WHOOSH!
Something just flew through the dust! A shadow ran across the floor, I swear!
I stay dead still. Watch. Listen.
Nothing happens.
There’s no shadow. The light on the floor doesn’t ripple any more neither. I look around the room at all the shafts of light reaching through the gaps like the fingers of a giant feeling around for lost treasure. I keep waiting, but I don’t see anything.
I turn and walk towards the kitchen pretending I don’t care, but before I reach it I whip round to try and catch the shadow again. But it’s not there now.
Maybe it’s hiding in the dark corners. Or maybe whatever was there is gone. Cos the basement looks like it’s asleep again.
I give up and go through the kitchen door.
There are pots and pans in one corner, stacked on some old shelves from the days when the mill was working. I think Ma got the pots in a charity shop at the same time that she bought a load of plates and bowls. Some of the plates are white and some are red and some have stripes. Right now, most of them are sitting in a big grey bucket that’s on the ground in the corner, filled with brown water.
I can see Ma, through the kitchen window, standing in the backyard. Beneath the window is the two-ring gas stove that Ma got for next to nothing in the same charity shop. But she didn’t buy the table and the two chairs that are sitting in the middle of the room. She robbed those – I seen her do it.
There’s a bakery next door and one day when no one was looking, she walked out the front door, round to the bakery and she picked up the table and chucked it over the gate into the backyard. Then she chucked the chairs in too. Then she ran off down the street and she hid for a while before she came back. But no one saw her. Ma’s real good at nicking stuff.
I go through the kitchen and out the other door to join Ma in the backyard. I don’t know what she’s doing cos she’s just standing there.
The Silo and the mill are side by side, with just a small gap between them. That’s the backyard. Ma says ‘silo’ is just a fancy name for storage. It’s where they used to store the grain that came down the canal and was going to get ground up in the mill. It looks like a massive grey cereal box. And it’s twice as high as the mill. Maybe three times.
It’s deadly cos the backyard is totally cut off from the city. On one end, the street where Ma was begging is blocked by a wall and a fat metal gate that never opens, and on the other end, the canal runs right past the Silo and the backyard and the mill, and then off under a bridge and through the city and into the river and then the sea.
We even have our own little beach, though you wouldn’t go swimming in the canal cos it’s full of rubbish and germs and you’d catch your death. There’s no sand neither, but you can make brick castles instead of sandcastles from all the bricks lying around.
Across the canal from the beach there’s this warehouse with no windows. So there’s no way anyone could ever see us in the backyard. Unless maybe if they came past in a boat or something, but that almost never happens cos no one really uses the canal any more.
Ma looks up at the roof of the mill and I follow her gaze. I don’t think she’s looking at anything, though. I think she’s listening.
The sun’s moved over the canal now but I still have to squint. There are seagulls flying around the sky-bridge that joins the top of the mill to the side of the Silo, halfway up it.
I think the sky-bridge was there so the workers didn’t have to plod all the way down the six floors of the mill and across the backyard to the Silo every time they wanted to grab a bag of grain. Instead they just crossed the bridge. There’s a door up there that goes into the Silo. You can’t get into it now, though, cos it’s all locked up, but from the sky-bridge you can run up a ladder that’s stuck to the side of the Silo, all the way to the roof, and from there you can see the whole city.
Ma’s head snaps back down. She starts walking real fast over to the huge pile of crates and bricks that are stacked in the corner of the backyard against the gate and the wall.
‘Ma?’ I say. ‘What are you doing?’
She runs up the crates and bricks, and sticks her head over so she can see into the skips on the other side.
‘Ma?’
‘Shh!’ she says but she doesn’t turn round.
Maybe she’s heard the Authorities. Maybe they’re climbing the wall to try to get to me. I take a step backwards. ‘Ma?’ I whisper.
But then Ma shouts over the wall, ‘Here, what are yis doing with that?’
I hear voices reply but I don’t know what they say.
