Glitter Gets Everywhere

by Yvette Clark

  “Kitty?” Dad says, interrupting my reverie. He’s looking at me and crinkling up his forehead in a worried way. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve only been home for six months. We can’t keep ping-ponging across the Atlantic.” The idea of it is making me feel tired.

  “We’re not going to ping-pong, Kitty. Last time we were in New York was more like an extended holiday. This time we’d really get the opportunity to experience living there. Don’t you think that would be fun?”

  Dad looks excited, but I just shrug.

  “Well, we don’t need to decide right away. Let’s take some time to think about it. On the positive, it would be brilliant for my career, a big step up. Do you have any questions about the move?”

  I shake my head. The question I don’t want the answer to is whether this has anything to do with Jen.

  I decide not to tell Jess about New York. I don’t want to upset her, and somehow if I don’t talk about it, we’re less likely to have to move.

  “Guess what,” Jess says as we walk through the school gates the next morning.

  “What?”

  “We’re moving.”

  I stop and turn to face her. “You’re what? Why? Where? When?”

  “My parents are sick of not having enough space in our house, so we’re moving to Hampshire this summer.”

  “But you won’t be able to come to Haverstock Girls’ School from Hampshire, will you?” I’m not sure exactly how far away Hampshire is, but it’s definitely not close enough for her to come here every day.

  “No, silly. I’ll be starting a new school—one with actual boys. Finally, I’ll have a chance of getting a boyfriend before I’m twenty.”

  “You’re happy about moving?” I ask, feeling strangely betrayed.

  “Mostly. I mean, I’ll miss you, obviously, but it’s only an hour and a half on the train, and Mum says you can come and stay for the weekend whenever you like.”

  “That’s not the same, though.”

  “No,” Jess agrees, “but guess what else.”

  “What?”

  “I’m getting a horse!” Jess’s face is glowing with excitement, and her eyes are shining. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s been horse mad. When we were little, we used to canter around the playground, with her holding a rope around my waist and shouting giddy-up. She spends every weekend taking riding lessons and hanging out at the stables. She even shovels horse poo voluntarily. It’s the one thing we don’t share. Horses scare me, and who in their right mind wants to pick up poo?

  “Jess, that’s amazing,” I say, and I hug her. I mean it—I’m happy for her, and we hold on to each other and jump up and down, just the way we used to when we were younger and our mums agreed we could have a sleepover.

  “I know, I can’t believe it! Can you believe it, Kitty?”

  As Jess chatters on excitedly about her new horse that she’s going to name Cinnamon, I look around the playground and think about school without Jess. I can’t believe it, and I can’t imagine being here without her. I wonder if Dad would consider moving to Hampshire instead of New York.

  “Jess is moving to Hampshire,” I announce to Gran when I get home from school, dumping my bag on the floor. I still can’t get my head around it.

  “Is she now?” Gran says. “And how does Jess feel about that?”

  “She’s mostly happy. She’s getting a horse, she’ll be going to a school with boys, and she’ll have a huge bedroom for when I come to visit.” Jess and I always joke that her current room is the size of Harry Potter’s cupboard under the stairs.

  “You’ll miss her,” says Gran, stirring her cup of tea.

  “It’s not going to be the same without her,” I say. “She’s always been at school with me. Why do things have to keep changing, Gran?”

  “‘The only constant in life is change,’” says Gran. “Was it Heraclitus who said that, Kitty?”

  “I think so,” I say. I have no idea who Heraclitus is, but Gran is usually right.

  “So your dad told me he’d talked to you and your sister about moving back to New York for a few years. What do you think about that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Shall we make a list of pros and cons?” she asks. Gran is a big list maker.

  “Sure.”

  “Excellent, you speak, and I’ll take notes.”

  Gran pulls an envelope out of the recycling tray in front of her and looks at me expectantly.

  “I always like to start with the cons and get them out of the way,” she says. “Sort of like with good news, bad news—who would choose good news first?”

  “Mum used to,” I say.

