— This would fit my brother! How did they even know who was a girl and who was a boy?
Ameliah watches Heather but pictures Joe. She thinks about Nan holding up the piece of paper with his address and her eyes widen.
— Can you hear my nan?
She sits forward, turning her ear to the open bedroom door. Heather listens too. The house is quiet. Heather shakes her head.
— I can’t hear anything.
Ameliah stands up.
— She must be asleep. I can probably get a look at it without waking her up.
— Get a look at what?
Heather starts to rummage in the bin bag.
— His address, on the bit of paper, the one he gave her.
— What are you talking about, Am?
Ameliah stands in the bedroom doorway, looking along the landing at Nan’s bedroom door.
— Shh. Wait here. I’ll be back in a second.
— What are you doing?
— The paper.
Heather shrugs and sits on the floor as Ameliah tiptoes out on to the landing, treading on the edges where the carpet meets the skirting board.
As she gets to Nan’s door, she leans in, resting her ear against the painted wood. There’s the light sound of Nan’s breathing, not quite a snore, but heavy enough to say she’s probably asleep.
Ameliah reaches for the round doorknob, turning slowly. The tendons in her fingers push out under her skin like tiny ropes, taut from the tightness of her grip.
The door lightly clicks as she eases it open. There’s the smell of soap power and old perfume.
Nan is asleep on her back on top of the white double bedspread. Next to her an old photo album lies open. The plastic film covering the pictures catches the dulled light coming through the curtains.
Ameliah scans the room. Books are stacked up in piles around the walls like a model skyline. An old fireplace sits lifeless and black, its grille grey with a layer of dust.
The bed frame is brass and old and makes Ameliah think of servants and maids and bedpans. She looks at the bedside table nearest to her. Nan’s mobile phone lies on top of her purse. Sandwiched in between them, the white folded paper sticks out.
Ameliah looks at Nan. Her head tilted to one side, her chin up like a cat. Her right hand rests on her chest, rising and falling with each breath. Her left hand is next to the photo album, as though she dropped off while looking through it. Ameliah looks at the upside-down page and makes out a teenage girl in baggy clothes.
Nan stirs and Ameliah holds her breath, looking back to the bedside table. She waits for Nan’s breathing to fall back into its soft pattern and then takes a step forward, propping the door open behind her with her left foot.
Leaning in, she teases the folded paper from between the phone and purse. It feels thicker than she imagined between her fingers, like part of a page torn from an expensive notebook. She unfolds it and stares at the black writing. His letters are all capitals, clear but obviously written quickly. She reads the address again, mouthing the words, burning the information into her brain.
Underneath the address he has just written the word Joe. No surname.
Ameliah feels her face scrunch up as she reads it.
A car goes past outside. She folds the paper up again and slides it back between the purse and phone, leaving it sticking out just as much as it was.
She glances at Nan then at the photo album as she reverses her movements out of the room.
As she clicks the door shut, Ameliah whispers the address to herself, repeating it again and again as she walks back to her room.
Heather looks up at her from the floor next to the black bag. She’s wearing a red beanie hat.
— Happy?
Ameliah heads straight to her bedside table and picks up the shoebox lid and her pen, mouthing the address to herself.
Heather stands up and moves towards the bed. Ameliah stares at the address on the brown card in her lap, her skin charged with her idea.
— I think it’s by the high street. On the way to town.
Heather sits down next to her and looks at the shoebox lid.
— So what? We track him like stalkers?
Ameliah pushes the lid down between her bed and the table. She looks at Heather and nods, biting her bottom lip.
— Exactly.
Ryan feels cool air on his skin and opens his eyes. He’s standing in a lush garden, plants and flowers and trees all around him. Looking down, he sees he’s naked except for a green star-shaped leaf covering his privates. The morning sun is warm on his skin.
He feels a hand in his and, looking across, he sees Eve standing next to him with three of the same star leaves covering her bits. His Eve. The green-eyed girl from two gardens away. She’s smiling. He feels amazing. He looks at Eve, Eve looks at him and they’re holding hands and nodding their heads while all around them the huge plants with their multicoloured flowers sway to the sounds of A Tribe Called Quest.
— Ryan. Ryan. Are you OK?
Ryan heard her voice and opened his eyes. He saw her blurred edges. His whole body ached and his left knee felt like it had been twisted all the way round.
He could feel the soft grass under his back as he stared up. Her upside-down face came into focus.
— Are you OK? Wait here, don’t move.
Ryan tried to sit up and felt his ribs dig into his lungs.
He reached down and felt his blood turn cold as he touched the naked skin of his thighs. Where were his jeans?
He felt pain across his chest as he propped himself up on to his elbows and looked down at his body. Following his naked legs down to his ankles he saw that his jeans, turned inside out, were covering his feet and stretching up to the fence where they were trapped at the waist, wedged into a split in the wooden panels.
The fall must’ve pulled them off but they got stuck on his trainers. He looked down at his crotch. His white briefs were still in place. He told himself that was something. At least she hadn’t seen everything. Was this her garden? He had to get away. How could this be happening?
