Jake's Tower

by Elizabeth Laird

  He stood up. The shock sent the faintness away.

  ‘No!’ I said, lifting up my head, though for a moment I’d wanted to say, Yes, get her. Take me there. Help me.

  Instead I said, ‘Don’t bother. I’m all right. Really.’

  He stood there looking down at me, then he said, ‘OK,’ but he didn’t sound as if he meant it.

  I had to think of something to stop him going.

  ‘Who did all those tags and stuff up there?’ I said.

  He burst out laughing. He looked nice when he laughed. He’s got this yellow curly hair and it shook about, and his eyes were screwed up, and his mouth (it’s a big one) was wide open, and he crashed back down on to the bank beside me. He was laughing properly, right up from his stomach, not giggling or sniggering or anything. It was a riotous sort of noise. It warmed me up a bit. Took some of the ache away.

  ‘That was Marty and his lot,’ he said at last. ‘They were down by the bridge. They’d climbed over the wall and were graffing up the back of it. Thought they were being hard. So I called out, “Rubbish tags” and stuff like that, just to wind them up, and they all came after me. You should have seen them! Luke fell over his big feet, and David’s can was leaking and he got purple paint all down his front, and old Simon was puffing along at the back shouting, “Wait for me!” I could hardly run for laughing.’

  ‘You came in here with them after you,’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I got through the hole in the fence . . .’

  ‘How did you know about the hole?’

  ‘I saw you looking at it the other day, didn’t I? You hid it OK, but I found it again. I came in on my own after you’d gone. Had a look around. It’s quiet here. I like it.’

  He was looking at me again, but I didn’t say anything.

  ‘Anyway, they saw me come in through the hole and came straight in after me. Bang, crash. I hid up by the fence in those bushes, and they shouted around for a bit and sprayed that stuff and then they went off, I don’t know where.’

  ‘Not coming back, are they? Do you know?’

  He could tell I was worried about it.

  ‘No,’ he said, and I noticed something about Kieran then. He’s good at picking up what other people are thinking. He understands things.

  He was starting to laugh again.

  ‘One of them, the dozy one, Neville, he got into the nettles up there, by the fence. He was stung to bits, going, “Wah! Get me out of here!” And Marty got all tangled up in the thorny stuff. You should have heard them cussing! I had to stuff my hands into my mouth to stop laughing out loud. Anyway, you don’t need to worry about Marty. He’s all mouth. Not scared of him really, are you?’

  I didn’t dare shake my head again.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not scared of Marty. I don’t want him coming here, that’s all.’

  Kieran was looking round again, as if he was weighing the place up.

  ‘I know what you mean. It’s nice here. It’s your place though, isn’t it? You found it.’

  I knew what he wanted me to say and I said it, I don’t know why.

  ‘Yes, but you can come back again if you like. I don’t mind. I’d quite like it, really.’

  We didn’t notice that the sun had gone in till we both felt cold, and looked up, and saw a big black cloud had come over.

  Kieran said, ‘I’m off before it rains.’

  He stood up, and I did too. I felt wobbly again when I was on my feet but I managed all right. I just stood for a minute, until I felt stronger, then we went up the bank together.

  ‘There was a spider in here the other day,’ Kieran said, as we walked between the blocks, right through what had been my secret place. ‘I didn’t use to like spiders but he was all right. He made a brilliant web.’

  ‘Marty’s lot broke it,’ I said.

  ‘Losers,’ said Kieran.

  We went through the hole in the fence and walked up the lane together. I wanted to go slowly, partly because I was sore all over, and partly because I didn’t want to get there, but Kieran kept going faster because he didn’t want to get wet.

  I don’t have to go straight in, I thought. I’ll wait around outside for a bit. Get the timing right.

  There’s a T-junction at the top of the lane where the road goes past. Kieran’s house was off to the left, over the railway bridge, but to get to our flats you have to go right.

  We hadn’t quite got up to the T-junction when I got a fright. Steve was walking along the road ahead. The first drops of rain were falling and the wind was cold. He’d turned up his collar and had his head down and his fists were in his pockets.

