‘Don’t push your luck!’ I said, relief flooding through me that I hadn’t frightened him away with the whole hand-rubbing thing.
We set off towards the ticket booth, both of us grinning.
CHAPTER 11
Picture Perfect
A door was cut into the back of the booth. Luka gave it a shove. It didn’t move. He took the bunch of keys from his pocket and found the right one. I followed him inside.
It was just big enough for us both to squeeze inside. There was a shelf running right the way round and a swivel chair. A thin layer of dust blurred every surface and bandy-legged spiders covered the flaking paint.
The window of the booth had a hole in the middle, cracks fanning out from it in delicate patterns. There was a nasty smell in the background and my nose led my eyes towards an old yoghurt pot on the side, the spoon now sticking up out of furry green mould.
I turned round and then gasped.
Luka grinned. ‘What do you think? Good, aren’t they?’ he said with obvious pride.
I moved closer to the back of the door. It was completely covered with photographs. Many of them were of the fairground. There were close-ups of the wooden horses on the carousel, pictures of rows of candyfloss and several showing the rides in motion. The blurry colours and lights almost made me dizzy. Others were of people’s faces – looks of fear or excitement as people queued up for rides, one of an old lady with broken teeth beaming into the camera and clutching a teddy. Some of them, near the bottom, were taken at strange angles on the rides. One was inside a hall of mirrors so you could see someone standing with a camera, presumably Luka’s mum. Her feet were neatly together and she looked small and delicate. There were a whole bunch of black weird ones from inside the ghost train that didn’t seem to be of anything much. Around the edges were some pictures of the sea that were moody and dark, like paintings.
‘They’re amazing.’
‘Eva was really into photography. She’d sometimes go off for a whole day taking pictures. Used to dream of having an exhibition some day.’
There was a silence and I had the weirdest sensation that Luka wasn’t in the room with me any more.
‘Is this her?’
In the top corner was a strip of pictures from a photo booth. The woman had a purple woolly hat pulled over long dark hair and brown eyes which were just like Luka’s, except hers were full of mischief. She was pressing her cheek next to a mini Luka, who was grinning into the lens and showing off a gap in his front teeth.
‘She’s really pretty,’ I said quietly.
‘Yeah,’ said Luka with a sigh, ‘everyone says that. She’s loads of fun too. Bit mad though. Usually in a good way. Like, she’ll wake up one morning and say, “Come on, give school a miss today”, because she fancies a day out together. And she never nags me about stuff, like most mums. But sometimes she gets sad and drinks too much wine and goes to bed for a day or so. I sort of thought she was headed that way before all this happened.’
‘You called her Eva just then,’ I began and Luka shrugged, understanding my question.
‘She says it makes her feel old to be called “Mum” so I sometimes call her by her name. She was only twenty when I was born. She’s more like a big sister to me than a mother, really. We moved about a fair bit before coming here when I was twelve and we had to look after each other. She always used to say it was me and her against the world.’
I let this sink in. So Luka wasn’t really from Slumpton either. Maybe that was partly why I liked him so much.
‘Were you born in Croatia?’
‘Yeah,’ said Luka, ‘but we came to the UK when I was one so I don’t remember anything about it. And Eva never keeps up any traditions or anything. Says she was glad to see the back of her old life. She left my dad because he knocked her about. She loved ... um ... loves it here.’
I noticed he’d used past tense and a look of pain flickered across his face before he spoke again. Maybe something really bad had happened to Eva. For a minute I felt as though he was alone in his thoughts. Then he gave himself a little shake. ‘C’mon, I’m freezing my balls off in here. Let’s start searching. You start that side and I’ll do over here.’
We both ran our hands along the shelf underneath the counter. I found nothing but dust and crusty flies, which I quickly brushed onto the floor with a shudder. I looked around the small space and met Luka’s eye. He’d found nothing either. Then I noticed that there was a gap in the bottom part of the old-fashioned till. It was too narrow to put my fingers into, but when I crouched down and peered inside, I could see some paper in there. I looked around and found an old knife sitting on the window sill with some tacks and a few pennies. Gently pushing it inside the gap, I jiggled it about. At first, it just pushed everything further inside and I cursed quietly. Then I managed to get it to bring the papers to the front. Luka pulled them out and started looking at them.
