Simone doesn’t look up. Ameliah looks at Heather. Heather nods.
— She doesn’t have a mobile.
The other girls tilt their heads in unison like confused pigeons. Ameliah adjusts herself in her seat.
— I do have one. I just don’t really use it.
She frowns at Heather. Heather bites her lip
— Yeah. That’s what I meant. It’s always on silent, right?
Simone taps her phone screen and another track starts with the same auto-tuned voice. She lays the phone back down on the table.
— Aren’t you hot in that big thing?
Ameliah peels her hood from her head, freeing her curls.
— Not really.
Heather cuts in.
— Help me out, Am. These lot reckon that mind-reading is real. It’s not real, is it?
The other girls shake their heads, shrugging their shoulders. Simone wags her finger.
— I didn’t say mind-reading, Heather, did I? I was talking about psychics, like mediums and that. My mom went to one, she said it was a tiny little basement place, near the sea, and this woman told her she could contact people and they spoke to her great aunty or uncle or whatever.
A girl with mousy brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail joins in.
— Yeah, and my dad said him and his mates did one of them Ouija board things when they were at school and it proper moved and everything!
Heather sighs through a smile.
— It’s all tricks, isn’t it, Am? Tell them. Nobody hears voices from the other side. Ooooooooh!
She waves her hands in front of her and does her best rubbish ghost impression.
Ameliah scans the other girls. Her fingertips turn the shell round and round in her pocket. Simone stares at her. She glances at Heather. High above them the sun moves behind a cloud.
— I dunno.
Heather stops being a ghost and looks at her.
— What?
Ameliah shrugs.
— I dunno. Some people believe in it.
Simone looks angry.
— What do you mean some people?
Ameliah stares back at Simone.
— I mean some people, they believe it.
Simone’s frown deepens.
— Some people like who?
Her voice sharpens. Ameliah hears the voice from the tape in her head saying Mom’s name.
— Like my dad.
The other girls stare at her. Heather looks shocked.
— Am?
Ameliah looks at Heather, feeling Simone watching her.
— My dad said he heard a voice once. When he was a boy. He said the voice of a girl spoke to him. That it helped him.
Simone looks at Heather.
— See. Even Ameliah knows about it.
Heather scrunches up her face and shakes her head.
— Are you serious, Am? You never told me that.
Ameliah shrugs.
— Yeah, I mean it wasn’t a big deal or anything. I don’t think he thought he was talking to the dead, it was probably just a story he told me. He told lots of stories.
Heather puffs out her cheeks.
— All right, great. Stories, mediums, psychos.
Simone cuts in.
— Psychics, Heather, not psychos.
— Whatever.
Heather pulls a small white paper bag out of the large pocket at the front of her hoody.
— Who wants one?
Her fingers reach into the bag and pull out a deep red sweet. Simone looks at the bag.
— What’s in there?
Heather pops the sweet into her mouth.
— Wine gums. My mom brought loads home.
The other girls look at the bag then at her.
— Help yourself.
Five painted fingernailed hands dive at the bag, tearing it open, grabbing the coloured sweets. The sun moves from behind the cloud and light bounces off the flat phone screen. Heather looks at Ameliah and shakes her head. Ameliah shrugs. Simone speaks as she chews.
— These are so bad for your teeth, Heather, and I heard they’ve got pig fat in them.
Heather looks down.
— Yeah, and cow nipples and sheep toes.
She lifts her head, pulling a smiling monster face, her teeth peppered with chewed pieces of sweet. Simone recoils.
— You’re disgusting, Heather.
The other girls lean back in their seats.
Heather smiles wider and a piece of sweet drops out of her mouth. Simone and the other girls jump out of their seats, squealing.
— Stop it, Heather! That’s so gross!
Heather stands up and starts moving towards Simone. The girls scatter, all cackling like animals. Ameliah smiles, holding the shell in her pocket, and stares at the empty gate that the boys left through as Heather stomps after the others.
