After a few yards, illuminated by a lone fog-smothered streetlight, I realised that something was wrong. It felt like I had square wheels.
I got off and looked. It was a puncture. My heart stopped in my chest.I was finished. Totally screwed. My house was miles away, it was dark and cold, the fog was beginning to soak through my jacket, and I was starting to get very scared. Once again, I had left my phone at home, so I would just have to wait for Mum to realise I was missing and call the police. I just hoped she did it in time.
I had no choice, I had to get off and push, hoping not to attract the attention of any local serial killers.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid,’ I cursed myself, crying with fear and the sheer misery of the cold damp night.
Every time a car went past I held my breath. You read so many stories of girls who went missing without a trace, and the idea that my life could end at any moment due to a punctured rubber tube filled me with terror and frustration. I wanted to scream, but it would have attracted too much attention. I needed to stay invisible.
A car sped towards me, blaring its horn and it startled me so much that I almost fell. I heard the laughter from inside as it passed me. I wished Carl was there in his dad’s car, with a crappy hotdog and onions in his hand.
I started humming to try and reassure myself. I hated the dark and began to imagine that Jimmy Pig-Feet would come to get me and carry me off with his bristly trotters. Sometimes a car would go by, but no one stopped, although it must have been clear that I needed help. So I kept pushing my bike, miles after miles, alone in the dark.
Until I saw a motorcycle go past and, after a few metres, do a u-turn.
This is it, I thought, seeing the headlights pointing at me, this is really the end, I will never tell this story.
‘Do you need help?’ a voice asked.
I didn’t dare answer or look up. I kept pushing my bike.
‘Come on, leave her alone, she’s probably drunk!’ said a woman’s voice.
Who was she calling a drunk? Pride made me recover my courage.
‘No thanks,’ I replied, raising my head, ‘Just another six hours and I’ll be home and dry.’
‘Mia?’ I heard someone yell.
I turned around.
‘Patrick?’ Now I was yelling too.
Miracles did happen, Santa Claus was real, and life was a wonderful thing. I dropped my bike and ran into his arms, completely oblivious to his girlfriend.
‘What are you doing all the way out here at this time of night, and in this cold? I thought you were having dinner with your dad?’
Using the excuse that I’d nipped out for a pint was definitely out of the question.
‘I was, but…I went to borrow a book from a friend afterwards, and then I got a puncture and I’ve left my phone at home.’ If he’d asked me where the book was, I would have told him everything.
He took off his helmet. I was so struck by seeing him that I forgot everything, all my hastily-formed excuses, where I was, all of it.
He looked at me worried and apprehensive.
‘Do you realise what could have happened to you?’
Please, no. Anything but the lecture of an older brother. That wasn’t what I wanted from him.
The girl looked annoyed, as if they had already quarrelled earlier. He gestured for her to climb down so he could lower the stand, and came over to examine me, as if he had just fished me out of a frozen lake.
His hands on my face were enough to make my blood circulate again, but my legs trembled more than ever, and not entirely because of the cold.
‘God, you’re freezing.’ He held me close.
The girl on the bike had now gone from obvious annoyance to exasperated rage. ‘Why don’t you just get off with her, while you’re at it?’ she spat.
Finally, some sensible advice!
‘Don’t be stupid, Christine, she’s practically my sister,’ he snapped at her.
It was the first time I had ever seen him angry, and I could feel myself melting. I was afraid that when he let me go there would be nothing left of me but a pile of clothes on the floor. The worst night of my life was turning into a fairy tale with a happy ending.
‘I have to take you home,’ he said.
‘What about my bike?’
‘We’ll get your bike tomorrow.’
We? You and me?
‘Christine, I’m going to call Michael and ask him to come and get you so I can take Mia home her.’
Christine tried to argue, but Patrick was already calling Michael.
I walked away to let them talk, but I could hear everything.
‘Fuck you, Patrick, you’re doing this because you don’t want to be with me! Why can’t you just be honest?’
