Brave New Girl (12 page)

Dad made Turkish coffee for us all, which Keith couldn't drink, and even though I hadn't spelt it out to Dad about the filming he was in such a good mood we could have danced around on the tables and he and Mehmet would have moved them into place to make it easier.

It went really well. Keith filmed me looking as if my brain had dribbled out of my ears (that is, mouth half open), as I walked from the back of the cave to the big glass door, running my hand across the fake stone and glittering in the low lighting in my silver frock. He did close-ups of hands, close-ups of eyes, close-ups of the fringy bits on the frock as it fringed while I walked, and close-ups of the big, blue glass eye.

Keith was well pleased with the rushes and we sat at the back eating a free sandwich, watching them in
the tiny flipped-out screen. Dad leaned over and watched too, although without his reading glasses I wondered how much he could actually see.

“Keith, that looks really good!”

“Thanks, Mr Ali. I'll make sure the Stone Cave gets on the credits.”

“See that, Mehmet?” He called Mehmet over, and made him watch the footage too. “My daughter has such talented friends!”

I smiled.

“Seren is talented too,” Keith said.

“Oh, I know that!” Dad gave me a hug.

“Shame Nene doesn't,” I said.

“We love you, Babes, me and Sherifa and the girls. That's what matters.” He grinned at Keith, who was going as red as the ketchup sachets on the table.

“So you promise you won't all go and vanish off to Cyprus, then?”

Dad said nothing. He could have just denied it, out right. ‘Of course not,' he could have said, but he didn't. He looked away. He might as well have waved the tickets in my face.

Half of me wanted to ask him when this was happening exactly, and the other half wanted to pretend I never knew. The conversation dried up, and
even the police siren going up the main road wasn't loud enough to fill up the silence. Cyprus. Nene had got what she wanted, and I would lose my dad.

“So!” Keith said brightly. “Did you get in touch with Violet, at the Rio, Mr... Mo?”

Dad looked blank.

“She's the manager at the Rio, the cinema. Seren said you might need her number.”

“Oh, yes, the cinema,” Dad said. “Yeah, well, I've been dead busy.”

I looked round the empty cafe. “Yeah, right.”

“She's really nice, Violet is,” Keith said.

“Dad! You should call her. She might be able to put some business your way,” I said. “It's got to be worth a try.” I folded my arms. “Unless, of course, you don't care and you want to just sell the café and go to Cyprus!”

“Seren, I have sweated blood for this place!”

“But Nene....”

“But nothing!” He shifted in his seat. “Anyway, the Rio is full of students, isn't it? Hmm? Those arty types with dirty shoes and messy hair and bits of metal in their faces.”

“Dad! I have been going to the cinema club since I could walk!”

“And me,” said Keith, who still had his school tie on and looked about as unmessy as you can get, even after a whole day at school.

Dad went on. “And do you, or those arty types, have any money to spend on a meal out? No. I rest my case.”

I wanted to tell him that ‘those arty types' have taken over the café in the park so that now it only sells organic sausages that cost about a tenner each and ice cream made from 100% smiley cows, but I didn't.

Dad turned back to his computer spreadsheets and started tapping. If I could get him to see the Stone Cave could make some money, maybe he'd think twice about packing up.

“Keith?” I said. “D'you reckon Violet's around now?”

Keith nodded. “She practically lives there, anyway.” He checked the time on his watch. “The matinees will have all finished and they'll be getting ready for the evening show. Now would be perfect!”

“Dad,” I said, and stood up, holding his hand. “Look I promise not to go on about it any more if you just come with us. Now. Please?”

Dad sighed. We looked at each other for what seemed like ages, but I wasn't giving up. Eventually
his face softened, he folded the laptop shut, and I smiled.

“Mehmet!” I shouted. “We're taking Dad down the Rio. We'll be five minutes!”

I practically pulled him out of the café and down the road before he could change his mind.

Keith went ahead. The main doors were shut but he knew where the side bell was, and soon a tall man with an afro was letting us in.

“Keith! How's it runnin'?” he said, and him and Keith touched knuckles like the Obamas and Luke Beckford's mates do. The tall man waved at me. I sort of knew him, he was the projectionist and he let Keith watch him work sometimes.

“Hi, Kes,” I said, hoping I'd remembered his name. “This is my dad.”

Dad smiled, and for a second I was worried he was going to start Hi-fiving or something embarassing. But he didn't, and Keith asked for Violet, and Kes said she was in the cinema on her rounds, and that we could wait in the cinema.

Keith and Kes went up to his projectionist's booth, and me and Dad went into the empty cinema to look
for Violet. The lights were on and we could see her across the rows of seats, a small woman with short, scruffy hair.

“See! They're all hippies!” Dad muttered. But I shushed him up and we walked across.

The Rio wasn't like one of those multi-screen places. It was a proper, old-fashioned cinema with a stage and comfy, red velvet seats and only one screen. One big screen behind red velvet curtains.

“Seren, isn't it?” she said. “Keith's friend?”

“Yeah, I am.” I was about to tell her about Dad and the café when the cinema lights started down and the curtains hummed and creaked open. The rectangle of screen lit up in a flash of white light, and I could hear Keith shouting from the projectionist's booth, “Check this out!”

