I run up to Rev Cootes.
Behind me, I hear the churchyard gate clink open and shut and then Mrs Zas’s heels clip-clopping along the path through the cemetery.
‘Feather!’ Mrs Zas cries again. ‘Feather!’
‘I need to talk to Jake,’ I say to Rev Cootes.
‘I’m afraid he’s not here—’
‘I know he’s here,’ I say. ‘He’s always here.’
Mrs Zas is standing next to me now, catching her breath.
‘You should go and see your mother, Feather,’ she says.
‘No.’
‘I’m going inside to look,’ I say.
Rev Cootes stands up, wipes his hands on his cassock.
‘Feather, you have to calm down.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
He holds both my arms.
‘Look at me, Feather.’
I pull away from him.
‘Feather, please.’
Mrs Zas places her hand on my back. ‘Reverend Cootes is right, Feather, it’s important to be calm.’
So now they decide to team up? Great.
Rev Cootes clears his throat.
‘You’re right, Feather. Jake and Clay are together, but they’re not here. Jake came over and Clay was in a bit of a state, so they went for walk.’
Clay’s in a bit of a state? What does any of this have to do with Clay? And I love how Jake didn’t come to find me, to see how I was.
‘Where did they go?’ I ask Rev Cootes.
But I don’t need him to answer – I know exactly where they went.
The workmen are having a break. The diggers sit on the churned-up earth around the pool, their engines switched off. And then I see them, sitting on the bench a little way off from the Lido. Their heads are bowed so close they’re nearly touching. I take a step forward and, as I do, Jake cups Clay’s face in his hands and kisses him on the lips.
I stumble backwards.
And then I start running. I run faster than I’ve ever run before. I want to get out of here. I don’t want to see anyone from Willingdon ever again.
The bus is so crowded I have to stand. As I grip the handrail, I notice a family sitting at the far end: a mum, a dad, a boy and his little sister. They’re playing cards and eating sandwiches and laughing and nudging each other. That was meant to be us: me and Mum and Dad and Max. A proper family.
I think of Max being dead. And that if it hadn’t been for a stupid reporter with nothing better to do than snooping around a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, I would never have found this out.
When we get to Newton, I push down the aisle of the bus and jump out onto the pavement.
‘I’m afraid he’s busy,’ the receptionist says.
I’m standing in the offices of the Newton News, a couple of stuffy rooms above the dry cleaner’s on the High Street.
The woman looks me up and down. Sweat runs down the small of my back and my cheeks are burning.
I take a crumpled copy of today’s newspaper out of my bag and wave it at her.
‘This is important,’ I say. ‘Tell him Feather Tucker’s here.’
‘Why don’t you wait over there?’ She points to a bunch of grey, plastic chairs next to a coffee table.
Half an hour goes by and I reckon the receptionist has forgotten about me. I’m about to remind her when Allen comes out of one of the rooms. He’s laughing and two of his colleagues are laughing too and patting him on the back.
‘Good job,’ one of the guys says as they walk past the receptionist.
I stand up.
‘Yeah – good job, Allen!’ I say, mock-clapping him.
My claps echo off the dirty, beige walls.
Allen looks up. ‘Feather…’
The guys with him look at me and whisper to each other and mumble something to Allen.
He leans in to them and says, ‘I’ll catch up with you later,’ then Allen turns to me.
‘You didn’t have the right to print that stuff… or to take those photos.’
Allen tries to smile but his crooked mouth and his coffee-stained teeth just make him look even more stupid. He holds out his palms.
‘Feather, I’m a journalist, it’s my job to keep the community informed of important, local decisions.’
‘Is it your job to spy on people too? To make them trust you and then take advantage of them? To blurt out people’s family secrets to the world?’
I tear the article out of the newspaper, rip it up and throw it at him. It floats to the floor and lands on his stupid, squeaky shoes.
He doesn’t move.