‘Chuck it over here, will ye?’ Ma says to whoever is out there. And I don’t think it’s the Authorities cos she always uses her posh voice with the Yellow Jackets. She’s scared of them too, but not as scared as I am. Cos they’re after me, not her. ‘Yeah, up here –’ Ma is saying. ‘Just chuck it over.’ Ma turns to me. ‘Come here a sec,’ she says.
I don’t move but she gives me her egg-sucking face and says, ‘Come here and give me a hand!’ so I run over. Something appears over my head on the wall. The bottom of it is brown and made of wood. It looks like some kind of furniture.
‘That’s grand,’ Ma shouts over the wall and she grabs the wooden bottom and pulls on it. ‘Keep going!’
I stand beneath it, step up on some bricks and crates, and just barely touch the corner with my fingertips. It starts tilting towards us.
‘Yeah, keep going,’ Ma yells.
‘What is it, Ma?’ I ask.
Someone must’ve been dumping it into the skip and Ma’s gotten them to chuck it over the wall instead. But before I can figure out what it is, Ma loses her hold and it comes sliding over the wall and right for my head. I drop down onto the bricks but they start crumbling and tumbling under my feet. I shove my hands out but the thing ploughs into me. It’s real heavy and it knocks me over and I’m falling backwards.
‘Jaysus!’ Ma says.
My leg’s twisting – it’s real sore! Now the thing’s on top of me. I slip, and it slips, and I slide backwards, down the pile of crates and bricks, head first.
I think I’m upside down. There’s a brick sticking into my ear. The wooden thing’s on top of me. I wiggle and it wobbles like an elephant on a matchstick. Then there’s a bit of light and Ma’s face appears.
‘Jaysus, love! Are ye all right?’
I think about this for a second. ‘Yeah, I’m grand,’ I say. I am. ‘Hurt my elbow. And my leg a bit.’
‘Ah, Jaysus. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking,’ Ma says. ‘You’re all right, though?’
‘Here? Yis all right?’ I hear a man yell.
‘Are ye?’ Ma asks and her face is all scrunched up.
‘I’m grand, Ma,’ I say.
‘Sure?’
‘Yeah.’
Ma smiles and the worry melts away.
‘Yeah, we’re grand, thanks,’ Ma yells. Then her head disappears and she shouts, ‘Here, do yis have any more cushions with that?’
No one answers.
‘What is it, Ma?’
Ma’s face appears again. She grins. ‘It’s a couch. Do ye like it?’
‘Eh, it’s not very comfortable,’ I say, and this makes Ma laugh so hard that I laugh too.
‘Here, quit hogging the couch,’ she says. ‘Give us a go.’ Ma starts chucking bricks aside and climbs in underneath.
‘Ah, Ma, stop – it’s going to go flying again!’ I say. ‘Get it off me!’
But Ma just says, ‘Here, squidge over,’ and she keeps squirming until she’s upside down too and her face is right up next to mine. She pokes the couch with her finger. ‘What do ye think?’ I look at her and say nothing, so she goes on. ‘Well, I like it.’
It’s leather, I think. A two-seater. Brown. One of its arms is behind my head and I’m squished up against the cushions.
Ma pushes her hand against it and it moves.
‘Careful, Ma!’ I say.
‘Good and firm. Not too worn. We’ll g
et a blanket for it and it’ll be good as new,’ she says. ‘I think we should keep it here and crawl in whenever it rains.’
‘Or when the sun’s too strong.’
‘’Zactly,’ Ma says.
And even though there are pieces of brick poking my legs and my back and my bum, I don’t care any more. ‘I do think we should keep it outside, though,’ I say.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ I say.
‘What if it rains?’ Ma says.
‘We can shove that plastic sheet in the basement over it,’ I say.
She turns her head so she’s facing me. ‘Good thinking, Batman!’ she says. ‘And I’ll nick a table and chairs for outside too. And a barbecue. And I’ll ask someone to build us a little sun deck. That’d be nice.’
I think of Rapunzel in her Castle. ‘And a balcony too – off the bedroom. I’ll grow my hair real long so it hangs all the way to the ground.’
