“ARF!” Mr Spinks yelps louder, and pulls himself away so fast, so unexpectedly, that his lead slips right out of my hand.
Great, I’ve managed to lose both of Nana’s pets in quick succession…
“Mr Spinks! Come back!” I squeak, rising up from the bench.
But he’s safe enough.
Zephyr’s face bursts into a smile as he sees the dog hurtling towards him, and scoops the fat pooch into his arms.
I flump back on to the bench, feeling useless and sad and empty.
Zephyr, meanwhile, is laughing his head off, as Mr Spinks frantically licks his face clean.
“No luck?” asks my cousin as he plonks the dog on the bench next to me and sits down.
“No luck,” I say, and realize I’ve been crying again.
We sit in silence for a bit, a girl, a dog and a boy on a bench.
“I’m sorry if … if me and Dad being here has made everything more complicated or difficult for you or whatever,” Zephyr says finally.
OK, so I was already feeling useless and sad and empty, but now I can add bad to that.
“It’s not really your fault,” I say with a shrug, knowing that’s true now that crying’s washed some of my rage away. “I mean, our families kind of overlap, which makes it more obvious that my version is a bit rubbish compared to yours.”
“How’s ours better?” asks Zephyr, sounding genuinely confused.
“Well, there’s just me and Mum. There hasn’t even been Nana for a while, since the two of them bicker and fight and fell out properly last year,” I say. “And then your side sounds all happy and busy and close, with two parents and a sister and grandparents and everything, AND you seem to be closer to Nana than us!”
It feels all right to say that stuff. Like saying it makes the fog in my head clear a little.
“Yeah, getting to know Patsy’s been fun the last few months, but it was for a sad reason, don’t forget, with Grandad dying,” says Zephyr. “And lots of things haven’t been great or easy for us. Dad’s company didn’t make any money for a long time, and we were pretty broke, and that caused arguments between Mum and Dad. Then there’s the fact that my mum and my gran – that’s Grandad Manny’s second wife – they can rub each other up the wrong way. As for Great-Aunt Sita; she’s not been well and Mum’s round there a lot looking after her—”
“Wait,” I say, “Sita lives near you?”
“Yeah, she emigrated to Australia years ago,” Zephyr replies. “She’s just a couple of streets away. And then there’s Missy; she’s SUCH a whiner. Man, can my sister moan! ‘Zeph got three more fries than I did!’”
I give a little laugh, in spite of myself.
“And don’t even get me started on our names,” Zephyr carries on, getting all animated now. “My mum’s a bit of a hippy, and she called us Zephyr and Mistral, after winds. I mean, winds. Can you imagine the teasing I get in class when kids find out? Making farting noises all over the place?”
I’m laughing again. He’s pretty funny. Who knew?
“Well, I suppose it’s no different to naming people after stones,” I suggest. “Like … like Ruby or Pearl. And hey, don’t forget, I’m named after a colour!”
“Of course, yeah.” Zephyr nods and smiles. “So who came up with that? Your mum, or your dad?”
He shoots me a sideways look. He’s fishing for info, and up till now, he’d have been the last person I’d’ve chosen to tell. But, hey … why not? He is sort of family, I suppose.
“My mum chose the name. My dad…” I hesitate. “Well, he doesn’t know my name. He doesn’t even know I exist.”
“Wow, sounds complicated,” says Zephyr.
“It is a bit,” I agree, then take a big breath. “My mum and him met through a dating site. They went out together for a few months, and really liked each other. But then my dad got his, like, dream job, working for some charity in Ecuador.”
“South America?” Zephyr checks his geography facts.
“Uh-huh,” I say with a nod. “Mum and him broke up on good terms, because, you know, they decided it’s hard to meet up and go to the movies when you live on different continents…”
Zephyr laughs, which makes me relax a bit. I never get the chance to talk about this stuff to anyone. I once tried with Bella and Aisha, but they ended up staring at me with something like pity crossed with embarrassment, so I changed the subject pretty quick and never went back there.
“Things got complicated after my dad moved away,” I carry on, “’cause Mum found out she was expecting me.”
