Shine (8 page)

grown-ups make mistakes too…

I
head off to the tree house to meet Max and Isla and hope they’ll be able to take my mind off Holly. Despite the fact I’ve hardly been friendly since I arrived, Max and Isla seem to like me for some weird reason. I hand everyone a chocolate bar, as a kind of peace offering, my hands still trembling. I hope the sugar might calm me down. Holly is evil, but worse than that, I’m furious with myself for getting caught out. I’m stupid. Why didn’t I ask Auntie Cass to post it for me, or why couldn’t I have been more careful, like a normal person? I just stood there like a dummy,
frozen to the spot, virtually waiting for Holly to take the letter from me. I might as well have wrapped it up in sparkly paper and ribbons and popped it through her letter box so she could read the whole thing. I’d like to tell someone what happened, but I can’t.

Instead I ask Max and Isla if either of them know anything about what happened between my mum and Mandy years ago. The whole thing is bugging me and I just need to know the truth. I need to get to the bottom of it and try to sort it out. Otherwise I’ll be doing Holly’s homework for the rest of my life, and she might not stop there. But they just shrug their shoulders and shake their heads. Max says his mum isn’t into island gossip.

“My mum’s not interested in anything,” he says, “unless it’s a horse. And that includes me. I sometimes think it would’ve been better if I’d been born with four legs and a mane.”

Isla says her family has only been on the island for the past six years so they hadn’t even heard of my mum and me before I arrived.

“I did ask Holly,” she says, “but she wouldn’t tell. She told me not to get involved. And anyway, I’ve got my own problems to be worrying about. My parents have just told me that they want me to go to boarding
school back in England next year. They’ve got it all planned out.”

“Why do they want to send you off?” I ask, forgetting my own troubles for a moment.

“They think our school is too small,” she says, “and lots of kids go off-island to do GCSEs and things. But I don’t want to go,” she sniffs. “I like it here. And anyway you can get GCSEs here, it’s not impossible.”

“Why are you worrying about GCSEs?” I ask. “We’re only twelve. We haven’t got exams and stuff like that to worry about for years. This place is so weird.”

Max is busy with his sketchbook drawing an army of disgusting stick insects. “She’s right you know, Isla, why can’t you just tell them?” he says. “Just say you like it here and you don’t want to go. It’s your life.”

“Yeh, right,” she sighs, “like they’ll listen to me! I always have to go along with what they want. I suppose I don’t want to upset them or disappoint them or something.”

“Well, you can’t be as much of a disappointment to your parents as I am to mine,” Max says. “My dad has great plans for me being some kind of zoologist or
something, but I’m too stupid, I have trouble even reading a whole book. I’d be no use at a smart school. I’m better off sticking to my drawing.”

“I didn’t know you have trouble reading,” I say. “You should get tested for dyslexia, Max. My best friend Chelsea’s dyslexic, but it doesn’t mean she’s stupid. She’s got a really high IQ. Why don’t you get tested?”

“Nah,” he says, “sounds like too much trouble to me.”

I turn to Isla. “I’ve had enough of grown-ups always telling me what to do all the time. And it’s not as if they always get it right, anyway. Grown-ups make mistakes too. I’m just going to do what I want from now on. You should too.”

“Hm,” says Isla, but she doesn’t look convinced. “Anyway, I have to go now. I promised I’d meet Holly and go for a ride.”

I leave Max to his drawing and while Isla and Holly are out horse riding I get busy doing two lots of maths homework. The first bit of Holly’s grand plan is that I work out all the answers on the sheet then give her a copy so she can fill it in in her own writing. The second bit is that I have to make a couple of mistakes on my sheet so Mrs Davies won’t get suspicious. It’s rubbish.
My marks are going to dive downhill, but I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?

I sneak out of the house just before bedtime to meet Holly in the lane. The moon is only a tiny sliver in the sky, and my torch makes dark shadows hang in the trees.

“Well done, Tiffany,” she sneers. “And I’ve been thinking about that boring Christmas project we have to do. I’m so tired I was wondering if you’d like to do it for me?”

“No way,” I say. “Nothing else.”

“Shame,” she threatens. “Well, if you’re only going to do the maths then I won’t be able to guarantee that certain important addresses and certain important information about your precious mother don’t get shared around the island, will I?”

My fists curl and my teeth grind against each other. And even though I want to push her into a dark corner in the shadows and make her feel scared, I somehow find myself agreeing to her plan. I feel like my prison walls are growing taller and thicker all around me. Holly is the warden who is holding the key, and I’m the prisoner left feeling helpless and alone.

sure you’ve remembered to pay…?

