by Unknown
‘Stop stressing,’ says Storm. ‘We can sign on. We don’t need much.’
‘Just as well.’
Finn’s brother, Niall, a six-foot version of Finn with a black Mohican, black nail varnish and a pierced tongue, makes a huge veggie fry-up and we squash in round the scrubbed pine table in Tess’s kitchen and eat until we’re stuffed. Finn’s gran wafts about the place in crinkly skirts with bells on, a purple bandana wrapped around her long, grey hair. I’m beginning to forget what normal people look like.
I’m beginning to forget a lot of things.
Hi Dad,
Thought I’d better let you know we’ve moved again. We’re at Tess’s place now, Bramble Cottage, for the next few weeks. I’ll get Storm to put the proper address on the bottom of this card, in case you want to get in touch or anything. It’d be great to see you, if you’re not too busy. And Lucy, of course. I’m still missing you – hope you haven’t forgotten me.
Love,
Dizzy xxxx
There’s a tree house in a rickety old oak behind the cottage. It’s a simple tree house, no roof, nothing fancy, just a wide platform of smooth pine planks with a rail running round the edge and a frayed rope-ladder dangling.
Mouse loves it. ‘I’m sleeping here,’ he says.
‘No way,’ I tell him. ‘It’s too high, too rickety, and there’s no roof…’
‘I used to,’ shrugs Finn.
A couple of nights later we’re holed up there, the three of us, wrapped in quilts and sleeping bags, sipping hot apple juice from chipped tin mugs. Jam-jar lanterns swing from the branches, dropping thin pools of light around us.
Leggit whines and howls so much that Finn has to haul her up the swinging rope-ladder, too, a skinny bundle of wriggling bones and sticky-up hair. She sits with her head over the rail, listening to the goat rooting about in the bushes below.
‘I like it here,’ Mouse says into the darkness.
‘Me, too,’ I tell him.
‘Me, three,’ Finn says.
‘We can see everything,’ Mouse says.
I lean back and gaze up through the leaves, looking at the stars. It’s funny how the skies are bigger, darker, when you’re in the country. The night is velvet-blue, not neon-orange. I pick out the shape of the Big Dipper and find the Pole Star. I show Finn and Mouse, and explain how it’s always there, no matter what. A magical star, like Storm says.
‘Magical,’ Mouse echoes. Then, ‘Nobody can get us here.’
‘Who’d want to?’ Finn asks, surprised. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of.’
But maybe, for Mouse, there is.
‘Bad people,’ he says in a small voice.
‘There are no bad people here,’ I tell him.
‘You wouldn’t let them get me, anyway,’ he whispers.
‘No way,’ says Finn. ‘I’ll fight ’em off with a big stick, set Leggit on them, pour boiling oil on their heads. Hot apple juice, anyway. I’ll look after you, Mouse, little mate.’
‘Me, too,’ I echo. ‘Always.’
‘Always,’ Mouse breathes.
His eyes flutter shut and he burrows down beneath the quilt. The grey toy mouse surfaces, clutched in one tiny, grubby hand. I wonder what he dreams about. I wonder who the bad people are.
‘Grandad made this tree house,’ Finn is saying. ‘When we first came back here, when I was seven. For me and Niall. We thought it was the best thing we’d ever seen in our lives.’
‘He’s not around any more?’
‘He died a couple of years back.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s OK,’ Finn says. ‘I miss him like mad, but I’ll never forget him. He taught me to play the piano, to love music. I had the chance to know him, to know which bits of me I got from him.’
I stare up through the leaves, counting stars. Finn has picked up his guitar, a tattier version of mine, and starts picking out chords.
‘D’you ever think about your dad?’ I ask.
Finn shrugs. ‘He left before I was born. Why should I care about him? He couldn’t even hang around long enough to see his own son.’
‘D’you think it’s a traveller thing?’ I ask. ‘You know, all this stuff about freedom and fun and moving on?’
Finn frowns in the darkness. ‘Maybe, sometimes,’ he says. ‘Mostly, though, I think it’s just a people thing.’
Finn’s picking out the tune to an old Linkin Park song, ‘Somewhere I Belong’. I’ve never heard it before, but when Finn plays it, it’s the best, the saddest song in the world.
