The Book of Tomorrow (14 page)

‘There’s no mystery. My mother isn’t good in the company of strangers. Perhaps we’ll have her over for dinner some day if she’s up to it.’

‘Cool.’ Another over-fifty to add to my list of acquaintances.

I was going to try again one last time, seeing as she’d softened so much but I heard a vehicle coming down the road and hoping it was Marcus, I saluted Rosaleen, turned around and ran.

If it hadn’t been Marcus, then that five seconds of hope would have been the most exciting thing that had happened that day. But it turned out it was him. He was standing at the porch of the gatehouse by the time I ran across the road, running his hand through his hair and glancing at his reflection in the glass.

‘There’s a hair out of place just over your ear,’ I called from the gate.

He spun round with a smile. ‘Goodwin. Good to see you.’

‘Have you come for the book?’

He smiled. ‘Eh, yeah, the book, of course. Couldn’t stop thinking about…that damn book.’

‘Actually, there’s a problem with the book.’

‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘No, I mean the actual book, the real book.’

‘You lost it.’

‘No I didn’t lose it…’

‘Don’t believe you. Do you know what the punishment for losing library books is?’

‘Spend a day with you?’

‘No, Goodwin. If you do the crime you have to do the time. I am, revoking your travelling library card.’

‘Nooo, anything but my travelling library card.’

‘Yes. Come on, give it to me.’ He came close and started poking and prodding my body. ‘Where is it? Is it in here?’ His hands were everywhere, in my jeans pockets, padding down my stomach.

‘I refuse to give it up,’ I laughed. ‘Seriously, Marcus, I haven’t lost it but you can’t have it back.’

‘I don’t think you understand the rules of the travelling library. You see, you borrow a book, you read it, or dance around with it if that makes you happy, and then you return it to the handsome librarian.’

‘No, you see, what happened, was that somebody broke the lock and discovered that it wasn’t a book, but in fact a diary. All the pages were totally blank.’

Totally blank. Very dead.

‘So then, somebody wrote in it.’

‘Ah…
somebody
. That wouldn’t happen to be you?’

‘Actually, no. I don’t know who wrote in it.’ I smiled but of course I was being serious. ‘It’s just the first few pages. I could rip them out and give you back the book but…’

‘You could just say you lost it. It would be easier.’

‘Stay there a minute.’

I ran into the house and upstairs, lifted the floorboard and took the diary out. I brought it outside, hugged it close to my chest.

‘You can’t read it but here’s proof that I haven’t lost it. I’ll pay or do whatever…I just can’t give it back.’

He realised I was serious.

‘No, that’s fine. One book isn’t going to make a difference. Can I read it? Is there anything in there about me?’

I laughed and lifted it out of his reach. But he was too good for me, much taller, and he grabbed it. I panicked. He opened the first page and I waited for him to read the embarrasing admittance that Dad had killed himself.

‘I shouldn’t have told Weseley about dad,’ he read. ‘Who’s Weseley?’ he asked, looking at me.

‘I have no idea.’ I tried to grab it from him, no longer laughing. ‘Give it back, Marcus.’

He handed it back. ‘Sorry I shouldn’t have read it but you got the date wrong. The fifth is tomorrow.’

I just shook my head. At least it wasn’t just me imagining it. This diary thing was really happening.

‘I’m sorry for reading it.’

‘No, it’s really okay. I didn’t write this.’

‘Maybe it was one of the Kilsaneys.’

I shuddered and closed the book. I wanted so much to read it again.

‘Oh, by the way, I found Sister Ignatius!’

‘Alive, I hope.’

‘She lives on the other side of the grounds. I’ll direct you.’

‘No, Goodwin, I don’t trust you. The last residence you led me to was a dilapidated castle.’

‘I’ll bring you to her myself. Come on, Bookman, to the Bookmobile!’ I ran down the path and hopped on the bus.

He laughed and followed me.

We pulled up outside the sisters’ house and I pressed down on the horn.

‘Tamara, you can’t do that. It’s a convent.’

‘Honestly, this isn’t a regular convent.’ I sounded the horn again.

A woman dressed in a black skirt, black jumper, white shirt with a gold cross and a black and white veil opened the door, looking very cross. She was older than Sister Ignatius. I jumped out of the car.

‘What’s all this racket?’

‘We’re looking for Sister Ignatius. She wanted to borrow a book.’

