Hide

by S. J. Morgan

  I opened my mouth to tell her – but quickly shut it again. After all, none of this was her fault. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ I said. ‘I know, this isn’t the right time.’

  I also knew, of course, it never would be.

  She wobbled a sad smile and I put an arm around her.

  We stayed there, side by side against the wall as the vacuum hummed from the garage and Dad carried on, oblivious, with his duties.

  Chapter 11

  It was still light when my coach left Cardiff station on Sunday evening. The pavements were chock-a-block with day trippers returning home from the beach, pushchairs, kids clutching sticks of rock. Everything had a kind of summery pinkness about it; that rose-coloured spec feeling. For some reason, it made me think of Gina: it was her sixteenth birthday and she wasn’t seeing any of this.

  I pushed the thought away and, instead, scoured the crowds near the train station, in the wild hope of spotting Daniella heading back to Bristol. Just my luck that the first girl to notice me in months was now disappearing in the opposite direction – heading east, while I rolled deeper into Wales.

  Once we were through town and past the castle, I had to give up hope of seeing her. Fate had stuck its fickle finger up at me again. The only thing I had to look forward to was finding out what Stobes had meant when he’d left a garbled message on Mum’s answerphone: something about Minto and a boot-sized hole in my door. Presumably a welcome back gift for our ‘chat’ in the pub.

  It wasn’t until I got back to the flat, I realised Stobes had been economical with the truth: the hole in my door was big enough for a frigging rhino to charge through. I slipped off my backpack and squatted in the hallway, examining the damage, trying to work out if Minto had done any more than kick the crap out of the panels. Could I be sure he hadn’t also crawled through the hole and taken a grand tour of my home and contents?

  ‘Good for a bit of airflow, eh, butty-boy.’

  I turned around to find Black standing behind me, bowl in hand. He took a mouthful of cornflakes – his favourite meal at any time of the day – and said, between crunches: ‘What did you do to piss Minto off then?’

  I stood up and unlocked the door. ‘Fuck knows.’

  He followed me in and went over to perch on the windowsill. ‘They were high as kites, the lot of them,’ Black said, waving his bowl at the door. ‘You’re lucky you got away with just a broken panel, the state they were in.’

  ‘Was Sindy with them?’

  It was a stupid question and I watched as Black’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. ‘I dunno,’ he said. ‘Think I was standing there, watching? No, I kept well out of it.’ He tipped the dregs of milk into his mouth and put the bowl on the ledge. ‘You looking for wheels?’ he said. ‘There’s a Capri just come in. Unless you’d rather two wheels now you’re an expert?’ He smirked at me: my first attempts at learning to ride his precious motorbike the other week had almost wiped us both out.

  ‘I’m not looking for any wheels,’ I said.

  Black was a petrolhead and worked as a mechanic at the local garage. I figured it was how he’d met Minto: the Apaches got their bikes tuned up there. You’d rarely go past without seeing a bunch of them, beefy and menacing, minding their machines.

  To be honest, Black looked like one of them when he was off duty; stocky and solid in his leather jacket and tight jeans. I was never sure if he was called Black because it was the only colour he wore or simply because Black was his surname. He never said, and I never asked.

  ‘Pity. The Capri’s a crackin’ car,’ he said.

  ‘I’m skint,’ I told him. ‘D’you really think I’d be living in this shit-hole if I had any spare cash?’

  ‘This place? It’s not so bad,’ he said, looking out of my window. He dragged his fingers through his scruffy mop of black curls. ‘Least, not if you ignore the mould, the dry rot and the stench.’

  I laughed. ‘What’s your excuse then? You could afford something better than this with your salary.’

  ‘All my cash goes on the bike and the car. You know that.’

  Actually, most of his money seemed to go on beer, fags and getting high, but I wasn’t about to say so.

  He ambled away from the window and picked up my Melody Maker from the table. ‘So where were you hiding all weekend?’

  ‘Hiding?’

  He flicked through the pages, pausing every few moments to look more closely at something. ‘From Minto and his mates.’

