What gave Dad the right to come in here and act like he wasn’t to blame for all of this? To make out like everything was okay? Anyway, Hamlet didn’t like Arabella, he was just curious because she was pink and wrinkly and smaller than him.
‘Milo, did you hear what I said?’ Dad cleared his throat. ‘About being sorry?’
Milo sat up and looked right into Dad’s face. ‘Sorry for what, Dad?’
Dad’s face flushed red. Milo wished Dad would get Mum’s rash so he could feel what it was like to have his skin catch fire.
‘I’m… I’m sorry about…’
‘About leaving Mum? About not sending us any money? About not caring what happened to Gran? Or about not getting in touch, not until a few weeks ago when you spoke to Tripi, and even then you didn’t call back, did you?’
‘Mum didn’t pass on the cards – and the photos?’
Milo thought of the pictures Mr Overend had given him and then he understood why they’d ended up in the bin.
When Dad had left, Milo had thought it was Mum’s fault. That she could have tried harder to keep him at home. Because Dad was the nice one, wasn’t he? He was the one who understood Milo and how much he loved Hamlet and how he didn’t want people to treat him differently because of his eyes and how he preferred spending time with Gran than with people his own age. He’d thought that Mum must have been the one to blame. But now Milo understood that the people who loved you were the ones who stuck around.
‘You chose to leave, Dad.’
‘It’s more complicated than that, Milo.’
Milo turned back round to face the wall.
‘We’re staying here for a few days, until after the funeral.’
Milo didn’t get it, why Mum had made up her bed for Dad and The Tart to sleep in, why she’d helped The Tart make up a cot for Arabella in a corner of the room, why she’d said she’d sleep on the sofa. She was letting them walk all over her. Couldn’t they go to a hotel and leave Milo and Mum and Hamlet alone?
‘When you feel like talking, Milo, I’ll be waiting.’
‘What about after the funeral?’ Milo mumbled at the wall. ‘Will you go back to Abu Dhabi? Will you leave us again?’
Dad leant forward and put his hand on Milo’s shoulder; it felt like a stranger was touching him. He wiggled his shoulder away. Arabella snuffled, like Hamlet did sometimes, and he felt a bit sorry for her, getting caught up in all this.
‘We’re moving back to Slipton. We’ll find a house, Milo, with a room for you and space for Hamlet to run around in the garden.’
Dad was coming back? For good?
‘I know I’ve messed up and I know it will take a long time for you to forgive me, but I promise that I’ll make it up to you.’
Milo closed his eyes and listened to the water rushing through the pipes from Mum’s en-suite bathroom. Was The Tart washing her face in Mum’s sink? He listened to Hamlet’s heavy breathing as he fell asleep again. Milo longed for Mr Overend’s whistling or for a plane to fly overhead and drown all this stuff with Dad.
Milo screwed up his eyes tighter. Gran, I wish you were here. And then a tune started up, really quiet at first, jolting along like a horse galloping closer and closer.
Great-Gramps’s bagpipe song, except there were two people playing now, a duet.
Milo opened his eyes and stared at the wall. ‘Have you said sorry to Mum?’
He heard Dad shifting Arabella from one arm to another.
‘We haven’t had the chance to chat yet, Milo. But I will, yes – of course I will.’
The sound of the bagpipe duet got louder in Milo’s head.
‘Well, when you have, then we can talk.’
68
SANDY
In the basement of Tony Greedy and Sons Funeral Home, Sandy stroked Lou’s skin. Cold as marble but still that softness. She smoothed down her eyebrows and pencilled in a little colour to trace their shape. Sandy had never seen them raised, as though life had run out of ways to surprise Lou Moon.
She’d asked permission to do Lou’s make-up. She didn’t want a stranger painting her face.
Andy knocked on the open door.
‘Working your magic, Sandy?’
She looked up. ‘You’re here?’
‘Arabella’s fallen asleep at last.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for lending us your room.’
Sandy had made up a bed for herself on the sofa. After Andy left, she spent many nights down there, the television flickering into the early hours, her gaze fixed on the shed.
Andy came over and put a hand on her arm.
How long had it been since he’d touched her? She stepped forward and buried her face in his chest. That familiar smell, and another one, too, of his new little girl.
Andy stroked the back of her head and she knew she should pull back, but she wanted to stay here, just for a moment.
‘I’m sorry, Andy. I’m sorry that I didn’t speak to you about Lou.’
‘I should have been here.’
Yes you should, you selfish bastard – wasn’t that what Sandy was meant to say? And yet, as they had all walked home last night, as Milo had slipped his fingers into her hand and told her for the first time since she could remember that he loved her, something broke loose, an untethering, and the anger she had for Andy melted.
She stepped back and smoothed down her hair.
‘It’ll be good for Milo to have you home.’
He shook his head. ‘He hates me, Sandy.’