‘It’s prayer time, she can’t be disrupted.’

‘Oh. Well, hold on a minute.’ I rummaged around in the back of the bus. ‘Could you please give her this and tell her it’s from Tamara. It’s a special delivery. She ordered it last week.’

‘I will indeed.’ The nun took the book and closed the door immediately.

‘Tamara,’ Marcus said sternly. ‘What book did you give her.’

‘
Bedded by the Turkish Billionaire
. One of Mills and Boon’s greats.’

‘Tamara! You’ll get me fired.’

‘Like you care! Drive, Bookman! Take me away from here!’

We drove to the town and pulled over for the public. But really we went to Morocco. He even kissed me by the Giza Pyramids.

‘So what have you been doing the last few days?’ Rosaleen asked happily, spooning three thousand calories onto my plate. The diary had been correct, shepherd’s pie.

She’d grabbed me almost as soon as I’d got home. I’d had just enough time to hide the diary upstairs and come back down. I didn’t want to mention I’d spent the day with Marcus in case she tried to stop me. But she couldn’t complain about my hanging around with a nun, now could she?

‘I’ve been spending most of my time with Sister Ignatius.’

She dropped the serving spoons into the bowl and then with awkward fidgeting fingers, she scooped them out.

‘Sister Ignatius?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘But…when did you meet her?’

‘A few days ago. So how was your mum today? Is she coming over for dinner sometime?’

‘You never mentioned meeting Sister Ignatius a few days ago.’

I just looked at her. Her reaction was identical to the one I’d written about in the diary. Was I supposed to say sorry? Was I supposed to have tried to prevent this? I didn’t know what to do, how to manage the information I was being given. What was the point of it?

Instead I said, ‘I never mentioned I got my period on Tuesday either but I did.’

Arthur sighed. Rosaleen’s face hardened.

‘A few days ago you met her, you say? Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

‘Maybe you just met her today.’

‘No.’

‘And does she know where you live?’

‘Yes of course. She knows I’m here.’

‘I see,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But…but she was here this morning. She never said anything about you.’

‘Really? And what did you say to her about me?’

Sometimes your tone can change things, I know that.
Sometimes in text messages, people don’t pick up tones, or they pick up tones that aren’t there and completely misinterpret innocent messages. I’ve had countless arguments with Zoey over what she thought I meant by a five-word text. But this statement I made, it came with a tone, a deliberate one. And Rosaleen picked up on that. And being clever, she then knew that I must have heard their conversation. She knew that while she’d been talking to Sister Ignatius, she’d heard the shower running, and she’d known I’d earwigged on her conversation.

‘Is there a problem with my friendship with her? Do you think she’s a bad influence? Am I going to join some weird religious sect and dress in black everyday. Oh, no, hold on, maybe I will! She’s a nun!’ I laughed and looked at Arthur, who was glaring at Rosaleen.

‘What do you talk about?’

I detected panic.

‘Does it matter what we talk about?’

‘I mean, you’re a young girl. What would you have to talk about with a nun?’ She smiled, to hide her panic.

That was the point where I was going to talk about the castle, about the fire and the fact it had been lived in far more recently than I’d thought. I was going to ask Rosaleen the question about who died and where everybody was when I remembered the diary entry.
I wish I hadn’t told her about what I’d learned about the castle.
Was this what I shouldn’t have mentioned? Rosaleen was staring at me in the long time it took me to think of an answer. I took a forkful of minced meat, to give myself some more thinking time.

‘You know…we talked about a lot of different kinds of stuff…’

‘
What
kinds of things?’

‘Rosaleen,’ Arthur said quietly.

Her head snapped round to face him like a deer who’d heard a trigger pulled back in the distance.

‘Your dinner will get cold.’ He looked at her plate, which remained untouched.

‘Oh. Yes.’ She picked up her fork and stabbed a carrot, but didn’t lift it to her mouth. ‘Carry on, child. You were saying.’

‘Rosaleen,’ I sighed.

‘Let her eat her dinner,’ Arthur said quietly.

I looked to Arthur to thank him but he didn’t look up, just continued shovelling food in his mouth. There was an awkward silence as we ate, and the sounds of munching and cutlery scraping dishes took over the room.

‘Excuse me, please. I’m just going to the bathroom,’ I finally said, unable to bear it any more.

Only I stayed outside the door to listen.

‘What was that all about?’ Arthur barked.