  I made a sort of mewing noise, I know I did, before I could stop myself, and ducked sideways behind a tree.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ Kieran said, quite loudly.

  ‘Shut up, shut up,’ I said, and I leaned my forehead against the tree trunk and shut my eyes and felt a tremble go right through me, all the way down, from my ears to my toes.

  ‘Is it that man?’ Kieran said, more quietly. ‘Why are you scared? Is he your dad, or what?’

  ‘My stepdad.’

  ‘Was it his bike? The one you wrecked?’

  I couldn’t say anything. I just looked at him, and then the rain came down all of a sudden, in a great whoosh, and Kieran yelled, ‘I’m off. See you,’ and started tearing down the road towards the bridge, and I looked back to see if Steve had gone, and he had. So I turned right, and hobbled home with my knees weak with fright because I didn’t know what I’d find when I got there.

  When I got to the entrance of our little block of flats, I suddenly wanted to hurry. I got myself up the stairs and rattled the letter box.

  She opened the door at once. She’d been crying and her face was red, but he hadn’t hit her. At least, I didn’t think so.

  ‘Oh, Jake,’ she said. ‘Jakey. I was sure he’d killed you. I thought you’d gone off and I’d never see you again.’

  ‘I nearly did,’ I said. ‘I was going to.’

  She hugged me. It hurt my sore places, and she noticed me pulling back so she let go. I wished I hadn’t flinched. I liked the feelings of her arms round me.

  ‘I’m sorry. Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s never going to happen again. I promise you, Jakey, on my life.’

  She’d promised like that before, so I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t say anything. I just went on standing there, remembering the feeling of her holding me. She came closer again and put her arm gently round my shoulders. There were tears sliding down my cheeks. I didn’t even realize till the salt stung the place where my lip had split. I let them go on falling. I didn’t want to move in case she took her arm away.

  ‘Mum,’ I whispered to myself. ‘Mum.’

  She dropped her arm after a bit and looked at me, really looked, turning my head with one finger to see all the damage he’d done.

  ‘Do you need the hospital?’ she said. ‘Do you want me to take you up there?’

  ‘No. What’s the point? There’s nothing broken.’

  She took my hand and led me like a baby into her bedroom.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said, ‘while I finish packing.’

  She had a suitcase open on the bed and was putting stuff into it. Her things were falling out of drawers all over the floor and in a mess on the bed. My heart nearly stopped beating with the shock.

  ‘Packing? What do you mean? You’re not leaving, are you? Where are you going?’

  ‘Not me. Us. You and me. We’re getting out.’ She was cramming her make-up into a little bag. ‘We’re going, Jake. I’m leaving him and you’re coming with me. Now. Before he gets back from the pub.’

  My heart started again with a violent kick. There was a kind of explosion in my head. It was either a beautiful firework, or a scary bomb, I couldn’t tell which.

  ‘Where to, Mum? Where are we going?’

  She didn’t answer. She piled more stuff into her suitcase and leaned on it to close it.

 
; ‘I’ll tell you on the way. Get your stuff and let’s get out. He might be back any minute.’

  She pulled another suitcase out from under the bed.

  ‘Here. Put your things in that.’

  I was off the bed in a flash, and hobbling to my bedroom. I’d dropped my little rucksack by the front door and I picked it up and took it to my room. I stuffed it straight into the case then looked round.

  Earlier, when I’d packed the rucksack, I’d known in my heart that I was coming back. This was different. This was her and me together. Mum and me. It was real.

  It didn’t take long to fill the suitcase. There wasn’t much I wanted to take with me out of that flat.

  She was standing at the door of my bedroom with her coat on as I zipped the suitcase up.

  ‘You ready? Come on.’

  We went out through the front door and she shut it with a bang. She was off down the stairs before the sound had died away, bumping her heavy suitcase down the steps.

  We stopped for a moment at the entrance to the building. It was nearly dark by now and the rain was pelting down.

