Secrets (22 page)

‘It's Treasure! You're safe and sound! Where have you been, darling? Come on, be a sweetheart and tell me quick.'

Another reporter came running, elbowing him out the way.

‘No, no, we've got an exclusive! Come with me, lovie. We've got your mum and dad and the kids tucked away in a safe hotel. You're to come with us.'

A photographer started taking photos, telling me to look up, look down, to smile, while his flash made orange blurs in my eyes.

The police looked up from the dustbins and they came running too.

‘Is that the little girl? Leave her alone, chaps, come on. This way, Treasure,' said a policeman.

They were all milling round, shouting, gesturing, flashing – and then a man with a television camera was there too, and a guy with headphones and a boom and another with a mike, asking me endless questions. They were all arguing, telling me to go this way, that way. It was all so loud, so noisy, so unreal, as if I was in some crazy cartoon. I clung to Nan, the only real person there.

She put her head down to me. ‘Where do
you
want to go, Treasure?'

‘Back home with you!' I said, loud and clear.

‘OK, pet,' she said. ‘Tell them.'

The journalists were still all yelling at me, the police were trying to usher me out their way, the television people had their mike thrust right in my face. I'd never have a better chance to have
my
say.

‘I want to live with my nan,' I said. ‘I saw on the telly that Michael next door has been questioned. That's mad. He didn't take me away. No-one did. I ran away myself. I've been hiding for days and it's because I don't want to live with my mum. I don't get on with my stepdad. They say I've got to come back but I don't want to. I've been living with my nan since Christmas and I want to
stay
here.
Please
– please, please, please can I stay with my nan?'

It was all over every paper the next day – except the
one
that did the exclusive deal with Terry.
LITTLE TREASURE TELLS HER STORY
!
I had to do lots and lots of telling. To the police. To the social workers. To more journalists.

One newspaper started a special campaign:
A Child's Right to Choose
. A magazine for senior citizens interviewed Nan about ‘Granny's rights'. There was a phone-in on local radio and a piece on
Woman's Hour
. Then Nan and I went on the
Esther
show and we were interviewed on
This Morning
. I didn't say
too
much about Terry on television. I just made it plain I couldn't stick him. I loved my mum but I loved my nan
more
. I simply wanted to live with her. I said it over and over and over again.

AND IT WORKED!

Nan and I had to go to a very scary meeting with lots of senior social workers. Mum was there too. Not Terry. He'd been invited but he said he wasn't going to sit down like some silly schoolkid and be bossed about by stupid social workers. Or words to that effect. He was furious because he'd lost his £50,000 exclusive deal –
and
one of the other newspapers had done some research and interviewed one of his ex-girlfriends who said he'd often beaten her up and terrified her kids.

I was so relieved I didn't have to see him. It was very upsetting seeing Mum though. I felt really, really bad. She was so angry with me.

‘How could you do this to us, Treasure? Telling everyone you don't give a toss about your own mum!
Dragging
our names through the mud so we can't go anywhere now without folk staring and whispering. One guy even spat at my Terry, calling him scum. I don't care what you say, he's been a good dad to you in lots of ways, and I've tried my hardest to be a good mum too, even though you've never been an easy kid to get on with. You've always looked down your nose at us, haven't you, you snotty little cow. Well, you live with your nan if that's what you want. We'll be better off without you, me and Terry and the kids. We don't love you any more. We don't want you any more, see.'

When the meeting was over Mum walked off like she wasn't even going to say goodbye to me. I ran after her quick.

‘Mum, please.
I
still love
you
,' I said.

‘Well, you've got a funny way of showing it, acting like I'm total rubbish,' Mum said fiercely – but she suddenly hugged me hard.

‘You be a good girl, Treasure. You're still
my
girl, no matter what,' she whispered in my ear.

I couldn't help wanting to hang on to her. It was almost as if I wanted to go back with her, even after all I'd gone through. I knew she couldn't look after me. I felt I should really be looking after her.

‘I feel so bad, Nan. She
is
my mum.'

‘I know, pet. She's my daughter. But I can't think about what's best for her now. I have to think about what's best for
you
.'

So I went back to live with Nan. It was all a bit crazy that first week, reporters still rushing round everywhere.
And
Mrs Watkins came along the balcony and gave me a terrible mouthful as if I'd been the one to accuse her Michael. He didn't seem to bear me any grudge though. He waves and smiles at me behind his mum's back, though she won't let him talk to me now.

The social workers haven't given this new arrangement their full approval. They're going to review the situation every six months. I know it will be sticky when Pete gets out of prison. I'm not sure Nan really would choose me rather than him. He's Patsy's
dad
. But I'm safe with Nan for a while. Maybe you can't always make people promise for ever and ever.

India says she'll always hide me away again somewhere. Not in the secret attic. Their house is up for sale. But Moya says they won't move far away. She needs to stay near her studio. And India and I
can't
lose touch, not now I work for her mother.

I am the new Moya Upton model!

India doesn't mind, even though she hates Moya's clothes herself. She says they look OK on me.
I
think they look f-a-n-t-a-s-t-i-c. We've done photo shoots for
Vogue
and
Tatler
. Moya doesn't mind me being pale and skinny. She doesn't even mind my funny eyes and the scar. I got worried when the
Guardian
newspaper did an article about the dangers of stick-thin street-kid waifs being used as child models. I thought Moya might drop me and go back to using that Phoebe as her main model but she said it was all good publicity.
India
sighed and rolled her eyes – but she wasn't getting at
me
.