  ‘I wasn’t hiding. I’d promised to go and see my folks.’

  ‘Aye, aye.’ He didn’t bother to mask the smile. ‘Stobes said you didn’t get back from the pub on Friday till nearly closing. Didn’t sound like you were planning a trip away.’

  ‘Yeah, it was late when I left.’ I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my clothes and cassettes from home. ‘Didn’t have much choice though: it was my sister’s sixteenth.’

  I watched him filter the info before giving a nod. ‘Cool.’ He pulled open the door and a few splinters fell away from the hole and landed on the carpet. ‘I never knew you had a little sister.’

  ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  I stuffed some dirty socks in a carrier bag, ready for the next laundry-run. Black was still watching me. ‘So, is she hot, this sister of yours?’

  I carried on emptying my bag. ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I went home to take my mum to the cemetery.’

  His mouth opened then snapped shut again.

  ‘It would have been her sixteenth today,’ I told him.

  Black stayed with his hand on the doorknob, staring down at the carpet like he was waiting for it to magic him away. Finally, he cleared his throat. ‘Shit. Well. Christ. Better get going.’ He lifted a hand as he turned away, then ran up the stairs so fast I could almost smell the vapour trail he left behind him.

  Chapter 12

  The following day, the athletics had just started on the telly when I sensed I no longer had the room to myself. Sure enough, I looked towards the door and there was Sindy, her pointy elfin face sticking through the hole like she was posing for a seaside photo.

  I went back to my programme, but she didn’t move. ‘What do you want, Sindy?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I kept my eyes on the screen. ‘Why’s your face poking through my door then?’

  ‘I just wanted to see if it would fit.’ She giggled. ‘And it does, easy.’

  I looked over. ‘Yeah, we’ve got your man Minto to thank for that, haven’t we?’ That soon wiped the smile off her face.

  ‘I told you he had a bad temper.’ She stood up and opened the door, edging in slowly like I wouldn’t notice. She hovered near my chair, a rolled-up envelope in her hand. ‘Watcha watching, Alec?’

  ‘Championship athletics.’ I nodded at the screen. ‘From Helsinki.’

  She stayed quiet as she stood next to me, leaning against my chair. There was no conversation – both of us letting the TV take care of the silence between us.

  ‘Minto not in?’ I said, at last.

  ‘Think he gets back tomorrow. He’s away on business at the moment.’

  I grinned, but she remained serious. ‘Business. I see.’

  I tried to stay focussed on my programme, but it wasn’t easy with Sindy looming beside me like the angel of death.

  ‘So, what are you doing here then – if Minto’s out?’ I said.

  She unfurled her hand. ‘I came to get this.’ A few ten quid notes were sticking out of the envelope.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Pocket money. He gives me a bit extra if I’ve...’ She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say. Sorry.’

  I went back to the screen and shook my head. ‘Don’t worry, Sinds. I think I’ll live without knowing.’

  Even when I switched channels, Sindy made no moves to leave. It was getting late and I still hadn’t eaten. ‘Well,’ I sai
d, stretching. ‘I’d better get –’

  ‘Do you have a spare key for Minto’s room? Or would any of the others?’

  ‘You think Minto would trust any of us with his key?’

  ‘Maybe not.’ She sighed and twisted a strand of hair around her finger, her bird-like features even more beady from my vantage point.

  ‘Why? Have you left something in there?’

  She paused and shook her head. ‘I’ve lost my key for home: I thought maybe I could stay in his room.’

  ‘Don’t reckon he’d be too happy with that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t touch anything.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help you, I’m afraid. You’ll have to find your house key. Where’s home anyway?’

  ‘Just past the Pontwyn roundabout.’

  Pontwyn was miles away and, as far as I knew, had absolutely nothing to recommend it beside a big, ugly industrial estate. ‘You come all that way every day to see Minto?’ I said.

  She shrugged but as she looked away, the colour rose in her cheeks. ‘It’s not so far.’

  I went out to the kitchen and took a burger out of the freezer. Sindy followed behind watching my every move from the doorway.

