by Unknown
We have to drag Mouse away from the beach.
‘Come on,’ Finn threatens. ‘We’ll miss the last bus. We’ve been here all afternoon.’
‘Just a bit longer?’ Mouse whines.
‘No way. We told Tess we’d get shopping – y’know, bread and fruit and chocolate spread. If we don’t go now, we won’t have time!’
‘Please?’
Neither of us have ever heard Mouse say please before. For anything. Finn sighs, defeated.
‘Half an hour,’ I tell Mouse. ‘Then we really, really have to go. Promise?’
‘Promise.’
We make the bus station with seven minutes to spare. The bus is in, half-full, the driver reading a newspaper.
‘Time for a quick ice cream?’ Finn says, and we tie Leggit to a lamp post and duck into the nearest sweetshop. Finn picks out two Magnums and orders a cornet with flakes and strawberry sauce for Mouse. He pays. The man at the counter frowns.
‘Nice day,’ I say, trying out a Finn tactic.
‘Hmmph,’ says the man, moving over to guard the open door.
Mouse has drifted down to the back of the shop. He trails Finn’s rucksack, half-full of seaweed, pebbles and shells, behind him. His fingers stray over the packets of blow-up lilos, beach balls, buckets and spades. He strokes a pair of red rubber flippers and a snorkel.
‘Come on, Mouse,’ I hiss. ‘Gotta go. Can’t miss that bus.’
I step out into the sunshine, Finn on my heels. Then Mouse bursts past us like a small explosion, the rucksack on his back.
‘Quick,’ he shouts, halfway up the street. ‘Run! Run! Leggit, c’mon!’
‘Oi! Stop!’ shouts the shop man. Finn charges past me, and in the confusion, Leggit drags herself free of the lamp post and hurtles off after them. My heart thumps and my mouth feels like sawdust. I want to run, I try to run, but my legs are like jelly.
Two Magnums and a huge cornet lie melting on the pavement.
‘Finn!’ I shriek, but then the shop man grabs me by the hem of my T-shirt. If I was brave enough, I’d bash him with my guitar.
‘Back inside, young lady,’ he says sneerily.
‘Finn!’
I look over my shoulder and see Finn bowl up level with Mouse, grab him round the waist and whirl him round. Leggit is leaping about wildly, crashing into shoppers and tourists, and yelping hopelessly. Behind them, I see the bus shudder to life and crawl slowly out of the bus station.
The shop man marches me back inside. A couple of shoppers stare.
‘OK, Jan, ring the police,’ the man says gruffly. ‘I’m sick of this. The police, OK?’
The shop darkens briefly as Finn appears in the doorway, with Mouse in front of him.
Outside, Leggit is scoffing down the last of the ice cream.
Everyone stares as we troop through the shop into a dingy backroom office. I wish I could hold my head high, like Finn. No, actually, I wish the floor would open and swallow me up. My face is so pink you could toast marshmallows in the heat from my cheeks.
Leggit skids into the room just as the door slams shut, her face sticky with ice cream. The shopkeeper snorts in disgust. ‘Sorry now, aren’t you?’ he says to us, nastily. ‘Well, too bad, it’s too late for that. Put that bag down – I’d like the police to see what you’ve got in there.’
We stare at the rucksack Mouse is carrying, the bag he stuffed with bits of driftwood and stuff from the beach. The bag he’s hanging on to for dear life. It’s fuller, heavier than it should be. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.
‘Oh, Mouse.’
He drops the rucksack and flings his arms round me. I hold him tight. Finn looks at me over Mouse’s head, eyes wide.
The shopkeeper tips the contents of the rucksack out across the floor. Along with the grey toy mouse, the driftwood, feathers, seaweed, there are learn-to-swim armbands, a blow-up beach ball, a water pistol, goggles, a yellow plastic spade, six boxes of matches, four Mars bars and a disposable camera.
‘Forget to pay for a few things, did you?’
‘It was a mistake,’ Finn says. ‘We can sort it out.’
‘Yeah, when the police get here,’ the shopkeeper says. ‘I’ve seen it all before. Buy something small, try to distract me while you let the little kid do your dirty work. Bloody cheek. It’s stealing, you know!’
‘I know,’ says Finn sadly.
‘Empty your pockets,’ says the shopkeeper.