We are still best ever friends. And we always will be. Won't we, India?

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

Twenty

India

DEAR KITTY

No, this is silly. I don't need a fictional friend any more. Treasure is my friend. She always will be. Isn't that right, Treasure?

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!

I am writing my diary round at Treasure's home. It's lovely to be able to call it that. Later on we're both going to Nan's Friday night line-dancing class. Patsy comes too. She is
brilliant
at it, much, much better than us. Treasure is quite good at it, though she gets her lefts and rights mixed up sometimes. I thought I would be hopeless. I've never been able to get the hang of disco dancing. I've lumbered around at school
discos,
waggling my arms about (and my bottom too, unfortunately) looking incredibly stupid. I just didn't have a clue how to do it. But line dancing is entirely different. You don't make it up as you go along. You learn every single step, every wave of the arm and stomp and clap and kick. You learn until the sequence becomes a little pattern in your head and your feet automatically obey.

I am light on my feet too, even though I'm so heavy. It doesn't matter a bit if you're fat. There's a couple of ladies at Nan's class who are
huge
but they're still great dancers. There are
old
ladies too, but you should see them wiggle and strut, while the men whistle. Some of the men are quite old too but Jeff and Steve are young and they wear matching checked cowboy shirts and real cowboy boots with steel tips and they dance up a storm. That is the particularly good thing about line dancing. It doesn't matter what sort of person you are, old or young, boy or girl. You just go along and have fun. It is a fantastic feeling when we're all stomping along together through each song.

I have never felt in step with anyone else before. Nan says I'm doing very nicely indeed for a beginner. She sometimes puts me at the front so the others can copy me. But you have to concentrate hard all the time. If you think about anything else you forget the sequence and stumble. That's another especially good thing about line dancing. You can't dwell on your worries.

I've got quite a few worries at the moment. That's
why
I haven't been writing in my diary recently. I haven't really wanted to write about everything. I've
talked
about it. I've told Chris.

That is another extraordinary thing. I am
in love
.

This is totally private. I am writing with my hand over the page because I don't even want Treasure to know. I am supposed to tell Chris everything but I can't tell him
that
.

I tell him everything else though, and how I feel about it. My mum and dad are splitting up. Sometimes I feel as if I'm splitting in two as well. Other times I don't care at all. I can't help it that they've made a mess of their lives. I just don't want them to make a mess of my life too.

I still love Dad best even now, but I'm going to live with Mum most of the time. I couldn't live with Dad because he's renting a studio flat now and it's much too small. And maybe he doesn't want me around too much because it would cramp his style with his girlfriends. I think he's started seeing
Suzi
. He is totally disgusting. Sometimes I think he almost deserves to go to prison.

The police let him go after they charged him. Dad's got a super-sharp lawyer who's sure he'll get him off the embezzlement charge, no bother at all. Mum thinks she'll have to pay his legal bills. I suppose this is very generous of her.

I asked Mum if she thought Dad had really stolen the money from Major Products.

‘Of course not, India! It's all a ludicrous mistake.
Dad
got a bit muddled with his accounts, that's all.'

But I heard them having heaps of rows about it, night after night before Dad moved out. Mum didn't say anything about muddles and mistakes. She kept asking him what he'd done with all the money, and had he really just frittered it away on girls and good times?

I know one thing. Dad didn't give poor Wanda a good time.

Wanda disappeared. Mum said she wasn't very well and had to go to a special clinic for a rest. I think I know exactly what happened at this special clinic. I think they got rid of Wanda's baby. I said as much to Mum. She said I've been watching too many soaps on television and insisted Wanda wasn't ever pregnant. I don't believe Mum. I can't ask Wanda. As soon as she was well enough to leave the clinic she went back to Australia. Mum paid her air fare.

Mum's having to sell the house because she's had to pay for so much. She says it's time to move on anyway. We're probably going to live in a flat, just the two of us. Not a Latimer Estate sort of flat. Mum wants us to live in a Victorian mansion block near her work. It's still
quite
near here, though it's too far to go to my school. I'm not sure Mrs Blandford would want me to stay on anyway. It was her idea to send me to the educational psychologist. She obviously thinks I'm some kind of nutcase. Mum does too.

But
Chris
says I'm the sanest person he's ever met. And I'm boasting again now, but he
also
says I'm one
of
the brightest. He's given me an IQ test. It would be gross to tell you the exact number, but if the average IQ is 100 then I have enough intelligence for one and a half people. Mum asked him if I stood a chance of getting a scholarship to one of the posh, big girls' schools and he said I shouldn't have any problems at all.

Chris is the educational psychologist. I see him once a week and it is
wonderful
. I was dreading seeing him the first time. I thought he'd be some suspicious old man with a funny accent and a probing manner. But Chris is twenty-five and he actually looks a lot younger in his jeans and T-shirt. He's not really what you might call good-looking. He's got this really great smile though and freckles all over his face and fuzzy ginger hair. It's
exactly
like my hair.