White Petals

by Maria Grace

  Zoe and her sidekicks were in their designer leggings and power-walking trainers. Mum was wearing a denim skirt and Ugg boots, with a pair of giant sunglasses over her nose. Zoe smirked at her friends and they all smiled falsely to my mother, with spiteful gleams in their eyes.

  ‘Hi, Tess!’ Zoe sang as she barged past us and almost knocked the shopping from Mum’s hands.

  ‘Jog on, Zoe-e-e-e!’ my mother sang back in her merriest voice as she balanced the shopping bags and held both of her arms out wide, sticking up a middle finger from each hand. They glared at her. Mum grinned back at them, her middle fingers hanging in the air. They disappeared down the road, huffing and puffing, but never once said anything back. It was epic.

  Mum might be a nutter, but there was no denying she had guts. I liked that.

  Mum was a bit like a cat. She was a loner. She was streetwise. She said what she meant, and there was no pretence about her. She was a bit rough around the edges, but there was something captivating about her; like an actress who knew she was better than her part. She had big, emerald-green eyes that could see right through you. She got them from my Nana Rose. Except Nana Rose’s eyes were more intense, because she was a Seer. And get this – Nana Rose had an extra eye.

  I’m serious.

  You couldn’t see it, but I believed her when she told me about it. She called it her third eye, and said it was right in the middle of her forehead. You know how some people have a third nipple? Well, kind of like that, I suppose.

  I never understood what it meant exactly, but I knew that everyone had one, just not everyone used it. Nana Rose said that if you concentrated enough, you’d be able to see things differently – clearer than usual.

  I wasn’t sure whether I had a third eye myself, but I sometimes felt that I knew things about people. Take Stacey Lock, for example. She was the niece of Zoe-two-doors-up, and the family resemblance was obvious – physical appearance and personality. Stacey had always been a bit of a bully, but nobody seemed to click onto this until secondary school, except me.

  In the last year of junior school, when my dad was ill, I would sometimes hear Stacey talking to people, and she would be smiling kindly at them. But when she stopped talking, I would hear her speak again – except I would hear it in my head. And she would usually be saying something nasty. This one time, she told her best friend that she looked gorgeous, even though the girl had snot hanging from her nostril. When everyone was laughing, Stacey apologised and said that she hadn’t noticed. But I heard her voice laughing in my mind, and saying, ‘Well, you should have checked yourself before you left the house, you minger.’

  I talked to Dad about it before he died. I told him how uneasy she made me feel, even though I couldn’t understand why. I said I didn’t trust her, and that when she spoke, I would get a running commentary in my mind of what she really meant.

  Dad looked at me as if he was trying to work out a quiz or something, and then he made us a cup of hot chocolate so we could have a chat about it.

  ‘Em…’ He sat opposite me at the kitchen table. ‘Sometimes, we get what we call “gut feelings”. Most people get those gut feelings, but dismiss them because they listen to their heads instead.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘But very often, our gut feelings are the right ones. We should give them more of a chance, really.’

  He blew on his hot chocolate.

  ‘Your mum and Nana Rose…’ He trailed off for a moment. ‘Don’t ask me how they do it, but there are many things that they seem to know, which just can’t be explained. Some people, like me and Grandma Coalman, can’t really tap into this mumbo-jumbo stuff. But other people, like your mother and Nana Rose … well, they can.’

  He looked mystified by his own words.

  ‘There have been lots of extraordinary things that have happened with your mum,’ he said. ‘But one time really sticks out. I’ll never forget it.’

  I hugged my hot chocolate to me and my eyes widened, excited at the prospect of a good story.

  ‘One day,’ he started, ‘we were out for dinner in this little Italian restaurant called Bella’s. Lovely place, it was. Real posh grub.’ He raised his eyebrows and rubbed his thumb and middle finger together to show that it was expensive. I nodded, impressed that my father could afford to eat in an Italian restaurant.

  ‘We were the only customers in there and it was the perfect setting for a nice, romantic night. But your mum, well, she was a bit funny all the way through the meal – pushing her food around her plate and looking distracted. I asked if she was alright, and she said that she wasn’t feeling too well, and would I mind if she popped to the ladies room?’

