Shine (9 page)

it’s chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiist-maaaaaaaaasssssssss…

I
ndigo comes charging into my room at the crack of dawn.

“Gwake up, Tiff,” she squeals. “It’s Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiistmaaaaaaaaaassssss!”

“OK, OK,” I say, pulling a hoodie on over my pyjamas. “Let’s go see what Santa left for us, shall we?”

We race downstairs into the sitting room. It’s piled high with presents for everyone, glittering under the tree. I switch on the fairy lights and unhook two fat stockings that are swinging from the mantelpiece. Indigo and I scoff the chocolates from our stockings
and watch Christmas TV while we wait for everyone else to wake up.

“I glove you, Tiff,” she says in her thumb-speak, snuggling up on my lap.

“I love you too,” I say, feeding her another mini chocolate Santa. “And I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit mean.”

After our proper breakfast, when everyone’s showered and dressed, Grandpa clinks a spoon against a glass, calling for everyone’s attention.

“Now family,” he laughs, “before we get down to some serious present opening, I think we all need a little breath of fresh air. What do you think Cass, Dan, Margie?”

Uncle Dan winks, “Good idea.” He smiles.

“Gno!” shrieks Indigo. “Presents! Presents!”

I don’t really want fresh air, either, but this style of Christmas is new to me, so I stand on the edge and smile. Grandpa leads the way, and we all head out through the garden toward the derelict barn. It’s a cold, crisp day and I’d rather be inside, toasting by the fire. The sky is bright blue and the sun is smiling down. A quiet hush has wrapped itself around our little island
and only the church bells break its spell. We trudge past the barn and go through the gate that leads on to one of our fields. In the distance I can see silver tinsel dancing on the breeze and shining in the sun. Then I notice what the tinsel is attached to, and Indigo does too. I gasp and hold my breath, not quite believing, and Indigo squeals and leaps into Grandpa’s arms.

A tiny brown pony is bobbing its way towards us and a bigger dapple-grey pony is trotting along beside.

“Look what Father Christmas left for my two little princesses, then,” says Grandpa, finding magic apples behind our ears.

For a moment, I can’t actually quite believe that the dapple-grey pony standing in front of me is actually mine. I have to keep blinking and pinching myself to make sure it’s true. And a part of me is scared in case someone takes her away.

Grandpa puts his arm round my shoulder. “She really
is
yours Tiff, I promise, and no one’s going to take her away.”

I hold out my hand to make friends with my pony. Her muzzle is soft and her gentle eyes are warm and calm. I move closer and she snorts, tickling pony breath
into my ears and muzzling close, inviting me to stroke her. I gently hug her, giving her time to get used to me, and rest my cold cheek on her warm neck, breathing her in. I thread my fingers through her creamy mane, plaiting us together, making us friends, forever. Now I’m completely excited and fizzing all over and tears are welling up in my eyes. I’m so surprised I can hardly breathe, but somehow the words “Thank you” escape from my lips and dance on the breeze. I never, ever dreamed I’d ever have a pony of my own and here she is, all mine.

In a flash I realise that I’m not a London girl any more, who lives in a flat and shops all the time and goes out for slap-up meals. I’m a country girl who likes outside and stars and who really is friends with a weird tree-house boy and a kind girl who likes to keep everyone happy but herself.

After we’ve patted and stroked our ponies some more and fed them their Christmas apples, we tear ourselves away and go back to the house. I text Max and Isla to tell them my exciting news and to say sorry for being such a rubbish friend. When we’ve opened all our other presents and eaten our humongus lunch
and played silly party games and checked on our ponies at least seven hundred times, I slip away to my room.

I have a very important letter to write.

Dear Mum,

Happy Christmas. I love you, but I’ve been angry with you lately. I was scared with everything changing so fast. I feel a bit better now, although I still don’t understand why you did what you did.

Grandpa and Grandma are amazing, they remind me of you, all blond and bling and loud and funny. Santa brought me a pony and one for Indigo too. Mine’s a dapple-grey cob called Stardust and Indigo’s is a tiny Shetland pony called Cupcake. Auntie Cass is going to teach me to ride, and for Christmas she bought me a riding hat and all the stuff I need. She is lovely, and even though I haven’t been very kind to her, she’s looking after me really well.

There’s this old barn here that Uncle Dan keeps going on about wanting to do up. It is gross and mouldy at the moment, but he wants to turn it into a shiny new home for us, for when you come out of prison. And I haven’t wanted it until today, but I’ve
got Stardust now and the barn looks out over the field where she lives, so I would be able to keep a good eye on her. Pleeeaassssseeeee can we stay here?

I hope you like the recording of my school concert that we sent you and the portrait of me. My friend Max drew it and I hope you’re not angry that I cut my hair. I had to do it, I’m sorry, but I’m growing it long again now. And I hope that your Christmas is fun and that you’re not too sad.