‘Ssh, keep your voice down.’

‘I’ll not keep my voice down,’ he hissed back, but his voice was lowered.

‘Sister Ignatius called here this morning and said nothing of Tamara,’ she hissed back.

‘So?’

‘So she acted as if she knew nothing about her. If Tamara had met her, surely she’d have said. Sister Ignatius isn’t the kind to not say so. Why wouldn’t she?’

‘So what are you suggesting? That Tamara’s lying?’

My mouth dropped and I almost barged in there, except the next sentence from Rosaleen’s lips, spoken with such bitterness, stopped me.

‘Of course she’s lying. She’s just like her mother.’

There was a long silence. Arthur said nothing.

I lay in bed trying to block out Rosaleen’s words which were being repeated over and over in my mind. There was a history I knew nothing of, that was certain, but there was nothing I could do now to try and find out what that was and what she could have meant. Yesterday was a closed book, tomorrow, however, was another story. I reread the entry for tomorrow over and over again, feeling fired up. There was much to plan for. As I lay in bed running through all the things I should do in my limited time tomorrow, knowing that Rosaleen and Arthur wouldn’t be returning until one o’clock on the button, it did little to help me relax. It was a humid July night. It was either going to be a stormy night or tomorrow would be a scorcher. I opened my bedroom window, hoping for some air, and kicked off my covers. I lay in the blue light of the moon, watching the oily sky glisten with stars.

As I listened to the silence, I suddenly heard owls hoot, the occasional sheep and cow call for attention; the sounds of the country night that I’d grown used to drifted into my room. Now and then there was a welcome light breeze and each time I heard the leaves on the trees gently rustle, they too
thankful for the cool air. Eventually I became a little chilly and reached to close the window when I realised the sounds that I’d thought were birds chirping were actually voices in the distance. In the country who knew how far such sounds could carry, but as I listened out for them again, I heard the distinct rise and fall of conversation and sudden laughter, perhaps music and then silence again as the breeze stopped carrying their noise. It was coming from the direction of the castle.

It was 11.30 p.m. I threw on a tracksuit and trainers, the floor creaking beneath my feet as I moved around as daintily as possible in my room. With each creak I froze, expecting the sleeping giant to awaken at any moment. I moved the chair away from the bedroom door and gently opened it. It would be a feat to get downstairs and out the front door without alerting the mistress of the house. I heard Rosaleen cough and I stalled, then immediately closed my door again. I’d never heard her cough at night before, I took it as a warning.

I climbed on the bed to avoid walking on the creaky floorboards and crawled along the mattress to reach the window. It was an old springy mattress and it made a noise but at least it sounded legitimately as though I was turning over. I took the torch from the bedside locker and pushed the window open further. Sizewise, I could fit through it without a problem. My bedroom was directly over the front porch. Though the roof was pointed, I could, with great concentration, land on it. From there it would be a relatively easy climb down the wooden fencing on the porch and straight to the ground. Easy.

Suddenly Rosaleen and Arthur’s bedroom door opened and there were quick footsteps down the corridor. I dived back into the bed and covered myself from head to toe with the duvet, making sure my tracksuit and trainers, and the torch,
weren’t visible. I scrunched my eyes shut just as my bedroom door opened. The window was wide open and to my trained ear the voices from afar seemed so loud I was sure my intentions would be obvious.

My heart thudded loudly in my chest as the person was suddenly in my room. The floorboards creaked, one by one as the figure came closer to me. It was Rosaleen. I knew by the way she held her breath, by the scent. The creaking stopped, which meant she was standing still. Watching. Watching
me
.

I fought hard not to open my eyes. I tried to relax my lids, not allow my eyeballs to roll around too much. I tried to breathe normally, a little louder than usual to show my deep slumber. I felt a body hover over me and I almost jumped up to attack, but I heard the window close and realised she was leaning over me to reach it. I contemplated opening my eyes, catching her out, making a drama. But what could I gain from this?

‘Rosaleen.’ I heard a hiss from my bedroom door. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m just making sure she’s all right.’

‘Of course she’s okay. She’s not a baby any more. Come back to bed.’

I felt a hand on my cheek, then fingers gently pushed my hair back to behind my ear just like my mother used to do. Then I waited for the duvet to be pulled off me and for my midnight prowl costume to be revealed, but instead I felt her breath on my face, felt her lips brush against my forehead in a gentle kiss, and then she was gone. The door closed.

