He still doesn’t know about Amy destroying my story. I was going to tell him tonight, after the signing, but something holds me back. Lateef is so friendly and he has a way of seeing the good in everyone – he’d probably be as keen for me to make up with Amy as Mum is.
“No,” I say. “She’s been bugging me all week. Let’s keep going.”
I set off, walking quickly across the field. Lateef follows more slowly, looking back over his shoulder.
“What’s Amy done?” he asks.
I say nothing.
“Shouldn’t we at least make sure she’s all right?” he asks. “Help her get home OK?”
A pang of guilt throbs through me. Maybe Lateef’s right. It’s dark and I’ll bet Mum doesn’t even know Amy’s out – she’s too young to be wandering around on her own. On the other hand, it’s not my fault Amy followed me. She ruined my book and now she wants to spoil my trip to the beach.
No. She’ll just have to look after herself. I grit my teeth and keep going.
A few minutes later we’re on the other side of the field. “Where’s the beach?”
“Just down that road.” Lateef points into the darkness beyond.
We reach the trees that mark the start of the short beach. The sea is a black blanket, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the towns on either side of the bay. I can see what Lateef meant about it being spooky here – I feel like we’ve stepped back in time and a smuggler’s ship might emerge from the mist. Annoyingly, though, I can’t quite enjoy it. I’m cold and grumpy. All Rowena Riddell’s inspiring words seem to have seeped away into the night.
Lateef is shining the light from his phone up and down the road, looking worried.
“We’ve lost Amy,” he says.
“We didn’t lose her,” I snap. “She was never with us.”
“I know, but—”
A high-pitched scream – a girl’s scream – sears through the cold air. A second later a car whooshes past us at top speed. My heart lurches into my mouth as I spin around. Was that Amy screaming? Was she hit by that car?
I hesitate for a split second, straining to see up the road. But it’s pitch black and silent.
“Oh God.” Lateef’s breathless whisper echoes the fear in my own heart.
“Amy?” I yell, breaking into a run. “Amy?”
The moon emerges as I charge down the street, looking frantically on either side. Lateef pounds along beside me.
Guilt swirls with panic, firing my feet across the tarmac. I can see Amy in my mind’s eye, spreadeagled on the road, blood seeping from her lifeless body.
“Amy?” I shriek.
“Amy?” Lateef shouts.
It’s only taken seconds but it feels like an eternity. The sound of sobbing echoes out from the trees to the side of the road.
“There!” Lateef points, the light from his phone shaking as he runs.
I strain my gaze, desperate. At last I see her. She’s crouched over, leaning against a tree, crying like her heart would break. Her left side is covered in dirt where she must have fallen. I push myself to reach her, forcing the chill air into my lungs.
“Amy!”
She eases herself up. “Jo?” Her mouth wobbles and more tears flood out.
I pull her towards me. One of her sleeves is torn, her hands covered in mud. I hold her close. My sister, my stubborn, irritating little sister, is safe. “Are you all right? Did the car hit you?”
“No.” She gulps back her sobs. “No, it almost did. I… I was too near the road, but no…” She looks up at me piteously and in her eyes I see nothing but remorse. “Oh, Jo, I’m so, so sorry I upset you. I’d give anything to take back what I did.”
I glance around. Lateef is hanging back, watching us under the moonlight. I turn to Amy and in that moment I realize that what Mum said was true: no story is worth losing a sister over. Nothing is.
“I’m sorry that … that I was mean,” I say, gruffly. “I should have forgiven you. And I should have tried to include you more in the first place.”
Amy gazes at me, mud clumping her hair, her tears tracing lines through the dirt on her face. “So do you forgive me?” She hiccups, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
And in that moment my bitterness and anger fade away.
“Yes,” I say, hugging her to me. “Of course I do. Though you’re still the most annoying person on the planet.”
“You too,” she says, managing a small smile as she hugs me back.
We stand there and for a brief second I imagine what it would have been like if the car had knocked her over. I imagine Amy crumpled on the ground, and having to tell Mum and Meg and Beth. And Dad. I shiver and hold her even tighter. And then Lateef wanders over.