Even a day ago, those words would have pleased her, a small victory. But they didn’t, not now.
‘He’s been through a lot, surely you understand that? But he’ll come back to you. He loves you.’
Andy went over and took Lou’s hand. Sandy came and stood beside him.
‘Andy, I need you to look after Milo.’
‘Of course…’
‘I mean, really look after him. Make sure his eyes are okay, that he works hard at school, that he’s happy. He needs to make friends, children his own age.’
‘We’ll do it together, Sandy. The fact that I’ve got Arabella now, and Angela, that doesn’t change anything.’
A new woman and a new child in his life and nothing was different? The old naïve Andy was back.
Andy blushed. ‘I mean it doesn’t need to affect how we care for Milo.’
Sandy shook her head.
The thought had only just come to her but already she was certain it was the right thing.
She looked over at Lou, lying there like she was asleep. Where was she now? And what was she thinking as she looked down on them all?
My true love came first, said Lou before she fell asleep the morning she proposed to Petros. And now I have a second love. Perhaps for you, Sandy, it will be the reverse.
‘I need you to take the lead for a while,’ said Sandy. ‘There’s something I have to do, something important.’
69
TRIPI
‘You will give this to your mother after the funeral?’ Tripi took the envelope out of Ayishah’s backpack and handed it to Milo. A letter, to explain why he had to leave.
‘So you’re really going back to Syria, then?’
‘Not Syria, not right away. But I must leave Slipton. I will go to London. And to other cities too. There are people in England who will help me find her – and other lost children. I will fight for it, like you fought to save the old people at Forget Me Not.’
‘I’m sorry about lying.’ Milo squeezed Hamlet closer into his chest and buried his nose in his fur.
‘Well, you did not really lie, Milo. Al has helped me, he has given me ideas, names of organisations that will listen to me and help me to look for Ayishah.’
Whether the little girl Mrs Zimmer saw was Ayishah or not, Tripi knew he would find her: either in the camp they had shown on the BBC News, one of the 28,000 refugees in Ceylanpinar, and if not there, then somewhere else. Ayishah was alive, he could feel it.
Milo looked up. ‘And w
hen you find her, you’ll come back?’
‘Of course. I will find a way to get Ayishah back to England. You will be good friends, I am sure of it – and she will love Hamlet.’ Tripi rubbed the top of Hamlet’s head.
‘And you’re really not going to tell Mum?’
Tripi looked over at Sandy who stood by the open casket smoothing down Old Mrs Moon’s hair. She held a bottle of perfume in her hand and sprayed it behind Lou’s ears and on the front of her dress. The smell of apricots drifted across the room.
‘I do not want to spoil this day,’ said Tripi. But he knew that it was more than that. If he told the Lovely Sandy, she would try to persuade him to stay and he was worried that he would lose the courage to leave.
Milo tucked the letter into the pocket of his trousers and walked back to the front of the chapel. He gave his father Hamlet to hold and then leant over and stroked baby Arabella’s head. The Tart that Sandy had talked about so often looked at Milo with kind eyes. She did not seem so bad in the end, not as beautiful as Lovely Sandy, of course, too skinny.
Tripi stood at the back and watched everyone take their seats.
Petros came and sat on the other side of Milo, a yellow rose in his buttonhole as if this were his wedding day.
Kasia, Al’s girlfriend, sat on her own. What a fool he had been to think that Al was a rival in his love for the Lovely Sandy. Al, a relative from Scotland who Sandy had never met. And he had a girlfriend from Poland, a woman who, like Tripi, was far away from her homeland but had found her place in England, like he would too, one day.
Mrs Moseley hobbled past with her daughter, a woman Milo called Mrs Hairy. For once Mrs Moseley did not have a stain on the back of her dress. She had moved out of Forget Me Not and was living in The Hairy Mansion.
Nurse Heidi helped the other old ladies to their seats. Because Heidi hadn’t finished her training, they’d put someone new in charge, but Tripi was certain that one day Heidi would run a home of her own and that she would make sure it was warm and that the old people were happy and that potatoes would never be on the menu.
And then Al came through the doors in his kilt with Old Mrs Moon’s bagpipes and began to play. Milo put Hamlet down on the chair, walked to the end of the row and went to hold Sandy’s hand. He whispered in her ear.
Hamlet stood up on his chair and grunted and everyone shuffled to their feet.
Tripi felt a sting at the back of his eyes. He must not let himself get sentimental, he must think of Ayishah.
He turned to go.
‘Tripi?’
He tripped on a rucked-up bit of carpet.
‘Where are you going?’ Sandy had slipped round the side of the room. Milo stood beside her, still holding her hand.
Everyone sat down except Andy who went to the microphone in front of Old Mrs Moon’s casket.
Tripi looked at Sandy and took a breath. ‘You did a beautiful job on Old Mrs Moon, you are an artist.’