I
t’s nearly Christmas. Last week we did our school carol-concert and I had to stand up and read out my poem in front of everyone. I felt like a kid at primary school again. The whole thing was ridiculous. Max had to sing a solo and Isla and Holly played a recorder duet of “Away in a Manger”. Uncle Dan recorded the whole cheesy thing on his camcorder and says we have to send it to Mum as part of her Christmas present. I think it’s a stupid idea. She won’t be interested in watching me, anyway. In my London school she always arrived at things like concerts and parents’ evenings at
least half an hour late. She said it was important to make a good entrance, to get noticed. She got noticed, all right, but not because she looked great, more because she was always such a mess. She’d clip clop noisily in on her stupid pointy heels, smelling of wine and make too-loud ‘shushing’ noises while she was trying to find her seat in the dark. She was so embarrassing. But Uncle Dan and Auntie Cass were completely well-behaved. They arrived early to get the best seats and didn’t make a fuss.

Indigo is mega-hyped about Christmas. She’s taken to wearing a Santa hat most of the time and nearly burst with excitement when the real Santa came to visit us at school. Yesterday we picked up our tree from the Gallery Stores and spent the evening rummaging through boxes and boxes of old decorations from the loft. Auntie Cass rooted out a couple of wobbly cotton-wool snowmen that she and Mum had made when they were small. I held them in the palm of my hand and gazed at them. My mum’s hands have actually touched them, actually made them, and Auntie Cass has kept them safe. I’ve never had a family history before; it’s always just been Mum and me.

“I don’t know why you bother to hang on to those
old things. Mum and I always get shiny new decorations every year. We never use the same ones twice.” And I realise that I am the rubbish one who’s talking rubbish. We didn’t go and buy new decorations, did we? My mum just stole them somehow because she was so addicted to having shiny new things.

Today I’m going on the ferry over to Guernsey with Auntie Cass for our grand Christmas shopping expedition. Indigo’s not so happy about it because she has to stay at home with Uncle Dan, who’s trying to tempt her with plans for icing our Christmas cake and making mince pies. I’d quite like to join in with all that stuff too, but I’d never say and anyway, I have some shopping to do myself. I’ve promised Max that he can tag along with us because his mum’s too busy for things like Christmas shopping. Max says his mum does all her shopping on the internet and hardly ever leaves the island, unless it’s to do with horses.

The ferry to Guernsey is crammed full of Christmas shoppers, buzzing with excitement. Isla keeps on flitting backwards and forwards between sitting with us and sitting with Holly and Mandy, who are tucked in the corner at the back. Holly’s eyes are boring into my back,
but I don’t care. I got all her maths homework and a whole Christmas project done before school broke up. Now I’m hoping she’ll leave me in peace until next term.

“It’s OK, Isla,” I say. “You can sit with Holly if you like, I don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” she whispers. “It’s just that I’d rather sit with you two, but when I do I always end up feeling guilty. Holly and I have been best friends since I moved here and we started riding together. I feel bad leaving her and—”

“But it’s her that’s the problem,” Max cuts in. “It’s her that thinks I’m weird and that Tiff smells, or whatever stupid thing it is she keeps saying. She could just give up, be friends with us all and join in. Nobody would mind would they?”

Isla and Max look at me waiting for my answer.

“It’s not as if it’s anything to do with me is it? I mean, it’s not as if I’m really friends with any of you.” I say. “I’ve got my own best friend back at home. I’m not going to be hanging around here with you lot for much longer, so do what you want, I don’t care.”

My words sting their cheeks, but they swallow their hurt. Isla heads silently to the back of the ferry and gets
all cosy with Holly. And Max turns his back to me and stares out across the sea. My heart is thumping in my chest and my spiteful words are burning my tongue.

It’s the first time I’ve been back to Guernsey since I arrived on Sark, and I’ve almost forgotten what real shops are like. I feel more at home here with cars and streets and hustle and bustle. There are twinkling lights everywhere and huddles of people singing on street corners. Auntie Cass says she has some “top secret” shopping to do, so we plan to meet her for lunch in an hour and Max and I head off alone. I’m surprised he’s still speaking to me after what I said on the ferry.

“What d’you need to get, Max?” I ask.

“Dunno, really,” he says. “Something for my mum and dad, I guess.”

“What about your brother?”

“Nah, my mum sorts all that and wraps it up, and I just have to write the label. Why are you even interested, Tiff, you know, as you’re not even my friend or anything?”

And I want to say I’m sorry for my mean words and that I’d like to be his friend, really, it’s just I can’t let
myself get close. But my apology gets stuck in my throat and a sorry silence hangs in the air.

“I’m not really interested in shopping and stuff, anyway,” he says, filling the space. “I just like drawing really.”

And even while we’re walking along he’s got his little sketchbook out and he’s sketching away, drawing everything in sight.

