Invisible Girl (11 page)

W
hen we get to Mum’s I try clinging on to the minty feeling, but it slips from my grasp and this monster shark of fear clamps me in its jaws. The radio in the policeman’s pocket crackles and hisses. He knocks on the door. My knees buckle under me and I have to grab the police lady’s jacket to keep myself from falling to the ground.

“Mrs Midwinter?” she says, when Mum opens the door.

“Not any more! Why?” says Mum, peering at me like I was a really bad painting, pulling her purple dressing gown tightly round her sharp, skinny hips. “What do you want?”

“Well,” says the policeman, “we found Gabriella out in the rain. She seems disorientated. She’s soaked right through, needs a hot bath and something substantial to eat by all accounts.”

Mum’s face fades whiter than the moon, her eyes scanning me, piecing together paper-thin memories. Suddenly her hand flies out, grabs my sleeve and drags me inside. “Right,” she snaps. “She’d better come in.”

The door slams and me and Mum stand silently in the hallway for ages, staring at each other, our hearts thumping loudly in our chests. Then Mum flusters through to the kitchen, flapping wildly like a flag in the wind, and she fills the kettle with water then kicks the kitchen door shut.

“Nice of you to turn up out of the blue!” she hisses, shuffling through a pile of stuff in a drawer, pulling out a letter with Dad’s handwriting on and jabbing it in my face.

“I had this pathetic letter from your dad land on my doormat, saying he was sending me a nice little surprise! I don’t know what’s been more worrying, the fact that you might be on your way here or the fact that you hadn’t turned up. I’ve got a life of my own now, Gabriella. I’ve got kids, and a husband who knows nothing about
you!
”

She drops teabags into two blue cups and pours boiling water on top. She pulls the milk from the fridge, sniffs it, swills the carton around and then adds it to the tea. She puts two sugars in each cup, hands one to me and offers me a biscuit from the tin. And I don’t know why, but my eyes fill up like water balloons about to burst as I cram the biscuit in my mouth.

“Well?” she says. “Where have you been? What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

I blow on my tea and watch a spiral of steam twirl towards the yellowy light bulb swinging from the dusty ceiling.

“Where’s Beckett?”

“What do you mean –
where’s Beckett?
” she says, taking a cigarette from a packet and lighting it. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“I’ve been trying to find him,” I say quietly. “I thought he’d know what to do.”

She takes a quick sip of tea. “Beckett’s dead!” she says. “Well, as far as I’m concerned he is, anyway. I washed my hands of
him
long ago.”

My tummy drops to my knees; the water balloons burst and spill silently on to my cheeks. I hunt everywhere for that minty feeling, but it keeps on slipping away.

“Oh, don’t start all that, Gabriella,” Mum snaps, sucking hard on her cigarette, “for God’s sake.”

My lips tremble; I press the warm tea mug against them to try to keep them still. “Is he really…” I whisper, “is he really dead?”

Someone’s feet thud down the stairs. The door flies open and Mum quickly shoves me behind it, squishing my face in the smelly towels hanging from a hook, slopping some of the scorching hot tea down my front.

“Who the crying out loud are you talking to at this time of night, woman?” says a voice.

“No one,” says Mum, clattering her tea mug in the sink. “I can’t sleep. I had the radio on.”

The fridge opens; someone slurps and grunts, then slams it shut. The feet thud back up the stairs. Mum’s hand drags me from behind the door; she pushes her face right up close to mine.

“You have no idea what kind of trouble you’re going to get me into, do you?” she hisses. “Your dad agreed no contact and that was fine by me. He has a right cheek putting you on the train up here to barge back into my life uninvited, and I’ll tell him so too when I get my hands on him!”

“Don’t worry,” I say, pulling away from her, blinking the tears from my eyes. “I can take care of myself. I only came here because of the policeman. I didn’t want to!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she whispers. “Even I wouldn’t send you out on the streets! I’ll put you in with the kids tonight and we’ll talk about it in the morning. Connor’s the top bunk, Jayda’s the bottom. Climb in with her and cross your fingers she doesn’t wet the bed. Thank your lucky stars Kev’ll be off out to work early in the morning, so don’t go showing your face until then. OK?”

We creep quietly up the stairs and Mum points me towards the bathroom. She hovers on the landing while I do a wee then shows me into the kids’ room and goes off to bed. I can’t see a thing; I have to feel my way around the room with one hand, careful not to spill the rest of my tea.