She’s not a baby any more.

After she left I waited until Arthur’s snores began again. Then I got out of bed, pushed the window open and didn’t think twice before climbing out and landing gently on the
slate archway of the porch. It was only when I landed on the grass and looked up at the house, at my bedroom, at the closed-over window, that I understood the meaning behind my message to myself not to close the window.

Using the torch I made my way towards the castle, following the voices. I could see only a few feet ahead of me, the rest of the world had been swallowed up by the black hole of night. The trees seemed to hold even more secrets at nighttime, and in the darkness their ‘sssh’ sound to one another led me to believe there was more they weren’t telling me. As I got closer to the castle, I heard voices, I smelled smoke, heard music, heard the clink of glasses or bottles. I could see light coming from the entrance hall and the room with the intact windows to the right. The rest of the rooms to the left and to the back were black. I turned off the torch and made my way around the back of the castle, passing two rooms that I’m sure had a grand view of the lake behind and the hundreds of steps that led down to it. I reached the window room I’d climbed out of before, and I listened.

A night light made up of stars circled the old wall. Yellow stars moved around and, thinking the room was empty, I leaned in to watch, though the real ones which were visible through the opposite window were far more impressive. I thought I was alone watching them until I heard the slurping sound of kissing. And that was quickly followed by a scream.

There was lots of running, lots of shushing, lots of cans and bottles being knocked over. Lots of whispering. Then I felt a hand pull at my hair and grab me by the scruff of my neck and I was literally dragged all the way to the castle.

‘Hey, let go.’ I kicked. ‘Get your fucking hands off me.’

I swatted at the hands around my waist, which were definitely male hands as I was half lifted and half dragged. I thanked Rosaleen for her carbohydrate-rich diet then and the
extra few pounds I’d put on since arriving, or else I’d have been easily thrown over his shoulder. Once inside and placed fully on the ground, he kept his arm round my waist and remained behind me. I turned round a few times to see an ugly-looking thing with fluff on his chin. Six people stared at me. Some were sitting on the stairs, others on crates on the floor. I felt like shouting at them to get out of my house.

‘She was watching us,’ the screamer said, arriving at the doorway, panting as though about to faint from the ordeal.

‘I wasn’t watching,’ I rolled my eyes. ‘That’s totally gross.’

‘She’s an American,’ one guy said.

‘I’m not American.’

‘You sound American,’ another one said.

‘Hey it’s Hannah Montana.’

Lots of laughs.

‘I’m from Dublin.’

‘No she’s not.’

‘Yes I am.’

‘You’re a long way from Dublin.’

‘I’m just here for the summer.’

‘On vacation,’ someone said, and they all laughed again.

A guy appeared at the doorway behind the squealer. He listened for a while as I tried to defend myself with a screechy embarrassing voice that I just couldn’t seem to control, and I wondered how on earth I had ended up being the uncool person in this room of hicksville inhabitants.

‘Gary, let go of her,’ the latest arrival finally said.

Gary fluffy chin let go immediately. I’d identified the leader.

Once released, I gathered myself.

‘Can I take any more questions from the room? Perhaps you sir, in the fleece jacket and Doc Martens, would you like to ask a question to me about the days when Guns n’Roses were cool?’

Someone smirked, was elbowed, then cried out in pain. Gary fluffy chin, still behind me, dug me in the back, which really hurt.

‘I just heard you all from my room. I was in bed.’ I realised I sounded like the greatest annoyance on the planet, like a child who’d interrupted on her parents’ dinner party.

‘You live nearby?’

‘She’s lying.’

‘Well, where the hell do you think I live? I just flew over from LA for a midnight stroll?’

‘Are you staying in the gatehouse?’

‘The
royal
gatehouse,’ somebody else said and they all started laughing.

Okay, so it was far from being Buckingham Palace, but it was better than a lot of the other shithole barn houses I saw as we drove here. I looked from one face to the other, trying to decide my answer. How stupid would it be of me to tell them where I was staying?

‘Oh, no, I just live in a cowshed and sleep with pigs just like the rest of you,’ I snapped back. ‘I don’t know what your big problem is. It’s not as if he looks like he’s from around here, either.’

I was referring to the dark-skinned leader of the gang who was standing at the doorway just staring at me. Go for the leader in hostage situations, take them out. It wasn’t the cleverest idea really.