‘And your prince can climb up and rescue you.’
‘Nah. I don’t need a prince. Or rescuing. This is our Castle and we’re staying.’
‘Fair enough, you’re the boss,’ Ma says. Then she says, ‘Sure you’re all right?’
‘Sure I’m sure,’ I say.
Ma nods. ‘Good,’ she says. And she leans her forehead against mine till they touch and holds it there for a second. Then she says, ‘Ready?’ and she means, ‘Let’s go.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, and Ma starts to climb back out.
THE TOWER
Ma’s lying on the couch with a wet towel draped over her face and her hair sprawled out over the side. After we dragged it to the middle of the backyard, Ma wiped it down and then stood there for ages looking at it and saying over and over, ‘Not a thing wrong with that,’ even though it’s pretty ripped in places.
I’m watching her and thinking of the shadow in the basement. And the coins disappearing. But I can’t do anything till Ma goes out. And I don’t think she’s going to move for a while.
I’m going up to the Silo roof to make sure the Authorities are definitely gone.
I tiptoe back through the kitchen and past the stairs, and then I run into the basement real quick to see if I can catch the shadow. I don’t see anything, though. I’m not surprised. There are loads of pillars and corners in here. Plenty of ways for shadows to mix.
I turn back and run up the stairs, up, up, up, all the way to the sixth floor. At the top of the stairway, I sprint through a door and then I’m outside and I’m running across the sky-bridge. It goes right out over nothing, like running through the sky. It’s got loads of holes but they’re real small so you can’t fall through. And way down below me is Ma lying on the couch with a towel over her face.
I get to the ladder, and climb up the Silo as fast as I can go, which is real fast cos I do it every day. When I get to the top, I run straight to the side where we were begging. I look down to the street. The Yellow Jackets are gone. I look left and right but I can’t see them. Just people walking between the offices and apartment blocks and coffee shops.
I head for the other side of the roof, but there are no Yellow Jackets on the bridge neither. I look down the canal, along the streets and paths on the other side, till I can’t hardly make out one building from another. Except for the spires of the churches and cathedrals. They’re real easy to see.
The Authorities are gone. We’re safe.
I lean against the wall and breathe out heavy. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.
There are clouds coming in from the sea. They’re piling up over the city but you can see the places where the sun gets through the holes in the clouds. The rays reach down through the sky and touch the buildings below, like the fingers of the giant in the basement, searching for the souls of dead people to take them up, out of this world.
The river cuts right through the city. It comes from the mountains. Usually you can see the mountains real clear, but today is so sunny that you can’t hardly see them cos the air’s all wavy.
That’s where Ma says Care is. Out in the mountains. Care is the place where the Authorities take you. They lock you up and you can never see your ma again.
But it’s where the enchanted forest is too. Cos enchanted forests are always in the mountains.
I like being up here. There’s one church that’s two streets away. It has a clock and a bell and a skinny steeple, and it strikes one dong for every quarter hour. Four dongs means it’s a new hour. And at noon it just goes mental.
My favourite thing to do on the roof is snoop on people. There’s this one woman that wears a red coat. Every morning, when the clock on the church is at around 8.40, I spot her way off down the streets. She’s walking by the canal with this guy that’s probably her husband or boyfriend. They look real funny cos she’s tall and he’s small. But they’re always talking when they’re walking, all the way up the canal. I don’t think they ever run out of things to say to each other.
At around 8.50 they cross the bridge. When they reach this side of the canal I lose them cos the mill is in the way, but I know they come down off the bridge and walk along the street by our basement, right past the place where old man Caretaker sleeps.
Ma calls him Caretaker cos he always sleeps in the same spot, in a sheltered little area that’s covered by a tin roof, between the outside wall of the mill and the street. Him being there all the time makes it seem like Caretaker’s guarding the mill.
It doesn’t even have four walls cos on the right the ground rises up slowly like a ramp till it reaches street level. It’s where the carts used to drive down and load up, years and years ago, when the mill was still working.
