Shine (11 page)

toffee slipped on the ice…

O
nly two days to go, it’s Saturday, and I need some fresh air and some time alone. I tell Auntie Cass I’m going for a walk and head off towards the woods. The snow is still thick in places, and bright sunshine sparkles through the winter trees. Brave little snowdrops peep their hats above the soil, and snowy silence drifts on the wind. School is fine, except for Holly who still hangs over me like a bad smell. She knows my mum’s coming home soon and is threatening to leak our secret to the whole island. I told her she was taking things too far. But she’s not letting up. “A deal is a deal, Tiffany Morris,” she’d said, pushing me against the wall.

Max has gone off somewhere with his mum and wouldn’t say where. And poor Isla has gone to an open day at her expensive boarding school. Obviously, she didn’t tell her parents that she really doesn’t want to go and somehow I don’t think she ever will. I’ve promised to take Indigo to a jumble sale in the Island Hall at two o’clock. Indigo and me love rummaging through all the old stuff and cycling home with our bike baskets full. It’s even more fun than shopping in actual shops because there are so many treasures waiting to be discovered. But right now I just need some thinking time alone.

Since living on Sark I’ve discovered that walking is a good way of getting rid of my life worries. Every step usually makes them float away on the breeze, far, far out to sea where they belong, helping to clear my mind. But today it’s not working because my worries are big. Very big. I’m really panicking now about how things are going to be when my mum comes home. It’s a weird feeling. Like I’m meeting my mum for the first time, or something. Then I go off on some daydream about what it would be like to meet my dad for the first time.

My snowy silence is broken by a loud snapping twig,
which makes me jump. Then a heavy thud noise travels on the air. I hear a pony neighing somewhere ahead of me and a girl screaming and I freeze, not knowing what to do.

“Help,” calls the girl’s voice. “Please somebody, help me.”

I charge forward in the direction of the girl’s voice. She sounds frightened and keeps on calling and calling.

“Hang on,” I shout. “I’m coming.”

I come to a clearing in the trees, and there on the wet, snowy ground is Holly, clutching her ankle and whimpering with pain. She has a massive bump on her forehead and a bleeding cut on the side of her face.

“Oh,” I say, backing off, “it’s you.”

“Toffee slipped on the ice and I fell off. I think he’s really badly hurt his knee and my ankle’s killing me. I don’t think I can manage to get up.”

“Holly, what are you doing out here on your own in the ice? Where’s your mum?” I’m frozen to the spot and I don’t know what to do.

“I had a really bad argument with her and needed some time to think. I was stupid to come out in this
weather and now it’s all my fault that Toffee’s hurt,” she cries. “Please, I need your help, Tiff.”

“Well, you’re right, you are stupid to ride alone in this weather, and why should I bother with you anyway? You’ve been so mean to me, Holly, and if I had any sense I’d walk away right now and leave you to freeze.” I grab Toffee’s reigns and try to calm the pony down.

“Please don’t leave me, Tiff,” she cries, “I might die out here if you go.”

“And if I help, then what happens, you get better and then carry on bullying me like nothing’s changed?”

“No,” she whimpers, feeling the blood on her face. “I’ll stop. I’ll leave you alone, anything you say, just don’t leave me, Tiff, please. I need to get home.”

“Of course I’ll help but you have to tell me why you and your mum hate me and my mum so much.”

“I promise,” she cries, wincing with pain.

“And you need to stop trying to own Isla, she’s her own person you know, with feelings, she’s not a toy.”

She nods. I move closer to her.

“OK, Holly,” I sigh. “I’m here. Do you think you can stand?”

“I’ll have a go,” she says, taking my arm. I pull her
up and put her arm around my shoulder, taking her weight. Toffee’s looking nervous and he’s walking with a limp.

“Right, hold on tightly to me and let’s give it a go.”

