by Gwyneth Rees
‘So why don’t you let her? What’s the big deal?’
‘It’s not as simple as that!’
Their voices were getting quieter. I had to go to the bottom of the stairs to hear properly.
‘I never want her to go to Guides. I never want to see her in one of those uniforms.’ Mum’s voice was going funny. ‘I’m sorry, Hamish. You must think I’m being stupid, but I just can’t be rational about it.’ She made a strange little choking noise.
‘Sylvie . . .’ Hamish’s voice was suddenly softer. ‘What is it?’
She sniffed. ‘There’s something else, something that happened when I was in Guides. It’s to do with my sister.’ She sniffed again. ‘Oh, God, I suppose you’ve got a right to know
They shut the living-room door. I crept across the hall and pressed my ear against the door. I could just make out their voices. I heard Mum whisper, ‘Wait a minute.’ Then they put on some music and I couldn’t hear a word.
Fuming, I ran back upstairs. I picked up the photograph again, staring at it. What had happened when Mum and Kathleen were at Guides? What did Hamish have a right to know that I didn’t?
Still clutching the photo, I went to fetch my magnifying glass. Dad had sent me it for my last birthday, after I’d told him I wanted to be a detective when I grew up. (I love my magnifying glass. It’s not a toy one. It’s just like the ones real detectives have.)
Carefully I inspected the photograph again, searching for some sort of clue. Kathleen was sweet and pretty-looking. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon. Mum was standing awkwardly and her hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed for a week. I scrutinized their faces. Neither of them was smiling but I saw now that their expressions were quite different. Mum looked sullen and angry. Kathleen, standing at her side, looked scared.
Chapter Eight
‘Why do you think Kathleen looks so frightened?’ I asked Janice, showing her the photograph under the magnifying glass.
Janice peered at the photo for a long time. We were at her house. Her mum had sent us upstairs for Janice to get changed ready for Guides. ‘Maybe she was scared of cameras. Some people are scared of telephones. My little sister runs a mile whenever it rings.’
‘She doesn’t look scared in all the other photos of her. It’s just in this one where they’re in their Guide uniforms.’
‘Have you asked your mum about it?’ She pulled the hairband out of her hair and started to brush it.
‘I keep telling you, every time you mention Guides to Mum she just about has a fit. Something happened to her at Guides that she won’t tell me. It’s to do with Kathleen but I don’t know what. I don’t know how to find out either.’
Janice looked at me sharply. ‘She is going to let you join, isn’t she?’
‘Of course,’ I replied, avoiding looking at her. ‘I just haven’t found the right time to ask her yet. Here. Let me do that.’
I love putting Janice’s hair in a plait. I’m thinking about being a hairdresser when I grow up. Mum doesn’t seem particularly against the idea although she isn’t as enthusiastic as when I wanted to be a detective.
‘Why don’t you ask her if you can come to Guides with me tonight? We’re allowed to take guests.’
‘I can’t. Mum’s taking me to some boring concert thing tonight.’
Janice pulled a face. ‘Is Hamish going with you?’
‘Yes.’ I was concentrating hard on finishing the plait. ‘Pass me the hairband, will you?’
‘Do you think they’re going to get married?’
My fingers slipped and the whole plait unravelled. I stared at it. I felt really strange. ‘Who knows?’ I answered, trying to sound normal. Sometimes when you try to keep sounding normal you start feeling normal pretty quickly again too.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ I glared at myself in the mirror. ‘Look at my hair! I hate it! I look like a scarecrow!’ I grabbed a clump of my hair and yanked it so that it hurt. I started to speak very rapidly. ‘The minute I’m old enough I’m going to get one of those perms that make your hair go straight. I’d get one now only Mum won’t let me. She says lots of people would give their eye teeth to have naturally curly hair. She doesn’t understand. Not like Dad.’ I could see Dad now, pulling me down to sit on his lap so that Mum could attack my hair with a hairbrush, joking that he’d had hair just like mine when he was young and he’d been really glad when he started going bald at thirty.
I clamped my teeth together very tightly. Sometimes I feel like Dad’s right inside me. Then I have to tell myself that he’s not really here at all. Then I feel so empty it hurts.
Janice was looking anxious. ‘I know,’ she gasped, rushing over to her wardrobe, ‘let’s see what you look like as a Guide.’ She practically threw her uniform at me.
