Invisible Girl (12 page)

M
um opens the front door to let us in, and her eyes are black with fury. Then Dad’s fat red sunburnt face appears behind her.

“Dad?” I say, clinging on to the blue pushchair handles. “What are you doing here?”

“Good question,” spits Mum. “As if it wasn’t bad enough having you arrive on my doorstep without
him
turning up as well!”

We tumble into the front room and I’m trembling inside like a mouse under the glare of a cat. Jayda strains on her pushchair harness, trying to launch herself at a great pile of toys in the corner. Connor stays quietly next to me, his sweaty little hand clutching mine. Dad slumps on the sofa, picking at his blistered skin. Mum huffs into the kitchen.

“This sunburn is killing me,” Dad says. “You’d never believe how hot it was out there.”

I don’t answer him. I’m swirling with confusion.

Mum huffs in with some tea, slamming the cups on the table. She unwraps a packet of biscuits, spraying sparkles of sugar all over the floor. She slumps on the sofa next to Dad and hits the remote, sparking the telly into life. Dad turns his body away from her and sighs. He crosses his arms and rests them on his fat belly as if it were a shelf. Mum does the same.

And I stand there feeling invisible.

Just like I always did. Just like forever.

“You got us into a right old mess, Gabriella,” Dad says, his eyes pleading. “If you’d hadn’t annoyed Amy so much with not tidying your room and stuff she might have let you come to the wedding. You might never have had to come up here in the first place. You could’ve come on holiday! Best we pack your things and get you back home ASAP.”

“But what about the flat?” I say, kneeling on the floor and sipping my tea. “What about the rent?”

Mum’s ears prick up. She twitches her head from side to side not sure if the telly is more interesting than what’s being said. Dad shrinks back.

“Trust me, it’s all sorted, Gabriella,” he says, his eyes searching for something safe to land on. “We’re camping out at Amy’s mum’s house for a bit until we get back on our feet. I’ve got my fingers in a few pies, job-wise, and something smashing will come up soon, I’m sure of it. Her mum’s got a nice place near the swimming pool on Stonebridge.”

“So it’s all looking up for
you
then, Dave!” Mum snaps. “Not like some of us, stuck in this dump with two more kids and another rubbish husband.”

Dad holds his hands over his mouth and rubs his chin. I wish I could run out of here with Connor and Jayda right now.

“Well,” he says, looking at me, “things
are
on the up, I promise. But right now I’m in a little spot of trouble, Gabriella, and we need to get ourselves back home quick.”

I feel like I’m sliding, like the room’s been tipped up and everything’s slipping away. “What kind of trouble?” I ask, fiddling with my too-long sleeve.

“It’s school,” says Dad. “They’re all up in arms about me not telling them you’d come to your mum’s place. I just never got round to calling them. They sent the police over and everything. Amy did her nut! And I tried to call you, Gabriella, loads of times. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

“I didn’t have the charger,” I say. “You forgot to pack it!”

“But where have you
been
?” he asks, slurping his tea and snatching a peek at the telly. “Mum says you only just got here. Where were you all this time, Gabriella? I sent you off with clear instructions to find your way to Mum’s.”

“Where were
you
, Dave, more like?” snaps Mum. “
You’re
supposed to be her father,
you’re
the one that’s supposed to know where she is! And what did you expect me to do with her anyway? Kev knows nothing about her!”

Then they both look at me like I’m the one who’s done something wrong.

“I don’t know where I’ve been,” I say, twisting my jumper sleeve. “Everywhere. Nowhere.”

Jayda tips the toybox up, sending thousands of plastic shapes skittering across the floor.

“Come on then, Gabriella,” says Dad, rising from the sofa. “I’m not standing any more of this nonsense. Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

Connor scurries over and grabs my hand, squeezing it tight, pleading with his eyes for me to stay.

“I’m not sure you’re fit to take her,” snaps Mum. “I think she should stay with me now. Right little gem she’s been today, helping out with the kids. And the extra cash from Social Services’ll come in handy, I can tell you!”

