Since You've Been Gone (6 page)

W
hen
the bell rings at the end of the day, I feel triumphant. I can't help but smile as I walk out the school doors. Mr. Middleton hasn't spoken to me. In fact, he passed me in the hall without so much as a glance while I was gathering my books for history class. I don't know who they think is behind the money's disappearance and really don't care. Nothing matters now except finding Mom.

I turn down a laneway. It's a shortcut home that I've discovered. A fine mist of rain begins to fall. Cold fingers of wind claw at the thin jacket I'm wearing. Shivering, I cross my arms in front of my chest in an attempt to keep warm.

“What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?”

I don't even have time to react before being pushed violently from behind and up against the brick wall. I cry out as the brick scrapes my cheek. At the sound of my cry, the hold on me loosens and I'm able to turn and step away from the wall.

Jermaine stands in front of me, his dark eyes watching me intensely. His rage is so palpable I can almost taste it. My first instinct is to get away from that anger. But with Jermaine in front of me and the brick wall at my back, there is nowhere to run.

“What are you talking about?” I ask. My voice is barely a whisper. I hate myself for being so scared, but all I can think about was how Jermaine supposedly killed a bunch of kids, including his own brother, and somehow got away with it. That's everyone says;
it was clear he'd done it, but some stupid judge let him off.

Jermaine kisses his teeth loudly. “What am I on about?” He takes two steps toward me and bends down so that his face is only millimetres away from mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “I'm talking about the money I was just suspended for nicking.”

“I still don't know what you're talking about,” I reply, trying to keep my voice even. I suddenly have to go to the bathroom badly. “Ms. Bryans said they found out who took that money. That's all I know.”

Jermaine takes a step backward and laughs. His breath turns into little clouds of white vapour as it hits the damp air.

“All right, then. Let's walk through yesterday. You just happened to be in the class at lunch without a hall pass, right?”

“Yeah. So, what's your point?” I ask.

“You're telling me it was just a coincidence that you were in there when the money disappeared?”

“You heard what they said. It was a male student who took the money.”

“No, what they said was that people saw a student coming out of our classroom yesterday during lunch. What they didn't bother saying was that they were talking about me. Funny thing is, I had a hall pass. And you saw it. Mr. Ravi gave it to me. But what's even more funny is that when Ravi was asked about it, he denied ever giving me a hall pass.”

‘Well, I can vouch for you,” I interject. “I can tell them that I saw your hall pass.”

Jermaine smirks. “And what'll you do when they ask where
your
pass was?”

He's right. I feel badly that he's being punished for my crime, but there's no way I'll confess to the school administration about taking that money.

I glance at Jermaine again. His red cotton hoodie is soaked, he has no jacket on, and he still looks angry. I owe him some sort of explanation. I take a deep breath.

“I had to take that money,” I blurt out. “My mom hasn't been home for more than twenty-four hours. I took the money so I can find her. I need it for transportation. And to get food … so I can eat.” Though I hadn't really meant to tell Jermaine everything, I feel a sense of relief. The secret finally isn't just mine.

He regards me carefully like he's trying to decide whether or not I'm telling the truth.

“Are you having me on?” he finally asks.

“No …”

“Did Keisha and Savitri put you up to this?”

“What?” I ask, taken aback.

“You heard me. Are you taking the piss? Is it a laugh for you?”

I shake my head. “I don't know what you mean.”

“Getting me in trouble is what I mean. Is it funny to all of you?”

The anger is back, resonating off him in waves. It was evident Jermaine didn't believe my explanation for stealing the money.

“No, I swear. Keisha and Savitri don't even know I took the money.”

“And I'm supposed to believe a thief?”

It's raining harder. Drops of water ricochet off the pavement. Even they seem full of rage.

“I'm sorry,” I stammer. “But I can't tell anyone I took that money. Especially not Mr. Middleton. At least not yet.”

Jermaine glares at me. “You have no idea what you've done,” he says, his voice low. “Stay away from me. And best hope I stay away from you.”

