Secrets

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I tried blowing him one, balancing the tray against my chest.

  ‘I want a proper hello hug!’ Dad insisted, bounding up the stairs after me. He tripped and went, ‘Whoopsie,’ sounding foolish.

  He wasn’t getting a cold. He was drunk. It was obvious when he caught me up. He smelt awful and his eyes were bleary and bloodshot. What was he doing, drinking at work?

  I gave his cheek a hasty kiss and tried to edge round him.

  ‘Come here, India. You love your old dad no matter what, don’t you, darling?’

  ‘Yes Dad,’ I said – though I’m not sure I do now.

  He tried to hug me and the tray tipped.

  ‘Careful, Dad, please.’

  ‘What’s all this then?’ said Dad, stirring all the food with his forefinger. He wagged it at me.

  ‘Naughty, naughty! I thought your sainted stick-thin mother had put you on a diet?’

  ‘It’s just a little snack for when I’m doing my homework.’

  ‘Won’t the light bulb taste a bit crunchy?’ said Dad, roaring with laughter at his own feeble joke.

  ‘Oh ha ha, Dad. Please. Let me go and get on with my homework,’ I said.

  Dad tagged after me all the way to my room.

  ‘Dad! Look, you can’t come in here, it’s private,’ I said desperately.

  ‘I’ve got to fix your light bulb, darling. Can’t have my little sweetheart electrocuting herself.’ Dad switched on my bedroom light and stared stupidly at the three glowing bulbs. He tried to snap his fingers. ‘Abracadabra! Fixed already!’

  ‘No, Dad, the light bulb’s for – for school. I’ve got to take it for Science tomorrow.’

  Thank goodness that diverted him.

  ‘That bloody school. They charge a small fortune – no, no, a huge fortune – in fees, and now they want your old dad to fork out for light bulbs!’ He started a long rant about my school and how he didn’t have any money at all. He even got out his wallet and flapped it in my face to show me it was empty.

  He was getting really angry. It was as if my real dad had been abducted by aliens and they’d sent this mad mean replicant dad in his place.

  ‘Dad, you’re scaring me.’

  He blinked at me. His face screwed up. ‘No, I’m the one who’s scared,’ he said. ‘I’m in such a mess.’

  ‘Oh, Dad. It’s Wanda, isn’t it?’ I whispered.

  ‘Wanda?’ said Dad. ‘What’s Wanda got to do with it? What’s she been saying to you?’

  ‘Nothing! Don’t talk about her like that, Dad, please.’

  ‘I’ll talk about her how I want,’ said Dad, his voice thickening. ‘It’s my house, isn’t it?’ He missed a beat. ‘Well, no, tell a lie, it’s not my house at all. It’s your mother’s house, it’s her name on the mortgage. How about that to make a man feel small? Still, just as well, I suppose, given the circumstances.’

  I didn’t know what he was talking about. His voice tailed off as he lost his thread. He shook his head and then belched.

  ‘You’re drunk, Dad.’

  ‘Good! Well, I intend to get drunker,’ he said. He turned on his heel and lurched down the landing.

  I listened to him going downstairs, wondering if he’d miss his footing and fall headlong. I wanted him to.

  I don’t know how much Wanda heard. She came scurrying along to my room right away.

  ‘What’s your dad doing home from work so early?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. He shouldn’t have been driving home. He’s drunk.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Wanda looked stricken. ‘I’d better go to him.’

  ‘I’d leave him alone if I were you. He’s in a foul mood,’ I said.

  Wanda took no notice. She went downstairs – and I risked rushing up the steps to the attic, balancing the tray. Treasure was in a state again, but when I’d got the new light bulb screwed in – jolly difficult in the pitch dark – she calmed down. She had a long drink of orange juice and then started picking at one of my special sandwiches, banana, cream cheese and honey. She poked the bits of banana out and licked the honey.

  ‘Eat it properly, Treasure!’ I said.

  I munched my own sandwich with appropriate appreciation. I ended up eating most of Treasure’s too.

  ‘Why were you so long, India?’

  ‘My dad got hold of me. He’s drunk. He’s so disgusting.’

  ‘You mean he’s been down the pub?’

  ‘I don’t know. He has these secret bottles of whisky. He keeps one in his desk here. Maybe he’s got one in his desk at work too. I hate the smell of him when he’s been drinking whisky.’