Dad’s voice gets louder. “She’s coming with me,” he says, pointing his finger at Mum, “and there’s nothing you can do about it. Anyway, you’re hardly the model mother, are you?”

Then he looks at me. “Come on, Gabriella,” he says. “Once we get settled in our new place you and me can cosy up and watch telly together while Amy’s out at Zumba class. We’ll watch out for another one of those eclipse things if you like. It’ll be lovely, just like old times, I promise.”

“Don’t go!” whispers Connor, pressing himself against me. “I like you here. I need more of that magic dust.”

I stand in the middle of the room, totally invisible, while my parents start to fight like cats, my brain spinning faster than a fairground ride. I might as well not be here. This argument has nothing to do with me. It’s all about them and what they need.

I’m pulled to Mum because of Connor and Jayda and I’m pulled to Dad because he looks so sad. But I don’t want either of them.

“Where’s Beckett?” I say. “I need to know!”

Mum switches the telly over and presses her hands to her ears, making a
lalalalalaing
noise like she can’t hear me.

“You don’t understand,” I shout. “I need to
see
him!”

Jayda starts whimpering, toddles over and clings on to my leg. I sit on the floor and pull both of the kids on to my lap.

“What in the Lord’s name has Beckett got to do with anything?” laughs Dad.

“Don’t you want to see him too, Dad?” I ask. “Don’t you want to see your own son while you’re here?”

Dad twists his head round like a clockwork toy to face me.

“Oh, Gabriella,” he says, rubbing his face with his palms. “He’s not my son, love. Mum already had him when we met. He’s nothing to do with me! Didn’t we tell you that already?”

Something snaps inside me. I search for the minty feeling, but everything keeps snapping and breaking and cracking like an ancient tree in the wind. My head starts swimming with noise, the ground starts shifting beneath me again, like the floor will open up and we’ll all go tumbling down.

I cling on to Jayda and Connor, feeling their soft, warm breath on my cheeks and their hearts pounding fast in my ears. I’m not leaving them with Mum.
I’m not!
I don’t care what anyone says. I’m going to stay with them until I’m old enough to take care of them myself.

Dad gets up and towers over me. Connor stares at him with frightened rabbit eyes. Jayda stuffs her thumb in her mouth and sucks.

“Gabriella,” he says, “listen to me, will you? It’s time to go!”

“Oh, my! Look at Mr Big Man,” says Mum, standing up and taunting him. “No one’s ever listened to you before, Dave, so why do you think they’ll start listening now?”

Mum and Dad stand in front of each other, their eyes yellow with poison, their hot tongues licking each other with fire.

“So stop me then,” Dad seethes. “I’ll have you over the coals with Social Services in no time.” He casts his hand over the toppling piles of mess in the room. “Just look at this place,” he hisses. “It’s disgusting in here. Needs a public health warning!”

Dad grabs my arm and pulls me up, scattering the kids, leaving them struggling like frightened ants. Then Mum’s there, grabbing the other arm, and I’m five again, in the middle of their fight, being ripped in half like a piece of Henny’s bubblegum.

“I don’t want either of you,” I screech, crumpling on the floor with my head in my hands. “I don’t want either of you. I just want Beckett!”

With all the noise no one hears the motorbike roar up or the front door squeak open.

But we all hear it slam.

And then we all hold our breath and freeze.

“Hello, hello, hello,” says Kev, scratching his beard, looking round the room. “What the bucket of roses is going on here?”

Mum slumps down on the sofa, switches the telly up even louder and ignores him. Dad ignores him too. He picks up another biscuit and snaps it in half, spraying crumbs through the air. Connor scrabbles back on my lap, pressing his face close up to my ear. Kev grunts that he’s starving hungry and shuffles into the kitchen.

“Right,” hisses Dad, yanking on my arm. “Enough of this malarkey, young lady.”

I’ve turned into a rag doll with no stuffing left inside me. Jayda clambers on to my lap. She covers my face with dribbly kisses that are so loving I’d like to scoop them up and keep them safely in a scrapbook forever. Mum gathers the tea things and shuffles into the kitchen after Kev. Connor presses his face even closer to my ear, twiddling my hair through his sticky fingers.

