Fragments (3 page)

A sly look crosses her face then and she lifts her finger to her lips, miming ‘
Shhh
.’ I do it back and she leaves the barn.

It takes her almost an hour to come back, according to my phone, which is somehow still working. I’m thinking about getting the hell out of here when I hear footsteps outside the stall. The door creaks open.

I didn’t really notice what she was wearing before. But I think she must have changed. Now she has on a fancy-dress witch costume in shiny green material. It’s all twisted around her waist. I think the buttoning has gone a bit wrong along the line. She has a streak of something purple around her lips (my money’s on Ribena) and her bare legs are thrust into pink-spotted wellies that have mud thickly crusted around the soles.

She’s carrying a large backpack decorated in pictures of Gomez, the annoying rat thing off the telly that kids go mad for. With another sly look back at me she kicks the stall door closed with a neat back heel before wrenching open the bag and tipping out the contents, which are:

– A packet of baby wipes.

– A bottle of cherryade.

– Several squashed flapjacks spilling out of a pink paper napkin.

– Two boxes of raisins.

– One of those ultra-thin sleeping bags that crumple into nothing. (Zander had one and they cost a bomb.) They’re
brilliant
. . .

– A pot of something cosmetic. ‘Mummy’s cream’, no doubt.

– A hairbrush and several butterfly hair-clips.

– A small plastic Gomez figure.

– A lipstick without a lid
..
.

OK . . 
.

Ariella frowns anxiously at me. ‘Did I do well?’ she says.

‘You did brilliantly,’ I say, croaky because my throat is dry. ‘You’re a total star.’

Her face lights up with pleasure and she unselfconsciously lifts up her skirt over chubby knees so she can sit down cross-legged.

It’s quickly obvious that she intends to have some of this stuff too. To her, it’s just a picnic. When she cracks open the bottle of cherryade and takes a lusty drink before me, it’s all I can do not to snatch it away from the greedy brat before she can glug the lot. I clear my throat and she makes startled eyes and blushes.

‘O-oh,’ she says, hiccupping. ‘I should let you have some first. You’re probably much more thirstier than I am. Mummy says I’m selfish and need to stop putting myself before everyone else.’ Her little mouth has gone all turned down again. I can’t help thinking she’s cute now, despite the not-being-keen-on-kids thing.

‘I don’t think you’re selfish. I think you’re a very kind person,’ I say and lift the bottle to my lips. It’s so sweet and good as it runs into my mouth that I gulp too fast and a wave of nausea comes up inside. I get a weird urge to cry because I’m so grateful. Ariella’s smiling shyly now as she goes up onto her knees and neatly picks up a squashed bit of flapjack between finger and thumb to offer to me.

I bob my head and say, ‘Why thank you, milady.’

Ariella giggles throatily and stuffs a huge piece of flapjack into her mouth sideways.

I eat quickly and then grab a box of raisins before she can nick it. I wasn’t hungry until I started eating but now I’m ravenous. I give little reassuring smiles to Ariella as I scoff and she grins back. She seems to have got the message and hasn’t taken the other box of raisins.

‘So why are you in my daddy’s barn?’ she says suddenly. My insides plummet. I was hoping she’d forgotten about that. But she’s not stupid. She knows that finding a girl covered in bruises in her dad’s barn isn’t exactly normal, even these days.

‘Well,’ I say slowly, searching in my brain for the right words to use. ‘My house burned down.’ God, why did I say that? I’m trying to think how to put it so she won’t get scared and grass me up. ‘Er . . . and I have nowhere to go now. I’ve lost all my things.’

Her eyes are practically circles now and her bottom lip hangs open, still glistening with cherryade.

‘Did your mummy and daddy get hurt?’ she says.

‘I haven’t got a mummy or a daddy,’ I say carefully. ‘But my friends got hurt.’

Ariella’s eyes fill with fat tears. ‘You must be
very
sad,’ she says fiercely.

‘Yes.’ I’m doing that mad nodding thing again. ‘I am. But, er, I might get into trouble if anyone knows I’m here so I need you to still keep this as your best secret, OK?’

Weirdly, she doesn’t question the bit about getting into trouble. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s the world we live in. Even kids know it’s best just to shut up sometimes. They know that people, teachers even, are there some days and then gone the next. And it’s wise not to ask what happened to them.