  I glanced over to her. ‘I’d offer you something but –’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  The burger slid out of its packet with a brick-like thud on the table. I got out a frypan and added a dollop of lard.

  ‘Okay, well, have a nice dinner,’ she said finally, turning away. ‘I’ll see you...tomorrow probably.’

  ‘Yep,’ I turned the gas up. ‘See ya.’

  The sizzle of the burger didn’t quite mask the creak on the stairs as she left. Nor the heavy patter of summer rain on the roof.

  I paused, spatula in hand before turning off the gas knob. ‘How are you getting home?’ I shouted from the top of the stairs.

  She looked up at me. ‘I’ve got plenty of bus money,’ she said, shaking her envelope.

  ‘But you haven’t got a coat.’ I took a few steps down. ‘Which bus stop do you walk to?’

  ‘The one at the station.’

  ‘The train station?’

  ‘I’m used to it and it’s nice and warm out.’

  I dithered on the stairs while Sindy rummaged in the coat rack and grabbed herself a brolly. It had been humid all week and there was a forecast for thunder. ‘But you haven’t got a key,’ I said, ‘how will you get in?’

  ‘I’ll climb in the kitchen window if I can find a way to reach it.’

  I imagined her in her back garden, pipe cleaner legs straining to reach the ledge. ‘Look, wait a minute,’ I said. ‘Stay there.’

  I hot-footed it up to Black’s room. I knew he’d lend me his old jalopy for half an hour if I bought him a pint. He didn’t even ask why: just handed me the keys and mentioned it was low on petrol.

  Sindy was sitting against the front door, opening and shutting the umbrella when I hurried down. ‘You know that’s bad luck,’ I told her.

  ‘It’s not! I don’t believe that.’ Even so, she put it in her bag and got to her feet.

  ‘Black’s lent me his car,’ I said, holding up the keys. ‘I’ll give you a ride.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Hurray! And, see? It wasn’t bad luck at all!’

  I didn’t reply, but I had to smile as she skip-skip-skipped beside me all the way to Black’s old rust bucket.

  We turned into a narrow lane just off the main road. I hadn’t been that way before – had never had to – but it felt familiar, reminding me of every other dirt-blown street I’d ever known. The terraced houses, each with its own set of concrete steps, looked out onto a row of tumbledown garages, plonked there like an afterthought. The street wasn’t paved, as such. There was just a bitumen strip in the middle and the rest was uneven concrete, trying its best to suffocate the weeds escaping through the cracks. The place had an unloved feel about it, like everyone knew it was a shit-hole and had given up on hiding the fact yonks ago.

  We’d figured out a plan to get into the house. Sindy said the back window was dodgy, so if I climbed onto a box or a bin, I’d be able to pull open the catch and crawl inside.

  It took a while to pick our way through the junk in her yard. I manhandled one of the oil drums towards the windowsill and clambered onto the rim while Sindy made a big show of holding it steady.

  ‘Just give it a tug,’ she told me from below. ‘It comes open dead easy.’

  She wasn’t wrong. Had they had anything worth nicking inside, I’d’ve suggested they get better security. As it was, I made my way through the dank kitchen and opened up the back door for Sindy.

  ‘Come on through,’ she said, all housewifey the minute she was inside. I followed her across the cracked lino into a room with a big-patterned carpet and a sofa that looked like it should have joined the junk in the backyard.

  Sindy and I both came to an awkward stop in the middle of the room and I realised I should’ve left the minute I’d opened the door for her.

  ‘Well, now you’re safely in. I’ll get going,’ I told her. ‘Stobes will swipe that burger of mine if I leave it out.’

  Sindy giggled but she seemed unsure how to bring matters to a close. ‘Okay. Thank you for –’

  A door slammed upstairs and Sindy’s hand shot up to her head, closing her fist around a clump of hair. Her eyes widened as she shouted: ‘Dad?’

  ‘Sind? What you doin’ home? You said you was busy today.’

  She shot a look to me and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You have to go.’

  I nodded, about to hurry off to the front door but she grabbed my wrist before I could make a move.