“I know Beckett,” he whispers and my heart stops, “He comes to my school to say hello. I do know him. He gave me Yellow Bunny.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Go and start the car, Dad,” I say, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I stare at Connor. His eyes twinkle with hope.

“Tell him I’ve been here,” I whisper, “next time he comes to school. Tell him I’ve been here and that now I’m back with my dad and I’m living near the swimming pool. Please tell him, Connor,
please
!”

W
e climb into Dad’s car and drive along in silence, making our way out of the city, on to the long ribbons of motorway. I can’t stop worrying about Connor and Jayda, about leaving them in Manchester with Mum. I can’t stop thinking about Beckett.

“What did happen to Beckett, Dad?” I ask, at last. “Why won’t Mum talk about him?”

“Search me,” shrugs Dad. “How in heaven’s name should I know, or even care for that matter? He’s nothing to do with me.”

Dad’s words dig into my skin. Why doesn’t anyone care about Beckett but me?

“All right, Gabriella?” says Amy, when we get to her mum’s.

She’s stretching out on a sun lounger, soaking up the warmth of the late summer evening. “Get me a drink will you, babe,” she says to Dad, wiggling her wedding ring finger in the air so the golden band glows. “Then we can light the little garden lanterns, can’t we? And make everything all romantic like.”

I ignore Amy and sit on her mum’s white plastic back-door step, watching a little fat bumblebee darting in and out of a flower. I wish I had my paper and my pens. I’d like to draw that bee heading over towards Amy to sting her.

“I’ve made up a camp bed for you in the little back room, princess,” says Amy’s mum, flitting about with a yellow duster in her hand. “Now, where are your things? You’re probably tired out after that long journey of yours.”

“I don’t have any stuff,” I say, kicking Mum’s trainers off. “I lost it all.”

Amy’s ears prick up. “Lost it all, Gabriella?” she shrieks. “What are you talking about?”

I begin to search for the minty feeling inside, but her stony glare sends it running for cover. The burning arrows firing from her eyes scorch the soft bit in the middle of my bones.

I shrug. “I just lost it,” I say, swallowing hard.

“Oh,
Dave
!
”
she says, flapping her arms about. “I told you it was a big mistake getting her back. You should have kept your trap shut and left things how they were.” Her eyes pin me to the spot. “Well, if you think we’re going to rush out and buy you a load of new stuff, Gabriella, you’ve got another think coming! You should’ve been more careful.”

“How can you have just lost it all?” sighs Dad. “What d’you mean, just lost it? It was in a blimming big bag!”

“I just did.”

“You’ve got your uniform, though, right?” says Dad, stripping off his shirt and flumping down on a garden chair, his lobster-red tummy quivering like jelly. “You’ve got that, haven’t you?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Gabriella,” he says. “What did you do with it?”

I sit there in silence, staring at the shadow on the path, vivid images swirling.

My school uniform, those ridiculous big PE knickers stuffed in the train carriage bin.

My A* schoolbooks sloshing down the toilet. Colin’s leering snow face.

The laptop lady’s soft hands tapping.

The smell of the
No Fear
skateboarder’s pasty.

The busker girl with the guitar I wanted to hide in, the coins in her hat glinting in the sunlight.

The silky black tattoo angel wings.

Henny, her stripy pink hair and dark smudgy eyes.

Kingdom, swooshing up and down in his big black car.

Tia wrapping herself in her long sleeves, resting her sad, thin face on her knees.

The black gungy bin with the slimy ketchup and the stolen tiara winking at me.

The little brown dog weeing.

Tia’s dad’s big fat fists squishing me.

And those voices flying from the Cathedral like doves.

“It’s been the long day,” says Amy’s mum, staring at her watch. “The nights will start drawing in soon.” She picks up a green plastic watering can and gives her flowers a shower. She takes a dead head from a rose, pulls a slug off a cabbage and tuts. “I s’pose it’s all downhill to winter.”