When my eyes get used to the dark I peep at Connor, lying with his mouth open wide under his Superman duvet, one little fist clinging on to his yellow bunny, the other shoved firmly in his mouth. I pull my wet clothes off and kick them under the bunks. Jayda is snoring gently, her arms stretched above her head; her chubby hands open wide like starfish. I ease my way in next to her, gently nudging her warm little body closer to the wall. Then I lean against the wooden bed end, sipping my tea, wondering what’s going to happen to me next.

W
hen I wake up, Jayda’s little body is wrapped around mine, her soft, warm baby breath tickling my ear.

“What you doing here?” says Connor, swinging his head down like a monkey and peering at me from the top bunk.

“Ssshhhh!” I say, opening my eyes. “We mustn’t make a sound.”

He snakes down, a yellow bunny ear clamped between his teeth, and wriggles in next to me.

“She’ll need a wee soon,” he says, pointing at Jayda and pinching his nose, “or she’ll wet the bed.”

“Let’s make a tent,” I whisper, sliding down the bed, pulling Jayda’s rainbow duvet up over our heads.

“But what are you doing here?” he says.

“I’ll tell you later,” I say, tugging his yellow bunny out of his mouth and making it skateboard up and down our legs.

“Have you ever been camping, Connor?”

He shakes his head.

“My friend Grace goes with her dad, sometimes,” I whisper. “They go to Devon, somewhere near the sea. Shall we go together one day and watch the stars and sleep in a tent like this?”

Connor shoves his thumb in his mouth and snuggles up close. “Know any good stories?” he says.

Jayda wriggles, wraps her arms around my neck, sighs and drifts off back to sleep.

“What kind of stories do you like?” I whisper.

“Any ones,” says Connor.

“Well,” I say, as an idea floats into my mind, “once upon a time there was this boy who thought he was really rubbish at football.”

Connor shrinks down the bed, sucking harder on his thumb. “What happened to him?” he whispers.

“Well,” I say, “every time he tried to score a goal everyone laughed at him for being so bad. He felt like his feet were made of rubber because they were so bendy and squishy and wouldn’t kick the ball straight.”

“A bit like me,” says Connor, his eyes twinkling in an arrow of light piercing through the tunnel of duvet.

“Then one day,” I say, “a fairy came along…”

Connor laughs. He jabs my leg gently with his hot little foot. “Not fairies, silly,” he says. “Fairies are for girls.”

“Well, this was a special kind of fairy,” I say. “He was this warrior fairy with war paint on his cheeks and special super-mega powers.”

“OK, good,” he smiles, nuzzling closer.

“Anyway, this special warrior fairy came along and sprinkled magic warrior dust all over the boy,” I say. “You see, because everyone kept saying he was rubbish at football, he’d started to believe them. And he’d get more and more nervous when he played.”

Jayda wriggles and sighs. A warm wet patch spreads across the bed and the strong smell of wee fills our noses. Connor’s eyes flash like emergency sirens, painting his face with fear.

“I told you!” he hisses. “I told you she’d wet the bed!”

“Ssshhhh,” I say. “It’s OK! We need to be quiet. We mustn’t move.”

“But Mum’ll go mad at me,” he says. “She’ll go mental.”

I inch my legs away from the damp patch and find a dry spot for Connor. Clunks and thuds come from the next room. The growly man’s voice mumbles. Someone flushes the toilet. Something grabs hold of my heart and squeezes it hard.

“Let’s just ignore it for now and finish the story,” I say, making a little air hole so we can breathe. “Anyway, once the magic dust touched the boy’s skin he started to sparkle and fizz all over and all his worries about being rubbish at football began to melt away.”

“Then what?” Connor says, rubbing the bunny’s silky label between his finger and thumb.

“Well,” I say, “the next time he played football the boy was amazing! His teacher was so astounded she gave him two hundred gold stars and put him in the football team. Then they won every single match they played and the boy became the best child player in the world!”

Connor giggles. “Then what?”

“Well, then what happened,” I say, “was that when he grew up to be a big strong man, Manchester United football club signed him up and gave him twenty million pounds. And then he played for England in the World Cup final. It was the best football match the world had ever seen because he scored 150 goals. The other team didn’t stand a chance and everyone loved him the best. They all kept saying he was amazing and brilliant. They said he was a hero and carried him round on their shoulders. And eventually he became the greatest man the world had ever known.”

