Shine (7 page)

hands off, tiffany…

I
start my new school on Friday morning and can’t believe so much has happened in my life in just one week. It’s like I don’t even know myself any more. Last Friday I went off to a school that had over one thousand kids in it. Now I’m riding
a bike
to a school where there are only fifty-seven pupils!

We’re divided into three classrooms, with mixed age-groups in each class. I’m put in Class 3, which is for Years 6, 7, 8 and 9. There are only two other Year 7 kids apart from me: a girl called Isla and a boy called Max and I’m going to be sitting on a table with them. My new teacher, Mrs Davies, introduces me to the class
and both Isla and Max give me a welcome smile, even though I must look like the crazy-red-face new girl.

“I want you to have a go at writing a poem about Christmas,” says Mrs Davies. “And I want you to think a little deeper than the usual presents, trees and carol concerts. Think about what Christmas really means to you. For some people it’s a happy time, but for others it can be sad or lonely. See what you can come up with.”

With all the changes going on in my life I’d forgotten that Christmas was only one month away. A little panic starts up in my head. I’ve only ever spent Christmas with my mum, and we always book ourselves into some flash hotel with a pool and a spa. Mum always goes crazy with her credit cards and I always get busy making Christmassy things and hanging them all around our room, making it twinkle and shine. I always thought they were the best Christmases ever, but that’s all over now. Thanks to
her
.

I draw little squiggles and swirls and baby snowmen all around my page, but have trouble finding poemy words. Worry bugs start scratching around my brain. Will my mum be home for Christmas or not? I don’t want her here, but how will it be with Auntie Cass and
Uncle Dan and Indigo? And what about meeting my grandparents? My heart squeezes tight and makes a familiar little lump arrive in my throat. I try to swallow it down but it keeps on popping up, pushing tears into my eyes. I blink a lot to push them away. I must not let myself cry here. As much as I hate my mum and never want to see her again, the thought of not being with her for Christmas feels scary.

Isla looks at me, and smiles. She’s written a really long poem already and decorated her paper with mini Christmas trees all around the edge. “Are you OK, Tiff?” she asks.

I roll my eyes at her and yawn. “I’m just tired,” I lie. “And I can’t believe you haven’t all died of boredom being at this school…it’s like a school for babies. Not like my school in London.”

Isla’s eyes grow huge and sparkle. “Are you from London?” she says. “That’s so cool. What’s it like?”

“It’s brilliant. There’s loads of amazing stuff going on all the time,” I say. “I’m only staying in this dump with my auntie while my mum’s away working, I’ll be going back to London as soon as she’s finished. The countryside sucks.”

Isla’s face drops and I feel mean. But it’s too late to go back now.

“Oh,” she says. “Well, I like it here. It’s peaceful and there’s loads to do, you know.”

I can tell that she’s trying to be friendly but it’s hard to be friendly back. I sort of try.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Well, we all go riding after school and at the weekends. Have you got a pony?” she says, adding some snowflakes to her poem.

I shake my head, thinking that I must be the only girl in the entire world who had a dog just for one day.

“Shame,” she says. “Still there’s other stuff you can join in with.”

I shrug, but inside I am wondering if she’s right.

At break time everyone charges downstairs on to the grass outside. I follow slowly behind, but Max and Isla are waiting for me, zipped up against the chilly wind.

“Hi,” says Max. “So you’re from London. I went to London Zoo once, to the insect house.”

“You’re just weird, Max,” Isla says, rolling her eyes, “too weird for words.” Then she looks at me.

“He collects insects, you know, and keeps them in hundreds of jars in his tree house. Spooky if you ask me.”

Just then, my heart sinks as Mandy’s daughter Holly comes over.

“Hi Holly,” says Isla, “d’you want to join us?”

Holly wrinkles her nose. “Er, no! There’s bad smell here today and it’s lingering in that direction,” she says, pointing at me. “And anyway, did you forget about our
secret
plan?” She whispers into Isla’s ear and they both fall about giggling.

“Bye bye, Tiffany Morris,” Holly says in a sour voice, pulling Isla away. “And Max, you freak! Found any amazing spiders lately? Make sure you don’t get bitten, you might turn into Spider-Man!”

