Solace of the Road (12 page)

I stroked my wig and it was like Solace took charge.
You’re not leaping off that bridge, Holl
, she said.
The wig would come off, wouldn’t it? Then I’d be dead too
. I had to smile.
Just keep going up this road. Ireland will get closer every step
.

So I did. I just kept going and going into that quiet morning.

Twenty-three
The Phone Box

The houses were more spaced out.

The light was stronger.

I put the phones back in. The birds were singing fit to burst my skull. Drew was pouring words into my ear. I suppose he’s the other guy, aside from the one I’d rather not mention, who I’d let near me, but he’s always on tour nowhere near so we haven’t had a chance to meet. One day Storm Alert will play where I am and I’ll have a ticket and I’ll go. And that will be the same day that terrorists burst into the stadium and keep us all hostage. Then, in the negotiations, they’ll let people free, a hundred at a time, until we’re down to the last ten. Drew and me’ll both still be there and he’ll get to know me and we’ll chat up a storm. And when one of the terrorists tries to shoot dead this little kid-boy, a bit like the Junior Einstein boy in the museum, I’ll jog the terrorist’s trigger-hand and the boy will be safe. Only, in revenge, the terrorist will knock me out with the handle of his gun. Then, when I wake up, Drew will be cradling
my head in his hands and stroking my hair …

I was so lost in my thoughts I nearly bumped into a phone box, the old-fashioned red kind with lots of little windows. I looked at it in a daze like I’d forgotten what it was.

Next minute I was inside, thinking who to phone. Trouble was, the whole world was asleep. Grace, Trim, asleep. Miko, in north London somewhere, asleep, and I didn’t have his number. With Rachel, I’d only get her voice, recorded. I had to talk to
somebody
.

Only not Fiona or Ray. No way.

Then I remembered a phone number they posted by the phone in Templeton House. ChildLine. It’s some group with a special number for us care-babes. So I thought I’d try it. It was better than nothing and it was free. I remembered its digits climbing up even, like a ladder.

But would anyone answer so early?

Brrimm-brrimm
, went the phone.

I waited.

Brrimm-brrimm-brrimm
. Nothing.

I nearly gave up. Then with a click a voice answered, a real voice, not recorded. Female. She came out with some patter about disclosure and confidence and I nearly hung up. A mogit, one hundred per cent.

‘Are you still there?’ she said. ‘I haven’t put you off with that official stuff?’

‘Dunno,’ I said.

‘Well there. Hello again.’

‘H’lo.’

‘Are you a young person?’

‘Yeah. Fourteen. No, fifteen.’

‘Do you want to tell me your name? You don’t have to if you don’t want.’

‘Sure. I’m Solace.’

‘Solace?’

‘ ’S right. I’m Solace. And I’m on the run.’

There was a pause.

‘I’m Gayle,’ said the voice. ‘Hello – Solace. I’m sorry you’re running away. D’you want to talk about it?’

‘Maybe. See. I was in this Home …’ I trailed off.

‘A Home?’

‘Yeah. Being looked after.’

‘Residential? Or fostering?’

‘Residential.’

‘Didn’t you like it there?’

‘ ’S all right. Only the other kids were very naughty.’ Grace and Trim were suddenly crammed up in the box with me, digging their elbows into my ribs, trying to stop up the laughter. ‘Very naughty indeed.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘And my key worker didn’t like me. He picked on me.’ Miko turned round, halfway over the river, his jacket over his shoulder. He raised a brow.
Holly
. He shook his head.

‘How did he do that?’

‘Dunno. Different stuff.’

‘And you didn’t like that?’

‘Nope.’

‘So you ran away?’

‘Yep.’

‘Don’t you have a social worker, Solace? Someone who you can talk to?’

‘She never answers my calls. She’s too busy.’

That’s what Grace says about hers. But it wasn’t true of Rachel.

‘So where are you running to?’

‘Hey?’

‘Is there somewhere you’re trying to get to? Or are you just running?’

I thought of Mam in the green fields and the soft rain. ‘Yeah.’

‘You’re just running?’