Connor lets out a gentle sigh and stretches he legs. “I wish it was true,” he mumbles.

I pretend to sprinkle magic warrior fairy dust all over him. But then the front door slams. The motorbike roars away.

“We have to be quick,” says Connor jumping up. “We have to get the sheets off before
she
comes in.”

“Before
who
comes in?” says Mum, opening the bedroom door. “The cat’s
mother
?”

Connor’s eyes go as wide and round as the moon. He drags the duvet off the bed, pulls at the sheet. I jump up too. I lift Jayda to help him, little drops of wee dripping off her pyjamas like rain.

“Connor,” shouts Mum, “you idiot! You know it’s your job to get her up. Now I’ve got all this lot to deal with. You’re useless, just like your father. And as for you Jayda…” she threatens.

“It was my fault,” I say, feeling like a lioness with her cubs, “not theirs. I was trying to keep them quiet like you said. You don’t have to worry, I’ll sort it all out.”

Memories come flooding into my mind like seawater into a cave. Memories of Beckett protecting me, of him being punished for stuff he didn’t do.

“You go and have a cup of tea,” I say to Mum. “I’ll get Connor ready for school; I’ll get Jayda sorted. I’ll give them breakfast; you won’t have to do anything.”

Mum is stunned into silence. She shrugs her shoulders and fluffs back downstairs like a bird. I run into the bathroom, fill up the bath with warm bubbly water and lift Connor and Jayda in. I sit on the toilet seat, squeezing the flannel over them, making warm rivers rush down their soft pink skin. Jayda giggles; she splashes the bubbles with her palms, she empties beakers of water over her head. Connor reaches up and touches my face with his bath-wrinkly fingers.

“Are you the magic warrior fairy?” he says.

And I shake my head because I don’t feel magic at all. I’m searching hard for the minty numb feeling, but my insides keep on thumping each other with huge great fists of fear, crashing together like angry waves.

“W
ho is she?” asks Connor, when he’s dressed for school and ready downstairs.

“Good question, Connor,” Mum says, pressing the remote control, making the telly a bit louder. She’s watching
Daybreak
and it reminds me of Dad. She puffs on her cigarette, blowing hazy blue smoke rings into the room. “Very good question,” she says.

I head to the kitchen and pour cereal into bowls for Connor and Jayda. Jayda clings to my leg, babbling away in gobbledegook, smiling and sucking her fist. Connor slides on the sofa next to Mum, sticks his thumb in his mouth and stares at the telly with shiny, glazed eyes. I take him his breakfast and sit Jayda on the floor to feed her. She keeps grabbing my hair, splashing her fingers in the milk.

Mum rubs her hands together, digs a black wiggy bit of dirt from under her fingernail and flicks it on the floor. She looks at me. My heart leaps into my throat and burns.

“She’s my niece,” she says, winking at me. “That’s it, Connor, she’s your cousin and she’s just popped by for a visit. Isn’t that right, Gabriella?”

Connor waves at me, smiling. I stare at Mum in disbelief feeling like my skin is melting off my bones.

“But you don’t have any brothers or sisters,” I whisper, when Connor’s lost in the telly again.

“Oh,” Mum sneers, “you always were a bit of a Miss Smartypants, weren’t you, Gabriella?”

“Just saying,” I say, swallowing hard. “If I were your niece you’d have to have a brother or sister.”

“Well, I don’t know,” she huffs. “Maybe I have, maybe they’ve just crawled out of the woodwork unexpectedly like you. The real question is, what am I going to do with you now? What am I going to tell Kev?”

“I told you last night,” I whisper. “I’ll just go. You don’t have to worry about me.”

I creep upstairs into the bathroom, undress and slip into Connor and Jayda’s grey water. I never thought having a bath would feel this brilliant, even with scummy soap froth floating on top. It would be even better if Mum weren’t downstairs being mean, calling me her
niece.

I don’t care about her anyway.

I hate her.

I slosh loads of shampoo in my hand, lather it up and stick my head under the hot tap to rinse it off. I need to make a plan. I need to know what happened to Beckett. I need to find him.

Mum’s silent all the way to Connor’s school. My clothes are still wet from last night’s rain and feel weird because they’re Tia’s and don’t really fit me very well. I find myself wrapping my sleeve around my hand like a bandage, like Tia does. Mum gave me an old pair of her trainers with red strips on. I hate them. They’re too big and they’re rubbing my heels.