Ariella goes to take the raisins and then draws her hand back again, looking at me through lowered lids. I don’t know what to say. I have an image of her suddenly yelling for her parents. I need to keep her sweet. Maybe she can get me some clothes and once I’m cleaned up I can get on my way.

‘Your hair’s all tangly,’ she says. ‘Shall I make it nice for you?’

I smile. ‘That would be lovely. But can I clean up my sore face first?’

Ten minutes later, I’m gritting my teeth as she claws the brush through my tangled hair. I’ve used the baby wipes to clean up my cheek and slathered on some of her mum’s cream. It smells horrible but as soon as it’s on my face, the pain eases up. I endure a few more minutes of her tugging and try to explain that my hair is different from hers because I’m mixed race, and then she’s shoving in the various butterfly clips all around my face.

She sits back and surveys her work, giving a deep sigh. ‘You’re pretty,’ she says. ‘Even with a sore, poorly face.’

I smile at her. ‘So are you,’ I say. ‘Even with cherryade all round your chops.’

Her belly laugh at this is infectious. I don’t know what
I’ve
got to laugh about, though. I still have nowhere to go and everyone is . . . everyone is dead.

I feel myself freefalling inside and for a second I’m scared I’m going to start howling at the pain threatening to engulf me. Ariella puts a chubby hand on mine. I look down and notice that a couple of my nails still have faint traces of the purple sparkly polish I put on a lifetime ago. Glancing up I see that Ariella has her finger to her lips. And that’s when I realise someone is calling her. A woman, sounding irritable.

‘Where are you? Ari-e-llaaaaa!’

She leans over and whispers in my ear, her breath hot and fierce. ‘I’ll come back in the morning. I’ll bring some of Mummy’s clothes and some breakfast.’

I nod gratefully and she opens the door of the stall with surprising care. I hear the shushy sound of her wellies in the straw as she leaves the stables.

‘There you are! What have you got all over your face?’ says the woman, who I presume to be her mother. ‘It’s bath-time! I’ve been calling for ages.’

‘Sorry, Mummy,’ Ariella replies in a sing-song way and I hear the voices recede.

The light is fading now and when I look at my watch I see it’s after eight in the evening. I still don’t know whether I should try to get away but I have nowhere to go. I can’t seem to think straight. Maybe a night here will help sort out my head a bit?

And I am really tired. Cold now, too.

Plus, and this is the worst bit . . . I need to pee. I go into the stall next door, where the big old horse now stands with its head drooping and eyes closed and pee in the corner of the stall.

‘Sorry, horse,’ I say under my breath. I wash my hands in the water box and feel guilty about that too.

Back in the empty stall and feeling relieved, I open the feather-light sleeping bag and wriggle inside it. I pull the hood part over my head and try to bunch some straw underneath to make a pillow. Then I close my eyes.

My dreams aren’t of death and violence this time.

They’re much crueller.

I dream about Mum, stirring something at the cooker, her big hips swaying as she hums along to a song on the radio. She turns and gives me a look of love that’s like being wrapped in layers of silk. Then I’m sitting with Jax on the sofa at Zander’s place. We’re playing a game of Insurgent Cell on the X Station and although I’m not really fussed about video games, I’m beating his ass as usual. I tease him and he laughs, because he’s like that, Jax. Never bears a grudge. His face changes into Cal’s and he’s leaning over me for a kiss. Our lips touch and it’s all sweet. Then he draws back and his nice brown eyes crinkle in a smile.

Happiness feels like warm honey seeping up my spine. I’ve got everyone I need. My family. My best bud. My boy. That’s when my eyes crack open, sore and swollen, and it all rushes at me like a car going ninety. There’s only me now. And BAM there it is again, the pain. I curl up in a ball, wrapping my arms around myself. It feels worse than ever before, so bad I think it might kill me this time. I wish it would.

I never knew that sadness was a physical thing before. I’ve learned a lot about it lately. I could get myself a PhD in heartache. My body rocks as waves of grief slam into me but no more tears come. Crying is too easy. Getting up on your feet and
living
is the hard thing. But what choice do I have?

I have to find a way to carry on. Somehow. And that’s when I start to think I’ve been getting it all wrong until now. I wanted people around me; friends, maybe a boyfriend too. But everyone I care about gets snatched away from me. It’s love that brings all this pain. I need to learn not to care about anyone. My insides feel as though they are raw and bleeding with all the losses. I have to make myself hard inside. I thought I was so tough but I’m not, not really. There’s only me now.

