Loose Connections (8 page)

It was peaceful here and he didn’t want to go home. He wanted to forget everything and drift away for a while, like the blossom, and have time to think, to sort out his head.

School had been horrible. He was finding it hard to concentrate in class, hard to connect with his friends. In the English lesson, his teacher had handed out corrected homework to everyone else
but she had asked him to stay behind for a chat.

‘Jake, is something wrong?’

He’d looked at his feet. ‘No. I’m fine.’

‘Are you sure? You don’t seem yourself.’ Then she gave him back his homework.

‘And this isn’t like you. So many careless mistakes.’

Jake shrugged. Normally, he would have felt bad. He liked the English teacher. But now he couldn’t be bothered to make excuses. It didn’t seem important.

And his friends were beginning to get fed up with him.

‘Come and play footie,’ they’d urged.

But today he’d not been able to summon up the enthusiasm he usually felt, and when he’d shaken his head and put his hands in his pockets, they’d drifted off, muttering.

Only Tom understood. ‘Come on, mate,’ he’d said, ‘you’ll feel better if you have a kick-around.’

But Jake refused. ‘Sorry. Don’t feel like
it.’

They didn’t speak for a while, then Tom dug in his pocket.

‘Want a muesli bar?’

Jake managed a weak smile. ‘It’s OK, mate, I’m making my own lunch now,’ he said, brandishing a bar of chocolate. ‘You keep your muesli bar.’

And suddenly he’d had to turn away, get control of himself as he thought of Gran’s weird sandwiches. Suddenly he longed for one of her horrible mixtures.

How can everything change so quickly? Only a month ago I was happy at school, with lots of good mates, happy at home with Gran.

He sighed, then stretched out full length under a tree, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. After a while he drifted off to sleep, but his dreams weren’t peaceful; they were
muddled scenes featuring Gran, then Mum and Dad, school and even weirdo Verity.

Suddenly he was jerked awake. Someone – something – was breathing very close to him. He could feel the moist warmth on his face. His eyes snapped open and he found himself only
inches away from a large furry nose.

Just for a moment he thought he was still dreaming. What was this place? And what was this THING?

He kept quite still until everything came into focus.

In front of him, sniffing him curiously, stood a small, stocky pony, its lips curled back and its tongue extended as if about to lick him.

Jake smiled. He relaxed, stretched out a hand and stroked the pony’s nose. Slowly, so as not to frighten it, he got to his feet. The pony snorted and backed away.

‘It’s OK, I won’t hurt you.’

The pony stood looking at him, snorted again, then dropped its head and began to crop the grass. It had a gleaming black coat and a silky mane. Someone must be looking after it. Looking around,
Jake noticed a full bucket of water standing inside a rough lean-to shelter in the corner by the fence. He yawned and stretched, then walked over to the shelter. He had to bend his head to go
inside.

He frowned. Surely this was new? Some rough pieces of corrugated iron had been hammered to a framework of wooden struts, making two sides, a back and a sloping roof. The nails were new and
shiny. The lean-to was small, but then, so was the pony; it was big enough to give shelter from rain or sun.

Someone cared. Verity? Could she have done all this?

Jake glanced round the lean-to and noticed a large plastic box wedged between the roof and one of the struts. He took it down and rummaged inside it. Brushes, some bandages, a metal hook thing
and a tin of oil were neatly arranged inside.

Thoughtfully, he put the box back and stood looking out from the shelter. The pony raised its head briefly and Jake noticed that one of its legs was bandaged. The bandage was clean. It must have
been put on recently.

So Verity was telling the truth. She really does have a pony!

Jake walked over to the pony and stroked its warm neck. It stopped eating for a moment and nudged at his pocket. Jake smiled. ‘Sorry, mate. Nothing in there for you.’

He held the pony’s forelock to one side and rubbed the top of its head. Gradually the warmth of the creature made him feel better. He patted it, stood up straight and took a deep
breath.

No good putting it off any longer – better get back home.

‘I’ll come and see you again,’ he said. Then he turned and went out of the orchard.

