by Jules Grant
Back in the bedroom I pick up the clothes from around the floor, get Nan a clean pair of jeans and a sweatshirt out of the pile by the wardrobe where Mam folded them all nice, ready to wear. Nan hasn’t been near them in a week judging by the whiff of her this morning. I put the clean clothes out on the bed, check the sheet. Dry.
I sniff me own sleeve in case. I’ve only got one lot of clothes here and if I don’t want to smell like Nan I’ll have to wash them. I take everything off, put on one of her clean T-shirts, then a cardy on top, comes right down to me knees.
I pile all the dirty clothes in the washer, look around for the soap powder. I check the cupboards but there’s not much of anything really, except The Complan. I get the washing-up liquid, squirt some into the tray, turn it on.
Back in the living room, I tuck me feet under the hem of the T to warm up, make a list for Nan.
Mister Muscle
Bleach
Washing powder (get the cheapest)
Meter tokens
Bread
Milk
Tea
Eggs
Sausages
I think about it for a bit, then write Chocolate Biscuits, but last in case the money runs out. Then I scrub it off again, seeing how it’s selfish when only one of us likes them.
When Nan’s gone to the shops, I tidy the kitchen, wipe the tops down, do all the stuff Mam would have done. Through the back window I can see into the yard. Mrs Watson’s stripy cat jumps down from the wall to the windowsill, light as a feather, looks in through the window straight at me. Her eyes are browny-yellow and soft, make me think of Sappho.
The washer smells nice. I look over and me heart nearly stops.
The window on the front is pure white with foam, no clothes to be seen, long trail of foam coming out of the little place where the tray fits in, dropping down in big glops to the floor. I take the tea-towel over, wipe it away, but it just keeps on coming.
I pull the plug out, stand back, look at it. Nothing for it, I’ll have to do them in the sink. I open the front and water and foam pours out, all over me feet, all over the floor. I can’t believe there’s so much of it when I only put a tiny squeeze in. There should be warnings for that.
I drag the clothes over to the sink, wet running down me arms, squishing through me toes, run through for a towel to soak up the water from the carpet. By the time I’ve finished, I’m soaked.
I’m still mopping up when I hear Nan’s key in the door, so I go through to the living room to tell her about the washer before she walks in and sees it. She’s standing in the doorway with her carrier bags. Beside her the two Micra women and a man in a police uniform, radio crackling.
Oh Nan, I goes, what have you done?
Sorry hen, they was waitin’ on me, she says.
The Micra women are looking straight at me and I don’t know what I look like, standing there in Nan’s T and her old cardy, dripping wet, feet all bare.
I think we’d better sit down, says The Fat One, and she looks over at Nan. What about a cup of tea, Mrs Robertson, while we sort this all out?
Nan goes into the kitchen to make the tea and I close me eyes, wait for her to shout when she sees the washer and the wet clothes piled up in the sink and the water all over, but she doesn’t make a sound. I can hear her fill the kettle.
The Micra women look at me. The Old One’s got grey hair cut short and at first I think she must be well older than Nan, but the skin on her face is smooth and pink, looks soft, so maybe she’s not. She’s got a square leather bag like a briefcase, puts it down by her feet. Lace-up shoes, shiny, neat. The other one’s young like Mam but a real chubber, nervy, eyes everywhere at once. Got a nasty look about her somehow.
The Fat One gets up, follows Nan into the kitchen. Now I’m done for.
I look at The Old One and smile. She looks at me, smiles back. You’re wet, love. Do you want to get dressed?
I can hardly tell her I haven’t got any clothes because I’ve gone to wash them and messed it all up, can I? I’m alright thanks, I say.
The Old One says her name is Christine. I nod, but you can’t get me that easy. That’s the oldest trick in the book, Donna says, acting friendly, telling someone your name so they’ll tell you theirs without thinking about it. I press me lips hard together, so nothing slips out. She asks me a couple more things but I don’t answer and in the end she goes quiet, looks around the room, writes some things in a notebook.
