Life, Death and Gold Leather Trousers

by Fiona Foden

  My skin tingles as we approach it and pull up on the small oval of gravel. We clamber out of the van. Crickle Cottage is stranded all on its own, as if no other houses wanted to play with it. There’s no garden or wall – just a bit of rickety fence that’s half fallen down.

  “So this is it,” Ed marvels, gazing around.

  Mum nods and smiles, but even she looks nervous as she pulls out the key. “OK, love?” she asks brightly.

  “Yes,” I squeak.

  Then she opens the front door, and it all comes whooshing back in my face.

  All the memories.

  Me, Mum, Dad, Lily and Jupe, all together, listening while Jupe plays a song. The late nights, when Lily was tucked up in bed, but I was allowed to stay up like one of the grown-ups. Jupe’s cat hissing at me, and me being obsessed with trying to befriend it.

  Taking a deep breath, and conscious of Lily slipping her hand into mine, I step into the past.

  It even smells dead, although Jupe died in hospital and not, thankfully, in this house. Following Mum into the hallway, I blink in the gloom.

  There’s a dingy kitchen, living room and bedroom downstairs, all dulled by dust and shadows. The cottage seems smaller than I remembered, maybe because I’m bigger now.

  “It’s spooky,” Lily whispers as we follow Mum from room to room. She’s right. You almost expect horrible sinister laughter to burst out of a cupboard. It didn’t used to feel creepy. It was filled with music and fun, as if there was always a family party going on. Jupe would hand round his mysterious dark red punch for the adults – Dad called it rocket fuel – and cakes from the village bakery for Lily and me.

  “So what d’you think?” Mum asks Ed.

  “It’s fantastic,” he marvels. I notice he keeps touching ordinary things like door handles and light switches, as if some of Jupe’s skin cells might transfer on to him, and then he could sell them on eBay.

  We all troop upstairs. On the staircase wall is a framed gold disc: “Presented to Falcon” – Jupe’s band – “to commemorate the sale of more than one million copies of the album Shooting Star”. A million copies!

  “Amazing,” Ed says, and I open my mouth to protest as he reaches out to lift it from the wall.

  “Oh, Ed, please leave that just now,” Mum says quickly. “Come on, let’s check out the other bedrooms.” I throw him a filthy look. He’s probably planning to sell that on eBay as well. What else is he going to want to get his paws on?

  “Lily, why don’t you have this room?” Mum suggests in one of the bedrooms. “And Clover, you have the one you both used to share. That way you’ll have your own space.”

  “OK,” I say, shivering. A room of my own, for the first time since Lily was born! I should be over the moon.

  We spend the rest of the afternoon down on the beach, and it starts to feel good, being here. Collecting driftwood and helping to build a fire takes my mind off Skelling and Riley for a while. I don’t even mind when Mum and Ed go paddling hand-in-hand in the sea.

  “Having a nice time?” Dad texts me.

  “Yes, great,” I reply, which is almost true, especially when Ed drives off to the village to buy fish and chips for all of us. Later, though, as the shadows fall, the cottage starts to feel eerie again. We try to watch TV, but something’s wrong with the aerial and the picture’s too blurry.

  “Well,” Mum says with a big, brave smile, “I reckon we might as well all go to bed.”

  Lily and I head upstairs, and she looks all excited, tucked up in the tiny, lumpy bed. But I can’t sleep. The house groans and creaks, and the wind whips through the trees down at the shore. In fact, I wish I was back with Lily in our own bedroom at home, or at least sharing here, like we used to. The sheets smell old and kind of biscuity. My mind swirls with worries, like will Betty remember to feed Cedric? Of course she will. She’s a pet person. Wasn’t Midnight the most pampered cat in Copper Beach?

  There’s a squeak on the landing. My heart jolts. I open one eye as a dark shape looms in the doorway. “H-hello?” comes my trembly voice.

  There’s a dull thumping in my ears and I’m almost expecting to see him standing before me. Jupe, asking, “Who’s that idiot man in my house? What does he want with my things?”

  “Who is it?” I whisper.

