‘What took you so long?’ I grin.
We fall into step together. ‘OK?’ I ask. ‘Your parents weren’t suspicious? Your friend won’t grass you up?’
‘Aditi’s cool,’ she says. ‘She won’t tell. Relax.’
We walk through the darkening streets and into the Eden Estate. Cat slips her hand into mine as gangs of kids on bikes whirl round and round in the dark. A dozen lads have made skateboard ramps from old wooden boards propped up on breeze blocks. They rattle up and down, making clunking turns and swooping ollies, lit up by the blazing headlights of a clapped-out car parked squint in the road, pumping out skate rock at full volume.
‘Mouse, man, you gonna introduce your girlfriend?’ Fitz yells from the edge of the group. ‘Or are you scared of the competition?’
‘When you get fed up with him, give me a call,’ Chan adds.
‘Not gonna happen,’ Cat shouts back, laughing. Fitz and Chan grin, going back to their ramps. They are impressed with Cat. Who wouldn’t be?
We head on, past Eagle Heights and Skylark Rise. Psycho Sam, a big bloke from the first floor on Nightingale House, walks past with his two Rottweilers, scowling. He’s had a grudge against Fitz, Chan and me since we broke a window with a badly aimed football, back when we were eight. Cat laughs when I tell her the story.
We come to a halt where the Phoenix used to be.
‘Whoa,’ Cat whispers, taking in the charred wreckage. Then her eyes pick out a clump of jewel-red flowers poking up through the ashes, green stems bright against the dusty grey. Further back there’s another clump, and another. ‘The flowers!’ she gasps. ‘I don’t get it – how did they survive when everything else …?’
‘They didn’t,’ I tell her. ‘Mum planted them, this morning. It’s a protest, to show she’s not giving up on the place. That there’s still hope.’ We turn away, towards Nightingale House with its lobby littered with broken glass and cigarette stubs.
‘Does she know what you’re planning?’ Cat asks.
‘We haven’t talked about it,’ I reply. ‘She knows I’m going to do something, though. She won’t try to stop me.’
We scuff our way into the lift, press the button for the ninth floor. Someone has dropped a takeaway carton in the corner, an oily puddle of chicken tikka masala. ‘She’s OK with me staying over?’ Cat presses.
‘As long as your parents are fine with it,’ I shrug. ‘So you can maybe avoid mentioning the fact that they haven’t a clue you’re here. Yeah?’
‘Sure,’ Cat says. ‘It’s cool your mum’s planted those flowers … it’s like new life coming out of the ashes, y’know?’
‘I know. She won’t let this beat her – nor will Luke and Julie.’
‘It’s great that they care so much,’ Cat says.
We come out of the lift, start walking along to number 114. ‘They care more than you’d think,’ I say. ‘Julie started the Phoenix, six years ago when her daughter died of an overdose. Luke lost his little brother the same way.’
The colour drains from Cat’s face. ‘Scary,’ she says, with a shudder.
‘Too right,’ I hear myself say. ‘I used to lie awake at night, when I was a kid, watching the stars. Even before Dad took off for India, he wasn’t exactly looking out for me, but I had this crazy idea that nothing bad could happen if I could just see the stars. I was scared that if I fell asleep then maybe, in the dark, everything would go wrong … and I had nightmares, awful nightmares too. I was so sure I’d lose Mum.’
‘Magi?’ Cat asks, wide-eyed. ‘But why would you worry about her?’
I rake a hand through my hair and look at Cat for a long moment. Bit by bit, her wide green eyes are tugging every memory, every fragment of my past from the places they’ve stayed hidden for so long.
‘Because she was a junkie,’ I say.
Cat’s eyes widen as she takes in the chaotic rainbow that is my bedroom. ‘Whoa,’ she says. ‘It’s like being inside the best graffiti picture ever.’
The walls of my room may be crazy, but as your eyes roll up towards the ceiling, there’s less chaos, more blue. The ceiling is like a night sky without stars. Cat peers at the threadbare dream catcher hanging above my bed, stroking the feathers. I slide a Fall Out Boy CD into my player, and we flop down on beanbags.
‘Tell me,’ she says. ‘About when you were a kid, watching the stars. About your mum.’