Sandy laughed. ‘She would have hated it. I don’t think she wore make-up a single day of her life.’ Sandy sniffed. ‘Always had such beautiful skin; apricot skin, like Milo.’
Milo blushed, but Tripi could tell the little boy was pleased that he had a bit of Old Mrs Moon in him.
‘I think you should give Mum your hankie,’ said Milo.
Tripi pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Sandy.
‘I suppose I did it for me – the make-up, I mean.’ Sandy wiped her nose and dabbed at her cheeks. Then she looked at Tripi through her blurry eyes. ‘Milo says you’re leaving. He gave me this.’ She held up the letter.
Tripi hesitated, thought of a thousand excuses he could give her to make it easier for him to leave. But that was not fair.
‘I wanted you to find out later, Sandy.’ He glanced at Milo but Milo gave him the same cheeky grin Ayishah had when she knew she was winning an argument. ‘But yes, I am leaving.’
‘To find your sister?’
‘Yes.’ The needle in a haystack, he thought. Ayishah would like that phrase.
Sandy put her hand on his arm. She had painted her nails a pale pink, only the little one on her left hand was chipped.
‘Mum’s got something to tell you, Tripi,’ Milo said.
Sandy took a breath and said: ‘Take me with you.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I’ll help you find Ayishah. We’ll travel around the country together, we’ll bang on doors and campaign until they find her and bring her here.’ Her face was alive. ‘I want to do something important. I want to do this, Tripi.’
Andy finished his speech at the microphone and sat down. The sound of an electronic organ started up, people got onto their feet again, opened their service sheets and started singing.
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide…
How beautiful, thought Tripi. Abide with me. That must be an English saying too.
‘We’ve talked about it and we think Mum should go with you. They’ll take you more seriously if you have someone English with you.’
Sandy stepped closer to Tripi. ‘Milo and I had the same idea. It seems we’re not so different after all, eh, Milo?’
Milo smiled. ‘Well, not in this, Mum.’
‘But who will look after Milo when we are away?’ asked Tripi.
‘I’ll be okay,’ said Milo, which made a couple of tears plop out of Sandy’s eyes. ‘I’ve got Dad to look after me – it’s his turn, right, Mum? I haven’t forgiven Dad yet because I think he needs to earn it, but I don’t mind living with him. And I’ll go and visit Petros and the old ladies at Forget Me Not and Al said he’ll come back after he’s celebrated Christmas in Scotland. And there’s always Hamlet, he’ll make sure I’m okay.’
‘But, Sandy…’ Tripi couldn’t take in her words. There were too many obstacles, surely?
‘We’ll only be away for a few days at a time, a week at the most. We’ll come back often. I’ve spoken to Andy, he’s promised me that he’ll take good care of Milo – and Milo will hold him to it, won’t you?’
Milo nodded. ‘And you won’t be long, not with Mum’s help. And once you’ve found Ayishah, you’ll come straight back and we’ll all live together.’
Sandy travelling alongside him? Helping him so that he did not have to do this alone? Was it possible?
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Milo, looking over at the empty place next to his father at the front of the chapel.
Sandy and Tripi watched him walk down the aisle.
‘You are sure Milo will be okay?’
Sandy nodded. ‘Milo will be more than okay.’ She handed Tripi back his handkerchief. ‘So, are you going to let me come with you or not?’
Tripi put the handkerchief in his pocket and looked back at the congregation, still on their feet.
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me…
He did not believe what people said about Allah being so different from this Christian God.
Tripi watched Milo pick Hamlet up off his seat and stand next to his father. And then Milo turned round and shifted his head and Tripi wasn’t sure whether Milo could see him and Sandy, but the small boy’s eyes widened and he smiled. And then turned back round.
‘Ready?’ Sandy slipped her fingers into Tripi’s.
He took her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles and whispered, ‘Ready.’
70
MILO
‘Can I hold her for a while?’ Milo asked Dad, looking into Arabella’s small, scrunched-up face.
Dad nodded, lifted Arabella out of her cot and placed her in Milo’s arms.
‘I want to introduce her to Gran.’
Dad shot Angela a look.
‘It’s okay, Andy.’ Angela turned to Milo. ‘Go ahead, we’ll wait for you outside.’
As everyone filtered out of the chapel, Milo carried Arabella to Gran’s open coffin.
‘Gran doesn’t like make-up,’ Milo whispered into Arabella’s ear. He looked down at Gran’s red lips. ‘But I think Mum was trying to be nice.’
The lipstick was already fading, though, the edges around her mouth blurred. He wondered how long it would take for every bit of Gran to fade away.
‘Gran, this is Arabella.’ Milo held Arabella out so they could see each other. ‘Look, Arabella, it’s Gran.’ Arabella blinked. She opened her small eyes for a second and then closed them again. ‘I think she’s tired, Gran, she’s had a long day.’
What Milo Saw Page 31