How to Find Home

by Mahsuda Snaith

  ‘Market town,’ said Luca.

  Jules nodded. I must have looked confused because she leant in close to me.

  ‘Like a normal town, but posh.’

  When I looked down at my feet I could see two rubber bands looped over each other in front of me. They looked up at me like eyes staring from the ground.

  ‘What now, Posh Boy?’ Jules said.

  Luca blinked as though a fly was buzzing around his head. He scanned the square and then the road behind us. There was a part of him ready to run from this place and a part of him ready to hide in its darkest corner.

  He straightened his arm in front of him, finger pointing ahead.

  ‘Pub,’ he said.

  Luca began walking to a red-bricked building with yellow window frames. It had ‘The Butter Cross’ written across it in large golden letters. Jules shoved the packet of crisps inside her jacket and grinned. She nudged me in the arm.

  ‘That’s the best idea he’s had all day,’ she said.

  These are the things my parents argued about.

  How they needed to live in that detached house, in the nicer area.

  How they couldn’t afford to do that and whose fault that was.

  How he always held her back.

  How she never stopped complaining.

  How he was sleeping with other women.

  How she was crazy, like her mother, which meant she said crazy things like he was sleeping with other women.

  How they should never have got married or had me.

  How she was a terrible mother.

  How he loved me more than he loved her.

  How she was sick and manipulative.

  How he was the same, but worse.

  How, if he was so bloody awful, why didn’t she just take this knife, right here and now, and slash his throat?

  How she was tempted.

  They would usually save these arguments for home. As soon as the front door shut they threw down their coats and tore into each other. They didn’t need to tell me to go upstairs; I just went. After the argument at the model village I thought things might change; they’d revealed themselves to the world and there was no going back. Except, of course, there was. Back to smiling at other parents by the school gates, back to wrapping their arms around each other at parties. Back to pretending.

  I guess it’s hard to give something up when you’ve become so good at it.

  It was a classy pub, the Butter Cross, even though it was a Wetherspoon’s. Me and Jules had toured all the great Wetherspoons of Nottingham and, even though we loved them, there were none we’d have called classy.

  The booth we sat in was clad in strips of leather and tweed, the chairs around the other tables painted in muted whites and greens, and above us, hanging from the ceiling, were upside-down silver buckets that acted like lampshades and plant pots with long grass hanging from within. I don’t think the plants were real but they still looked classy. Metal seats that seemed like they were once part of some piece of farming equipment were nailed to the painted brick walls. They had the words ‘BLACKSTONE’, ‘MARTIN’ and ‘NICHOLSON’ moulded on to them. I wondered if there was a tractor seat out there that said ‘JENSON’, which is my family name, but I couldn’t ask because I don’t tell people my real name. Not any more.

  When Jules saw the menu she was happy as Larry because it was Steak Club Tuesday, which was one of her favourite days in the Wetherspoon’s week.

  ‘Eight-ounce rump steak with a pint of Stella.’

  She slammed her hand down on the table as though that was the end of the matter and there was no persuading her otherwise.

  Luca asked me what I wanted. I felt the coin purse I kept in my jeans pocket. It was as flat as a deflated balloon so I told him I wasn’t hungry. Luca looked at me and grinned.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  He pulled out a white card from his wallet and placed it on the table. It had silver numbers and ‘PLATINUM’ written across it. He tapped it gently with his finger.

  ‘It’s on me.’

  He looked proud of himself, chest puffed up as though he’d been crowned King of the Pub. Jules grabbed the card off the table. She turned it over in her hand.

  ‘Who d’ya nick that off?’ she said.

  Luca’s chest deflated. He bent over the table and whipped the card away from Jules. His cheeks were flushed.

  ‘I have my sources,’ he said, before pushing it back into his wallet.

  Jules’s phone rang. It was that same irritating tune but it seemed louder here in the pub. She pulled it from her pocket, holding it close to her chest so that I couldn’t see the screen before pressing decline. She seemed put out, suddenly agitated and twitchy. She scowled at Luca.