He sat up fully, feeling pain as he breathed in. He turned to look back at the house. The white back door was open and he could see into the dark kitchen. He couldn’t make out Eve or anyone else. He shuffled towards the fence on his backside and starting pulling at his jeans, trying to tug them loose from the fence. They wouldn’t move. His shoes were wedged inside the ankles of the denim, trapping him. He started to panic, pulling more violently. The fence rattled, but the waistband of his jeans wouldn’t come loose.
Ryan could feel his heart starting to pound in his chest and sweat forming on his forehead.
— Come on. Come on!
— What are you doing?
Eve kneeled beside him, easing his body back on to the grass. Her hand on his chest felt cool and calm. He looked up at her.
She smiled and held up a large pair of scissors.
— I’m gonna have to cut them.
Ryan felt his face torn between smiling and wanting to cry. Her voice was like a memory. His head was spinning and he felt like he might pass out at any moment. He moved his hands, pulling his grey jumper down, trying to cover his pants.
— I’m sorry. I was coming for my ball. My pants and, is this—?
Eve smiled and shook her head.
— Shut up. Tell me inside. Now hold still.
— What time is it?
— I dunno.
— Check your phone.
Heather pulls out her sleek mobile and taps the screen.
— 16:07, Sarge.
— Stop joking about.
Ameliah tries to see through the bush.
— Do you think he’s in there now?
Heather taps her phone screen. Ameliah narrows her eyes.
— I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.
— Can we go now?
— No.
Heather reads something on her phone.
— Look, Simone and them are g
oing to the park. Let’s go, Am. I’m bored.
Ameliah stares through the bush at the black and white building. She looks at the upstairs bay window. The net curtains prevent anyone seeing in. Heather holds up her phone close to Ameliah’s face.
— Am, let’s go and meet them.
Ameliah shakes her head.
— We need to wait. He might come out.
Heather puts her phone back in her pocket.
— Yeah, and then what? We follow him? Where to exactly? We’ve been here ages. Let’s go.
Ameliah’s eyes don’t leave the building.
— You go. I’ll be fine.
Heather slaps her shoulder.
— Oi. This is stupid. Let’s go – detective work is boring. You said yourself you’re not even sure he was in that photo.
Ameliah stares straight ahead.
— I’m not going anywhere.
— No? So what, you’re just gonna stand here like some kind of weirdo and wait to see him? Maybe follow him to the chippy? He’s just some guy, Am.
Ameliah doesn’t move. Heather blows air out of her cheeks and shakes her head.
— Fine. You waste your time playing private detective if you want, I’m going.
Ameliah doesn’t look at her.
— You know you’re hard work sometimes, Am, you really are. Call me later, yeah?
She walks away, back towards the building. Ameliah watches her go. As Heather passes the drive, she glances back at the bush, pulls a face then turns to the house and sticks her middle finger up at it. Ameliah stares up at the upstairs bedroom window, looking for any sign of a response.
Ryan looked round the room and realised the layout of the house was an exact mirror image of his own, with the kitchen on the opposite side. He could still feel the ache in his chest as he sat on the edge of the deep brown sofa with a towel wrapped around his legs.
On the wall above the fireplace he saw a silver-framed photograph of a stern-looking man with dark hair and olive skin in military uniform. He knew this must be Eve’s nan’s house. Liam had told him she was staying with her nan, but on the next street up? With a back garden that touched theirs? Ryan felt his stomach dancing as he heard Eve close the fridge.
— Do you want the spoon with it?
Her voice called from the kitchen and Ryan imagined Mom, chopping potatoes, singing along to Billy Joel.
— Erm, yes please. I don’t mind.
Eve walked in carrying two long glasses full of strawberry Nesquik. The handle of a silver spoon stuck out from the top of both. She handed him one and sat in the armchair to his right.
— I like to use the spoon. That way it lasts longer.
Ryan shifted his weight in his seat.
— Thanks. I’m sorry.
— Stop saying that.
Eve smiled and slurped a spoonful of pink milk.
— How old are you?
He could feel her eyes on him.
— Thirteen, I mean, yeah, I’m thirteen. How ’bout you?
Eve slurped another spoonful.
— I’m fourteen next week.
— Cool.
Ryan took a swig and felt the cool milk wash against his top lip.
Eve lifted her feet up and tucked them underneath her on the chair as she drank. Ryan noticed a small collection of freckles near the top of her left arm. Like a constellation.
— You’re freckly.
Eve looked confused.
— What?
Ryan pointed.
— On your arm. You have freckles.
Eve looked at her arm and covered the freckles with her hand. Ryan shook his head.
— Freckles are good. I love freckles.
He closed his eyes.
— I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Eve looked at him like she knew him from somewhere.
— You and your friend have a habit of saying the wrong thing, don’t you?
— My friend? Oh, you mean Liam.
Eve nodded.
— Yeah, well, pretty much. I’m sorry I stared at your freckles.
— Stop saying sorry.
Eve lifted her glass and finished the last of her milk.
— And you’ve got freckles too.
She pointed at the towel covering Ryan’s legs. Ryan felt the blood rushing to his face. Eve smiled.
— It’s like a film or something.
Ryan held his hands in his lap as he looked at her.