He turns and walks away without so much as a glance back at me. I stand for a moment in the rain watching him, not wanting to turn my back until I know he's a safe distance away. Then I begin to run.

I
don't stop running until I'm back at the flat. By the time I reach the parking lot in front of the building, my lungs feel as though they've been doused in gasoline and set on fire. My hair sticks in soaking strands to my cheeks and neck. I'm a mess.

As I walk onto the landing outside the flat, I'm startled to see a man and a woman knocking on our door. They're both wearing yellow vests. I've seen police officers around their station in the centre of Lewisham just opposite the Pizza Hut, but these uniforms aren't quite the same. I slow my pace and try to steady my breathing.

The man looks up as I approach. “Hello there,” he says, flashing me a goofy grin that reveals teeth in bad need of a visit to a dentist's office. “Do you live here?”

I pause. But just for a moment.

“In this building? Yeah.” My heart's thumping so hard I'm sure they can see it beating through my jacket.

“Do you live at this flat?” he asks, nodding at our door.

“No,” I reply. “I live two doors down.”

They exchange a knowing glance. Every muscle in my body tenses.

“That's too bad. We're hoping to speak to the residents of this flat,” the woman says, nodding her head toward our door. “Maybe you know them?” She raises an eyebrow questioningly at me.

I shrug. “Nope. Sorry. I can't help you.” I walk past the two of them, pretending to head toward one of the flats farther along the concrete walkway.

“That's so curious,” the man replies from behind me. “Because the girl who supposedly lives here is just about your age and from Canada.”

Before the words are out of his mouth I begin to run, my legs propelling me toward the staircase at the end of the walkway.

Running footsteps fall in time with mine, but I don't dare turn around. That would only slow me down. The man is tall and lean and I need every advantage I can get.

I reach the stairs and hurl myself down them two at a time, praying I won't lose my footing. The cold metal of the railing slides under my palm. It's the only thing keeping me from falling headfirst down the steps.

“Wait!” the man shouts. My heart jumps. He's so near it sounds like he's almost yelling in my ear. “Please stop! We just want to have a word with you.”

Screw you
, I think. They're some sort of police, maybe not like the ones I see walking around the neighbourhood by the school or in their little white cop cars, but close enough. Close enough that there's no way I'm going to stop. They stick together. I know that all too well. And it doesn't matter if you're police in a different country. If they're looking for me then I can bet Dad's found us after all. And he likely found Mom first.

I leap from the staircase, leaving the final four steps untouched. My shoes hit the asphalt of the parking lot with a thud, sending a sharp pain through my right ankle like a bolt of lightning. This momentarily throws me off-balance, but there's no time to stop.

Lungs burning, I run down the street, retracing my earlier route. Jermaine's warning is a distant memory. Little did he know some schoolyard threat isn't going to scare me. I'm used to dealing with fear.

I doubt the man will chase me once I am off our housing estate, but I'm not taking any chances and continue running to the bottom of the hill and across the main street toward the train station. I enter the front doors, sprint past a long line of people waiting to buy tickets, bound down the nearest set of stairs, and dash onto the platform just as a train is approaching. A small crowd of soon-to-be passengers stand waiting. Some are hastily taking the last drags off cigarettes while others keep their faces firmly buried in a book or newspaper. I try to blend in even though I must look like I've just run a marathon with werewolves chasing me.

“The train approaching Platform Two is a Connex-Southeastern service calling at St. John's, Blackheath
…”

The rest of the announcement fades from my consciousness the second I notice two yellow flashes. The officers are standing at the top of the stairs.

They followed me! I'm trapped with nowhere to go but onto the train. And not only do I not have a ticket; I have absolutely no idea where this train is going. The destinations announced a few moments ago might as well have been in China.

The doors to the train slide open and a surge of city workers in their suits pour out like water from a burst dam. I glance toward the staircase again and that's when the man points at me. Within seconds, they're both running down the stairs. Sweat breaks out on my forehead.

I have no choice. I'm getting on that train.

