Bone by Bone (9 page)

‘I can't describe how relieved I felt,' said Vanessa with a half laugh. ‘But I guess you may not be able to imagine my feelings.'

‘What do you mean?' asked Laura, putting her wine glass down.

‘I mean, you looked after Autumn yourself. You didn't put your career first. You never left your child in a potentially dangerous situation because you couldn't bear not to work.'

Laura rose and stacked another log on the fire, turning her back on her mother so that she could collect herself. In that moment, her tearfulness turned to anger. How little her mother knew her, how little she seemed to understand her. She
was
trying to work! Couldn't she see that she was juggling a job, looking after Autumn, retraining and launching a business all at the same time? Worse, how could she possibly tell Vanessa that she
had
placed her child in a dangerous situation – one that was entirely her own fault? How could she admit that, in front of Autumn, she had pushed a boy so hard he'd fallen and cut his cheek open?

Sunday 28 October

LAURA

L
aura rose earlier than usual to attend her free British Military Fitness session. It was the last thing she wanted to do – she was reluctant to leave Vanessa and Autumn on their own in case the police turned up. She could imagine Autumn's face, how frightened she would be, thinking the officers were about to take her away; how Vanessa would bluster at them since she was not normally in a position of knowing less than anyone she confronted. Plus it was cold, dark and wet. But she had to go. She had to get fit, just in case. What if the boy's father came round? What if Levi attacked Autumn? She was sure he wouldn't be so bold – but if he had a few kids on his side, who knew how he'd behave.

As she dressed, shivering, she remembered that the clocks changed today and tomorrow it would be dusk when Autumn came home. Autumn had gymnastics after school so, on Monday at least, Laura could walk her to the class and avoid an argument about whether she was allowed to go home on her own.

The weather was relentlessly miserable: on the exposed grassy area of The Downs, the drizzle knifed in at a sharp angle. Laura pulled on a blue bib with a number nine on the front. Jacob was taking the more advanced groups, the reds and the greens.

‘You'll be in safe hands with Jeff,' he said, smiling at her and winking at another man, who, like Jacob, was dressed in army fatigues and boots. Jeff was lean with a bald head, sharp features and a slightly wild look in his eyes.

‘Right,' he barked. ‘Blues. Follow me.'

They jogged in a line around the edge of The Downs, following Jeff as he ran through the middle of puddles and the centre of slicks of churned earth. It was, as Jacob had said, full of press-ups, sit-ups and sprints, and in the wet grass and rain and mud, it certainly was not pretty. Halfway through the session, Laura thought she was going to throw up. She did more star jumps than she would have believed humanely possible. She was introduced to torturous combinations of exercises, such as burpees, where, from a press-up position, she had to jump her feet to her hands and then leap in the air. Her legs ached and she struggled to breathe. Jeff patrolled round them, shouting by way of encouragement.

The class was horribly competitive: in pairs or on their own they had to race through their shuttles and sit-ups to finish first. It reminded her of a party Autumn had gone to when she was about three. It had been in a park and the birthday girl's mother had organized a race from one end of a mini football pitch to the other. The children had obediently lined up and the mum had shouted,
Get set, ready, steady, go!

All the children had pelted to the far end. All, that is, apart from Autumn, who'd looked at Laura with a worried expression and said,
But why?

Why indeed?
thought Laura grimly, as she lay on the ground crunching her abdominals and felt water seep through her tracksuit.

Not pretty but it is effective
, Jacob had said.

She pictured Aaron. Did he think she was attractive? She'd inherited her father's features rather than her mother's, his broad face, his wide, snub nose and his grey-green eyes. She usually wore her strawberry-blonde hair in a messy bun pinned with a large, flat silver clip that Lucy had given her. When she was in her twenties, she'd worn it down and it had been smooth and fallen in soft waves. She'd used nut oils and plaited it at night as the Himba women had shown her. She'd always worn make-up then too, which had made her already youthful skin glow with a dewy finish – none of the things she had time for now. At least it couldn't hurt to be stronger.

She gritted her teeth and finished her sit-ups.

Laura held Autumn's hand as they stood in the ticket hall at Bristol Temple Meads station. Vanessa was bobbing from side to side in front of them, scanning the screens to check when her train was leaving. From the entrance she could see a tiny patch of blue sky; the rest was covered by dark-grey clouds. A chill draught whipped around their ankles and pigeons with deformed feet hobbled and flapped between the stone pillars and exploded into the cavernous roof space. The two of them were jostled by passengers attempting to reach the ticket barriers.