  ‘I hate the smell too. And the way it makes them so mean. Terry would always go for me when he’d had a few whiskies,’ said Treasure, rubbing her forehead.

  ‘He hit you other times?’

  ‘Lots! One time he thought I was sneering at him for something and he got his hand round my throat and I thought he was going to kill me. He said it was just a joke to teach me a lesson but he left bruise marks all round my neck and Mum had to keep me off school. He bought me a stupid big bear with wobbly eyes and a little heart saying “MAKE FRIENDS” after. He tried to get round me, pretending to be the bear, talking in this stupid growly voice. I just sat stone-faced and Mum said I was a hard-hearted little cow and couldn’t I see Terry was doing his best to make it up to me.’

  ‘That’s so mean of your mum!’

  ‘She’s like that. She can’t seem to help it. She’d forgive him anything just because he’s her bloke. He could cut my throat and she’d go, “Oh, Treasure, don’t bleed to death, you mean cow, now you’ll get Terry into trouble with the cops.” Hey, wouldn’t it be incredible if the cops thought Terry had done away with me now! We could phone up anonymously and say we’re sure Treasure Mitchell’s dead and it’s all down to her dodgy stepdad, last seen chasing her down an alleyway in Latimer!’ Treasure was chortling with laughter in spite of her wheezy chest. Then she saw my face.

  ‘What is it? He hasn’t been arrested, has he?’

  ‘He hasn’t – but Michael has.’

  ‘Michael? What do you mean? Which Michael?’

  ‘The funny one with the mum, next door to your Nan.’

  ‘Old Mumbly Michael! Goodness, what’s he done? He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘They think he’s hurt you.’

  ‘What? Are they nuts? Why Michael? He helped me hide from Terry. Oh God. Maybe someone saw me with Michael? Oh, India, what are we going to do? His mum will be going spare. Michael won’t even understand. This is so awful!’

  ‘I know – but I’m sure they’ll let him go after they’ve questioned him.’

  ‘What if they don’t?’ Treasure took hold of my arm. ‘Do you think I ought to give myself up?’

  ‘No! No, you mustn’t, of course you mustn’t.’

  ‘Why did it all have to go so wrong? I was so happy at Nan’s,’ Treasure wailed.

  I couldn’t help feeling wounded. Why couldn’t she be happy here? I’d tried so hard to make her welcome and comfort her and give her treats. I didn’t say a word but Treasure saw my face.

  ‘I’m sorry, India,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so lovely to me. I’m ever so grateful, honestly. It’s just that I wish I could go home. I can’t ever be safe with Nan while Terry’s around. He’s going to get me eventually, I just know he is and I don’t know what to do!’ Treasure punched the floorboards violently.

  ‘Don’t! They might hear. And you’ll hurt yourself, silly. And start up your asthma.’

  ‘How am I going to manage without my inhaler?’

  ‘You’ll manage fine.’

  ‘It was so scary when I was up here in the dark. I couldn’t breathe at all.’

  ‘But you’re OK now.’

  ‘I’m wheezing.’

  ‘Only a little tiny bit. You just need to sit up straight and unclench.’ I gently pulled at her fingers, smoothing them out. ‘Unclench all of you. Now. Relax. Reeelaaax.’

  Treasure gig
gled. ‘You sound like you’re hypnotizing me now.’

  ‘Well, so what. It’s working.’

  ‘Yeah, while you’re here. It’s when you’re not.’

  ‘Look, maybe tonight I could come up into the attic again? I could sleep up here with you. Would you like that?’

  ‘That would be great.’ Treasure suddenly looked hopeful. ‘Or I could maybe creep downstairs and sleep in your bed with you?’

  ‘No, that’s too risky, you know it is. I’ll come up into the attic. It’ll be fun, like a sleepover.’

  I wasn’t sure how I was going to organize things. I thought I might have to wait till it was really late, when everyone else had gone to bed, but everything conspired to make it as easy as anything.

  Dad got so drunk he didn’t even make it through supper. He ate a few bites of steak, gagged suddenly, and lurched from the room. Mum stared at the salad on her plate, cutting her cucumber and carrot into tiny pieces while Dad threw up noisily in the downstairs loo. Wanda groaned sympathetically, her hand clamped over her mouth. After a long time we heard Dad staggering up the stairs.

  Wanda scraped her chair back and got up. Mum glared at her.

  ‘He’s ill. Perhaps I’d better help—’

  ‘He’ll manage,’ said Mum.