  Gran smiles. “So she did. Well, how about you?”

  “Cons—I’d have to leave everyone I love—you, Kate, Jess, Mrs. Allison, and Cleo.”

  Gran notes it down in her small, neat handwriting and looks up at me.

  “Um . . . well, we only just moved back, and I feel like a Ping-Pong ball.”

  Gran writes down Ping-Pong.

  “What else, Kitty?”

  “Jen,” I say, and Gran raises an eyebrow, pushing her pen firmly into the paper.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not really.”

  “All right. What else should be on the list?”

  “We’d have to leave our house and go and live in some random apartment again—probably one with all-white walls. I’d have to go back to that school, and that would be weird and embarrassing.” I’m working up quite a head of steam now, the words tumbling out and Gran scribbling to catch up with me.

  “Excellent. Any other cons?”

  “Definitely, but I can’t think of them at the moment.”

  “Okay, we can come back to them. Pros?”

  I close my eyes and picture New York City and feel something like excitement fluttering in my chest. Images of steam pouring out from manhole covers in the streets, a sky so bright even on the coldest January days, a line of yellow cabs stretching down Broadway, a glimpse of the silver scales of the Chrysler building, like a giant herring standing on its tail, and a smiling boy with blue hair fizz through my mind. I imagine casually texting Henry to tell him I’ll be back in New York in September.

  “Well? Are there any?” Gran says.

  “It’s New York,” I say.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes, but that’s quite a lot.”

  Gran writes down New York in big letters, sets the pen down, and smiles at me, as if she knows something important that I don’t.

  Gran joins us for Sunday night’s family meeting. There are two agenda items: (1) Why does Imogen generate more laundry than a small village? (2) Should we move back to New York? Item one is quickly dealt with as Imogen reluctantly agrees she has to do her own laundry from now on. We move onto agenda item two.

  “So, Kitty, Gran told me all about your list, we had a bit of a chat about it, and Eleanor has an idea to propose.”

  I look at Gran. I hope she didn’t show Dad the comment about Jen. Gran gives a tiny shake of her head. Phew!

  “Thank you, Rob,” Gran says. “So, girls, what do you think of me coming to New York with you for the first three months?”

  I look at Gran in surprise.

  “You’d come with us?”

  “Yes. I rather like the idea of spending longer in New York. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy being there until I visited you. Plus, I thought it might help you settle in.”

  “What about Cleo? Who’ll look after her if you’re coming to New York?”

  “That’s something else that we discussed,” says Dad. “Cleo could come to New York with us. She can get a passport for pets and wouldn’t even need to go into quarantine. Kate, Jess, and Mrs. Allison can all come and visit.”

  “Oh,” I say, watching my objections to New York float off into the air like little puffs of smoke—Jess is leaving London, Gran, and even Cleo would come with us to New York. Kate and Mrs. Allison cou
ld visit us. New York is like a cool new kid at school named Delilah or Dylan—intimidating and quite likely to get you into trouble, but hard to ignore. London is like a sensible older cousin, a Victoria or perhaps a Charlotte, very dependable, very comforting, very safe, but a tiny bit dull in the nicest possible way because you’ve known her forever. I look around the table at Dad, Imogen, and Gran. Cleo pops her sooty little face up from her place on Gran’s lap and looks at me expectantly.

  “Well, Kitty?” says Dad.

  Well indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Twelve Today

  The birds bickering in the branches outside my window wake me before six. I stretch out on my comfy bed, dislodging Cleo, who has been sleeping in the crook of my knees. She gives me a friendly look, twitches one ear, and closes her eyes again. It seems like much longer than a year since I woke up in the Peony room at Kate’s house with Pasha glaring at me on my eleventh birthday. Cleo is much friendlier, unless you’re Sir Lancelot—then she definitely has a touch of Pasha.

  Cleo follows me downstairs and into the kitchen, which is crowded with packing boxes. She leaps gracefully onto the tallest box, and I weave around it to kiss Dad. Just like last year, he’s sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea, this time from the mug I gave him for Father’s Day that reads “Dad, you are TEA-rrific!” Annoyingly, Imogen bought him a mug too, even though I had already told her I was getting him one. Hers reads “From your FAVORITE daughter.” Very funny.