Nan comes back in with Fatso, who wants to see the bedroom.
Nan looks at her, What for?
Then it all comes out. I’ve not been to school and Nan’s encouraging me, The Christine One says. She looks straight at me. Look, she’s not even dressed. What did you have for breakfast? she asks me.
I think about the best breakfast I’ve ever had. It was that time I went to Blackpool with Nan and Mam and Harry who doesn’t live at Nan’s any more. Stayed overnight in someone’s house and the lady who owned it had little hairs in her chin and there were fat pink towels but Nan made us use the one she brought so we didn’t spoil nothing.
Sausage eggs and bacon, tea and toast, I says. I don’t say the orange juice in case it sounds like too much.
There’s no food in, only alcohol, says Fatso, smug, I’ve looked in the cupboards.
My heart’s pounding. Show them what you got today Nan, I says, the sausages and that. Then Nan can’t look at me and I get this feeling in me belly like a stone.
I go into the kitchen. The carrier bag from this morning is on the table. In the bag there’s a new six-pack of Stella, half a bottle of vodka, twenty Bensons and a Twix. Not even any milk.
I’m afraid you can’t stay here, Aurora, says The Christine One. You need to get your things together now, and we’ll take you where you’ll be safe.
I’m safe here, I says. Nan must’ve lost the list. Did you lose the list, Nan? It’s OK, just tell them.
Nan just looks at them, starts to cry. Don’t take my baby, I won’t let you.
I go over and stand in front of Nan. I’m going nowhere, she needs me, I say.
Christine nods at The Police One and he stands up, gets a paper out of his top pocket and reads off it. Something about an order, Police Protection. He looks over at Nan. I’m afraid Aurora will have to come with us. It’ll be better for her if there’s no fuss.
Now I reckon it’s time to stop playing dumb, start talking.
No thanks, I’ll stay here with Nan. Look, I can even go to school if you want. Nan can look after me no problem. Can’t you Nan?
Nan’s doing those big heaving sobs, but she nods.
I don’t want to go back to Geeta’s, I say, I don’t like it there. I like it here.
Everything starts moving mega-fast after that. The Christine One gets the blanket off Nan’s chair, wraps it round like a coat, tells me to put some shoes on. Nan starts screaming, goes to lamp Fatso, then The Police One gets her down on the floor. That’s it for me, and I jump on his back.
I can feel hands all over me. I kick out, catch someone’s leg.
Next thing, Fatso gets hold of me, drags me off and we’re out on the pavement, me still kicking for England.
Behind me I can hear Nan screaming and see Mrs Watson looking out from her front door across the road. I try to shout, Don’t worry Nan, I’ll phone you from Geeta’s, but it comes out like a croak and I don’t know whether she heard me or not. Then they put me in the back of the police car with Fatso, drive me away.
In the car, Fatso puts her hand on me arm, starts to say something. I put me mouth on her hand and bite down as hard as I can. She screams out but I hang on. She goes to punch me away, catches me on the side of the head and I let go. Hurts but it’s worth it. I can see the red tooth-marks in two long curvy lines on the back of her hand. It’ll bruise, that.
We get to the big offices on Sardinia Street, underground into the car park, and Christine pulls in beside us in the Micra. I grab on to the seatbelt, refuse to get out.
&n
bsp; OK, tell Geet’s Dad to come and get me, I says.
Fatso’s got a proper evil glint in her eyes now, still rubbing her hand. She stands back, lets The Police One prise me fingers off the belt, yank me out the door. You won’t be going back to Geeta’s, she says, smug.
Upstairs Christine puts me in a chair beside a desk. Do you want some water, love?
My head’s still throbbing where Fatso punched it. I suck me teeth at her.
She smiles, takes me by surprise. That’s clever. Where did you learn to do that?
It won’t be long till Geet’s Dad comes to get me, and then you’ll be sorry, I says.
Fatso comes back in and sits down and they look at each other then look at me.
Listen to me, Aurora, says The Christine One, We’re going to have to find you another place to stay. You can’t go back to stay with Geeta.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, heart thumping in me chest. I didn’t mean it, I say, double-quick. When I said I don’t like it. It’s OK there, honest.