  He took a sip of his hot chocolate and continued. ‘So she went to the toilet and I ate the rest of her food because she had steak. None of that rump stuff either. It was fillet. And you can’t let a good fillet steak go to waste, can you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Anyway, when she came back, she still seemed a bit off, so I called for the bill.’ He settled into his seat.

  ‘The waitress came to our table and asked if everything was alright with the meal. Then, out of nowhere, your mum looked up, put her hand on the woman’s stomach and said, “You’re having a little girl.” I’m not kidding you, Em, I could have died of embarrassment!’

  I started laughing at the look on his face.

  ‘And with that, the woman starts crying. So I’m sat there like a lemon, giving your mother the evil eye because she’s just made a stranger cry. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the woman then says that she is not pregnant and in fact she and her husband couldn’t have any children!’

  I put my hand to my mouth in shock.

  ‘Exactly!’ He mirrored my reaction. ‘You can imagine my face when she told us that! Then your mother explained that she had a gift – one that ran through the line of women in her family. It may sound a little odd, but your mum could feel that the woman was pregnant. She said that she could sense her symptoms.’

  ‘That’s weird.’ I shivered. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘Well, the woman was superstitious, and she believed that meeting your mother was a sign. So we exchanged telephone numbers and the woman promised to keep in touch and let us know if anything came of it.’

  ‘And did it?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘Two weeks later, we got a call from the woman, telling us that she’d just found out she was five weeks pregnant.’

  ‘GO, MUM!’ I clapped my hands together.

  ‘Nine months later,’ he smiled, ‘they invited us back to the restaurant for dinner. They were celebrating the birth of their beautiful baby daughter. I’ve never questioned your mother’s intuition since then. I’m not saying that I understand it, because I don’t. But I know that whatever it is and wherever it comes from, it is a gift.’

  He gazed at his hot chocolate. ‘So if I’ve learned anything from being around your pain-in-the-arse mother for so long, it’s that if you get a gut feeling about something, you should listen to it.’

  ‘So what has this got to do with Stacey Lock?’ I asked. ‘Are you saying that I shouldn’t hang around with her?’

  ‘I’m not telling you to stop hanging around with Stacey,’ he replied. ‘I’m just saying to be careful, that’s all. If you know she’s not a very nice girl, you need to trust your gut feeling.’

  ‘But I don’t know.’ I was frustrated. ‘That’s what I’m saying, Dad! I don’t know that she’s not a very nice girl. I just think that she’s not. What if these things I hear are just my imagination?’

  ‘Well…’ said Dad. ‘Maybe while everyone else is listening to Stacey Lock’s words, you are listening to something different.’

  ‘What am I listening to?’ I asked.

  ‘You’re listening to her heart.’

  Thinking of that conversation reminded me of the day I came to the children’s home, and the way Stacey Lock and Zoe-two-doors-up were laughing as Mel’s car drove me away from my home. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to
deal with Stacey when I went back to school. I tried to convince myself that she probably had better things to bother with, but there was a nagging feeling inside that told me different. I wasn’t sure why, but for some reason, that family really seemed to have it in for us.

  ELEVEN

  I tried to put school and Stacey out of my mind, but it was the last day of the half-term holiday and it was difficult to ignore the fact that, whether I liked it or not, I would be starting school again the following day.

  Mel had organised for me and Freya to go out for a meal with Grandma Coalman as a treat, and I was glad of the chance to meet up with my family and make the most of my last day off.

  ‘What are you having, Em?’ Grandma Coalman studied the menu with her glasses perched on the end of her nose.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I replied. ‘The gammon looks good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Gammon!’ Grandma Coalman smiled widely, getting excited at the picture of the big gammon steak with the peas on the side, and ring of pineapple on top. When she smiled, you could see where she’d missed her lips when she’d put on her lipstick, because there were tiny bits of red on her front teeth, like she’d coloured outside the lines of a picture.

  Mel and Freya were looking at the menu, trying to decide between spaghetti bolognaise or chicken burger and chips.

  ‘I’m going with bolognaise,’ said Mel, slapping her menu down on the table.