  ‘You paying for mE thEn?’ she said.

  I looked at Luca, hoping he could hear the edge in her voice, but he was too busy staring at Jules as though she was absurd to notice me.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You’re part of the mission.’

  Jules’s brows rose slowly up her forehead.

  ‘You know, lad,’ she said, sitting tall. ‘I thought you were a dodgy fucker when I first met you, but you’re growing on me.’

  Luca frowned, his mouth crooked. Then he relaxed. It was like watching your divorced parents getting along at Christmas.

  Jules slammed her hand on the table again.

  ‘Make that two pints, then!’ she said. ‘And a steak for the dog.’

  Luca opened his mouth but stopped himself from speaking. When the waitress came over she looked down at Boy and said only assistance dogs were allowed in the food area. Then she saw she had a missing leg and went all soppy, bending down and ruffling behind her ears.

  ‘You can have her for fifty,’ Jules said.

  The waitress laughed, though I don’t think Jules was joking, and said Boy could stay if we didn’t tell the manager. Jules winked, then leant over the back of the seat to watch the waitress’s hips sway as she walked to the bar.

  Jules turned back.

  ‘See that?’ she said. ‘Pure chemistry.’

  Luca shook his head.

  ‘With who?’

  Jules gestured behind her.

  ‘Me and that lass,’ she said.

  When the waitress came back with our drinks and then our food, Jules grinned wide at her. I’d ordered the Chicken & Rib combo and a pint of cider. The plate was massive: half a rack of ribs, a diamond chicken breast, six beer-battered onion rings and a heap of chips, with coleslaw and sauces in little glazed pots. I tore straight into the ribs. The meat filled my cheeks as the sticky barbecue sauce coated my lips.

  ‘Hungry much?’ Luca said.

  I looked up mid-bite. I wasn’t sure if he was disgusted or impressed. Perhaps I was supposed to use a knife and fork instead of my fingers but then I’d never be able to get the meat clean off the bone. I licked the sauce from my lips.

  ‘You bet!’ I said, even though my mouth was still full of meat.

  Jules pulled out a knife and fork from the inside pocket of her camo jacket. They were the pure silver ones she’d won in a bet with Dodgy Mike. She sat up straight, cutting her steak into cubes.

  ‘Our Molls is a bit of a gannet,’ she said. ‘Can’t tell to look at her, can you? Skinny little mite. Now me, I like to savour my food.’

  She spiked a chip and a steak cube on to her fork and pushed it into her mouth. She closed her eyes all dreamy as she chewed, jaw chomping up and down like a television chef.

  ‘This is proper banger!’ she said.

  ‘Spoken like a true lady,’ Luca said.

  Jules sat up tall, holding her fork daintily in the air. When she spoke, it was in her posh, royal voice, the one that always cracks me up.

  ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she said. ‘I do try my best.’

  Jules was on to her second pint by the time the food was cleared away. As the waitress collected the plates, Jules released an almighty belch. It vibrated right through the seat. The waitress giggled as sh
e walked away.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Jules said to Luca.

  He rolled his eyes.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Pure chemistry.’

  Jules basked in the glory of a full stomach and all the chemistry before rummaging around in her cargo pants until she found a box of toothpicks. She passed them around and we sat there, picking the food out of our teeth. Then Jules sat up and slapped her hands together.

  ‘I say we jump on the next train to Skeggy and rent ourselves a nice seaside B&B courtesy of Mr S. Bargate.’

  I frowned.

  ‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

  Jules nodded her head at Luca.

  ‘The man who just bought us dinner. Or at least his card did.’

  When I looked at Luca his cheeks were rosy with embarrassment.

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Bargate,’ I said, mimicking Jules’s posh voice.

  We both snorted.

  ‘Why, how very gen-herous of you, Mr Bargate,’ Jules said.

  This set us off in a bout of giggles. We get these sometimes, especially when we’re a little tipsy. Every time a wave of laughter peters out we look at each other and start giggling again, except stronger and harder until we’re cackling like fishwives.