“Yeh, right,” says Max. “Then at least then I could wipe out losers like you.”

“Takes one to know one,” Holly retaliates.

Even though I was pretty mean to Isla and Max earlier, I can’t stand Holly and I want to tell her exactly
what I think of her and her mum. But before I get the chance to say anything, she is dragging Isla away.

“Sorry, Tiff,” says Isla, leaving me alone with Max. “See you after break.”

“What’s her problem?” I ask Max. “I haven’t even said a word to her yet and she’s got something major against me.”

“She’s just Holly,” he says. “She’s got something against everyone. Her and Isla have been best friends since Isla came to the island. And Holly gets jealous if anyone else gets too close.”

“Yeh, well, she doesn’t have to worry about me, I’ll be off back to London soon. I don’t need to make friends here,” I lie, “I’ve got plenty of my own
normal
friends back home.”

Suddenly I feel all lost and empty, like a little ship rowing itself into a big sea, and secretly looking for something to tie itself on to. I wish my ruby slippers were real, like Dorothy’s, so I could click my heels and magic myself back home. Why am I being so mean to this weird insect-loving boy?

“I’m not that weird you know,” says Max, reading
my thoughts. “Holly’s way more weird than me. I just love wildlife and drawing and stuff. And anyway, I can’t see that there’s a law against that.”

In maths, Mrs Davies invites Holly to sit at our table, because although she’s in the year above us, she needs extra help because it’s not her best subject.

“So,” she smirks, snuggling closer to Isla, “we all know about you, Tiffany Morris.”

My tummy ties itself in knots. “You probably do,” I brave, “I’m staying with my Auntie Cass, at the Hotel Roche Noir, while my mum’s away working.”

“I know,” she says with a sour smile. “It’s a small island, Tiffany, which means that everyone knows everyone else’s business. Only six hundred people live on Sark, and it’s only three miles long, so a new person stands out like a lighthouse. And then the gossip flies around. You’ll see.” She pulls her pencil case, ruler and water bottle out of her bag and puts them on the table in front of her. Then she looks at me, licks her finger and draws a wet circle on the desktop around her things.

“Hands off, Tiffany Morris,” she says, shooting me with her eyes, “which means no touching. Get my drift?”

I glare back at her, staring her out, trying to stay brave. But inside I’m panicking and crumbling. What does she know? She can’t have heard that Mum’s in prison. We haven’t told anyone! I keep on staring, holding my fear together and she keeps on staring back. She’s good, but not as good as Matilda and not as good as me. Finally, her green eyes flick away. She pokes her tongue out at me, huffs and gets back to her worksheet. I imagine licking my finger and writing a number one in the air. One point to me, Holly Hutchinson!

hi, babe…

E
veryone on Sark goes home for lunch, and when me and Indigo get back, Auntie Cass hands me a white envelope with “HMP Henmoore” stamped across the top. I know it’s from my mum. My heart sinks. I stare at the letter, not wanting to open it, in fact not wanting it, full stop. My washing-machine tummy starts spinning again and although I try hard to eat my lunch, I just pick at it because my appetite has run away. I wish I could run away too, but I’m stuck here like my mum was on this stupid little island, and anyway, I have nowhere to run to. It’s like I’m in prison as well, with the sea keeping me in, instead of walls and locked doors.

I want Chelsea. She’d know what to do. She’d know how to make me laugh and forget my troubles. But all I have is weird Max, spiteful Holly and Isla who seems friendly enough, but is somehow locked under Holly’s spell. Auntie Cass gives me a hug. I push her away. “Are you going to open it,” she teases, “or keep it as an ornament?”

I take the envelope and without thinking I tear it in half. Auntie Cass gasps. I gasp because even I am shocked by what I’ve done. Why can’t she just leave me alone? I pick up the pieces and run to my room.

“Tiff,” calls Auntie Cass, running after me.

“Just leave me alone,” I shout. “Please, will all of you just leave me alone!”

