Secrets (5 page)

I'm
the one who's different.

I wish everyone didn't think I'm weird.

Wanda was waiting for me, leaning against the railings and inspecting her nose in her pocket mirror. She hasn't put on an ounce of weight with all the chocolates she eats but she hasn't half got spotty.

Maria and Alice brushed past us, giggling like anything.

‘Why are you blushing, India?' said Wanda.

‘I'm not!' I said, stupidly.

Wanda held her mirror up. I saw a flash of Boiled Lobster Girl.

‘I've been running. I'm hot,' I said, though it was so cold I was huddled right up inside my duffel coat. It's part of the school uniform. Unlike every other girl in our school I actually
like
the old-fashioned uniform. Especially the duffel coat. Dad always calls me his little Paddington Bear when I wear it.

Well, he
did
. He doesn't call me anything now. He doesn't seem to notice me most of the time. When he
does
I just seem to get on his nerves.

He came across me sitting on the stairs reading Anne Frank's diary. He tripped over me, actually. He asked if he'd hurt me and I shook my head, although he did a bit. I think I've got a bruise on my bottom where his foot accidentally kicked me. I can't be sure though because I never have a proper look at my bottom. It's too depressing.

‘So why are you looking so miserable then?' Dad said, peering down at me.

I sighed deeply, wondering where to start. I hoped Dad would sit down beside me but he stayed looming over my head. I began to tell him about Maria and Alice but after a sentence or two he started fidgeting.

‘I'm sure you'll all make friends again soon. Why don't you ask them both round to play?' said Dad, starting to go downstairs.

‘We don't
play
,' I said, offended. ‘And I haven't ever
been
friends with Maria, that's the point. I haven't
got
a proper friend at my horrible old school.'

‘Well, maybe you'll be going to a new school soon,' said Dad.

I peered at him, trying to see his face in the gloom of the stairwell. He didn't sound as if he was joking.

What did he mean, a new school? I suddenly got tremendously worried. Maybe Dad and Mum were planning to send me to boarding school? Perhaps they'd got sick of me being in the way?

Miranda goes to boarding school now. She
wanted
to go. She loves the
Harry Potter
books and thought the whole boarding school idea would be wonderful – but she positively hated it at first. She wept buckets – tanks – a whole
swimming pool
. The letter she wrote to me was all tear-stained and smudgy. OK, she says it's not so bad now. In fact last time she wrote to me she said it was great. She hasn't actually written for ages now. I've written three times in a row.

I would hate to go to boarding school because I'm sure I wouldn't fit in. You have to play team games and I'd never get picked. The teachers would doubtless make squashing remarks and all the girls would gang up on me.

But if I went to
Miranda's
boarding school she'd look out for me. She's got a new best friend now, I know, but maybe I could be her
old
best friend? Perhaps boarding school wouldn't be quite so bad?

‘Can I go to Miranda's boarding school, Dad?' I asked as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

He stopped and stared up at me.

‘What?' He seemed to have forgotten what we were talking about. He often does that nowadays.

‘Can I go to Miranda's boarding school?' I repeated. My voice sounded funny. I get a little bit scared talking to Dad now even though he's my favourite person in all the world. It's because he can suddenly get so grumpy, growling at me like he
hates
me.

He growled this time.

‘For God's sake!' he exploded. He didn't quite say that. He said something much worse. ‘Do you think I'm made of money? Do you know how much that flipping boarding school costs per term?' He didn't say ‘flipping' either. ‘If you want to go to that school then there's no point asking me. Ask your
mother
.'

‘I don't want to, Dad, not really. It was just you said I might be going to a new school—' I was getting all worked up, tears spilling down my cheeks.

Dad used to cuddle me when I cried and mop me with his big hanky and call me his little Weepy Winnie. But now he just sighed irritably.

‘Don't turn on the waterworks, India. You're not a baby. Forget the school. You'll probably be fine. Oh, do
stop
it. I'm the one who should be blooming crying.' Or words to that effect.

Dad stalked off, leaving me snivelling on the stairs.

I don't know what he's on about. I hate the way he's started to be so horrid to me. Mum's
always
been horrid, even though she's all smiley-smiley sweet talk.

I decided to show them both. I went upstairs with this diary – right upstairs, to the ladder leading to the
attic.
I climbed up the ladder quick, opened the trapdoor, felt around for the light switch, and then shut the trapdoor after me.

It was like my own Anne Frank secret annexe.

Well, not exactly. It was just our attic with the water tank and heaps of clothes and old furniture and trunks and boxes of books. I'd been up there a couple of times with Dad when we first moved here. Dad said he might turn it into a special playroom for me, but he's never got round to it. Mum uses it now to store her old Moya stock.

I flicked through the silly skimpy little tops and trousers, holding them up and pulling faces. I scrumpled the tiniest, tightest dress into a little ball and then kicked it into the corner of the loft. I stuffed several others at the back of an old chair to make a cushion and then I sat down heartily, bouncing up and down for a bit. Then I curled my legs up and wrote my diary.

I wrote and wrote and wrote.

Then I listened.

I was waiting. Waiting for Wanda to start calling for me. Then Mum. Then Dad.

If my rumbling tummy was anything to go by it was way past supper time. I wished I'd thought to bring some kind of provisions with me. I thought of the Mars Bars hidden under my pillow and my mouth watered so much I nearly dribbled.

I wrote some more.

I waited.

I wondered if I simply couldn't hear the outcry downstairs. I lay down and stuck my ear to the crack of the trapdoor. I could just make out a very distant buzz of television and a sudden small swoosh of a tap in the kitchen. Why were they placidly watching television and making coffee? Why weren't they running all over the house calling for me?