‘Christine, please, we’ve had this same conversation a hundred times. It doesn’t work any more, it never really did. Here we are exactly where we were six months ago. We can’t keep getting back together and then breaking up. You know I care about you, but we need to finish it now.’
I wanted to do a couple of pirouettes for joy, but they would have seen me, so I kept pretending to be interested in the wheel of his bike.
Finally Michael arrived. Christine got straight into the car and motioned for him to leave, without even saying goodbye. Now Patrick and I were alone in the dark, and if I had to choose how to spend the last day of my life, this would be pretty close. Mum would probably kill me when I got home anyway.
‘Come on, get up!’ he said, handing me a helmet. I wasn’t used to motorbikes, and I had some difficulties getting on. And then I was presented with the dilemma of where to put my hands, which Patrick immediately resolved.
‘Hold on to me,’ he said.
I didn’t need to be told twice.
Patrick and I, together in the night, me hugging him tightly to myself.
I had to be dreaming!
I kept my cheek pressed against his back and smelled his perfume. I was so happy, I couldn’t stop smiling, despite the cold, and tears ran down my cheeks. I loved him desperately and the emotion I felt at that moment was the proof. If I could hold onto that joy, I could have danced one splendid Odile.
Fifteen minutes later we were in front of my house. The lights were all off, so maybe Mum wasn’t back yet, or she had gone to bed thinking that I was already asleep.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked, helping me to remove the helmet.
I nodded my head.
‘Promise me that if you ever go out at night again to hunt for fireflies, or whatever you were doing, you’ll take your phone.’
‘Okay.’
‘Do you want me to talk to Elena?’
‘No, better not, she’s probably asleep.’
‘Goodnight, Mia. We’ll get your bike tomorrow.’ He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Goodnight Pat.’ I returned the kiss and went inside, touching the spot he had kissed with my fingertips. I held my breath until I heard him restart the engine, then leaned heavily against the door and closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t wake up.
My heart was hammering in my chest. This time, I had no doubt that I had liked it.
8
The slap that struck my face a moment later brought me violently back to reality.
‘I don’t have anything to say to you right now, because I’m so angry I couldn’t answer for my actions,’ my mother said in a faint voice.
She was distraught, her eyes were swollen and her hands were shaking. Behind her, her friend Betty shook her head at me in disappointment.
Mum was staring at me, biting her lip to keep herself from talking, then she took a really deep breath, put her hands in her hair and stayed like that for a moment, elbows sticking out, as if deciding what to do with me.
Finally, she issued her verdict: ‘On Monday, you can go and live with your father. I’ve had enough of you.’ Then she turned her back and went up to her room.
‘But...’ was all I had chance to say before I heard the d
oor slam behind her.
Betty motioned for me to leave her alone for a while and I followed her dumbly into the kitchen.
Betty was Mum’s best friend, they had met soon after my parents moved to Leicester. She taught Philosophy at the University, and she and Mum had been inseparable for as long as I could remember. She had never married, and had a cool son who was a DJ in Berlin. She was a force of nature, an unexploded bomb, all frizzy black curls and half-finished projects, but she was also kind-hearted and loyal and, above all, she could weather a crisis like an aircraft carrier in the eye of a storm. Besides teaching she was a demonstrator for Avon, she took acting classes, and did tarot readings, which, according to Mum, were always spot on.
She put the kettle on and we sat around the table.
‘You nearly killed your mother tonight, you know?’ she said, handing me a chipped mug with ‘Leicester Records Office: We’re Loco about Locomotives!’ written on the side.
‘I was in a fair bit of danger myself, not that anyone seems to care,’ I replied angrily.
‘What happened?’
‘I got a puncture on my bike, I didn’t have my phone and I had to walk miles on foot in the dark, that’s what happened, but apparently the most important thing is Mum’s hysterics!’