  “Clover! Are you awake?”

  Sweat springs from my brow, trickling sideways towards the ancient pillow.

  “It’s me,” Lily hisses.

  “God, Lily!” I almost pass out with relief.

  “I … I’m scared, Clover…”

  “What are you doing, creeping about?”

  “I couldn’t sleep!” she protests.

  “Don’t be silly,” I say sternly. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  “It feels scary. Every time I start falling asleep I get worried that I’m gonna have a bad dream. Is … is Jupe’s house haunted, d’you think?”

  “No,” I say firmly. “Definitely not. It feels totally fine, OK? Just go to sleep.”

  She steps towards me, looking small and skinny in her candy-striped nightie. “Clover … can I sleep in your bed?”

  I open my mouth to say no, and that we’re far too old to be sharing a titchy single bed. Then there’s a horrible creak, and she lurches towards me with something cobwebby stuck to her hair and dives under my covers. “Move over!” she demands.

  “You’d better not kick and wriggle,” I warn her.

  “Promise.” She snuggles close to me, still smelling vinegary from the fish and chips. “Clover,” she adds, “you’re so brave. I’m glad I’ve got a sister like you.”

  “Just go to sleep,” I say. I don’t confess that I’m sleeping in my socks, knickers and T-shirt in case I have to make an emergency getaway in the night.

  By the time I come downstairs in the morning, Lily’s already prancing about the kitchen in her swimming costume, while Mum and Ed are poring over ancient photos and newspapers at the kitchen table. “Can we go swimming now?” Lily demands.

  “After breakfast,” I tell her, picking up a faded photo of Jupe’s band. There were four members of Falcon – gangly men in regulation tight leather trousers with long hair straggling over their shoulders. The band is crammed into a tiny room with a sloping roof. There’s an ashtray balanced on a crate, and there are so many smoking ciggie butts in it, it looks like a mini volcano.

  It’s weird seeing Jupe like this – so much younger, not nearly as worn-out looking, his eyes almost smouldering against his pale skin.

  “The man himself,” Ed murmurs. Mum’s mouth is set in a tight line as she gathers up the photos.

  “I want to go swimming,” Lily moans, pacing the room. “When can we go? You promised.”

  “Later, OK?” I pick up a copy of the Tipden Times, which must be the local paper around here, and flip through it. Jupe’s on page two. It’s not the young, pale-faced Jupe, but the old, ravaged Jupe – the one whose entire face crinkled when he laughed, the Jupe I knew. My stomach twists uncomfortably.

  “You said we’d go swimming,” Lily mutters.

  I shut off my ears and focus hard on the picture. Jupe’s wearing a weird pointy hat. There’s an interview with him, which goes like this:

  Can you remember the first time you picked up a guitar?

  I was seven years old.

  What was the turning point for you, musically?

  Meeting Robert, Mitch and Chris and forming Falcon.

  (As you can gather, Jupe wasn’t exactly big on chat with reporters.)

  What were your influences?

  Various stuff.

  What inspired you?

  Touring.

  How did you feel when Falcon split up?

  Bad.

  I almost laugh at how little he gave away. They were famous, for God’s sake. Girls threw underw
ear at them. There’s that gold disc on the wall. Didn’t Jupe have anything to say? The other guys ended up with houses all over the world – one even owns an island, according to Mum – and what did Jupe have? This tiddly cottage (which wasn’t even his) and a mean cat (whereabouts unknown).

  If I ever manage to find people to play with, and form a real band, I’ll babble on so much in interviews that the poor journalist will eventually stuff a sock in my mouth and witter, “Thank you, Clover, that’s really enough. You’ve been very honest and enlightening. Now if I can just ask Riley some questions…”

  Before Riley decided I was worse than a bit of dirt on his shoe, I’d even started to wonder if we could be in a band together one day. He’d need tons of practice but I’d looked forward to spending loads of time helping him.

  So, Riley, the reporter would say, what first brought you and Clover together?

  Riley: It started at school, really. We became friends and would get together to practice, though I was pretty hopeless until Clover helped me get it together.