I slam my bedroom door, grab the photo of me and mum and throw it against the wall. The glass smashes and the frame makes a black mark on the white wall. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” I scream. Then I pick up the torn letter and tear it into little pieces until it’s paper confetti falling to the floor. Auntie Cass runs in, pulls me into her arms and will not let me go. I push and kick and scream, but she keeps on holding me tighter and tighter until I almost can’t breathe.

“Leave me alone!” I scream. “I don’t want you; I don’t want anyone.”

“Hey,” she soothes, collapsing us both on the bed and holding me in her arms, “I know you’re angry with your mum, Tiff, but I don’t think all this raging at the rest of the world is helping, do you?”

I sniff back the tears that are sneaking through and shrug.

“In case you hadn’t noticed we’re on your side, Tiff; we’re here to support you through this. We love you.”

Her words move through my body like cold soup. There’s no way I’m trusting anyone to love me ever again, not ever! I’m much better off taking care of myself. I free my body from her grip, run downstairs, grab my bike and race back to the stupid little school.

Later, when I get home from school, I slide into the house and head straight to my room. The smashed picture is magically mended and back in its place. I take a look at the girl smiling out from the photo and find it hard to believe it’s me. I look so happy. But that was before I knew mum’s stealing had ruined my life. Looking at my smile, I realise it wasn’t only things and money
my mum stole, but happiness too, my happiness and her own. I turn the picture back to face the wall. Someone has also magically pieced together the tiny bits of letter confetti, stuck them together with tape and laid it on my bed. I don’t want to read it but my eyes are curious.

Finally, I open the chocolate that’s been left on my pillow and settle down to read. I can always rip it up again afterwards.

Hi, babe,

So, at last you’ve landed on Sark and met some of your family! Do you think it’s the most boring place in the world? Cass and Dan are all right, but as for the rest of them, B.O.R.I.N.G! Still, it was a good idea of yours to call Cass. She was over the moon to hear about you and way better than that foster place I imagine. I should be out of this dump in a flish of a flash, Tiff. I have this great solicitor working for me, so fingers crossed I’ll come and rescue you soon. Then we’ll be back in the bright lights, babe, where we belong. It was all Mikey’s fault, Tiff, nothing to do with me.

I’m sharing my room with three other girls. Two
of them are great and we’re having a right giggle, but the other one’s a bit of a nutter so we stay well clear.

I’m allowed to do ‘Education’ here and don’t laugh, but I’ve taken up cooking. The queen of fast food is learning to chop onions. When I’m out of here I’ll cook you a celebration feast. I’m gagging for a burger, though, and a glass of vino. Shame you can’t come and visit me and smuggle some in, ha ha! Why don’t you want to speak on the phone?

I love you, babe,

You and me, babe. You and me,

Love Mama xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

henmoore prison…

A
whole week has passed and I still haven’t written back to my mum. Auntie Cass is putting major pressure on me.

“Just write and tell her what you’ve been up to,” she says. “She must be missing you loads, Tiff, and wondering how you are.”

“She should have thought of that first,” I spit, “before she got herself into all this trouble and wrote me the most stupid letter ever in the world. It’s like I’ve just popped to the shops or something. She didn’t even ask how I was. She’s pathetic!”

“I know, sweetheart, it’s hard, but sometimes we do
things without thinking and then it’s not until afterwards that we realise the hurt we’ve caused.”

“But she still doesn’t realise that she’s done anything wrong,” I say. “She didn’t even say sorry in her letter, she just went on about having a laugh and learning to cook.”

“Just have a go,” she sighs, handing me a freshly baked chocolate brownie. “Do your best.”

I take a second chocolate brownie up to my room and some special notepaper that has the name of the hotel on the top, with a little picture of a black rock in the corner. The page is staring at me waiting for words, but I don’t even know where to start. I’d quite like to begin the letter with something like,
Dear Mum, Thanks for ruining my life
, or
Dear Mum, I’m glad you’re having a nice time without me.
Or maybe,
Dear Mum, how could you be so selfish and hurt your family so much by running away and then hurt me by being so stupid?
But I don’t think that’s the kind of letter that Auntie Cass has in mind.