He picked up his school backpack and started back down the path, then hesitated. Maybe he’d just have a quick look through the windows, see if he could see any sign that Verity really was
living there.

He retraced his steps and went round to the back door.

Better make sure no one’s in before I start snooping.

The back door had once been painted white, but it was grimy and blistered now and there was no bell or knocker, so he banged on it with his fist. No one answered.

He waited a few more minutes and banged again. Still no answer.

On either side of the door there were windows, but they were too high up for Jake to see through. He looked around for something to climb up on and spotted a rickety wooden table standing on
some slabs of concrete which might once have been a patio but was now overgrown with weeds. He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and started pulling at the table. At first it wouldn’t
budge, but as he went on heaving, there was a tearing noise and the ivy tendrils growing up its legs suddenly came away.

It was heavy, and Jake’s arms were aching badly by the time he had dragged it across the grass to the house. But at last he had it in place underneath one of the windows and he climbed up
onto it, carefully avoiding the rotting wood at its centre.

The window was streaked with dirt and it was hard to see through the glass. Jake cupped his hands round his eyes to shut out the light and gradually, as his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside, he
could dimly make out some shapes.

He frowned – and stared. He’d been expecting to see a table, some chairs, or perhaps a fridge, a cooker or a washing machine – but there was nothing, no furniture at all. The
room was completely bare.

But there
was
something covering the floor – straw!

Why? Why would there be straw on the floor?

Jake knelt down on the table and rubbed at the glass. At first he could see nothing, but then he noticed a movement in the straw. He swallowed nervously. There
was
something there! It was
alive and it was moving!

Hardly daring to breathe, he kept staring, his heart beating fast against his ribcage. Whatever it was moved again, and as the straw fell away from its back Jake could see it clearly. A big
striped snout, black ears tipped with white and a grey back.

He’d never seen one before but he knew what it was – a badger! A wild animal, shut inside a house! Why wasn’t it trying to get out, crashing against the door, frantic with
fear?

And how the hell had it got there? Who had put it there? How would you get a big heavy animal like that inside a house?

The badger raised its snout and sniffed the air, rolled and settled down again. And as it moved, Jake noticed that one of its legs was in a splint.

A pony with a bandaged leg. A badger with a splint. What is this? An animal hospital?

Suddenly there was another movement inside the room, right in front of the window. Jake instinctively jerked back and nearly lost his balance as his foot went right through the rotting planks in
the table. He gasped, as a big black crow flew up and landed on the windowsill. It stared at him through the glass with one expressionless eye. The other eye was milky and sightless.

A one-eyed crow. Poor thing! Surely it must want to be outside.

But there was nothing panicky about the bird. It continued to sit on the windowsill and stare at Jake, then lifted one wing and started to groom itself with its beak.

Jake scrambled down off the table and pulled it back to where it had been before. He tried to stick some of the ivy back on the table legs, but that didn’t work. There were telltale drag
marks across the grass, too; it was obvious that the table had been moved and that someone had stood on it. When Verity came back, she’d know that someone had been here spying on her.

Too bad!

Jake picked up his school bag and walked thoughtfully down the path and out of the front gate. He wasn’t looking as he turned into the road, and he collided with a man jogging past.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

This place. These animals. This feeling of peace. It’s weird. It’s like being in another world.

He walked slowly up the street towards his own house. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even bother looking out for Irene. But Irene wasn’t there this afternoon. Her front
garden was deserted.

He went in through the gate and up the path to his front door, fishing in his pocket for the key. As he turned it and went inside he called out, ‘Hi. I’m back.’

There was no one in the house, but he wasn’t scared now.

Why wasn’t he scared? He tried to figure it out. No sign of Gran in the house. A few days ago he would have been frantic, worried about where she was, what she was doing, whether
she’d left something burning on the stove. But he knew it would be OK now. He knew Gran was OK when Verity was with her and that Verity wouldn’t leave her alone.

Why did he trust Verity? And why did he feel so calm when she was here? The old house, too, had worked some sort of charm on him. A sense of time suspended, of nothing mattering, of peace.

