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Authors: Kate Maryon

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BOOK: Glitter
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Chapter 25
I’m not feeling fine…

I’m busily amusing myself in the library. I have to colour in a worksheet picture of a human eye. The human eye is quite fascinating and I’m learning all sorts of important things like the fact that the coloured part of your eye is called the iris. The iris controls how much light enters your eye. And the whole inside of your eye is filled with jelly, which is actually called the vitreous humour and it’s that bit that gives our eyes their golf-ball shape. Learning about eyes is going to be more useful for someone who wants to be an optician when they grow up, as opticians really need to understand eyes. But I guess that as most children do have eyes, it will be very useful for me when I’m in a
hospital being a paediatrician as well.

Anyway, I’m merrily enjoying my colouring in when Dylan bursts into the library wearing very strange clothes.

“Libs,” he shouts, “you have to come quick, it’s Cali.”

“Shhhh,” hisses the library lady, “in case you’ve forgotten, young man, this is a library, it’s a quiet area for study,
not
the playground.”

“What’s happened?” I whisper, packing up my things. “What’s going on? Is she all right?”

“You just have to come, Libs, and fast.”

I follow Dylan and we run past the music centre and make our way to the drama hall.

“What is it? Dylan, tell me! And why are you wearing those stupid clothes?” I say.

“Just in time, Libs,” he smiles, settling me down on drama studio seats. “Listen to her, she’s amazing.”

So I do. There in the middle of the stage, with the lights shining on her, is Cali.

“It’s the dress rehearsal for
Bugsy Malone
,” he whispers, running off to join everyone on stage. “You’ve missed some of it, but I couldn’t let you miss this.”

Cali is sitting on a stool; she’s wearing a 1930s dress with a funny old hat that’s pulled down low. The lights
soften, a lonely piano starts up and then Cali breaks out in song.

“I’m feeling fine,”
she sings, “
Filled with emotions, stronger than wine, they give me the notion…”

The little army of soldiers are marching up and down my neck again making my hairs stand on end. Her voice is amazing! Everyone on stage and everyone sitting with me is silent. We’re all just listening to her. I’m even worried about breathing because I’m afraid of breaking her spell. Cali always sings brilliantly, but this is different. Her voice is slicing through the air, filling every corner of the studio with a clear silvery light, filling me up and up with emotions that I do not want to have.

I want to be on stage too! What did I do? Why did I give up on myself? I want to be playing the violin or in the chorus or a lady in the bar, or even backstage. I want to be anything, just anything, anything, anything! I hate this! I hate myself! I hate stupid Dylan and I hate Cali and Blousey Brown! I wish I could get up and leave and go back to my colouring in or leap on the stage and just burst into song. Why did Dylan have to disturb me and upset me? Why can’t everyone just leave me alone to get on with working hard so I can become a paediatrician?
I do want to be a paediatrician, I do! I do! I do!

I get up to leave, then sit down again, then get up again, then sit down. Mr Forrest makes firm eyes at me telling me to do one thing or another. So I start to leave and then I sit. I’m staying. It’s Mr Forrest’s fault that I’m here. If I had my way I’d just get up and leave. Why didn’t I just lie to my dad and do
Bugsy
in secret? He never had to find out, I’ve lied to him before.

I’m not feeling fine, Cali and it’s all your fault. When they sing the song “So you wanna be a boxer” I feel even worse because there’s a golden boy inside me too, well not exactly a boy, but there’s a golden girl inside me, waiting to become who I am. The words in the song that go “
So you might as well quit, if you haven’t got it”
punch me in the face. Am I a quitter? Have I quit? I haven’t quit anything I’ve made up my mind what I’m going to be and I’m going to be a paediatrician and that’s that. Sorted! The whole song is stirs up a mountain of trouble inside me. Like there’s a boxing match going on in my body and I don’t know if I’m winning or losing. This musical is rubbish, it’s stupid, stupid, stupid and I’m not even going to come and see the real performance.