So I tell her the stuff that I never tell anybody, the stuff I don’t even let myself think about any more. I thought it was safely packed away, behind closed doors, but the minute I start to speak the memories just keep coming, and Cat listens, silent.
I tell her that Mum got into drugs when my dad left, when I was just two years old. She was pretty cut up about the split, and the drugs were a way of taking the edge off the pain. Pretty soon, of course, the drugs created more pain, more hurt, than the break-up ever had.
‘That’s what she told me later, anyhow,’ I explain. ‘As a kid, I just thought it was normal – I suppose I was too young to know better. We lived in squats and scruffy flatshares with other junkies, and Mum did whatever she could to find the money for her next fix. She stole, she begged, she did other things …’ I trail off into silence. I don’t even want to think about it. Cat is looking at me, wide-eyed. I search her face for traces of pity, but find only concern.
‘She was still a good mum,’ I tell Cat. ‘She made sure I had food and clothes and a safe place to stay. I knew I was loved.’
Cat’s fingers trace the line of my wrist, the creased skin of my palm. ‘It was OK,’ I say, softly.
‘I mean, of course, it wasn’t great, but back then I didn’t know any different. When I was seven, everything changed. Mum overdosed – she almost died, and while she was in the hospital recovering, she asked if they could help her get off the drugs. She did it for my sake – she wanted to be there to see me grow up.’
Cat bites her lip.
‘I didn’t know that at the time, though. I just knew she was ill. I was sent to live with my dad, Zak. He was a hippy – he had a tepee and he travelled around the music festivals with his new girlfriend in an old VW van.’
‘He’s the one who could juggle with fire,’ Cat says, and I remember telling her that, the day she nicked the chocolates in Covent Garden, as we sat watching the street jugglers.
‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘He was tall and tanned, with blonde dreadlocks that reached right down his back. I wanted to be just like him, but he didn’t even notice I was alive. I was just a nuisance, as far as he was concerned.’
‘Oh, Mouse.’
I take a deep breath in. There’s too much stuff hidden away in my head. I was crazy to think it would ever stay there. I feel like running through the neatly folded memories, kicking them to pieces, pulling them out into the daylight where everyone can see. Well, not everyone. Just Cat.
‘It wasn’t so bad,’ I tell her. ‘Staying with Zak. I got to run wild every day, out in the countryside. I got to eat proper meals and I made some friends – more like family, really. In some ways it was the best summer I ever had – in other ways, it was the worst. I got into trouble pretty much the whole time, but I had fun too. I taught myself to juggle, I went to the beach, I slept in a tree house. I was happy, a lot of the time, but still, I worried about Mum. I couldn’t forget the way she’d looked the day she overdosed … so still, so pale. Her lips were blue. I thought she was going to die, Cat.’
‘So you stayed awake at night and watched the stars.’
‘Waste of time,’ I say gruffly. ‘Everything went wrong anyway. Dad took off for India and the whole summer fell apart. I ended up back in London, in care. I had foster-parents for a year, this very kind, very serious couple, Jan and Paul. I got to see Mum every week until she was well enough to look after me again. Social services found us a place to live, and we’ve been here ever since. It’s not much, but it’s ours, y’know?’
This is not something I’ve ever talked about before, not even with M
um – we’ve lived through it once after all. We don’t want to go back there. I’m quiet, remembering the little boy who slept in a tree house under the stars, wondering if his mum would ever get better or his dad would ever learn to love him.
‘Thanks,’ Cat whispers. ‘For telling me.’
‘Thanks for listening,’ I say.
For the first time ever, the bad memories don’t seem so scary, so dark, as if sharing them has stripped them of their power to hurt me. Cat listens and understands, as if knowing about my past helps her to know me.
Who knows, one day I might even tell her the very worst memory of all.
‘I got you a present,’ Cat says into the silence, fishing a small, tissue-wrapped parcel out of her bag. ‘It was because of what you said the other day, about there being no stars in London. And then I read about the Phoenix and I know it’s stupid, but I suppose I wanted you to have something to believe in again …’
‘A present?’
‘I paid for it,’ she says, quickly. ‘Promise.’