Pushing my way forward, I hurry on. Every seat is taken and standing room means jamming your body against the other passengers around you. Gross.

Mind the doors, the doors are closing …

I look out the window. They're steps away from the door, having been slowed down by the crowd of commuters trying to make their way up the stairs, out of the station and home. The man is shouting something as he claws his way to the door.

Then there's a sudden lurch and the fat man stuffing his face full of chips beside me loses his balance for a moment and falls forward, putting one of his greasy paws on my shoulder to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he wheezes. Though his onion breath makes me want to puke, I don't care. We pull away from the station, leaving the man and woman on the platform, staring in frustration as the train leaves New Cross Gate, taking me with it.

T
he
train's first stop is Blackheath and I decide to get off. I don't want to go too far, but I need to be sure that the two officers will not be able to find me easily. That means getting as far away from the station as I can as quickly as possible.

Though it's only a five-minute train ride away, Blackheath might as well be on another planet; it is so different from New Cross. No more taxi stands with chipped signs. The Caribbean food takeout shops and rundown hairdressers have disappeared as well. Instead, as I turn down the street and walk away from the station, I pass boutiques full of designer clothes, fancy food stores, and a Starbucks. Hunger strikes me like a boxer's fist as I peer inside and see people eating. I feel around in my jacket pocket and pull out a five-pound note and a handful of change.

It's weird being in a Starbucks in England. Pretty much everything is the same as in Canada. Rumi and I used to go to the Starbucks near George Brown College, pretend we were students there, and drink caramel macchiatos. Thinking about the future and daydreaming about what we'd be doing as college or university students made real life easier sometimes.

“Can I get a grande caramel macchiato and a croissant, please?” I ask the girl behind the counter.

“Whipped cream?”

I smile. “Of course.”

She smiles back at me as she grabs a cup. “Takeaway or eat in?”

I look outside. The sky is clearing and the rain has finally stopped, leaving the sidewalks awash with tiny puddles that glisten under the streetlamps. I want to get back to the flat before it gets very late. Especially since I really have no idea where I am.

“To go. I mean, takeaway.”

“Are you just visiting?” she asks. A generous helping of fluffy white cream is spooned on top of my drink.

“Nope. I live nearby.” Even though I know this Starbucks chick is completely harmless, the question still makes me jumpy. I can't shake the fear that I might still be followed or, worse yet, that somehow Dad has managed to get everyone in London searching for me.

Outside, the cold air hits me like a slap. The warmth from the cup soothes my bare hands as I continue to walk up the street until I come to a fork in the road. I follow the right side, emerging a few minutes later onto a massive expanse of flat, green land. In the distance, headlights from a traffic jam litter the night like tiny fireflies.

I walk along, pulling my jacket up as far as I can to try to cover my neck and block out the biting wind. Though I can't be that far from New Cross, I have no idea what direction to walk in to get back. Being alone on a dark field makes me want to scream my skin inside out, but I know I need to stay calm. I'm probably a thousand times safer right now than I've ever been walking around Regent after dark and I'd done that loads of times. Yet I can't shake the fear that Dad knows where I am and that it's just a matter of time before he catches up to me.

After what seems like ages, I reach the road and stand, my face illuminated by the headlights of the cars, trying to figure out which way to walk. Though I can see the shadows of a few houses away to my left and across the road, the area is strangely deserted. It's hard to believe I'm still in London. I look over my shoulder. The lights of Blackheath twinkle behind me. I've never felt so alone in my entire life.

Eventually I find a 171 bus that is heading back to New Cross. I don't know what to expect back at the flat. Part of me wonders if maybe I was wrong about the man and woman. Maybe they have nothing to do with him; perhaps someone ratted me out and they were sent from the school to inform Mom about the missing money. Except Mom is missing. And deep down I believe the visit happening so soon after Mom disappearing isn't a coincidence.

I get off the bus and take a different route back to the flat just in case anyone is watching. Not going back to the flat isn't an option unless I want to spend the night on the streets.