If Mr Forrest didn’t keep glaring at me with his googly
eyes I’d just get up and leave and never come back. But I can’t, he’s forcing me to stay glued to my seat until the very boring end. The last song is more rubbish than them all. I don’t even want to listen to the lyrics but they keep wriggling into my brain, making themselves at home without my permission.

Suddenly the whole stage breaks out into one massive splurge gunfight. Dylan’s gone on and on about this scene for days. He’s totally in love with it. Everyone is completely covered in boring custard goo and singing together with smiling faces. It looks kind of fun…but not as much fun as the food fight I started in the dining hall. That was real fun. This is for babies.

After school Cali has another boring play rehearsal, but I don’t care because I don’t want to hang out with her tonight anyway. I have a science project I want to finish before the weekend, so I’m going to get my head down and do that.

“It’s good to see you working so hard, at last,” smiles my dad when he’s making our dinner.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table drawing pictures of cells. You wouldn’t believe how fascinating they are. There’s a
mini world going on inside every single, teeny weeny, microscopically small, cell in our body and that’s a lot of cells because the average body has between 50 and 75 trillion of them. That’s obviously too many to draw, so I draw one big one, carefully label it and then do a mass of tiny dots so it looks like there might be at least 50 trillion of them on my page.

“You’re following in Sebastian’s footsteps and getting interested in science,” he says. “He’ll be home for Christmas soon, so you two will have a lot to talk about.”

I nod but deep inside I know that I’m not really interested in talking to Sebastian about science. For one thing he knows so much and once he gets started on it and can talk and talk until my whole body explodes with boredom and my ears can’t focus any more on what he’s saying. And for another I’m scared that Sebastian might spot the fact that I’m just one big fake head and spill my secret to my dad.

Chapter 26
you could have been anything…

I’ve been lying in bed for ages and I can’t get to sleep. I pick up the book of poems that Matron gave me, but throw it down because the book reminds me of my old school and my old school reminds me of Alice and thinking of Alice makes me feel guilty. I should phone her, but then she could just as easily phone me. I try starting one of the Charles Dickens’s books called
Little Dorrit.
I like the name and how it feels in my mouth, “Little Dorrit.” I’m hoping I’ll start reading and get lost in the wonderful world of Charles Dickens. But the first paragraph is going on about a blazing sun in France and that reminds me of our French house with the pool and
blue shutters and our vineyard and our boat. It reminds me of thing I’d rather not think about. Things I’d rather brush under the carpet with my feelings.

My arms and legs are fizzy and itchy and I can’t get comfortable. My bed is too soft and my pillow’s too hard. I kick my duvet off for a while to cool down, and then pull it back on when I get too cold. I wish the night would disappear and be eaten up by the day. There’s more to do in the day. At night there’s just nothing and nothing and nothing but more night, more dark, and more eerie shadows creeping on my walls.

The stupid
Bugsy Malone
songs keep wriggling through my brain, trying to find a resting place for the night. They’re like my dad looking for the warm patch at the end of my bed. They keep moving and moving, getting more and more restless and more and more annoying, wriggling and wriggling, like a puppy in its bed. The worst song was the last one with the splurge gunfight and the words keep chugging around my brain like my old Thomas the Tank Engine train, without ever stopping at the railway station.

“You could have been anything that you wanted to be, and it’s not too late to change. You could have been anything that you wanted to be, you could have been anything that you
wanted to be.”
It just keeps going round and round and round, making me want to scream.
“You could have been anything that you wanted to be, and it’s not too late to change.”

I know I could be anything that I want to be,
I shout in my head.
But I can’t, so shut up, will you?

