Shine (6 page)

a small silver picture frame keeps glinting…

“
M
uuummmyyy,” shrieks a little girl, wrapping herself around Auntie Cass’s legs. “You’re home!”

Auntie Cass lifts her high into the air and swings her round and around, and thrusts the pink fairy-wings and wand into her hands.

“This is Indigo,” says Auntie Cass, catching her breath and introducing us, “and Indigo, this is Tiff, your cousin.”

I smile at the little fairy girl, because none of this is her fault. Indigo sticks her thumb into her mouth and buries a shy face into Auntie Cass’s jumper.

“Say hello to Tiff,” says Auntie Cass, “she’s come to stay.”

Indigo’s big blue eyes peep through her dark curly fringe. “Gello, Gtiff,” she says in thumb-speak.

A tall man with a beard joins us in the big square hall. “Hi, Tiff,” he says, gathering some of our carrier bags and shaking my hand. He kisses Auntie Cass and turns back to me, “I’m your Uncle Dan, come on in, you must be exhausted. Let’s get you a nice mug of something hot.”

He leads us into a large room that has a real fire blasting out heat, making a cosy glow around the walls. Two soft, pale-blue sofas with fat cushions on them invite me to snuggle down.

“Make yourself at home, Tiff,” says Auntie Cass, heading for the kitchen next door. “I’ll bring in some drinks and a snack then we’ll give you a guided tour of the place.”

I take off my shoes and curl up on the sofa that’s closest to the fire. I watch the flames dancing on the logs, chasing each other, twirling around. They start off as tiny blue sparks but quickly grow into big golden glows, making patterns and shapes that flicker shadows across the floor. I look around. One wall is completely
covered in books and there’s a scruffy wooden chest with an old fashioned TV balanced on top and a tatty old stereo with piles of CDs and DVDs making a tall tower. There are faded, old pink rugs covering the wooden floor and some fluffy sheepskin ones piled up in front of the fire. Everything here is old. My mum would hate it. Nothing’s new. Nothing’s shiny. Except for one thing.

Out of the corner of my eye a small, silver picture frame keeps glinting in the fiery glow. I drag myself from the sofa to take a look. In the frame is a picture of two girls on ponies. One has white-blonde hair and looks just like me, and the other has long, dark curls. I carefully pick up the frame and peer at it more closely. My eyes want to burrow right into the picture in the hope that it will come alive. I want to hear what the girls are chatting about, to know what they’re doing. I stroke the blonde hair. I’ve never seen a photo of my mum when she was small. I’ve never even been able to imagine what she was like or what her life was like. I’ve only ever known my mum how she is now. Always trying harder and harder to look perfect. But in this picture she looks so beautiful because her shine is coming from the inside, lighting her face, twinkling in her eyes. She’s smiling and
shining brightly even though she’s wearing smelly wellies that are covered in mud. And I wonder whatever could have happened to her to make her shine just disappear?

“Oh, you found the photo,” says Auntie Cass, bringing in a tray of food and drinks. “Look at us, we were so sweet, and so happy. I’ve got loads more photos to show you, Tiff, hundreds of them. Let’s spend the weekend going through them, shall we? There’s so much you don’t know.”

While we’re eating our snacks Auntie Cass tells me the story of my mum’s life. She was born in Essex, near London. And when she was eight years old and Auntie Cass was twelve, their mum and dad decided to sell up and move to Sark to run a hotel. Apparently, my mum loved ponies and old films and chocolate and making shows and plays and dances for everyone to come and see. Then she became a teenager and started hanging out with a bad crowd on Guernsey, and then one day, without warning, she ran away.

“It was like she just disappeared,” sighs Auntie Cass. “We all searched so hard for ages and ages. Then we had a couple of calls from her saying she was never coming back and that was that. We didn’t know where
she was, so there was nothing we could do. A few years later Mum and Dad decided that they just couldn’t stay here any more; the place was too full of memories. So they bought a place in Spain and moved there. I never gave up though, Tiff. That’s why I stayed on and took over the hotel. I’ve been waiting and waiting ever since.” Her voice cracks and she starts to cry. “Then when your mum phoned from the police station, I just couldn’t believe it. It was like talking to a ghost from the past. I was so happy. I just hopped on the first ferry I could get and raced like mad to see her.” She blows her nose and strokes my cheek. “I’m just so happy you’re both safe, Tiff, so happy you’re here.”

A little worry lump grows in my throat and my eyes start brimming over. “Why did she run away?” I ask, “Why did she do that to you all?” Guilty feelings start gnawing away in my tummy. It’s stupid;
I’m
feeling guilty for what
she’s
done and yet I hadn’t even been born when all of this happened. “I hate her even more now,” I spit. “How could she have done that to you? It’s typical: Mandy’s right, she just does what she wants all the time and never really cares about other people’s feelings.”

