The Heights

by Juliet Bell

  He ate quickly because, deep down, he just wanted to get this first day over and done with. ‘I guess me and Isabelle better get going.’

  ‘Isabelle and I,’ his mother corrected.

  ‘Right. Well, anyway.’

  ‘Your father will drive you.’

  ‘Yes. Quite. First day and all that. Chop! Chop!’

  They followed their father out to the new black Audi that had arrived at this house the same day they did. Edward couldn’t help but stare out of the windows on the journey. Kids, his own age, a bit younger, a bit older, all dressed in the same olive-green jumpers as him and his sister, seemed to swarm through the streets like insects gravitating towards their nest.

  Isabelle was also staring out the window. She looked nervous. He was too. Just a bit.

  He’d never been part of this morning ritual before. They’d both been weekly boarders at their previous schools. His mother had wanted them to stay, but finally agreed when their father pointed out that they were part of the community of Gimmerton now, and it would do them no harm at all for the men he’d be working with to see the new mine manager’s children at school alongside their own kids. And Gimmerton Comp was a perfectly decent school, Father had announced, his voice wavering only slightly. His mother had pursed her lips but there’d been no real argument. So far as Edward could remember, there’d never been a real argument in the Linton household. It simply wasn’t their way.

  ‘School!’

  Cathy listened to Mick yelling from downstairs. She knew full well it was time for school. She’d been lying looking at the ceiling for the last half hour, fully dressed and waiting. School was, of course, stupid, but Frances had made her promise to try to go this year. Frances had also taken her shopping for bras so she didn’t wobble all around and have to hold on to herself when they did PE. So at least for the first day she was going to keep her word.

  She swung her legs off the bed and went into the hallway. Heathcliff was sitting at the top of the stairs waiting for her, like he always was. Wherever she went, somewhere Heathcliff would be waiting for her.

  Downstairs, Mick was sitting at the table with a bacon sandwich in front of him. Cathy looked around. ‘Where’s Frances?’

  ‘Sick. She chucked up as soon as she got out of bed. I told her to stay in bed and rest.’

  Cathy frowned. Frances normally made breakfast. ‘So what’s for breakfast?’

  Mick shrugged. ‘Get your own. And you can take some up to Frances as well.’

  Cathy led Heathcliff into the kitchen and peered into the fridge. There wasn’t much there, but more than she was used to. Now the strike was over and Mick had a job at the mine, Frances always made sure there was food in the house. She picked a bottle of fizzy orange from the worktop and held it towards Heathcliff. ‘Breakfast?’

  He glugged enthusiastically before passing it back to her to take a sip, belching loudly as soon as he stopped drinking. Cathy put the bottle down. ‘You know in America they have pancakes for breakfast?’

  Heathcliff shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘With blueberries.’ Cathy knew that was true. She’d read about it in one of the magazines Frances bought. Fresh juice and pancakes with blueberries. That was what film stars ate. Apart from the really top ones, who didn’t eat breakfast at all. Skipping breakfast was probably what Madonna did.

  She boiled the kettle and made a cup of tea. White and sweet the way Frances liked it. She carried it up the stairs, thinking things had been a bit better with Frances around. Mick wasn’t as mean. She had made Heathcliff move out of Cathy’s room. But that didn’t matter too much. They were always in each other’s rooms anyway.

  ‘Frances?’ Cathy said as she reached the open door of the main bedroom. It was open, but there was no sign of Frances. The she heard a sound from the bathroom. Frances was being sick again. Cathy darted into the bedroom and left the tea on the bedside table. Then she ran down the stairs. Frances was nice, but there was no way Cathy was going to help with the sick. She’d almost rather go to school.

  The first day of a new school year was always a bit different from a normal day, but the sinking feeling as they got closer was exactly the same. Heathcliff’s walk slowed to a virtual crawl and she matched his pace.

  ‘Do we have to?’ he muttered.

  Cathy nodded. ‘We promised Frances.’

  ‘She won’t know. Anyway, she’s not our mum. She won’t care.’

  Cathy stopped. They were at the last corner. Any closer and they’d be spotted by the teacher on playground duty and then they’d have to go in, at least for the first lesson. It was still summery warm, and the blue hills would be deserted today with everyone back at school. It’d be just her and Heathcliff. She hesitated.

