Writing in the Sand (27 page)

“I'm just beginning to realize what it could all mean.”

He says, “You know that if you go to college, your mum will get more help at home.”

I think of how encouraging Mr Kelly'd been. It'd be good to think Mr Smith felt the same. “Do
you
think I'll be able to have a career?”

“I'm sure you will.”

He's been so good to me, I begin to think it would be great to keep in touch. “Mr Smith?”

“Yes?”

But it doesn't feel right. Instead I say thank you, and he says, “Good luck, I'm sure it'll all work out.”

He hands me the frisbee, and we part company. Then, while he heads back for Dune Terrace and his car, I start walking on with Toffee. But something makes me turn round: I want to see if he's still in sight. He is, and you'd never guess, from his purposeful stride, how much sadness and disappointment he's suffered recently.

I walk on, with the wind lifting my hair. I've gone about another half-mile when it hits me all over again.
I am going to see Robbie grow up!

Suddenly I don't feel like walking any more. I want to run, turn cartwheels, do mad things – I want to shake off the past few days.

I shout stuff to Toffee. Stuff about my new life. Understanding every word, he leaps about like we're having the best game ever. I run, like for once I'm winning the race – but he still outruns me. I flop onto the sand and call him back. He thinks this is getting even better and charges over to lick my face. I scream in mock horror – but he wants more kisses.

I have to stop this silly business when a couple look as if they're coming over to see if I'm all right. Standing up, I dust the sand off my jeans, tell Toffee to behave and give them a cheery wave. They look relieved and walk away.

And I smile all the way home.

Even before the end of the holidays I begin helping Mrs Kelly with Robbie: feeding and changing him, taking him out in his buggy. He
loves
this and is starting to notice where we're going. I think he must be able to smell the sea because his wrists twist with excitement whenever we head for the beach. Something else he loves is being with Mum. His eyes widen when she talks to him, and he doesn't care if the finger he grabs is a bit crooked. It's
her
finger and he wants to hang onto it.

It's Mum's birthday today. I've given her slippers with easy fastenings, and a jade green floral scarf. Kirsty, Shaun and Mr Kelly are coming over for tea. Mrs Kelly, though, is staying behind to look after the little ones. They
could
all have come, but it would have been a bit of a squash. Mrs Kelly made me promise not to make a cake, which is probably a good thing – my cakes sink in the middle.

This morning I dusted the front room while Mrs Dundas gave the side table a good polish. Lisa arranged our three cushions and keeps going in there to make sure no one's disturbed the brilliant job she's done. Mum's birthday cards on the mantelpiece make it look bright and welcoming. It also looks like we care about the room for once. Poor little room – it's usually only used for stiff conversations, like the time when Nana Kathleen died and a man from the funeral directors' came to find out what sort of coffin Mum wanted for her. Lisa went out because she thought it was gross. I had to stay because there wasn't anyone else.

I've already filled the kettle. When I've put out the cups – and glasses, in case anyone wants juice – we'll go through with the sandwiches Mrs Dundas helped me make. Plus there's Mum's favourite Bourbon biscuits. Later there should be cake.

And here's my surprise. I've planned for Mum to help Robbie with his bottle: a kind of extra birthday present, one that doesn't need wrapping.

My heart lifts when Toffee goes to sit by the front door. It's like he senses the others are on their way. He gives a sudden loud bark, and Mum, sat on the settee in the front room, laughs. “Sounds like he's heard the car!”

I hurry to the front door. We all talk at once: “Hi! Hello there! Hi!”

Mr Kelly spots Lisa standing behind me. “Lisa,” he says quietly, “pop this in the kitchen, would you?” and carefully hands her a shopping bag – pushed out of shape by something large and round. Definitely a tin with a cake in it.

Shaun, in a navy T-shirt I've not seen before, takes up half the hallway. He holds the front door open for Kirsty, who's bearing Robbie, like a gift, in his baby carrier. I say, “Hello, sweetie-pie!” and take the carrier by the handle. I drop a kiss on his head, then watch Mum's face light up as I carry him in to sit beside her in his little seat. Kirsty and her dad follow, saying, “Happy birthday!”

Mum smiles a totally happy smile, and Shaun comes in and sits on the other side of her. Mum touches Robbie on the head. “Hello, sweetheart,” she says, “you're looking very smart.” She glances at Lisa in the doorway. “Doesn't he look gorgeous, Lisa?”

Lisa nods, and Kirsty says, “Mum's instructions! We're to take as many photos as possible.”

