Now You See Me (11 page)

Thirteen

The sunlight through my curtains was like
rosé
wine. My duvet was pink with daisies. I snuggled down waiting for Mum to call. It was only Mum and me and we were close. I didn't have friends. Mum was my friend. We looked like sisters, people said.

She died fast. A backache, a cough. A test and then another test and suddenly she was in hospital. Nobody even said the word cancer and next thing she was gone. Like a conjuring trick. Now you see her, now you don't. I was nearly fifteen. I stayed with her friends till certain things. I stayed there till I left.

The sunlight through the curtains was like
rosé
wine oh no it wasn't. Sometimes when I wake, as I am waking, I still expect the pinkness with the sun shining through. But then my eyes are opened to the cobwebs and the leak of deadish light.

It took a moment to remember last night. But Doggo wasn't there. I hauled myself upright and looked. The bottles on the floor, his bag, the stale tang of smoke in the air proved it had been real – but he had not come back. And I had actually slept all night. I never thought I'd sleep a wink. For a moment I was glad until it all seeped back. The guilt. Poor Mr Dickens up there unaware. My head throbbed from the wine. And Doggo would be back, there was no doubt of that.

I got up, peed and splashed cold water on my face. Maybe I'd go out before Doggo did come back. But when he did come, shouldn't I be here? I looked at myself in his mirror shades. My hair like string and a wild look in my eyes. Before I could decide a thing, I heard his feet come tramping down the side of the house. He barged right in with the dogs like he owned the place. He whipped his shades off and grinned.

‘Oh God,' I said.

‘Good morning to you too.' He reached out and tried to ruffle my hair but I dodged away. His nose was shiny from the cold and his beard looked dewy. ‘Any tea going?'

‘What are you so up about?' I said.

He grinned and shrugged. ‘Miss me?'

‘Sorry?'

‘Last night.'

‘Oh
yeah
.' I put the kettle on. I was going to anyway. I couldn't bear to look at him. He was
rosy
. He seemed so young again. When he was pink in the face and smiling he didn't seem much older than me. Nothing to be scared of.

‘Found a fucking van, didn't I? Camper-bed in it and all.'

‘You want to be careful of vans. I got driven away in one once.'

‘Yeah?' He squatted down to take the dogs' leads off. The smell of outside clung to him. He looked up and snagged me with his eyes. ‘What happened?'

‘Not a lot.'

He stood up. ‘Lamb?'

My heart flickered. His eyes were on my lips. ‘What?'

‘Got any grub?'

‘No.' I turned away and made the tea. He cupped his hands round his and blew and slurped like he'd been desperate. I almost wished I had some toast to give him. He looked cold right through. In the morning he didn't look so dodgy. He was only a person.

When he'd finished his tea, he stood up. ‘Right, I'll make a start.'

‘You're
really
going to do it?'

‘Yeah.'

‘But you haven't got a clue.'

‘Nothing else to do. Tell you the truth I'm bored witless.'

I went out with him to watch. And then I got stuck in too. The sky was the colour of apricots and the powder of frost sparkled the colour back. We ended up working together all day ripping down bushes. My head was throbbing and I could hardly bear him to look at me at first, knowing what a sight I was. After I'd dodged my eyes away from him a few times he asked me what was up. I said I had a headache. He laughed and said it was a hangover and he had one too. He made it sound so normal, I started to feel better.

He was a person. I was a person. It was normal to be with someone, working together. That is normal. I only had to keep my mind away from what was going to happen next.

Despite the frost which hung around all day, we got hot working and peeled off till we were just in T-shirts and jeans. Doggo was thin, but through his T-shirt you could see the muscles. Mr Dickens came out to see the progress and was surprised that I was there. I said I'd come to keep Doggo company and he said, ‘Long as I'm not paying double.' I thought,
you are paying double
but kept it to myself. Norma and Gordon roamed round sniffing and peeing, then Gordon lay down with his nose on his paws with his bored-out-of-my-skull face on. He's a hard dog to impress.

