by Olivia Levez
‘Hand it over, love. Come on.’ The pharmacist is standing behind him, reaching out her hand.
I drop the packets, wriggle away and run, breath screaming in my ears.
It takes me ages to pluck up the courage to try again. I can’t go back without anything. I need to provide for us, need to bring in money. Hours later, the only things I have for my efforts are a couple of boxes of coloured chalks and a packet of wet wipes, which I have stuffed in my pocket.
I sit watching the sea, expecting that any minute someone will plant their hand on my shoulder, steer me away to face my crime. Each face I see, I imagine that they know me; they’ve seen my photo; they know the reward. The next one, I think. The next person – that lady in the wheelchair, that kid with the earbuds, the old man with the older dog – they’ll be the one whose face will light with recognition.
But no one looks at me. I might as well be invisible.
It feels strange to be back at Hastings. At this time of day, the seafront is mainly populated by elderly ladies, enjoying the afternoon sun on their faces as they make their way slowly along the promenade or sit side-by-side on benches, staring out to sea. I wonder why the sea pulls people like a television set, an open fire. What is it about the ocean that makes you feel you could gaze your whole life away, just looking at it?
‘Got the time, please?’ I ask a passerby. It’s a woman with a small dog. She takes out her phone and tells me, but not before I’ve seen the look on her face. I scare her. I am what no one wants to become.
I lay out a piece of cardboard and take a piece of chalk. I spend the morning drawing random shapes, and rubbing them out when I get fed up of them. I draw clown faces and dancers and acrobats. I draw Lala in her aerial hoop, hanging upside down, hair loose and free.
‘That’s nice, dear,’ says an old lady when I’ve finished colouring in a picture of the pot-bellied pig in his white ruff. She hands me two shiny, new pound coins. ‘I used to long to be in the circus,’ she says, when I thank her. ‘Far too fat now,’ she shrieks, looking down at her ample figure in its zip-up sundress. ‘A fat tightrope walker – imagine that!’ Her friend nudges her in the ribs, and they waddle away, chortling. They’ve been eating large bags of chips on the scratchy, greasy wooden bench beneath the canopy. Something glints. It’s a phone. One of them must have dropped it when she was rummaging in her bag for coins.
I grab it and turn to shout after them. Then I notice that it is open to use. No code. Full battery power. I slide it up my sleeve and slip away.
Side Show
I carry my loot along the narrow streets, back to our secret cave entrance.
I flit my eyes up and down once, to check no one’s looking. Today, the Bear family’s balcony is crammed with holiday paraphernalia: wetsuits, bodyboards, hula hoops, waterproofs, buoyancy aids, lifejackets, cricket sets – a whole life of determined family fun. We will have fun, it says. And this is how we do it – look!
Daddy-Who-Isn’t never took me kayaking or bodyboarding or surfing. But I had an awful lot of additional lessons to make up for it. Extracurricular activities till there were no hours left. I expect he wanted to tire me out so that whenever I came home for the holidays, he didn’t have to talk to me, this stranger he had to pretend was his daughter.
‘You left me, Frog. Where have you been?’ A plaintive voice comes from the corner seat.
‘I’m back, aren’t I?’ I say carelessly, but I try not to see that she’s thin as coat hangers, still lying propped in the same position that I left her in.
As I lean forward to straighten her bedding, I notice a sharp smell coming from beneath her coat.
‘I’m all wet, Frog,’ she says, and starts to cry.
I crouch beside her, kiss her cheek, stroke her hair, but inside I am frightened. I try to laugh it off. ‘Bloody hell, Suz. Have you been on the beer again?’ I grab the last of the paper towels from the washroom, and remove her reeking bedding, make her roll to the side while I pull off her sodden things.
Suz makes little effort to help, just keeps looking at me with those huge dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Frog,’ she whispers.
I pull out handfuls of wet wipes and then dry her, tenderly, with the fleecy jacket. Everything needs to be cleaned. Everything needs washing. I do my best with what we have, and make up her bed again, tucking the fur coat back around her.
‘I’m so cold, Frog,’ she says, teeth chattering.