— Just leave it to me.
Liam pushed four thick chips into his mouth at once, blowing out steam from the hot potato as he and Ryan sat next to each other on the low stone wall outside the chip shop, their bikes lying at their feet.
Ryan blew on a chip in his right hand, holding the bag they were sharing in his left. Liam reached into the wrapped-up newspaper and pulled out another hot handful.
— I’ll be real smooth with it too.
He filled his mouth with chips. Ryan looked serious.
— Please, Liam. Promise me you won’t mess this up.
Liam spoke through hot chewed potato.
— Relax, man. I’ll speak to Mary later. I’ll be so undercover, she won’t even realise she’s feeding me information.
— Just the basics. Name, where she came from, what she’s doing here.
Ryan bit into his chip. Liam swallowed and nodded.
— I understand, man. I’ll get you the information you need.
His eyes narrowed as he smiled.
— Juz mek shoo you av ze micro film, Meester Bond.
— I’m serious, Liam.
Liam took more chips.
— All right, all right, chill out, will ya? I’ll find out who she is. You know this could’ve all been avoided if you’d just spoken to her.
— And you’ll ring me later?
Liam rolled his eyes and spoke through a full mouth.
— Yes, I’ll ring you later with my report. Jeez, can we leave it now?
The pair of them sat eating in silence as the low sun cast shadows of the houses opposite into the road. Ryan thought about the girl, her green eyes looking straight at him.
— Before nine though, yeah? I can’t answer the phone after—
— Ryan, just relax.
Liam took the bag from Ryan’s hand, dug out the last couple of chips then scrunched up the paper into a greasy ball and smiled.
— Just leave it to Big L.
Ameliah smells food as she shuts the front door. She can hear the TV through the wall. The windowless hallway is early evening dark. Her stomach rumbles and she realises that none of the girls even mentioned eating. She stops in front of the small oval mirror above the phone table and smiles, proud of herself for lasting so long with them.
Her thumb strokes the smooth inside of the shell in her pocket, warm from a day of being held. The finger-like leaves of the spider plant next to the phone reach over the handset and, as she opens the living-room door, she wonders how something can survive with so little light.
Nan is sitting on the pale green sofa, knees tucked under her, holding a floral cushion in her lap. Light from the TV washes the room, reflecting in her eyes. On the screen a clunky-looking cowboy points a gun at a younger man on the floor.
— Hi.
Nan’s eyes don’t leave the screen.
— Hello, love. How was your day?
Ameliah shrugs.
— OK thanks. How about you?
Nan winces as the clunky cowboy shoots a warning shot at the ground next to the younger man’s hand.
— Yes, fine, love. Dinner’s almo
st ready. I hope you’re hungry.
She brings her balled-up fist to her mouth as the younger man reaches for the gun and the clunky cowboy shoots him dead. Ameliah looks at the old TV, its heavy silver body framing the screen. The cowboy mounts his horse and starts to ride away. Ameliah stares at the framed photographs on top of the TV. Mom stares back at her, in her university robes.
— They don’t make ’em like they used to.
Nan breathes out a sigh as she speaks. Ameliah watches as yellow letters spelling ‘The End’ roll up the screen.
— Good film?
Nan smiles.
— John Wayne.
Ameliah looks blank. Nan stares at her.
— The actor?
Ameliah shakes her head. Nan’s mouth drops.
— You don’t know who John Wayne is?
Ameliah shrugs.
— A cowboy?
Nan shakes her head.
— I bet that’s your mom’s doing. She always used to moan when I put a bit of John on.
Ameliah looks at her.
— She didn’t like him?
Nan smiles.
— No, love, she didn’t, which is why I’m guessing you’ve never seen him.
Ameliah looks down. The deep cream carpet changes colour as the TV moves to an advert.
— Which is just the perfect excuse for me to watch all his films again and educate you on the classics, isn’t it?