There were old bird's nests and bits of rubbish stuck up in the branches, plastic bags and even a bicycle wheel. How on earth did that get there? I found myself
laughing
. It's a huge garden and there must be weeks of work. While we were working things were easy between Doggo and me, as if we knew each other. Although he didn't say much and nor did I. Funny how working hard can feel so good.

Halfway through the morning Mr Dickens opened the door and called out did we want a cuppa. We went inside and he looked at Doggo, winked and said, ‘Can't you get a bit of flesh on her bones?' I did not know where to look.

Doggo went through and I stood with Mr Dickens in the kitchen. I watched his hand waver as he spooned the tea into the pot, the scattered grit of tea-leaves on the draining board. I wondered how many times, how many spoonfuls of tea he'd spooned in his life, how many gallons of tea he'd made and drunk. Then I noticed something. On a nail by the door was a rusty key. ‘What's that for?' I said.

‘What, duck?' He squinted and reached out his hand. He held it up and frowned. ‘I can't rightly say. Might be for cellar.' I carried the tray for him, sliding the key up my sleeve and later into the pocket of my jeans.

Mr Dickens gave Doggo a tin of Pal and he went out to share it between Gordon and Norma. While he was outside Mr Dickens patted me on the arm and said, ‘That's a fine lad you've got there, Lamb.' I didn't know what expression to have but my face decided and split into a stupid grin. Then I remembered the wine and the way I'd lumbered Mr Dickens and the smile just sank away. I sat there feeling awkward which I never feel with Mr Dickens. I had broken some invisible thing by letting Doggo in. Didn't know if I could ever mend it.

But the day was so crisp and shiny bright it was hard to stay down for long. We cleared the long grass away from a clump of spiky purple flowers with yellow middles. I asked Mr Dickens what they were called and he said Michaelmas daisies. So that's one we know for definite. I liked gardening, better than cleaning. Maybe I should change direction.

We pulled down an ancient crusty bush and found the skeleton of a cat curled up in the roots. More than just a skeleton, there were bits of skin and ginger fur stuck to the ribs and over the top of the skull. There was one of those little round bells you get on cat collars. I picked it up and it jingled and that spooked me, the bell jingling next to the greenish bones. I went and asked Mr Dickens if he'd ever had a cat but he said, ‘No, we never were cat people, give me a dog any day.'

We decided to bury it and I suggested we buried the handbag while we were at it. Doggo gave me a look. ‘Why?'

‘Just that I don't like harbouring it.'

‘Harbouring?'
he said and laughed – but without smiling. ‘You can't bury it,' he said, ‘it's got her stuff in.' I started to argue then I shut my mouth. It was one of those stalemates between us. He didn't say a word while we buried the poor cat which fell apart a bit when we moved it. I wondered whose cat it was and where they thought it had gone. To tell the truth I like the way cats creep away and find a secret place to die. Dignified.

We got on fine all day. Doggo and me. Had a laugh even. He loved the ripping down, you could see that, putting all his strength into tearing things apart, splitting branches off trunks, hauling roots out of the earth. I thought there'd be nothing left the rate he was going. A funny sort of gardening. I thought gardening was more about growing things than wrecking them. But Mr Dickens wasn't complaining so why should I? We got on together fine all day. But when the end of the day came, it was as I feared. I couldn't make him go.

Fourteen

‘Can't you go back to that van?' I said miserably, when he'd got settled on the deck chair with a mug of tea and a fag. Sitting on the bed I could feel the hard shape of the key pressing into my thigh but I hadn't had a chance to try it.

‘Only a couple of nights, then I'm moving on.'

I bit the edge of my fingernail, thinking. Maybe a couple of nights would be OK. Only I didn't know where he'd sleep.

‘Where're you going?'

He shrugged. ‘Something I've got to get sorted first.'

‘What?'

‘A mate to see. Then I'll be offski.'

‘Honest?'

‘God's honour,' he said, doing a salute thing which is maybe Boy Scouts' or something.

I stared. He was so different. Not like someone you'd be afraid of. Maybe he
wasn't
. Maybe it is only me. Scaredy cat. Scared of anyone. Scared of my own shadow.

‘You can maybe stay for a night or two,' I said.

‘Ta,' he said.

‘Long as that's all it is. If you don't do that match thing. And don't keep drinking his wine.'