Does anyone know where they belong? I used to think I did. I belonged with Dad, in our flat in Birmingham. I belonged with my mates, messing about at school, drinking Cokes in Dimitri’s caff, sunbathing in the back garden, talking on the phone till all hours. Then Storm turned up and took me away, and now I don’t belong anywhere.
‘I used to dream Storm would come back,’ I say. ‘Then she did. It’s what I always wanted, only now I’m not so sure. Is that ungrateful?’
‘Nah,’ Finn laughs. ‘Your life just turned upside-down. You’re bound to feel mixed up.’
‘I thought I’d see her more, get to know her more. I thought we’d make up for lost time. I thought she’d want to know about… well, me. And she doesn’t. She really doesn’t. Sometimes I think I’m only here to babysit Mouse.’
‘You’re not,’ Finn says. ‘But… babysitting Mouse isn’t so bad, is it?’
We look over at Mouse, the scrap of brown hair sticking out from the rolled-up quilt, the outstretched arm flung over Leggit’s skinny neck.
‘No, it’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.’
Finn puts down the guitar and leans an arm along the tree-house rail. ‘Some people care,’ he says. I can feel him looking at me in the darkness, and I have to turn away.
‘I think your dad cares, too,’ Finn says eventually. ‘What happened the other day when you rang? What did he say to upset you? You’ve spent weeks looking out for him, writing postcards, talking about him. Then one phone call and it’s over. You’d think he’s dropped off the face of the earth.’
I’m cold suddenly. I hug my knees, pulling the quilt closer round me.
‘His girlfriend answered. It was only nine o’clock and his girlfriend answered. She never used to stay, when I was there. It felt like I’d been forgotten.’
‘Dizzy!’ Finn says, pulling one of the skinny plaits that hangs down by my face. ‘Who could ever forget you? What did you say – what did he say?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I hung up.’
Finn sighs. ‘There’s a phone here,’ he says. ‘You can ring him now. Tomorrow. Whenever.’
‘Whenever,’ I agree. ‘Not just yet. Maybe we both need a break from each other? Him to be with Lucy, me to be here. Hey, will you play that Linkin Park thing again?’
Finn picks up the guitar and shifts position. I watch him lean in, long fingers teasing out the tune. His voice is a whisper, hardly daring to sing the words out loud. I join in with the bits I know. When he finishes, I know where I belong, and it’s here and now, with Finn and Mouse and Leggit. The rest doesn’t matter.
Finn hangs the guitar from a branch and stretches out his legs. His bare feet are pale in the darkness, dappled with shadows as the leaves above us shiver. One foot reaches out and prods my leg, and I catch it, hanging on to the lean, skinny shape of it. My fingers notice the rough, calloused skin on his heel and sole, the smooth skin above. I count his toenails, five little slivers of ice in the moonlight. I notice he’s stopped struggling, but still, I’m slow to let go.
‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have drop-dead gorgeous feet?’ I ask.
Finn laughs out loud.
‘No,’ he says. ‘Nobody ever did. Only you, Dizzy. Only you.’
It’s happening again.
Eight years ago, Storm left me and went to Kathmandu with a man called Mitch. It’s not Mitch, now, it’s Zak, and it’s not Kathmandu, it’s Goa, some hippy place in
India.
‘Wow,’ Storm says, her eyes wide. ‘Wow. We’re going to India, Dizz! How cool is that?’
A letter has turned up at Bramble Cottage, redirected from Zak’s parents’ place in Kent. It’s from Zak’s brother, Josh. From India. Josh has just bought a big beach house near Goa, in India. He wants Zak and Storm to come out and help him turn it into a spiritual healing centre, where hippy tourists can come to learn yoga, meditation and how to balance small chunks of crystal along their backbones. Zak, naturally, will help with this bit.
‘I could do aromatherapy massage,’ Storm says.
‘You could if you learned it first,’ Tess points out.
‘How hard can it be? It’s just a few oils and a bit of a back rub, isn’t it? And I’m sure I could teach yoga and t’ai chi. On the beach!’
‘He’s talked about it before, but I never thought he’d do it,’ Zak is saying. ‘What a chance! And he needs me to make it work. Me and you, Storm.’