  Does your personal relationship ever cause problems with the band?

  Me, yanking sock from mouth: No, never. In fact, it’s probably helped, us being so in tune with each other because we write most of our songs together…

  Riley: It’s a good thing, definitely. [Blushes cutely.]

  So would you say you’re soulmates?

  Me: Oh yes!

  Riley: Yeah, definitely. [Throws adoring look.]

  Thank you, Clover and Riley, for your time today. I wish you much success with your new album.

  “Clover!” Lily roars in my ear. “Stop reading and come swimming.”

  “Oh, let’s go too, Ed,” Mum announces. “The cove’s so pretty and I’m sick of looking through all this old paperwork. It’s depressing.”

  I wish they wouldn’t. The thought of Ed in the tight, shiny trunks I’ve seen draped over our radiator curdles my blood. But there’s no escape. We all head down the steep, winding footpath to Silver Cove. Mum and Ed have even brought Jupe’s old fishing rods which they found under his bed. They’re sleeping in the downstairs bedroom, which used to be his room. Wouldn’t that creep you out, sleeping in a dead man’s bed? Yet it doesn’t seem to bother Mum one bit. I guess she has brave Mr Muscle to protect her from ghouls and stuff.

  Ed’s first to strip down to his swimmies, plunging in with a massive splash. Mum follows, shrieking with laughter as the water engulfs her. I charge in after Lily, the sea’s sudden coldness snatching my breath. By my third stroke, though, the cool water feels soothing. I swim away from the others, playing that newspaper interview over in my head.

  If Jupe’s life changed when he found his band members, how can I find mine? What chance is there of unearthing a soulmate at Horsedung – especially now that Riley’s decided he wants nothing to do with me? Wait until you’re unleashed on the world, Jupe said once. Maybe I don’t need Riley. Surely I can find other people to play with – people who don’t mess me around. I have to do it, I tell myself as I swim back to shore. I promised Jupe, to make up for the thing I did. It’s one promise I intend to keep.

  By the time Lily and I emerge from the sea, Mum and Ed are trying to catch our lunch with Jupe’s fishing rods. It’s not going well. First the float hits a rock and smashes, then the line tangles up in a bush. “Bloody hell,” Ed barks, and Mum throws back her head and laughs. At least she’s happy. I haven’t seen her laugh like this for so long, even before Dad left.

  There’s nothing to eat at lunchtime apart from bread rolls (which they’d brought for us to have with the fish. Honestly, Ed was that confident about catching one). “Great fish, Ed,” I mutter, my mouth stuffed with dry bread.

  He looks at me, and his eyes crinkle. “Yeah, pretty good, isn’t it?”

  “Really fresh,” Mum enthuses, perched on a rock.

  “D’you have any more?” Lily giggles.

  “Here,” he says, passing around his invisible catch. Our eyes meet, and he grins. I still can’t believe Mum’s replaced Dad so quickly, and I’d slightly prefer it to be just me, Mum and Lily on this beach. But things could be worse. At least we’re here, in the sunshine, doing what Jupe asked us to do. And it’s almost taking my mind off Riley and Skelling in France.

  Next day, Ed seems to have accepted that catching a live fish might be a teeny bit trickier than buying one in Asda. We’re armed with sausages and firelighters for a barbie, plus a heap of old newspapers from the cottage (I checked each one carefully for any more interviews with Jupe. I don’t like the thought of burning him).

  “Hey, Clover,” Ed says, chomping a sausage, “haven’t heard you playing your guitar much here. You did bring it, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Just haven’t felt like it.” I don’t tell him that I want to play my own, rather than having him butting in like my unofficial teacher.

  Ed frowns. “You know, I thought we might have found Jupe’s guitars lying about the house. Me and you could’ve had a jam.”

  Jamming with Ed? I’d rather jam my head in a wardrobe door. “Maybe he sold them,” I suggest, “or gave them away when he started to get ill. What d’you think, Mum?”

