‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked her as soon as we were outside the school gates.
‘He’s at home, love. He’s resting. He needs to rest at the moment. Sometimes I don’t know whether it’s better for him to be busy with his work or just to stop for a while. Anyway, he’s already been to hospital. He’ll be asleep now.’
I followed her to her car without a word, deliberately getting into the back, because I thought that would stop her asking as many questions as if I was sitting next to her. I soon realised that my tactic was useless.
‘How was your day in general?’ she asked, peering at me in the rear-view mirror.
‘Fine.’
‘And when did you start feeling bad?’
I wanted to say ‘forty days and roughly four hours ago’, but I didn’t. Aunty Lyn didn’t give up and continued to watch me in the mirror. She was looking at me so intently that I worried she wasn’t paying attention to the road.
‘Around midday,’ I said eventually. ‘Just after lunch. I felt sick, but I’ll be OK.’
‘Of course you will. You and your dad will both be OK. That doesn’t make it any easier right now, though, does it?’
‘Mhmm.’ In situations like this, the shorter my answers were, the better.
‘Hey, when I was dropping your dad off earlier, I bumped into Shelley, your friend Lou’s mum.’
I gasped, but Aunty Lyn didn’t notice. If she’d seen her in the morning, there was no way Shelley would have known what had happened in the auditions, but still I felt awfully nervous.
‘What did she say?’ I asked.
‘She said she thought that you and Lou had fallen out and she figured that it was probably Lou’s fault. I think she feels bad about it. She tried to explain that Lou’s not very good at dealing with…’
‘I don’t care,’ I snapped, so suddenly that Aunty Lyn’s right leg jerked, causing her to brake and the driver behind to honk his horn. Neither of us said another word until we pulled up outside our house.
I stared out of the window at the spectral trees, their autumn leaves, clusters of reds and oranges, hanging on for dear life in the run-up to winter. My eyes settled on a pair of birds, swooping in V-shaped black patterns against the sky.
At home, Milo greeted me by jumping all over me and yelping.
‘Has he been taken out for a walk?’ I asked Aunty Lyn.
‘He’s had a run around the garden. Truth be told, I haven’t had time today, Izzy. I did the shopping, then took…’
‘Can I take him now?’ I interrupted. I knew exactly where I wanted to go.
‘You’re not feeling well. Why don’t you have a lie down and I’ll make you some peppermint tea to settle your stomach? You can always take him out later when you’re feeling better.’
Drat. I’d completely forgotten about the lie.
‘I’m feeling much better than I was,’ I improvised. ‘I could use some fresh air.’
She looked at me hesitantly and sighed.
‘Oh, well, if you think so… just take him for a short walk. Don’t be long, mind, and take your key in case we’ve left the house before you’re back. I’m taking your dad to the doctor at three o’clock.’
‘To the doctor? What’s wrong with him? Tell me,’ I demanded. ‘Is he ill?’
‘He’s not physically ill, Isabel. He’s just been feeling very under the weather, as I’m sure you know. I believe that seeing the doctor will help him. Honestly it will,’ she said, her voice wavered a bit. ‘I was thinking I’d make meatballs later. You always loved meatballs when you came round to ours. Would you like them for dinner tonight?’
‘Yeah, that would be good,’ I said. I grabbed my keys from the bowl, put on Milo’s lead and the moment that I was out of the door again, I felt better. I was worried about Dad of course but if he and Aunty Lyn were so preoccupied I certainly wasn’t going to tell them about what had happened in school.
I headed straight for Toby’s.
A woman with blonde, spiky hair answered. A galaxy of freckles dusted her cheeks. ‘You must be Izzy. I’m Anna, Toby’s mum. Toby’s told me all about you. Come in. He’s just in the back room doing some of his schoolwork.’
She patted Milo on the head and said nothing about him having to stay outdoors. I immediately liked her.
‘Do you fancy something to eat or a cup of tea?’
‘I’m OK, thanks.’
