by Unknown
‘Why are we doing this?’ I ask, binning yet another sticky paper cup.
‘For the Earth,’ Finn reminds me. ‘For the animals, the trees. And because the farmer gave us a fiver to get it cleared.’
‘We’ve been ripped off,’ I tell him.
Finn stuffs one final bag with lost property. Two watches, a blue jumper, a pair of black lace-up boots, size ten, a purple suede jacket, a silver bracelet, five plastic cigarette lighters, a squashed mobile phone, a child’s cardigan, a spotty scarf, a wallet with seventeen pounds and twenty-four pence plus a cashpoint card inside.
‘What’ll we do with it all?’
‘The lost stuff, we spread it all out on a blanket back at the camp for people to claim,’ Finn explains. ‘If it’s something valuable, they’ll maybe give us 50p to say thanks. I’ll sell the lighters on for 1op a go…’
‘You’re selling people back the stuff they lost the night before last?’
‘Sure.’ Finn shrugs. ‘If they were that bothered, they’d have gone back up yesterday to look. We’re providing a service, aren’t we?’
We leave the lost-property bag in Tess’s tent. We drag the rubbish, tins and bottles down through the copse of hazels and past the car-park field. We haul the rubbish bags along a farm-track and leave them knotted by the farmer’s big wheelie bins, then set off to the village with the sacks of bottles and cans because Tess says there are recycling skips just behind the primary school. She’s given us some cash and a shopping list, too, so we can get some supplies in the village shop.
It’s a long walk, especially with heavy, clanking bin bags. When we get to the village, a few locals give us funny looks, and I try hard not to care, because I’m with Finn and he clearly doesn’t.
We find the bottle bank and drop bottles through the holes marked ‘clear’, ‘brown’ and ‘green’, and listen to them smash and clink. Then we stuff squished-up cans into the can bank.
Finn wipes his hands on his tattered jeans. ‘Shopping, next,’ he grins.
There is a post office and a general store in the village. When we go into the post office so I can choose a postcard for Dad, everyone goes quiet and watches us. I pick a pretty mountain view and pay for it quickly, pink-faced.
‘Why are they so… funny?’ I ask Finn, when we get outside again. ‘It’s like they’ve never seen kids before.’
‘Probably haven’t,’ Finn says. ‘Not crusty kids, anyhow. There’s never been a festival here before, and people get all stressy and think you’re going to start nicking things and pushing drugs to the local toddlers. Take no notice.’
‘But I’m not… a crusty kid,’ I protest.
Finn looks at me, his grey eyes laughing. ‘No?’ he says. ‘What are you, then?’
I bite my lip.
I’m wearing yesterday’s T-shirt with a big, brown stain down one side from a beer can that dripped when I was recycling it. My jeans are dusty with bonfire ash, and there’s a sticky bit on one leg where I dropped my bread and honey earlier. My new plum trainers are black with mud and dust and grass-stains. I brushed my hair this morning, but there’s a breeze today and I know it’s all frizzy and wild, the way it gets when I don’t plait it. And, worst of all, after breakfast, I allowed Cara to draw a flower on my cheek with her felt-tipped pens. I never even checked it in the mirror.
‘I’m just me,’ I say sadly. ‘I’m Dizzy.’
‘OK,’ shrugs Finn. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
Inside the general store he dredges out Tess’s shopping list and starts piling up a basket with white bread and milk and cheese and pasta. I drift off into the next aisle looking for teabags, then stop short. Ahead of me at the till is Mouse, with Leggit behind him sniffing around in the fruit and veg.
‘Don’t let your dog touch the veg, pet, it’s not hygienic,’ the woman at the till is saying, as Mouse puts a can of Coke, a box of matches and a handful of penny sweets up on to the counter.
‘You don’t have enough money,’ she frowns, scrabbling through the change in his palm. ‘You’ll have to put the Coke back. How about one of these instead? They’re cheaper.’
She turns away to reach down a small plastic bottle of fizzy pop.
I’m about to call out and tell Mouse we’ll treat him when I see his hands dart out, stuffing chocolate bars into his trouser pockets, scooping up the sweets and matches. The woman turns back just in time to see him fly out of the shop like a small tornado, Leggit at his heels.
My jaw drops open, horrified.