  So Wanda sat down again. She was greasy-white herself. Her eyes suddenly popped.

  ‘I’m sorry, I . . .’ She bolted from the room.

  ‘Dear God,’ Mum said, putting her knife and fork down. ‘Has she been drinking too?’ She sighed heavily.

  I felt sorry for her. It was going to be so humiliating when she found out about Wanda’s baby. I felt so sad for all of them. It made me feel empty inside. I stuffed a large slice of bread in my mouth to try to ease things.

  ‘Absolutely nothing ever affects your appetite, India,’ said Mum.

  The bread tasted like cotton wool in my mouth. It swelled up, choking me. I coughed, tears welling.

  ‘Oh for goodness sake, India. You’re not crying, are you?’

  I swallowed the wad of bread.

  ‘No, Mum, I’m not crying,’ I said firmly. ‘Disappointed?’

  Mum looked at me. She shook her head but didn’t pursue it. ‘I’ve really got to catch up on some work,’ said Mum, looking at her watch.

  ‘Well, I’m going to do my homework and have an early night,’ I said.

  Mum nodded. She patted her cheek for me to kiss. I made noises with my mouth without touching her.

  ‘Night, Mum.’

  I cleared the table and stacked the dishwasher, raiding the kitchen for night-time snacks while I was at it. I knew Mum wasn’t likely to look in on me when she went to bed, but I arranged some of my old clothes in a heap under the bedclothes, with Edwina Bear across the pillow, just in case. Then I changed into my pyjamas and dressing gown, gathered up all the goodies, crept along the landing and up the ladder.

  Treasure had been busy drawing. She’d run out of paper so she’d started to crayon on the walls.

  ‘Um! Treasure, those felt-tips are indelible!’

  ‘But you said no-one ever comes up here.’

  ‘That’s true. Still . . .’

  ‘I wanted to feel like Anne Frank. She had stuff all over her walls. Birthday cards and pictures of the Dutch royal family. She thought they were really special, didn’t she?’

  ‘So have you drawn William and Harry then?’ I said, going to have a look.

  ‘No, you nut! I’ve drawn all the people who are really special to me. Look. That’s you!’

  She’d drawn me first, in my school uniform, with a great fuzz of orange hair and scribbly brown clothes. She didn’t have a proper flesh shade so she’d coloured me in very pinkly. I wished she hadn’t made me look quite so fat, even though I am. I looked like a big pink pig who’d been rolling in the mud. Still, I was so pleased she thought me special enough for my portrait to be in pride of place. She’d drawn Nan too, of course, in a tiny white and gold outfit, her arms raised, her legs bent in a complicated manner.

  ‘She’s doing a line dance,’ said Treasure. ‘So’s Patsy.’

  Patsy was in a little pink top and trousers. It was hard to tell where her clothes ended and her skin began, but she looked very cute.

  Treasure had drawn Loretta too, holding a very large baby Britney almost as big as her mother.

  ‘Well, I like Britney more than Loretta,’ said Treasure.

  She’d drawn Willie on his bike, though it was a pretty weird vehicle, one wheel much bigger than the other.

  That was it.

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘Don’t want her. Or anyone else. These are my special people. You do yours now, India, on the opposite wall.’

  It felt extraordinary drawing right onto the white wall. It felt terribly daring at first but I soon got used to it. I drew Treasure first. It sounds like boasting, but I know more about drawing than she does. I can do perspective and shading and vary the line so my people look real. I decided it might be tactful not to make Treasure look too real, so I didn’t add her scar, I sketched in her glasses very lightly, and I gave her hair an imaginary wash and blow-dry.

  ‘Yeah, I look great,’ said Treasure delightedly, hanging over me.

  I got out the red felt tip to do her coat but Treasure prized it out of my fingers.

  ‘No, I want to be wearing your mum’s clothes, Moya Upton from head to foot.’

  ‘You’ve no taste, Treasure,’ I said, but I obediently drew her in the latest spring designs.

  ‘Cool! You draw them really brilliantly. Maybe you could be a designer like your mum?’

  ‘No, thank you very much,’ I said. ‘Watch it or I’ll scribble all over you.’

  But I finished Treasure very carefully and neatly, even inventing a new pair of pointy boots with high heels which I knew she’d appreciate.

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Treasure. ‘I wish you could make them real. Who are you going to draw next?’