Come home soon, Mum, please.

You and me, Mum. You and me xxxxxxxxxxxx

making you shine…

I
t’s January and my grandpa and grandma have gone back to Spain and have promised we can all go and visit them in the summer holidays, hopefully with my mum, if she’s back home by then. Uncle Dan is busy drawing the plans for the barn and employing some builders to do the work. On the plans he’s drawn in a bedroom for me that actually overlooks the pony field, so I can watch Stardust and Cupcake from my bedroom window and make sure they’re OK. That’s if we can persuade my mum to come and live here. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Max says I’ve become pony obsessed and is worried that I might turn out like his mum. Well, he’s right, a
bit, because I’ve covered my white bedroom walls with pony posters and with some sketches that I’ve done myself. Max bought me a sketchbook and some proper artists’ pencils for Christmas and he’s teaching me how to draw. I’m nowhere near as good as him, but at least I’m not as rubbish as I’d thought I was. And when I’m not reading about ponies, or drawing them, I’m off trekking round the island with Isla and Max or grooming them or picking up poo. And I’ve started a Friday-night film club at the school, and we’re busily working our way through all my old movies. On our first night we watched
The Wizard of Oz
, which made me miss Chelsea millions. I wish she was here too, joining in all my fun, still being my bestie. Isla’s slowly getting the hang of doing American accents and remembering all the words, but she’ll never be as good as Chels. Max doesn’t love old films as much as me and he doesn’t love ponies, but he comes along anyway and is teaching me loads about how to ride.

At the weekends we watch films, go for rides, drink hot chocolate at Kristina’s café, and then all huddle in Max’s tree house, drawing or playing games. Chelsea wouldn’t recognise me any more, nor would my mum
because I’m mostly muddy and windswept and my hair’s a mess. Sometimes I don’t even recognise myself. One day, Auntie Cass takes a photo of me and Indigo on our ponies. We put it in a shiny silver frame and send it to Mum. A few days later I have a letter back.

Hi Tiff,

Thanks for your Christmas letter, babe. I miss you and love you so much and I’m so, so sorry for messing up. If I could change things I would, but I can’t. All I can do is apologise and promise never to get us into such a mess again. I’m sorry for leaving you at nights and for drinking so much I couldn’t stand up. I’m sorry for stealing stuff that I thought would make you happy and not noticing that you were scared. It’s only now that I haven’t got you around every day that I realise that none of that was important. The only important thing was me loving you and you loving me. And I know I haven’t done a very good job of that so far. But I plan to make it up to you, Tiff, I promise.

Auntie Cass will explain things to you in a bit more detail, but basically, my case has been to court
and because you don’t have another parent to care for you, and because I’ve been a very good girl while I’ve been here, I should be out of here at the beginning of March. The judge said that really I should stay here for a whole year, but having you got me off, Tiff. I’m lucky. Mikey’s been put away for years, so that’s the end of him and good riddance I say!

I’m not sure about coming back to Sark. So much has happened there in the past, Tiff, that it scares me. I don’t know how to unravel it all and start again. I don’t even know if I’d be welcome. I upset a lot of people who were very special to me and I don’t know if they’ll ever be able to forgive me. But we’ll see. Let’s give it time.

Mostly, I’m sorry for running away from my family and for never letting you have the chance to know them. But I’m glad you do now and I’m glad they’re enjoying you and you’re enjoying them. I’ve been a silly girl in my life, Tiff, and I’m paying the price and learning my lesson the hard way. Don’t let that happen to you.

You look wonderful on Stardust and your hair looks great, I hardly recognise you, you’ve changed so
much. It’s like happiness is just streaming out of you, making you shine. I’m so proud of you, take care my

beautiful girl; I hope that one day you’ll be able to

forgive me.

All my bestest and biggest and fattest and truest love,

Mama xxxx

P.S. You won’t believe it, Tiff, but my cooking’s getting more brilliant by the day! My tutor says I’m a natural and that I should think about going into business. xx

I open up the back of the photo frame that holds the picture of my mum and me and tuck her letter inside to keep it safe. Then I close it up, stroke her hair and kiss her photo face. I put the frame back beside my bed facing out, so that she can look at me when I’m sleeping. It’s good to hear from her, but I suddenly feel nervous and jumpy inside. My mum sounds different. It feels like prison has made her stop pretending. And hearing her admit to leaving me alone at night and drinking too much and actually noticing I was scared makes a hard stone grow in my throat, which I can’t swallow down.

She’s never said stuff like that to me before. She’s only ever laughed it off and covered it up, and I’ve always gone along, pretending and icing up the cracks, making it better all the time. But now she’s telling the truth, I feel like I’m falling into a black hole, losing my footing, losing what’s familiar.

