Paradise End

by Elizabeth Laird

  She took a fluffy dog out of the drawer. It was a weird green colour, and you’d never have looked twice at it except for its clothes. Tia had made a sort of evening dress out of a piece of crimson silk. It had straps, a little padded bust and tiny rosebuds sewn round the neck. It was strange, but clever and sweet too.

  ‘They’re silly aren’t they?’ she said. ‘I knew you’d think so. I only do it for fun. I know I’m useless at it.’

  I was still turning the dog over in my hands.

  ‘You mean you designed these clothes, and made patterns, and cut out the material and everything? Tia, I’m so impressed. They’re so cool. I could never do anything like this. They’re just – they’re perfect.’

  She looked pleased and unbelieving and embarrassed. Then she turned back to the drawer.

  ‘This is my best one,’ she said.

  She put into my hands the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen. It wasn’t a baby, like most dolls are, more a miniature woman. I don’t suppose it was ever meant to be actually played with. Her face was delicately tinted, and her long dark hair was pinned up in neat waves under a little round hat. She was wearing a black dress, satin, with lace on it, like something out of the 1920s. Exactly my kind of thing.

  Tia felt about in the drawer and pulled out more little clothes, some sheets of paper, snippets of cloth and a couple of notebooks. I picked up one of these and leafed through the pages. They were covered with drawings of clothes, evening dresses, historical costumes, coats, skirts, hats.

  ‘You did all these?’ I said, waving them at her. ‘Out of your head?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She was so pleased at the admiration in my voice that her cheeks started going pink.

  ‘Move over Versace. Your time is past and gone,’ I said, and I meant it too. ‘I don’t get it, Tia. How can you sit there, saying you’re useless, when you can design amazing stuff like this?’

  She sat back on her heels and looked at me shyly.

  ‘It’s just dolls,’ she said. ‘Silly bits of nothing. Like me, really.’

  I was suddenly furiously irritated. I wanted to shout at her, Listen to yourself! Stop grovelling! You sound totally pathetic! But then I saw the look on her face.

  You mean it, I thought. You really do feel like that. Like nothing, and a shiver ran through me. I looked down at the doll’s painted face and its wide blue eyes stared blindly up into mine. I didn’t want to hold it any more. I put it down on the sofa. It looked like an abandoned dancer in its little black 1920s’ dress, with the long rope of miniature pearls round its neck.

  At that very moment a brilliant idea, the best I’d ever had in the whole of my life, was opening like a flower inside my head.

  ‘I want you to do something for me, Tia,’ I said, and my voice sounded squeaky with excitement. ‘I want you to design my costume for the display. Say you will. You’ve got to. I really, really mean it.’

  8

  There’s one thing about me that you should know. When I make up my mind about doing something, and go all out for it, I usually manage to get it done. Mum says I’d have a great career as a head teacher. Dad says I’ll make some bloke’s life a roller-coaster mixture of heaven and hell. No comment on what Sam and Lauren say.

  I had to work through Tia’s absolute refusal, then her panic attack, then about a million feeble excuses. At last she said, ‘Suppose I do. Suppose I say yes. It’ll be a total failure and everyone will laugh at you.’

  I said, ‘They won’t. It’ll be a smash hit, you’ll see.’

  After ages and ages, she took a deep breath as if she was trying to find some courage in the bottom of her lungs.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘I’ll try.’

  Then she looked almost giddy with fright.

  ‘Yes!’ I shouted, punching the air. ‘Next thing is you’ll have to come home with me, and talk it over with Mum.’

  Then I realized what I’d done. I’d invited Tia, the princess of Paradise End, to witness for herself the horrors of McQuarrie family life. There was no going back though. Her eyes had lit up with excitement. It was as if I’d offered her a trip to the moon. A horrible feeling was settling in my stomach.

  ‘Tia,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to do this. You don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. Once you’ve seen our house you’ll never speak to me again. Trust me. I’m telling you the truth.’

  She jumped up.

  ‘Let’s go and tell Graziella. We could go round now.’