I can’t remember the last time anyone bought me a present, when it wasn’t my birthday or Christmas or anything. I rip open the wrapping. Inside are three packets of white glow-in-the-dark stars, the kind with a peel-off backing that little kids might stick on to walls and furniture. I start to laugh.
Cat frowns. ‘You don’t think it’s babyish?’
I can’t stop laughing, but it’s not because I think the present is babyish, it’s because it’s the best present I’ve ever had. ‘You bought me stars!’ I exclaim. ‘You actually bought me stars!’
Cat grins. ‘Well, there’s this little shop, about a hundred million light-years from here …’
I hug her quickly, still laughing, and she feels small and light and soft in my arms. Her hair smells of vanilla. I’d like to go on holding her, but that’s not a good idea. I know I’d never want to let go.
I step back, tearing open the first packet of stars, peeling off the backing. I jump up on to the rickety chest of drawers to stick them on the ceiling. Cat hands me up some more, and then we drag the chest of drawers all around the room so I can reach every bit of ceiling space.
By the time Mum sticks her head round the door to see what all the racket is, the deep blue ceiling is sprinkled with glow-in-the-dark stars. ‘Fantastic!’ she breathes. ‘It’s like your own private galaxy in here, Mouse!’
She switches the light off and the stars blink and shimmer, fading slowly away to nothing, and in the darkness Cat’s hand finds mine and holds on, tight.
The first thing I see when I wake is a ceiling full of stars, glinting softly, and my mouth twitches into a smile. I crawl out of bed and dress quickly in old jeans, a hoodie and ancient Converse trainers. My watch reads three minutes past three.
I creep into the living room, Lucky at my heels. Everything is still, silent. Mum’s big, leafy plants loom over me as I look down at Cat, curled in her sleeping bag in a pink Hello Kitty nightdress, corkscrew curls spread out around her face like a dark halo. I kick her gently with the toe of my trainer while Lucky snuffles her ear.
‘Cat! Cat, wake up!’
She groans and stretches in the half-light. ‘Ugh, Lucky, don’t!’ she hisses, struggling to sit upright.
‘Bathroom’s free,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t take forever.’
She creeps across to the bathroom, emerging soon after dressed in black jeans and jacket. I grin, picking up a rucksack full of spray cans.
‘Where d’you get the paint?’ Cat whispers.
‘My mate’s dad has a garage. He lets us wash cars and help out. Mostly, I get paid in spray cans.’
Lucky trails us to the door, glum. ‘Not tonight, pal,’ I say. ‘I want you to look after Mum.’
The lift plummets down from the ninth floor. ‘What if we get caught?’ Cat wants to know.
‘We won’t,’ I scoff. ‘I’ve never been caught. Not till afterwards, anyhow. And you can act as lookout.’
‘Did I tell you I’m shortsighted?’ she teases.
‘Knew there had to be a reason you were hanging out with me.’
The lift sighs to a halt and we walk out across the lobby and into the cold night air. The estate is deserted except for a bow-legged Staffie sniffing around near Nightingale House. Distant reggae beats drift down from a far-off balcony.
‘Any CCTV to watch out for?’ Cat asks. ‘Security cameras and stuff?’
‘Sometimes,’ I tell her. ‘Not now. They smashed them all up before the fire on Monday night. Just stay away from the street lights.’
I’ve planned it all out in my head, and the first hit is Skylark Rise, a big grey expanse of wall just left of the entrance lobby. I set my bag down, pull my hood up and take out a can of paint. ‘OK?’ I ask Cat, and she grins back, nodding, watching.
I take a deep breath and begin, spraying the outline of a phoenix, then filling in the detail of the outstretched wings with crimson and purple. I work quickly, confidently, switching to yellow, red and orange to paint a line of curling flames beneath the phoenix. I look over my shoulder at Cat. ‘OK,’ I grin. ‘My spelling’s hopeless, and I don’t want any mistakes on this. Spell phoenix for me, yeah? Slowly! Then rising, OK?’
She spells the words, letter by letter, and the legend phoenix rising appears, in a perfect curve above the red bird. ‘It’s cool,’ Cat breathes. ‘Whoa!’ I chuck my paint can into the bag and we move off, just as a police car swoops in from the main road and makes a slow circuit of the estate.