  A sleek black car passed in front of them. It was very different from the cars she normally saw. They were usually more rust than car. This one looked as though it should be driven by a man in a pressed grey jacket and peaked cap. She stepped round the corner and watched it glide to a halt in front of the main school gate. The two passenger side doors swung open. Two kids got out. Actual schoolkids, wearing the uniform of Cathy’s actual school, had been riding in that shiny black car. They weren’t like any kids she’d seen before. They looked like kids looked in adverts and pictures in magazines. All glossy and neat and new. The girl turned her head towards Cathy – her blonde ponytail swinging in the sunshine – before she followed the boy through the gate.

  Cathy grabbed Heathcliff’s hand and dragged him towards school. ‘Come on.’

  ‘I thought we weren’t going.’

  Cathy shook her head. They were going to school today. They were going to school and they were going to meet the perfect glossy pair and they were going to make friends with them. They were going to stay friends until Cathy was one of them. She was going to be glossy, and her ponytail would swing and swish and shine instead of getting knotted up in its own elastic. Dad had called her his princess. If she had friends like that and swingy shiny hair then it would be like she was a princess again. And maybe she’d get to ride in a car like that one.

  Edward followed Mr Drake down the corridor and waited obediently outside the class that Isabelle was to join. Then he’d be taken to his own form room. He leaned on the wall. The corridor smelt of bleach, but already the sweat of eight hundred teenagers was starting to chip away at the cleanliness.

  He stepped forward and risked a peek through the reinforced glass panel in the classroom door. Isabelle was being directed to a seat halfway back next to the window, behind two Indian girls with long black plaits. There’d been an Indian boy at his last school. His father had inherited half of Bangalore apparently, so being Indian hadn’t really mattered. Old money was still old money. The Indian girls in Isabelle’s class didn’t look like they owned half of Bangalore.

  He scanned the rest of the classroom. These kids weren’t the same as the kids at his previous school. Their uniforms looked a bit worn and some of them didn’t even look very clean. And no one was sitting quietly waiting for the teacher to start the lesson. A few of the kids were peering at the new girl with interest. Most were chatting to their mates, ignoring anyone else.

  He was about to turn away, when he realised that one girl was staring straight at him.

  Her desk was two rows behind Isabelle, in the very back corner of the room, as far from the teacher as she could get. She was sitting next to a boy with wild dark curly hair, their chairs pulled really close together. The girl flicked her eyes to Isabelle and then back to him. She wasn’t pretty. She had thick dark hair that hung around her shoulders rather than being pulled neatly back like Isabelle’s. And for some reason, she was still staring at him. Edward felt like she was looking through him. No – not through him, into him. It was as if she was seeing something inside him. The boy sitting next to her suddenly noticed what she was doing, and looked over at Edward. He was even scruffier and dirtier than she was, and his face was as black as thunder. Edward almost stepped away from the
window just to get away from that look.

  But then the girl smiled. At him. Without thinking he lifted his hand to wave at her.

  The girl lifted her hand in return.

  Chapter Twelve

  September, 1985

  The end-of-day bell sent Edward darting across the yard to the school gates. He tried leaning against the wall to look cool, but it didn’t feel comfortable. So, instead, he stomped his feet, blowing on his hands, trying to stay warm. The December sky was clear, for a change, but the air was cold. Soon he was surrounded by kids streaming past and racing home. He kept his eyes on the school doors, until finally Isabelle appeared. And Cathy was with her.

  Edward smiled. He couldn’t help himself. She looked so… wonderful. Her hair blew around her face, and she walked with such easy, free movements, as if the whole world belonged to her. And when her beautiful eyes turned his way, his face broke into a smile.

  ‘Isabelle.’ He called his sister over, but it was Cathy he wanted.

  ‘Cathy, this is my brother, Edward,’ Isabelle said. ‘I can walk home by myself, but my father …’ Isabelle flushed pink. ‘I mean my dad says Edward has to come too.’

  Edward barely heard her. His whole attention was on Cathy.

  ‘Hello, Cathy.’

  ‘Hi, Edward.’