“Any chance we can get back home now?” he says with a grin.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Let’s go.”
And we trudge back along the dark streets, across the field and through the centre of Ringstone. Lateef leaves us at his house and, my arm around Amy’s shoulders, we cross Fishtail Lane and go home to Mum and our sisters.
Part Two
Spring
Chapter 1
School starts and, much to our relief, it isn’t too bad. I was most worried about Beth but in fact she’s had the least trouble settling in. It helps that it’s a small school, though Lateef – who, unsurprisingly, is popular with everyone – has got his friends to make sure that their younger siblings in Beth’s year are looking after her.
Lateef offered to do the same for Amy but, as I told him, Amy can look after herself. We’re getting on better now, Amy and me. She still annoys me, but she doesn’t push it so far any more and I’m trying to be nicer to her too. And I’m backing up everything I write on a memory stick, as well as online.
I do keep the memory stick safely hidden though, just in case.
I didn’t go back to my Rodriguo and Rachel story. I thought about attempting a rewrite for a bit, but I couldn’t get enthusiastic about starting all over again. Anyway, Rowena Riddell’s advice to “keep writing” and not to give up at the book signing inspired me to try something new. So now I’m writing a fresh story. A series, in fact, called The Tallulah Templeton Mysteries.
Tallulah Templeton is me – or, rather, the me I’d like to be: she’s smart and sassy, always able to say and do the stuff that I only think of after the moment is over! Tallulah is the kind of cool girl that everyone gravitates to, like she’s got friendship magnets. Best of all, Tallulah has no sisters!
I’ve set up a blog and every couple of weeks I post a story in which Tallulah investigates missing stuff … a classmate’s phone vanishes from her school bag and Tallulah finds out where she lost it, a friend’s younger sister runs away from home and Tallulah works out where she’s hiding.
It’s the first week of March and I’m sitting at our kitchen table, putting the finishing touches to my most recent adventure. Tallulah is investigating the disappearance of her next-door neighbour’s pet parrot, which has tried to fly home to the Caribbean but only got as far as Sidcup.
“Hey, Jo!”
I look up. Lateef is standing in the doorway. Beth, the long, red scarf she’s been knitting dangling from her hand, hovers beside him. Mum has taken Meg and Amy window shopping – even though we have no money they still enjoy looking at the clothes.
“Hi,” I say, glancing back at the screen. I’m in no mood to stop writing: Tallulah has just found out that her neighbour’s parrot is hanging out at a tropical-themed adventure park called Island Paradise and has got stuck inside a ride called the Death Rattle. Tallulah is attempting to clamber through the empty carriages to reach the bird. It’s dark inside the ride but outside the park is about to open and if Tallulah doesn’t reach the parrot in time both she and the bird could be crushed under the wheels of the Death Rattle.
“Didn’t you hear me calling your phone?” Lateef asks cheerfully.
“It’s on silent while I’m writing,” I say. “I’m in the middle of a Tallulah adve
nture.”
“Again?” Lateef rolls his eyes in mock exasperation. He turns to Beth. “Never mind. Perhaps, while I’m waiting for Jo March, famous novelist, you might help me with one of my piano pieces? There’s a place I always make a mistake; do you think you could show me where I’m going wrong?”
“Sure,” Beth says, her eyes lighting up. “But I’ve only got our old keyboard. It won’t sound as good as the piano in your house.”
Lateef grins. “Wherever I play won’t sound good anyway.”
“Oh, Lateef, you’re better than you think you are,” Beth says very seriously. She sets down her knitting and they disappear into the living room.
I smile to myself. I’m fairly certain Lateef has no interest in improving his piano playing – he’s just, in his typical way, trying to make Beth feel useful. And to encourage her to play in front of him, which she’s still shy of doing.
A few minutes later I hear first what must be Lateef, slowly stomping out the notes of a tune, then Beth playing the same melody far more fluently.
I get Tallulah to the top of the Death Rattle just as the front door bangs open and Meg’s voice echoes along the hallway.