I’m sorry love but we think you’ll run away again if you stay there. We can’t risk it.
Run away? Since when was going to your Nan’s running away? Going to your Nan’s when nobody wants you and she’s the only one that misses Mam as much as you do isn’t running away. But now I know I was right first time, I should have kept shtum.
You can all fuck off then, I says.
I sit there for hours while they phone round, saying all sorts of stuff to people I don’t even know. No, OK then, no problem. Yes, it needs to be out of the area. No. Well thanks anyway.
After a while a woman comes in with a sandwich, ham and pickle, a packet of crisps, Smoky Bacon, a can of Lilt. I can’t eat in case it’s poisoned.
I come over all tired. I go over and lie down in the corner by the toy box, pull Nan’s blanket over me, close me eyes. Then I remember me feet and how they’re all dirty underneath on account of having no shoes on. I tuck them up under Nan’s rug in case they think I’m a minger.
I close me eyes, think about Mam, how soft her face is when she goes to kiss me goodnight. I try to see it, her face, but I can’t see the whole thing, only tiny bits at a time, and the more I try, the more I just can’t. Then I get the smell of her as if she’s right there, and it makes me eyes prick.
I wake up numb, stiff all down one arm where I’ve lain on it. Christine is leaning over me, moves back when I open me eyes. I sit up.
She points to a pile of scuzzy clothes on the chair. What size are you? she says, looking at me feet.
She tells me to put the clothes on, goes out of the room, comes back in and picks up her handbag, goes out again.
I wonder where they get the clothes. They smell old, like the smell in the Macmillan shop on the High Street, the one that Mam used to go in just in case there was any good stuff. Dead people’s stuff, Donna says.
Maybe they brought some other kid in here and she died of the shock and now I’ll be wearing her clothes. Maybe she ate the poisoned sandwich and died from that.
The trackies come right down over me ankles so I have to bunch them up. I pick up the T-shirt, all bobbly, disgusting. I can’t be putting on some dead kid’s T-shirt so I leave it folded up on the chair, put on the sweatshirt being how it probably hasn’t touched the dead kid’s skin. I put the socks on last, thick and blue, scratchy.
Then I sit back down on the chair, and wait.
Christine comes back in, holding a pair of black trainers, Gola, gross. I’ll have to put them on and just pray nobody sees me.
We’ll get you some clothes of your own when you’re settled, she says, hands me a scabby puffa.
In the Micra I have to go in the back like a kid beside Fatso, even though there’s no one in the front seat. We drive down the parkway and on to the motorway, take the M61. A sign says Stockport. There’s a bus goes from the Arndale that says Stockport. Just when I’m thinking about jumping out, a lorry passes on the inside lane, spraying water up everywhere. I’d better wait a bit.
It’s nearly dark now and we’re heading up towards the Sale road, The Christine One driving. Donna took me all the way to Sale once, watch that posh mate of hers play rugby in the freezing cold, ice on the mud. Afterwards we went in the changing rooms, looking for her, and I saw everyone’s bits and bobs.
I sneak a look at the door, check the button under the window. Full-out. What kind of person doesn’t even put the child locks on?
Beside me Fatso’s got her phone out, texting, not paying any attention. She’s lucky she’s still got a phone, being how they took mine right off me, which is stealing. She doesn’t notice me undo me seatbelt. Loser.
I see the traffic lights up ahead, green, start praying. Go on, go on, go on.
The lights go to red and me heart starts thumping. Seems it takes ages for us to reach the truck in front, slow down, come to a stop.
I can hardly breathe. There’s cars right up against us everywhere, just waiting to run you down if you jump out. I take a deep breath. Faint heart never won fair lady, Donna says, and once I asked her what it meant. It means don’t ever be a yellow-belly, she said, giving me a cuff and smiling over at Mam, it’s Deeply Unattractive.
I take a deep breath, pull on the handle, kick the door and I’m out, dodging through the cars across the lanes, out on the other side. Then I run.
