by Dave Cousins
A door behind the reception desk opens and Cheryl walks through. I know it’s her, even though I’ve never met her and she doesn’t look anything like I expected. She scans the room and frowns, then the receptionist points her pen towards me and Jay. Cheryl looks confused, but she smiles as she walks towards us. She’s carrying a large gold envelope.
‘Daniel Roach?’ she says, looking at me.
‘I’m Laurence. Daniel’s my dad.’
‘Of course!’ She shakes my hand and looks down at Jay. ‘And you must be James.’
I’m impressed she remembers his name, I think I only mentioned him a couple of times on air.
Cheryl looks like she’s expecting Jay to say hello or something, then I remember I told him not to speak.
‘He’s a bit shy.’
‘Not to worry.’ She smiles. ‘I remember Baz wanted to get him on the air that night.’
‘Yeah! He came down to help. He was my back-up, weren’t you, Jay?’ I put my hand on Jay’s shoulder.
Cheryl frowns and I realize my mistake.
‘I mean Dad’s back-up—you know, both of us, like lucky mascots.’ Concentrate, Laurence. Don’t blow it now.
‘Well, it obviously worked!’ Cheryl smiles, but she’s giving me a strange look at the same time. ‘So, is your dad here?’
‘No—he couldn’t get out of work. He asked us to come down and collect the holiday for him.’
‘I see.’
God it’s hot in here.
‘It’s really nice to meet you, Laurence, but I’m afraid I can’t actually give you the prize. We need your dad to come in and collect it in person.’ Cheryl gives me an apologetic smile. ‘The thing is, you see, we need to do some promotional shots with him and Baz—and the people from Hardacre Holidaze. This is quite a big joint promotion for us, and it’s actually part of the deal.’
I stare at her.
‘I’m sure your dad won’t mind,’ says Cheryl. ‘These things are normally quite good fun—and we can arrange a time that’s convenient for him. Baz is actually really keen to meet him. We all are.’
I nod. That could be a little difficult to arrange.
Maybe if I dressed up, or … what if I hired someone to pretend to be Dad? Mr Buchan—he’s got the right voice! But that’s never going to happen is it?
Face it, Laurence. This time it’s just not going to work.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘No, I was talking to your brother. He’s gone a funny colour.’
I look down at Jay. His face is white and shiny with sweat. He glances up at me, then lurches forward and vomits onto the red and blue Radio Ham carpet.
‘Oh!’ says Cheryl, stepping back just in time.
‘Sorry!’
‘Don’t worry.’ She crouches down in front of Jay. ‘Shall I get you a drink of water, James? Would that help?’
He nods.
‘Thanks.’
She smiles and walks over towards the water dispenser on the far wall.
Jay’s panting and swallowing like there’s more on the way. Most of the sick has gone down the front of his T-shirt and shorts. It’s pink and I can smell the strawberry jam he had for breakfast.
Cheryl comes back with the water. ‘There you go.’
I take the cup and hold it up to Jay’s mouth. He sips a bit and sniffs.
‘Oh, look at his shirt,’ says Cheryl. ‘It’s covered, poor lad.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll get him a clean one when we get home.’
‘Hang on!’ Cheryl raises a finger and grins. ‘We’ve got some T-shirts left over from Pop in the Park upstairs. They’ll probably be a bit big for him, but it should get you home.’
‘It’s OK, honest.’
‘No!’ Cheryl rests a hand on my shoulder. ‘You wait there and I’ll go and get you one. See if I can dig out a goodie bag while I’m there. Might help to cheer him up a bit.’
‘Thanks—that’s great.’
She smiles and disappears back through the door.
That’s when I notice the gold envelope on the chair next to Jay. Just sitting there. Cheryl must have put it down when she went to get the water.
It’s a big fat envelope. The shiny surface winks at me in the sunlight.
It’s mine. I won it. It belongs to me.
‘What are you doing?’ says Jay.