Suddenly, in the square of light on the massive cinema screen, our film, Keith's film, the one he shot just minutes ago in the café was running, huge and glowy. I was about ten foot tall and my hair was black as the dark all around us, and the silver dress shone and glittered like water under moonlight. Nothing much happened. I wandered through the café about ten times looking dim, and there was no sign of a story, not yet, but it did look amazing.

I felt Dad's arm round my shoulders and he squeezed me close. “You look great, Babes,” he whispered.

Just as suddenly the film stopped. Violet clapped and I heard whistling, probably Kes, from the projection booth.

“Wow!” said Violet. “Is that Keith's entry?”

“It's just the rushes!” Keith yelled.

“Yeah, he shot that stuff just now, so it's nowhere near finished,” I said.

Violet turned to my dad. “That boy has so much potential! And Seren, you looked fantastic!”

“S'not really proper acting,” I said. “Not yet.”

Suddenly my dad jumped sideways, “Oh my God!” A streak of tabby fur shot out from beneath his feet. “What was that?” he said. My dad is not an animal fan. He thinks pets are a daft English invention and all animals should live outside.

“Oh, that's just Derek,” I said. “The cinema cat.”

“He works here too,” Violet said, and I could see Dad thinking ‘hippies' again.

“Derek?” Dad said. “That's not a cat's name.”

“Yeah, he's named after a film director,” said Violet. “Good mouser though.”

“Violet,” I said. I had to bring the conversation back
to business. “My dad runs the Stone Cave.”

“The Stone Cave! I love that place!” she said and Dad smiled. They started talking about the Turkish Film Festival and films I had never heard of.

“The Mothers and Babies?” I said, trying to get them back on track. “I had this idea.”

Violet looked at me.

“Dad was thinking about doing coffee and cake and that.”

Dad looked mildly embarassed.

“I mean,” I said, “I know you do teas and coffees and that in the foyer, but there's nowhere for the mums to chat really, and it would make sense cos Dad's got the space and maybe he could run a creche or something, so the mums could hold their hot cups away from the babies and that....” I was gabbling again. I should really know when to shut up.

“You know what?” Violet said. “That's not an entirely bad idea.”

Before we left, Dad and Violet had made a date for another meeting and things were looking quite rosy. Keith was staying to help Kes with the evening feature, so I walked back to the café with Dad.

“You are quite something, you know that?” Dad said.

“I like to think so.”

“Maybe I should make you my agent. You're not a bad businesswoman. I mean, I know it's not signed and sealed, but maybe we're looking at a few more punters, and that's all we need.” Dad raked his hand through his hair. “Look, don't say anything to your sister, cos we're a long way from being able to give her her job back, but this might just be the leg-up the Stone Cave needs.”

“So long as you stay here, and don't move away. That's all I care about, Dad.”

“The way things are going, you'll probably be raking in the dollars in Hollywood and taking care of your old dad before you know it.”

“I don't think so!”

“Look, why don't you come round to the house tomorrow, after achool, the girls would love to see you. Sherifa hasn't seen you for months!”

“Nene....” I said.

“She'll be here, at work with me. Sherifa can take you three out somewhere, if you want. I mean, after today, it's the least I can do.”

“I'll check with Mum, but if it's OK, tell Sherifa I'll be over for half six.”

Dad kissed me on the cheek. I walked down to the
bus stop happier than I'd felt for a long time. The film looked brilliant and Dad was cooking up some kind of deal with the Rio. I crossed my fingers. If he could stay open until the Olympics, maybe he wouldn't go at all.

Things were definitely getting better. I told myself this could be the beginning of some good stuff. I imagined going home and Sasha smiling at me. I imagined Christina seeing me ten foot high on the big screen at the Rio. I smiled.

Dad and Sherifa lived just round the corner from the Stone Cave, in a terraced house, with a little front gate and a rose bush in front of the window. I walked down the road thinking that when I was grown up I wouldn't mind living in a place like this. There were big, old trees that nodded at each other on either side, all the windows of the houses looked across at each other like rows of kids sat down at huge, long dinner tables.

Sherifa wore nice clothes – she worked down Canary Wharf in an office – and the girls always had loads of stuff. You know, the right Barbies and Bratz for birthdays, that kind of thing. They almost seemed like a family out of an advert, fluffy rugs and no food dropped on the floor or anything.

I knocked at the door and looked up at the house.
There weren't any lights on. Was nobody in? I checked the time on my phone. I was only a tiny bit early. I stepped on to the flower bed and looked into the front room through the living-room window. If I stood right next to the glass I could see through the net curtains. Maybe I'd see Ayse and Gamze dancing along to
High School Musical
like mini Gabriellas.

But the room looked different. Empty. There was a huge gap where the TV was, and the massive professional photo of Sherifa and the girls, all dressed in white tops, that hung over the fireplace, wasn't there. The sofa was covered in some kind of dustsheet and there was a step ladder up in the far end of the room. What was going on? They couldn't have packed up and moved to Cyprus already, could they?

I rang the doorbell again. Hard. Nothing happened.

Half six, Dad had said. Maybe he'd even forgotten to say anything to Sherifa at all. Maybe this was some plot of Nene's. I took my phone out and clicked through my contacts. I had just got down to S when their silver people-carrier pulled up in front of the house.