Suddenly something occurs to me.
Kitt’s dagger eyes.
Her tight-lipped, stony face.
Maybe she has anger issues and is meant to be controlling them.
The chart on the wall of the loft, did Mr and Mrs Angelo put it up there? Do all those strange words and initials refer to ‘good’ behaviours the girls are working on?
‘Do you like being mean?’ Kitt now asks Lauren. ‘Does it feel good?’
If Lauren was a cat, her ears would be flat on her head right now, getting ready to lash out and –
‘OK, HOW MANY PEOPLE?’ the Haunted House attendant accidentally interrupts with a bellow as we all suddenly find ourselves next in line.
‘Three!’ Joelle says quickly, and, before I know it, she, Nancy and Lauren are ushered into a slowly trundling, morbidly decorated carriage.
Yay! I don’t have to sit with them, despite Mrs Mahoney’s best efforts.
‘AND YOU – HOW MANY PEOPLE?’ the attendant now barks at me.
No! Is this the moment I was dreading all week? The moment everyone sees me slouch on to a ride on my own?
‘Four,’ says Sunshine, ushering me into the front of the bat-covered car while she slips into the seat behind.
‘RIGHT, QUICK AS YOU CAN!’ says the attendant as Kitt slides on to the red-plastic banquette beside me and Pearl bobs down next to Sunshine.
Clunk! Clunk! go the barriers over our laps, locking me and Kitt and Sunshine and Pearl in pairs.
With a rattle and lurch of metal, our car and the one in front trundle forward along the tracks towards the dark swing doors that will lead us into the Haunted House.
Just as the front car pushes those doors open I see three faces turn to smirk at us, each as witchy as anything that’s probably inside. Joelle and Nancy are grinning at some viperish words spilling out of Lauren’s mouth, words I can’t make out.
OK, maybe only I can’t make them out.
‘Kitt,’ says Sunshine in what sounds like a warning voice, placing her hand on her sister’s shoulder.
Kitt gives a little twitch beside me, and glowers as the car in front of us lurches off into the tunnel with a thwack of doors and a demonic screech.
Now it’s our turn, and the car hurtles us forward into a pit of darkness with the deafening noise of screams, bells, roars and blood-curdling groans of agony.
But despite the gloom and the racket the ride’s a bit feeble really – no more scary than the kids who turn up at the door at Halloween. I mean, even in the gloom you can see that every looming neon skeleton, every gurning skull, every draping cobweb, every coffin, vampire, ghost and ghoulie looks a bit tatty and unconvincing.
Even though I’m being wobbled around, I grab my new camera out of my bag, thinking that I may as well take a few snaps to show Dot, since it’s more likely to give her a fit of giggles than a case of night terrors.
With my viewfinder, I focus on Kitt beside me – and see that her face is rigid.
Whoa … is she scared?
Or am I scared suddenly?
Her eyes in the darkness are glowing silver white.
Wait – maybe it’s a version of red-eye. Maybe I just need to read the instructions for my new camera later and find a button to switch off so it won’t –
WHOOSHHHH!
A momentary, intense glow of light fills the entire tunnel, so bright it practically X-rays my hands where they’re clutching the camera.
It’s such an impressive special effect that I take everything back that I said about the ride being useless.
‘EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK! AAARGGHHHHHHH!!!’
And that scream – it’s so real and heartfelt it sends shivers down my spine.
Thwack!!
We’re through the exit doors and out into the dazzle of daylight, the ride over. Except it’s not, for someone.
‘AAARGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!’ The screaming continues, even though the cars have clunked to a standstill, and the theme-park staff are ushering us off.
‘GET IT OFF ME NOOOOWWWWW!’ shrieks a voice that is unmistakably Lauren’s.
I bound out of the car and try to see what’s going on.
Oh, there … by the COME BACK AND VISIT US AGAIN SOO-OOO-OON sign. Boys are laughing and pointing as Joelle and Nancy desperately tear at something that looks suspiciously like giant cobwebs, which cling to Lauren’s head and shoulders.