“Don’t be too harsh on her,” says Auntie Cass. “She
was only seventeen. I know something bad happened between her and Mandy, but we never really got to the bottom of it. Mandy just stayed quiet and turned in on herself…and then Holly came along.”

“So that’s why Mandy hates me?”

“She doesn’t hate
you
, Tiff, she’s just bitter.”

“And your mum and dad in Spain, they’re my grandparents?”

“Of course, and they’re flying over from Spain to visit your mum today. They’re so happy she’s OK, even though she’s in this mess. And they’re coming to meet you at Christmas. They’re so excited. But just to warn you, Tiff, they’re not like your traditional grandparents,” she laughs. “They’re loud and boisterous like your mum. Always getting themselves into mischief.”

“Come on girls, that’s enough chat for now,” says Uncle Dan. “Let’s have the grand tour. I don’t know what your favourite colour is, but I’ve spent the past couple of days decorating your mum’s old bedroom for you. I thought you might like to wake up in the morning and look out of the same window that she did when she was twelve. To see the same view.”

And I can’t pretend that he isn’t a little bit right.

it’s white…

F
irst they show me the hotel. It’s right opposite the house with a courtyard in between. It has seven bedrooms with big beds that have little heart-shaped chocolates waiting on the pillows, as welcome treats for the guests. The dining rooms have square tables with crisp white tablecloths and napkins and sparkly cutlery. The bar is cosy with red velvet-covered benches, a roaring fire and a stone floor. There are shelves and shelves of twinkling glasses and bottles, and big brass levers to pump the beer.

“Once you’re settled,” says Uncle Dan, “you can help out a bit if you like, to earn yourself some pocket money.”

I nod. I’d like to have some money of my own that
I’ve earned. I’m never going to be like my mum. I’m never going to steal anything.

We wander around the gardens and they show me the rope swing and the horse carriage that the kids can play on. The air smells fresh and clean and I fill my lungs. When we come to an old derelict barn, Uncle Dan lovingly pats its walls. “You never know, Tiff, when this is all over, we might be able to make the barn into a new home for you and your mum. If we can persuade her to come home and live on Sark.”

All the colour drains from my face. I am
not
living in an old ruin like this. It doesn’t even have a roof ! My mum would hate it; she likes the bright lights of London, we both do! She would be running off again in no time at all.

“Don’t panic, Tiff,” says Auntie Cass, “it’s just an idea. We’re going to do it up anyway, convert it into a holiday cottage.” Her eyes glisten with tears. “I just really want her to come home, Tiff, to live here again, with all of us together. We thought you might like to help us with the plans?”

I peer inside the dark barn. It’s full of old broken stuff and empty bottles and cobwebs that drape and dangle from beam to beam. My mind doesn’t have the
imagination to be able to turn this crummy old barn into a shiny new home. And anyway it’s just my Auntie Cass going off on some fantasy thing about us being here forever and playing happy families with my mum.

“Don’t bother doing it for us,” I snap, “my mum would hate it. She’s never coming back here and I’m not staying for long. As soon as she’s home, I’m going straight back to London; so don’t get your hopes up.”

My words punch their faces and we wander on in silence as they show me round the part of the hotel that they live in; that
I
now live in. It’s all friendly and light and homely. In the kitchen, Indigo is hopping about sprinkling magic with her wand. I wish she could sprinkle some on me. There’s a huge farmhousey table in the middle of the room covered in Indigo’s sparkly stickers and painting things, and along one wall is a massive cooker with socks and pants hung above it to dry.

Chunky old stairs take us up to the bathroom, which has an enormous old bath with painted feet and a massive shower that looms overhead. Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan’s room has a four-poster style bed with swishy curtains draped down the sides, which I find a bit spooky. But Indigo’s room is cheerful and bright and has a teeny
wooden bed with a red patchwork quilt and a neat row of teddies, all tucked in. Finally we come to a closed wooden door.

“Shut your eyes, Tiff,” says Uncle Dan, “it’s a surprise.”

My brain is dancing around, terrified that I might hate it, petrified that he might have done it all babyish and stupid. He opens the door and Auntie Cass gasps, her mouth drops open like goldfish.

“It’s perfect,” she sighs, her eyes brimming over with tears, “Dan you’ve done brilliantly. What d’you think, Tiff?”

“It’s white,” I say, flopping on to the bed.

“Come on, Tiff,” says Auntie Cass sitting next to me, “it’s great. How about a ‘Thank you, Uncle Dan’?”