A little panic bubble rises up inside me. If she’s leaving prison at the beginning of March that means there’s only about five weeks left to go. Of course I do want to see her, and I do want her to come home, I miss her, I love her, she’s my mum. But a scared part of me still wants to rub her out, wants to be Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan’s girl with Stardust and Indigo and a simple life. I want her back, but I don’t want things the same as they were. I love her, but it’s easy loving her from here where she can’t get into trouble and she can’t mess up.

What’s it going to be like when she’s back? What’s
she
going to be like? And will I ever actually be able to forgive her and trust her again? It all feels too much, too soon. Of course, I want to forgive her but Matilda is right. Every time I dig down deep, the hurt is still just sitti ng there, waiting to jump out at me, waiting to scratch my face and stab my heart.

i hope so sweetheart…

W
ork on the barn is happening fast. Every day the builders swarm on it and buzz away with their tools, bashing and hammering and fixing and building.

“How are we going to persuade my mum that she
has
to come and live here?” I ask Auntie Cass, when we’re putting the finishing touches to a batch of cupcakes we’ve made for tonight’s school disco. Indigo’s face and hands are covered in pink icing and she’s busy scooping leftovers from the bowl.

“I’m not sure,” she says, “but knowing your mum we have to do it in a way that makes her feel like it was her idea all along. Carla hates being told what to do by anyone.”

“You’re telling me,” I laugh. “She’s gets like a toddler in a tantrum if she doesn’t have things her own way. Whenever I come up with an idea for anything, she always turns it into her own personal brilliant invention. But in her letters it sounds like this whole prison thing has shocked her and changed her, Auntie Cass. D’you think that’s really possible?”

“I hope so, sweetheart,” she says, dobbing a blob of pink icing on the end of my nose. “For all our sakes. And in some ways she doesn’t have a lot of options. Your old flat’s been cleared and the landlord’s rented it out to someone else, so you can’t go back there. And truthfully, it wouldn’t be good for her to move back to the same area, you know with all the gossip and stuff and mixing with the same bad lot.”

Then a thought hits me like lightning.

“I’ve got it!” I say, arranging the cakes on a plate. “It’s perfect!”

“Well, go on,” says Auntie Cass, “fill us in, share your inspiration.”

“Well,” I say, “in my mum’s last letter she says she’s become brilliant at cooking. And, I was just thinking, that well…”

“Come on, Tiff, spit it out, the suspense is killing me, you’ve got a great idea fizzing away in that brain of yours!”

“Well,” I say, “I was just thinking, that soon it’s going to be summer and, well, the hotel’s going to get busy and you’re going to need a cook, because you and Uncle Dan won’t be able to do everything on your own, and I was just thinking that maybe my mum could do the cooking? She’s learned how to in prison and she says she’s really good at it.”

“You clever, clever girl,” says Auntie Cass, mopping Indigo’s face with a damp cloth. “The only question is, how do we get your mum to think it’s her own idea?”

“Leave it to me,” I wink. I pour myself some juice, pick up a spare cupcake that’s just asking to be eaten and run upstairs to my room. I settle at my desk and take out some special writing paper with ponies leaping around the edge. Then I start…

Dear Mum,

Thanks for your letter. I’ve been cooking too. Auntie Cass, Indigo and I have just finished making some cupcakes for our school disco tonight and they’re
delicious. I’m eating one now, looking out of my bedroom window.

Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan are a bit stressy today. The hotel’s getting busy and they’re worried about how they’re going to manage all the cooking through the summer, when all the tourists arrive. Their old chef just left and they’re having trouble finding someone who’s a brilliant cook. Mandy has applied for the job and Auntie Cass is thinking about giving her a trial run, but there’s some stuff she says she’s just not that good at, so she’s not really sure.

It’s not our problem though, is it? We’ve got enough of our own problems to deal with in deciding what’s going to happen when you leave prison. I mean, I know I wrote to you the other day saying that you and Mandy could work things out, but now I’m not so sure it’s a good idea. I’ve been thinking that it actually might be more fun if we moved back to London. You’re right, it’s a bit quiet and boring here. Nothing ever happens here at school except work, work and more work. There are no fights to watch to spice up my day. And maybe you could even get a job, as a school cook, that would be fun, Mum, wouldn’t it?

And I agree, why would you want to come back here to people who used to love you a lot? With everything that’s gone on they might have changed their minds. It’s just not worth the risk.

Anyway, I love you millions, although I am a bit nervous about seeing you again. Are you nervous about seeing me?

Love Tiff. You and me, Mum. You and me xxxxxxxxx

P.S. I know you don’t like talking about old stuff, but I’ve been thinking about loads of stuff and I’m curious to know what my dad’s name is.

P.P.S. What’s going to happen? Do I come to prison and meet you when you get out and then we catch the bus to our new home, or what?

I show Auntie Cass and Uncle Dan my letter.

“You’re brilliant, Tiff,” says Auntie Cass. “If she’s anything like the sister I remember, she’ll fall for it big time. Let’s post it quick and keep our fingers crossed.”