And together we slowly hobble and slide back through the woods, out towards Holly’s house. Toffee’s taking his time and Holly’s really worried that his injury is bad. She can feel her ankle swelling up inside her boot, so we try taking it off to have a look, but it hurts her too much so we keep on going.

“D’you think it’s broken?” I ask.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I’m more worried about poor old Toffee, it’ll be terrible if he’s hurt his knee. If he goes lame my mum might even force me to have him put down.”

I rub her shoulder to make her feel better, then I remember that she was going to tell me what happened to make our mum’s hate each other. “I want to know everything,” I say. “All the details.”

“Well, I don’t really know much myself,” she says, “but I think it all started years ago when our mums were best friends. Your mum kept stealing things from mine. And it was OK when it was small stuff, but it
just got bigger and bigger until your mum ran off with my mum’s boyfriend. And then a few months later I came along and it’s just been me and her ever since. That’s why she’s so mad. Your mum stole the love of her life and he was my dad too. So I’ve never even seen him. And I don’t even now his name. I keep asking my mum but she never says.”

“Well, you’re not the only one, you know. That’s exactly what my mum says about my dad too. He ran off just before I was born and I’ve never seen him either. It’s always been just Mum and me. That’s why I had to come here when she went away.”

Now I can understand why Mandy is so angry. “I’m sorry, Holly. My mum does get herself in a mess sometimes. But she’s changed, you know.”

“I’m sorry too,” says Holly.

I can’t believe Holly is apologising to me!

“I didn’t want to be mean to you,” she’s saying. “I just followed my mum instead of thinking for myself. We always look out for each other. And I’m sorry about your mum and prison and everything. It must have been really scary.”

“Yeah, it was,” I say. “Well, it looks like we’ve got
more in common than we thought, Holly Hutchinson. Come on.” And then we start laughing, but that makes Holly’s foot hurt even more so we smother our giggles and hobble on home.

holly’s mouth drops open…

“
W
hat’s your mum like?” asks Max. It’s after school the next day and we’re up in the tree house playing a board game. Even Holly’s there with her sprained ankle in a white bandage.

“Well, she’s kind of a bit mad,” I laugh. “In a crazy, silly, fun way.”

My mind runs a mini-film of Mum on one of her crazy days. “And, she’s got a bit of a temper,” I say, thinking of good ways to describe her. “Oh and she likes wearing a
lot
of perfume and very clean white clothes and boots and loads of jewellery. And she has ice-blonde hair and goes to the tanning salon every week, so she
has a great suntan even when it’s snowing. But she is nice,
really
.”

Holly’s mouth drops open. “That’s exactly what my mum said she’d be like by now. She overheard someone saying your mum was coming back to live here and she’s not very pleased. I told her that it’s good to give people a second chance because we all mess up sometimes.”

“And what did she say to that?” asks Max.

“She said there’ll be no second chances, not ever. She says that Tiff’s mum made her bed when she messed up years ago and she’d have to learn to lie on it now.”

“Oooh, harsh,” says Max. “I don’t wanna be around when they first meet up.”

“I do,” says Isla. “It’ll be the most dramatic thing that’s happened on Sark for a hundred years or more. Except for Holly and Tiff making friends, that is.”

Holly and I smile at each other. We’re both megarelieved that Toffee’s injury wasn’t so bad. And Isla is positively over the moon and back about us being friends, but she’s still acting weird around Max.

“D’you wanna borrow my jumper, Isla?” he says. “You look chilly.”

Isla turns red. “Er, OK,” she smiles. “Thanks.”

Holly raises her eyebrows at me and we share a secret chuckle. “Are you two…you know.. .?” she asks.

Both their faces start glowing so red I can almost see steam coming out of their ears. Max virtually glues both his eyes to the board and takes his turn.

“Well?” persists Holly. “Are you?”

They both look at each other in that weird way again.

“I’m not sure,” says Max, searching Isla’s eyes. “Are we?”