‘I want the book back.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You stole it from Mum.’
He lets out a laugh, which makes me want to punch him.
‘I could call the police,’ I say. ‘Tell them how you lied your way into my house and then stole personal property.’
Allen goes quiet. Then he turns and goes back into his office. A moment later, he comes back with the book and hands it to me.
I look at the front cover like I’m seeing it for the first time: a little boy, Max. An adventurer. My brother.
I haven’t cried yet. About losing a brother. About people keeping his death a secret from me. But now tears push up my throat and into my nose and prick the backs of my eyes.
I gulp back the tears. I don’t want Allen to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
‘Don’t ever come near us again,’ I say.
And then I run out of the door and down the stairs. I stumble out onto the pavement and stand there, blinking at the bright sunlight and listening to the traffic whooshing past. Every bit of my life that I can remember flashes past my eyes. And it all feels like a lie.
34
I stay in Newton for hours, not knowing where to go or what to do, and then I realise that I’ve missed the 16.05 back to Willingdon. It’s the last bus. And then, knowing I have to face Mum some time, I walk home.
I trudge along the motorway for what feels like hours, my legs and arms aching from the race yesterday, my feet stumbling over the tufts of grass by the side of the road.
It’s dark. The stars are out. The village is quiet.
I knock on Mrs Zas’s door. A few moments later, a light pings on and I hear the sound of the footsteps on the back stairs.
She opens the door.
‘Oh, Feather.’ Mrs Zas holds out her arms and folds me into her chest and that’s when I let go: I let out big gulps and heaves and sighs and I cry until it’s like all the water in my body has dried up.
Then I pull away and look up at her.
‘Can I stay with you a bit longer?’
She’s wearing a big kimono: a dragon stitched in gold curls up one of the sides. Her blue headscarf is coming loose; she must have put it on in a hurry before answering the door.
‘Let’s have some hot cinnamon milk,’ Mrs Zas says.
I follow her upstairs to her kitchen and, as she’s warming the milk, I tell her about how I went to Newton to tell Allen what I thought about him. And how Dad’s left a million messages on my phone and I haven’t called him back. Because how can I go home? What am I meant to say to Mum?
Mrs Zas hands me my milk and then sits down in front of me. I look down into the mug and feel the steam on my cold face, breathe in the sweet cinnamon.
Mrs Zas cups her mug in her hands. ‘What is that saying you have in England? “Today’s news is tomorrow’s chip paper.” It feels like the end of the world now, Feather, but soon that journalist’s words will be forgotten.’
‘But what he wrote about, that won’t go away, will it?’
‘No, no, it won’t.’
I push my cup away. ‘You knew, didn’t you? About Max?’
She nods. ‘I did, Feather.’
‘So you all lied to me?’ My chest goes tight. ‘Everyone lied to me. And I’m not even allowed to be angry, because the lie’s about something terrible, something that made Mum sick… But I am
angry, I can’t help it.’ I shake my head. ‘You must all think I’m a real idiot – walking around the village without a clue about anything.’
Mrs Zas puts her hand over mine and presses down lightly.
‘You know all the important things, Feather. You understand people—’
‘But I didn’t know the most important thing of all, did I?’ My eyes are starting to sting again. ‘That I had a brother.’ I pause. ‘And that he died.’
‘It was your mother’s story to tell. We had to respect her wishes.’
I think about all the strange situations I haven’t been able to make sense of these past few months. Steph and Mum falling out at Christmas. How Steph kept going on and on about Mum needing to talk to me. I get it now: Steph wanted me to know about Max. She understood that even if Mum kept it from me, I’d find out about it sooner or later.
I look up at Mrs Zas. Her blue headscarf has shifted to one side. I notice, for the first time, that instead of the long, dark hair I’d always imagined she had underneath, there’s a bald patch.
‘Do you sleep in your headscarves?’ I ask.
She shakes her head. And then, without warning, she whips it off.
