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Authors: Nick Sharratt

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BOOK: Secrets
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I heard. I put the phone down and wept. Nan had left me alone in the living room so I could talk to Mum privately. She came back to find me curled up crying into a cushion on her sofa.

‘Hey, don't get that gold velveteen all snotty, sweetheart,' she said, lifting me up and putting her arms tight round me. ‘Now, tell Nan. What's your mum said?'

‘Oh Nan, I've got to go home!'

‘Do you want to?'

‘No!'

‘Well then, it's simple. You're not going.'

‘But Mum says—'

‘I'm
her
mum and
I
say you're staying,' Nan said firmly. ‘I'll phone her right back and tell her straight.'

She did too. There was one BIG row over the phone. My mum said she was still coming. With Terry.

‘Like that's going to frighten me, Tammy,' said Nan. ‘That bloke of yours might get off on cutting up little girls like Treasure but I don't think he's got the bottle to take
me
on.'

She's right too. Nan can get the better of anyone.

I know I can trust Nan. But I still feel a bit jumpy.

I couldn't sleep last night so Nan let me cuddle up in her bed. Then Patsy came in too so it got a bit crowded but Nan didn't mind a bit.

‘I've got two arms for my two girls,' she said, and she cuddled us both.

Then when I got back from school today Willie said I could have a go on his bike as he was off round a mate's house to play computer games. I was dead chuffed because Willie's bike is seriously wicked and he won't let Patsy so much as
touch
it.

I used to beg to go on Kyle's bike back home – no,
back
then, this
is home – so I know what I'm doing. I raced it round and round the grounds. The boys wouldn't let me on their ramp so I couldn't try out any really daredevil stuff but I stuck my head in the air like I didn't care and did neat bunny-hops and perfect 360s just to show them I was no toddler on its first trike.

They pretended they weren't watching, but they
were
. There was this other girl too, dead posh, in one of those weird old-fashioned uniforms like she'd stepped straight out of some 1950s time-warp. She even had long socks and button-over shoes like babies wear. She looked like she'd talk all toffee-nosed but she didn't seem snooty. She was staring at me, but it was like she thought I was special.

I rode round and her head swivelled, her beady brown eyes fixed on me. I stuck my tongue out at her. I wondered if she'd look shocked but she stuck her tongue out back at me, as if it was our own secret signal.

I
liked
her.

I wondered what on earth she was doing on our estate. I watched her walk off. Then I started pedalling like crazy after her. She dodged when she heard me coming, like she thought I was trying to slam straight into her. I braked and leapt off, landing on my toes, dead cool.

‘Hiya!'

‘Hi,' she said.

Her voice was horribly high and plummy. She licked her lips nervously. I could tell it worried her too.

‘What's your name then?'

This
really
got her. Lick, lick, lick with her little pointy tongue.

‘India.'

‘What? Like the place?'

‘Yes. It's a stupid name.' She went very pink.

‘I like place names. Like Brooklyn for a boy. Is that where your mum and dad started you?'

‘I don't know. Maybe.' She pulled a face.

I giggled. ‘Yeah, isn't it weird, thinking of them doing it? I'm glad my mum didn't call me after a place. I'd be Staines!'

I leant Willie's bike against the wall and swung myself up on it. India joined me, though she had to have several goes heaving herself up. We sat dangling our legs, nodding at each other.

‘So what's your name?'

‘It's heaps more stupid than yours. Treasure.'

‘That's your nickname?'

‘No, my
real
name.'

‘Well . . . it's obvious your mum thought a lot of you when you were born.'

She'd got this
sooooo
wrong.

‘I'm changing it when I'm older. I like Tiffany. Or Yasmin. Or a jewel name like Amber or Jade or Ruby.'

‘I want to change my name too. I want to be called Anne. You know, after Anne Frank.'

‘Cool,' I said, though I don't know who Anne Frank is. Someone on television?

‘She's my heroine,' said India. ‘Who's yours?'