Vanessa turned back to them and said, ‘There's no point in you two waiting here. You'll catch a chill. I'll go on through.' She snapped open her handbag and took out her ticket.

Autumn held out her arms to be hugged. She was wearing the pale-pink mittens her great-grandmother had knitted just before she died. Vanessa, as far as Laura knew, had never touched a knitting needle in her life. Autumn looked as if she might cry.

‘I don't want you to go,' she said.

Vanessa embraced her tightly. ‘My darling. I don't want to either. But I'll see you very soon. Be a big, brave girl.'

‘I'll miss you, Granny.'

‘I'll miss you too.'

Laura realized she'd miss her mother as well. She'd be lonely without adult company. She wished Vanessa could stay to lend her moral support, to come with her to see Levi's parents. She'd been too worried about her mother's reaction to tell her what had really happened, but now she thought Vanessa wouldn't be angry with her. Autumn was precious to her too; she'd have understood. Perhaps, she thought, she could tell her mother what had happened right now. There might still be time.

Her mother stroked Autumn's cheek and then hugged Laura. She could smell her mother's perfume, a bright, fresh, floral scent. Laura couldn't remember when Vanessa hadn't worn it. The perfume immediately transported her back to being a child in Namibia. She had a good sense of smell and she'd been able to detect the faint odour left by animals that had just passed, as if it was an invisible thread draped between the paperbark trees – the hot, monkey scent of baboons, an earthy aroma of warm hay when a kudu had picked its way through the stones, the sweet spice of a civet. And her mother – when she wasn't following the animals she studied, as then she wouldn't even wear deodorant – left a living green seam in the air, as if, just out of sight, the desert had burst into bloom.

Her recollection reminded her that her mother had praised her once – a rare occurrence – for her ability to track animals through the desert using smell and the minute signs they left of their passing, but had then swiftly followed up the compliment by saying she'd always thought Laura would become a biologist like her and use her skills to study animals.
Such a waste
, she'd concluded, and Laura was left to feel, yet again, that even her talents, such as they were, disappointed her mother.

She drew away from Vanessa and watched her thread her way through the crowded concourse and onto the platform, her silver hair gleaming in the grey light. Autumn slipped one mittened hand in hers and she started to walk out of the station, tugging the child with her.

Monday 29 October

AUTUMN

‘B
ut, Mum! It's actually lighter right now!'

‘Well, yes. But your dad said he doesn't want you walking through the nature reserve on your own. And neither do I.'

‘In the dark! He meant when it was dark!' Autumn stopped, wondering whether her mum would figure out she'd been eavesdropping on their Skype conversation.

Her mum sighed. ‘Okay, okay. I'll be there this afternoon to take you to gymnastics. And don't worry about Levi. I'll make an appointment to speak to your head teacher today.'

She bent to kiss her on the cheek.

‘What!' Autumn pulled away. ‘No way, Mum. Why do you think Levi tore up my pictures? It was because
you
complained to Mrs Sibson about him and then she spoke to Mr Bradley.
And
she talked to all the dinner ladies! What do you think he's going to do if you see Mr George?'

‘Autumn, we have to…'

‘I won't speak to you ever again if you do,' said Autumn, stepping out of the back door into the garden and slamming the door behind her.

It had been so sunny on Saturday but today it was grey and cold with a sharp edge to the wind. Autumn did up the buttons on her new coat and jumped into the lane. Her mum had promised to tell Granny what had happened, but she couldn't have. Autumn was sure Granny would have talked about it on Sunday but she didn't, not even when she was about to catch the train home. All she'd said was,
Be a big, brave girl.
And that meant she couldn't ask Granny what would happen to her mum. Not now, not ever, because soon she'd be in Africa.

She pulled her woolly hat out of her pocket and jammed it on her head. She still felt angry at her mum for breaking her promise. What would Levi do to her now? Her mum was convinced he'd leave her alone but Autumn didn't believe her. He'd have a bruise on his face. How would he explain that? And how would he live up to losing his cool in front of his mates? She knew the answer: by taking it out on her. She felt a cold dread at the prospect of another day at school.

Monday mornings always started with Exciting Writing, which Autumn liked, as long as Mrs Sibson didn't ask her to read out what she'd written. She rushed over to her drawer in the classroom to get her special pen. The case was black with a red, velvety interior and opened and shut with a satisfying click. The pen was thin and gold and wrote in black ink, which Autumn thought was sophisticated. Her mum had given it to her when they left London for Bristol in the summer.

A present
, she'd said, but it wasn't Autumn's birthday.