  No one had ever said his name like that before. Edward knew his mother would think Cathy’s accent was coarse. But it sounded fine to him.

  ‘Do you want to walk with us part of the way home?’ he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets so she wouldn’t see them shaking.

  ‘All right.’

  Edward turned to wait for Cathy, but someone slammed into him, knocking him sideways. When he recovered his balance, Isabelle had taken Cathy by the arm and the two girls had set off together. Heathcliff was standing next to him, his face twisted in a scowl. Edward ignored him. He’d seen the boy before, of course. He was always close to Cathy. They were brother and sister, though, so he wasn’t competition. He set off after the girls, listening for Cathy’s voice amid Isabelle’s chatter.

  Heathcliff followed a few steps behind.

  They reached the turnoff to the Heights estate far too quickly for Edward. Although he would have preferred to be walking next to Cathy, it wasn’t bad to be walking behind her, watching her hair blow in the breeze.

  ‘Well, I guess we’ll see you at school tomorrow,’ he ventured.

  ‘All right then,’ she replied.

  Heathcliff said nothing. He took a few steps, as if crossing the border into the estate, and turned to wait for Cathy. She followed him, but after walking a few yards, glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. Edward smiled back, staring across into her face, trying to record the moment, knowing he would want to play back the way she looked and the way their eyes met.

  On Christmas morning, Cathy woke to huge white flakes falling outside her window, and the sound of Frances throwing up again in the bathroom. She knew what that meant. The house was warm. Since Frances had been sick, Mick had turned the heating up, even though he said they really couldn’t afford it. Cathy slipped on her clothes and headed down to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out the turkey. Mick had said they couldn’t really afford that either, but Frances had insisted. Which was all very well, but now Cathy would have to cook it. Cathy looked at the big pink dead thing sitting in the tray on the kitchen worktop. There were tiny feathers still sticking out of its legs. Her mum’s old copy of Mrs Beaton was sitting on the side next to the bird. Frances must have got that out. Cathy knew how to cook up to a point. She’d cooked for her Dad and Heathcliff after her Mum left. But that was sausages and bacon sandwiches and fried eggs. A Christmas turkey was different. It was supposed to be special and she didn’t know how to do special.

  Mick clattered and banged his way into the kitchen behind her. ‘Haven’t you got that in the oven yet?’

  Cathy didn’t reply. Obviously she hadn’t.

  ‘It needs to go in. I want you to make sure Frances doesn’t lift a finger today. She’s been sick again.’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Cathy was almost scared to ask. Things had been so much better since Frances had come. Mick didn’t get drunk so much, and he hardly shouted or swung his fists at all.

  Mick stopped. ‘Frances wanted to tell you officially once Christmas was out the way.’

  Cathy didn’t reply. She had a pretty good idea what was going on with Frances. All the being sick, the baggy jumpers she lived in, the whispering and giggling with Mick when she thought Cathy wasn’t around.

  ‘See. You’re gonna be an auntie.’

  Cathy nodded.

  ‘Well, you could look pleased.’

  She thought about it. A baby would be loud and dirty but Isabelle would probably think it was cute. And being an auntie was something. Isabelle wasn’t an auntie, was she? ‘I am pleased.’

  ‘Good. That’s why we’ve not set a wedding date yet either.’

  ‘So you’ll get married when the baby’s born?’

  Mick nodded.

  That was interesting. Cathy smiled to herself. An auntie and a bridesmaid as well. Frances would have to have her as a bridesmaid, wouldn’t she?

  Mick frowned. ‘Where’s Heathcliff buggered off to?’

  Cathy shrugged. She knew full well he was hiding upstairs till Mick was out of the way. He’d come down once the coast was clear.

  ‘Well, I’m going for a Christmas pint with some of the lads. Take Frances up a cup of tea when you’ve put that in.’

  Cathy nodded. The pubs wouldn’t be open for another two hours, but Mick could always find somewhere to have a drink.

  Cathy waited for Mick to leave, then opened the cookbook. She flicked through the pages and then stopped to read. It was all about sticking things inside the bird. Cathy shuddered. Heathcliff came in. He walked halfway across the kitchen, then hesitated.