  Freya scrunched up her nose in disgust. She was going through a phase where whatever you said to her, she’d insist on the opposite, just to prove a point. So Grandma Coalman, Mel and I knew that she would go for the chicken burger, but we couldn’t say that, otherwise she’d take longer to choose, to make sure that she didn’t have what we expected her to have.

  ‘Emmeline.’ Grandma Coalman looked serious. ‘If you’re having the gammon, then make sure you ask for pineapple and egg, otherwise it doesn’t taste right.’

  ‘Who says?’ Freya challenged – any excuse for confrontation.

  ‘Me,’ said Grandma Coalman. ‘Now, shut up and order your food.’

  Freya frowned at the menu. ‘I’ll have the chicken burger.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise!’ Grandma Coalman looked smug.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Gram?’ Freya moved her head from side to side.

  ‘Nothing, love.’

  Grandma Coalman and Freya had a funny relationship. They were always sniping at each other, but if anyone else said anything about them, they would be there in a flash with their sleeves rolled up, ready to fight to protect the family.

  ‘I don’t want the chicken burger now,’ Freya sulked.

  ‘Well, you’re having the chicken burger, whether you like it or not!’ Grandma Coalman looked at Freya, eyes wide with warning.

  ‘You can’t make me. What if I refuse to eat it?’

  ‘Then you’ll starve. Now cut the attitude and zip the lip, OK?’ Grandma Coalman had the final say, and the lasagna to go with it.

  Grandma Coalman was Dad’s mother. If you had known my dad, then you would never have guessed that they were related. Dad was quiet and gentle. Grandma Coalman was a gobby cow.

  If you had known my Nana Rose when she was alive, you would know straight away that she was my mother’s mother. Not only did they look the same, but they were both off their trolleys. But if you had put Dad next to Grandma Coalman when he was alive, it would have just been like he was standing next to a stranger. They didn’t look alike, they didn’t sound alike, and they certainly didn’t act alike. They were like chalk and cheese. But my goodness, did she love him.

  When Dad died, Grandma Coalman was crushed. But she kept busy and got on with it. Her and Nana Rose came and looked after us while Mum lay in bed, crying all the time. Sometimes, I would sit by my bedroom window and watch Grandma Coalman and Nana Rose pegging out the washing together in the back garden. I liked it that they were friends. When Nana Rose died, Grandma Coalman had lost both her son and her best friend in a year. She seemed lonelier than ever, but she carried on taking care of us and always made sure we were washed, fed and that we cleaned our teeth. I probably didn’t say it enough, but I thought she was a phenomenal woman.

  We all sat around the table, eating mountains of chocolate brownie and ice cream. Mel asked us how I was getting on at the home and how Freya was getting on at Bill and Nora’s. I knew Grandma Coalman still felt guilty that she couldn’t take care of us, but she had made it her mission to get our house fixed and looking lovely for when we could go home again. Mum had destroyed a lot. Grandma Coalman was having it decorated. She said she was ‘project-managing’ the whole thing.

  ‘So, what game do you want to lose at when we visit you next week, old lady?’ Freya asked Grandma Coalman. ‘Pictionary, Hungry Hippos or Scrabble?’

  ‘I’ll thank you not to call me Old Lady.’ Grandma Coalman frowned at her. ‘A woman in her seventies is not old by today’s standards. And I’ll go for Hungry Hippos, I think.’

  Grandma Coalman winked at me. I laughed, because I knew that Grandma Coalman hated Hungry Hippos. She would much rather play Scrabble, that was her favourite. But if she had said that she wanted to play Scrabble, then Freya would go for one of the other games. Grandma Coalman was good at tactics.

  Freya groaned. ‘Why do you want to play Hungry Hippos, Gram?’ She threw her head back. ‘I thought you’d choose Scrabble – you usually like that.’

  ‘I can’t be bothered with Scrabble.’ Grandma Coalman waved her hand. ‘I’m bored with it, because I always win.’

  ‘You do NOT always win!’ Freya shouted and folded her arms. ‘Sometimes me and Emmeline win! Don’t we, Em?’ She frowned. ‘I’m good at Scrabble, thank you very much. I’m an excellent speller.’