She didn't know why her mum had given her the pen, but she thought it had something to do with leaving her friends and her school and the house she'd always lived in. And maybe leaving Dad too. Although, technically, he left first.

It was empty. She felt as if her stomach was falling, the sick feeling you get when a lift goes down too fast. She stood in front of her open drawer, holding the case, and shut her eyes in disbelief. She could feel her throat beginning to swell as if she was about to cry. Her mum would be sad if she knew she'd lost it. It looked expensive and she knew her mum didn't have much money any more.

But she'd been so careful with the pen. She'd always remembered to replace it in its case. She thought back to Friday. She'd put it in the drawer, she was certain of it. Although she shouldn't have left it over the weekend at school. Slowly, she put the case back and closed the drawer. It had to be Levi who'd taken it. It was his way of punishing her for what her Mum had done to him.

After lunch, just before all the other children were about to come in, she went to speak to Mrs Sibson. The teacher was bustling around the classroom, tidying up and straightening desks and chairs.

‘What is it, Autumn? It's not the end of break yet.'

Autumn closed her eyes, took a deep breath and then opened them. It was hard to make the words come out.

‘I think someone has stolen my pen,' she whispered. ‘I think… I think it might have been Levi.'

‘What pen?' asked Mrs Sibson, turning away to wipe the blackboard clean. ‘The gold-coloured one?'

‘Yes,' Autumn mumbled.

‘I told you before, it's too valuable to have in school. Do you think you might have lost it?'

Autumn wanted to leave. She wished she hadn't said anything to Mrs Sibson. She could feel her cheeks glowing red and hot.

The teacher sighed and turned to face her. She set the board rubber down on the edge of her desk with a small, sharp bang.

Autumn flinched.

‘Why on earth would you think Levi took it? Year 6 pupils don't come into this classroom.'

She strode across the room and yanked open Autumn's drawer. She took out the small faux-leather case and opened it.

‘The pen's here, Autumn. You must have misplaced it,' she said. ‘I suggest you keep it at home from now on. I know how important it is to you.'

Mrs Sibson snapped the case shut and held it out to her. Autumn hesitated and then reached out her hand. She opened the case slowly, as if it were a magic trick and the pen would vanish once more. It was there. Like a solid gold talisman, smooth and shiny and perfect. She touched it with one fingertip. When she looked up, Mrs Sibson was still staring at her.

‘It's very serious to accuse another child of stealing. You do know that, don't you?'

Autumn nodded and felt the flush burn into her ears and crackle along the roots of her hair.

Mrs Sibson's face softened, as if she regretted speaking abruptly to her. She was about to say something else, perhaps something kinder, but the bell rang and children started to barge into the classroom.

That afternoon break a group of older boys gathered around her, pushing and jostling. They leant in towards her, singing, ‘Liar, liar, liar', but softly so the teacher, who was in the far corner of the playground, wouldn't hear. She didn't know where to look, what to do. She stared at her feet. The toes of her navy-blue shoes were scuffed beige from wear. Catching sight of the yard out of the corner of her eyes, she realized that she was alone. All her friends, who'd been sitting on the tree log with her, had disappeared. Melted away.

The chanting. It was to do with the accusation she'd made about Levi.

But how did he know? Had he been watching her through the classroom window?

She became abnormally aware of every part of her body, from her bony knees stretching her tights threadbare, the collar of her polo neck shirt itching against her skin, her hands splayed flat on the log, with their spade-shaped nails mottled red with cold. She couldn't move. She felt if she did she'd draw even more attention to herself. Pressing her hands into the hard wood helped her stop thinking she might cry. She wished and wished that time would speed up, that the bell would ring for the end of break, for rain, for hail, for snow, so she wouldn't have to play outside.

Levi was standing a few metres away now, arms folded, leaning on the climbing frame. He looked as if he were not part of the mob he had created. He looked pleased with himself. There was a crust of dried blood under his eye and his cheek was a dull purple, the colour of a plum. When the bell finally rang, the other boys wandered off. She felt trapped, like one of those butterflies pinioned through the abdomen in museum cases. Levi, with his hands in his pockets, sauntered over.

He leant in close to her and said softly, ‘It feels good, doesn't it? Nice clean line. Cool in your hand.'

She remained outside until the playground was empty.

How does he know how my pen writes if he didn't take it?

She thought about the Skype call with her Dad on Saturday. She'd been looking forward to seeing him so much and then he'd laughed and said,
You're at a great school, Autumn,
and she'd felt like she was drowning because he wasn't listening and her mum was making it all worse and no one would take her out of this place.

Slowly and stiffly, she stood up and walked inside.