I shrugged. Then I knew. ‘My nan.'

‘Your nan?'

It did sound strange said in India's posh voice but she wasn't going to faze me.

‘She's fantastic, my nan. You ask anyone on the estate about Rita. She's like their queen. I live with her now.'

‘What about your mother?'

‘Oh, she's got this bloke, see, and we don't get on.'

India didn't look as if she did see, but she nodded politely.

‘So this is my home now,' I said, waving back at the flats. ‘Where do you live, India?'

‘Oh, over there,' she said. Her wave was a lot vaguer than mine.

‘Not on our estate,' I said. ‘You're rich, aren't you?'

She went pink again, playing with a frizzy end of hair.

I suddenly realized. ‘Hey, you don't live in those huge great houses where they had the fireworks? Parkfield?'

She nodded, ducking her head like she wanted to disappear inside her duffel coat.

‘Wow, you lucky thing! So what are you doing hanging round our estate then?'

‘I'm going home from school.'

‘How come you aren't being fetched in your Mercedes or your Daimler or whatever?'

‘It's just a Range Rover. Wanda didn't turn up.'

‘Is that your mum?'

‘No, she's . . . she's the au pair.'

‘The what?'

‘Well, she stays with us and sort of works for us.'

‘You mean like a servant?'

‘A bit. I don't know what's happened to her. My mum will go spare if she finds out.' India sighed and raised her eyebrows. They were ginger, like her fuzzy hair. ‘My mum's this incredible drama queen. She
always
makes a fuss.'

‘What about your dad? Is he OK?'

‘Oh, he's lovely. Well, he
was
– but he's got ever so grumpy lately. He'll yell at me for the least little thing.'

‘Does he whack you one?'

She looked shocked. ‘He'd never hit me!' Her eyes went straight to the scar on my forehead.

I nodded. ‘Yeah, my mum's bloke did that. With his belt.'

‘How awful!'

I shrugged. ‘Well, that's Terry for you,' I said, acting like it didn't really worry me.

I still dream about him every night. Nan says I'll forget him soon. Maybe this is the one time Nan's got it wrong.

‘This Terry? You said he's your mum's . . . bloke?'

‘Yeah, but like I said, that's past history now.'

We nodded. There was a little pause. We looked away. We looked back at each other – and giggled.

‘So, you like it here? With your nan?' India says.

‘It's great.' I look back at the stained concrete walls
and
the black plastic bags spilling rubbish. ‘Well, you probably think it's a right dump.'

‘No I don't,' she says quickly. ‘It's . . . it's very nice. Sort of cosy.'

I whoop with laughter. ‘You are a nut, India. Cosy! Look, do you want to come and have some tea and meet my nan?'

‘Well. . .' She looked quickly at her little gold watch.

‘You've got to get back home, I suppose.'

‘Yes. No! There's no-one there apart from Mrs Winslow and Wanda, and goodness knows where she is.'

‘Mrs Winslow?'

‘She's . . . well, she's the cleaning lady.'

‘Wow, you are
so
posh. Hey, you're not Little
Lady
India, are you? Maybe I should curtsey?'

‘Shut up! Look, do you mean it? Can I really come for tea?'

‘Sure.'

‘Your nan won't mind?'

‘Don't be so daft, of course she won't. She'll be thrilled in fact. She's worried I haven't made any friends here yet.'

‘How long have you been here?'

‘Couple of weeks.'

‘My goodness, your nan would have a nervous breakdown over me. I've been living in the same house for the last five years and I haven't got any friends. Well, not
real
ones.' She pulled a face. ‘Oh gosh, that makes me sound seriously
sad
.'

I burst out laughing.

‘Don't laugh at me. I can't help it.'

‘I'm laughing at the “Oh gosh” bit. I didn't know people really said stuff like that. I'm not laughing at
you
.' I gave her a friendly dig in the ribs. ‘Come on, Nan's flat's in Elm block. I'd give you a ride on the bike back but it's Willie's and he only let
me
go on it as a special favour.'