I try to laugh. ‘Still cold? Why, you’re all bundled up like the Starks of Winterfell. Look, are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? I can get some more milk from the staff fridge…They’ve locked up now. It’s quite safe.’
But she’s shaking her head vigorously, and I leave it.
‘I forgot to tell you – I have a plan, Suz.’ I squat down in front of her and smile. ‘I think we should go to Paris. No one knows us there, and I have enough money. It’d be a fresh start, and I think I know how we can get hold of passports…’
But her breathing’s slowing, and I see that she’s asleep, finally, her small hand clutching mine.
I sigh, and sit down on the floor next to her. We remain like that for a long time.
We can’t live like this much longer. We need provisions. We need to leave.
There is only one person that I think can help.
Carousel
I still remember her number. Jab it in quickly before I change my mind. I am crouching up on the bank, trying to get reception. Any minute now I expect to see Father Bear come out of his man-cave, ready to protect his family. The fact that their balcony appears empty makes me feel worse, not better.
She picks up on the first ring, like I knew she would. An unrecognised number is far too interesting to someone like her.
‘Hello, Beanie,’ I say.
I listen to her gasp. ‘Oh my god! Oh my god. Willow!’Her voice lowers to a hiss. ‘Wills, where are you? Where have you been? There’s literally the whole world after you –’
I look outside at the whole world. It really seems to be minding its own business.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ I say. ‘Listen, I need your help. Will you meet me?’
This time, there is only the tiniest of pauses. Beanie will dine off this story for weeks. She starts to whisper rapidly. ‘Listen, Wills, I’m supposed to be supervising Prep, so I’ve got to be quick. Can you text me the details?’
‘No texting,’ I say firmly. I don’t know how it works, but I need to leave no trace on this phone. I must delete the call log after.
Beanie listens closely as I tell her where we’re going to meet.
I see her before she sees me.
Long-legged, chic leather jacket, blonde-dipped, messy-on-purpose hair. She has put on shades, perched on her retroussé nose, as if she’s the fugitive. She hitches her hold-all onto an elegant shoulder, peering out over the fairground. Then she turns and makes her way casually to the carousel where I am waiting for her. She slides herself onto the zebra in front of my tiger. Takes her shades off and stares and stares.
‘Is it you, Wills? Is it really you?’
And ‘Ohmygod, your face is, like, literally everywhere. The police have come to search our school. They went through all the dorms in plastic suits like it was CS-fahking-I…’
And, ‘Why don’t you go just go home, Wills?’
Because my mother was never a mother, and Daddy is not my dad.
Because I’m not wanted there, and never have been.
Because, because…
‘How are you, Beanie?’ I say. She looks well. She was always pretty, but she’s even prettier in mufti. She smells of lilies and Marlboro Lights as she reaches over the tiger’s head to hug me.
She shakes her head. ‘I still can’t fahking believe it. And you look so different, Wills. Like really kind of scary.’ She reaches over to touch my buzz-cut. ‘But pretty too,’ she adds hastily. She lowers her voice, rummages into her huge bag. ‘I’ve got the things you wanted,’ she stage-whispers. ‘All
but one item. I couldn’t find you an old iPhone, so I got you an Android instead. Sorry.’
My mouth twitches. ‘That’s all right, Beanie. And thank you.’ I hug her back, and she looks gratified.
I can’t believe I used to be in awe of her. Before I know it, Beanie starts talking about the wedding. The carousel starts up and Beanie waves a sheet of tokens at the man. I am so used to hitching a free ride in the days with Suz that it feels really strange, being above board, and I wonder how long it is since I’ve actually done something legal. Her head bobs up and down, and the animals’ nostrils flare scarlet as they champ at the candy-sweetened air. Our hands clutch at the twisted poles, gilt-painted. Beneath me, my tiger paws at her zebra.
‘Why did you do it?’ Beanie shouts over the jangly music. ‘That was really mean, Wills. When we arrived, all of her friends were rallying round her. They found all of the buttons except one and just stitched them back on like nothing had happened. But she was really sobbing, Wills. You could tell under all of her make-up.’
I say nothing. Think of the little button with its shred of silk fabric, in my pocket. Think of Kayleigh-Ann with her swollen eyes and false lashes carefully glued back on by her friends.