I need to find a way to carry on and live.

Some time later I hear light footsteps outside the stall and the door creaks open again. Ariella’s small white face pokes around the door and a smile lights it up.

‘I thought I’d dreamed you up!’ she says, coming in. ‘Or that if you were real, you’d have gone away by now.’

‘Still here,’ I say lamely. My eyes sting from the crying and my body aches from sleeping in the damn straw. I feel hollow inside. Scooped out.

Ariella’s outfit is a bit less out-there today. She’s dressed in cut-off jeans and a silvery T-shirt. Her hair is all matted at the back. She has the Gomez bag with her and starts taking out what looks like a couple of bagels, wrapped in cellophane, and two cartons of orange juice. My mouth instantly waters and, yet again, my body reminds me it needs some fuel. I pick up a carton of orange juice first and pretty much down it in one go.

‘Mummy is very sad today,’ she says matter of factly as she hands me one of the bagels, like we’d just been talking about this.

‘Oh?’ I say and unwrap the bagel. The smell of peanut butter hits the back of my throat. I’ve always hated it. ‘Um, are they both peanut butter?’

She doesn’t blink as she swaps bagels with me. I open this one and see jam inside. Phew. I take a huge bite and feel the energy instantly start to come back.

‘Daddy gets cross when she cries and says she has to pull herself together,’ continues Ariella.

‘Oh dear.’ I don’t know what to say.

But this doesn’t seem to bother Ariella much. ‘Mummy says if she had some
more help around the place she’d be able to get on top of things
. But then they fight. I don’t like it when they shout.’ I almost laugh at the grown-up voice she puts on for a minute.

Her eyes are lowered as she munches on the bagel and we eat in silence for a little while. Then she does that sly thing with her eyes again.

‘I didn’t tell anyone about you,’ she says and something makes fear tingle up the back of my neck.

I put down the almost finished bagel and look at her but she won’t meet my gaze.

She’s told someone. I know it.

‘If you have mentioned me, even by accident, I need to know,’ I say, trying to keep my voice light, although anger and fear rise inside me.

Her cheeks flood with colour as she finally meets my gaze.

‘I didn’t tell Mummy about you!’ she says. ‘I just said I had a secret and that I wouldn’t share it, that’s all. I’m cross with Mummy because she never plays with me any more. What are you doing?’

I’ve jumped to my feet and am frantically rolling up the sleeping bag. Got to get away from here. Her mum sounds like she has her own worries but I don’t think I can stay here. It was mad to think I could, even for a day or so. I just needed to get myself together but maybe I’m as together as I’m ever going to be.

‘Where are you going?’ Ariella’s tone is panicky and too loud. I shush her, trying to sound gentle in case she has a full-on tantrum and starts wailing.

‘I need to go.’

‘But you can’t!’

I don’t hear anyone coming but a face is suddenly there, above the top of the door of the stall.

C
HAPTER
4

a very experienced babysitter

I
t’s a woman in, I don’t know, her thirties, maybe. She has dark hair that’s pulled into a ponytail. The roots are greasy. Her eyes are puffy and her face pale. She gasps and lifts a hand to her mouth before pushing the door open violently.

That’s when I see the blob shape of a baby, strapped to her chest in one of those sling things. All I can see is a tuft of gingery hair poking out the top, two scrawny little legs with the feet covered and a hand with a tiny, wrinkled, bunched fist.

‘Who the bloody hell are
you
?’ says the woman. Ariella scrambles to her feet.

‘Mummy, this is Kyla and she’s my friend!’

‘Mummy’ fixes me with a look that makes my scalp shrivel.

‘I repeat,’ she says icily, ‘who ARE you? And why are you in our stables?’

I swallow. My mouth has gone completely dry. I wonder if I should push her out of the way and run but I can’t bring myself to do it when she’s carrying that baby.

‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I’ve got nowhere to go.’ Words start tumbling out of my mouth. ‘I was in care in, um . . .’ – I frantically search in my brain for the name of the nearest town – ‘Arnley . . . and the place got closed down. They wanted to ship us to London and I didn’t want to go so I ran away. I’m really sorry. I’ll go . . .’ I don’t know where all that rubbish just came from. I wouldn’t believe me if I was her.