‘Bill, bill, library fine, bill... Oh, hang on, what’s this?’ He held up a sheet of notepaper.
On it was some swirly handwriting in blue biro. It said, Manley Road flats awaiting demolition. Could hold up to 50. Underneath were lists of numbers, which looked like times from a twenty-four hour clock. Lots were circled and some were marked Dover, some Folkestone and some Harwich.
We looked at each other. Then another piece of paper caught my eye – a plain black and white flyer TMS Knitwear, it said. Quality Fashions at Wholesale Prices. There was an address. On the bottom of the piece of paper were two words, handwritten and underlined: Contact Bluebird?
Luka traced the words with his finger. ‘That’s her writing, that bit there.’
I opened my mouth to speak but he grabbed my arm and put his finger to my lips, eyes wide.
Seconds later I heard it too. Male voices coming nearer.
Luka pushed the top of my head down and we both folded onto our knees. I was squashed right up against him in the small space. For a second I was distracted by how nice it felt to be close to him, before being scared took over.
The men got closer. One was speaking in a harsh-sounding foreign accent, but one word – ‘Lex’ – kept standing out. I very slowly raised myself up so I could peek out and could just make out a couple of thickset blokes, both with woolly hats pulled low over their brows. One of them looked up and I realised it was the no-neck one again, who I’d seen at the Town Hall and at the marina. I realised something was on the ground and gasped. It was a man with black hair, curled into a foetal position.
Luka pulled me down and put his arm gently around my shoulder. I was glad he did because the next unmistakable sounds were grunts of pain. I somehow knew the man was being kicked. Tears swelled in my throat. I was shaking all over and I could feel Luka flinching at the sound of every blow. It was horrible, horrible. Finally, I heard the man speaking again, sounding out of breath and I shrugged off Luka’s protecting hand to peek again.
The injured man was being held up by the armpits and had blood running down his face. He looked Indian or Pakistani from what I could make out. His eyes were open and unfocused but at least he was alive.
Luka pulled me down again, harder this time, and his eyes were angry, but also scared.
The voices started to recede and we heard the metal clang of the gates closing.
Luka lifted himself up to peek over the top of the ledge. ‘Coast’s clear,’ he said, in a wobbly way. The small space was suddenly unbearable and we elbowed each other in our haste to get out.
I couldn’t seem to get air properly into my lungs and bent over. I felt a tentative hand on my back.
‘Are you okay?’ said Luka gently, and I nodded, swallowing back the urge to throw up. I stood up straight on my shaking legs and we stared at each other.
I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. I’d lived in the capital city all my life and the only crime I’d known was when someone pranged Mum’s car and drove off. But the minute I move to a sleepy seaside town, it was all disappearing mothers and people being beaten in abandoned
fairgrounds.
‘Who do you think those men were?’ I said, when I trusted myself to speak.
‘I don’t know,’ said Luka. He was looking queasy too, his face pale. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’
‘Do you think your mum —?’ I started to say but Luka cut me off.
‘Eva didn’t mix with people like that! Everyone round here blames immigrants for everything, but it’s families who’ve lived here all their lives that are the worst.’
I tried to speak but he hadn’t finished.
‘She’d never be that stupid. You’re as bad as the police. Just because she works in a fairground and looks a bit Romany. You think she’s not a decent person.’
‘I don’t think that!’ I felt tears stinging my eyes again and swiped my hand across them.
‘Well, plenty do in this town.’
We stood there miserably, in silence.
‘We should tell the police about what we saw,’ I said.
‘What are you going to say, Bel? We don’t know who they are. We shouldn’t even be in here.’
I didn’t really need much persuading. Suddenly I noticed something.
‘Luka! Your hand!’