‘But why? Kayleigh-Ann’s all right. She’s kind of fun. And your father, well he just lets you do what you want, doesn’t he? Not like mine.’ Beanie pulls a face. ‘If I have to hear one more piece of advice about my personal statement…ugh!’
I stare at her. It’s like she’s talking a foreign language. Uni and personal statements and dormitories. None of these have any place in my new world.
When the music stops, the carousel-worker glares at us. I help Beanie with her heavy bag as we jump off. Beanie buys me coffee and a bag of doughnuts to share, hot and spiced and sugared. She flings cash around, carelessly happy. A pretty pucker as she sees me looking.
‘Oh fahk – sorry, Wills. I keep forgetting. Here –’ And wonderfully, magically, she tugs out a wad of crisp looking notes, rolled inside a hairband. ‘Two hundred,’ she breathes into my ear. She has sugar on her lip gloss.
She pushes my top aside to get another look at my tattoo. ‘Me too,’ she laughs. She shows me the subtle line of script along the inside of her slender wrist. ‘You do look kind of scary, Wills.’ She grimaces. ‘Look, I have to go – I’m meeting Lars, my new boyfriend. Anything you need, just phone, OK?’ She taps the front pocket of the bag.
She air-hugs me, touches my cheek as if feeling whether or not I’m real, and then leaves, blonde hair bobbing.
She’s shouting something at me, the sea breeze ripping away at her words: ‘You can keep the Little Kit of Happiness, Wills! Love you!’
And then she’s gone, taking with her the last thread of my old world.
It’s only later that I realise I didn’t call Kayleigh-Ann ‘the Handbag’.
Cirque de Paris
It is dark by the time I get to the coach station.
There’s just one thing to do before I get back to Suz, and then everything will be OK. We can escape – finally start our lives.
I hand over the crisp notes that I’ve peeled from the thick wad that Beanie gave me. The money is all there, just like she promised. I don’t know where she got it from. Beanie always had an endless supply of cash, just like I used to.
‘Two tickets to Paris, please.’
The lady behind the glass partition doesn’t look at me suspiciously, doesn’t glance at her colleague and press a fugitive alert button beneath the counter. She just yawns and pushes the tickets through the gap.
‘Coach leaves Monday morning, 6A.M.,’ she says. She couldn’t be more uninterested.
I snatch them and place them carefully in the zipped front pocket of my bag. And as I jog back along the path, my feet pound the rhythm:
Paris. Paris. Paris.
I can’t wait to get back and show Suz.
Stand and Deliver
Suz tries to smile when I show her the Paris tickets, but you can tell she isn’t interested, not really. She brightens up when I show her Beanie’s medicine hoard, though. There’s a paper bag stuffed full of medicines: paracetamol, sleeping tablets. I don’t know where she’s got them from, but judging by the amount of cannabis her brothers always had a supply of, I’m not surprised.
I watch as Suz tries to pop a sleeping pill out of its casing, then sigh as I help her.
‘Falafel?’ I ask. ‘They’re totally vegan.’
I take the food out of the bag that Beanie’s made up for me. She’s really pushed the boat out, as far as the Ideal Kit for Fugitives goes, I’ll give her that.
There are rolled up T-shirts, all beautifully laundered, deodorant, mini travel bottles of shampoo, shower gel, moisturiser, toner, hand lotion, conditioner. I imagine her carefully decanting it all, and smile. Like I’m packing for an expensive skiing holiday or a place in the sun. Lip balms, in three cocktail flavours: malibu, coco-loco and gin fizz. A small box of Lil-let minis, each individually wrapped in pretty candy-coloured paper. I am touched by her thought-fulness. Spare socks. Sensible, comfy boy-shorts.
And then, the crème de la crème: two passports.
I flick through to look again at the photographs at the back. One is of Beanie herself, fair hair braided from when she went to Guatemala that time with school. It will have to do for Suz. If you squint, Beanie’s braids almost look like dreadlocks, and anyway, they hardly ever check your passport on the way out to France, do they? Beanie says that coaches just get waved through.