‘Sorry, the kitchen’s an absolute mess. We’ve been doing biology today and looking into the structure of cells. We’ve been creating a human cell and a plant cell from different things around the house, most of which ended up being kitchen ingredients.’
‘Hi,’ said Toby, emerging from what I guessed was his bedroom. I noticed something red and wobbly on his lap. ‘It’s a red blood cell,’ he announced. ‘More specifically a giant, edible red blood cell. It’s made out of jelly. Did you know that red blood cells don’t have a nucleus?’
‘Very good,’ replied Anna. ‘And why are they important?’
‘They carry oxygen around the body. And the average human has about thirty trillion of them. That’s mad, isn’t it? There’s just so much red inside the human body.’ His words caused a sudden bolt of panic in my stomach. They’d triggered a memory.
‘There is,’ Anna agreed. ‘And also many other colours. Purple organs, veins that appear blue, skin that comes in a variety of different shades… The human body is quite literally filled with colour.’
‘Can you come out to walk Milo?’ I asked Toby.
‘Yes. I’ll finish this later,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll help to clear up. We just need to make sure that Spike is OK.’
‘You can check in on him,’ said Anna. ‘But, Toby…’
‘Mmm?’
‘Please don’t go into the river again. You were really lucky last time. I’ve heard the current there can be pretty bad. Keep Milo on the lead so he doesn’t escape. You need to look out for each other.’
‘We will, don’t worry.’
‘Your mum’s awesome. You know that?’ I said as we got outside.
‘Yeah, she’s pretty great. I probably don’t tell her that enough.’
That made me think. Because, really, my own mum was the same. I never knew exactly what she was thinking and I loved that about her. There were people who would tell her that she shouldn’t be doing her job at the school because it was too stressful, and it didn’t pay very much. Nanna Jem would go on and on about it.
This one time she did it, I’d imagined Mum would laugh it off and change the subject like she usually did (she never liked being too serious for long), but she’d stopped what she was doing and given Nanna a look.
‘Do you think I would be doing it if I didn’t love it?’ Nanna had been strangely shocked by the reply. She didn’t mention it again.
The memory made me certain Toby would love Mum. They would get on amazingly well. I was on the verge of asking him whether he would like to meet her, but somehow I couldn’t.
Maybe it was because I was jealous that he could tell his mum everything. Anna already knew Milo’s name and everything about Spike. Toby must have told her about his rescue mission, even though he knew it would probably make her doubly worried. I hadn’t told Dad anything – at least not in detail. I wanted to, but he was always at the hospital when I needed to speak to him, and when he wasn’t, his thoughts were so full of Mum that there was no room for anything else. Even though there was nothing he could do. There was nothing we could do.
As we made our way down the alleyway to the river, the feeling of not being able to do anything grew and grew in my head. ‘I’ve been feeling so good about Spike, but now all of a sudden, I’ve started to worry,’ I admitted to Toby. ‘He’s so weak and helpless. And with the whole Milo rescue, we didn’t even have a chance to give him his food.’
‘He was weak,’ Toby answered. ‘But you can’t automatically assume that he won’t make it.’
He sounded mad and I was so surprised that I paused mid
-step.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah,’ he mumbled. ‘Why wouldn’t I be? After all, it’s only what other people think of me.’
‘Of you?’ I didn’t understand.
‘It’s easy to just guess I won’t be able to do stuff. But I can – a lot more than you would ever expect. I could have chosen an electric-powered chair, but instead I push myself around, don’t I? It took me ages to build up the strength to do it, but I did. I push even when I get muddy, or my shoulders hurt, or I can’t carry the stuff I want to carry. Yeah, I need help sometimes, but so does everyone. Spike needs help at the moment, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll never be able to look after himself.’
He started wheeling fast down the river path. For a frightening moment, the wheelchair bounced over a stone and I thought I’d see Toby flying through the air towards the water. Luckily, it balanced itself and came to a stop, the wheels lodging in the mud of the bank.