  I conducted a little audition in my head. Dad failed. And Mum. And Wanda and all the other au pairs. Maria didn’t get a look in. Or Ben. And I couldn’t even get enthusiastic about Miranda any more.

  ‘I’ve only got one other special person,’ I said.

  I drew a mass of dark hair and big dark eyes and a thin face and a pointy chin . . .

  ‘Anne Frank!’ said Treasure. ‘Hey, why don’t you give her some Moya Upton clothes too? She’d look great in them.’

  I experimented lightly in pencil but it felt sacrilegious, like drawing a T-shirt and jeans on the crucified Christ. I drew Anne with her little white collar and dark cardigan and checked skirt. I tucked her diary in one hand and her precious fountain pen in the other.

  ‘There! Treasure, are you still keeping your diary?’

  ‘Of course I am. I’m writing heaps and heaps. I’ve used up nearly all your drawing pad writing it.’

  ‘I’ll get you another notebook, don’t worry. Hey, I couldn’t have just a little peep at some of the stuff you’ve written, could I?’

  ‘No! It’s deadly secret. You show me yours.’

  ‘I haven’t got it on me, have I? I keep it hidden in my bedroom. Oh go on, Treasure, please. Just one page.’

  ‘Not even one word, Nosy,’ said Treasure, grinning.

  ‘Not even though we’re best friends?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘How about if I bribe you?’ I said, opening up my bag of goodies. ‘Kettle chips? Olives? Chocolate raisins?’

  ‘Hey, this is like a real sleepover party, isn’t it? We ought to have some scary videos too.’

  ‘We’ll tell scary ghost stories to each other instead,’ I suggested.

  We nibbled companionably, both of us sitting on the camp bed, though we had to be careful to balance the weight. I was acutely conscious of the fact that my weight was practically twice Treasure’s but she didn’t tease me about it at all. I made up a story about a woman being walled up long ago. For days and days afterwards people could hea
r her scrabbling on the wall with her fingernails. I reached down surreptitiously and trailed my own fingernails over the floorboards, making Treasure jump terribly.

  Then she told me several real stories about Terry and what he’d done to her. They were far more scary than my imaginary melodramas.

  I’d been dying to go to the loo for ages but I kept putting it off because I felt embarrassed about using the waste bin – but then Treasure used it and so I plucked up the courage to do it too. Then we cuddled down in a nest of clothes and my bedcover and confided all the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to us. I had heaps more than Treasure. Then we got on to all our favourite things and the best days of our lives. I told Treasure that the day I met her was one of the best days of my life.

  ‘Yeah, it’s one of my best days too,’ she said, putting her thin arms round me.

  ‘You’re just saying that because I said it.’

  ‘No, it’s true. I wrote it in my diary. I can’t show you, because that book’s back at Nan’s. But I will show you one teeny bit of this diary, if you promise not to laugh. I’ll show you a picture I drew, OK? Don’t laugh, it looks a bit like a valentine.’

  I didn’t laugh, I nearly cried, when she showed me this beautiful picture of us together enclosed in a heart with roses all around.

  She’s my best friend ever, ever, ever.

  Seventeen

  Treasure

  I SHALL HAVE to write in very scrunched up small letters until India gets me that new notebook.

  She stayed all night with me. I had a very bad Terry nightmare. He was climbing up into the attic, creeping towards me in the dark, telling me not to be frightened, it would be all over quick as quick and then he pounced. I screamed out loud and India had to put her hand over my mouth to shut me up. She cuddled me until I stopped shivering and then curled up beside me in our nest on the floor.

  I didn’t go back to sleep for ages – and then when I did I had another dream. It was worse than the Terry one. It was about Nan. It was so real. Her arms were tight round me. I could smell her powder and perfume and her long hair tickled my neck as she kissed me goodbye. Then she put me on a train and the door shut with a clang. I couldn’t get the window open to give Nan another hug. She mouthed, ‘I love you,’ and waved, tears rolling down her cheeks. Then the train started moving. Patsy was on the platform, clinging to Nan and waving. I saw Willie and Loretta and Britney and even my mum, but the train was going faster now so they were all a blur. But India ran along the platform, waving and waving, her cheeks scarlet, her hair a great gingery fuzz, but she couldn’t keep up. No-one could. The train gathered speed, going faster and faster. Then we suddenly went into a tunnel and it was dark, everything pitch black, and it went on and on and I eventually realized it was going on for ever.