‘She thought you’d gone out looking for drugs .’ she smiled and handed me the biscuit tin.
‘Of course she did! Why wouldn’t she? She always assumes the worst of me!’
‘She is your mother, Mia, she will always worry about you. And you’re still only young, even if you don’t think so!’
‘Young? Do you know how old Justin Bieber is? Or Miley Cyrus? Do you think their parents slap them for getting a puncture and coming home at eleven o’clock? ‘
‘Hmm. Well, you may have a point.’ she agreed.
‘The only thing I’ve done wrong is not letting her know I was going out to get a book, because I thought it would only take ten minutes. But she wasn’t here anyway, she’s never here!’
I was quite proud of that last part. Good, make them feel guilty. It was true, anyway. Well, apart from the bit about the book.
‘Poor kid!’ she smiled at me regretfully, ‘Out there on your own in this weather and then set on by us grumpy old witches. Come on, I’ll talk to Elena.’ She patted my cheek. It had been quite an evening for that cheek: kissed, then slapped, and now a consoling pat from Betty.
‘Do you really think she’ll make me go and live with my father?’ The idea didn’t bear thinking about.
‘God no, can you imagine? You’d have to change schools, it would be a nightmare. But as a threat it was perfect. It was my idea, actually,’ she confessed with a hint of pride, selecting a hobnob and dunking it in her tea.
‘Oh thanks! Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?’
‘Mia, you can’t imagine that state she was in! She called me in the middle of a panic attack. We called Nina, your father, the hospital and we were about to call the police! She even got me to ask the cards where you were!’
‘And did they tell you?’
‘I felt you weren’t in danger.’ She paused. ‘Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘What do you mean, ‘the opposite’?’ I looked at her suspiciously.
Over the years Betty had predicted that Libby was expecting male twins, that my mother would go out with an accountant, but it wouldn’t last more than a year (Anthony), that she would be wooed by a much older widowed colleague but would leave him after three months (William) and that she would then have a relationship with another who was not free, but for no more than two years (Paul). His two years were nearly up, so I was keeping my fingers crossed.
‘Oh well, what do I know, eh? Come on, you’d better get to bed, it’s late!’ He urged me, taking the cups and putting them in the sink.
The clock ticked loudly in the hall, a hypnotic back and forth, that seemed to warn of trouble in the air. It was midnight and I was no longer sleepy, I felt as if a bucket of frozen water had been thrown in my face while I was curled up in bed, in the midst of a wonderful dream. I was angry and confused, and for the moment my own feelings were too raw for me to try and think about how Mum must have felt.
An irresistible impulse came over me. ‘Betty, can you do my cards?’ I asked her suddenly.
‘No, you’re too young, sorry.’
‘But I’m sixteen!’ I protested.
‘No, Mia, I can’t, don’t ask me.’
‘Come onnnnn, just a short reading.’ I did my best sad puppy eyes at her.
She sighed.
‘All right,’ she said, getting up to fetch the tarot cards from her bag, ‘But just a short reading, and don’t tell your mother!’
I sat waiting in my chair.
She suddenly became very serious. She lit a Superking Menthol, and, holding it between her lips, she pulled her unruly curls back from her face and secured them in a haphazard topknot with an elastic band. It made me laugh, but she glared at me.
‘This isn’t a game!’ she said accusingly, ‘This is why I don’t do readings for children!’
‘Sorrrrrry.’ I raised my hands. ‘I’ll be good, I promise.’ I leaned back in my chair with my hands clasped on my stomach.
‘Is there anything you want to know in particular?’
‘Oh, you know, lots of things.’ Of course I was dying to ask about Patrick, but I had to be cautious, so I tried to be as vague as possible. ‘School, I guess…’
She handed me the deck and made me split it in two, then arranged the cards solemnly on the table between us. She rested her chin in the palms of her hands and when something came to her, an involuntary furrow appeared between her brows.