‘Are you crazy?’ I shouted. ‘What did your mum just say? Why are you racing ahead like a maniac? You could have landed in the river!’
I could see the shock on Toby’s face. He knew it had been a close shave.
‘Sorry… sorry,’ he said. ‘I still sometimes forget that I can’t run away when I want to.’
I sat down in the open end of the van and looked at him. I thought about him in the wheelchair, unable to move his legs.
‘I can’t understand what it’s like,’ I said. ‘I can’t even try. And I know that you must think it’s horribly unfair. But I know you’re more than able to do stuff. The wheelchair didn’t stop you rescuing Milo, did it? I don’t think I’d have been able to do that. I said that stuff about Spike because sometimes I feel like I can’t really do anything – I can’t change anything.’
I wanted to swallow my words as soon as I’d said them. How could I even say something like that to somebody in Toby’s position?
He just smiled at me – a sad smile.
‘I almost wish I hadn’t known what it was like… you know, before.’
His blue eyes blinked behind his glasses and for the first time he didn’t look as bold and fearless as usual. It made me like him even more.
‘Do you really? If that were true, you would be an entirely different person. You might not be here with me now…’
At this point, Milo, bored of being restrained on his lead, leaped into Toby’s lap, and settled himself down.
‘Sorry for acting like such an idiot,’ he said eventually, giving me a half-smile.
‘It’s OK. Shall we look for Spike, then?’ I hoped our favourite cygnet would be alive and well.
We had a look in the spot where we’d last seen the mother and father along with four of the cygnets. There was no sign of them.
‘Do you think they might have moved to another part of the river?’
‘Maybe, but it’s more likely that they’re searching for food. If they are, I don’t think they could’ve gone very far.’
‘Why don’t I go that way?’ I said, pointing. ‘And you and Milo can go that way? Only go as far as the bridge, and if you don’t find them, meet me back here.’
‘Good plan.’
Annoyingly, a light drizzle had started which made it more difficult to search – the water, the grassy bank, the sky, all blurred like a painting in which the colours had run.
I detected a movement of white across the cold grey surface of the water. The parent swans! They were there, closely trailed by four of their offspring. I edged closer and saw that Spike wasn’t part of the group. I gave him the benefit of the doubt, thinking he might just be lagging behind the others, but there was no sign of any other bobbing little head.
My eyes scanned the horizon for a few more minutes and then I began walking back. Toby wasn’t at our meeting spot, so I sat on the bank to wait. I couldn’t stop my hands shaking in my lap.
Then, suddenly, I spotted him close to the river’s edge.
‘Izzy! Come here. Look! Milo found him. He’s hiding in the grass.’ And there he was. Shivering and bewildered, but still very much alive, Spike had nestled between two clumps of grass. He’d cleverly chosen a position that shielded him against the wind. I breathed out – a long, grateful breath. It took me a few moments to remember about the bag of lettuce in my pocket and I pulled it out straightaway, gently throwing some into the water next to him. I motioned for Milo to stay quiet, though strangely enough he didn’t need telling. He lay down obediently on the riverbank, watching proceedings.
A minute or so passed before the baby swan made up his mind to begin eating. He struggled at first, his tiny throat constricting, but soon he managed to break the lettuce into small enough pieces to swallow.
‘They’re coming back,’ Toby whispered. I glanced up to see the mother swan reappear with the rest of her brood. She was carrying something in her beak. Before I could see what it was, one of the cygnets snatched it from her.
When she got within reaching distance of Spike, she attempted again to get the last bit of food to him by putting her beak right next to his, but there was a flutter of feathers and one of Spike’s siblings intervened. All of a sudden, Milo jumped up and began to bark at the greedy cygnet, frightening him away.
‘Calm down!’ I shouted at him, but the intervention gave Spike the chance to at least finish what he was eating.
‘He’s standing up for him,’ Toby said, grinning as he ruffled Milo’s ears. ‘This means we’re going to have to keep coming back to make sure that he’s fed, at least until he grows stronger and can fend for himself. We’ve got everything we need now. And you know what else?’