Which we do. Or Kirsty and her dad do, on their phones. Mum wants to look at each one as it's taken. I make the tea, then another pot. The pile of egg and cress sandwiches goes down fast, and I put Robbie's bottle to warm in a pan of hot water. I think how happy Mum looks.

After I've handed round the last of the sandwiches, Kirsty gives her dad a nudge, then he gives Lisa a nudge and they both go into the kitchen – where I guess they'll be sorting out the candles on the cake. Kirsty and I stay in the front room, chatting with Mum and Shaun – mostly about the progress Robbie's making and how cute he looks with more hair. When Mum looks soulful and says, “He'll be breaking a few hearts,” I remember how I'd thought it was my heart he'd break.

Kirsty says, “Isn't that blue perfect on him?” Then, as if the colour makes her think of Jordan, she says to Mum, “Jordan says happy birthday.”

Mum says, “Oh, do thank him for his card. Wherever did he find it? It really made me chuckle!”

Shaun says, “Did you like mine?”

Mum smiles. “I love it, Shaun. Thank you
very
much.”

I go into the kitchen. Lisa's gazing at the pink and white cake, its four candles in place: one for every ten years. She says, “When are we cutting it?”

“I thought Mum could feed Robbie first.”

She doesn't look particularly surprised. “Aren't
you
going to feed him?”

“It would be great if Mum had a go… D'you want to light the candles?”

She takes matches from the drawer. “Okay.”

“Not yet.”

“Duh. I wasn't going to.”

I test Robbie's bottle in the pan. It's warm enough so I take it, together with a clean tea towel, into the front room. At the sight of it, Robbie gives a little squeak and Mum says, “Listen to him, he doesn't miss a thing!”

Shaun grins at Mum. “He's got Amy's brains, Mrs Preston.”

I hover over Shaun. “Can I sit there, please?”

He stands up hurriedly. “Sorry, Amy.”

“It's all right, I just need to put this tea towel on Mum's lap.” She looks up in surprise, and I say, “Would you like to give Robbie his bottle?”

Her cheeks flush. “Do you trust me?”

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back and lift Robbie into her lap. Keeping my arm round him, I ease the bottle into Mum's right hand. She has difficulty, but I help support the bottle and before we know it, Robbie's mouth has clamped round the teat.

He sucks greedily and I lessen my hold on the bottle. Apart from Toffee having a good scratch, the room is quiet as we watch the level of milk go down. When it reaches the bottom, and before Robbie sucks air, I gently take the bottle from Mum. I whisper in her ear, “You haven't lost your touch.”

As if from a signal, Shaun crosses to the window and pulls the curtains together. Mum says, “Oh! Don't shut out the daylight, Shaun, it's—” but she breaks off as the room lights up with the flicker of candles on the cake Lisa carries in.

I don't know whose eyes shine more brightly – Mum's or Robbie's. I only know my voice cracks when I take Robbie from Mum's arms and Kirsty gives us a note for “Happy Birthday”.

After we've sung – Shaun sounding more like he's chanting – I hold Robbie, and Lisa lowers the cake in front of Mum. “Blow out the candles,” she says, “and make a wish.”

Shaun looks earnest. “You mustn't tell us what it is.”

Mum blows out three at once. With the last one still to go, she takes another breath, leans closer and blows it out. We clap hard and she sits back, beaming at us.

Mr Kelly takes the cake from Lisa and puts it on the side table. Mum says, “That's a wonderful cake, Frank.” She hesitates. “Did Susie make it herself? It looks very professional.”

He says, “Actually,
I
made it.” Which turns out to be true, though he admits Kirsty's mum iced
Happy Birthday, Lindy
on the top.

When Kirsty hands round slices of feather-light sponge with buttercream in the middle, I notice the plates aren't ours. I recognize the pattern of violets, and realize Mrs Kelly must have slipped them in with the cake. (I won't be pleading with Lisa to help with the washing-up.)

We're all exclaiming over the delicious cake, when Shaun – straight to the point – says, “What's that pong?”

Mum laughs. “Shaun,
really
!” but I'm already on my feet, Robbie in my arms.

“You're right, Shaun,” I say. “I'll take him upstairs.”

I lay him on my bed, where Kirsty's been thoughtful enough to spread out his changing mat and leave spare nappy sacks and wipes. I lean over him and at first he's perfectly happy, rolling his eyes at the ceiling – as if examining it for cracks. I tug at his little blue shorts and he starts kicking. When I say, “There's a good boy, lie still,” he turns his head to look at me. And kicks harder.