  ‘I’ll only be a minute, Dad. I just forgot something,’ she shouted up the stairs.

  She pushed me through the kitchen. ‘Go the back way. Hurry up!’ she said. ‘If he finds you, he’ll tell Minto.’

  ‘Minto?’ I half turned. ‘He knows Minto?’

  ‘Just go!’ Her bony fingers sank into my arms as she pushed, but loud footsteps on the stairs had us both frozen. Sindy’s gaze pinned itself to the doorway.

  I’d never seen her look so rattled. There was a noise by the front door and, in the hall mirror, I caught a glimpse of a skinny guy carrying a canvas bag. The door slammed and we heard his footsteps hurry down the outside steps.

  It wasn’t until there was the clunk of a car door that Sindy let her arms drop. ‘Sorry,’ she said, turning away. Her voice was shaky.

  ‘He doesn’t like you having visitors, eh?’

  ‘I’m never, ever allowed to bring strangers to the house.’

  The fridge clicked into action; its motor whirring too loud.

  ‘Well, I’d better leave you to it then,’ I said again.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to now. Dad won’t be back tonight. He almost never sleeps here.’ Sindy twirled on the spot.

  ‘Where does he go?’

  She lifted the lid on a clay jar on the sideboard and stuck her hand inside. She chucked a chocolate bar at me. ‘He thinks I don’t know where he keeps these things.’ She opened her wrapper. ‘He has lots of friends. I think he stays with them.’ She bit into her chocolate and leaned towards me, speaking in a whisper. ‘Lady friends.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I took a bite of my bar and had a wander around the room. ‘He doesn’t have your Swansea accent, does he?’

  ‘No, he travels a lot. I don’t even know where he was born! He’s never said.’

  Most of the pictures on the wall were the gaudy, mass-produced sort. Sultry looking women; stalking cheetahs; cheap knockoffs like you’d see in a Chinese takeaway. There was one framed photo though: some unshaven bloke wearing a baseball cap, his arm around a gangly young girl. ‘That you and your dad?’

  ‘Yes!’ She clapped her hands at my impressive powers of deduction. ‘It was taken at a caravan park when we went on holiday.’

  I bent down and peered closer, trying to decipher Sindy’s expression. She was smiling broadly but her body looked stiff, as if it had be
en placed under her head unwillingly.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing me a can of shandy. ‘There’s only one but you can have it.’

  ‘Cheers.’ I opened it, took a few slugs and passed it back to her.

  She was busy sorting through a pile of books and paperwork on the table. ‘There are some more recent photos in here,’ she said, easing open a fat photo album. ‘Dad loves photography so he’s always taking pictures.’

  I needed more to eat than a few bites of chocolate, but I didn’t have the heart to just ignore the album she’d pushed in my direction. After the first few pages of beach views, more photos of Sindy started appearing. There was one of her standing in her pyjamas, hair wrapped up in a towel, looking about four or five. Another one showed her outside school, waving at the camera as she turned towards the school gate. ‘First day at school,’ said the label in spidery handwriting. Despite her wearing exactly the same as the other kids in the background, you could tell that Sindy wasn’t like them. Her shoes looked scuffed and her socks were rolled around her ankles as if the elastic had already gone. Her skirt was too big and even her hair had a neglected look about it. I remember Gina always had brightly coloured hair-ties and ribbons when Mum did it for her in pigtails. Whereas, even though I couldn’t pick out the detail, I somehow knew that Sindy’s ponytail was held in place with some tired old rubber band and a couple of rusty hairclips.

  ‘I never actually went to school,’ she said, nudging me with her very pointy elbow.

  I looked at her. ‘Eh?’

  ‘The picture’s just for show. I never had to go to school really,’ she said, looking pleased with herself.

  ‘How come? Didn’t some education bod come and…chase you up?’

  ‘Nope,’ she laughed. ‘Dad says school’s for losers anyway.’

  I flipped through some more pages, thinking. ‘So, what about your mum? Where’s she in all this?’ I asked.

  ‘I told you! She lives in Australia, but I don’t know what she does there.’