She’s like a demented Bride of Dracula and sounds like one too.
‘AND THE SPIDERS! THE SPIDERS!’ Lauren shrieks again as scrabbling black specks hurtle down her face, neck and arms.
‘Chill out, Lauren!’ laughs a boy I recognize as Woody. ‘They’re only made of plastic!’
It must be an optical illusion. The toy insects really do look as if they’re moving – till they drop off with a plastic plink on to the ground and lie lifeless.
Click! snaps my camera, capturing the surreal moment.
‘It’s like half the Haunted House props collapsed on Lauren while she was in there!’ I say, turning to the others – and catching Sunshine mouthing something silently at Kitt: You shouldn’t have done that.
Kitt silently mouths something back: I know, I know – sorry.
Prickles and tickles – the hairs on my arms stand up as a shocking idea bursts into my head, like a firework set off too close for comfort.
Was that weirdness in the Haunted House somehow down to Kitt – and because of me?
And it’s not just the last few minutes on the ride that’s getting to me.
I mean, everything that’s happened over the last few days, it isn’t just coincidence after coincidence, is it?
I might have a talent for imagining things, but all the surprising, confusing, unbelievable moments this last week … could they be for real?
Most importantly, does it all have something to do with these sisters?
‘Sunshine?’ Pearl says out loud, pointing at me. ‘Should we …’
Sunshine and Kitt seem to shake themselves and remember I’m standing here. The clouds lift from Sunshine’s face and she instantly radiates a smile that could chase all your worries away. Nearly.
‘Riley,’ she says in her silky soft, calming voice, oblivious to Lauren still screeching and stamping in the background. ‘We have a present for you.’
Sunshine rummages in her bag and gently pulls out a flat rectangular parcel wrapped in white tissue and blue ribbon.
I feel instantly guilty, like I’ve been caught thinking treasonous thoughts.
Without making eye contact, I take the parcel Sunshine is holding out and tentatively pull at the bow.
Peeling the rustling paper back, I find myself holding a mirror-edged photo frame, delicately engraved with meandering swirls. Reflected in the silvered surround is the blue sky above us, dazzling my eyes.
‘It’s for a special photo,’ says Sunshine.
Wow, another coincidence.
Another strange and wonderful coincidence and it’s taken my breath away.
Though, like I say, I’m not sure I believe in those any more …
‘Do you have a special photo?’ Pearl asks, blinking hopefully at me.
‘I have the perfect one,’ I answer with a slightly croaky voice.
I’m picturing another image of blue sky: Mum on Folly Hill with arms flung wide and carefree, me curled up safe inside her.
It’s perfect.
It’s the most perfect present, better than … well, all the others I’ve had, lovely as they are.
‘Riley, are you crying?’ asks Sunshine, tilting her head in concern when she spots my tears. She and her sisters are staring at me like explorers who’ve discovered a new species of butterfly.
‘Oh!’ gasps Pearl. ‘We thought you’d be pleased!’
‘I am,’ I laugh. ‘These are happy tears!’
I rummage in my pocket, searching for a tissue I’m pretty sure is in there.
They’ve given me a present … does this mean they absolutely,
really, truly do like me? And am I ready to absolutely, really, truly trust these strange and special girls?
‘Riley?’
‘Yes?’ I say, glancing up at Pearl.
‘Don’t you want to get that?’
Pearl, smiling broadly at me, nods at my bag at the very second the trill of a text message pings through.
With a slightly trembling hand, I go to pick up the phone.
The Haunted House didn’t spook me, but my new sort-of-friends sort of do …
My eyes are squeezed tight shut.
So tight I can see spangles of bright light dancing against the darkness of my eyelids.
I’m straining to make out her voice, telling me that everything will be all right.
And I can hear a voice, only it’s not my mum’s.
‘Um, please don’t do that. If you scrunch your face that way, I can’t put your mascara on.’
I blink my eyes open.
The make-up girl is looming over me, her expression slightly weary.
No wonder – the noise is unbearable.