It’s already ten thirty and I’m supposed to be meeting Isla and Max in his dumb tree house at eleven, so I don’t have a lot of time left. Chelsea would laugh at me if she could see the kind of people I hang out with now, but I don’t have a lot of choice, do I? It’s either hanging
out with them, or sitting on my own in a boring white room with no TV. It sounds like my mum is having a better time in prison. I pick up my pen, take a deep breath and begin.

Dear Mum,

I’m sitting at a little desk in the bedroom that you used to have when you were my age. Uncle Dan painted the whole room boring white for me and left me a mini chocolate on my pillow. It’s so bright it makes my eyes go funny. School is so lame. It’s a school for babies, which means I’m not learning anything at all. Which is fine by me. I know what you’ve done, Mum. I know our life was a lie. I have two boring friends. I have to hang out with them because there’s nothing else to do. Isla has a pony and Max’s family has loads of horses, but he likes insects and drawing. I have one enemy called Holly. In fact I have two enemies. Her mum, Mandy, doesn’t like me either. Or you. What did you do to her, Mum? Well, whatever it was she’s still pretty angry about it all. I have a cousin who is five and she’s called Indigo, she likes it when I paint her nails pink for her. I’ve stopped
painting my nails. Soon I’m going to be in a dumb school concert and I have to read a poem and you’ll miss it. I have a red bike and have to wear pathetic wellies because it rains so much. Why didn’t you ever teach me how to ride a bike? It’s stupid. I’m earning my own money by collecting glasses and cleaning tables in the bar for Uncle Dan, which means I have to put up with his jokes.

Anyway, bye then.

From Tiffany x

It’s a stupid letter but I don’t care. I’m more worried about getting the letter safely in the letterbox without anyone seeing it’s addressed to a prison, than what’s in the actual letter itself. I stuff it in the envelope and call goodbye to Auntie Cass. When I’m on my bike I zip it safely in my jacket pocket and speed off toward the post office. I need a stamp, so I have to go inside and buy one.

“I need a stamp for a letter to England,” I say.

“Give it here, pet,” says the post office lady, “I’ll stick it on for you and pop it in the sack.”

“Er, no, it’s all right, I’ll just take the stamp and, er,
these.” I say picking up three chocolate bars and thrusting some money into her hand. My heart is thumping in my chest. I mustn’t let her see the letter.

“Suit yourself, pet,” she says, handing me my change.

Back outside, I hide behind the large blue postbox, away from the Saturday shoppers, and shove the stamp on the right hand corner of the envelope. It feels like I have a bomb in my hand that’s waiting to explode. My face is hot, my hands are shaking and I feel all guilty, like I’ve done something wrong. I want to get rid of it quick so I take a good look around to make sure no one’s looking and dart round to the front of the postbox. Just as I’m about to throw the letter into its mouth, the door of the shop opposite opens wide and Holly steps outside.

“Ah, it’s Tiffany Morris. Writing a love letter are we?” she sneers.

“Er, no.” My letter is trembling in midair. I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked from my lungs and my legs have turned to jelly.

“Yes it is! It’s a love letter. How
sweet.
What’s your boyfriend’s name?” She’s coming close.

I can’t speak and I’m willing my hand to put the letter in the box.

“Well, let’s have a look at it then, maybe I would like to have his address so I can write too!” she sneers. Then before I can stop her she’s snatched the letter from my hand and is staring at the address.

“No way!” she shrieks. “Carla Morris is
in prison
!
Just
as my mum predicted,” she spits, “she’s in big trouble again.”

All of a sudden, my strength comes back. “Give it to me,” I hiss. “It’s none of your business.” I snatch the letter back and throw it in the postbox. “I don’t know what happened between your mum and mine but it’s nothing to do with us.”

“I disagree, Tiffany Morris, it appears it has
everything
to do with us. And if we really want to keep this little secret between ourselves I think maybe we’ll start with my maths homework. What do you reckon?”

I can see that I’m cornered. How can this be happening? Everything will be even worse if the whole of Sark finds out my mum’s a criminal!

“I’ll do it,” I say quietly. “Just don’t tell anyone, OK. Please?”