  “Happy birthday, Kitty!” Dad says, standing up to hug me. “It’s a gorgeous day. Shall we have breakfast outside?”

  “Sounds great, but first I’m going to read Mum’s letter.”

  I grab the cream envelope from the pile laid out at my usual place at the table and skip outside. The grass is wet with dew and feels deliciously fresh underneath my bare feet. At the end of the lawn is the tree house. Tree house may be an overstatement since it’s more of a platform with a slanted roof wedged between the garden wall and the elm tree. It used to seem so high when I first climbed into it, but I could probably easily jump down now. On second thought, maybe it’s still a little high for that. The tree house was already here when we moved in, and Dad always had big plans to upgrade it, which never happened. I like it as it is. There’s a wonky old deck chair up there, which I gingerly sit down in, and I carefully open the envelope. As I unfold the letter, the little tissue paper package spills onto my lap. The wrapping paper this year is the palest green, like the inside of a cucumber. I hold the letter to my lips for a minute, knowing Mum’s hands were the last to touch it, take a deep breath, and begin to read.

  My darling Kitty,

  Happy, happy birthday, my beautiful, brilliant girl! I love you more than words can say. Twelve already! That was a big year for me. I got the lead part in the school play and threw up just before I went on stage because I was so nervous on the first night. I fell off a horse named Russell and broke my arm. Russell was such a pathetic horse name, I called him Thunder when I told people the story. I failed my flute exam. I had a crush on John Taylor from Duran Duran—google him—you’ll laugh so much when you see his hair. Best of all, it was the year I met my beautiful, beloved Kate. She was the best friend I didn’t even realize I was missing until I found her. Give her a massive kiss from me and tell her how much I love her. I’m so glad she’s your fairy godmother.

  For your twelfth birthday, I chose a hummingbird charm for you to add to your bracelet. Do you remember when we saw the hummingbirds on holiday in Costa Rica a few years ago? You and I watched them for hours while Dad and Imo went zip-lining. They were iridescent blues and greens, and you said that nobody could ever make paint to match that color so we should do our best to remember it always.

  Here are some things I learned about hummingbirds when I was choosing your charm.

  They can visit 1,000 flowers a day, and they always remember which ones they’ve been to and how long each flower takes to refill with nectar.

  They flap their wings seventy times a second.

  They can fly in six directions: up, down, left, right, forward, and backward.

  They are the tiniest birds in the world and weigh less than a penny.

  Their favorite color is red.

  Hummingbirds are symbols of living life in the moment and of being adaptable. Memories can be beautiful things, Kitty, but I want you to live for today. Always remember how much I love you, but never let your memories hold you back. What I hope for the people I love is that they live and love to the fullest. That means you will need to try new things, visit new places, and meet new people. You might fall, you might fail, and you might feel so nervous that you want to run away or throw up, or both, but don’t be afraid to try. Never be afraid to try.

  There’ll be times when you wish everything could stay the same, and other times when you pray for everything to be different. The only sure thing in life is change, so you should try to embrace it. Turning your back won’t stop it from happening. I know you can look it right in the eye. You, Imogen, and Dad will all have changed by now, and you’ll keep growing and evolving as the weeks, months, and years pass. That will be wonderful but also hard sometimes. Be each other’s biggest fans. Embrace life, love, and especially each other.

  I’m almost at the end of my allotted pages, and Dad is sitting here keeping a close eye on me, so I’ll say goodbye for now. Keep looking for happiness like the hummingbirds look for nectar and don’t be afraid to change direction as needed.

  Adventure awaits, my darling Kitty.