The rest of Year 7 went home as soon as the coaches dropped us back from Wildwoods Theme Park, but all of Y7C is here, packed into the library, gossiping and yakking and waiting for the crew from the local TV station to finish faffing around with sound-checks and lighting and mascara-ing and get on with making them all stars. In the background at least.
‘I’ll have to find some hairspray – I’ve got to do something about hiding that bald spot,’ the make-up girl grumbles, going off to rummage in another toolbox of styling products.
‘OK, Riley?’ asks Mrs Sharma.
She’s sitting on the stool next to me, her make-up already done, her baby sleeping peacefully in her arms.
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I tell her, my stomach in knots of worry.
‘Riley, I only just came out of hospital a few hours ago, and I’m doing it,’ she says.
‘But it’s your story,’ I point out.
‘And yours,’ Mrs Sharma says firmly.
It’s OK for Mrs Sharma – she’s confident and pretty, and will be able to look into the lens of a camera and smile and chat.
Ever since I got the text from Mr Thomlinson – just after we’d stepped off the Haunted House ride – I’ve felt sick, having found out that the local TV channel want to interview Mrs Sharma and me about her novelty birth for this evening’s news.
They’d picked up the story from the newspaper – the piece done in the hospital, of course. And, unknown to me, while I’d been mooching around Wildwoods, the TV people had arranged it all with my form teacher, my head, my dad even.
And so here I am, in complete shock, with a bald spot that’ll show up under the spotlight, and with no Tia to tell me it’ll be OK.
I can’t even turn to my are-they-aren’t-they friends, Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl.
At the theme park, by the time Mr Thomlinson had told me what was awaiting me back at school, everyone had already filed on to the waiting coach. Once I finally climbed aboard, I’d spotted Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl fast asleep together on the back seat – Kitt paper-pale in the middle with her foster sisters either side, protective arms wrapped round her. There was no space beside them – I ended up at the front again, stuck beside Mrs Mahoney this time.
So I didn’t have the girls’ company on the way home, and I haven’t caught sight of them since we arrived here.
Maybe they’ve gone home already?
After all, Kitt didn’t look too well after what happened – whatever that was – during the Haunted House ride …
‘I really can’t go out there, in front of the cameras,’ I mutter again, lost in the grip of fear and loneliness, with no one to help make me brave.
‘Come on, Riley – look at yourself! Look how you stand out!’ says Mrs Sharma, pointing across the room at the row of self-portraits on the wall. ‘Now do it in real life!’
OK, so my stark black-and-white photo does actually look quite good now I think about it, but that’s only because Tia’s has faded even more with the sunlight coming through the window, and Lauren’s has peeled off the wall altogether. (She was still peeling off cobwebs and raging all the way home on the coach.)
‘It’s all right, I suppose,’ I admit. ‘But it’s not as good as Tia’s.’
‘Actually, Riley … now you’ve mentioned her, I’ve been meaning to say something,’ Mrs Sharma says more gently. ‘You know, I think that perhaps Tia leaving might be good for you, in a way. I think on your own, you’ll blossom!’
Blossom?
Tia going to New Zealand is something I should be pleased about?
All my fondness for Mrs Sharma evaporates in a nanosecond.
How can she say something like that about my best friend, about the only person who ever stood up for me, who was ever on my side?
As the make-up girl comes back over, now armed with mega-hold hairspray, I have an urge to escape.
‘Got to go to the loo,’ I say, slipping off my stool and hurrying away.
‘Riley!’ Mrs Sharma’s voice trails behind.
‘Riley!’ a boy’s voice says close by. ‘I was telling the director guy about your photos.’
It’s Woody, all gangly and grinning, some dark spikes of hair falling over his brown eyes. Why is he blocking my way? Why is he holding up my holiday project? What’s he even doing here? He’s not in my class; he wasn’t part of what happened on Monday morning in the gym when Mrs Sharma went into labour. It was only Y7C that was asked to stay behind when the coach dropped us off here.