  Luca didn’t see the funny side.

  ‘We can’t go by rail,’ he said.

  Jules was still hee-heeing.

  ‘Why not, Posh Boy?’

  Luca lowered his voice.

  ‘We’re being followed.’

  There was a pause. Then me and Jules laughed again, our hooting ringing around the pub like a bell. This seemed to confuse Luca. He shook his head.

  ‘I’m not joking,’ he said.

  Jules patted me on the arm and we both calmed down, wiping the tears from our cheeks. I focused on the mums with pushchairs and retired couples as I tried to control my breathing. They were glancing over at us, unsure whether they should get us removed or join in.

  Jules crossed her arms.

  ‘Go on then, Posh Boy. Tell us who’s following us.’

  Luca shook his head. He put his elbow on the table and pressed his fingers against his temples.

  ‘I need time to think,’ he said.

  He looked down at the wooden table. Jules glanced at me and I glanced at Jules. I sucked my lips in so that I wouldn’t get the giggles again. We sat in silence for a minute, stroking the rims of our pint glasses. I knew this was hard for Jules because she can’t stand silence. It lets the voices in.

  After a while she downed the rest of her pint.

  ‘Right! While Posh Boy thinks, I’m going for a gander.’

  Luca looked up.

  ‘A gander?’

  Jules stood up.

  ‘A mosey. Shufti. Looksee.’

  Luca shook his head.

  ‘There’s nothing to see round here. Trust me.’

  She slid out of the booth, picking up Boy, who had gravy all over her nose.

  ‘I’m great at finding the hidden treasures. Coming, Molls?’

  Jules has led me on some great adventures. It’s always kind of exciting, tagging along just to see where you might end up. But Luca still had his fingers pressed to his temples, his eyes swimming as though he was seasick.

  ‘Best stay here,’ I said.

  Jules looked at me with her broken eye. I nodded to the glass in front of me.

  ‘Still got half a pint, ain’t I?’ I said.

  She paused and then nodded. Jules couldn’t argue with half a pint. She clicked her fingers, pointing at me with a wink.

  ‘Find you later then, doll,’ she said.

  I didn’t ask where she’d find us. She didn’t know that I’d thrown my phone in the canal and that there was no way of reaching me. But Jules has this great ability – she can find you in the unlikeliest of places. It’s her superpower: sensing you’re in danger, leaping in to rescue you right at the last minute.

  I sipped at my cider. When I finished, Luca was still thinking so I ordered a pot of tea. I thought it might help him focus and I was right because when the waitress brought it over Luca sat up straight and poured it into the cups like a butler. I wondered if he’d learnt this in some posh school: Horse Riding in the morning, Latin after break, Tea Pouring in the afternoon. He took a sip, swirled the reddish-brown liquid round in his cup as if trying to find his future. Yasmin from Glasgow had taught me all about tea reading so I knew he was doing it all wrong.

  ‘If I ask a question you are fully entitled to tell me to piss off.’

  Luca had his hands laid out flat on the table with his fingers spread out like starfish. It had been so long since he’d last spoken that it took a while for me to respond. Jules would have told him to piss off before I’d opened my mouth. I was kind of glad she wasn’t with us, because I knew what he was going to ask. And I wanted him to know the truth about me. I wanted to lay the broken pieces of my past before him like relics.

  Luca paused. I took a gulp of tea.

  ‘Who was that man you were with earlier?’ he said.

  I nearly spat out the tea. I didn’t know how he’d seen me and Rusby without me seeing him. I felt grimy with the thought of it, as though it wasn’t relics he was looking at but junk. I coughed into my hand.

  ‘Rusby,’ I said. ‘My ex.’

  Luca screwed up his lips. He picked up a napkin and ripped the corners between his fingers.

  ‘Looked like an idiot.’

  I smiled one of those nervous smiles when your face doesn’t know what to do with itself.

  ‘He’s not that bad.’