“But the colour was all wrong,” she’s insisting.
“I liked the pink,” Amy counters.
“Put the kettle on, one of you.” That’s Mum. She sounds tired.
“I’ll do it.” That’s Lateef. He must have gone out into the hall to say hello. I listen as Amy and Meg and Mum greet him. Lateef might be my friend more than anyone else’s, but it’s obvious from the warmth in their voices how pleased they all are to come home and find him here.
Seconds later, Meg and Lateef stroll into the kitchen. Lateef heads straight to the kettle while Meg flops into the chair opposite me.
“I bumped into Sallie Gardiner at the shopping centre,” she says, eyes wide with excitement. “Guess what she told me?”
Sighing, I stop writing. Sometimes it’s hard living with so many people in such a small house. I guess it’s a bit like being permanently in a room with all the lights blazing, forcing you to live, constantly, in a blinding glare. I love my family, I really do, but not for the first time I find myself wishing I had more time to myself.
“Aren’t you going to guess?” Meg persists. “It’s massive.”
Across the room, Lateef is fetching our big teapot, while the kettle hisses its intention to boil.
“Sallie Gardiner? Massive news?” I shrug. “I dunno. Is she giving up shopping for the rest of the year?”
Across the room Lateef suppresses a laugh.
“No.” Meg looks appalled. “Why would you even—?”
“I was joking.” I make a face at her. “So go on, what is it then?”
“Her dad’s friends with the Manning Plains Festival organizer,” Meg gabbles, full of excitement. “He can get half-price tickets. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”
“Really?” I sit up. Manning Plains is the summer’s hottest festival as far as I’m concerned. Not the biggest, of course, but the one where most of the bands Lateef and I like best will be playing. “How much?”
Meg makes a face. “That’s the drawback,” she says. “Even with the discount it’s still nearly a hundred pounds for the weekend.”
“Oh.” I slump back in my chair. That’s over half the money I’ve saved towards a new laptop. I can’t afford the ticket. And I can’t ask Mum. She never complains, but we’re all aware she’s got nothing to spare at the moment, that we’re only just getting by.
I glance over to where Lateef is fetching mugs from the cupboard, his back turned. I don’t want him to realize how broke we are. “Never mind,” I say.
Meg chatters on for a bit about what she’d do if she had a spare hundred pounds.
“I’m not really interested in Manning Plains,” she says. “I’d rather spend the money on clothes. Mrs Gardiner’s asked me to babysit the twins next week. She says if it goes well I can look after them over Easter too. Think how much I’ll be able to earn.”
I save what I’ve written to my memory stick then close my laptop and take them both upstairs. I stash them under my mattress, then wander into Mum’s bedroom. One side of the bed is ruckled up with the duvet crumpled and the pillow at an angle. The other side – where Dad should be sleeping – is neatly smoothed down. It seems weird that he hasn’t even seen this house. His last visit was back in October, when we were living in our old place. And now it’s March and almost the end of our first term at school. I experience a throb of anger – if Dad worked at some ordinary nine to five job then not only would he be here, with us, but maybe we’d be able to afford me going to Manning Plains this summer.
As soon as I’ve had the thought I shake it off, feeling ashamed of myself. Mum and Dad do the best they can.
I go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face, then head downstairs to hang out with Lateef.
He meets me halfway down the steps, eyes shining with glee.
“Come here,” he says, grabbing my arm and dragging me back upstairs.
“What is it?” I ask.
Lateef’s grin splits his face. “Brilliant news. As soon as I heard about Manning Plains, I called Uncle Jim. I said I wanted to use my birthday money to buy tickets – Sallie’s dad’s discounted tickets.”
I stare at him.
“And he said yes, so I called Sallie and she’s agreed I can have two, so I’ve bought them.” He pauses for breath. “We can go, do you see, Jo? We’ll be able to go to the festival. Together.”
“You bought two tickets?” My head spins. I can’t imagine being able to pick up the phone and spend nearly two hundred pounds. “Er, that was fast, Meg only just said.”