I’m still determined to shop, though, and I treat myself to a new top, a belt and a pair of sparkly earrings. Memories of shopping with my mum float in and out of my mind. Cool memories of us trying stuff on and giggling our heads off weave in and out of the not-so-cool ones – the memories of her taking off security tags in the changing room and stuffing things in my school bag.

Once we’ve done most of our shopping I ask Max to wait while I buy one more present.

“I have a bit of ‘top secret’ shopping to do myself,” I say. “I’ll meet you outside the chemist in fifteen minutes?”

“Sure,” he says, his head burrowed into his sketchpad, “see you in a while.”

I dart into a book shop and buy Max a little book all about nature to cheer him up and to say sorry for being so horrible. It’s full of pictures that he can copy
with not too many difficult words to read. Then I head to my favourite accessories store to get Isla a sparkly purse. Then, just as I’m about to leave the shop, Mandy steps in my way.

“You’ve got a lot of things in your bags, Tiffany Morris,” she spits. “Sure you’ve remembered to pay for it all?”

“I d-d-did,” I stutter. “I did pay for it. I’ve got the receipts.”

“Just checking,” she says.

I’m getting tired of this and want to ask her once and for all what her problem is. But my bold words shrivel in my mouth and I swallow them down.

“I need to go,” I mumble, pushing past. “I have to meet my auntie.”

Out in the street I find Max waiting for me, still sketching away.

“I saw Mandy and she had another go at me,” I say. “What is it with her?”

I wish I could tell him all about it. I wish I could tell him that my mum’s in prison and that I hate her for it. And that Holly knows my secret and is bullying me. I wish I could tell him all about how I had a dog
for a day and that I miss her as much as if I’d had her for a hundred years. I wish I could tell him the truth, get it off my chest, and get it out of my mind. Lying to Max doesn’t feel good. It was OK at first because he was just a weird boy who I didn’t care about, but now he’s starting to feel like a friend.

Maybe I’ll tell him soon, but right now I need something to send to my mum (Aunt Cassie insisted) and something for my grandpa and grandma.

“OK,” I say to Max. “What do you buy grandparents who you’ve never even met?”

Before Max can answer, I have an idea. I drag him into a gift shop and we find two picture frames the exact right size for his sketchbook pages. One is mosaic, made from tiny little bits of shiny glass, and the other is wooden and plain.

“How much would you charge to draw two portraits of me?” I ask.

“Ahh, Madame,” he says, with a mock French accent, “for you, I sink one milkshake at Kristina’s and a batch of your ’omemade chocolate brownies would seal the deal.”

“Done,” I say, shaking his hand.

hello, hello, hello…

I
t’s two days before Christmas and everything is ready. Our tree is twinkling, the big log fire is roaring away and Uncle Dan is putting the finishing touches to our special welcome-home lunch for my grandparents. My tummy feels queasy. I’ve never had to welcome anyone home before. Except my mum when she’s been out on one of her girly nights with Bianca, and that usually involves making her some strong black coffee and settling her into bed. But this is different. This family stuff is new to me. I’m wearing my new top and belt that I bought in Guernsey and a pair of jeans that Auntie Cass got for me. I keep hopping about from one foot to the
other not really knowing what to do with myself.

I try to keep Indigo busy by making some paper chains, but she’s leaping about pretending to be a Christmas fairy and doesn’t want to sit down. She’s making me feel even more agitated. I’ve never had grandparents before, and I don’t know what it’s going to be like. I don’t know if I should shake their hands and be all stuffy and polite or if they’re going to be all disgusting and huggy and squish me in a big bear-hug and slobber wet kisses on my cheek. I asked Max what it’s like having grandparents, but he was useless. He just said it felt normal. But I don’t know what normal is any more.

“Hello, hello, hello,” booms a big voice in the hallway. “Anyone at home?”

Everyone runs into the hall. Indigo is flapping about and a man with a face as brown as a chestnut, and a big gold chain hanging from his neck, scoops her up into the air and swings her around.

“Hello, my little princess,” he says, “what’s Grandpa got here for you then?” And he magics a cupcake from behind her ear, making her squeal and leap about in his arms. Being five looks so much easier than being twelve.

“And look at you,” he says, turning to me. “Eh,
Margie,” he says to a tanned lady with shiny silvery hair and a million diamonds on her fingers. “Look at her, would you believe it?” And they both just stare at me. I shuffle from foot to foot and make a tiny wave with my hand.

“I’m sorry, m’darling,” he says, launching me into a twirl. “Shouldn’t stare at you like that. It’s just I’m gobsmacked, we both are. You look the double of your mum when she was your age. What do you think Margie? Eh?”