I wish I could talk to Cali, but she won’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to have to do stuff you don’t want to do just to keep your dad happy. If I could go and see Tyler, he would understand. He’d just listen and encourage me to make up my own mind. I switch my bedside lamp on and pull on some clothes. If I leave now I’d find Tyler, go for hot chocolate while he listens to my troubles and be back before my dad even notices I’m gone. Then another
Bugsy Malone
boxing match starts up inside my body, bashing and punching. I want to go, but I know I shouldn’t. But I want to. But I shouldn’t. Mr Forrest’s googly eyes are sitting in my head staring at me again, telling me to do one thing or another. And then I remember the cold and the gang and the canal and the fact that Tyler would go mad at me if he found me out late at night on my own again. I throw off my clothes, climb back into bed and sigh.
It’s so unfair; everything in my life is so unfair.

I still can’t get to sleep, so I get up and make myself some hot chocolate. My dad’s snoozing in his own bedroom for once, without prowling into mine, so I decide to get up for a while and enjoy some peace and quiet. I’m just getting cosy on the sofa, trying out Charles Dickens’s
Dombey and Son—
—I like the word “Dombey”—when I spy something out of the corner of my eye. Tucked between two books on the bookshelf is a CD. The bottom of it is sticking out like someone forgot to put it away properly. In most homes this wouldn’t be a problem. I mean, in most homes you probably wouldn’t even notice a randomly sticking out CD. But in our home it’s sticking out like a bright blue police siren, flashing in the night. I check my dad’s still sleeping and close the sitting room door. My dad doesn’t own CDs. I don’t own CDs. I just have my secret iPod like I know Sebastian has in his dorm at school. It’s probably no big deal. Hanna probably leant it to him or something not realising that we don’t actually have a CD player to play it on. Then I spy one of Alice’s dad’s laptops on the floor. Has my dad been listening to music on the laptop? My heart jumps. It would be amazing if my dad started letting us listen to music. He
might even…no, Liberty, put that thought away, you don’t even want to play the violin any more.

I check on my dad one more time to make sure I haven’t woken him then quietly pull the CD off of the shelf.

The picture on the front is a painting of a woman on a golden chair wearing a black evening dress, playing a violin. A violin! Her arms and face are pale and her hair is red. Her hair is red and curly, like mine. Then I notice the writing at the bottom saying, “Lissy Parfitt: Vivaldi: The Four Seasons.” Lissy Parfitt! Lissy Parfitt! Lissy Parfitt! Lissy is the person my dad keeps talking to in the night and Parfitt is our surname. Then the fireworks go off in my brain. Who is Lissy Parfitt? My brain is exploding inside my skull. I turn the CD over to look at a photo on the back and I can’t believe my eyes. Staring out at me is a photo of my mum. It’s the same as the only one I’ve ever seen of her. But her name was Elizabeth, not Lissy! Unless…of course…Lissy was her nickname? My dad has been talking to my mum in the night! I stroke the photo of my mum, and let her name roll around in my mouth. Lissy…Lissy…Lissy. My heart is booming in my ears. I know my mum was obsessed with playing the violin but I didn’t know that she’d made a CD. It looks like my mum
was famous and if I hadn’t found this CD I might never even have known.

The big question that’s spinning around my head now is if my
dad
listens to this, why has he never played it to
me?
Why hasn’t he shared her with me? Cali’s right, I need to do some detective work and try to get to the bottom of the story of my mum. I have a right to know what happened.

I check on my dad one more time. I’m panicked that he’ll wake up and find me with the CD, then my life just wouldn’t be worth living. But it’s OK, he’s fast asleep, snoring and twitching. I close his bedroom door, grab my headphones from my room, close the sitting room door and turn the laptop on. My hands are shaking as I pull the CD from its case and slip it in. It takes a while, then the music streams into my ears and I’m whisked far away to violin heaven. The sounds are weaving and playing and leaping and running. Like bubbling streams in spring and lambs skipping and flowers budding and the sun shining brightly, breaking out of the gloom of winter. Then, like a bird singing above the orchestra, a solo violin part soars, like an angel, straight up to the sky and swoops back down and into my heart.