  She was still holding her beautiful doll. I had the weirdest feeling that its round china face had become a miniature version of mine. I could just see myself in the lovely clothes she was wearing. I could almost feel the long rope of pearls dangling from my own neck and hear the faint swishing noise of the material touching my legs. I was longing so much to look like her that I was even prepared to go through with the awfulness of taking Tia home.

  ‘I’ll have to ask Mum,’ I said. ‘I don’t know whether she’ll have enough tea for us.’

  Tia pushed her slim little mobile into my hands.

  ‘Call her then.’ She sounded almost bossy for once.

  Mum picked up the phone on its third ring. I could tell she was in the kitchen, doing the ironing. I could practically see the mounds of clothes all round her, and the mess of drying up on the draining board.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said.

  ‘Carly? Are you OK?’

  ‘Of course I’m OK.’ I knew I was being snappy, but I was too nervous to care. I cleared my throat. ‘Mum, Tia wants to come round. Is there enough for us both for tea? She’s going to – I mean, I’ve asked her to help with my costume for the display.’

  ‘Oh.’ I could imagine Mum’s eyebrows rising right up into her hairline. ‘Yes, love. Of course you can bring her. I’ll get another pizza out of the freezer.’

  She sounded really pleased. She’s always like that about my friends. She gets nosy and wants to meet them. The warning bells that I’d been trying to ignore started jangling away in my head again. I know my family. When they get fascinated by something they’re on to it like dogs on a bone. They’d be all over Tia, pumping her for stuff about Paradise End, and the swimming pool and the tennis court, and all the things I’d bragged about, and when they did I’d die of embarrassment.

  I switched off the phone. Tia was already off the sofa and halfway to the door.

  ‘Come on,’ she said to me over her shoulder. ‘We’ll go and tell Graziella. She’s in the kitchen.’

  I followed her into the gallery. I couldn’t imagine how I’d practically danced my socks off there, just a little while ago. My feet felt like lead.

  What was it about Paradise End? Why did it always reflect my mood? A little while ago I’d felt its beauty hold on to me like a spell. Now the house seemed to harden itself against me. The portraits on the walls looked down jeeringly The doors round the hall, all closed now, seemed to be deliberately shutting me out.

  Tia raced down the stairs and darted under the gallery at the back of the hall. I followed her slowly. We were in a long corridor now. She ran along it. At the far end was a door covered with green cloth. She pushed it open and jumped down the two steps behind it.

  We were in a vast kitchen, the biggest outside school I’d ever seen. It was all shiny metal and white cupboard doors, hard surfaces, gleaming steel and polished wood. As clean as a hospital, almost.

  No one was there.

  Tia called out, ‘Graziella?’ and a door at the far end opened.

  I supposed I’d expected Graziella to be short and round, with a mob cap on her head, a long dress, a big white apron going all the way down to her feet, and a wooden spoon in her hand, like a cook in a fairy story. She wasn’t like that at all. She was quite young for a start – well, much younger looking than Mum anyway – and really pretty, with curly dark hair and a great figure. She was wearing jeans and a yellow T-shirt, and she was carrying a bulging plastic carrier bag.

  ‘Hello,’ she
said. ‘You are Carly, no?’

  She had a thick Italian accent and quite a deep voice.

  ‘Listen, Grazi,’ Tia said breathlessly. ‘Carly and I are going to her house for supper. Do you mind? We won’t need to eat anything here.’

  Graziella frowned and said something in Italian. Tia broke into a stream of Italian too. I couldn’t believe my ears. None of us at school can say more than three words even in French and we’ve been learning it for ages. I was so impressed I stood and listened with my mouth hanging open.

  At last Graziella shrugged and said, ‘Is far, your house, Carly?’

  ‘Just down the road.’ My voice sounded hollow.

  ‘I come with you, to see,’ Graziella said. ‘Mrs Dixie, she no like Tia going out somewhere she no sure about.’

  That made me frown. My family might be dead embarrassing, but there was no reason for anyone to be suspicious of us. We might be untidy, but we’re quite clean actually. You wouldn’t catch diseases at our house. But before I could make a comeback, Tia said, ‘Be with you in half a tick, Carly. I promised Graziella I’d take my mobile so I can call her to fetch me when I want to come home.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I began feebly. ‘You can use the phone at. . .’ But Tia had already run out of the kitchen.