“I suppose,” she shrugs at Max. “If you want?”

“Um, yes, OK,” says Max, and I can see that he can hardly hide his massive grin. Then he takes a half-eaten Mars bar out of his pocket and offers her a bite.

“Anyway,” Isla says, taking her turn at the game. “I think it’s time to change the subject, don’t you?”

“Good idea,” I say, wanting things to be normal between us all. “Have you got round to telling your parents that you don’t want to go away to school yet?”

“No,” says Isla. “It’s too late, really. Half of my uniform’s arrived already and my mum’s gone ahead and accepted the place.”

We all look at her. Speaking up and saying what you really want is hard, especially when your mum has big
fat ear plugs in her ears so she can’t hear what you’re saying, anyway.

“How about speaking to your dad?” says Max. “He might listen.”

“No,” shrugs Isla. “He always just goes along with what my mum says.”

Just then my mobile pings into life, and there’s a message from Auntie Cass asking me to go home.

“Got to go,” I say, leaping up and wrapping the scarf Isla gave me for Christmas round my neck. “Let Woody the stick insect take my place in the game. You’ll be OK, Isla. See you soon, cheesy moons.”

“In a while, salami smile,” they all chant back.

frozen to the spot…

O
n my way home I practise riding my bike with no hands. Max’s been trying to teach me for ages, but I can still only manage a few pedal turns without starting to wobble, especially when it’s dark and I’ve only got my bike light to guide me home. I feel a bit weird, about him and Isla liking each other. It’s not that I’m jealous in
that
kind of way, because I definitely don’t
fancy
boys or anything, it’s just that it changes things and I’m still getting used to how it feels when everything flips.

A cold wind is hurling itself around the island and the dark sky is full of spring drizzle. I dump my bike in the shed and go indoors. I’m glad to be home.

“Hi everyone,” I call, throwing off my coat and shoes and untangling my scarf from my neck, “I’m back.”

No one answers and a spooky silence wafts its way into the hall, “Heelloooo, anybody hooomme?” I say in a silly ghost voice.

More silence. I guess everyone’s busy in the hotel so I decide to get a drink and a biscuit before I go off and find them. It’s strange Auntie Cass texting me to come home when nobody’s here. I wander into the kitchen and freeze. My heart starts pounding in my chest and my knees start to wobble. An ice-blonde ghost from the past is sitting at the kitchen table. She’s waiting for me, and she’s not supposed to be here, not until tomorrow.

Help! I don’t know if I’m ready. She looks different and worried, like she doesn’t know what to say or where to start. And I don’t know what to say or where to start either, so I just stand like a dummy, frozen to the spot. I want her to go away. I want her to disappear like ghosts do and stop haunting me.
Please!
I’m not ready until tomorrow. I will be ready then. I’ll have planned what to say, I’ll have brushed my hair and washed my face and—

“Hello, babe?” she smiles. There’s worry dancing in
her eyes and so many unspoken words trying to make their way to her lips. We’re caught in a slow motion movie, like wading through glue. “Hello, darling.” Why is she doing this to me? It’s so typical. Why can’t she ever stick to her plans? She not supposed to be here until
tomorrow
. My legs can’t move but my brain is telling them they have to. It’s sending lightning signals that are telling me I’m supposed to fly into her arms and sob all over her and say that everything’s OK and I’m so glad she’s back. And that’s what I want to do and what I’d like to say. But a massive angry monster that’s been hiding in a dark cave for three long months is pushing its way through the nice words and threatening to burst its way into the room. I swallow hard to keep it down. But my angry feelings are my true feelings right now, and I’m tired of locking them away.

Without saying a single word I walk over to the fridge and find some apple juice. I get two glasses from the dresser shelf and the tin of chocolate brownies that Indigo and I made at the weekend. I sit down at the table opposite Mum, pour us both some juice and offer her a brownie. Her hand shakes when she takes one from the tin and my brownie sits like dry dust in my mouth.