He looked down. A big shard of glass was sticking into the fleshy part of his palm. He must have leaned on it inside the booth. I reached towards him to help and he spun away from me.
‘Luka, let me help!’
‘Leave it, I’ll sort it out,’ he said in a panicky voice. ‘It’s all right. I’ll deal with it. You’d better go. Your mum will be worried.’ He kept his hand turned away from me and pulled out the glass.
‘You might need stitches!’ I yelped.
‘I’m FINE!’ he said. ‘Just leave it!’
I turned away. Suddenly I just wanted to be home and away from all this bad stuff and Luka’s stupid pride.
‘Hey!’ he called.
‘What?’ I said a bit shortly.
‘Will you come back?’
The desperation in his eyes made me hesitate, but I was angry and shaken up and wanted to be away. ‘I don’t know, Luka,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’
He turned away and I was already starting to feel bad. His voice was crisp. ‘Okay, well... see you.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘See you.’
CHAPTER 12
Is That You, Babe?
The lights were all on when I got back and I could hear quiet laughter from upstairs.
‘Mum?’
I took off my coat and slung it over the banister before peering up the stairs. Mum’s head bobbed over the top and she put a finger to her lips.
‘Shhh! The little one’s asleep on my bed,’ she hissed and promptly disappeared again.
Little one? Little what?
I clomped up the stairs. I didn’t need any more surprises after the day I’d had.
Mum and that Will bloke were squeezed into the tiny bathroom. He was holding a broken tap in his hand, looking sheepish. He nodded at me and I ignored him.
‘What’s going on?’ I said, sounding like a forty-year-old schoolteacher. I realised these were the exact words I’d spoken last time I’d seen them together.
Mum was all pink and twinkly.
‘Will was helping with the tap, but it seems to be in a worse state than we thought,’ she said, sounding supremely unbothered.
‘I’m not exactly a DIY whizz, in truth,’ said Will apologetically. ‘Look, I could run over to B&Q, but I don’t want to choose the wrong style of tap, and there’s Dylan. Mum’s at the doctor, or I’d ask her to watch him for a bit.’
Mum’s gaze bounced to me and then back to Will again.
‘Unless ...’ he began and she nodded encouragingly. ‘Unless Bel wouldn’t mind keeping an ear out for half an hour. Mum will be back soon. You could come with me then and choose the design you like.’
I was just about to open my mouth when Mum said, ‘Good idea! You’re old enough to do this now, Bel. We won’t be long.’
Before I’d even had time to scrape my eyebrows back into their proper position, they were bundling down the stairs and into coats.
‘Will Dylan sleep for long?’ said Mum, turning to Will, glowing like she was looking into the sun.
‘Should be out for ages,’ said Will, ‘but if he wakes up, maybe you could just tell him where we are and put the telly on for him?’
‘Fine,’ I said, feeling like I was spitting out stones and not words. ‘No problem. Off you go. Have a completely fabulous time.’
Honestly, they couldn’t get out that door fast enough. So I’m an unpaid babysitter now, I thought. They might be choosing a tap, but by the look on Mum’s face, it could just as well have been a candle-lit dinner for two.
Poor Dad. It wasn’t right. I would be giving him a full report when I saw him, for sure.
I poured myself some juice and sat down at the kitchen table, resting my head in my hands and making a curtain of my hair over my face. I almost didn’t have the energy to be angry with Mum.
It really had been a horrible, freaky day. I wanted to tell Mum, but knew if I did, she wouldn’t let me out the door again until I was at least thirty.
‘Where’s my daddy?’
The reedy little voice made me jump. Dylan was standing in the doorway, hair sticking up, face puffy and a scraggy toy dog dangling from his hand.
Oh dear.
‘He’s just popped out with my mum,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful, but I think I was baring my teeth – his eyes got more circular.
Never having had a brother or sister, I didn’t really know what to do with small kids. I mean, obviously I was one once, but I didn’t have that many friends when I was little. Mum says I was bossy and put people off, which was obviously a total lie.