The envelope is in my hands. I can feel the weight of it. There’s more than just a holiday in here—it’s the answer to everything. A way to get Mum to come home and make her smile again. An escape from the woman with the clipboard who’s coming to take us away. It’s our only hope. Our one chance and I have to take it now—before it’s too late.
‘Come on, we’re going!’
‘But what about the lady, she said …’
I scoop up Jay into my arms, ignoring the sticky wetness and the stench of undigested food, then wedge the envelope between our bodies, before turning towards the reception desk.
‘I’m just taking him outside—I think he might be sick again!’
The receptionist nods, her face pinched in an expression of disgust.
I push the door, but it won’t open.
‘You have to pull it,’ calls the woman behind the desk.
I yank it open and we’re out on the street. I don’t look back. I just start running.
‘I’m … going … to be sick,’ says Jay, bouncing up and down in my arms.
I don’t stop. I don’t care if he’s sick all over me. We have to get away before somebody realizes what we’ve done.
Then Jay’s sick all over me.
He starts crying. He’s hitting me. He wants me to stop.
I turn up a side street and cross the road, ducking behind the row of parked cars. At the end of the road I turn right, then left. I don’t know where I’m going. I just want to get as far away from the radio station as possible.
When I can’t run any more, I stop and let Jay down onto the pavement.
‘Idiot!’ he says, and kicks me.
I can’t speak. My lungs are full of needles and my legs feel like they belong to somebody else. I check there’s no one following then bend over, gulping for breath.
Jay’s sitting on the pavement with his back to me, sniffing and flicking lumps of sick off his T-shirt.
‘I’m sorry, Jay. You OK?’
He shakes his head. He looks awful—sweaty and pale. There’s no way I’ll get him all the way to the canal now. Besides, we’re both covered in sick. Perhaps not the best look for our great re-union with Mum.
At least we got the holiday. I wipe the half-digested strawberry jam off the envelope and tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. A corner of the cardboard digs into my chest, but somehow it’s the best feeling in the world right now.
The golden envelope is in the middle of the kitchen table, propped up against Humpty. It’s a bit creased and crumpled around the edges, but most of the sick wiped off OK. I feel bad about snatching it and running off. Cheryl was nice, she was helping us.
I did what I had to—that’s all.
But what if she calls the police?
I only took what was mine. The envelope belongs to me.
Anyway, they don’t know where we live, and there’s no way they can trace us. Unless the police check and find out that Daniel Roach is dead. Can they do that?
But Cheryl knows my name—and Jay’s. It wouldn’t be that hard to find us. A few phone calls around the local schools …
I look at the envelope—my face reflected as a dark shadow in its surface.
It could lead them right to us!
There’s somebody at the door. The list of possible callers is getting longer: Social Services, Nelly, Angie, the police …
It’s OK, I don’t have to answer.
The buzzer goes again. I ignore it.
Jay’s in the front room watching television. He looks loads better, a different person to the wraith I took into town earlier.
�
�I’m hungry,’ he says, pulling a face.
I think about the perfectly good jam on toast he left on the carpet in Radio Ham. ‘I’ll go and see what we’ve got.’
‘I want chips,’ says Jay.
‘How about some toast?’
Jay shakes his head. ‘Chips.’
‘We haven’t got any chips.’
Jay shrugs his skinny shoulders and stares at the TV. ‘I want chips.’
I can see where this is heading. I wonder if there’s enough of Mina’s money left for a bag of chips.
I’m halfway to the kitchen when I hear something—a hollow tapping coming from our bedroom. The frying pan is on the draining board—I grab it and tiptoe back into the hall. The noise goes again, pinging my heart. I take a breath and nudge the door.
Mina is waving at me through the window.
‘I thought you were out,’ she says, when I open it. ‘Thought I’d climbed all this way and risked breaking me neck for nothing.’ She hands me a heavy rucksack. ‘When you didn’t answer the door, I thought I’d try the back way in!’
‘Sorry! I thought you were … well … I didn’t know it was you.’