Connor scoots in circles, peering at me from under his fringe and smiling. Jayda babbles away in her pushchair, blowing kisses to everyone we pass.

I hate being with Mum. I remember her dragging me to school when I was small, me screaming, Beckett scurrying along to catch us up. I wish I could run away and forget all about her, forget that she ever existed.

I try to make a plan for if I don’t find Beckett, but it only takes me back to Henny and Tia. I like being family with Henny, but I wish we could live in a real house together. I wish I were a grown-up and could get a job and take care of myself. I wish I didn’t have to be here.

When we get back to Mum’s house she puts the kettle on, slumps back on the sofa and stares at me.

“You’ve got those sheets to be getting on with, Missy.”

I gather Jayda into my arms and take her up the stairs with me. I bundle up her sheets, find clean ones in the airing cupboard and make her bed all pretty and fresh with a line of cuddly teddies. Jayda squeals with laughter, climbs under the covers and smiles this big smile that makes my heart feel as warm as the sun. I slide in next to her.

“I’m actually your big sister, Jayda,” I whisper, “not Mum’s niece. And as well as Connor, we have this really big brother called Beckett. He’s lovely. Really lovely. That means there’s four of us, which means we’re a big family.”

I count four fingers to show her then brush bits of food and Lego blocks and plastic men out of Connor’s bed, making his all neat and tidy too. I play
This little piggy went to market
with Jayda and then set up her post-box toy and we take turns posting the shapes into the holes, clapping each other and laughing when we get it right. “Again, again, again,” she squeals.

We’re just about to start playing puzzles when Mum appears at the door.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says, leaning against the doorframe. “You could help me with the kids. And we’d get extra benefit too. It mightn’t be such a bad idea.”

Jayda wriggles her chubby toes. I try to swallow, but I can’t.

“What will you say to Kev?” I ask.

“I’ll tell him you’re my niece,” she says. “He’s so useless he won’t put two and two together. I’ll say you’re an orphan or something.”

I twiddle a colourful puzzle piece in my hand. “Please tell me about Beckett,” I say.

“Oh, you and your Beckett,” she snaps, “Beckett this, Beckett that! Gabriella, you’re giving me a headache.”

“But where is he?” I say. “I thought he came to live with you. I stayed with Dad and he came with you. What happened? You have to tell me!”

Mum huffs. “I told you last night,” she says. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead, so do me a favour and give over asking, will you?”

I wish I could pick Jayda up and race to Connor’s school and get him. I wish we could run away to somewhere kind and lovely and safe. I wish we had a granny or an auntie or someone special like that to go to. I wish we could go to Grace’s mum.

I wish someone bigger could help.

Mum tells me I have to take Jayda and get Connor from school because she has a headache. I settle her in her bedroom with some headache pills and a big mug of tea. Then I pack a little picnic to take to the park and slip a football in a bag. Jayda babbles and chuckles in her pushchair, and even though the word
niece
digs into me like a splinter I feel happier for the first time in forever.

“I’ll take care of you,” I say to Jayda, while we’re waiting at the gates. “I won’t let her be mean to you any more. I promise. I’ll be your mummy, or kind of mummy-ish big sister.”

When Connor comes into the playground he’s waving this picture of a boat proudly in his hand and beaming with excitement. I stoop down and talk to him about it for ages. He says it’s a pirate boat going to a treasure island. He shows me the pirates inside and says it’s me and Jayda and him. I roll his picture up and tuck it safely in the basket under Jayda’s seat.

“It’s brilliant, Connor,” I say, smiling at the splodgy, wobbly shapes on the page. “We’ll find a special place on the wall for it.”

In the park we sit on the roundabout and eat cheese sandwiches and crisps and sip squash from a bottle that dribbles down our chins. I imagine I’m Grace’s mum, all smiley and gentle. I wish I had money to buy white chocolate Magnums for us all. I wish there was a special place where we could dangle our feet in cool green water and watch the moorhens nesting.

We stay in the park for ages, spinning and sliding and swinging higher and higher, until we can see the rooftops shining in the sun. When Jayda falls asleep in her pushchair with a sweet, sticky grin on her face, Connor and me get the football out. We play for hours until our feet are sore, until Connor has scored five goals, until my heart is full to the brim with love for them both.