“Why did you come today?” I burst out. “You said tomorrow, I’m not ready.”

“I’m sorry, Tiff,” her voice wobbles. “It’s just, I wanted to slip back on to the island without a big song and dance. I didn’t want you to have to wait for me at the harbour and meet me in front of everyone. I felt we needed to be on our own for a bit.”

OK, so she has a point. It would’ve been
too
weird meeting her at the harbour and having to pretend that everything was OK between us. And I get that she wouldn’t want too much attention drawn to her and that she wouldn’t be ready for everyone’s questions, not yet.

“Did Auntie Cass know?” I ask, hoping that she hadn’t because I couldn’t bear a lie from her.

“No,” Mum says, “nobody knew. I arrived here a couple of hours or so ago. I guessed you’d be out with your friends and I needed to talk to Cass, to see how you’re doing and how she is and to check out that it’s really OK for us to stay here. I didn’t want to build our hopes up if she felt that things might not really work out.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised at quite how well she’d thought the whole thing through. Unusual for my mum.

“I wanted to meet you on your own, Tiff. You know, to get used to each other again. I got Cass to text you, then she, Dan and Indigo popped over to the hotel to give us some space.”

“Oh,” I say again. My angry monster has sloped away, surprised by the sense that my mum is making. She’s sounding like a grown-up and I’ve never heard her speak like this before. She usually blasts her way into situations and blabbers on without thinking. This is different; she’s somehow more real.

“D’you fancy introducing me to Stardust then?”

My eyes light up. “OK.”

In the hallway Mum rummages through the shoe pile and pulls on a pair of Auntie Cass’s boots that are covered in mud. She leans over, scoops up her hair, and fixes it in a scraggy bun thing with an old pencil from the shelf. Then she eases herself into a tatty green anorak that’s hanging on the wall. I pull on my own boots and jacket, grab Uncle Dan’s big torch and lead the way out to the field. Mum’s warm hand slips its way into mine and gives me a friendly, gentle squeeze. I don’t pull away. The wind is blowing even harder now, and an icy drizzle has come out to play with the evening chill. Mum doesn’t
seem to care one bit about the rain on her hair, or the mud on her boots. And we don’t care at all about the salty tears that are creeping out of our eyes, streaming down our faces and stinging our cheeks. Still holding hands, we turn to face each other and I notice, for the first time, that there’s no mascara running with my mum’s tears and there’s no lipstick on her smile. She opens her arms wide and folds me into a warm hug. My body melts into hers, and right then all of the scared and angry monsters that I’ve been holding on to rise up through my body like hot lava in a volcano. I’m shaking and sobbing and so wet that I can’t tell the difference any more between the rain and my tears. My mum just holds me tighter and tighter and we’re swaying gently with the wind. She’s whispering “I’m sorry, Tiff, I’m sorry,” and for the first time ever it’s
her
that’s making
me
feel better and not the other way around. We stand there for ages and I realise that sometimes a hug is all you need.

“Come on then, Island Girl,” she smiles, when all my monsters have been washed away by the rain, “let’s see how much you know about ponies, shall we?”

And we start chattering away about riding as if we’ve
never even been apart for one day. She knows
so
much about horses, stuff that I wouldn’t ever have imagined her knowing. And she tells me stuff about living in the countryside that she’s always kept to herself, and it feels like I’m meeting my mum for the first time. I have to keep touching her to make sure she’s real. And she’s going to teach me everything she knows about riding, and she might even get a horse of her own.

In the last three months our whole world has tipped itself upside down and been shaken around so everything’s in a different place. And although we’ve both been hurting and frightened and sad, the love that’s always been there is shining out and brimming over. Suddenly and quietly, without a fuss, my mum is back in my life and I’m back in hers.

“You and me, Tiff,” she says when we’re walking back to the house.

“You and me, Mum,” I smile.