‘Omigod!’ Cat yelps. ‘They’ll see it! They’ll know it was us!’
‘Keep walking,’ I tell her. ‘Head down. They won’t even notice the graffiti, and if they do, they won’t care. The police have more important things to worry about around here, y’know?’
‘What if they stop us? Search your bag?’
But the police car has gone, and I’m laughing. ‘Nervous, huh?’ I ask. ‘Don’t worry. Just keep your ears open, as well as your eyes.’
I paint a second giant phoenix on to the wall of Eagle Heights, then target smaller areas. I spray a colourful dealers out on a bit of low wall beside the kids’ playground, again on a row of boarded-up windows and a third time on the corrugated metal shutters of the estate’s single shop. No to drugs is the last slogan, sprayed in letters three feet high on the wall round the bins at the back of Skylark Rise and all along the lock-up garages that edge the back of the estate.
We share a Mars bar, huddled side by side on the wall beside the garages. It’s past five now, and the sky is beginning to lighten, but I want to paint one last phoenix. I pick out a huge, scabby wall at the side of a block called Raven’s Crest, start blocking in the shape and adding detail to the wings and tail. I’m buzzing. I use up the last of the yellow and orange paint on flames that swirl up to frame the phoenix, and Cat does her dictionary bit, spelling the words out as I spray phoenix rising above the artwork.
‘Done,’ I whisper. ‘What d’you think?’
‘I think you’re crazy,’ Cat tells me. ‘You’re really talented, you know? And these are going to cause one big stir tomorrow, but … well, don’t you ever get scared?’
‘Scared?’ I echo. ‘No way! It’s the best feeling in the world!’
Right then, a middle-aged couple turn the corner by the flats, walking right towards us. I kick the rucksack of paint into the shadows, turn away, but Cat has a better idea. She slides her arms round me, pulling me back against the wall. ‘Shhh,’ she whispers, burying her face against my shoulder.
I shut my eyes against the soft, springy ringlets of her hair, listening to the tip-tap of high-heeled boots and the low murmur of voices as the couple pass by. I can hardly breathe, but I don’t think it’s anything to do with fear.
‘They’ve gone,’ I whisper. Cat lifts her head, and her cheek brushes mine. Neither of us makes any move to pull apart. ‘Cat?’ I whisper again.
Then my fingers slide up into her hair and my mouth finds hers, and we’re kissing. Her lips are s
oft and warm and she tastes faintly of Mars bar, which is not a bad way for a girl to taste, I promise you. After a little while, I break away.
‘We should get back,’ I whisper.
‘We should.’
Then I’m kissing her again, and I can feel the soft, vanilla-scented touch of her hair against my cheek and my insides feel all warm and gooey. I want that feeling to last forever. It doesn’t, of course. A police siren starts up somewhere nearby, and we pull apart as headlights rake through the darkness. ‘That’s all we need … time to go!’
I pick up the rucksack and grab Cat’s hand and we’re out of there, running as fast as we can, laughing, breathless, into the night.
Back at the flat, we sit on beanbags under the big leafy plants, sipping hot chocolate. Lucky is curled up between us, me scratching his tummy, Cat tickling his ears.
‘My lookout skills weren’t so good towards the end there,’ Cat says. ‘Sorry about that. Disappointed?’
‘No way,’ I laugh. ‘With you? No way.’
She grins in the half-light. ‘Well, I guess that’s because you just don’t know me very well,’ she says, but she’s grinning all the same. ‘I’m not as perfect as you think.’
‘No,’ I agree. ‘Your spelling’s OK, though.’
She chucks a cushion at me and I catch it before it hits the Swiss cheese plant, laughing. ‘Who cares about perfect?’ I ask. ‘I like you anyhow. You gave me stars.’
‘I wish I could give you the real kind,’ she says.
‘You did,’ I tell her.
‘My dad told me once that every last one of us on this earth is made from stardust,’ Cat says softly.
My heart jumps. ‘What?’ I ask. ‘Made of stardust? No way.’
‘There’s a big scientific explanation for it, obviously,’ Cat says. ‘My dad likes astronomy and looking at the stars, so he knows all kinds of stuff about them. That’s what it comes down to, though. We’re made from stars. I like the idea of that.’
Lucky Star Page 7