Every step I take seems to echo along the pavement. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched and stop several times like a spy from some kid's cartoon to hide behind a tree, staying still for several minutes to see if anyone emerges from the shadows to search me out.

I make it to our building and hurry quickly along the concrete walkway toward the stairwell.

A hooded shadow emerges from behind one of the parked cars as I pass. Every muscle in my body stops and tenses. The sound of my heart pounding fills my ears.

“About time. Freezing my balls off out here.”

Jermaine pulls back his hood, leans against the car, and regards me carefully. What does he want? Suddenly I'm afraid. I thought his threat was empty. Clearly I was wrong.

“Are you some kind of psycho stalker?” I snap, jabbing my index finger at him. “How did you know I lived here?”

“I followed you after school.” He doesn't seem angry anymore. “Wanted to see if you were lying about your mum.”

“Why would I lie about my mom disappearing? Does that seem like a funny joke to you?” Tears well up in my eyes just talking about it. I'm exhausted and cold from walking around in the damp all evening.

“Naw. But I've taken the fall for you in a big way and I need this sorted.”

“Well, I have to find my mom first. Then I promise I'll tell everyone that I took the money. I'll even take an ad out in the paper,” I quip.

“Yeah that's brilliant,” Jermaine replies. “While you're being all smart about this, I'll be taken into care.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“That's right. My mum was told if I got into any more trouble they were going to take me away from her. And the school calling about the money and me being suspended is going to be just the reason they need to do it.”

I close my eyes for a moment. I took that money so that no one would know Mom was gone; so the school wouldn't call Children's Aid or whatever they called it here. Because I did that, someone else is about to be taken away from his mom. Still, I have to think of Mom and me first. It's the only way to survive. If I begin caring too much about what's happening with others, it will only make things harder.

“I'm sorry,” I say. I figure saying it might make him lay off. Anyway, I can't help him unless I find out what's happened to Mom.

Jermaine looks slightly unconvinced. He crosses his arms against his chest. “So, does your mum do this often? Take off?”

My eyes widen. “No! Of course not. This has never happened before. She works nights in the city and just …” I trail off for a moment, not trusting myself to speak without crying and I'm not going to cry in front of him. “She just didn't come home the other morning.”

Jermaine lets out a low whistle. “Does she do something dodgy like being a prostitute?”

“Screw you,” I say bitterly. I push past him and run to the stairwell.

“Hey! It was just a question. Don't get angry.” Jermaine is beside me within seconds. He grabs my elbow. I snatch my arm back and wheel around.

“Don't touch me,” I snap.

“Sorry,” he says, holding his hands up as if he's surrendering to me. “I just don't think you should go up there alone. I saw community police chasing you today. What's up with that?”

So that's who they were.

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

“Maybe they have some information about your mum.”

“I bet they do,” I say bitterly. “But I wasn't sticking around to find out.”

Jermaine raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't probe further. “If you need to find your mum before you'll come clean about the charity money, I better help you.”

“Why should I trust you to help me?' I ask. Hunger, fatigue, and cold are combining to make me super-irritable.

“Well, let's see … maybe because I'm the only one that knows you nicked that money. And I also know your mum isn't anywhere around and that no one is looking after you right now.”

He has me there. I let the secret out and have no one to blame for that but myself. Besides, Jermaine seems okay from what I can tell. He doesn't appear to be the psycho that Savitri and Keisha make him out to be. At least I hope he isn't.

“Fine,” I say. “You can walk me to the door and then come by tomorrow morning. But make it early. I need to begin looking for Mom a.s.a.p.”

“Any idea where to start?” Jermaine asks. We begin walking up the stairs. It's so cold that little clouds of smoky vapour hit the air in front of us as we talk.

I pause.

“No. But I'll figure that out tonight. You just show tomorrow at nine o'clock.”

Jermaine smiles. “We'll find her, Edie.”

I turn and look him in the eye. “I hope you really believe that,” I say. “Because there is no other choice.”