They all looked at each other with wide eyes and I could hear ‘racist’ being said over and over.

‘That’s not racist.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘He’s wearing Dsquared. Last time I checked hicksville, population nil, it didn’t stock Dsquared.’

Really, I wasn’t being very clever. I’ve seen
Deliverance
; I know what they can make you do and I’d already accused
them of sleeping with pigs, which wasn’t a great beginning to what probably should have been an apology. I saw their leader’s teeth flash as he smiled briefly and then he covered his mouth with his hand as the rest of the gang went into overdrive, squaring up to me with pointed fingers and calling me a racist over and over again, even though I’d clearly explained my thoughts on why he stood out. The guy at the doorway called them all to stop, tried to reason with the squealer and a few drunken others, and then eventually grabbed me and pulled me outside and round the back of the castle, back to the scene of the crime; the window where I’d supposedly spied.

‘Is this where you pretend to kill me but really let me loose?’ I asked, a little nervously. A lot nervously. Okay, I thought he was going to beat me up.

He smiled. ‘You’re Tamara, aren’t you?’

My mouth dropped. ‘How did you…’ And then the penny dropped. ‘You’re Weseley.’

It was his turn to look surprised. ‘Arthur told you about me?’

‘Arthur? Eh, yeah, of course he did. He talks about you all the time.’

He looked confused. ‘He told me about you too.’

‘He did?’

I didn’t think Arthur would speak of me at all. I couldn’t even imagine what he’d say.

‘Smoke?’

I took one and he struck up a match. When he lit it I could see his face properly. His skin was a milky chocolate, not ebony, but beautifully dark. His eyes were big and brown, his eyelashes so long, I was momentarily jealous as in my previous life I spent a lot of my pocket money on false ones with glitter. His lips were big and juicy, his teeth perfectly straight and
white, with a nice jaw, perfect cheekbones. He was so good-looking I was kind of jealous. He was taller than me, a head taller. The match burned down to his finger and he dropped it. I realised then he must have been looking at me too. He lit it again and I inhaled. It had been too long.

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’

‘What the hell are you doing, Wes? Oh, now you’re having a smoke with her? She’s related to that freak family, I hope you know.’ The squealer appeared round the corner, another girl in her wake, and wobbled her way unevenly to us, filling the air with the scent of a Body Shop gift basket.

‘Calm down, Kate,’ he said.

‘No, I will not fucking calm down…’ She went on a tirade of drunken nonsense and then started to hit him over and over again with her purse. Her friend pulled her away.

‘Fine.’ She shook her friend off, then grabbed her again before she fell, almost bringing her down with her. ‘I’m going home anyway.’

‘Ouch.’ I looked at him.

‘It didn’t hurt.’

‘A fake Louis Vuitton—are you joking? I felt the pain just looking at it.’

‘You’re a snob,’ he smiled.

‘You’re a bad boyfriend.’

‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘Whatever.’

‘You want a drink?’

I nodded way too enthusiastically. He laughed, then disappeared headfirst through the window, back into the castle. I followed him in.

‘Hey Weseley, you’re not giving Hannah Montana our cans, are you?’

Weseley ignored Gary and handed me a can.

‘What is this?’

‘Diamond White.’

‘Never heard of it.’

‘How can I explain this so that you’d understand?’ He thought hard. ‘Think of it as champagne, but made with apples.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘If you think I drink champagne then you don’t know me at all.’

‘Well, I don’t, do I? It’s cider. Americans call it hard cider.’

‘I’m not American.’

‘You don’t sound Irish.’

‘And you don’t look Irish. Maybe Irish as the world knows it has changed.’ I gasped sarcastically. ‘Oh my God, who should we tell?’

‘My mam has red hair and freckles.’

‘So she must be Swedish.’

He laughed, then pointed at a crate behind me and I sat down. He sat opposite me.

‘Where’s your dad from?’

‘Madagascar.’

‘Cool, like in the movie?’

‘Yep,
exactly
like the Disney animation,’ he said heavily.

‘You ever go there?’

‘No.’

‘How come he moved here?’

‘Because.’

‘Ah.’ I nodded understandingly. ‘Always a good reason.’

We both laughed.

Someone in the next room said something about me being a racist again.

‘I only meant your clothes,’ I said quietly. ‘You’re dressed better than John Boy in there, and Mary Ellen, who walked off in her fake Uggs in a puff of Dewberry.’