‘Anyway,’ he carries on, ignoring my confused expression, ‘the director asked me to stick this up on the wall where Lauren’s picture was, right next to your self-portrait, and he’s going to position you and Mrs Sharma there for the filming. Isn’t that cool?’
Huh? I don’t know why Woody’s acting like he’s my agent or something. OK, so it’s kind of him, but I’m way too frazzled to have this conversation; instead I bolt out of the library with a thud of swinging doors and hurry along the long cream corridor before anyone can stop me.
Happy birthday to me? I think as my head, heart and footsteps thunder. Ha! I just want to get off this roller-coaster of a day …
Suddenly, my thundering steps turn to pitter-pats as I begin to slow down and stare at the glints on the ground. Flickers of glitter – silver glitter – lead to the girls’ loos on the left.
(A sudden memory: Folly Hill, Tia telling me her news, the sense of glitter sprinkling on my face …)
Softly, without creating a creak, I push the door open and peek inside. And it seems as if I’ve walked in on an argument. Even if it does happen to be a silent one.
Sunshine’s normally calm face is a picture of anger, her finger wagging in Kitt’s face, her pretty lips moving fast and furious.
Kitt looks worn out, her head hung low, leaning back against a sink.
Pearl is on the other side of Kitt – a hand on the mirrored glass above the row of sinks – watching, listening and worrying, by the look on her delicate face.
‘Everything all right?’ I ask, wary of invading the space of these unknowable girls.
‘Yes,’ Sunshine says briskly, ditching her anger and her wagging finger and adopting an instant expression of serenity.
‘It’s fine,’ Pearl adds, dropping her hand and straightening up as she sees me.
Kitt says nothing, her eyes ringed with the bruised colour of exhaustion, but that’s not what’s made me jerk in surprise. It’s the silver fingerprints on the mirror, right where Pearl was resting her hand.
(Silver fingerprints on my front door the morning I waved Tia away, like some strange foretelling of things to come …)
‘Everything is … good!’ says Sunshine, her voice cracking a little as if she’s not quite telling the truth.
(Silver waves of glitter trailing along my garden fence … silver glitter on the cuff of my sleeve where Pearl touched it after Kitt stopped me from stepping in fr
ont of that car …)
Now I stare at Pearl, and see something that isn’t real.
Because I’m the girl who’s good at imagining things.
Because what’s peeking up behind her can’t be there.
Because a hump of white feathers is rising above her left shoulder, and that’s just not possible, is it?
(A single white feather fluttering on to my keyboard …)
My first instinct is to scream, to turn and run.
But I’m frozen to the spot, statue still.
These girls who’ve intrigued and confused and sometimes frightened me, I somehow feel flooded with the knowledge that they’d never hurt me.
Maybe that’s because – in the shocked silence of the moment – I can hear her voice far, far away, like a whisper on the wind, telling me, ‘It’s going to be all right, Riley …’
And a girl should always listen to her mum, shouldn’t she?
With a trembling hand, I reach out towards Pearl.
Kitt suddenly sees what I see and thrusts her own hand out, trying to force whatever it is down, but that’s not going to work.
‘Riley!’ Sunshine says insistently, stepping in front of the girls to hide my view.
Her petrol-tinted eyes as she gazes down at me, the irises seem to be moving swirls of deep blue, purple and green … swirls that are almost hypnotizing to watch.
But I’m not watching, because, with a rustle and a flutter, two beautiful white feathery wings are unfurling behind Pearl, their tips practically touching the ceiling of the girls’ loos.
‘Sorry!’ Pearl says in her little-girl voice. ‘I just couldn’t stop it!’
Sunshine closes her eyes and sighs.
It’s not the only sound; with another rustle and flutter and slight creak, a second pair of wings appear.
‘Kitt! Not you too!’ Sunshine positively groans, slapping her porcelain hands over her face.
‘I can’t help it, Sunshine. I’m tired after all the errant magic,’ says Kitt.
Errant magic? I mutter in my head, wondering what that is, though it seems almost unimportant considering what I’m currently staring at open-mouthed.
Angels Next Door Page 10