“Oh, give her here,” she says pulling me into a Grandma bear-hug. She starts patting me and stroking me and kissing me like crazy. Tears are spilling over her black-mascara eyes and running on to her rosy cheeks.

Then Grandpa wells up again, his eyes all sparkly with joy. “Would you Adam and Eve it?” he says. “I’ve never seen anything like it in me life. It’s like you’ve spun us back a few years and your mum’s just walked in from school. Come ’ere again,” he smiles, joining in my Grandma hug. “I’m the happiest man alive.”

Then tears start streaming down my cheeks too, and I don’t know why, but they’re happy tears, not sad tears. They’re happy tears that don’t need wiping away.
And then we all hug together. Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan join in and Indigo squirrels her way into the middle and we all stand there hugging and breathing each other in. I can feel the love from my family seeping into my bones. It scares me. I can’t trust them, can I? What if they let me down like Mum? I pull away and scowl.

“What this?” says my grandpa, ignoring my scowl and fiddling behind my ear. Then he pulls out a magic cupcake for me too and I know that I have to let my new family right into my heart.

On Christmas Eve the hotel is busy with families celebrating, and it’s all hands on deck. I’m running backwards and forwards like a mad thing with dirty plates and glasses. Uncle Dan and Auntie Cass are busy in the kitchen. My grandpa and grandma are running the bar and Indigo is entertaining everyone with her Christmas fairy dance.

“Just like the old days,” smiles Grandpa, bursting into song.

After midnight mass in the church, Max, Isla and I huddle together and exchange our presents. Max
gives me a flat parcel, with two thin bumps in the middle, wrapped in green shiny paper. And Isla gives me a squishy one wrapped in red paper with shiny silver bows. I give them their presents, which are wrapped in snowman paper with red sparkly ties. Holly’s green eyes hover on the edge of our little group, sending jealous poison arrows through the air. Isla hops over and gives her a present too, and I see Holly smile and think how much prettier she looks when she’s happy.

After everyone’s wished everyone a merry Christmas I troop home with my family under a black and starry sky. Indigo fell asleep ages ago and is snoozing soundly in Uncle Dan’s arms, and Auntie Cass has a sleepy, faraway look on her face that reminds me of my mum. I’m in the middle of my very own grandpa and grandma who are holding on to me tightly, like they never want to let me go.

“Look at the stars, Tiffany,” Grandpa says. “Special Sarkian stars, like twinkling stardust, falling into your eyes.”

I look up, and a million twinkling stars are falling on me like silver rain kissing my face.

“Do you know, Tiff,” he smiles, “I think you’re the
best Christmas present an old man like me could ever wish for.”

I don’t want to push his kind words away but it’s still so hard.

“I know this is all very difficult for you, babe,” he says. “I know your mum’s hurt you a lot and you’re probably feeling angry and scared and all alone in the world. But I need to tell you that you’re not, Tiff. You’ve got us now, and I promise you’re never gonna be left alone again. Your Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan are doing their best, babe. You’ve gotta give ’em a chance. Know what I mean?”

I nod.

“And your mum’s not all bad, is she? She might not be perfect, and she’s certainly got herself into a big pickle this time, but she does love you, Tiff, I’m sure of that.”

Tiny little star tears slip on to my cheeks because I know what he’s saying is true.

“You’re part of our family now, Tiff, and there’s no doubting that. I’d ’ave picked you out of a crowd of a million, you look so much like your mum. Come ’ere,” he says, and he lifts me up, like I was a five-year-old again and hugs me tight. I hug him back and bury my
face in his warm neck. Then my grandma joins in too, and I know for sure that I’m in the right place. That I’m home at last.

When I’m all tucked up in bed, I pick up the photo of my mum and me and kiss her face and stroke her ice-blonde hair. I try to imagine what Christmas in prison must be like. I wonder if she’ll have a proper Christmas dinner and if they even have a tree. When will she be allowed to open the cards and presents that we sent to her? I wonder if she’s lonely, thinking of us all here together. My anger melts into a heavy kind of sad puddle that’s lying in my chest. I feel guilty. I’m beginning to like it here. I’m beginning to like having a new life and a new family and although I do miss my mum, I don’t miss how our life was. I don’t miss everything being so unpredictable all the time. I don’t miss her going out at night and leaving me alone. And I don’t miss worrying about her wandering fingers and being embarrassed about her stealing.

I draw a little heart on the picture glass and give it wings to make it fly. I blow my hand and watch it zoom through the window, out into the Sarkian stars. I watch
it whizzing across the cold, dark sea and all the way to London, to my mum in her grey prison cell. I imagine her catching it and tucking it under her covers and hugging it tight. I tuck our photo under my covers and cuddle it tight too, and it almost feels like we’re together again.