  ‘Tough,’ she said, turning up her collar. ‘Bit of rain won’t hurt us. Come on, Jake.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I limped after her, trying to ignore the rain that was streaming down my face. ‘Not the women’s refuge, is it?’

  We’d never been to it, but she’d often told Steve she’d go there, anytime he turned nasty. She’d used it as a threat. I didn’t like the sound of the refuge. I didn’t even know where it was.

  ‘No,’ she said. The weight of her suitcase was pulling her right over and her knees were buckling. She didn’t say any more till we got to the bus shelter. It was lucky, because no one else was in it. No one else had been mad enough to go out in all that rain.

  ‘Why not the refuge, Mum?’

  ‘Because they’ll take one look at you and get on to the Social and you’ll end up in care, that’s why not. I’m not letting that happen to you, Jake. Not ever.’

  ‘Where are we going, then?’

  She was hunting in her purse for the change for when the bus came along, and she didn’t look at me.

  ‘We’re not sleeping rough, are we?’ I said. ‘Not in this rain?’

  The thought of it, being out in the cold and wet all night made me shiver all over and a dreadful desolate feeling swept over me. Earlier, I’d imagined myself dossing down in my secret place, but it had been daylight then, and the sun had been shining, and it had been dry.

  She sat down on the bench and looked up the road, watching anxiously for the bus’s headlights. Steve would come past here on his way home, and we’d be caught like rats if the bus didn’t come soon.

  ‘We’re going to Mrs Judd,’ she said.

  Her voice sounded thin, as if her throat was tight. She was dead nervous, I could tell.

  Then it hit me.

  Judd. That was my dad’s name. Danny Judd.

  ‘You mean we’re going to find my dad?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head violently. ‘His mum. She never did anything for you. Not that I ever asked. I never wanted to see the old cow, not after she turned Danny against me. But she owes us, Jake. She’s your grandma. She’s got to take us in. She has to.’

  But you don’t think she will, I thought.

  I screwed up my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Things were happening too fast. I felt I was in a dream, or rather, a nightmare.

  I can’t help it, but here on the bus (we’re sitting on the long seats that face inwards in case we pass Steve and he sees us), I’ve gone off into a daydream.

  I’m imagining Mrs Judd, my grandma, and her house.

  I can see it in my head. It’s like on a greeting card, with yellow stone walls, and a front door in the middle. There’s a big window on either side, and a garden in front with lots of flowers, and an old tree with a swing hanging from it.

  My grandma sees us plodding up the path and she flings the door open, and says, ‘This must be Jake. Why didn’t you come before, Marie? We’ve been waiting for you all these years.’

  And someone else comes out from behind her, a soldier, in a beautiful scarlet uniform with medals on his chest and stripes on his arm, and he salutes me, and says, ‘Welcome home, son.’

  ‘We’re here, this is it, I think,’ Mum said, rubbing the condensation off the glass to peer out of the bus’s window, and we dragged our suitcases from the luggage place and stepped off the bus into the dark and the rain.

  My daydream vanished like a puff of steam blowing away in the wind.

  ‘Don’t let’s go there, Mum,’ I said, catching at her sleeve. ‘Let’s try the refuge. I’ll tell them I was in a fight with some kids. I won’t let the Social take me away.’

  It wasn’t very far from the bus stop to Mrs Judd’s house. Just as well, really, because I was hanging back all the way, and if it had been much further I’d have turned round and run away. And she’d have come on behind me. She was more scared than I was, I could tell.

  The house wasn’t a bit like the one I’d imagined. Well, I knew it wouldn’t be. It was in a terrace, set back a bit from the road, with a bit of garden in the front. There weren’t any roses that I could see, but there were some things growing there, looking nicely kept, and a little clipped hedge, and a dustbin just by the gate with the lid clamped on.

  There was someone in the front room. You could see the chink of light coming through the gap in the curtains, and the TV was on.

  Mum put her suitcase down and looked up at the place. Her hair was sopping wet, straggling down over her face, and her mascara was running. She looked cold and shivery. And I must have looked like something out of a war film, all beaten up and soaked to the skin.