When the summer part of the CD comes I’m floating down on to a soft pillow of grass. Wildflowers are tickling my nose. Butterflies and birds are fluttering in the breeze and I’m breathless with the delight of it all. When it’s time for autumn I’m lying on a golden bed of leaves. They’re swirling down to the damp ground below and a sad feeling creeps in as the world slowly moves its way, closer and closer towards the darkness of winter. When winter comes the world is bleak and cold with frozen ice and snow.

I can’t believe my
mum
actually played these amazing sounds and worse still I can’t believe that my
dad
has kept them from me for long. And if he’s hidden
these
for so long, I wonder what else might be hidden right under my nose?

Chapter 27
I’m getting warmer…

I wake in the morning and stare out at the day with new eyes.

After listening to my mum playing the violin last night I can never go back to how I was before. Her magical sounds soothed and glittered through me and found a cosy home right under my skin and if I touch my arm or my hand or my leg I can feel her right here with me. Like she’s never been gone and I’ve never been without her, like someone’s sewn more stuffing into me and puffed me up like a lovely soft cushion. I wish I were brave enough to tell my dad the truth about my discovery and ask him why he’s kept this secret for over ten years. I mean, what’s the point?
Cali’s right, why wouldn’t he want me to know about my mum?

It’s Saturday and at breakfast time he’s almost smiling.

“I’m busy with Hanna today,” he says. “The council have finally found us an office for the Community Action Scheme. It’s a shell of a building along the canal, a bit grotty by all accounts, but we’ve got a grant to do it up, so it’s a good start. Will you be all right on your own for a while?”

“That’s great news, Daddy,” I say, really meaning it.

I watch him moving about the kitchen, buttering toast and making coffee and I wonder where he keeps his secret. It’s not obvious in his face or his eyes or in the way he stands and if you bumped into him in the street there would be no way you could ever tell. But after so many years of practice I guess he’s got very good at hiding it by now.

“Don’t worry about me, Dad,” I say. “I’m visiting the old people with Cali this afternoon and I have some homework to get on with this morning. I won’t get into any trouble, I promise.”

I don’t really want to visit the old people today. Tonight is the first performance of
Bugsy Malone
and I know Cali’s
going to go on and on and on about it, nonstop, for ever and ever. “Hollywood, here I come,” she’ll say, wiggling her bum, “blah, blah, blah.” I’m tired of listening to her. I mean, I do hope she gets to Hollywood, but there are other things in this world to talk about as well.

When my dad leaves the flat my tummy turns into a food blender and churns my breakfast into mush. I know what I have to do, but I also know that what I have to do is wrong,
very
wrong. Rummaging through people’s private property isn’t fair, even if it is a member of your own family. Trust and privacy are important. But surely finding out about your past is important too?

I check outside to make sure my dad has left the building and spot him and Hanna walking out through the car park towards the canal. I’m pleased he’s made a friend. Only a couple of months ago my dad wouldn’t even have noticed Hanna in a crowd, let alone spoken to her and become her friend. Having Hanna around has definitely helped him come out of his depression and it’s brilliant that my dad’s helped Hanna get her project off the ground. I know the whole credit crunch thing has been hard for my dad but I think in lots of ways it’s changed him, for the better.

I creep into his bedroom. I know he’s not here, but I still feel scared. My eyes are all over the room, looking for something, but I’m not sure what. I search through the piles of papers and the stuff stacked up in the corners but there’s nothing there. I wish I had x-ray vision so I could see what’s in the dusty boxes and suitcases and trunks without actually having to open them, but I don’t, so I really don’t have any option.