The police arrive while we’re turfing out bus tickets, chewing gum, fluff, shells, loose change. It’s the same two we saw when we were busking. One of them rolls his eyes, and I know they’ve recognized us, too.
There’s a long conversation about whether the shopkeeper is going to press charges. ‘They may only be kids, but they’re still criminals,’ he says.
‘Right. Well, certainly, shoplifting is a very serious affair,’ the red-haired policeman says. ‘We’ll be taking these characters down to the station, and of course we’ll be calling their parents in.’
‘But?’
‘But the boy who actually stole the goods – well, he’s just a kid,’ the policeman says. ‘Have they taken stuff from you before?’
The shopkeeper stares at us for a long, long time. ‘No,’ he admits at last. ‘I’ve never seen them before. You can tell from their accents they’re not local. I mean, just look at them. Dirty, stinking hippies.’
‘That’s quite enough, sir,’ the podgy policeman says. ‘Come on, you lot. Let’s get you down to the station and get hold of your mums and dads.’
We get to ride to the station in a police car. Leggit leaves sand and smears of strawberry sauce all over the back seats. The policemen lecture us about stealing, along with threats that next time we risk a court case, a fine, a police record.
‘I know,’ Finn says. ‘We’re very sorry. Mouse didn’t know what he was doing. It’s not his fault. I think he thought I’d already paid, and I didn’t realize…’
‘Sure,’ says the red-haired policeman. ‘Just don’t let there be a next time.’
‘There won’t be,’ I say. ‘Will there?’
‘No,’ Mouse whispers.
Once we’re at the police station, things get complicated. We tell them our names, and they think it’s a wind-up.
‘Finn, Dizzy, Mouse?’ the policeman says. ‘Mouse, as in Mickey? C’mon, son, you can do better than that.’
‘It’s his name,’ Finn shrugs. ‘Really.’
‘OK. Mouse. Mouse what?’
But nobody knows Mouse’s surname, not even Mouse himself. At least if he does, he’s not saying. It gets worse. Our address makes no sense to the policemen. We live in a van, a tent, a tepee, somewhere in the South Ayrshire hills.
‘It’s the Tree People Festival,’ Finn explains.
‘Right,’ says the podgy policeman. ‘Great. And is there a mobile number where we can contact your parents? No? Thought not. Oh, well.’
So we drive back to the festival in the back of a police car. No sirens, no handcuffs, no blue flashing lights, just us and two policemen who are probably hacked off they have to drive out into the middle of nowhere when they planned simply to ring our parents and get us picked up from the police station. We’ve probably ruined their evening. Then again, they haven’t exactly done great things for ours.
We drive in beneath the Tree People banner and across the rutted field. Travellers blink sleepily at the car, or stare, hostile, curious. One bloke drops a spliff into the grass and grinds it underfoot. A man dressed up with stilts and face-paint blows giant soap bubbles at the windscreen.
The police car gets stuck in a maze of tents, and we get out.
‘We’ll be OK from here,’ Finn says. ‘Thanks very much.’
‘What am I, a taxi service?’ the red-haired policeman laughs. ‘Nice try, kid. We need to see your parents. Now.’
We weave through the tents and stalls, taking the scenic route to the tepee. No sign of Tess, Storm or Zak.
‘OK,’ says Finn. ‘This
is it.’
He nods towards the tepee, points towards the doorflap.
‘This?’ asks the podgy policeman.
‘Yep.’
They step inside, we follow.
The tepee reeks of joss sticks and some kind of incense that’s been sprinkled on the fire. Tess, Storm, Zak and an assorted bunch of crusties are sitting around, drumming out a low, hollow beat and singing a wailing, hippy chant. Just an average evening at the festival, then.
Storm leaps to her feet, terrified. Zak stubs out his spliff and follows.
‘What’s wrong, man?’ he says. ‘Mouse? You been in trouble again?’
Tess stands up and starts ushering the drummers out of the tepee. ‘Everything’s fine, we just need some space,’ she tells them. ‘We’ll get this sorted. Gentlemen,’ she turns to the policemen. ‘Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Elder-flower cordial?’
The policemen sip coffee with soya milk and tell Tess, Zak and Storm that they need to keep a closer eye on us, make sure we understand the difference between right and wrong.
‘We do,’ Finn says. ‘Honestly, officer. It was all a mistake.’
