by Jean Ure
“It’s the baby I feel sorry for,” said Honey. “Poor little thing!”
I felt like snarling, “Never mind the baby! What about us?”
“The baby’ll be all right,” I said, instead. “It’s going to have its mother back.”
“Yes, but I don’t think she looks after it properly. I don’t think she loves her enough. I wish we could have brought her with us!”
“Well, we couldn’t,” I said. “You can’t go round kidnapping babies.”
Soup ’n Sarnies was full of people eating their lunch.
An old lady was behind the counter; Honey told me she was Joe’s nan. Unlike Joe, she was very small and frail-looking. She shot us an inquiring glance, out of beady eyes, then Joe himself came lumbering over, wiping his hands on a tea towel, with this big soppy grin on his face.
He sat us down at a table in a dark corner.
“Get you some food,” he said. “Ham sarnies?”
I could really have gone for a ham sarnie, but Honey had to go and tell him I was a vegetarian so he brought me a cheese and tomato bap, instead. There is no denying that having principles involves a great deal of sacrifice, but I forced myself to smile and be polite and tried not to be too aware of Honey, happily munching at my side.
Joe pulled up a chair and asked us how things were going.
“We’ve had to leave,” said Honey. “We’ve been thrown out.”
“That’s not good,” said Joe.
“No, it’s not,” said Honey. “We don’t know where to go. We can’t go back home!”
Joe frowned. He turned, solemnly, towards me. “You ought to go to the police,” he said.
“You can’t let your stepdad bash you and get away with it.”
I glowered at Honey. She was responsible for this! Blackening my dad’s name.
“’Tisn’t right,” said Joe. “He’s the one ought to leave home, not you.”
Honey wriggled, uncomfortably, on her chair. I noticed that she was deliberately avoiding looking at me.
“Dangerous, a young girl like you on her own.”
“She’s not as young as all that,” said Honey. “It’s her birthday next week. Isn’t it?” She nudged at me with her foot under the table. “She’s going to be sixteen.”
Joe turned, somewhat doubtfully, to look at me.
“She can do what she likes, then,” said Honey.
“All the same…” Joe shook his head. “You ought to be back with your mum!”
“Oh, her mum doesn’t want her,” said Honey. “She wouldn’t have her back.”
What??? I scraped my chair away from the table, with a great clanging and clatter.
“I’m going to the loo,” I said.
As I came out of the loo I almost bumped into Joe, carrying mugs of coffee to one of the tables. He nodded gravely at me and said, “It’s all right. All taken care of!”
“What did he mean?” I said to Honey. “All taken care of?”
“It’s all taken care of! I told you Joe would help us. He said if you really didn’t want to go home we can stay here, with him and his nan.”
“Stay here? In this place?”
“Why not?”
“Cos it’s disgusting!” The loo was even more primitive than the ones at school. A horrible little cell, so narrow you could hardly turn round, with great spidery cobwebs hanging in the corners. “It’s a dump!”
“That is a really rude thing to say,” said Honey.
“It’s the truth,” I said. “It’s a dump!”
“So where else are we going to go?”
I thought glumly that we really didn’t any alternative; we would have to go back whether we liked it or not. Darcy was right: I wasn’t a survivor. I’d thought I was street smart, but I was beginning to feel more and more helpless and frightened.
“I’m not going back,” said Honey. “I’m not ever going back!”
Why wasn’t Honey feeling helpless and frightened? Always, before, she’d followed my lead; now suddenly she was the one making all the arrangements and coming to decisions.
“Your mum must be missing you,” I said.
Honey hooked her hair over her ears. “She won’t be missing me. She doesn’t like me.”
It was somehow quite chilling, to hear Honey say that.
“She’s always been ashamed of me. She thinks I’m stupid.”
“You’re not stupid!”
“I am a bit,” said Honey.
“You’re not! Think how you looked after the baby.”
“That’s different. There’s nothing to just looking after a baby.”