  “What? Oh, I don’t know,” she says vaguely, poking our fire with a piece of driftwood. I don’t get her at all. All those times we came here – all those holidays – when there’d be music blasting and impromptu parties. Mum didn’t even mind that Fuzz, Jupe’s cat, made her eyes itch and her nose run, and that sometimes she’d have to go outside for great gulps of salty air.

  We all loved it, until that last, horrible time. Then we never saw him again. How can you just cut someone off like that? I knew Mum was angry with Jupe, but surely you don’t fall out with your own brother for ever over one incident? She doesn’t even seem to be sorting through his stuff like she’s meant to. Isn’t this why we’re here? To make everything right, like a proper ending in a book?

  Maybe she wants to forget what happened. The trouble is, I just can’t.

  I’m ten years old and Mum and Dad are still together and everything’s normal. There are no shiny swimming trunks on our radiator, and no Nudie Bernice.

  And it’s Christmas. Not actual Christmas day, as we always spent that at home, but a few days before it. Jupe has a mad-looking tree that he dug up illegally from someone’s field, and it’s laden with decorations made by me and Lily from cardboard and glitter.

  It’s just after lunch and Dad and Jupe are already a little bit drunk. Jupe’s made his rocket-fuel red punch for the grown-ups, and he’s ladling it into glasses from a huge silver pot like a cauldron. Although Mum usually has some, she’s recovering from a stomach bug and sipping mugs of tea.

  “Hey, Clover, wanna see my new guitar?” Jupe asks.

  “Yes, please,” I say, delighted. He’s let me play all his guitars. They’re all battered and scratched and each one feels a little bit different. I can already play about twenty songs.

  He fetches a case and opens it. Everyone gathers round and oohs and ahhs, although I don’t think anyone can figure out why he’s so excited about this one. It’s electric, burnished orange fading to gold in the middle, like a sunset. Jupe tells me to sit down, plugs the guitar into the amp and hands it to me.

  “Was it hundreds of pounds?” I ask nervously.

  Jupe chuckles. “No, sweetheart. It was a Christmas present.”

  “Who from?”

  He mentions a name I’ve never heard of, but even as a kid I can tell it’s his hero. Maybe even the person who started him playing. I don’t know. Anyway, his eyes gleam like emeralds (he has green eyes like me). “Why did he give it to you?” I ask.

  “He’s been ill for a while and can’t play any more,” he says. “He thought I’d look after it and appreciate it. Anyway, have a try. I think you’ll notice a difference.”

  I shrink away as he hands it
to me.

  “Are you sure about this, Jupe?” Mum cuts in. “If it’s that special, I’d hate anything to happen…”

  “Oh, I trust Clover,” he declares, and he’s definitely a bit drunk by now. His lips are stained scarlet from the punch, like hair-hacker Babs’ mouth while she’s been downing red wine with Mum. It looks funnier on Jupe, like badly applied lipstick. “Here you go,” he adds. “You’re a natural, you are.”

  I take the guitar and Jupe positions my fingers to form a chord. I start to strum – tentatively at first, as if it might bite me, then more confidently as Jupe eggs me on. “C’mon, Clover,” he says, “don’t be scared of it.”

  Soon I’m playing and playing, and Mum and Dad even get up and dance, even though Mum’s still not well and Dad never dances. Jupe and Dad are slurping red punch, and Jupe gets up to dance too, and Fuzz scurries out through the cat flap because loud music freaks him out and he really should have an owner who plays something soft and gentle, like a harp. Everyone’s laughing, and Mum gives me this huge grin, as if she’s so proud that I can do this.

  And I am proud. I look round and see Lily, who only started school a few months ago, whirling around in a princess dressing-up outfit. She’s wearing a paper crown and Mum’s sparkly clip-on earrings and is clutching a plastic cup with one of those crazy straws sticking out of it. The ones where you can see your drink scooting round the wiggly bits.

  Gradually, she makes her way to the table where the punch cauldron is. At first I don’t realize what she’s up to. I just think she’s doing a funny dance. Jupe is too – he’s pretty drunk by now, turning up the volume and slugging another cup of punch. Nobody except me notices as Lily dunks her cup into the punch, brings it up to her mouth and takes a huge suck on her crazy straw.