Nan smiles, making a gun with two fingers, and mimes shooting Ameliah then blows imaginary smoke from her fingertips. Ameliah doesn’t move. Nan pushes herself up to standing.
— Looks like we’re going to have to work on your reactions too, kid.
She pats Ameliah on the shoulder.
— Come on. Let’s have some chicken.
Ryan stared at the phone, the dark circular number buttons sticking out from deep red moulded plastic. The cord connecting it to the wall was stretched to where he sat halfway up the stairs. The upstairs landing light was on, but he’d left downstairs off so only the top half of his body was lit.
His bare feet tapped the edge of the stair excitedly in the dark. He could hear the TV in the living room through the wall. He thought about telekinesis and how Mom said we only use a fraction of our brain’s capacity. Holding his fingertips against his temples, Ryan narrowed his eyes, focusing on the phone.
The ring boomed out. Ryan jumped and lost his footing, sliding down on his back to the bottom of the stairs. He sprang up, feeling the skin on his back burning as he dived towards the phone, picking up the receiver just as the living-room door opened.
— Hello? Yeah, it’s me. Nothing. I just fell, hold on.
Nathan stood at the bottom of the stairs in dark shorts and T-shirt, holding a mug. Ryan cupped his hand over the receiver and stared at him.
— I’m on the phone.
Nathan sipped from his mug and smiled an evil smile.
— Yeah? And?
Ryan thought quickly.
— It’s Liam.
Nathan’s face changed. He cut his eyes at Ryan.
— Yeah, well, hurry up. My dad’s calling at eight so you better be off. Enjoy your pillow talk, bumboy.
Ryan waited until the living-room door closed before moving the receiver to his mouth.
— Sorry, man. Yeah, it was Nathan. I swear down, one time I’ll, what? I dunno. Cos he’s a knob. Anyway, what did you find out? What do you mean? Nothing? At all?
Ryan’s chest deflated. He rested his head in his hand, his elbow on his knee, then suddenly sat bolt upright.
— Don’t do that! Seriously, man, it’s not nice. Tell me, tell me. Yeah. Yeah. Just for the summer? Where from? OK. It doesn’t matter. So she’s in Mary’s year? Right and what’s her name? Stop it, Liam, just tell me.
Ryan laughed.
— Yo, you’re lying. You are. Stop it, man, her name is not Esmeralda, come on. Of course I knew you were joking, now tell me her real name. Yeah. Really? Like from the bible?
I remember the three of us in the car cruising along a narrow road in Ireland. Me scared because it didn’t seem like the road was made wide enough for two cars. Green fields stretching out on either side of us like a painting. Me spread across the back seat feeling glad I didn’t have to share it with anyone, Dad driving while you navigated with the map. You remember? On our way to Blarney Castle to kiss a lucky stone.
How old was I, nine? Yeah, nine.
I didn’t want to kiss it, did I? I said I didn’t care about luck if it meant I had to kiss a dirty old stone. Dad glancing at you and smiling. Your fingers touching your necklace and you saying that it was luck that made me. Me rolling my eyes, knowing that I was going to hear the Mom and Dad and the universe fairy-tale story again. I heard that so many times, Mom.
The pair of you holding hands as Dad drove. I always thought that everybody’s parents must have a fairy-tale story too, like that was how people ended up together. Magical moments that become stories you bore your children with.
I know different now.
The universe.
Remember the man who sat there all day holding people over the edge? His old smiley face, dark red and full of cracks. His rough hands on my back as he held me nearly upside down over the castle turret so I could kiss the cold slab thing. I remember closing my eyes and craning my neck to reach it and thinking about you both, holding hands, for a split second then, as I felt the cold stone on my lips, I thought about how many strangers’ mouths must have touched it, and whether they got the luck they wished for.
I chose the keyring from the little gift shop with the four-leaf clover pressed inside, remember? The one I gave you? I remember I asked you if it was real. You looked at Dad and then at me and said that the only things that are real are the things we believe.