I know Mum and Dad wanted me to have a brother or sister, but I think Mum had some sort of medical problem. Then, last year, she’d finally got pregnant.
It wasn’t long after Nan died. Mum and Dad had been so happy, despite Mum being sad about Nan and barfing all the time. And then one day I got home from school and Mum’s friend Lynne was there. She bundled me into the kitchen and told me that Mum had lost the baby. For a moment I didn’t understand and wanted to say, ‘Lost it where?’ but kept my gob shut for once. She was sleeping upstairs and I wasn’t to disturb her. For some reason they couldn’t get hold of Dad and it was late when he got back. I heard them rowing and Mum crying, then the door slamming.
Anyway.
So I know nothing about small kids. Just as long as he didn’t start crying it would all be fine.
‘Oh ... What’s the matter, Dylan?’
His face had scrunched up and although he wasn’t making any sound, tears were definitely imminent.
‘Don’t want you, stinky girl!’ He started to wail then at ear-splitting volume. ‘Want my daddy!’
I made shushy flapping movements with my hands, which only made him screech louder.
‘Hey, we’ve got crisps!’ I said desperately. ‘Do you like crisps, Dylan?’ Everyone likes crisps. He stopped wailing and gave a huge hiccup, before nodding suspiciously. I tried not to look at the slimy green trail dangling from his nose to his top lip as I went over to the cupboard and dug about to find the Unhappy Shopper Crappy Crisps Mum bought these days.
A few moments later, the kitchen was filled with hard munching. I had to keep my eyes away from his bogey trail, but I was starving because I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I decided a second packet was probably in order.
Dylan was swinging his feet backwards and forwards, his blue spotted socks hanging off the end and making his feet look about twice as long as they were. For some reason this seemed funny. We eyed each other as we ate our crisps. No one spoke.
It reminded me of when two gunslingers squared up to each other in old cowboy films and that music came into my head. I found myself pretending to pull a gun and aimed my crisp at him. He chortled, spraying cheese and onion shards across the table. He was quite cute when he smiled, despite all the grot
on his face.
Not needing any more encouragement, he leapt up and started firing off shots with his fingers. I dived under the table, pulling the plastic tablecloth down to hide my face. He giggled like a mad thing and I could feel laughter rising inside me like froth as he ducked down and pointed his grinning face under the table.
Dylan shot out and ran into the living room. I got up from under the table and followed him. He was sitting under a pile of cushions on the sofa, his small feet poking out in a very obvious way.
‘Where can he be?’ I said in a loud, fakey voice and started to pull off the cushions slowly. The whole sofa was almost vibrating with his silent chuckles now and just as I got to the last one, he burst out like a cannonball, yelling at the top of his voice and charged up the stairs. I was getting a bit bored with this game now, to be honest, so I went back into the kitchen, wondering how long Mum and whatsisface were going to be.
The phone rang and I picked it up.
‘Steve?’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Is that you, babe?’
‘Who is this?’ I said.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the woman sounded flustered. ‘He left his phone and I was ringing last number called because I thought he was...’
Icy water seemed to rush through me and I slammed the phone down. Why was some woman ringing here and asking for Dad? And calling him babe?
It had to be a mistake. A wrong number. Steve wasn’t such an unusual name, was it?
Dylan, sensing the change in the atmosphere, came into the kitchen with his thumb in his mouth, his eyes wide.
‘Dylan, do you want to watch some telly now?’ I said shakily. To my relief he nodded.
I got on the sofa next to him and he shuffled his small, hot body next to me. It was weirdly comforting. We watched Spongebob Squarepants for a bit and I must have dropped off, because the next thing I knew, Mum and Will were smiling in the doorway of the living room. Dylan had his head on my lap, curled like a little prawn.
‘Everything been okay?’ she said.
‘Fine.’ I got up, hastily, making Dylan flop sideways. He sat up, looking bewildered. I didn’t want Mum entertaining ideas of me gaining a step-brother, however cute he was.
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