soothingly, Cal said that he wasn’t. “Not before I’ve had a word with your nan. I wouldn’t do it without telling you, I promise.”
“He shouldn’t do it at all,” grumbled Tizz, as we wandered in to the other room to sit with Sammy. “It’s not up to him! She’s our mum.”
I didn’t say, “But he’s a grown up,” cos I don’t think grown-ups can always be relied on to make the right decisions, simply because they are grown up. They’re just the ones with the power. But a bit of me did reluctantly feel that Cal might be right. We had no idea where Mum was or what kind of trouble she might be in. Going to the police was a bit scary, but after all they are supposed to be there to help people. Not just to arrest them.
“Wonder what he’s doing?” said Tizz, when we’d sat patiently for half an hour. “D’you think he’s ringing her?”
“Dunno.”
“D’you think we should go and listen?”
I was tempted, but it would have seemed horribly like spying. Like Cal was someone we couldn’t trust. I said this to Tizz, but she angrily reminded me that it was us he was ringing about.
“We’ve got a right to know what’s happening!”
“He’ll tell us,” I said.
“But I want to hear what’s going on. I want to know what he’s saying!”
“So go and eavesdrop.”
Tizz started up, then sank back down.
“Both of us,” she said.
“No.” I wriggled myself deeper into the corner of the sofa. “I think we should wait till he’s done it.”
Tizz made a huffing sound.
“I’m not stopping you,” I said.
But it seemed that I was, cos she huddled into the other corner of the sofa and sat there scowling and hugging her legs up to her chin, looking like some kind of malevolent garden gnome.
“Know what?” I said. “If you went and sat in the backyard like that you’d do a great job
scaring the pigeons away. Her Upstairs might even give you a tip.”
Her Upstairs was forever complaining about the pigeons. She said they were no better than vermin and ought to be exterminated.
So I’ll thank you, Mrs Tindall, to stop encouraging them!
Personally I think pigeons have as much right to exist as we do, but Her Upstairs has this mad bloodlust thing where she just wants to kill. Rats, mice, foxes, geese. Omigod, she hates geese! She says they make a disgusting mess all over the park. She s—
“OK!” The door suddenly opened and Cal appeared. We swung round to face him.
“Have you done it?” said Tizz.
“I have, and everything’s sorted. Your nan’s going to look after you till your mum comes back. I said I’d take you down to her right away. Oh, now, come on!” Our faces had obviously fallen. “You know it’s the right thing to do. At least you’ll be safe and well cared for.”
“But she barks,” said Tizz. “And she’s fraffly fraffly!”
“She’s your nan,” said Cal. “To be honest, she didn’t sound that bad. I mean, yeah, sure, she barks a bit, but when I told her about your mum she didn’t hesitate. She said straight off that you should go to her.”
Tizz was scowling. One of her particularly ferocious scowls that scrunched up her whole face.
“Seems like we don’t get to have any say in the matter.”
“That’s what comes of being kids,” said Cal.
Tizz gulped. “It’s not funny!”
“Oh, baby, I know it isn’t.” Cal tried to put his arm round her, but she moved away, stiff and furious. “Nobody’s saying it’s funny. Not for you, not for your mum. But one thing you don’t want, and that’s to go into care. Believe me, I’ve been there! I was in care till I was sixteen years old. I’m not going to let that happen to you, which is why I’m taking you down to your nan. With any luck you’ll only be there for a day or two, and then your mum’ll be back. Now, let’s go see what you need to pack. Ruby! You’re in charge.”
We could only find one battered suitcase, so we had to cram lots of stuff into carrier bags. Sammy wanted to know where we were going.