‘What?’
‘Swans are incredibly clever. I read that they recall who’s been kind to them, so hopefully he’ll recognise us each time we come.’
‘You’re such a swan geek,’ I told him, though I secretly hoped that he was right.
We checked that the fishing rod was carefully stowed away in the van along with our two bags of lettuce. I tucked them in the corner so that if it rained, it wouldn’t go soggy. As we made our way up the bank, I was already looking forward to coming back again tomorrow.
Twelve
I felt a cold rush of air. The shadow and smoke cleared and I was lifted in a single jerking motion by a pair of strong hands. I could clearly see the skin – soft, leathery brown. I knew who the hands belonged to. The shadow man. The colour thief. I tried to twist from his grasp, but he forced something over my face. It was cool and smooth, like a glass mask.
My coughing came in short bursts and my lungs filled with a furious, raging red. I could feel it flowing in my lungs, threatening to escape through my throat. I struggled against him with all the force I could muster. I wouldn’t let him steal the red. I wouldn’t let it go. I kicked out madly and still he forced the mask on to my face, fastening it tightly, so that it didn’t move.
5.54 a.m.
My breathing took a long time to return to normal. I climbed out of bed and crept to the window. There was no moon over the river and the world lay shrouded in misty darkness. I could just about make out the outline of our van. I thought of the beetles that scuttled through the back of it, and I thought of Spike and Toby. I put my hand on my chest and focused on nothing but breathing regularly in and out, in and out. Even though it was still dark, I knew what I had to do next. I couldn’t stop myself. I picked up the little torch I always kept on my bedside table and shone it on the mural. I saw the theft straightaway. I was surprised at my relief that it wasn’t red. The red of my Juliet lips was still there, as was the red of Mum’s nightie in the photo of us at the hospital. It was only her hair that was no longer brown. It hung in limp, white strands around her face, making her ghost-like. The crawling began in my stomach as I counted the colours left. Purple, red and black. I couldn’t let him take red. That much I knew. When red and purple were gone, there would only be the washed-out emptiness of the Blackest Day.
I dared myself to make the small circle of light illuminate
our first proper holiday as a family – skiing in the Alps, where the trees on the side of the mountain were now so white that they merged with the snow. Mum had been proud of her French and thought that she’d communicated really well with the woman who ran the ski school, but somehow, aged seven, I’d ended up in the advanced group, having never skied before in my life. There I was on the wall in my oversized jacket and hat doing a very wobbly snow-plough all the way down the mountain.
From that holiday, my main memory was of losing my ski on the chairlift, and Mum and Dad both trudging through the snow with me for hours trying to find it. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel the frozen flakes that had fallen into the tops of my boots.
I could see the blue ski unclipping from my boot and hurtling in ever-expanding circles through the air, way into the white depths below.
Then the memory came to an abrupt close and, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t figure out whether or not I’d got the ski back.
Had we managed to find it, or did we have to get a new pair from the local hire centre? I closed my eyes. I delved deep into my memory. My tired brain refused to cooperate. Who could tell me? The only person was Dad. He would know. I stopped, hesitating in the doorway. Would he be mad at me? I hadn’t been back to the hospital, even though I knew he was hoping that I would. Then I remembered what he’d said to me the other day about being ‘specsational’, so I tiptoed across the hall and knocked softly on his door. There was no answer. I quietly slipped inside.
Dad’s curtains were open and the light from the street lamp fell over his bed. He was lying in the middle, a lonely island in a sea of duvet. The room smelled of Aunty Lyn’s favourite floral washing powder.
I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled back the covers. Dad stirred and one of his eyes opened. I stifled a laugh. When I was really little I would come into my parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night and demand that they read to me. Dad would pretend not to hear, but he wouldn’t be able to resist opening one beady eye. His reaction was exactly the same now.
‘Diz?’
The Mystery of the Colour Thief Page 6