  ‘What?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘Merry Christmas, I guess,’ Heathcliff said. Then suddenly he took a couple of steps towards her and kissed her on the cheek.

  ‘Um. Yeah. You too.’

  Cathy turned back towards the dead bird sitting on the kitchen benchtop. That was weird. Heathcliff didn’t kiss her. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

  ‘Oh, can I go? Please!’ Isabelle all but batted her eyelashes at their father. ‘Lunch won’t be for ages. I’d be back in plenty of time.’

  Linton looked over at the chain of tiny terraced houses that extended up the hill on the other side of the stream from the church where they’d just finished the Christmas service.

  Mother was more definite. ‘I don’t think so, Isabelle. It’s Christmas Day. You don’t want to intrude. It’s one thing to be friends at school but…’

  ‘But nothing,’ Father interrupted. ‘I don’t see why Isabelle shouldn’t visit a friend. And perhaps she should ask her over to our house sometime. We are a part of this community now.’

  His wife opened her mouth but didn’t get her words out in time.

  ‘I could go with her,’ Edward jumped in quickly. ‘Then she wouldn’t be walking home alone.’

  Isabelle clapped her hands together. ‘Thank you. We won’t be late for lunch. I promise.’

  She grabbed her brother’s hand before anyone could come up with further objections, and dragged him away up the hill. ‘Cathy is my best friend, you know.’

  Edward wasn’t altogether sure that was true. It was obviously what Isabelle wanted, but he wasn’t so sure about Cathy. He’d only spoken to her when he and Isabelle had walked home from school. It seemed to him that Cathy had looked at him as much as she had at Isabelle. Of course, that could be wishful thinking.

  Isabelle slowed down as they turned into the narrow road that marked the beginning of the Heights. ‘Imagine living in one of these tiny little houses. She’s so brave. And she doesn’t even have a mother and father. She lives with her brothers. Wouldn’t it be amazing if it was just us, with no parents telling us what
to do?’

  Edward frowned. ‘No. That’s an awful thing to say.’

  ‘Then I’d be like Cathy. Nobody tells her what to do.’

  In that, she was right. Cathy didn’t take orders from anyone. Not even the teachers, according to Isabelle. He thought that was a bit much, really, but he did admire Cathy’s spirit. There were times he wished he was a little bit more like her. But she seemed to like him the way he was. She smiled at him a lot. That felt good.

  The ring of the doorbell interrupted Cathy’s attempt to decide which bits of sprout you were supposed to peel off and which bits were food. It was too early to be Mick coming back, and besides, he only rang the doorbell when he got pissed and lost his key, and there hadn’t been time for that yet. She opened the door cautiously.

  It was Isabelle from school. And her big brother, Edward. He was in sixth form. Two years older. They were both dressed up. Probably been to church. Isabelle was wearing a batwing jumper and a black, zip-fronted skirt that Cathy suddenly wanted with all her heart. He looked all posh too, in a jacket. Edward Linton wasn’t like any of the other boys she knew. He wasn’t like the boys at school, who were all stinky and spotty. He wasn’t like Mick. He didn’t look at all like he’d know how to manage in a fight. He wasn’t like Heathcliff either, but that was different. Nobody was like Heathcliff, except Cathy herself.

  ‘Happy Christmas!’ Isabelle gushed.

  Cathy opened the door another inch, enough for Isabelle to bowl through, followed, more slowly, by Edward.

  ‘We were in town for church with Mummy and Daddy and I thought, well, it’s going to be ages till lunch, so why not go and see Cathy and say “Happy Christmas”. So here we are.’

  Isabelle’s stream of conversation stopped abruptly in the doorway of the lounge. Cathy pushed past her and looked at the room, for the first time, through someone else’s eyes. It was horrible. Grey and dirty. There was an empty beer can in the corner and a burnt patch on the carpet where Mick had dropped his fag. Mummy had used to take the net curtains down and wash them in the bath. Nobody did that any more and they were all grey. When Mummy lived here this room was always clean and kept only for best. After Mummy left, Dad hadn’t cared about things like that. When she first arrived, Frances had tried to make it better, but then she’d got pregnant and sick and the room looked like no one cared.