She hopped and skipped along beside me and then panted up the stairs after me. I'm supposed to use the lift because of my asthma but that didn't seem like a good idea, even though we had to hoick the bike up between us. Boys keep peeing in the lift – or worse.

I was starting to wonder if it was such a good idea inviting India back. Her eyes went round as saucers when she saw what some of the kids had scribbled all over the walls. Then she nearly jumped out of her funny freckled skin when two of Willie's mates came barging downstairs, effing and blinding and waving their cans of lager around for our benefit.

‘Get out of our
blankety blank
way, little girlies.'

‘You get out of
our blankety blank
way, big
blankety
boys,' I said back, gesturing rudely with my fingers.

I only did it because I
know
them, but India looked dead impressed, like I was the really tough kid on the block.

As we ran along the balcony, me scooting it on Willie's bike, mean old Mrs Watkins banged open her door, nearly knocking me flying. She started yelling about ‘you kids' and how someone had smashed her
milk
bottles the other day and it just wasn't good enough, she was going to report it,
bla bla bla
. Mumbly Michael pulled faces behind her in their hallway. He's her grown-up son but Nan says he's not quite the ticket. I burst out laughing when he crossed his eyes and smacked his lips open and shut in a pretty accurate imitation of his mum. India started giggling too. Mrs Watkins thought we were laughing at her and yelled even louder. Nan came out on the landing.

‘My God, Mrs Watkins, you're frightening the life out of everyone –
and
you've woken little Britney up and she's screaming fit to bust. What on earth has happened?'

Mrs Watkins bellowed like a bull. Nan raised her eyebrows, winked at India and me, and beckoned us along the balcony. She whipped us both inside the flat, shutting the door on Mrs Watkins' wails.

‘Daft old bag,' Nan said, shaking her head. ‘Don't take any notice, Treasure, she always carries on like that. And who are you, sweetie?' Nan put her hands on India's shoulders, gazing at her with delight. ‘Don't you look wonderful! What a fantastic uniform. Is that the Girls' High School?'

India nodded shyly.

‘Thought so! What's your name, poppet?'

‘India,' she mumbled.

‘Oh, stylish,' said Nan. ‘I'm Rita, pet, but you can call me Nan. All the kids do.'

‘But you're
really
my nan, aren't you?' I said proudly.

‘You bet, Treasure,' said Nan, giving me a hug. ‘Now, darlings, are you peckish? Come in the kitchen.'

Loretta was boiling the kettle for Britney's bottle. Britney threshed about in her baby-chair, desperate to be fed right now, this minute. Patsy was waving a rattle at her ineffectually.

‘Here, baby, come to Treasure,' I said, unstrapping her.

I picked her up and then held her at arm's length, pretending to be cross.

‘Oh, that's a nice way to say hello! Pee all over the place, right? We'd better get you changed before we give you to India for a cuddle.'

‘India?' said Patsy. ‘Cool name. What's it like at your school then? I might be going to this special stage school and they've got dead posh uniform too. Can I try your funny coat on, eh?'

I whipped Britney's nappy off and mopped her up while Patsy pranced round in India's duffel coat, even though it was huge on her, the hem trailing on the carpet. India knelt down beside me, gingerly holding Britney's little hand.

‘She's so sweet,' she said. ‘What's that cream you're putting on her?'

‘Zinc and castor oil so she doesn't get a sore bum.'

‘You're ever so good with babies.'

‘I've had heaps of practice,' I said, pressing a clean nappy on Britney and stuffing her little legs back into her playsuit. ‘I used to look after my baby brother
Gary
practically full-time, especially when Mum was poorly.'

‘Your mum's a waste of space as far as I'm concerned, even though she's my daughter,' said Nan.

I thought about Saturday and my hands started shaking so I couldn't do up Britney's poppers to save my life.

BOOK: Secrets
8.15Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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