  ‘How do you know that you’re an excellent speller?’ Grandma Coalman teased.

  ‘My teacher did spelling tests with me all last year, and I got nine out of ten almost all of the time.’

  ‘Why nine?’ Grandma Coalman asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why did you get nine out of ten? Why not ten out of ten?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Freya shrugged. ‘I just never got the full ten out of ten. There was always that one word that I couldn’t remember how to spell.’

  ‘What word?’ Grandma Coalman was suspicious.

  ‘I don’t know, Gram! How am I supposed to remember what word it was?’

  Grandma Coalman frowned as she licked the last bit of ice cream off her spoon. ‘What’s your teacher’s name?’ she asked.

  ‘Mrs Griffiths,’ replied Freya. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think Mrs Griffiths has a superiority problem.’ Grandma Coalman scowled.

  ‘What’s a superiority problem?’

  ‘It means that she always has to be the best,’ replied Grandma Coalman. ‘She probably puts a trick word in your spelling tests, so you’d never get it right. Because she needs the kids to know who’s boss. Bloody teachers. Control freaks, the lot of them!’

  ‘Calm down, Columbo,’ said Mel. ‘I don’t think anyone’s trying to trick the kids.’

  Grandma Coalman waved her hand at Mel to shoo her away.

  ‘Freya, Spell Chicken Burger for me,’ said Grandma Coalman.

  ‘C-H-I-K—’ Freya thought carefully. ‘No, wait!’ She took a couple of seconds to work it out. ‘I’ve got it now: C-H-I-C-K-E-N B-U-R-G-E-R!’

  Grandma Coalman studied her for a moment. ‘Are you sure there’s a ‘K’ in the word Chicken?’ she asked.

  Freya nodded her head.

  ‘Well done!’ Grandma Coalman turned serious again. ‘If I can’t fool you…’ She tapped her head in a secret-code kind of way. ‘Then your teachers can’t fool you either.’

  ‘The teachers are not trying to fool the kids, Anna!’ Mel put her hands over her face and shook her head with frustration.

  ‘Oh, shut up, Mel! You don’t know that.’ Grandma Coalman scolded her. ‘You get on my nerves, you do. Bloody social workers. Was
te of time, the lot of you. Worse than the poxy teachers.’

  Mel rolled her eyes and got up from the table. ‘Come on, let’s go. I need to take the girls back so they can get their things ready for school tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Grandma Coalman looked concerned. ‘How are you feeling about going back to school, Em? Are you anxious at all?’

  ‘A little,’ I answered.

  ‘You should be,’ she said. ‘I expect they’ll all be talking about what happened.’

  ‘Cheers, Gram.’ I sulked as I got up from my chair. Trust Grandma Coalman to point out the obvious.

  She stood up and rummaged through her handbag before pulling out a packet of tablets and handing them to me.

  ‘What are these for?’ I asked.

  ‘In case you get the runs,’ she replied.

  Great.

  TWELVE

  ‘Alright, Nerd?’ Karra sat at the table and grabbed a piece of toast from my plate.

  ‘Karra!’ Auntie Sue told her off through the serving hatch. ‘I’ll make you some toast in a minute. Don’t pinch Emmeline’s – she’s going to school this morning, and she needs a good breakfast.’

  ‘Just make the toast, Auntie Sue.’ Karra rolled her eyes, and then turned back to me. ‘You’re wearing the lucky cardigan. Are you nervous about going back to school?’

  I looked down at my cardigan and fidgeted with the white velvet rose on the front. ‘A bit.’ My stomach did a watery grumble.

  ‘Yeah, well, if you get any trouble, just give us a ring and we’ll make our way down there and sort them out for you.’ Karra looked at me without a hint of a joke in her expression.

  I chuckled.

  ‘Not being funny or anything, Em, but you need to toughen up a bit if you’re planning to stay here long term,’ said Karra. ‘It’s dog-ee-dog in these places, babe. You have to learn to handle yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean, dog-ee-dog?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean, what do I mean?’ She looked at me as if I was stupid.

  ‘You said it was “dog-ee-dog”. I haven’t heard that before.’