‘The little kid isn’t so clear, though, is he?’
‘He had a rough start in life,’ Zak says. ‘A lot to cope with, y’know? But he’s getting better. He’s getting some real values here.’
The policemen exchange quick glances, but they don’t say anything. Storm looks nervous and pushes her dope tin out of sight, under a cushion.
‘Discipline is what he needs,’ the red-haired policeman is saying. ‘Clear boundaries, routine. Supervision.’
‘Yes, of course, officer,’ Tess says. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘If it does, then it’s just a matter of time before the social services get involved,’ the policeman warns. ‘If they consider he’s not being looked after properly, they could even take him into care. I’m not saying it’ll happen, but it’s something you should be aware of.’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Tess says firmly.
‘No way, man,’ Zak echoes.
‘Let’s hope not.’
The policemen go, picking their way through the tents and campfires, stared at by small scruffy kids and glowering crusties. Someone has painted a rainbow on the bonnet of their car. The podgy policeman shakes his head and wipes it off with a large white hanky.
‘Take care,’ calls the red-haired one, as they drive out across the rutted field. ‘Stay out of trouble.’
‘We will!’ I shout, and we run after the car, waving. Even Mouse.
Staying out of trouble is tough, though, because right now we’re up to our ears in it. Bringing police on to the festival site is bad news. How many spliffs and tins of dope are there on site? How many vans or trucks without road tax or insurance, with dodgy tyres or an out-of-date MOT?
It’s lucky they weren’t interested in anything apart from us, that they didn’t get mad about the rainbow on the car. They were OK. All the same, there’ll be a row, a showdown, a slanging match. It was Mouse who messed up, but Finn and I were in charge and we blew it. We forgot for a while that Mouse is trouble. We thought we could trust him when we should have known better.
Back at the tepee, Storm is stressing out. ‘We have to go,’ she’s saying to anyone who’ll listen. ‘They’ll be back, they’ll bust us for drugs and find something wrong with the van and they’ll take Mouse away… you heard what they said. We have to move on, now.’
Tess hovers at the edge of the tepee, watching the drama, trying to stay out of it. Quietly, she puts an arm round Mouse.
‘Not now,’ Zak says. ‘Not yet. We’ll take a day or two, pack up slowly, decide what to do next. They won’t be back. Chill out.’
‘Now,’ says Storm. ‘We have to go now. Did you give them Pete’s address?’ she asks me, her face pale. She looks older, somehow. Anxious.
‘No, we just said we were staying here, at the festival.’
‘That’s something, then. Pete would go mad if he knew. He’d say I wasn’t looking after you properly. He’d say I was letting you run wild…’
Maybe he would. Maybe I am. But Dad doesn’t know, because he’s busy having fun with Lucy, watching slushy films on Sky Box Office and eating takeaway pizza, or whatever you do on grown-up dates. If he was bothered, he’d be here by now, wouldn’t he?
‘Who cares what Dad thinks?’ I tell Storm, stroking the soft, velvet fuzz at the back of her head. ‘It wasn’t like that, was it? We’re OK. Aren’t we?’
Storm smiles, but her eyes are distant. She pulls away from me and starts running around the tepee, rolling up quilts, piling up cushions, folding rugs.
‘Look, Storm, we’re not going now, OK?’ Zak argues. ‘We’ll move on if it makes you happy, first thing tomorrow. But not now. It’s getting dark. This doesn’t make sense, Storm. There’s no need.’
‘There’s every need. I’ve got a feeling. Really. A bad feeling. It’s time to go, Zak. Please.’
Zak takes a deep breath in. He rakes a brown, skinny hand through his long, fair hair and his green eyes swoop over Finn and Mouse and me. He looks seriously hacked off.
‘OK,’ he says at last. ‘OK. But we can’t take the tepee down in the middle of the night, can we?’
‘Leave it,’ Storm says. ‘Let Amber take care of it for a bit. Carl’s got a truck, they can stash the larch poles in that. They’re going down to the Blue River Camp in Somerset, we can meet them there.’
‘But that’s not till August…’
Storm stops packing and looks directly at Tess. ‘We could stay at your place,’ Storm says. ‘We could stay at the cottage, just for a week or so, on the way down. Couldn’t we? Tess?’