I look at her bald head under the kitchen lamp and suck in my breath.
You’d think it would be weird, seeing an old woman with no hair like that, but it brings out her cheekbones and the deep hollows of her eyes and her warm smile. She looks beautiful. And then it hits me. When people don’t have any hair, it’s because they’re sick. It’s because they have cancer. I can’t breathe.
‘You’re ill? Like your sister?’
Mrs Zas takes my hand. ‘I’m fine, Feather.’
‘So why?’
‘When my sister had chemotherapy, I shaved my head to keep her company. And now that she’s gone, I suppose it’s a way of remembering her and what she went through. I suppose it’s my secret.’
She puts the headscarf back on and switches on her electric cigarette.
I let out a long breath.
‘Is that why you smoke those?’ I ask, nodding at the e-cigarette. ‘Because of your sister’s cancer?’
Mrs Zas nods then smiles. ‘If I see Irinka in heaven, I’m going to force her to smoke these.’ She smiles again. ‘They’re disgusting!’
‘She smoked?’
‘Like a chimney.’
‘Even though she was a dancer?’
‘She said it helped her. That it expanded her lungs.’ Mr Zas takes another puff. ‘They were different times. And you know better than anyone that people don’t always do what’s good for them.’
‘You’re going to stay, aren’t you?’ I blurt out.
‘I’ll do everything I can to make sure that happens.’ She squeezes my hand. ‘Why don’t you go home, Feather? Your mum must be so worried.’
I look out of the window and across The Green. The cottage is dark, all except Mum’s room.
‘You know how you said I had to love her? That it was only love that would make her better?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘I don’t think I can. Not any more.’
‘Loving someone isn’t just a feeling, Feather. It’s a choice. And it’s an action. And, yes, it takes all the courage we’ve got. But if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you have courage.’
‘I don’t… not for this…’
She looks at me and smiles. ‘Yes, you do’ Then she gets up and holds out her hand. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you over.’ Very slowly, I nod. I take my mug and put it in the sink. ‘You’ve had company?’
She blushes.
I didn’t think anyone came up here except me.
For the first time today, I feel a smile spread across my face.
‘Rev Cootes?’
‘Peter looked like he could do with a drink.’
‘Peter?’
‘Isn’t that his name?’
‘I didn’t know he had a name.’ I laugh. ‘I mean, he never told me he was called Peter…’ I look back at the mugs in the sink. ‘You made him cinnamon milk?’
She nods. ‘He liked it.’ She blushes even more. ‘He said he would make me a cup of tea next time.’
‘You’re going on a date?’
‘We’re going to have a cup of tea together.’
For a second, I forget all the horribleness of today and throw my arms around Mrs Zas and hold her tight.
‘What’s that for?’ Mrs Zas whispers into my hair.
‘I’m just happy that you’ve found each other.’
And then I think about Rev Cootes’s wife and how she’s sitting on her own in a nursing home and how he still loves her. Why does life have to be such a mess?
‘Did you know that Peter can’t drive?’
I shake my head. Though I guess it makes sense, I’ve never seen him in a car.
‘Well, I’m going to drive him to visit Rosemary.’
‘You are?’
She nods. ‘I think Rosemary and I will get on.’
I wish the stupid immigration authorities could be here right now, listening to Mrs Zas. I want them to see how amazing she is: how she shaves her head because she wants to honour her sister; how she’s made me feel better on the worst day of my life; how she’s going to help a lonely old man visit a wife who doesn’t even know who he is any more – and all because she’s a good person who wants to make other people’s lives better. If England were filled with people like Mrs Zas, it would be a much better place for everyone.
Mrs Zas guides me down the stairs. She puts her coat over her kimono and we walk across The Green together.
When I see Houdini’s empty kennel, I remember that he’s missing. I should have gone after him this morning – goodness knows what’s happened to him.
Mrs Zas puts her arm around my shoulders.