I mimic her voice, “Thank you, Uncle Dan.”

Auntie Cass looks crushed, like I’ve tipped a truckload of nastiness on her head. Uncle Dan comes to her rescue.

“Come on Cass,” he soothes, “let’s leave Tiff to settle in shall we?”

They close the door and leave me alone. I flop down on my big white bed, eat the little chocolate that’s waiting on my pillow and look around. My uncle is weird. He’s painted everything white. All the walls, floorboards and a chest of drawers that’s tucked between one wall and
the chimney breast, and a chair and a desk under the window that looks out across the woods. There are floaty white curtains, a fluffy white rug and a bedside table with a white paper lamp. My uncle Dan obviously has about as much imagination as a mushroom. Wherever did he get the idea that white was nice?

My old room in London was multicoloured with loads of fairy lights and posters and massive gold and silver cushions and a big purple egg-chair that hung from the ceiling. It was cool and full to the brim with stuff and I never had to clean it up. Chelsea’s dad was always on at her about cleaning up her room, but my mum said that my room was my business. This room is boring with a capital B. Plain and white.

I feel even more like a big black smudge now. Mandy’s harsh words still sting and dig away at me, niggling because I don’t understand what she means. My mum and her stupid crazy life stick to me like thick black oil, creeping on to me. And I’m boiling-mad inside because what she’s done is not my fault, it isn’t even anything to do with me and yet I’m the one left here alone and I want to get her back for hurting me, for ruining our lives. An idea creeps into my head.

First I find some nail-varnish remover in the bathroom and rub away Miguel’s stupid pink manicure. Then I scrub my teeth with fresh mint toothpaste until my whole mouth is fresh and clean. I lock the bathroom door, have a quick shower and start searching in the bathroom cupboard drawers.

The large scissors wink at me, daring me. I know my mum will go mad, but right now I don’t care. I brush my long hair smooth. It falls almost to my waist. I bend right over and gather it up into a ponytail. Then I take a deep breath and chop. My ponytail flops in my hand and the rest of my hair falls all raggedy around my shoulders. I panic at bit and try to straighten it up, but I just make things worse. It looks terrible. What have I done? I stare into the mirror and the new me with crazy, raggedy hair stares right back.

I’m not my mum. And she’s not me. Whatever she’s done is nothing to do with me. I have to keep on remembering that.
Huh!
I think, dressing myself in my new clothes. Who’s scared of meeting new kids and having a new life? Who’s scared of being away from her mum and all alone? Not me.

go girl…

A
untie Cass gasps when she sees what I’ve done to my hair, but she doesn’t burrow away with questions, I think she understands.

“Do you want me to straighten it up for you?” she smiles. “Tiffany Morris, you are so like your mum. That’s exactly the sort of thing she would do at your age. I bet she’ll go crazy when she finds out.”

I shrug because I don’t care what my mum thinks. But I do need Auntie Cass’s help. I can’t start my new school looking like a freak so I sit still while she patiently chops away at the crooked ends. When she’s finished I look in the mirror and see a whole new me. And I love
it! A little tiny bubble of happiness peeps out of my heart.

Suppertime is different here. For one thing we all sit around the big table instead of in front of the TV. And it’s a no-junk-food zone. The pizza Auntie Cass took me for must have been a pity-treat because the kitchen here is full of vegetables, vegetables and more vegetables. I have never seen so many. Only homemade things are allowed and everything is made from scratch. My tummy is longing for a takeaway burger and chips and a supersize chocolate milkshake. Or a bucket of chicken and a Coke-float.

Indigo drags her chair close to mine and peers at me, smiling. She’s happily tucking into a big mound of steamy green veg. I hate green veg, and the sight of it all piled high on my plate makes me want to vomit all over the table. I wish I had the guts to do it, just to see what old joke Uncle Dan would come up with to cover up the fact that I’m starting to get on his nerves. But I don’t. I just push the food around my plate and make a lot of clinking noise with my cutlery.

After dinner I go up to my room to unpack. Auntie Cass knocks and peeps her head around my door, “Are
you OK, sweetheart?” she asks, “is there anything you need?”

“No,” I say, yawning.

“I think it’s probably bedtime now,” she says, ruffling my hair. “What time do you usually go to bed?”

“Whenever,” I say. “It depends what we’re doing.”

“Well I think nine o’clock is a good time here.”

“Nine!” I shriek. “You must be joking!”

“Not joking,” she says. “Let’s try it out and see how it goes. I think once you get into the routine of school and cycling around all day, you’ll find that you’re ready for bed by nine.”