‘Stop!’ yells the shop assistant. ‘I saw that! Come back!’
She looks like she’s about to sprint off down the street after him, but then she spots me and Finn and her mouth sets into a hard, furious line.
‘Is he with you?’ she demands. ‘You saw that, didn’t you? He nicked a load of chocolate! Bloody travellers. Everyone said this festival would be nothing but trouble.’
Finn marches down the aisle and dumps his basket on the counter.
‘He’s not with us, no. In fact, I never saw him before in my life. But I’ll pay you for the stuff anyway – will two quid cover it, d’you think?’
The woman rings up our shopping with a face like thunder. She takes Finn’s money, including enough to cover what Mouse nicked. Finn peels off a couple of plastic carriers and we pack the shopping in silence.
‘Running wild,’ she mutters. ‘Where’s the parents, that’s what I’d like to know? Drunk, I bet – or worse. You try to be nice, but what do you get? Thieving kids and scabby dogs slavering all over the fruit and vegetables. Shouldn’t even be in the shop. It’s disgusting.’
‘Want me to pay for that, too?’ Finn asks, pleasantly.
‘Hmphh. Suppose not. Just tell them people up at the festival to keep that kid away from here, OK?’
‘No problem,’ Finn beams. ‘Have a nice day, now!’
The door swings shut behind us. The village street is still bright and sunny, the cottages still postcard-perfect, but it feels cold and hard and unfriendly now.
‘That was awful.’ My voice sounds all thin and wobbly. ‘That woman was horrible. How did you manage to stay so polite?’
‘Part of the training,’ Finn shrugs. ‘People judge you when you’re a traveller. They think you’re dirty, they think you’re scum. I used to get upset and angry, but Tess taught me that staying cool is the best way to handle it. Show them that you’re as good as anyone.’
‘I know, but Mouse…’
‘Stupid kid,’ Finn says. ‘If he’s going to nick stuff, he could at least try not to be seen.’
‘If he’s going to nick stuff…?’
My head is reeling.
‘OK,’ Finn says. ‘It’s wrong, I know, but Mouse is a pretty messed-up kid. He steals. It’s a fact. He’ll not stop just because I ask him to.’
‘Do Storm and Zak know?’
‘Course they know,’ Finn laughs. ‘Everyone knows.’
‘Oh.’
We’re nearly out of the village now. An old man stops digging his vegetable patch to give us a long, icy stare, and Finn retaliates with a cheery wave, flicking back his dreadlocks for effect.
‘Don’t you hate it, though?’ I ask. ‘People staring, people thinking you’re dirt?’
‘I used to hate it, yeah. But now it doesn’t seem to matter so much. I know who I am, where I’m going. That’s what matters. If someone chooses to think I’m rubbish just because I’ve got funny hair and scruffy clothes – well, so what? They don’t even know me, do they?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
We walk back along the lanes, swinging the shopping bags. I try to imagine what it’s like to be a full-time crusty kid, with tangly hair, dirty fingernails, raggedy jeans. I try to imagine a whole lifetime of being frowned at by shopkeepers, teachers, silver-haired grannies.
‘You can’t really blame them, thinking the worst,’ Finn adds. ‘It’s because they’re scared. They really do think we’re all no-good, thieving, drugged-up hip
pies.’
‘But it’s not like that.’
Finn gives me a long, hard look.
‘OK, it is like that. But it’s not horrible. Is it?’
‘You asking me, or yourself?’ Finn laughs. ‘Mouse better hope word doesn’t get back to Zak about this. The poor kid has had enough upsets. He’s missing his mum, he doesn’t want to be here in the first place… Tess reckons the stealing thing is a cry for help.’
‘He’s trying to get some attention,’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, only the kind of attention Zak’s likely to give won’t exactly help. He scared him half to death last time.’
We walk for a while in silence, while I take this in.
‘What happened to Mouse’s mum?’ I ask then. ‘Is she ill or something?’
‘Something,’ says Finn, shortly.
‘You mean she just left him, like – like Storm left me?’ I blurt out.
Only worse, I think, because Mouse didn’t have a dad around to bail him out. Instead, he got carted halfway across the country to stay with a dad he probably couldn’t even remember and a stepmum he’d never met.
Tough deal.
‘His mum didn’t want to leave him,’ Finn says carefully. ‘She couldn’t help it. She’s got… big problems. She can’t really look after herself, let alone him.’