“When I want something, I just go out and get it,” Lateef says. “And I want nothing more than to go to that festival with you, Jo.”
Emotions swirl inside me. On the one hand I’m thrilled at the prospect of being able to go to Manning Plains after all. On the other … I can’t put my finger on why, but somehow it feels wrong. It’s not just that it’s too big a gift from Lateef, but also the way he’s just decided for me, just bulldozed across my feelings, assumed that I need his … his charity.”
“I can’t accept the ticket,” I say stiffly. “It’s too much.”
“What?” Lateef’s face falls. “What do you mean?”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t really understand what it is I’m feeling, just that, for some reason, I’m angry at him. “You should have asked,” I say at last.
Lateef stares at me across the landing, clearly bewildered. “Ask? But … but … are you telling me you don’t want to go?”
“Of course I do,” I snap. “I meant you should have asked if I mind you spending all that money on me.”
“But it’s my birthday money and … and it’s a present.” A look of utter bemusement fills his face
“A present I can’t possibly ever match.” My face feels hot, my stomach is churning. I thought Lateef understood everything about me.
Why doesn’t he see that he’s stomping all over my feelings?
“I don’t care how much money you have or … or don’t have,” Lateef protests.
“Well I do.” Fury whirls inside me. “You can’t buy my friendship.”
“How dare you say that’s what I’m doing?” Lateef’s voice is low, trembling with rage. I realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen him truly angry. His lips press together in a thin, tight line.
There’s a long, horrible pause.
“I can’t believe you’re being so stupid about this,” Lateef says at last, his voice oozing with bitterness.
“I’m not the one who’s being stupid.” My heart thuds. I’m desperately searching for a way of explaining how I’m feeling in a way that he’ll understand.
Steps sound from below. Out of the corner of my eye I catch sight of Meg coming up the stairs. Lateef hears her footsteps too. “I’d better go,” he says.
“Fine,” I s
ay coldly. I fold my arms.
Lateef gives me a final, furious look, then turns and hurtles down the stairs, pushing past Meg with an uncharacteristically curt “goodbye”.
He disappears along the hallway. Meg turns, looks up at me. “What on earth was—?”
But I don’t hear the end of her question. I’m already racing into my room, slamming the door behind me and hurling myself on to my bed, tears blinding my eyes.
Chapter 2
I weep into my pillow. Across the room I hear the door creak open. I grit my teeth, trying to stop my tears. Who the hell is that? All I want is a bit of privacy, some peace and quiet for myself. Back in our last house we each had our own room. Here it’s impossible to ever get away. The only place I ever feel able to breathe is Lateef’s house. And now…
And then, for a split second, my heart leaps with hope; has Lateef come back to apologize?
I look around. Meg is standing in the doorway.
My heart sinks again and I look away.
“What happened?” Meg asks. “Why is Lateef so cross?”
“I have no idea.”
And I don’t. All I did was point out he shouldn’t have bought the tickets without asking me first. Why did he have to take that so personally? It’s not my fault he was tactless.
You did accuse him of trying to buy your friendship, says a tiny, disapproving voice inside my head.
An image of Lateef’s face, flushed and bewildered, flashes in front of my mind’s eye. Losing his friendship feels like the end of the world.
I bury my face in the pillow again and sob bitter tears.
“Jo?” Meg shakes my shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”
I sit up against the pillows and, with a deep sigh, tell my sister everything.
Meg nods and clucks sympathetically as I finish my tale.
“I can see it from both sides to be honest,” she says thoughtfully. “I mean, I guess from Lateef’s point of view he was just trying to do a nice thing for you.”
“He should have asked me first,” I say stubbornly.
Meg wrinkles her nose, like she does when she’s thinking. “Why? I mean, why would that make it any better? It would still just be him maybe being a bit thoughtless but trying to do something nice, only without the surprise.” She glances up at the pictures of Notre Dame and the Grand Canyon pinned above my bed. “He knows you want to travel, to try out new things; he’s just trying to give you an … an adventure.”
Becoming Jo Page 7