‘He’s fine,’ she says.
‘He is?’
She smiles. ‘Peter has taken him in.’
My mouth drops open. ‘Rev Cootes took in Houdini? But he hates Houdini.’
My mind flits to a picture of Houdini sitting at Rev Cootes’s kitchen table, sipping tea out of his china cups, and a warm feeling floods through my body; and the first thought I have is that I want to run and tell Mum all about it because she’d find it hilarious. But then I realise that I can’t. There’s too much rubble between us right now. It will be ages before we can talk about those kinds of things again.
Mrs Zas looks over at Rev Cootes’s house. ‘Peter thought you and your parents might need a little time to yourselves.’
It comes back to me now, how they both stood in Rev Cootes’s garden this morning, trying to get me to calm down. And then I think about what happened next. How I found Jake and Clay together at the park. With everything else that’s happened, I’d blocked that out of my head. And I don’t have the energy to process it now either. I have to focus on Mum.
At the bottom of the ramp, Mrs Zas kisses my cheek.
‘Be brave, Miss Feather,’ she says, which makes my body tense up again. I don’t know how to be brave, not about this.
Light spills out of the crack in Mum’s curtains and I wonder whether she’s looking out at us.
I swallow hard and turn back to Mrs Zas.
‘What am I meant to say to her?’
‘Just listen, Feather. That’s all you have to do.’ She looks at Mum’s window. ‘Listen and be kind.’
‘How can I be kind – after everything?’
‘Because, whatever it is you’re feeling, it doesn’t come close to what your mum’s been through.’
‘But—’
‘There’s nothing so cruel in the whole world as losing a child. No mother ever gets over that.’ She holds my shoulders as if she wants to press her words into me. ‘So you have to be kind, Feather. There’s no other way. You have to listen and you have to be kind and you have to show her that you love her.’
Before I go in, I turn round and watch Mrs Zas striding back across The Green, her headscarf f
lapping behind her, the hem of her kimono trailing the grass, humming her turn, turn, turn song.
It’s a clear night. Above her, a fistful of stars shine down on Willingdon.
I look at the shops and cottages around The Green. Even though it’s late, there’s at least one light on in every home. Maybe Mum’s been right all this time, maybe they have been watching. Watching and waiting for Mum to finally tell me her secret.
35
I pause for a moment in the hall and take a breath. Considering everything that’s happened today, this is what I expect to find: Mum watching TV, her fist in a packet of crisps, junk-food wrappers everywhere and Dad hiding in his room or out on a pretend job. Basically, everything back to how it was before. Only worse.
I walk up to her door and wait for the smell of prawn cocktail crisps, chocolate and pineapple syrup to hit me. But it doesn’t. The window is open, fresh air blows through. I scan the floor: it’s clear of rubbish. The TV is off. A bowl of apples sits on Mum’s coffee table.
Maybe Mum and Dad have gone, I think. Maybe they’ve just run away.
And then I hear Dad’s snoring, a funny rattly sound like when something’s stuck in the Hoover. I take a step in. He’s asleep in Mum’s chair.
I look over to the bed. Mum’s propped against the headboard, her head bent over a copy of Max’s Marvellous Adventures. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, casting a shadow over the big white pages. Her fingers, more delicate than I remember them, turn the pages. It’s like I’m getting a glimpse of the mum who existed when I was a baby, when Max was still with us.
I take another step forward. The floorboards creak and Mum looks up.
‘The books were for him, weren’t they?’ I stare at the copy in her hand.
Mum nods.
‘Did you read them with him?’
She nods again. And then she looks straight at me.
‘Eleanor brought them back from America as a gift for both our boys.’
‘Max and…’ My mind races. Of course. ‘Eleanor brought them back for Max and Clay?’
‘Yes.’
I sit on the end of her bed and place the first book in the series, the one I got from Allen, on her lap.
Mum strokes the cover.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
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