‘No. I’m running –
somewhere
.’

‘Do you want to tell me where?’

I couldn’t stop myself. ‘My mam.’

‘Your mum?’

‘Yeah. My mam.’ I could hear my voice wobble. ‘I want to go live with her. I want to be back with her. I’m tired of living with strangers.’

‘Does she know, Solace? Does she know that’s what you want?’

‘No,’ I blurted. ‘She don’t know nothing. Not where I am. Nothing. They don’t tell her. She’s looking for me. I know. She’s out there, looking for me. But she can’t find me.’

There was a pause.

‘Solace?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you know
why
you’re in care?’

I thought of the sky house and Mam and Denny. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I breezed. ‘Sure I know.’

‘Would you like to tell me about it?’

‘ ’S kinda complicated.’

‘Try me.’

‘See, Mam had this boyfriend. Denny-boy.’

‘Denny-boy?’

‘Yeah. He took all our money. And he did bad things. Wicked bad things. And Mam had to get back to Ireland fast so Denny wouldn’t find her or she’d be dead. And they found out.’

‘Who’s “they,” Solace?’

‘Social services, of course. They found out about Mam being gone because I didn’t go to school like I should have and they got onto us. Mam was going to send for me but when she did it was too late. They’d taken me away. Now she’s there and I’m here and it’s all my fault.’

‘Why do you say it’s your fault, Solace?’

‘Huh?’

‘Well, how old were you then?’

‘Dunno. ’S a blur.’

‘So you were young. Very young. You weren’t responsible for whatever it was the adults did. Were you?’

You know, people always said things like:
It’s not your fault, Holly. You didn’t do anything wrong, Holly
. But it was like I’d never really listened before, not even to Rachel and Miko.
You weren’t responsible
. Besides, they were always saying about how I should be
more
responsible, not less.

But now it was weird. The way Gayle had said it, I could feel it.

‘Were you, Solace?’ Her voice was soft and calm, pleading almost, and she said my name sweet. I imagined her on the other end of the line. She had pale cheeks and soft fair curls, long, and she was pretty, in a dark blue jogger with stripes down the side, not a mogit at all.

‘No,’ I whispered. I cradled the phone in my hand. I squeezed my eyes tight and I could see this little girl with falling-down socks and a crooked fringe and she had lots of gold stars from school and it was me, and she got the lift to the odd floors when the even lift was busy and walked up the scary stairs the last bit because she was brave. ‘My money’s running out,’ I choked, forgetting how the call was free.

‘Solace – d’you want me to phone you back?’

‘No. ’S all right.’

‘I can, you know.’

‘Nah.’

‘Solace. I have to say this. You should go back, you know.’

‘Huh.’

‘Will you do that? Go back. Then we can talk again. Any time you like. It’s a promise. Will you?’

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘I don’t like to think of you out on your own, this time of morning.’

‘I’m not on my own.’

‘No?’

‘My boyfriend’s with me.’

‘Right. Great. What’s his name?’

‘Drew,’ I said.

‘Is he nice?’

‘He’s great. He’s handsome. And he’s looking out for me.’

‘I hope so. But you must call the Home, Solace. Or I can for you, if you like. If you tell me its name.’

‘The phone’s counting down the seconds,’ I lied.

One, two, three
, Big Ben donged in my head.

‘Solace?’

Four, five
.

‘Please
, Solace.’

Six, seven, eight
. The voice of the Gayle woman floated inside me, right into my brain and lungs. Part of me didn’t want her to go, the other part of me was frantic to hang up.

‘Templeton House,’ I squeaked.

Nine, ten
. I heard a ‘Thank—’

I slammed the receiver down. The thoughts crashed round in my head.
Jeez. What did I say that for? She’ll call Templeton House and they’ll realize who it was. They’ll trace the call and the police will be after me. Thickhead. I’d better get on. FAST. Hot-foot
.

I came out of the phone box and looked at the road ahead. The sun had risen and the city was behind me. I hitched the lizard up onto my shoulder and ran. All I could think of was little Holly in her falling-down socks, playing broken dolls with Colette on the dark, scary stairs, begging Denny to let her choose a horse and brushing, brushing Mammy’s hair for the love and the money.
You were young, Holly
, Gayle’s voice kept telling me.
Very, very young
.