  I looked round to see that Graziella was studying me, with her head on one side.

  ‘So, Carly,’ she said. ‘You live close to here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Just down the road.’

  ‘Tia, she need a very nice friend.’ Graziella was looking at me as if I was a signboard she was trying to read. ‘If you come sometimes, she will be very happy’

  I felt I was being checked out, and I didn’t like it much.

  ‘Anyone can see she’s lonely,’ I said. ‘So why doesn’t she invite any friends from her school?’

  A peculiar look crossed Graziella’s face.

  ‘Mrs Dixie, she is . . .’ she began.

  I could hear Tia already, running back towards the green-cloth door.

  ‘It’s OK, Graziella,’ I said quickly. ‘I won’t get her into trouble or anything. She’ll be OK with me.’

  I don’t know what made me say that. My words seemed to echo around that huge kitchen like a solemn promise.

  Graziella smiled.

  At least she seems to be on Tia’s side, I thought, more than her mother is anyway.

  It was odd, walking down our street with Tia and Graziella, a strange mixing of two worlds. To my surprise, when we stopped outside number thirty-four, our house, Graziella looked up at it as if she really approved of it. I could see her taking in Sam’s old bike by the front door, and Lauren’s toys propped up on the window sill in our bedroom.

  ‘You got brothers and sisters?’ she said, looking pleased.

  ‘Yes,’ I said gloomily, fishing in my pocket for my door-key.

  ‘OK.’ Graziella turned away. ‘You call me, Tia, when you ready to come home. Have a nice time.’

  She walked off, back towards Paradise End, her high-heeled mules clicking on the pavement as she went.

  ‘Right,’ I said to Tia. ‘This is it. You’re going to regret it, honestly. Madhouse city. Dumpsville. It’s more civilized at the zoo.’

  I wished I hadn’t said that then, because Tia started looking terrified. Funnily enough, the sudden paleness of her face made me feel a bit better.

  ‘No, really,’ I said. ‘It’s not that bad. They’re all going to love you. Too much. That’s what I’m afraid of,’ and I took a deep breath, shoved the key into the lock and pushed open the door.

  ‘Welcome,’ I said, ‘to chaos.’

  9

  Isn’t it just my luck that everyone’s around this evening? And isn’t it even worse that Dad’s taken it into his head to mend the castor on the sofa in the sitting room (the only room that ever looks halfway nice) and has turned the whole place upside down? And would you believe that Sam has been out mud-wrestling (he calls it playing rugby) and his filthy clothes are scattered over the hall floor?

  I look into the sitting room and see Dad’s backside as he’s leaning right over the sofa, so I quickly shut it again. Then we pick our way over Sam’s clothes towards the kitchen.

  Mum’s standing at the table, folding up my tatty old pyjamas. I’ve never noticed before how small our kitchen is, and how amazingly messy. I mean, every work surface is cluttered up with jam-jars and rolls of kitchen paper and broken gadgets and school notes.

  ‘Hi, Tia,’ says Mum, pushing a strand of limp permed hair off her shiny forehead. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs McQuarrie,’ Tia answers faintly. ‘It’s awfully – awfully nice of you to . . .’

  Her voice fades away.

  The door crashes open and Sam bursts in.

  ‘When’s tea, Mum? I’m starving.’ He sees me. ‘Wotcha, Spiky-top. Thought you’d gone off to eat caviar with your posh friend.’ I shut my eyes and want to curl up into a very, very little ball.

  Sam sees Tia. He wiggles his hips and grins at her.

  ‘Wa-hey! Look who’s here! It’s little Miss Muffet. Got bad news for you, Miss M. I’m the spider.’

  He makes his eyes go googly, holds his hand up palm side down and wiggles his fingers. I haven’t dared look at Tia since she came into the house, but I glance sideways at her now. She’s pressed her back against the fridge, and she’s looking at him, fascinated, as if his hand really had turned into a tarantula. I notice all over again how perfect and expensive her clothes are, and I quickly look away.

  Mum puts a pile of clean ironed clothes into Sam’s hands.