There’s a window in our basement that peeks into his shelter. It used to be boarded up but I pulled the top two boards away. On that side of the mill the basement is lower than the street so when you crouch on the ledge, all you can see of people above is their feet.
Sometimes I climb out and sit with him. It’s not really outside, though, cos if I sit in the right place, people on the street above can’t see me.
Caretaker’s weird. He likes blankets and books and tins of sardines. And he never ever, washes. Ever.
After Red Coat and Short Guy have passed Caretaker, they get to the corner of the mill. That’s where I see them again. They cross the road at the traffic lights and Short Guy kisses Red Coat. Then he walks straight on, towards the church, and I don’t see him any more. But she turns and walks down the street beneath me and goes into one of the office buildings. I don’t know where she goes after that cos she doesn’t have a desk by a window.
But every day after 1.00 she comes out of the building and walks up the street and picks a coffee shop. She buys two coffees and two sandwiches and sits outside. On Fridays, she buys a muffin too.
Ten minutes later Short Guy turns up. He looks outside every coffee shop till he finds her. And when he does, he makes this face like he’s so surprised she picked the one she did. And she laughs.
Every day she laughs.
And for the next forty minutes they talk between mouthfuls of sandwiches and coffee. And on Fridays, they share the muffin. But he only takes a little and then gives her the rest of his share.
I think he must have a real interesting job. Maybe he’s the cleaner in the church and he snoops outside the confession box. Cos he always has a story to tell her and she always laughs.
At 1.55 they get up. He goes back towards the church and she goes back to her office. The next time I see her is after 5.00, when she leaves and walks down the road. She waits at the traffic lights till Short Guy arrives. And they kiss. Then they cross the street and walk right past the mill and Caretaker, then over the bridge and along by the canal, chatting, chatting, chatting, till the buildings and the traffic and the people swallow them up.
Sometimes they stop on the bridge and look down the canal. Sometimes they buy bread from a bakery and feed the swans. Sometimes they sit at a table outside a bar by the canal and drink wine. But never once in the l
ast year and eight months have they stopped and looked up here. Never once have they noticed me. Or the mill. No one ever does.
Except for those men in the yellow jackets earlier. They noticed the mill.
It’s weird cos I know I used to live down there, out on the streets, but even if I look all day, every day, I never see anything I recognize. But I remember it all. The alleyways and the doorways and the cans and the fighting and the shouting and the hiding and the hunger and the cold and the dark and the scary nights.
But it didn’t start off like that. It used to be real good. Before it went real bad.
FEEDING THE FISHES
We’ve lived in loads of places. But Gran’s was the best. Gran had a fireplace with a statue of the Virgin Mary with a little bowl of holy water on the mantelpiece, and when Gran and Ma would fight, Gran would dip her fingers in the bowl and say, ‘Lord bless us and save us.’
Her house smelled of toast and soap and burning coal. I remember sitting beside Gran on the couch in our slippers, watching TV and eating eggs and rashers. And sometimes Gran would put rollers in her hair to curl it and she’d do mine too. But we’d take them out before we went to bed. And I wouldn’t care what time Ma came home or how drunk she got, cos if I fell asleep in front of the fire, I’d wake up in bed with a load of blankets on me and it would be just as warm.
I had a plastic pink lunchbox with a handle, like a suitcase only much smaller. And Gran would put ham sandwiches in it for me and maybe an apple. Every school day she’d help me put on my navy school coat with the red symbol on the chest pocket. She’d say, ‘Ready for work?’ and then she’d hand me my lunchbox and we’d walk to school.
The school had a concrete yard as big as the Silo roof. In one corner was a garden with a pond. There were these tiny bubbles in the pond water that grew and grew till they became like marbles, except they weren’t made of glass, they were made of jelly. And one day the bubbles were gone and instead there were hundreds and hundreds of black tadpoles swimming around in the pond, and that’s when I learned that spawn becomes tadpoles and then they become frogs. And I thought that was deadly.
The Girl in Between Page 2