Donna woulda been proud.
23
We sneak over the railway sidings until we’re behind the Darts lock-up, squat down.
Izzie puts plugs in the earphones, hands me one plug, bangs in the numbers.
Someone picks up.
Hey, says Izzie, into the phone, it’s me again.
Tony answers. Yeah hi, so what you got?
Izzie winks at me. Two dozen boxes of fireworks, she says. Twenty sparklers, two rockets you can have. Throw in thirty bangers as well, she says, if you want them. All sound.
Silence.
There’s a noise in the background, like a door shutting. Hang on a bit, says Tony. Then I can hear another voice, sounds like Danny but I can’t be sure.
Hey, it’s your call, says Izzie. Got someone else interested round your way if you’ve changed your mind.
Tony’s voice is icebox. Like who? Bingo.
You know how it is, Izzie says, can’t really say. But this someone reckons there’s gonna be a massive bonty round your way soon, sounds like there might be some trouble. And I’m not the only one he’s been to. Don’t sweat it though, I told him mine were spoken for.
A grand says he’s got a name.
Izzie sucks her teeth. No names. Let’s just say you know each other. Two grand says I know where he lives. Now do you want this stuff, or not?
You could hear a pin drop.
Yeah, two grand for the address, he says, it’s a deal.
Sweet, says Izzie. I’ll let you know where and when in a couple of days. Cash on delivery. Price stays the same. Happy Bonfire Night.
The address, says Tony.
Oh yeah, says Izz. And then she gives him Daz’s address.
After she rings off, we look at each other and she grins. Either we’re gonna be very rich, or very dead, she says.
Me, I love a gamble, keeps everything interesting.
You’ve gotta be in it to win it, I say.
24
Just so everyone knows, I’m not scared.
By the time I get to the precinct it’s late and there’s no one around. Across the grass I can see the lights of the underpass. The doorways to the blocks are lit up, lights on in the windows. Outside there’s just the street-lights shining down on the grass, making fuzzy pools through the sleet.
My foot feels like there’s a blister coming on one heel where the trainers are rubbing, too big. I sit down in a doorway to have a look. There’s a big patch of blood on the heel of the sock, a bit more seeping through on the baby toe. No point whingeing, so I put them back on.
I daren’t go to Nan’s or Geeta’s, being how they’ll be looking
all over for me, try to catch me again. I go over to the underpass, see who’s around.
There’s no sign of Tools or Space, just some people I don’t know, hanging loose on the corner beside a car, hoods up. I put me head down, walk past.
The one on a push-bike nods at me, Alright?
I put me head down. Piss-wet through and nowhere to go, do I look alright?
I don’t say that, I’m not stupid, I just keep walking.
Another one shouts me, Hey kidder, where you off to? Fancy a ride?
I reckon now’s about the time to run, so I do.
I take a short cut, slip on the grass bank on the way down. Underneath in the underpass there’s the clap and splash of footsteps chasing, all echoey, then I realise they’re mine.
At the other end of the underpass I slow down, lean on the wall to get me breath, see a squad car slow down outside on the road. I duck down behind the concrete bollard, wait for it to cruise past.
Just then I hear a push-bike behind me and some younger swerves right in front of me, nearly comes off. I stand up, get ready to run again, just in case.
He pushes back his hoody so now I can see the colours on his scarf. Darts, but you can never be sure from a scarf, Donna says.
His eyes are dark and still. You Carla’s girl? Everyone’s looking for you.
I’m so relieved I nearly show myself up and cry. Yeah, do you know where Donna is?
I’ll take you, he says.
Now he’s pushing the bike, walking beside me back up through the tunnel towards the precinct. I ask him, Where is she?
He looks up the underpass to his mates by the car, gives them a wave. Don’t worry about anything, we’ll take you there, he says.
My heel’s proper smarting now. I have to jog to keep up, which makes the trainer rub even worse. I ask if he’s got any plasters but I don’t think he hears me.
At the car, I get in the back between the others.