Eventually I heard the
slap-shuffle, slap-shuffle
of Wanda's silly teddy-bear slippers. She was obviously starting to search for me.

No, she wasn't. She went into the bathroom and ran a bath. I had been missing for hours and hours and hours. I could have been butchered by a burglar, raped by a robber, abducted by aliens . . . Wanda obviously didn't give a fig. I'd totally disappeared but she wasn't going to let it spoil her long, hot soak in the bath.

What about Mum and Dad? I know I'm a huge disappointment to my Mum – huge being the operative word – but Dad's always said I'm his special girl, the icing on his cake, the jam in his doughnut, the cream in his éclair. The cakes have gone stale now. Dad didn't notice I'd gone missing. No-one did.

When I was absolutely faint with hunger I opened up the trapdoor and clambered down the stairs. I stood there on the landing, feeling as if I'd returned from another dimension. I found Wanda in her room, still very pink from her long bath, her hair hanging like seaweed. She was eating a Mars bar, plugged into her Walkman. She jumped when she saw me.

‘Why aren't you looking all over for me?' I demanded.

Wanda blinked at me.

‘I don't need to look for you. You're here!' she said, taking another bite of Mars bar.

‘Where did you get that Mars bar?' I said. ‘Hey, you didn't nick it from under my pillow, did you?'

‘You're not allowed to eat Mars bars, your mother says,' said Wanda, munching.

‘You pig!' I tried to snatch the Mars bar stub from her but she shoved it in her mouth sharpish. I felt tears stinging my eyes.

‘Don't cry, silly. I'll buy you another tomorrow,' said Wanda.

I flounced off. They were tears of frustration and despair, but Wanda would never understand.

I went downstairs. Mum was pacing up and down the hall, jabbering into the phone.

‘Look, this is
serious
. I don't care what time it is! You jolly well listen to me!' she declared. ‘God, I'm going out of my mind!'

But she wasn't going out of her mind because I'd gone missing. It was just some crisis about her stupid
clothes
.

‘That last batch of T-shirts is
entirely
the wrong shade of purple. I wanted
deep
purple, practically blackberry, and these are almost
lilac
, too twee for words—' She put her hand over the phone and cocked her head on one side enquiringly.

‘Yes, darling?' she mouthed.

She obviously hadn't noticed I was missing. I could probably disappear for months and remain low on her list of priorities,
way
below lilac T-shirts that should be blackberry.

Dad hadn't noticed either. He was slumped in front of the television watching
Who Wants to be a Millionaire?
He didn't even look up when I went into the room.

I don't think I love him any more.

I don't love
anyone
.

Oh, dear Kitty, dear Kitty, I wish you were real.

Five

Treasure

I DO LOVE
it at my nan's. I'm really, truly staying for ever. I've even started school here!

I
did
wonder if it was just a holiday visit in spite of Nan's reassurances. She asked me on New Year's Day if I was missing my mum. I said, ‘No, not at all.' It isn't
exactly
true. I dream about her every night. Terry's in the dream too and he's hitting her and I can't stop him and then he's hitting me. Sometimes I'm screaming when I wake up.

I think about Mum during the day too, especially when I make Nan a cup of tea. I settle her down while she's sipping, slip her high heels off and give her a foot massage. That's what I always did to give Mum a little treat. I am the bee's knees at foot massage. I know how
to
pull the tights gently at the end so the toes can wriggle around. I stroke each toe individually and then spend ages on the instep because that's the bit where it really aches. Nan makes exactly the same little purring sounds that Mum does.

I think about Mum in the evenings too. Terry's always out at the pub then, so why doesn't she phone me? I got so scared he'd really gone for her, maybe put her in hospital. I waited until Nan was out giving a dancing lesson and then I phoned home.

My fingers were so dithery I could hardly tap out the number. I heard the phone ringing and ringing. I closed my eyes tight, the blood beating in my eyelids. Then Mum suddenly said, ‘Hello?' right in my ear. She sounded bright and bouncy, like she didn't have a care in the world. She didn't sound like she was missing me one bit.

I swallowed, trying to get my mouth wet enough to speak. I heard Bethany in the background say, ‘Who is it, Mum?' It was like a punch in the stomach. I'm sure Bethany never called her ‘Mum' before. I slammed the phone down quick without saying a word.

I waited. She didn't dial 1471. She didn't ring back.

I'm not going to ring her again. There's no point now I know she's all right. She's got Bethany and Kyle to watch out for her. Terry won't turn on them because he's their dad. So it's all worked out wonderfully well.
It has. It has. It has
.

When Nan came home all hot and happy from her dancing I put my arms tight round her neck.

‘Promise I can stay here for ever, Nan?'

She laughed. ‘Yes, I promise! How many more times, my little Treasure?'

She picked me up and I wound my legs tight round her waist as if I was baby Britney. Nan whirled me round and round the living room, going, ‘My little Treasure, my gold rings, my silver bangles, my flashy diamond, my sparkly sapphire, my red ruby.'

Patsy capered by her side, doing a little Irish jig, her skirt flying up to show her frilly knickers.

I can fit into Patsy's school uniform – just. Nan's going to buy me my own skirt and blouse soon,
and
some out-of-school clothes too, new trousers and tops and a winter coat because I've only got my old brown fleece and it's so rubbed I look like a jumble-sale teddy. But I'll have to wait a bit because she's already had to fork out for my wonderful new designer glasses so she's a bit strapped for cash at the moment.