“Wow, again!” Zephyr mutters.
“Anyway, Mum decided not to tell him. She thought it wasn’t fair; they’d split up, he’d gone to another country; she wasn’t going to mess with his new life. And so it’s just us!”
“That was brave, or something,” Zephyr says, sounding uncertain. “How do you feel about it?”
OK, so it’s my turn to wow. No one’s ever asked me that before.
“It’s all right,” I say, but I’m not totally sure it is. “Nana always says, ‘Never regret the past, but always look to the future’. She brought Mum up to think like that, and I suppose I do too.”
But do I?
And Nana … that might be her life’s motto, but she’s doing an awful lot of looking at the past at the moment.
Nana – now she’s back in my mind again, and so is the guilt. I can’t help but let out a long, low groan.
“What?” says Zephyr, as he and Mr Spinks stare at me.
“What about Angie!” I burst out. “How do I tell Nana she’s missing?”
“Well, you don’t,” Zephyr says matter-of-factly. “Let’s not worry her for now, and we’ll hopefully get Angie back before Patsy’s allowed out of hospital. And look – I did a search online and found these brilliant photos of the shop from years and years ago. I’ll show them to her later. We can make it all about that.”
“Thank you,” I say, taken aback at Zephyr’s thoughtfulness.
He’s holding his phone up between us, about level with Mr Spinks’s nose, and I squint to see better.
To see first an old black-and-white photo, with fancy lettering above it that reads Brandt’s Baker and Confectioners. A boy with a delivery bike stands outside, grinning at the camera.
My heart starts thundering. Is it Billy, the delivery lad? For real, I mean? Or did Nana already do research and find this photo, which helped her to make up her story?
“That one looks seriously old, but check out this one,” says Zephyr, flicking to an image that seems like it must be from the 1940s, by the looks of the rolled hairstyles the women are wearing.
There’s a muddle of smiling people in this: a young couple, an older couple, three young boys, with quite an old lady leaning on the arm of the tallest of them. The shop has a newer sign; it’s now called Brandt & Blake.
So the shop below Nana’s flat really was a bakery, and for a pretty long time. And it really was called Brandt’s.
More inspiration? Or more pieces of a true story?
“Pretty cool, eh?” As he talks, I watch the easy, charming smile on Zephyr’s face, and realize two things.
I’m totally rubbish at first impressions, and that doesn’t only mean random North London streets. It means cousins too.
And maybe I need to share more than just a parrot search and an unknown dad story with Zephyr.
Maybe I should share the The Pearl in the Attic with him too…
I’m so lost in thoughts about my possibly fantastic new-found cousin that I jump when Zephyr’s phone jangles with a text message.
“Hey – it’s from Patsy.” He reads from the screen. “She says she can’t wait to see us today. Then she says can I give you her number. Oh, and she wants to tell you, if number five is done, then look out for six beginning to rise… What does that mean?”
“It means I need your help,” I say to Zephyr. “How are you at solving riddles?”
“Bring it on!” says Zephyr,
raising his eyebrows at me. “Just as long as you don’t, y’know, shout at me again…”
“Promise,” I say, feeling embarrassed at the way I acted last night.
I hold my pinkie up to him and we shake on it, with a lick of our fingers from Mr Spinks to seal the deal…
“Any sign of Angie?” says Uncle Dean as we come across him with the laundry basket full of yellow plastic ducks at his feet.
He’s unlocking the side gate, presumably to take them through the passage to the outbuilding in the yard: the old bakery. I haven’t made it out there yet – but I’m about to.
“Nope. We walked around the park for half an hour,” I tell Uncle Dean. “We tried whistling and calling for her –”
“– and barking,” Dean adds, nodding down at Mr Spinks.
“– but all we saw were pigeons and crows.”
“Well, hopefully, when Angie gets hungry enough, she’ll find her way home,” Uncle Dean suggests, giving me a comforting squeeze of the arm. “Or maybe when she fancies a cup of tea, eh?”
I smile, hoping he’s right.
“Anyway, will we take these in for you, Dad, if you want to go and get more stuff?” Zephyr suggests.