‘But why?’
Finn kicks up a cloud of dust and gravel as we turn off the lane and on to the steep farm-track.
‘I suppose you might as well know. Mouse is here because his mum is a junkie, OK? A heroin addict, a smackhead. And right now she’s in rehab, in London, trying to get clean.’
I stare at Finn, my eyes wide, my mouth dry.
What do you say to that?
Dear Dad,
I’ve been at the festival for five days now, and it’s brilliant! We’re sleeping in a tepee, which is weird – I think I prefer my bed at home. On Tuesday we’re moving on to another festival, and Storm says you might be meeting us there. I can’t wait to see you. I’m missing you loads. See you soon.
Love,
Dizzy xxxxxxx
‘What’s that, then, Dizz?’ Storm asks as I put down my pen.
‘It’s a postcard for Dad.’ I scan quickly over the lines, trying to decide if Storm will mind that I’ve put I’m not crazy about the tepee, or that I’m missing Dad. I decide she won’t.
‘Can I see?’
I hand the postcard over and she reads it quickly, eyes narrowed.
‘I’ll post it later,’ I say lightly. ‘I forgot to get a stamp.’
The people in the post office were so icy I only just managed to pay for the postcard without getting frostbite, so going back for stamps is not something I’m looking forward to.
‘Want me to do it, babe?’ Storm says. ‘I’m going down to the village anyway. Zak’s doing a crystal-healing session on Jim Dean and he needs peace and quiet. Keep Mouse away from the tepee, won’t you, Dizz?’
‘No problem. And thanks, Storm.’
Crystal healing is Zak’s thing. I know he takes it seriously because nobody’s allowed near the little wooden box where he keeps his crystals, and nobody’s allowed near the tepee when he’s working.
Crystal healing is an art, Storm says. Zak’s little chunks of crystal are full of earth energies, and Zak’s healing hands help to channel the energy and create deep, healing powers. It also costs twenty pounds a go, so Jim Dean, who looks like a sleepy skeleton with long hair and a beard, must take it seriously too.
‘He’s got gout,’ Finn whispers. ‘Every time he drinks too much, his foot hurts like crazy.’
‘Can Zak cure that?’ I ask, eyes wide.
‘Doubt it,’ Finn grins. ‘But Jim’ll have less cash to spend on booze.’
I stifle a giggle, and Storm turns back to look at me, frowning.
‘Tell you what,’ she says. ‘Any other postcards you want to send to Pete, just give them to me and I’ll get them posted. I can add my own messages on the end, say hi, y’know?’
‘OK. Thanks, Storm. But I’ll be seeing Dad soon, anyway, won’t I?’
‘Sure,’ she says, with a slow, easy grin. ‘Sure you will, babe. Soon.’
When Storm gets back from the village later, all hell breaks loose. I have never seen her angry before.
She marches through the campsite, her face pale with fury. She chucks her rucksack on the grass and shoves Tess out of the way rudely when she tries to remind her about Zak’s crystal-healing session.
I put down my guitar, jump to my feet. ‘Storm? Mum? What’s wrong?’
Storm ignores me and heads straight for the tepee, dragging up the doorflap and hooking it to one side. ‘Zak!’ she bellows. ‘He’s done it again. The little git has done it again.’
Tess, Finn and I rush over to the tepee and catch sight of Jim Dean, wearing nothing but a pair of orange boxer shorts, lying flat out in the middle of the floor. A line of little crystals is balanced all along his spine, and Zak’s healing hands hover mysteriously above his head.
‘Storm,’ says Zak tightly, ‘not now. Whatever it is, it can wait. I’m in the middle of a healing…’
‘It – can – not – wait,’ snaps Storm.
Zak’s hands drop down to his sides, and Jim Dean leaps up, wrapping himself in a tie-dye sarong. Crystals scatter as he moves, all over the floor.
‘Just about done, anyway,’ he says, grabbing his T-shirt and limping past us out of the tepee.
‘So…?’
‘It’s Mouse, isn’t it?’ Storm explodes. ‘He’s only gone and nicked a kid’s scooter from the village. He’s already been barred from both the shops for stealing stuff – apparently, he was away with a tenner’s worth of chocolate, yesterday.