I told her that I begged to differ. I couldn’t have done it! I wouldn’t even have known where to begin.
“I bet if you wanted,” I said, “you could train to be a nursery nurse, or something. Working with babies! You’d like that.”
“Not if it means going back,” said Honey. Then she put it to me, straight. “You were the one that told me I had to leave.”
“Yes, because your mum was really mean to you, but maybe while you’ve been away she’s, like…thought about things. Like maybe my dad has. So if we go back, it’ll be different. You know?”
“I’m not going back,” said Honey. “I don’t want to go back! If I’m not there, my mum can get on with her life. She doesn’t want me!”
I muttered that she didn’t actually know that; not for certain.
“I do know it,” said Honey. “She’s told me, lots of times.”
“Only when she’s drunk! People don’t always say what they mean when they’re drunk.”
“That’s exactly when they say what they mean. You can go back,” said Honey. “I’m staying here. Joe says I can have his room–we can have his room. If you stay. He’ll sleep downstairs. He says it would be really helpful if we could take over some of the work from his nan, cos she’s got these bad knees? Like arthritis? He says he couldn’t afford to pay us much, but we’d have free food and somewhere to sleep.” Honey looked at me, earnestly. “It’s better than being on the streets!”
I grunted.
“Anyway, I told him we were grateful,” said Honey.
“You told him we’d do it?”
“Yes! I did. Well, I told him I would.”
I heaved a sigh. I desperately didn’t want to, but if we weren’t going to go home I honestly couldn’t think what else we could do. “What about the old lady?” I said. “What’s he going to tell her?”
“He’ll think of something.”
“Like what?”
“Something.”
“God, this is so exciting,” I said. “I can’t wait! The big brain swings into action.”
I felt ashamed the minute I’d said it; it was mean of me. I didn’t have any cause to be snotty with Honey, when all she was doing was trying to solve our problems for us. It was just that nothing was working out the way I’d imagined. Staying with a fat slob and his ancient old gran in a tatty caff? It wasn’t in the least bit romantic. If anything, it was sordid. But if Honey wasn’t going to give in and creep back with her tail between her legs, then neither was I.
“He doesn’t have to let us stay,” said Honey. “I think it’s really nice of him.”
“He’s only doing it because he fancies you,” I said.
She blushed at that, but she didn’t deny it. I thought, heavens! Don’t say she’s flattered? Plenty of far better-looking boys than old slob-like Joe had fancied her. What on earth did she see in him?
Honey, as if reading my thoughts, said, “I bet he wouldn’t leave poor little babies to starve.”
“No,” I said, “but he’ll probably want us to work our fingers to the bone. Cheap labour, that’s all we’ll be. Nothing comes for free…not in this life!”
The next day, we started work. I’d never had a job before; the most I’d ever done was help Mum and Dad in the shop occasionally, during school holidays. I’d quite enjoyed stacking shelves and putting prices on things. Dad didn’t like me taking
money, but sometimes when he wasn’t there Mum used to let me, and that had always made me feel pleasantly important.
I didn’t feel in the least bit important working for Joe and his nan. His nan said I wasn’t old enough to serve people, so mostly what I got stuck with was doing the washing up. Mounds and mounds of washing up, cos they didn’t have a dishwasher. Or rubber gloves, which meant my hands had to go plunging into horrible greasy water. The water wouldn’t have been greasy if they’d let me use the proper amount of washing-up liquid, but the old lady got well fussed the first time I did it and screeched that I’d bankrupt them if I carried on like that. So then she made me measure it out in teaspoons, and hung around behind the counter spying on me to make sure I didn’t overdose on Fairy Liquid.
When I wasn’t washing up I was sweeping the floor, or mopping the tables, or cleaning the beastly horrible coffee machine. I hated that coffee machine! It was always going wrong and spewing its contents over everything. Sometimes it spat hot coffee grounds at me; other times it blew off great clouds of steam.