‘I got your message,’ she says, grabbing my hand to steady herself as she climbs over the sill.‘I had a gig though. I couldn’t get here any sooner.’
‘That’s OK. It wasn’t important.’
Mina nods towards the frying pan in my hand. ‘So … you cooking?’
‘What? No … I …’
‘Oh, right! That’s for me is it? Good job I knocked first.’
I can feel my cheeks redden. ‘No! I thought …’
Mina laughs. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’ She takes the rucksack from me. ‘There’s half a ton of food in here—nearly killed me biking over. I’m not taking any of it home!’
I come back from changing my T-shirt—after a hasty wash and spray for my armpits—and find Mina out on the roof. She’s laid down a large, blue tartan blanket and covered it with food. There’s plastic boxes of mini sausage rolls, bags of crisps, sandwiches, tomatoes, bright orange slices of carrot and a huge bottle of lemonade.
Mina’s standing at one end of the feast with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a black Ramones T-shirt and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. I can’t stop looking at her legs.
‘Wow!’ It’s the only thing I can think of to say. I’m talking about the food—mostly.
Mina frowns. ‘I think I got a bit carried away. I forgot I was going to have to lug it all the way over here.’
‘It’s great!’ Suddenly my throat is tight and for a horrible moment I think I might cry. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s just the sight of all that food—or the fact that Mina made it for us.
I try to bribe Jay with a plate of sandwiches and a bag of crisps in front of the TV, but he isn’t interested. As soon as Mina says picnic on the roof, his eyes light up like she’s just offered to take him to Disneyland or something.
I wedge him in the corner, as far away from the edge as possible, and tell him if he moves, he’ll have to go inside.
‘It’s not up to you!’ he says, through a mouthful of crisps.
‘Who is it up to then?’
He points a stubby finger at Mina.
She laughs. ‘That’s right, mate! I’m in charge!’
We eat and Jay talks—non-stop—pausing only to stuff more food into his mouth. It’s the usual stream of disconnected nonsense: random thoughts mixed in with episodes of Scooby-Doo. For once I’m glad of it. It means I don’t have to say anything. I eat until my stomach feels like a football, then sit back against the slope of the roof and close my eyes. I don’t mean to fall asleep.
I wake up with a jolt.
‘Back with us then!’ Mina grins.
‘I just had my eyes closed.’
‘Right. So that wasn’t you snoring then?’ She laughs and I feel her cool, thin fingers thread themselves through mine, sending a buzz of electricity sparking through my body.
‘So, what happened the other night? Your secret mission—or are you still not allowed to say?’
I hesitate, out of habit—then tell her everything—about the quiz and the trip to Radio Ham, and finally my plan to go back to the canal tomorrow.
‘Wow!’ says Mina, when I stop talking. ‘That’s quite a secret. You really are full of surprises aren’t you, Laurence Laurence Roach.’ She smiles, and her eyes are huge and dark.
‘Hey, Mina?’ says Jay.
‘What’s up, mate?’
‘Was Scooby-Doo on TV when you were small?’
‘Yeah! I used to watch it when I got home from school.’
‘Who’s your favourite?’
Mina is still holding my hand; her thumb tracing a figure of eight across my palm, over and over, making my skin hum.
‘Scooby, of course,’ she says. ‘What about you?’
‘Yeah, Scooby.’ Jay nods, his face serious. ‘I like Shaggy second, then Fred.’
‘What about Velma and Daphne?’ Mina hooks her leg over mine and scrapes her foot along my shin. It’s kind of painful, but nice at the same time.
Jay shrugs. ‘They’re OK.’
‘Velma’s the one who solves all the mysteries,’ says Mina.
Jay frowns as he thinks this one through. ‘Scooby helps too. And Shaggy.’
‘Yeah, the whole gang helps.’
Jay nods. ‘Do you want to be in our gang. Me and Laurence’s?’ He looks at me to see if this is OK. ‘I’m Scooby and he’s Shaggy. You could be … Velma—if you want?’
Mina laughs. ‘I suppose I do look more like her than Daphne!’