Tess ruffles Mouse’s hair. Like me, like Zak, I know she’ll agree to anything to put the smile back on Storm’s face. ‘Course you can,’ she says. ‘You know that. No problem. We’ll all go, shall we? Finn?’
‘Yeah,’ Finn agrees. ‘We’ll all go.’
His fingers squeeze mine in the shadows of the tepee.
‘OK,’ Zak says finally, defeated. ‘OK.’
It’s chaos then. We pack the van, stuffing in bags and boxes and rucksacks and quilts. We take down Tess’s tent and pack up the car. Then we sit around drinking herb tea with Amber and Carl to talk about leaving the tepee with them and meeting up down south. Dozens of people file in to hug us and wish us well. Cara gives me a daisy-chain necklace.
It’s midnight before we set off, Tess’s car first, the patchwork van rattling along behind. We lurch slowly through the field, passing out beneath the faded Tree People banner and into the lane. The red tail lights of Tess’s car disappear in the distance and we’re alone, me and Mouse and Leggit squashed into the back of the patchwork van, Zak and Storm up front.
It seems like a million years since we sat in the sun on the beach at Ayr, since we paddled in the salt water and ate custard doughnuts flecked with sand. Mouse snuggles up against my shoulder. I lean back, trying to stay awake by watching the road, sliding into sleep all the same.
When I wake, we’re parked in a pool of light on the edge of a service-station car park. We stumble out of the van, use the loos, then trail into the all-night restaurant. We spot Tess and Finn in the far corner, scoffing chips and beans. We wave. Zak orders two black coffees. It’s four in the morning and the smell of fast food makes my stomach growl.
‘I’m starving,’ says Mouse. ‘Can we have chips? A Coke, even?’
‘Seen the price of it?’ snaps Zak. ‘No chance.’
We slump into a booth alongside Tess and Finn. Storm looks around the café, checking out the other diners. A lorry driver eating egg and chips, a sleepy family huddled over huge baguettes, a lone woman sipping coffee and staring at a chocolate muffin.
Finn slides out of his seat just as the lorry driver leaves the café. He scoops up the leftover chips and a plate of untouched bread and butter, bringing them back to us. ‘Early breakfast?’ he says.
�
��Isn’t that stealing?’ Mouse asks, amazed.
‘No,’ says Tess. ‘Not really, because the man already paid for that food. He just didn’t eat it all. I think it’s more like… recycling.’
I open my eyes wide, and Finn winks at me.
The coffee-and-cake woman gets up to leave.
‘Chocolate muffin, anyone?’ Tess whispers, and Mouse is off like a shot to rescue the abandoned cake before anyone can clear it away.
We sit in the café for over an hour, recycling chips, baguettes, scones and fresh fruit salad, before a tired-looking assistant in a red waistcoat notices and asks us to leave. Mouse, a natural at this game, snaffles a serviette full of abandoned sausages for Leggit on the way out.
We drive off into the drizzly pink dawn, singing.
I imagined a chocolate-box cottage with roses round the door, but Bramble Cottage is pure hippy heaven. There are roses round the door, sure, but also nettles taller than I am, and a cool-eyed billy goat (Cedric) chewing mouthfuls of sweet peas. There are chickens in the vegetable patch, eggs under the hedge and frogs croaking in the pond. A large tabby cat is asleep on top of the compost heap.
A grey-haired woman in a dressing gown and slippers comes out along the garden path, snipping flowers and eating toast and jam.
‘Mum!’ Tess shouts, and flings her arms round the woman. I watch Finn hug his gran and I’m stabbed with jealousy, homesickness, loneliness. I want Dad. Right now, I’d even tolerate Lucy. Maybe.
Instead, I have to make do with Storm and Zak, and I wonder why it’s not enough. I thread a hand through Mouse’s. He’s looking as lost as I feel.
It’s hard to resist the atmosphere at Tess’s place, all the same. Storm and Zak must be regular visitors here, because they park the van in the ‘usual place’ under the apple trees and start making it homey right away, hanging wind chimes from the lowest branches and spreading rugs and quilts out across the grass.
‘This is better,’ Storm says, flinging herself down on to the grass, gazing up at the soft blue sky. ‘We’re safe here. We can just hang out for a while, chill, rest, get sorted for Somerset.’
‘No money to be made,’ Zak says, sulkily.