  ‘Take these upstairs,’ she says, ‘and put them away. In drawers. Do not leave them on the floor. Do not dump them on your bed. Now girls, give us a hand. Tia, there’s a cloth in the sink. Wipe the table down, will you? Carly, get out the cutlery and plates. The pizzas must be done by now.’

  Tia darts forward, really keen to be useful, but awkward too, as if she doesn’t know quite what to do. I wait for her to finish with the table before I set it. I can see she’s not used to cleaning things. She dabs at the surface and misses lots of smeary bits.

  Mum goes to the door and yells, ‘Tea’s ready!’ There’s a sound like charging rhinos, and the kitchen’s a confused mass of people and chairs and then we’re all sitting round the table.

  Lauren, the little creep, has snatched the chair next to Tia’s. She hasn’t taken her eyes off her since she came into the room. She’s trying to look cute, and almost succeeding. I scowl as I see Tia look down and smile at her.

  Dad washes his hands at the sink, turns round and says, ‘Hello, young lady. You must be Carly’s new friend.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tia says shyly. ‘How do you do, Mr McQuarrie?’

  Her voice is so posh I hold my breath, waiting for Sam to burst out laughing. He nearly does, but catches Mum’s eye. She frowns him down.

  ‘Ham and pineapple, or – what’s this? Cheese and mushroom,’ says Dad, his knife poised above the pizzas. No one says anything. They’re all too busy staring at Tia.

  ‘Ham and pineapple,’ I say loudly. ‘Please.’ And I pass my plate.

  ‘Any pee in that pot?’ Sam says, passing his mug to Mum.

  I’ve taken my first mouthful of pizza, and I choke on it.

  ‘Sam!’ I hiss at him.

  Mum casts up her eyes.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of him, Tia,’ she says, pouring out the tea. ‘He’s just a revolting adolescent.’

  Tia’s cheeks have gone scarlet. She doesn’t know where to look.

  ‘I’m not the only adolescent around here,’ Sam says. ‘Have you started shaving under your arms yet, Carly? Because if you have, I’m warning you, one touch of my razor and you’re dead meat.’

  I’m the one who’s scarlet now. I want to explode, burst into tears, sink through floor, kill Sam and die. Normally I’d go for him, big time, but I can’t bear to show myself up in front of Tia. I can only sit there and suffer. Dad chip
s in.

  ‘That’s enough,’ he says sharply, pointing his knife at Sam.

  Everyone’s eating. I’ve never noticed before how crude my family is, how they grab at things and spill things, and make slurpy noises, and drop things on the floor.

  Thank God, Lauren’s silent for once. She seems to be totally smitten by Tia. She takes a couple of bites of pizza and loses interest in it. The two middle fingers of her left hand creep into her mouth (Mum keeps claiming she’s eight years old, but how many kids of her age still do that, if you please?) and with her right hand she starts stroking and stroking the silky material of Tia’s sleeve.

  ‘Stop that, Lauren!’ I snap. ‘Leave Tia alone.’

  Tia has been eating tiny bits of pizza really neatly. She shakes her hair back and gives a little laugh.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ she says. ‘I like it. Really. Lauren’s so sweet.’

  Sam belches loudly.

  ‘Sweet? Lauren?’ He rolls his eyes. ‘Oh man. Sweet like nitric acid.’

  Lauren’s wearing her hard-soled shoes. She kicks Sam expertly on the shin. He leans under the table, grabs her legs and pulls. She screams and starts to disappear, snatching at the edge of the table as she goes under. It begins to tip. Plates and glasses are sliding about. World War Three’s about to break out. The kitchen’s going to be nuked and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I put my head in my hands. I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life. I hate Sam and Lauren with a deep and total and everlasting passion. I’m going to run away as soon as I possibly can and start a new life in Australia. I’ll never be able to look Tia in the face again.

  ‘Sam!’ roars Dad. ‘Stop that at once!’

  The table rights itself. Lauren slides back up on to her chair. Sam grins.

  ‘Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘What is the matter with you today?’ Mum says crossly. She smiles apologetically at Tia. ‘He’s not usually this bad. Not quite anyway.’