I pull one of the boxes from the pile and place it on the floor. I’m not sure if I’m more scared to find what I’m looking for or truly more scared that I won’t. I lift the flap open and peer inside. Staring up at me is Molly, my old rag doll. I can’t believe she’s here! I give her a kiss, sit her on my lap and dig deeper inside. There are so many treasures I haven’t thought about in years. My baby doll’s here, my first ever Barbie and my entire Sylvanian family collection. In an old shoebox I find my Thomas the Tank Engine track and trains and tucked inside an old top hat is my Sleeping Beauty dress. There’s a heart-shaped tin filled with all my beautiful baby jewellery and tiny treasures and there’s loads of Sebastian’s stuff here too. There’s his magnifying glass, his magic set, his collection of Dr Zeus books and a mini baseball glove he had when he was five.
My dad must have saved all this stuff when he cleared out our houses. I could have imagined my dad throwing it all in the bin, not saving stuff, but he didn’t, it’s all here. I wonder why he hasn’t shown me before? It’s wonderful being surrounded by it all. I almost feel like I’m back in our London house playroom and that at any moment Sebastian’s going to burst through the door and ask me to play. And then we’re going to tumble into the garden and one of our nannies will have prepared us a wonderful picnic feast with ice cream and strawberries. Then at night-time I’m going to snuggle up safe in my big brother’s bed and he’s going to tell me funny jokes until we’re laughing so much our faces will crack in two. I touch all of my treasures one by one and put them carefully back in their cardboard nest.

Box number two is full of boring things like headphones, computer leads, old cameras and all sorts of stuff that I’m definitely not looking for. But I rummage through, just in case. At a first glance, the third box looks like it’s just full to the brim with a pile of old clothes. I rummage through them anyway and under some jeans and a stripy grey jumper, I discover the most beautiful dresses I have ever seen. I pull them out one by one and
find a green one totally covered in sparkling sequins, a blue one covered in tiny shimmering pearls and a purple one with silver threads sewn through that glitter in the light. Things in this flat are getting weirder and weirder by the minute. Why has my dad got dresses in his room? I hold the purple one up to myself, itching to try it on. I can’t resist it. I pull off my clothes and slip it on. Its smooth silkiness slides on to my body, rippling like waves on a glittering purple sea. I stand in front of the mirror. It’s only a little bit too big for me and I feel like a real princess getting ready for the ball.

I search in the bottom of the box and find a man’s shirt with a pointy-up collar and black bow tie. Now these obviously belong to my dad, because he wears things like this to smart dinners, which means…maybe the dresses belong to my mum? My tummy leaps into my mouth. I hold the green dress up to my face and breathe it in, hoping to smell something of her, hoping for a clue. Did my mum really wear these clothes? I have to hurry; my dad will be back soon.

I pull an old brown suitcase from the top of the trunk pile and struggle to lift it on the bed. It’s covered in stickers from all over the world. I try to open it but it’s locked. I
wiggle the catches just to make sure then search in my dad’s drawer for the key that I can’t find. I shake the case and something heavy thuds inside.

The big brass catches on the first trunk aren’t locked. I click them free and the huge lid creaks as I open it up. There’s stacks of stuff inside. Piles of it! Excitement is galloping through me. I’m getting warmer; I know that I am. First I find a stack of magazines all about the world of classical music. I flick through a few and am about to put one down when a picture of my mum stares out from the page. I can’t believe my eyes because she’s wearing the purple dress! Exactly the same one as I’m wearing right now! The article is all about my mum and some concert she was playing in Vienna. I’m dying to read the whole thing, but I know I’m getting warmer and warmer and I just have to keep on going. Next, I find some more CDs. I can’t believe it, there are so many of them, piled up in the corner of the trunk. Most of them have pictures of my mum on the front wearing a beautiful dress and sometimes her hair is long and sometimes it’s short. It feels strange having her peering at me through the plastic case. It’s like she’s looking at me but can’t actually see me. I give her a little wave,
hoping she might leap out and join me, but she doesn’t, she just keeps smiling and smiling and I start to feel spooked. I grab the laptop from the sitting room and put a CD on called
Air on G String
by a man called Johann Sebastian Bach. I wonder if Sebastian was named after him?

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