‘School, hmm... well, there’s a lot of confusion, but that’s to be expected at your age; confusion about what to do next, problems with boys, dissatisfaction, loneliness. It’s as though you want to be appreciated by others, but without taking the first step …
She turned a card, The High Priestess, ‘That’s Nina, I would say. she loves you and protects you . keep her close. And then. well, this is Justice, that will be your mother who’s angry with you, you see? There are misunderstandings between you, rebellion on your part, but it is resolved… it is only badly expressed love...and then, The Empress...could be an elderly, influential lady …’
‘My grandmother, maybe?’
‘Could be, could be... and this one here...well, he is clearly a boy in love!’
I went red. ‘Oh no, I don’t think so.’
‘Yes he is! He is a nice, well-intentioned boy, yes, but you are not in love with him, no, no, no …’ she spoke as if to herself, ‘But he helps prepare you for the next, the. I can’t quite see. have you already decided where to go after your exams?’
I was tempted to tell her about the audition for the Royal Ballet School, but I didn’t want to influence the reading.
‘Not yet.’
‘Dance. perhaps, because I see fatigue, so much effort, competition.’
Now things were getting interesting!
‘But between the present and the future, there is a kind of a…a blur that I can’t interpret. I can’t see... it’s like there’s a gap... a hole… I don’t know…’
She touched the cards as if they could talk to her. I was starting to get excited.
‘As if for a while there was nothing... excep.t..’ she froze and imperceptibly curled her lips, then she smiled, ‘But what am I saying, of course I can’t see anything. You’re sixteen years old, you probably change your mind every week! The important thing is this card: The Sun!’
‘But what about these two? The…Tower? And the Angel? »
‘Changes, it just means changes,’ she answered vaguely, gathering up the cards.
I tried appealing to her sense of pride.
‘Can’t you tell me more than that?’ Changes, a boy in love, my mother. I thought you were supposed to be good.’
‘I’m very good!’ she replied indignantly.
Touché!
‘Then give me a proper reading, tell me something I don’t know,’ I challenged her, folding my arms.
‘Ok, you asked for it,’ she said defiantly, shuffling the cards a little too vigorously, and again handed them to me to cut the deck.
Once again she laid them out in the shape of a cross and again the Tower and the Angel appeared. This time the furrow on her forehead was much more evident. She was torn between telling me something and hiding it.
‘It’s what I told you before, I see a career … presumably in dance, but it will be very draining, very hard and with plenty of ups and downs and…and...’
‘And…?’ I was trembling.
‘And a great love!’ she concluded.
‘Oh my god, Betty,’ I gasped, ‘You weren’t going to tell me that I will find great love? How, though? Who is he? And above all, where is he? ‘
‘See this card? The Pope? That means a handsome man, strong, very confident, very protective, he could be an older boy.’
I couldn’t believe my ears, it couldn’t be true. She had just described Patrick, and he was in my future, the cards said so! I became so agitated that she couldn’t fail to notice.
‘Mia, are you okay? Do you want a glass of water? You look - are you crying?’
‘No, I’m fine, really.’
‘My little girl,’ she took my face in her hands, ‘Are you in love? Who is he?’
If I didn’t tell someone I would burst. ‘It’s Patrick, Nina’s brother.’
‘Patrick?’ she replied, amazed and full of tenderness. I nodded.
‘Well that’s wonderful! Does he know?’
‘Of course he doesn’t know! He can’t know, nobody knows, not Nina, or Mum either.’
‘And... so what are you going to do? Will you ever tell him?’ she went on uncertainly.
‘I don’t think so, at least not now. But promise you won’t tell Mum. Please?’
‘Mia, you can trust me. Did I tell your Mum about the time you dyed your hair bright orange trying to go blonde and we had to dye back over it in black? Did I tell you about the time your bike got stolen because you forgot to lock it, and I ended up buying it back off a man in the pub? Or the time you came and stayed at my house instead of going to your dad’s for the weekend?
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