I'm used to his little tricks and hook my fingers round his ankles. I hoist his legs above his head and pull open the nappy. Shaun's right about the pong. This is a seriously impressive turnout.

I clean him up and put on a fresh nappy. I'm in no hurry to break the spell of it being just the two of us, and gently stroke his head. He's beginning to look drowsy: the nice warm milk must be working its way down. He's beautiful. Sweet-smelling, relaxed, eyelids quivering. I kneel beside the bed, pull him gently towards me and nuzzle his vest up with my nose. I drink in the scent of his skin. Kiss him all the way up to the soft little dent at the base of his throat, and all the way down again. I ease his nappy and tickle his tummy button. He's very nearly asleep, and doesn't react. I press a kiss where I feel his heartbeat, and whisper, “I love you so, so much. Thank you for being my darling little boy.”

At the start of the autumn term it looked like the rain would never let up. Now though, we're having what Mum calls an Indian summer. Which makes such a difference to how she feels – especially on the warmest days, when Shaun rushes home from school to take her down to the sea. Being able to relax about the future is doing her so much good. Plus Mrs Dundas is lovely. She and Mum are still getting on like a house on fire.

Lisa's having to toe the line: get her bed made before Mrs D arrives in the morning. I miss not having a room to myself but, like Nana Kathleen would have said, it's a small price to pay.

Mum's made it clear to Lisa that with my new responsibilities, and even with Mrs Dundas here each morning, she's expecting to rely on her elder daughter for more help around the house. We both realize Lisa will have to look for a job – again. But we'd be able to manage. In some ways there's less work when she's out of the house.

Mr and Mrs Smith have moved on. He's teaching at a school way up towards the Scottish border, and Orchard Cottage is for sale.

My fame – or, more accurately, my
notoriety
(a good word for a bad thing) – spread like wildfire. For the first few days of term Kirsty acted as my bodyguard, ready to give an earful to anyone trying to slag me off. She's showing another side to her character: tough and unafraid. So much for anyone who thinks she looks like butter wouldn't melt.

Our new form tutor, Miss Hill – dry sense of humour – is taking us for English Lit in Mr Smith's place. She's promised she'll rent the DVD of
To Kill a Mockingbird
to show over an afternoon. She's told us we're to “relax and enjoy” before starting to think about AS and A Level set books. Mum's dead jealous of me having an afternoon of Gregory Peck!

Did I say I got an A in GCSE English Lit? I got two other As, the rest Bs. Nine passes in all; plus I can take Maths in November. Kirsty and I were both happy with our results – ecstatic really. Can't believe we're about to start all over again…

It's Sunday morning and Toffee's getting an extra run on the beach. We're on our way back from Kirsty's, where I've given Robbie a feed and helped Mrs Kelly make children's meals for the freezer.

Whiter-than-white surf, whipping up on the incoming tide, rolls towards us. The sun's high in the sky and it's warm for October. I pull my trainers off and race after Toffee. He's at the water's edge, bottom in the air, barking like every slap of water hitting the sand is a personal threat. He jumps back and shakes himself. All over me! Running away laughing, I let him chase me until I realize it's time to think about getting lunch.

Before we go home I breathe in the salty air and stand still for a moment, looking out across the North Sea. Toffee has found a stick. He brings it to me.

I take it and write in the damp sand.

ROBBIE.

• Writing in the Sand
  is told entirely from Amy's point of view. Why do you think the author chose a first person narrative for this book?
  
• Liam is a significant character in the book, although we never actually meet him. What do you think Amy loved about him and their relationship?
  
• Amy tells a lot of lies in the book, whether it's to her mum's social worker, to the police, or to her friends and family. Is she justified in doing so? Do you consider Amy to be a dishonest person as a result?
  
• Discuss the significance of Toffee's arrival and the book's entwined themes of belonging, responsibility and love. How does Amy's relationship with Toffee offer us insight into other relationships, both actual and potential, in the story?
  
• Consider Shaun's role in the book. Why do you think he behaves the way he does? What impact does his friendship with Amy have, both on them as characters, and on events in the book?
  
• Think back to the scene where Gina Smith invites Amy to her home. Why do you think Gina does this? How did this scene make you feel?
  
• You've got to stop spending your life worrying about other folk. Start thinking about Number One for a change. – Lisa.
  Think about Lisa's advice to Amy. To what extent do you agree with her, firstly in Amy's case, and also more generally?
  
• Writing in the Sand
  is set in a small town on the Northumberland coast. How does the sense of place and community contribute to the book's plot and atmosphere? Imagine setting the book in an alternative place, and consider the effect it might have on the story.