‘Any more rules?'

I thought about it. I'm sure there were but I couldn't think of any straightaway.

‘Bit selfish, isn't it?' he said. ‘Keeping a place like this to yourself.'

‘I
found it. Anyway, I really like Mr Dickens,' I said. ‘I don't want to …'

He nodded and put his head back, opened and closed his mouth like a fish and blew a stream of smoke rings that rose like bubbles into the cobwebs.

‘Are you on the run?' I said.

‘Brilliant.'

‘From the police?'

He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Are
you?'

‘Are you an escaped convict?' I said.

He gave a hard-edged laugh that made me jump. ‘You kid,' he said. ‘Shut it, will you?' He muttered
Escaped convict
like it was something funny.

I had to get out of there to think. Funny how I can't think straight with someone there. I can't get him clear in my mind. It's like looking in a kaleidoscope. Soon as you think you see one thing, it's changed to another. Or maybe it is just me. Not used to people any more. Maybe people
aren't
that simple, one thing or another. I know I'm not.

I said I was going out to get some food. ‘Fetch us back a couple of cans,' he said. I wouldn't normally let myself be ordered about but I was so glad he was going to drink beer instead of Mr Dickens' wine, I said I would.

It was the Saturday nearest to Guy Fawkes night and all up and down the streets, in their little back gardens, people were having parties. The air smelt of gunpowder and the wet paths were stained orange from the street lights, slithery with mulched-up leaves. And from everywhere there were explosions and whizzes, and brilliant waterfalls of sparks. It was like war, except instead of being frightened people were cheering and laughing and saying, ‘Oooooo!' even though some of the noises were exactly like guns or bombs. If you want to shoot someone you should do it on Guy Fawkes night. No one would turn a hair. I wondered what it was that Doggo had done.

The cellar was a good place for him to hide. The gardening was a way of making a few quid. If it was only a couple of nights, it would maybe be OK. It wouldn't hurt Mr Dickens and he would at least get the garden started. I went to the off-licence and the newsagent's. They didn't have much food, but I bought a couple of Scotch eggs, then stood and looked at the fireworks. I stared for ages at all the boxes of Catherine wheels, Roman candles and splintery rockets. They made my teeth feel funny, the buzzy colours of them, the memory of the smell.

I bought a packet of sparklers. I don't know why. The thin feel of the wires through the paper and the itchy smell of them whipped me back to feeling about five again. I couldn't take them back to Doggo, he would probably think that I was just a kid. I didn't know what to do with them. Halfway back I stopped and lit one. It took ages to light and when it did the sharp silver fizz of it made me start. I waved it about like some lunatic and it went out. Maybe too damp. I put the rest of the packet on a wall for someone else to find.

Doggo gave the Scotch eggs a funny look but ate one anyway and I ate the egg out of the other and fed the dogs the greyish scoops of sausage. We listened to the fireworks, and when it got late enough for Mr Dickens to be in bed we stood in the garden for a while watching the rockets.

‘What did you do?' I said. ‘If you're staying you could at least tell me what you did.'

‘I got away. That's all you need to know.'

‘Was it murder?' A screaming silver streak shot up and exploded overhead.

He got hold of my arm so suddenly I yelled. ‘Shut it,' he said, opened the door and shoved me in. He stood with his back against the door.

‘What do you want to hear?' he said, grabbing me by the wrist. He spoke in a stupid girly voice. ‘“Was it murder?”' He gripped my wrist so tight I could feel the blood throbbing in my hand.

‘Please,' I said.

‘Please what?'

‘Please let go.'

He shoved me away so hard I nearly fell. But I didn't fall I just sat down on the bed. My heart was banging in my ears. I glared down at my knees to keep them still. Although it was icy cold my ears were burning. Norma yapped round Doggo's ankles. I thought he'd kick her but he didn't. He just stood there till she stopped. Doughnut was barking above us. I was shaking but I sat on my hands so he couldn't see. I was scared that he would hear my heart. He stood for a minute flexing his hands. He looked up at the ceiling but the barking was dying away.

He suddenly slumped down in the deck chair. There was a fierce hiss as he opened a can of beer.