“Great,” says Dean. “Do you want to open up, Scarlet, and Zephyr can deal with the wildlife?”
With that, Uncle Dean heads back towards the flat’s front door, and I rattle our way into the alleyway with the clunky keys, while Zephyr grabs up the collection of ducks.
“Maybe we should make an arrow out of these on the roof, to guide Angie back,” Zephyr jokily suggests, as I lead the way with Mr Spinks.
The door to the bakery is open; I guess Uncle Dean and Mum have been busy while we’ve been away.
I gaze inside; an ugly strip light illuminates the whole space, which is stacked high with the boxes, books and bin bags that Uncle Dean and Zephyr moved out of the hall, stairways and living room yesterday while we were away in Chelmsford.
But what’s not ugly are the old but still glossy white tiles that cover all the walls, just like they were described in Chapter Two of The Pearl in the Attic. And I’m hoping to see the old bread oven too – where bread rises … that was Zephyr’s guess to solve Nana’s clue.
“Oh … it’s not the original one,” I say, spotting some modern contraption of metal and black plastic knobs and handles. I guess if this was still a bakery for years after Ruby and Pearl’s time, then certain things would’ve had to be modernized.
“Yeah, but it still made bread,” says Zephyr, putting the basket of ducks down.
He gives Mr Spinks one to chew before he sets off clambering around and over the general clutter. I watch him peer through dusty glass doors – and then hear him whoop as he hauls one open.
“Is this what we’re looking for?” he asks, holding up the ribbon-wrapped folded papers.
“Don’t you dare!” I say, when I see Zephyr about to undo the bow. “Come on up to the attic – you’ve got a bit of catching up to do before we read that chapter…”
“Good to see you two are having fun!” I hear Mum’s voice say.
She’s just coming through the bakery doorway holding metal poles – a dismantled clothes rack from the second floor, I think.
“Anyway, Dean says you haven’t found Angie,” Mum says to me. “And I just wanted to say, don’t beat yourself up, Scarlet. I mean, hopefully she’ll come back, but Nana might have to accept that long term, she might not be able to care for her pets if—”
“I don’t want to hear this, Mum,” I say, moving to get past her.
“I know you don’t, darling,” Mum replies. “Which is why I downloaded you this…”
Mum hands me a document that’s headed, Explaining Dementia to Children and Young People.
“No, thanks,” I say snippily. “I’ve got something better to read: Nana’s amazing story.”
So Mum is still determined to think Nana’s losing her mind.
When really, it’s Mum who’s losing hers, if she believes that…
The Pearl in the Attic
Chapter 6
The girls were agog.
The delights of the park were so very, very many. There were signs to an outdoor swimming lido, a racetrack along the flat at the foot of the hill, a boating lake, and a little rollicking railway ride that was called a rollercoaster.
“What a place this is!” Pearl said joyfully, her arm hooked in Ruby’s. “When I’m employed as a maid, I’ll save all my money and we’ll come here every week!”
Ruby squeezed Pearl’s arm, touched by her friend’s kind offer. She doubted that a kitchen maid’s wages would run to much, but it would be more than Ruby would ever earn at Uncle Arthur’s, where she had bed and board and should be grateful of it.
As they walked and talked and daydreamed uphill through the grounds towards the palace itself, Ruby and Pearl stared about them at families strolling, children laughing and gambolling. Rich men in their black hats and fine suits escorted rich ladies in dresses abounding in tucks and pleats and flounces. Not-so-rich folk were in their pressed Sunday best, with clean collars and polished boots. Girls wearing jaunty hats adorned with bunches of violets or clusters of cherries smiled sweetly into the faces of their beaus.
Ruby and Pearl had no finery of their own, but felt grand enough this Sunday afternoon. They’d brushed each other’s hair till it shone, and decided they would wear it down, in thick braids tied with ribbon Pearl kept in a small bag of sewing stuff and scraps brought from her home. Over their similar skirts of grey and brown and their plain, high-necked white blouses, they both had about their shoulders pretty shawls lent to them by Aunt Gertrude, shawls she had worn in former, gladder times, it seemed to Ruby.