‘All of us,’ Storm says dreamily, flinging an arm round Mouse and me. ‘What a life for the kids, growing up in the sun, walking barefoot in the sand, learning Urdu or Hindi or whatever they speak over there…’
‘Right,’ says Zak, frowning. ‘The kids, too?’
‘Of course, the kids too,’ Storm laughs. ‘We’re a family, now, aren’t we? We have to stick together.’
‘Sure,’ says Zak. ‘Sure.’
Mouse takes a long drink of cold milk and wipes his mouth.
‘No,’ he says.
‘No?’ Storm falters. ‘What d’you mean, no?’
Mouse shrugs, drains the milk carton and slips quickly out of the kitchen. I run after him.
We sit on the tree-house platform, swinging our legs. Finn, keeping a respectful distance, is riding his BMX in and out of the bramble bushes below, with Leggit galloping behind.
‘I won’t go,’ Mouse says fiercely. ‘They can’t make me.’
‘No, they can’t,’ I agree, but I’m not sure. Maybe they can? ‘I’m not going, either. Not to India. I don’t want to leave Dad.’
‘I don’t want to leave Mum,’ Mouse says.
‘D’you miss her much?’ I ask.
Mouse shrugs. ‘A bit. Sometimes.’
We look down through the leaves as Finn does a wheelie.
‘She went away,’ Mouse says sadly.
‘She couldn’t help it,’ I tell him. ‘She was ill. She’ll get better, then she’ll be able to look after you again.’
‘Think so?’
‘Know so.’
‘Why did your dad dump you?’ Mouse wants to know.
‘He didn’t. Your mum didn’t, either. It’s just – the way things happen. I’m spending some time with my mum, you’re spending some time with your dad. Just for a while.’
Mouse frowns. ‘And then I’ll go back?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘But not yet?’
‘No, not yet. And we’re not going to India. No way.’
Beneath the tree house, Finn skids off the BMX and lands barefoot in the brambles. ‘Ouch!’ he yells. ‘Leggit, that was your fault!’
‘When I do go back to Mum’s, I’ll miss you,’ Mouse says quietly.
‘I’ll miss you, too,’ I tell him.
‘Dizzy?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Are you – are you my sister? Kind of?’
I put an arm round him and he doesn’t flinch away. ‘I think so, Mouse,’ I say. ‘Kind of.’
Of course, we’re not going to India.
It’s not because of Mouse’s mum, or my dad, but because the tickets cost £500 and children have to pay full fare. Zak says that’s crazy, and Storm says, never mind, Mouse and I can come out later, once they’re settled in.
‘We’ll just go and suss things out,’ she says. ‘Then, when we start earning, we’ll send for you. OK, Dizz?’
But I know it’s not going to happen. I’m not going to live in India, thousands of miles away from Dad, from my mates. I’m going home. Only not just yet. I’ll wait till Mouse’s mum is able to look after him again. Then I’ll go.
‘The kids are very welcome to stay with me for a bit,’ Tess says.
‘Of course,’ Finn’s gran chips in.
‘Just for a short while,’ Storm promises.
‘No hassles,’ says Tess.
They book the flight over the phone. Zak produces a credit card to pay for the tickets.
‘Where’d he get that?’ I whisper to Finn.
‘He’s loaded, Dizz, didn’t you know?’ Finn tells me. ‘He’s from a well-posh family, went to private school and everything. He and Josh, the brother, inherited a whole packet last year from some rich uncle.’
I whistle through my teeth. ‘I thought they were just crusties,’ I say.
‘They are. Only I think they’re kind of upper crusties.’
I think of the mouldy bread Zak made us eat, the way we had to recycle food in the service-station café. I remember him moaning about having two extra mouths to feed, even though it’s always Tess who gets the shopping, makes the food, gets the clothes washed.
‘Unreal,’ I say.
‘Tell me about it,’ says Finn.
Dear Dad,
Just wanted to let you know that Storm is going to India. She might not be back for a while, so I wondered if maybe I should come home now? I’m staying with Tess and Finn and Mouse, so I’m OK, you don’t have to worry. I wish you’d write, Dad, or ring or just come and get me. I miss you so much.
Dizzy xxxxx
The day before they fly, Storm hennas her hair. She mixes a paste from hot water and foul-smelling green powder, then plasters her skinhead crop and wraps her head in cling film and towels.
‘Now you,’ she says.
‘Me?’