Honey was luckier: she got to play waitress. She also got to make sandwiches and do a bit of cooking. I didn’t mind not being allowed to cook as it was mostly fried stuff, like eggs-bacon-sausages, and you got all covered in dobs of grease and smelled of cooking fat; but making sandwiches would have been a change from everlastingly washing up. Joe did let me have a go at it, right at the beginning. I made a great pile ready to be delivered to a nearby office…ham, cheese, beef, salami. I was quite proud of them! But then the old lady came tottering in to take a look, and let out this indignant squawk. It seemed I’d used way too much of everything. Again. Too much ham, too much cheese, even too much marge, for goodness’ sake. That was when she said I’d better stick to cleaning duties.
I had the feeling that Joe’s nan wasn’t too keen on me being there. She was OK with Honey, but she always seemed a bit suspicious of me, like she didn’t really believe that I was going to be sixteen in a few days’ time.
Honey said, “I had to tell them that! If they knew you were only fourteen they’d call the police.”
“Yeah, like if they knew my mum really wanted me back…telling them she didn’t! How could you do that?”
“I was only trying to help,” said Honey. “I found us a job!”
“So how long do you think you’re going to go on doing this job?” I said.
“We can do it as long as we like! We can do it till you’re really sixteen, and then—”
“What?”
“Get other jobs! If we want to.”
Honey seemed in her element, waiting tables, doing the cooking. She was all busy and bustling and full of a happy sense of her own importance. Joe was pleased cos the customers liked her. She smiled at them and talked to them and laughed at their jokes. We’d only been there a couple of days and she seemed to know everything there was to know about them. She tried telling me, but I was too impatient to listen.
“How come you don’t get bored?” I said. “I’d be bored out of my skull!”
“The customers aren’t boring,” said Honey. She sounded quite shocked. “It’s nice, hearing all about their families and stuff.”
I said, “Whatever turns you on.”
“Don’t you like it here?” said Honey.
“What’s to like?”
“I like it!”
I didn’t know how she could, but she and Joe got on like a house on fire. Honey had discovered that Joe was a fan of the Beany Boys, and they played their CDs till I thought that I’d scream. The Beany Boys are just so naff it’s unbelievable. I mean, that anyone would ever have bothered recording them in the first place! I sat and sulked, and worried about the future. I just couldn’t imagine still being here, mopping floors and scrubbing tables, in two years’ time. But where else could I go? What else could I do?
Honey insisted that once I was sixteen I’d be able to do anything I wanted. I said, “Like go to uni? I don’t think so!”
Honey munched on her lip; she didn’t have an answer to that. Joe said, “You want to go to uni, you got to study. You want to study, you got to go back to school.”
I felt like hitting him. Stupid slob-like thing! How could I go back to school with the police out searching for me?
“Soon as you’re sixteen,” said Joe. “Do anything you like, when you’re sixteen.”
Later, crammed next to Honey in Joe’s single bed, I grumbled that “It’ll be way too late by the time I’m sixteen.”
Honey said, “Joe doesn’t know that.”
Joe might not, but I did. “I’m going to have to waste two whole years!”
I’d never seriously considered going to uni before. I’d always thought vaguely that I might–but then again, I might not. Now, suddenly, it had become a burning ambition. My one aim in life. I had to get to uni! I didn’t want to end up scrubbing tables. I didn’t even want to end up waiting tables. I wanted a proper career!
I said this to Honey. Trying to be helpful, she suggested that maybe I could enrol at one of the local schools.
“Cos maybe,” she said, “the police aren’t looking for us at all. Maybe they’ve given up.”
“No!” I almost shouted it. “They can’t have done!”
Not already! Mum would never let them give up so quickly. She’d be calling them every day, nagging at them. Pleading with them. Find my daughter…I knew she would!
“You don’t want them to come looking?” said Honey.
I wanted them to be looking; I didn’t want them to actually find me. I wanted to go back of my own accord. I wanted Mum and Dad to tell me they still loved me!