When Uncle Arthur had left for the Three Compasses pub along the road, Aunt Gertrude had taken both the shawls up to the attic, where the girls had been quietly talking together, Ruby mending holes in her black stockings while Pearl stitched a little piece of tapestry.
As she presented the shawls to the delighted girls – a lacy, scallop-edged blue wool one for Ruby, a delicate black shawl with embroidered red roses for Pearl – Ruby noticed they had been folded for some time and smelled of lavender to keep off the moths, as if they had been kept in a drawer or cupboard for many months, if not years.
Aunt Gertrude had put away her good things along with her good memories when she married Uncle Arthur, Ruby suspected. She would not even come along with them this afternoon, as if she were undeserving of happiness.
“Shush, no,” she’d said at their final entreaty earlier, as she looked anxiously down the road towards the pub, waving them off. “Go and enjoy yourselves. He’ll be snoring on the settee by the time you’re back, but take care all the same!”
They’d felt wretched for Aunt Gertrude as they hurried away, but giddiness at what was to come had them both forget their aunt, the shop and their dreaded uncle very quickly.
“Look! They strut like the bird that comes to your window!” Ruby whispered now as some young ladies glided by them who must have been wearing the latest S-shaped corset that made their chests stick out and gave them the gait of a preening pigeon.
“Coo! Coo!” Pearl muttered, a touch too loudly, and both girls broke into giggles when the one of the young ladies turned to scowl at them over her shoulder.
“Come on!” Ruby said gaily, breaking into a run and pulling Pearl up a different path in the flowerbed-lined hillside. “It must be near two o’clock now…”
Great wide steps came in view that let up to a terrace around the palace, and billboards abounded, advertising the Wild West show that would take place inside.
But Ruby and Pearl, with nothing in their pockets for the entry price, were here only for Dolly’s show – and they could now see crowds on a clearing to the right of the palace, and hear a tremendous hissing noise too.
“Where do you suppose the balloon is?” asked Pearl as they hurried closer to the crowds.
“Look, there!” Ruby said, poi
nting as a large dome made of some kind of light-coloured cloth began to bob and billow above the heads of those watching.
Quickly, the girls hurried across and begged people’s pardon as they gently wriggled and squeezed their way through.
And then they could go no further; a fence of rope had been constructed to provide a wide circle in the grass for the Astounding Aeronautic Display, starring Miss Dolly Shepherd!, as a large poster nearby proclaimed.
Within the circle a few men milled. Two were tending a fire, throwing straw into a small stone-ringed pit, and watching as the smoke gathered with hisses and whooshes inside the ever-expanding, ever-rising balloon. Another pair were checking the tightness of ropes that tethered the balloon to a heavy-looking carriage, weighed down further with sandbags.
One more man, dressed in his Wild Western–style garb and hat of a cowboy, watched the proceedings with a smile on his face and hands on his hips.
And then there was Dolly.
As she strutted in her suit of knickerbockers and long-fitted jacket, with laced-up boots that nearly reached her knees, she looked quite marvellous, Ruby thought, her chest heaving with admiration.
Dolly’s arms were held aloft as she casually went about pinning a loose curl in her lusciously piled hair.
At least, she was attempting to pin the curl, but perhaps the lack of mirror was proving tricky. As soon as she saw Ruby and Pearl, her eyes lit up, and she beckoned them to come under the rope and join her.
“Everyone is watching us!” Pearl whispered to Ruby as they shyly went to join the older girl.
“I know,” Ruby whispered back, thinking her cheeks must be the colour of the roses on her friend’s shawl.
“You came!” Dolly said cheerfully. “Now could one of you pin me tight? I don’t want to land at the end with my hair untangling about me as if I had tumbled off a haystack.”
Ruby, who had so loved to braid the hair of her mother and little sisters, stepped over to help at once, glad to take a handful of pins from Dolly and have a job to do as the mutterings of “Who are they?” buzzed from the crowd. She began to fix and pin, only wincing a little at the small stabs of pain she still felt in two of her battered fingers.
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