‘C’mon, Dizz!’ she teases. ‘Live dangerously!’
So she combs through my long brown curls, softly, slowly, carefully. She doesn’t tug, she doesn’t pull. She eases every knot and tangle loose, then smears the warm green paste over each section of hair. I close my eyes. This is what it’s like, to have a mother. Someone to comb the tangles from your hair, your life.
Later, we sunbathe in the strawberry patch, eating fat, ripe berries and wiping the henna drips from our ears and necks. Niall has built a barbecue from old bricks and bits of chicken wire, and he’s cooking tofu and sweetcorn and veggie kebabs in a haze of smoke. Tess is weeding in the veggie garden, Zak is reading a crystal-healing book and Mouse is trying wheelies on the BMX. Inside the cottage, Finn is playing the piano. The sound drifts out of an open window like the soundtrack from a dream.
It takes an hour to wash the henna paste off my hair, another hour to dry it in the sun. Storm’s hair is a fuzz of crimson velvet, mine a deep, russet shade like falling leaves, and shinier than I’ve ever seen it.
‘Beautiful,’ she says, looking at me. She roots around in Tess’s sewing bag to find embroidery threads in moss green, scarlet and gold, to braid into a hair wrap. Her fingers weave through my hair quickly, gently.
‘I’ll remember you like this,’ she says, and I know that she’s saying goodbye.
Storm and Zak are gone, to a pink-walled villa on a scorching hot beach on the other side of the world. They promised to phone, to write, to send for us soon. That was three weeks back, and we’re still waiting.
The patchwork van sits abandoned on the drive, a ‘For sale’ sign in the window. Zak tried to get Tess to buy it, the night before the flight to Goa, but she said she’d stick with the car.
‘See if you can find someone who wants it,’ Zak said. ‘Ask for £500. And when you see Amber and Carl, ask if they’ll buy the tepee. Should be worth £700, but try for more. You can send me a cheque. It’ll pay for the air fares.’
Tess is sorting stuff out, tying up loose ends for Storm and Zak. It’s just that there are a couple of loose ends that can’t be neatly tidied away.
We stay at the cottage, Tess and Finn and Mouse and me. Tess says it’
s easier, less hassle than going on with the festivals. Nobody minds. Leggit chases chickens and barks at the goat and digs up the lettuces Finn’s gran has planted. We’re happy.
‘Have you spoken to Pete lately?’ Tess asks one evening. ‘Did he say when he wants you back?’
‘Oh, any time before school starts,’ I say carelessly. ‘He’s not really worried. I’ll ring him in a week or so.’
‘Do that,’ Tess says. ‘Tell him to come up and stay for a few days, catch up on old times. I’m sorry he didn’t make it up for the Tree People Festival.’
Finn is watching me carefully to see what I’ll say. I say nothing.
‘He does know where you are, doesn’t he?’ Tess pushes.
‘Sure. I’ve sent him postcards, loads of them. Storm said she’d stick a letter in with the last one.’
‘She did post it?’ Tess frowns.
‘I think so.’
‘I hope so,’ Tess says. ‘I really hope so. Maybe I’ll drop him a line myself, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘Ring him,’ Finn says to me, later, when we’re outside watering the veggie plot.
‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? He might be worried. Does he know that Storm’s done a bunk?’
‘I said so on my last postcard,’ I shrug.
‘Ring him,’ Finn says again.
‘I’m scared.’
‘What of?’
How do you explain it? I’m scared that Dad has forgotten me, that he’s busy having fun, making the most of his freedom. I’ve sent him five postcards. He knows how much I’ve missed him, but still he hasn’t come to get me. Which has to mean that he hasn’t missed me.
He knows that Storm’s gone away, so why hasn’t he come to rescue me? Not that I want to be rescued.
‘Dizzy,’ Finn says, exasperated.
I don’t want to go home because it would mean leaving Mouse, and he needs me. And it would mean leaving Finn, and I need him. If there’s such a thing as a family, we’re it. Home-made, second-hand, tacked together from leftovers, but family all the same.
I stick my tongue out at Finn and he sprays me with the hosepipe, and Mouse thunders down through the cabbages on Finn’s BMX to come and join in the fight. It doesn’t end till we’re all soaking wet, and, sadly, the cabbages are done for.