The other passport is a friend of Beanie’s brother. She looks nothing like me, but she does have very short hair.
‘Just post them back when you’ve arrived safely.’ Beanie had said. ‘Or I can come and get them when I visit! It’ll be totally fun!’
We have everything we need for Paris, and a new start.
Maybe things are finally looking up.
Sunday. Only one more day until Paris.
I am eating a KitKat when I hear the voice.
‘Do you see those chaps up on the clifftop, Tarquin?’
I know that voice. It’s Father Bear, keen to educate Junior. I imagine him crouching down next to his son, all ruddy cheeks and upturned collar. I hold my breath, thankful that Suz seems to be sound asleep in her nest of clothes. Hairy Jack’s ghost voice hisses from the speakers overhead. Somewhere, the thin wail of a baby.
‘Now, remember what I was telling you about customs and excise laws, Tarq?’
I think I hear the boy yawn as his father launches into a long and not particularly accurate description of by-laws and dragoons. I wonder what they thought when they discovered that the seagulls had taken not only their leftovers, but their beach towel too. I’ve folded it under Suz’s head as a pillow.
When they’ve gone, I breathe again, and tuck the KitKat wrapper quietly into my smuggler’s jerkin pocket so that we don’t leave traces.
‘Da-aad.’ The loud high voice of a child. ‘Dad, there’s a girl there.’
I whip round, heart thudding.
A boy is staring straight at me, mouth open.
It’s Tarquin, his head a giant silhouette behind the little plastic horsemen. He’s climbed over the No Entry barrier and is breathing heavily, huffing warm air into our space. Up close, he’s a mini version of his father, with the same shock of Boris-blonde hair and upturned collar on his polo shirt. I can see the glint of his teeth, his shadowed frown.
Somewhere, his father calls his name.
Go, I think. Please go.
We freeze, the boy and me. From the speaker, Hairy Jack lets out a cackle of laughter.
‘I know you,’ Tarquin says. ‘You’re the girl from the telly.’
He leans closer, peering through the tiny figures, eyes bright with interest. I don’t move, but inside my heart’s skittering.
‘We watched you on the news last night. Your friend was being interviewed, and she said that she was worried about you –’
I go cold. Struggle to my knees a
nd see the flash of fear. His eyes flit to the pistol in my belt.
‘What did you see?’ I ask. ‘What did she say about me?’
I am aware that he’s inching away from me, this filthy girl in her smuggler’s clothes, but I can’t think straight, my mind’s frozen.
‘Tell me,’ I insist. I grab his arm.
‘She said that she was worried about you,’ he stammers. ‘Your dad was on there too. He was crying – owww, let go of my arm!’ He’s speed-breathing now, his narrow chest is rising and falling, quick and fast.
I release him, heart tripping. She told them, I think. She betrayed me. But pumping around my head too, the boy’s words, high and accusing: He was crying…He was crying…He was crying.
I watch the figures on the clifftop shudder as the boy pulls away and disappears into the gloom.
‘I bet it was you who stole our barbecue things,’ he calls, when he is safely out of reach. ‘Dad! Daaaaaad!’
We haven’t got long.
We’ll just have time, I think, if we make a dash for the tunnel now – I just need to scoop up all of our things, and wake Suz up. Only have to hide out until the coach leaves tomorrow…
Crying. Daddy was crying.
Escape Artist
I swoop everything into my bag, higgledy-piggledy. The Kit of Happiness falls onto the floor, and I stuff that in too.
‘We need to get going, Suz, we can’t stay here any longer. They’re coming for us –’
Suz flinches as I shine a torch into her eyes.
‘Hair spray,’ she rasps. ‘It’s the best thing for fixing chalk.’
‘What are you on about, Suz? Honestly, come on, we have to hurry –’
But when she tries to get up, her legs give way immediately, and she starts to whimper. ‘What’s wrong with me, Frog? I can’t make them move. My legs aren’t working.’
And it’s true, they’re wheeling and twitching, as she sits on the floor and shudders.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ I say, and fear tastes like copper change in my mouth. ‘It’s because you’ve been lying down too long, that’s all. Your legs are out of practice, aren’t they?’