  I didn’t want to look at Luca so I examined my nails, remembering how Rusby used to gnaw at his own until he got to the flesh.

  ‘Do you still love him?’ he asked.

  Luca’s lips were still screwed up tight.

  ‘I never loved him,’ I said.

  His expression dropped.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he loved me either. Not really.’

  He thought about this for a moment before giving a half-smile.

  ‘Then I was right. He’s an idiot.’

  I half smiled back.

  Luca folded his arms. I knew he was having another think so I left him to it and drank my tea. I felt hollow, like someone had taken a shovel and scooped out my insides. Eventually he looked up at me.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  What Yasmin from Glasgow had taught me about reading tea leaves was this: you had to drink slowly, meditating on the problem that was bothering you. Then, when you were nearly finished, you swirled the cup before turning it on to a saucer so that the leaves formed a pattern on the plate. I knew what to look for: the anchor, the axe, the star and the cup. And I knew how, when a certain symbol faced a certain way, it meant good luck and a safe journey, but if it faced the other way it meant you had to stop everything as there was something terrible on the horizon.

  I listened and nodded as Yasmin explained, knowing that none of it was true. Life is as random as the pattern in a saucer; there’s no way to make sense of it. But people like to feel that they’re in control. Which I suppose was why Yasmin was mad into the fortune-telling stuff: the tea leaves; tarot cards; mediums with dodgy moustaches and flashy cars, who conned you out of your money and left you stuck on the street with the likes of me and Jules. The way I figure, there are only two things you’ll see when you look into your future: what you want to see and what you’re scared of seeing. I didn’t say this to Yasmin, of course. Fortune telling was like a religion to her and there’s as much point arguing with someone about religion as there is arguing with the wind. Neither of them can hear you.

  When we got outside Luca led me down a side street off the main square. It was full of old buildings and led to a path running straight through a graveyard. The church beside it had stained-glass windows that reached high and tall. I love stained glass. If I had my own house I’d have stained glass in every window, door, glass cabinet, table top, even the ov
en doors. Not with the saints but with all the things I loved. An ice-cream sundae with sprinkles and cherries. A huge oak tree with branches that stretch far and wide. A newborn baby with ginger wisps of hair.

  ‘It’s peaceful here, don’t you think?’ Luca said.

  I looked around at the gravestone slabs, feeling the silence of the place.

  ‘Nobody bothers you in a graveyard,’ I said.

  He nodded.

  We walked around slowly. The air still smelt of baked food, now accompanied by a musty smell coming from the gravestones. Each slab was large and foreboding; they all dated back to the 1800s and had moss growing up their sides and cracks lightning-bolting through them. I like walking around graveyards. I like imagining the lives of the people who ended up here, what they did, who they loved, how they loved, their talents, their hopes, their dreams.

  ‘Have you thought about my question?’ Luca said. He kicked some pebbles across the ground. ‘The one about what makes us human?’

  It was strange that he kept bringing this up but I figured it must be important. I thought of the bodies lying beneath us. I thought about them being eaten by worms and beetles and how they weren’t really people any more and that they never would be again. But we cared about them anyway. Places like this were proof of that.

  ‘I’m still thinking about it,’ I said.

  Luca nodded. Then he pulled a piece of bread from his pocket. It was a crusty white roll from his meal at the pub. He broke it up and threw some pieces on the ground. The birds came instantly. Little sparrows, finches and pigeons. The pigeons were fat grey clouds with deformed feet. They seemed to be following us everywhere.

  People say pigeons are the rats of the skies. They say they’re common and dirty but if you look real close you’ll see that they’re spectacular creatures. Their feathers are awash with iridescent colour and their bodies are shaped like hearts. If you think about it, they’re really grey doves and no one calls doves the rats of anything. That’s why pigeons are one of my favourite animals.

  ‘Maybe we should stay here for a bit,’ Luca said.

  I looked around and nodded. We could kip beneath the big oak tree; I reckoned we could all bunk under it for the night. I suggested it to Luca.