The double-decker bus pulls into a stop on the main road towards town. Semi-detached houses stretch along either side. Ameliah sits, her knees up against the hand railing, resting her head against the upstairs window, staring out. She can feel the shell in her hip pocket, pressed against her thigh by the taut denim.
Heather sits next to her, head down, her thumbs speedily tapping her phone screen.
The top deck is empty except for a young suited man in the back corner behind them.
— Simone says they’ll be outside Selfridges at twelve.
Her thumbs don’t stop as she speaks. Ameliah stares out of the window. On the opposite side of the road she sees a skinny man wrestling with fitting a baby seat into a dirty white car. As the bus moves past, she sees the man taking a deep breath to compose himself.
— Am. Are you listening?
Ameliah smiles, seeing the skinny man kick his car door in frustration, just as he moves out of sight.
— You wanna meet them?
Heather’s eyes flit between her phone screen and Ameliah. Ameliah nods.
— OK.
— Good. I say we go trying stuff on and then meet them later. Yeah?
She presses send and turns her phone over in her lap. Ameliah looks around the empty deck. In front of them a small flat screen shows the view of the bus’s CCTV cameras on a rotating loop. She sees the young man from behind them in the screen. He sits alone, biting his nails. Ameliah nudges Heather and whispers.
— What do you reckon his name is?
Heather looks at the screen. The shot from the downstairs camera shows seats full of pairs of old people, most of them cradling chequered shopping bags.
— Who?
— Wait for it. It’ll come back round in a minute. Keep your voice down.
The screen cuts to an image of Heather and Ameliah staring ahead as though they’re looking for something. They both laugh. Heather combs her hair with her fingers.
— God, I look like a scarecrow or something.
Ameliah watches herself watching her best friend fixing her hair on the screen. Heather stares at the camera and pouts.
— We should have our own TV show.
The ima
ge changes to the view of the young man. Ameliah grabs Heather’s hand.
Heather stares at the screen. The young man is picking his nose.
— Euuuurgh.
Ameliah squeezes Heather’s hand.
— Sssshhhhhhhh. He’s behind us.
Heather looks over her shoulder. The man quickly lowers his hand from his face.
The image cuts to the old people downstairs. Ameliah fights a smile.
— I can’t believe you.
Heather pushes her knuckle up into her nostril as though struggling with something stuck up there.
— Help me, Am, it’s a big one.
Ameliah smiles.
— Stop it.
Heather carries on. Wrestling with her own hand in front of her face.
— Mama mia! This is huge, I think it might be—
Ameliah slaps Heather’s hand down, pursing her lips as the young man moves past them, gripping the chair poles like he’s swinging from vines in a tree. The bus slows as it approaches another stop. Both girls struggle to keep a straight face. The man avoids their eyes as he disappears down the stairs.
They both burst into laughter.
Heather’s phone pings with the sound of a new message. She reads the screen as Ameliah wipes the corners of her eyes.
— I can’t believe you.
Heather smiles.
— Yes you can. Look, Simone says there’s some stall by the fountain giving away free health bars. We should go there first.
She holds the phone up to Ameliah. Ameliah nods her OK. Heather looks out of the window.
— It’s weird being out on a Monday, isn’t it? Feels like we’re bunking or something.
Ameliah watches the houses outside turn to office blocks as they approach town.
— That’s what school does to you. It takes time to adjust. We’re programmed.
— All right, don’t start getting all deep. We’re going shopping, let’s try and have fun, yeah?
Ameliah stares up through the glass at the new tall buildings as Heather’s thumbs dance out a reply on her phone screen. Heather doesn’t look up as she carries on speaking.
— I can hear your brain working you know.
Ameliah looks at her.
— Like a little machine, ticky-tick-ticking. Your room full of old stuff will still be there later. You can come with me for a day and pretend to be a girl, I mean, you know what I mean.
Tape Page 4