‘What’s wrong with him? Can’t you control him? Can’t you do something? If he shows his face in that village again, they’ll have him strung up!’
‘Trouble,’ Finn whispers. ‘Big trouble. I’ll go look for Mouse. Maybe we can get that scooter back to the village before things get any worse.’
He slips quietly away. Tess puts a hand on my sleeve, and together we take a few steps backwards.
Zak looks flushed and angry.
‘How d’you know it’s him nicked the scooter?’ he’s saying.
‘How many seven-year-old thieves d’you think we’ve got up here?’ Storm roars. ‘Come on, Zak, wake up. Small, skinny, filthy kid with matted brown hair and a big black-and-white dog at his heels. Who else is it going to be?’
‘He’s had a tough time,’ Zak says lamely.
‘He’ll have a tougher one, soon, if I get my hands on him,’ Storm snaps. ‘If you don’t get him sorted out soon those villagers will have the police up here. We’re lucky they haven’t already.’ She stares at Zak for a long moment, her eyes blazing, then she seems to slump, her anger gone.
Tess takes my hand and leads me out of the tepee, letting the doorflap drop behind us. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ she whispers. ‘It’ll blow over. She lives up to her name, sometimes, that’s all.’
‘What about Mouse?’ I ask, my voice shaky.
‘Little idiot,’ Tess says, softly. ‘We’d better find him, quick, before Zak does.’
Mouse is in big trouble.
OK, that’s nothing new. Trouble and Mouse go hand in hand. He’s a thief. His mum is a drug addict. His dad ignores him.
That suits Mouse. It’s safer being invisible, only today he’s not quite invisible enough, and Finn finally tracks him down. He hides out in Tess’s tent eating cake and slurping apple juice, while Finn and I trek down to the village with the stolen scooter.
Finn looks straight ahead, wheeling the scooter right down the centre of the main street. He doesn’t flinch when a couple of kids point and laugh at him, or when a knot of women outside the post office break off from their gossip to stare, stony-faced. I do, though. My cheeks flush crimson and I try to hide behind my hair. We leave the scooter outside the shop, because we don’t know who it belongs to and there’s
no way we can ask.
‘We found it,’ Finn says to the silent street. ‘And we’ve brought it back. OK?’
The hard-faced women shake their heads in disgust, and a small boy blows a loud, squelchy raspberry before bolting for safety.
Finn goes into the shop and buys a couple of Cokes, while I hover behind him, terrified. When we come out again, the street is deserted and the scooter is gone.
‘Bloody Mouse,’ says Finn, tearing at his ring-pull.
‘He didn’t mean it,’ I whisper, although I think he probably did. ‘At least you brought it back. They’re bound to be mad at us, aren’t they, the villagers?’
‘Just a bit.’
Back at the festival, the music has stopped, the mood’s gone flat. A few people are packing up, talking about moving on.
Zak is shouting at Mouse. You cannot have a row in a tepee without half the campsite hearing it.
‘Even Mouse couldn’t hide forever,’ Finn says.
Storm and Tess are sitting in the last dregs of sunshine, sipping herb tea and looking sad. ‘Zak gets so cross,’ Storm says helplessly. ‘Poor little Mouse.’
I wonder if she’s somehow forgotten that she got cross first, that she got Zak all wound up. I wonder if she’s forgotten all the awful things she called Mouse.
Maybe.
‘C’mon, Dizzy, babe,’ she says then, flinging an arm round my shoulder. ‘Let’s go cool things down, yeah?’
‘Dizzy can stay here,’ Tess says. ‘No hassle.’
‘No, Tess,’ Storm says firmly. ‘Thanks, but this is a family problem, y’know? We’re all in it together.’
I blink, remembering a whole raft of family problems Dad and I had to sort alone, while Storm was hanging out with her hippy mates in Kathmandu and Marrakesh. We weren’t all in it together then.
But this is a different family, of course. Maybe Storm values it more.
Tess and Finn shoot me a sympathetic look, but nobody argues. Even I get the message that there’s just no point. Storm sweeps across to the tepee and propels me inside. Zak stops, mid-rant, and glares at us, then drops his gaze to Mouse.
‘Oh, I give up,’ he says heavily. ‘You’re a no-good, lying, thieving little toe-rag and I’m sick of the sight of you.’