Nine is ultra-early for bedtime. In my old life my mum and I would probably be getting ready to go out for food or we’d be ordering a takeaway and checking if there’s anything good on TV. But Auntie Cass is not my mum, obviously. And anyway, I’m going to be mega bored because I don’t actually have many things to do here, and no one seems to watch much TV in this house.

“Do you want to talk, Tiff?” she asks.

“No, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Well, I just want to say that you’re really welcome here. I know it feels difficult right now, but you’ll get
used to things, I promise. Here,” she says, putting a picture of me and my mum on my bedside table. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought this from your house, I thought you might like it.”

The photo starts me thinking about my mum again. I stare at it for ages after Auntie Cass has gone. It’s one of my mum and me on the beach last year, hugging and laughing. I gaze at her familiar face, hating her stupid false smile and her big stolen sunglasses that she’s pushed right back on the top of her head. I feel like I don’t even know her any more. Half of me wants to throw her out of the window or smash her against the wall and the other half wants to run to her and hug her and breathe in her perfume smell. My tummy does an annoying little flip and a burst of love peeps its head out from my heart. I quickly kiss her cheek goodnight, and then turn the picture to face the wall to punish her for breaking us apart. Then, for the first time since last Friday night, I drift into a deep, deep sleep.

In the morning Indigo puts on her new fairy wings and cycles off to school on her own. Auntie Cass notices the worry on my face.

“It’s OK, there’s no danger here, Tiff, even the little ones make their own way to school. The kids whizz about all over the place, you just have to listen for the tractors and you can hear them coming! You’ll soon get the hang of it. Uncle Dan will take you to buy a bike and then you can have a go yourself.” She gives me a big hug and kisses the top of my head. I shrug her off.

“I told you already, I don’t want one.”

Uncle Dan gets up and shuffles around the kitchen. “We’re going to get you one anyway, Tiff. Like it or not.”

“You can’t make me,” I hiss. “You’re not my dad.”

“Obviously not,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t spoil you. Now, go and get your coat on. We’re going shopping.”

Choosing the bike is the easy bit. I choose a red one that has a basket on the front, and twelve gears. Learning to ride the bike is a bit more complicated. Uncle Dan holds on to the back of the saddle, helping me keep my balance, but still I wobble along like a stupid baby. Indigo is only five years old and a million times better than me already. We gently speed up until Uncle Dan’s
running along beside me, still holding on. I grip on to the handlebars, trying to keep the wheel going in a straight line. We go faster and faster until he suddenly lets go. The cold wind blows through my new hair and nips my fingers and nose. I’m flying with the wind, blowing in the breeze.

“You’re doing it, Tiff, you’re a natural,” he calls.

But then the wheel skids on a tiny stone. I lose control and feel myself skidding and sliding towards the floor. Bump! I land with a massive thud on the ground. My new jeans are all scuffed, my shoulder’s sore and my face is glowing red. I feel stupid, stupid, stupid and never want to try again. Uncle Dan comes to the rescue and gives me a warm bear hug.

“You’re brilliant, Tiff,” he reassures. “Next try and you’ll be off.”

But I don’t want to try again. Tiny tears squeeze out of my eyes. I sniff them away.

“Forget it,” I sniff, kicking a stone. “I’m never trying that again. I’ll walk.”

“Oh, come on Tiff, lighten up, will you?”

“You try having your whole entire life ruined,” I shout, “then see how you cope.” I start to stomp off.

“I’m sorry, Tiff,” he puffs running to catch me up. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but it’s not my fault is it? I’m just trying to help.”

He guides me back to the bike. “Now the first rule of riding a bike,” he says, “or horse, for that matter, is that if you fall off you must get straight back on. Otherwise you’ll lose your confidence for good. It’s OK, I’m here with you.”

“But I look stupid,” I say, “like a baby, I can’t even do it right. Why didn’t my mum teach me all this stuff when I was small, when you’re supposed to?”

“I don’t know, Tiff,” he says, picking up my bike and handing it back to me, “but I do know that right now you’ve got a choice. You can either give up and carry on moaning about how things haven’t gone right for you, or you can get back on and learn something new.”

My shaky legs get back on. Uncle Dan holds tight to the saddle again and off we go. I practise turning the wheel a little to regain my balance each time I lose it and find that the more I relax the easier it becomes. We go faster and faster and the wind blows through my hair. Uncle Dan gives a gentle push and I’m off. I start
pedalling like mad, keeping my balance and watching for stones. The houses and trees fly past me getting faster and faster. And suddenly I’m doing it all on my own. Uncle Dan runs to catch up with me.

“Go girl,” he shouts into the wind. “Go girl.”