  ‘It’s no good. We can’t. Please, Mum, let’s go,’ I said.

  It wasn’t Mrs Judd that really scared me, even though I thought she might turn nasty. The thing that was doing my head in and turning my stomach over was the thought that he might open the door. My dad. And he might look at me scornfully, or not look at me properly at all, and say, ‘Bugger off. Stay out of my life, you little toad. I don’t ever want to see you again.’

  I turned round, ready to bolt for the gate. She dropped her suitcase on the doorstep, ran back, grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up the little path to the door again.

  ‘If you want to sleep out in the rain, go ahead. I don’t,’ she said, and pressed the bell.

  As soon as she’d done it she looked terrified, and she pulled me up close to her.

  A shadow loomed up behind the bubbly glass of the little panes in the top half of the door, and it opened.

  Mrs Judd, my grandma, stood there.

  She was a big woman. Heavy. She was wearing black trousers and an orange jumper, and from where we were standing, two steps below her, she looked massive. I couldn’t see her face because the light was behind her head, but I could tell by the way she was standing that she wasn’t impressed by what had fetched up on her front steps.

  ‘Can’t you read the sign?’ she said, stabbing her finger at a little blue sticker on the doorpost. ‘We do not buy or sell at the door.’

  ‘We haven’t come to buy or sell anything, Mrs Judd,’ my mum said. She sounded uptight and angry, like she does when she’s nervous.

  Mrs Judd leaned forward to take a closer look when she heard her own name.

  ‘It’s me, Marie,’ Mum said. ‘Don’t you remember me?’

  Mrs Judd started back, then she gave a little laugh, half angry, half mocking.

  ‘Marie Lindsay. Well, I never. Fancy you turning up like a bad penny after all these years. I suppose you’re after Danny again. You’ve come to the wrong place. He’s not here, and even if he is, he wouldn’t give you the time of day.’

  Mum had let go of me. She was standing with her two feet planted square in front of the door and her arms were crossed on her chest.

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t expect anything
better from him.’

  ‘Just as well, then,’ said Mrs Judd.

  ‘Seeing as how,’ Mum went on, ‘he turned his back and walked away from his own baby.’

  Mrs Judd snorted.

  ‘But you’re Jake’s grandma,’ Mum said, less certainly now, ‘and I thought at least you . . . that you might . . .’

  Her voice trailed away and her arms dropped to her side. Mrs Judd turned her head towards me for the first time. I tried to smile a bit and look nice. First impressions are important, I know that much. I forgot for a moment that my face looked as if a bulldozer had pushed it in. Anyway, it didn’t impress Mrs Judd.

  ‘Come off it, Marie,’ she said, stepping backwards as if she was about to shut the door. ‘You tried that on years ago. You’re not getting one over on me now.’

  A kind of wail came out of Mum’s throat.

  ‘You old witch! You and your son! Got me up the spout and left me on my own. Not a penny to help out.’ She was crying now, and her voice was coming out trembly. ‘Not so much as a Christmas card for the kid. How do you expect me to manage? Where do you want us to go? A decent person wouldn’t turn a dog out on a night like this, never mind their own flesh and blood.’ She bent to pick up her suitcase. ‘Come on, Jake.’

  ‘The police station’s down at the end of the road. Turn left, then right,’ Mrs Judd said. ‘They’ll sort you out. Or are you too scared to show yourself? It was you, wasn’t it, who did that to the kid’s face? You beat him up, didn’t you?’

  I’d been just standing there all this time, not saying anything, but that did it.

  ‘She never touched me,’ I shouted. ‘Never. It was Steve. That’s why we ran away. And you can tell my dad, next time you see him that I . . .’

  Things were building up inside me, things I wanted to say. This might be my only chance, ever, of getting a message through to him. The trouble was, I couldn’t find the words. And I’d started crying, like a silly kid.

  ‘You can tell him,’ I said, swallowing all the time, ‘that I don’t blame him. I never have. I don’t want to cause him any trouble. I’ve still got the fluffy duck he gave me when he came to see me in the hospital. I never let Steve get hold of it. Not once.’