One morning, when I was on my own, scrubbing the stupid counter, the door clanged open and Darcy came breezing in.
“Thought it was you! You taken up residence?”
I said, “Just until something better turns up.”
“Wouldn’t take much to be better than this lot.” She gave one of her cackles. I found it quite annoying.
“Why aren’t you at school?” I said.
“Didn’t feel like it. Only go when I’m in the mood. Which isn’t that often!” She cackled again, and I felt a strong desire to slap her with my wet dishcloth.
“I’m going up west, meet some mates. Wanna come?”
Primly I said, “No, thank you. I’ve got work to do.”
“Oh, well, suit yourself.” She flapped a hand. “See ya!”
With that, she breezed back out. I watched as she walked up the road, in the direction of the Underground. I didn’t want to end up like Darcy, I thought. I couldn’t imagine how I’d ever been friends with her. She was a stupid, stupid person!
Joe came out through the bead curtain which separated the caff from the private living space.
“Who’s that, then?” he said. “Your mate from the flats?” He wandered across to the window and squinted out at Darcy’s disappearing figure. “She’s a bad ’un, that one.”
A week ago, if he’d dared say that, I’d have leaped to Darcy’s defence; now I thought that he was probably right. Which meant that Dad had been right, too, when he’d wanted to send her packing.
“You shouldn’t be friends with the likes of her,” said Joe. “You got more going for you than that.”
Maybe I had; but all I was doing was sweeping floors and cleaning counters.
“Back to school,” said Joe. “That’s your best bet.”
Although he stayed open till seven o’clock every night, Joe had said that five was to be our “knocking-off time”. Honey would willingly have worked right through, but Joe wouldn’t let her.
“Can’t afford to pay you overtime.”
Honey said, “Overtime? I don’t want overtime.”
She was so naïve! Even I knew that you had to get paid extra for working longer hours.
“I just want to help,” she said. “I don’t want to be paid.”
But Joe shook his head. “Can’t have that,” he said. “Against union rules.”
<
br /> Honey giggled. “We don’t belong to a union!”
I thought to myself that if we did we’d be earning a whole lot more than Joe was giving us. I bet he was making a small fortune! He was just using me and Honey; we were nothing but a convenience.
“Don’t you worry about no unions,” said Joe. “I’ll see you all right! You go off, now, and relax.”
“But you’ll be on your own!”
That was Honey, needless to say. Not me! Joe told her he could manage. He said his nan would help out for the last couple of hours.
“You go and sit down and watch a bit of telly. I reckon you’ve deserved it.”
So did I! My legs were aching from standing up all day, and my hands were red raw from all the beastly washing up. The first few nights, I just flopped down in an armchair and went straight to sleep. I had never been so exhausted in my life. Honey, on the other hand, said she didn’t feel in the least bit tired.
“It was such fun! I really really enjoy working!”
The morning Darcy came breezing in was our sixth day there. For some reason, her visit really depressed me. That evening, I was overcome by a great sense of despair. An endless future of greasy washing up seemed to loom before me. I curled into my armchair with my knees hugged against my chest and drifted into a foggy kind of sleep. I could dimly hear the sound of the television, but not anything that was being said. It was like I was at the bottom of a deep pit; and way up high, out of sight, out of reach, the world was carrying on without me.
Suddenly, I was jerked into wakefulness by Honey poking at me.
“Jade! Hey!”
“What?” I sprang up, in alarm. Honey pointed urgently at the television.
“Look!”
My mouth gagged open; I actually felt it go. There, on the screen, were pictures of me and Honey. My horrible old school photo.
“They’re looking for us!” cried Honey. “They’re—”
“Sh!” I wanted to hear what was being said.
“Concern is growing for the safety of two teenage girls who went missing from the Birmingham area over a week ago. Honey de Vito, aged sixteen, and her friend Jade Rutherford, fourteen, were initially believed to have taken the train to Glasgow to meet up with their boyfriends. It is now thought more likely, however, that they are somewhere in London. Th—”