by Sam Hepburn
‘I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Jackson, I never thought that—’
‘You did what you had to do, Joe. I respect that.’ He pulled Rikki out of the water and started drying him off. ‘And you got to respect that I did what I had to do, giving you up to Kozek.’
‘I do, totally.’
‘It wasn’t nothing personal. You’re family.’ He pulled a T-shirt over Rikki’s head. ‘But when you got a kid, that kid got to come first. That’s just how it is.’
Norma was watching us from the top of the steps and when he said that I thought for a moment she was going to cry. But she just sniffed a bit and said that Rikki was very lucky to have a dad like Jackson. Then she looked at me and I knew we were both imagining how things might have turned out if she’d put Mum first.
A screech of feedback signalled the start of the music and jolted us back to the party. Oh, I forgot to mention that I’d got Ronan Bellfield’s band along – remember him? He was the busker who saved me from starvation when I took Nina into A and E. ’Course, having his band there was nothing compared to the last party Norma threw at Elysium when the Rolling Stones turned up and played all night. But I’d lent Ronan some of Mum’s tapes and when he sang a couple of her songs I saw Norma standing there, transfixed by the sound. She said it was the kind of stuff Greville Clairmont had really loved – and he’d never liked the Stones much anyway.
Nina was leaning against the stage, watching as people started dancing. She’d done something radical to her hair – brushed it maybe – and she looked all right in her new blue dress, though in my mind I’d always see her in scraggy jeans with a dirty old hat pulled right down or frowning at me in the moonlight telling me, ‘That is not plan.’
I went over to her, fished out the little box I’d been carrying around all day and pushed it into her hand. ‘I got this for you,’ I said.
‘For me?’ Embarrassed, she twisted away to open it and then turned back, holding up the gold chain Norma had helped me pick out, and gazing at the dangling pendant hanging off it. It was a diamond clamped between two prancing bears and it glinted in the sunshine as she fastened it round her neck.
Neither of us said anything, just stood there, remembering the nightmare we’d shared and looking at each other like no one else existed. For the first time ever I saw her well up and I knew I’d rather die than let anyone hurt her again.
‘Hey, what’s that?’ Bailey said, barging between us and reaching for the pendant.
‘I got it made from the tie-clip that saved us,’ I said.
He pulled a face. ‘I s’pose it looks better than hanging my laptop round her neck.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ I said. ‘The tie-clip that helped save us.’
Nina smiled at Bailey. ‘I will not take chances. Next time I meet with Joe I will bring Swiss army knife and leave phone on so you can hear everything that happens.’
Bailey did a fake shudder. ‘Er . . . no thanks.’
‘Who is that?’ Nina said, pointing to a tall, skinny kid, heading towards us across the grass.
I squinted into the sunlight. I couldn’t believe it. It was Horse Boy! I’d just started telling them about the time he fell off his horse and called me a chav, when he came right up and elbowed Bailey and Nina out of the way, as if they weren’t even worth noticing. Then he started grinning and pumping my hand, like he’d just given me a school prize.
‘Hello, I’m Hugo Talbot-French. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last time we met.’ No, Hugo, you were too busy giving me the finger. I caught Bailey mimicking him behind his back and tried not to laugh. ‘My parents own the equestrian centre on the other side of the village. As soon as you’re out of those bandages we were wondering if you’d like to come over for a ride and a bite of lunch.’
For a couple of seconds I was too gobsmacked to speak. But I managed to force something out. ‘Thanks all the same. But me and Oz’ll leave horse riding to civilised people.’
That rattled him, but it was nothing compared to the panic and bewilderment on his face when Bailey started swinging his head and shoulders in opposite directions, put on a heavy street voice and said, ‘Yo fam, yeah, that’s calm. I’ll come tho’. Man’s always wanted to do a bita hoss ridin’ and that still! Tomoro cool, yeah?’
But Hugo had picked up enough of it to get the message that he’d be taking Bailey riding in the morning. I had to walk away or I’d have cracked up and burst my stitches.
I sidled up to Doreen who was perched on the edge of a deckchair, watching George and the St Saviour’s cox debating Cambridge’s chances in the next boat race.
‘So . . . how’s it going, Doreen?’ I said.