  Love forever,

  Mum xxx

  I lie back in the deck chair, feeling the growing warmth of the July sun stroke my face, and fasten the little silver hummingbird to my bracelet. Stretching my arms up to the sky, I watch the hummingbird hover between the heart and the star. The ruby sparkles in the morning sun, and I smile because Mum just said that red was the hummingbird’s favorite color, and I can still learn new things from her, even now. The world hasn’t stopped after I read the letter like it did last year. I can still hear the bees busily buzzing around the lavender pots below the tree house, the birds singing in the branches above me, and Sir Lancelot barking in the garden next door. My insides feel soft, warm, and golden, and I realize that the feeling I have inside me is peace. I close my eyes and think about what Mum had written. She always told me it was okay to be nervous as long as I didn’t let that stop me from doing new things. She’d be happy we’ve decided we are going to live in New York, happy that we’re having adventures, happy that we haven’t tried to freeze time. I lie there for another ten minutes, until Dad calls me in for breakfast. I daringly hop down from the tree house without using the ladder and skip inside to show Imogen and Dad my hummingbird. Adventure awaits!

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Waiting at the Same Window

  The street is bright and busy on this August morning, and the birds are cheerfully welcoming the start of a new day. I peek at them among the glossy leaves of the tree outside my window. It needs pruning; the branches are almost touching the glass. I check the Farrow & Ball color chart before I take it off my wall, my eyes searching for the perfect match until they land on number 287, Yeabridge Green. The sunlight pouring through the window catches the wings of the hummingbird charm on my bracelet. Its tiny silver wings have intricate lines etched on them, making the creature look as if it has feathers and might take flight if you don’t watch it carefully.

  “Kitty, the van will be here in a minute. Are you ready?” yells Dad up the stairs.

  “Almost,” I call, glancing around my bedroom. The bed has been stripped, the sheets, duvet, and pillows packed away, ready to go into storage along with the furniture and the books, games, and pictures I’m leaving behind. The walls will be painted tomorrow. The real estate agent says that while the kaleidoscope of colors I have on my walls is unique, rental properties should be neutral. The real estate agent picked the paint. The color he chose is unimaginatively named “off-white”
and does what it says on the can. Imogen is excited to get more Imogen’s Ice Cream to put on the walls in her room in New York. I’ll have to go back to see Mike to get some more paint made.

  It is a year and a half since I stood at this window waiting for the black car to arrive to take us to the church. Twinkle and my favorite photograph are the only things left to put into my backpack. I study the framed picture of Mum with the Statue of Liberty, tracing my finger gently over the joyful face of the nineteen-year-old girl smiling fearlessly back at the whole world from the photograph, and I grin. She would smile just like that if I could tell her we are going to New York.

  I’ve found little piles of grief glitter all over this room, this house, and this city, but I’ve realized it will go everywhere with me, and that’s okay. The glitter is the memories. It does get everywhere, but it contains every color—the happy pinks and reds, the flecks of blue and lilac that make your heart overflow with joy, as well as the gold and silver that might bring you to your knees. When the specks are mixed together, glitter makes a unique color that you can’t possibly begin to describe. I read somewhere that grief is love with nowhere to go, but my happy and sad thoughts about Mum all sit together now. I don’t need to hide from the grief glitter anymore or try to sweep it away.

  Through the window, I see the white moving van turn onto the street. It looks as if it might not fit, and I think about how awful it would be if the driver scraped Mrs. Allison’s new cherry-red Renault, bought with the proceeds of her best-selling book, The Cake Lady. Mrs. Allison dedicated the book to Sir Lancelot, Imogen, and Kitty. I’m sure she only added Imogen’s name so that my sister wouldn’t feel left out. I’m definitely her favorite Wentworth. All of our furniture is being delivered to a storage unit outside London, so the freshly painted house will be ready for the new tenants to move in next week. They’ve signed a two-year lease. I put the photo and Twinkle into my bag and head for the door. Glancing over my shoulder to check that Imogen isn’t watching me, I say goodbye to the cherry tree and its tuneful feathery residents, goodbye to my room, goodbye to this house. I’m really not sure when we will be back, but I don’t need to say goodbye to Mum. I know she’s coming with me on my next adventure.