Jay shrugs.
‘You don’t mind if I join your gang do you … Shaggy?’ says Mina, grinning. She squeezes my hand and scrapes her foot down my shin again.
It’s getting dark. The heat of the day is finally fading and there’s a faint warm breeze across the roof. For once the smell from the chip shop doesn’t reach us and the noise from the Parade seems far away. Jay’s dozing, curled up under his duvet in the corner. Mina is lying next to me, her limbs entwined with mine, her head on my shoulder. I can feel her breath on my cheek and her heart beating through my T-shirt.
As the light drains from the sky, the edges of the roof blur into the surrounding night. It feels as though we are floating, flying high above the town on our magic tartan blanket, beneath a million shining stars.
The air is heavy and full of lazy buzzing insects. I can see the boat, tucked beneath its shady cave of overhanging branches, but no sign of any people. No Mum.
I stop at the lock.
‘We need to go across here.’
‘Why? Where are we going?’ Jay looks at the narrow gate, at the white apron of water flowing over the top into the canal below, and shakes his head.
I ignore the question and hold out my hand. ‘You’ll be OK. I won’t let you fall.’
Jay takes a few steps back and folds his arms.
‘OK, you stay here, but I’m going across.’
His eyes widen.
‘It’s up to you.’
I can see his mind working—his eyes darting down the towpath towards the gaping black mouth of the tunnel.
He takes a step towards me.
‘That’s it, Scooby old pal! You can do it!’
Jay grabs my hand and we step onto the gate, inching our way along as the water roars cold and chaotic beneath us. In less than a minute we’re across.
Once his feet are safely back on dry land, Jay looks back at the lock.
‘That was fun,’ he says. ‘Can we do it again?’
‘On the way back, yeah.’
‘Now!’ says Jay.
I shake my head and walk down the slope. There’s no towpath on this side, just long grass and weeds, but there’s a well-trodden path leading all the way to the grey boat. It’s not much to look at. The paintwork is peeling and streaked with rust. There are holes in the side, with bits of wood nailed over the top. The whole thing is rotten
and filthy—a floating version of the Heights. No wonder Mum feels at home here.
One of the windows is boarded up, and the others are covered with ratty bits of curtain, so I can’t see in. But there’s a faint haze of smoke coming from the chimney, which means there’s somebody on board.
I tell Jay to stay where he is, then step forward and knock on the door. I wait—my heart hammering inside my T-shirt. There’s no noise or movement from inside the boat. So I knock again.
This time I hear something—the murmur of a voice.
‘What are you doing?’ shouts Jay.
I’m about to answer him when I hear a cough and the clunk of a bolt. The door swings back and I’m face to face with the silver-haired man. He’s wearing a faded denim shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a leathery chest thatched with wiry grey hair. There’s a large bronze coin dangling on a chain around his neck, and his jaw is covered with grey stubble like iron-filings. The smell of booze hangs off him like cheap aftershave.
‘Who are you?’ he growls, blinking at me through pale, watery eyes.
‘Um …’
He leans out of the boat and looks down the bank towards the lock, then turns back to me. ‘What you doing here? I don’t like kids.’
‘I’ve got a letter.’
‘A letter? You don’t look much like a postman to me, son. What letter?’
‘It’s for … for Margaret Roach.’
His eyes flash for a millisecond, no longer. But I see it, all the same.
He shakes his head. ‘Who?’
‘Margaret Roach.’
‘Never heard of her.’ He starts to close the door.
‘She’s my mum!’
The silver-haired man stops. ‘Say that again.’
‘Margaret Roach … she’s my mum. She’s on this boat.’
He leans towards me. ‘Who told you that?’
‘No one.’
His eyes dig into mine, like he’s trying to work out if I’m telling the truth. After a moment he grunts, so I guess he believes me.
‘Well, I’m telling you, she ain’t here. She’s never been here. Understand?’
I nod. It feels like the safest thing to do. But I know he’s lying—I can see it in his face.