— Back to the Future.
Eve smiled.
— Yeah.
She stood up and moved towards him.
— I guess the universe wanted us to meet. Glass?
He looked up at her. Her white vest clung to her body and Ryan tried to avoid staring at her chest.
— The universe?
Eve blew air out of her mouth.
— Gimme your glass, Freckly.
Ryan smiled nervously and held it out. Eve took it and walked towards the kitchen.
— My nan will be home soon so you might want to go before she gets here.
Ryan stared at her. She nodded at the towel. Ryan stood up, holding it in place with a tight grip.
— Yeah. Course. Sorry, I mean, yeah.
Eve smiled as she walked into the kitchen.
— You don’t talk to girls much, do you?
Ryan stared at the military man in the photograph and imagined Eve’s nan as some strongly built military wife who would pull the arms off any boy she found in his pants alone with her granddaughter in her living room.
He walked into the kitchen. Eve stood at the sink rinsing the glasses.
— Maybe I should go back over the fence?
He stared out of the back door into the garden. On the small concrete patio his jeans lay, one leg cut from the ankle to the hip.
— You think that’s wise, Evil Knievel?
Eve leaned against the sink. Light from the window lit her from behind. Ryan looked back into the living room.
— I don’t fancy walking the streets in my pants.
— No? They’re quite nice pants.
Their eyes met and for a second Ryan forgot where he was. He imagined, if life was a film, this would be where he walked towards her slowly and she did the same and they’d meet in the middle of the kitchen and there was the sound of a key in the front door …
Eve’s face dropped.
— Go. Now!
She pushed him out of the back door, pulling the towel away from his legs. Ryan stumbled on to the patio in his pants as the back door closed behind him. He looked down the garden, then at his butchered jeans, then back at the door. He had no idea what to do. The back door quickly opened and Eve’s face appeared.
— Meet me by the fence later. Nine o’clock.
Then she was gone. Ryan stared at the door. He could make out the brushstrokes in the white gloss paint. Nine o’clock.
He grabbed his jeans and ran down the garden, scooping the ball up as he went. At the bottom, leaning against the fence, was a wheelbarrow, as if it had been placed there. Ryan smiled and threw his jeans and the ball over the fence. He jumped up on to the wheelbarrow and, using his hands as leverage, he threw his legs up and over the fence, landing on his feet in his own back garden.
He felt the pain in his back as he stood up, then, picking up his jeans, he walked towards his back door in his pants, beaming from ear to ear.
Ameliah feels the cold air on the back of her neck. She pulls her thick grey hood up over her curls and lets out a sigh. She has no idea what time it is, but the sun has moved behind the houses across the street and it feels like a while since Heather left. The backs of her legs ache from standing for so long and she can feel hunger bubbling in her stomach.
She thinks about Heather, in the park with Simone and the others, talking about girly things and tapping their phones. She wonders whether Heather made up an excuse for her not being there. Whether anyone even asked.
A double-decker bus rolls pas
t and Ameliah spots the same advert for holidays in Turkey she has seen three times already. She shakes her head and looks down. Nan will be worried about where she is. She didn’t leave a note and doesn’t have a phone. She looks back through the bush at the building, resigning herself to leave, and then Joe steps out of the front door.
At first she keeps her distance, staying two lamp posts away as she follows him along the pavement of the main road but, as he turns on to the high street, the safety of scattered strangers and the fading sun make her feel like she can get closer.
She remembers a cartoon with a hunter following a rabbit, him disappearing behind a tree every time the rabbit turned round. She makes sure to look into shop windows, as though she’s interested in buying something.
He moves with purpose and she has to skate between people to keep up. His brown workman’s jacket makes him seem younger somehow as he walks through the sliding glass doors of the supermarket.
Picking up an empty basket, she watches him turn round the far end of the fruit and vegetables aisle. She hangs back, moving past the end of the aisle and peering round the corner of the next. He walks straight past it so she shuffles up the aisle to make sure she stays behind him.
Ameliah can feel her heart beating as she moves past stacked boxes of cereal and it hits her that she has no idea what she’s doing. She remembers begging Dad to let her sit in the trolley when they went shopping, him telling her she was too big now, shaking his head, then giving in and lifting her into the mesh cage. A smooth green melon cool in her lap as Dad steered around, speaking their shopping list out loud to remind himself.
— Careful, dear.
The old lady lays her hand on Ameliah’s shoulder, stopping them from colliding. Ameliah snaps out of her daydream, scanning the aisle both ways over the old lady’s shoulder.
— Are you OK? You look lost.
Ameliah feels herself start to panic.
— What? No. I’m fine. Where did he go?
— Where did who go, love?
The old lady shakes her head as Ameliah walks away from her, moving past the tea bags. She jogs along the end of the aisles, looking down each one. He’s not in any of them. She squeezes her fists as she reaches the last one. Joe is halfway down, reading the label on a bottle of red wine. Ameliah stops, relieved. He looks up. She ducks quickly back round the corner, her face right next to bottles of fizzy drinks. Did he see her? She tells herself he can’t have and presses her hand against her chest to calm down.
Tape Page 10