She glanced up at me, stiff-lipped under her floppy pink hat, and said, ‘My father spoiled Sadie rotten, right up until the day he died.’ Though it was more to herself than to me and her voice was a bit slurred. ‘My little duchess, he used to called her. And now I know why. I never felt a connection to her, not from the minute she arrived, but all I ever heard was “Come on, Doreen, be nice to your little sister,” like she was the only person in the house who mattered.’
She looked so miserable, I almost felt sorry for her.
She downed her wine and grabbed another from a passing waiter. ‘But then we only had a house because of her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Norma Craig’s lawyer just told me. It was Norma who gave my parents Laurel Cottage. A gift for taking her child and keeping her secret. How was I supposed to compete with that?’
I didn’t have an answer and I turned to go.
‘But I’ll say one thing for Sadie,’ she said.
I stopped.
‘Once she’d set her heart on something she wouldn’t give up, even when the chances of it working out were impossible.’ I swivelled round to look at her. ‘Looks like you’re built the same way.’
‘Yeah, looks like I am,’ I said, which is probably the nearest that me and Doreen would ever get to a normal conversation.
I slipped away to get a burger, relishing the sting of mustard on my lips, which proved that this really was my life, not some wacky reality show where the producers threw a pool party for the randomest mix of people they could find. The band started up the intro to another of Mum’s songs and I caught myself searching the crowd as if I’d see her heading for the stage.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Norma.
‘What are you thinking?’ she said.
‘That Mum should be here.’
‘I know,’ she said, quietly.
She wanted me to ease her pain and tell her I forgave her. I felt bad that the best I could come up with was, ‘You gave her to good people who loved her.’
‘That was the only thing I ever did for her, Joe. And now I’ll never be able to make it up to her.’
The music stopped. I looked up. Yuri had commandeered the microphone and he was leaning on one crutch, pulling out a piece of paper. Little waves of nudging and shushing rippled across the garden as he coughed loudly and started to read.
‘For last thirty-six years I dream of day when dark past of Elysium will end and bright future of Elysium will begin. And now, because of my brave friend Joe, that day is come. His grandfather was good man and Joe is good boy.’ Swapping the paper for a glass of vodka he raised it high. ‘So now we drink toast to Joe and Elysium!’
The cries of ‘Joe! Elysium!’ caught me off guard, ripping the familiar stab of misery through my guts. I stood there among the smiles and clinking glasses, feeling Mum’s frustration as she’d struggled to gasp out the truth she’d wanted me to know. Tell Joe, Elysium. I squeezed my fists, ready for the rush of falling helplessness that always followed the bursts of pain.
It didn’t come. I unclenched my fists and felt my fingers reaching for Norma’s hand.
There is something else you did for Mum,’ I said. ‘Something really important.’
Norma looked at me with a sad smile. ‘Really, Joe? What was that?’
‘You fulfilled her dying wish,’ I said. ‘You told me who I am.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to Sarah Curtis, Beth Holgate, Kevin Loader, Jamie Buxton and Catherine Saunders for their helpful feedback on an early draft, Ariadne Arendt and Minty Barnor for help with translations, and John Tullett for advice on how to hotwire a car. I would also like to thank my wonderful agent Stephanie Thwaites at Curtis Brown for her support, enthusiasm and clever input, and my editor Rachel Leyshon for her clear eye, firm guidance and brilliant suggestions. And of course a big thank you to my children Charlotte, Murdo and Lily for helping me to get into Joe’s head, and to my husband James for everything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Hepburn read modern languages at Cambridge University and worked for many years as a documentary maker for the BBC. She lives in London with her husband and three children.
www.samhepburnbooks.com
www.samosmanbooks.com
From the Chicken House
Don’t you just love a really dangerous mystery? One in which there are shady lords, faded film stars, horrible gangsters, and brave kids who take on the impossible to unravel deeply perilous secrets of the past? Well, this funny, fast and furious story by Sam Hepburn is what you and I have been waiting for! I can tell you who . . . urgghh . . . no, too late, urghhh . . . read the book!
Barry Cunningham
Publisher
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Text © Sam Hepburn 2013.
First published in Great Britain by The Chicken House in 2013.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited in 2013.
E-PUB/MOBI eISBN 978 1 921990 99 1
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.