Amy’s mum finds me a nightdress with little purple flowers on it and itchy frills round the neck. She runs me a shoulder-deep lavender bubble bath and bustles in with hot chocolate for me. I cover myself with the flannel and she smiles and fills a white plastic jug with water to wash my hair even though I can do it myself.

“Never mind, princess,” she says, tucking me into the little wobbly camp bed, after she’s brushed and dried my hair. “It’ll all work out. It always does. I promise.”

When I’m just about to fall asleep Dad pops his head round the door.

“Night then,” he says, leaning on the doorframe, checking his big fat tummy in the mirror on the wall.

“Why did you bring me back, Dad?” I whisper. “Why did you bother? Why didn’t you just leave me there with Mum and Connor and Jayda?”

Dad shrugs his shoulders, his tummy wobbling under their weight.

“The police, I s’pose,” he says. “I don’t want to get locked up, Gabriella, do I? Not for something as stupid as this! Plus, if the truth be told, I couldn’t stand the guilt of it. It niggled away too much.”

When Dad leaves the room I wipe away a sneaky tear. I’d have quite liked it if he’d said he missed me, or something nice like that.

I lie in the little camp bed listening. Amy’s voice slides under the door like a snake. The telly sounds vibrate through the walls. An owl in a nearby tree hoots. Fighting cats yowl and screech on the fence. The late night car tyres swish by.

Amy’s mum’s sheets are soft on my face, the pillow like marshmallow. And for the first time in ages I’m in a clean bed with a glass of water on the table by my side. And Grace’s mum is round the corner. Slowly, slowly, sleep creeps in and covers me in velvet.

Amy’s mum wakes me early with a cup of tea and four bourbon biscuits. I put Tia’s clothes on and we slip out of the house without waking up Dad. We drive to Sainsbury’s and she picks out some new school uniform things for me, a pair of pyjamas, two T-shirts, some long-sleeved tops, some jeans and three dresses.

“Dad doesn’t have the money for them,” I say, nervously twisting a tissue in my hands. “He won’t be able to pay you back.”

Amy’s mum smiles and throws some oranges in the trolley, a packet of Shreddies, some strawberry yogurts and fresh crusty bread. She buys a special snack-pack with ham and cheese for my lunch and some crisps and a chocolate cupcake and a carton of fresh juice with bits in, not squash.

She grabs some sparkly hair bobbles from the swing-around stand, some white socks, a pack of different coloured knickers with butterflies on, some black pumps and a cute little necklace with a silvery heart.

“I don’t have any grandchildren of my own, yet,” she whispers, her eyes twinkling as she throws two chocolate eclairs into the trolley and a big bottle of lemonade for later. “So I don’t see why I shouldn’t spoil you instead.”

Then it’s like she can’t stop herself. She throws a
Mizz
mag in the trolley and this amazing purple watch with pretend diamonds on it and some bangles. She lets me choose a new pencil case and I get a blue denim one with little red flowers embroidered all over it.

And a new pack of pencils and felt tip pens.

I wonder if Amy had this much stuff when she was small.

At McDonald’s we huddle in the toilets getting me changed for school. Amy’s mum brushes my hair, battling with my unruly curls. We eat Egg McMuffins for breakfast and we don’t talk much and it’s lovely, just being together, without her asking questions. I slide along the seat so our arms almost touch while we chew.

When we get to my old school, Dad’s pacing up and down outside the gates like a tiger in a cage. My heart dips. My mouth goes dry.

“Where you been?” he says, grabbing my arm. “I’ve been doing my pieces here, waiting.”

Amy’s mum takes charge.

“We went to buy uniform, didn’t we Gaby?” she says, looking Dad up and down with disappointment flickering in her eyes. “Someone had to, Dave!”

Dad wipes the sweat from his face.

“Right. Well. Thanks, then,” he says, shifting from one foot to another. “Come on, Gabriella, let’s get this over and done with, shall we? Let’s face the music with that headmaster of yours.”

We walk to the school office in silence, our hearts hammering. Then Dad goes inside with the headmaster and the school secretary sends me off to class.

“Gabriella!” calls Grace, bounding across the playground like a puppy in the park. “You’re back!”