Twenty-four
Emmy-Lou
of Eynsham Lock

You can’t run for ever and soon I slowed. The morning silence was thick like soup. The houses stopped, then the pavement. There was only a bumpy, grassy verge. My ankles got a dew shower every step. Instead of gardens and buildings there were fields and pylons and trees and more green than I’d ever seen. There were yellow and blue flowers. There were bird coos and rustles and the smell of leaves.

And the road kept on going. More houses, then long grass, and a field with sheep.

It was open country, nearly as pretty as Ireland, and I could breathe. Was I glad I hadn’t jumped off that bridge, even if my belly felt like somebody was strangling it and I was raging with thirst, and even if I wanted to murder the birds on account of they wouldn’t shut up. But the morning was cool and alive and calm and my feet just kept walking without me telling them to. I imagined Mam on a hill, waiting, watching me get closer every step.

I put two or three miles under me. Three cars and
one truck rumbled by but there was no sign of the police. Maybe I’d panicked for no reason. I hadn’t said my name. But I’d said Templeton House. They’d check it out and soon put two and two together, bound to …

My eyes teared up but I kept walking.

Then ahead, the road went over a little bridge with an empty toll-booth. I crossed halfway and there was a blue-green sparkle either side, a river, thin and quiet. I thought of Miko crossing the Thames, heading north, miles away, in a whole other world. Then I saw a path by the water’s edge and long narrow boats parked.

River water in a city is filthy, but out here I reckoned you could drink it. I stepped off the bridge and down some steps to the bank and along by the boats, trying to find a spot to lean over and scoop up a palmful.

There was a building and a wall with water pouring over it. I didn’t know what the place was, but I found a spot to splash my face. The water was dark and probably full of fly eggs but I took a mouthful. It tasted like slop from a bucket when you’ve just washed a floor and I nearly threw up. There was a bench and I flopped down.

I saw a curl of smoke coming from one of those funny long boats and frowned.

Whoever heard of a fire on a wooden boat?

Then I heard Trim cackling at me in my head.
You can have a fire on a boat. They had them in the
Titanic
down in the engine room, right?

Yeah, I mentally answered him. And look what happened. It sank.

Yeah, but that wasn’t fire. That was an iceberg
.

But these boats are tiny. Nothing like the
Titanic
. And they’re made of wood. One spark and they’d be finished.

I stretched out along the bench, yawning.

You and Grace, thick as doorstops. You put the fire in something metal, stupid. Something thick and solid
.

Yeah. So solid it sinks the boat? I was being deliberately thick to get his goat.

A boat could carry the Statue of Liberty if it wanted to. Depends on the size. Boat … like that … small stove … no problem …
Trim’s voice broke up and maybe I nodded off.

I woke up, flat out across the bench, the sun blinding my eyes.

The wig was half on, half off.

I sat up so fast it dropped off altogether. I grabbed it before it hit the ground and shoved it back on. I remembered the phone call I’d made.
The police, they’re after me
. I rooted in my bag, found my brush, combed the wig and breathed. I was Solace again. No way they’d recognize me even if they passed right by.

I heard a whistling, then a splash. I looked round.

Away down the bank a man was cleaning the windows of his boat. The boat was long and green with flowerpots and a bicycle lying flat on the roof and a chimney with the smoke still rising.

The man had long grey hair tied in a ponytail and thick brown arms. He had blue jeans and a T-shirt on
and was whistling to a tune he could hear on his earphones. He was what I call a mogit in denial –somebody who’s over forty and acts like they’re seventeen. You want to cringe and hide when they act like your best buddy, like they think they’re still your age.

This one stopped and took a slug out of a big bottle of posh water. It looked clear, not like the river water I’d tried earlier. My thirst raged.

I got up, dusted myself down and ambled down the bank to the boat. It was called
Emmy-Lou
, the name painted in red on the side, with a
instead of the O.