He put his bag down in the hall and stood still, listening. He could hear them now. They were in the garden out the back. He could hear murmuring and then Gran’s laughter.

He smiled, and walked quietly to the back door, standing there for a moment, watching them. Verity saw him and waved but, at first, the others didn’t notice him.

The others. Gran . . . and Kenny!
What is Kenny doing here?

They were both laughing, Gran leaning on a rake and Kenny with his big moon face tipped back and his whole awkward body shaking.

Verity swotted a fly away from her face. ‘Well, Jake, what do you think?’

There was something in her voice that made him look down at the ground, ashamed. He knew that she wasn’t just talking about the clearing up they’d been doing in the garden.

How does she know? How does she know I’ve been to her house?
Like the way she had known when he needed help with Gran – when she had just turned up.

But he pretended she was talking about the garden.

‘Yeah. You’ve done a great job.’

Gran saw him. ‘Hello, darling,’ she called. ‘Look what we’re doing.’ Her hair was wild and she stabbed the rake down on the lawn and dragged it towards her, then
let it drop.

Kenny saw him, too, and just for a moment he looked scared. Verity saw the look on Kenny’s face, and she went over to him and put her arm round his shoulders.

‘Kenny’s been great,’ she said. ‘He’s been working all day, slashing down the weeds, mowing the grass. He’s been brilliant.’

‘Thanks, Kenny,’ mumbled Jake and as he spoke, Kenny’s face broke into a big, wide smile.

It doesn’t take much to please him. I shouldn’t have said that to Irene. He can’t help being the way he is. Why can’t I be nice to him?

‘Make us a drink, love,’ called Gran. She looked younger somehow, more energetic. The hunched, vague old woman of last night had gone.

Jake frowned. What was happening here? How could she look so different?

As he turned to go back into the kitchen, he saw Verity move towards her and watched as Gran put out a hand to stroke her hair.

A stab of jealousy went through him.

A little later, the gardening party broke up. Gran and Verity came into the kitchen and Kenny shambled off home.

‘Where’s Verity sleeping?’ said Gran suddenly.

‘I have to go back to my house,’ said Verity, taking Gran’s hand and squeezing it.

Jake scowled.

‘Why? Why can’t you stay with me?’ said Gran petulantly.

‘I have to see to the animals,’ said Verity. Then she added softly, ‘You know that, dear. You know I have to look after the animals.’

Dear!? What is this girl doing, calling Gran ‘dear’?

But Gran seemed to accept it. She nodded, and her face cleared. ‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘See to the animals.’ Then, ‘What animals?’

Verity smiled. ‘Well, there’s the pony and a badger and a one-eyed crow. And there’s the young fox, too.’

Jake looked up sharply.
A fox? He hadn’t seen a fox.

Verity caught his eye, and he blushed and looked away.

How does she always know?

Later that evening, when Gran was glued to something on the TV, Jake slipped out with the empty casserole dish and then, before he lost his nerve, he knocked on Irene’s door.

She was surprised to see him. ‘Oh, hello, Jake,’ she said awkwardly.

Jake held out the empty dish. ‘Thanks for this,’ he mumbled. ‘It was great.’

Irene took it from him. She didn’t say anything. Then she cleared her throat. ‘Kenny enjoyed himself round at yours today,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for letting him
come.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ Jake began. But he found he couldn’t continue. Why couldn’t he say anything about Verity? Why did her name stick in his throat? Why couldn’t
he mention her – to Mum or to Dad, to Tom and now to Irene?

Irene went on. ‘I know, dear. I know it was your gran who asked him in.’ She stopped, and looked down at the dish in her hands. ‘I don’t know what came over him,’
she muttered. ‘He’s never gone anywhere on his own before, but he suddenly marched over to yours and banged on the door.’

Jake scratched his ear.

‘He worked really hard in the garden,’ he said at last.

Irene smiled – a smile that lit up her normally sour face.

‘I peeped over the fence,’ she said. ‘Just to make sure he wasn’t being a nuisance – and there he was, working away with your gran. They were having a high old
time.’