‘Come on, it doesn’t look that bad!’ she protested after I’d put on the uniform and was standing in front of the mirror, screwing up my face. I was just about to answer that I thought it did, when Janice’s mum stuck her head round the door, carrying a tray of orange juice and biscuits. I really love the way Mrs Bishop always makes a fuss of us like that. I said that to Mum once, hoping she’d take the hint, and she said that if I ever lost the use of my legs she promised to bring trays of juice and biscuits upstairs to me too.
‘What do you think of Laura?’Janice asked.
‘Very smart.’ Mrs Bishop put the tray down on the floor, catching sight of the photograph of Mum and Kathleen, picking it up before I could stop her. ‘Who’s this? Is it your mum?’
I desperately wanted to snatch it out of her hand and hide it behind my back. It took a huge amount of effort just to stand there and nod.
‘And who’s this standing beside her?’
The doorbell rang.
I stared at Janice in alarm. Mum never usually got back this early. I started to struggle out of the uniform, frantically signalling to Janice to do something.
Janice rushed to block the doorway. ‘Mum, you musn’t tell Doctor Rorison about the photo. It’s a secret. She doesn’t know Laura found it. She gets upset when anyone mentions Kathleen, so you musn’t say anything, OK?’
‘Who is Kathleen?’ Mrs Bishop strode across the room and pulled the uniform up over my head for me. ‘What is all this about? You shouldn’t have secrets from your mother, Laura.’
Me having secrets from Mum? That had to be the biggest joke I’d ever heard. ‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Don’t say anything to Mum.’ But I knew it was no good. Mrs Bishop was a mother and Mum was a mother, which meant that they were both on the same side. Mum was going to kill me when she found out I’d taken her photograph. She was probably going to hate me forever.
The bell rang again.
‘Janice, let me past,’ her mother ordered.
‘Mum, the secret’s to do with Christmas,’ Janice gasped. ‘It’s to do with a present Laura’s giving her mum for Christmas. It was your granny’s idea about the photo, wasn’t it, Laura? They’re getting it framed for her mum for Christmas. If you say anything you’ll spoil the surprise.’
‘Christmas?’ Mrs Bishop frowned. ‘That’s a long way away, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but Laura’s got to send the photo to her granny and then her granny’s got to find someone to frame it and—’
‘All right, all right. But make sure you take care of that photograph, Laura. I’m sure it’s very precious to your mother.’ She rushed downstairs to answer the door.
‘So precious she tore it up and it had to be stuck back together with Sellotape,’ I muttered, buttoning up my blouse as fast as I could. I flopped down on the bed. ‘Phew! I thought I was done for!’
Janice was looking thoughtful. ‘Maybe it wasn’t your mum who tore up the photo. Maybe it was someone else.’
‘Like who?’
Janice shrugged. ‘Kathleen?’
I stared at my friend. I hadn’t thought of that.
‘LAURA!’ Mum was yelling up the stairs.
Quickly
I gathered up the rest of my things. ‘Thanks, Janice,’ I murmured shyly. ‘For saying all that to your mum. I’d never have thought up anything as good as that.’
Janice grinned. She’s pretty proud of her expertise at lying to her mother. ‘Here. Don’t forget this.’ She handed me the photograph. She giggled. ‘This is really exciting. It’s like being in a mystery story or something.’
As I ran downstairs to join Mum I felt really pleased that I’d told the whole thing to Janice. At least I wasn’t in this on my own any more.
As soon as we got in Mum went straight up to her room to phone Hamish. She said she wanted to check what time he was picking us up that night. Theoretically that ought to take two minutes, but knowing Mum and Hamish when they get on the phone I figured it was more likely to take two hours.
‘I’d much rather be going to Guides than some boring old concert,’ I complained loudly to Rory, stroking his tummy as he lay stretched out on the kitchen floor.
There was a loud rapping on the front door and the sound of the letter box being rattled. I jumped up.
‘Who is it?’ I shouted. Since Dad moved out, Mum’s been really strict about always asking who it is before you open the door. It was Marla who taught her to do that after she’d forgotten herself and ended up having her ex-husband barging in demanding she put him up for the night because his new girlfriend had locked him out. ‘You never know what undesirable character might turn up on your doorstep,’ Marla was always saying. ‘A woman on her own just can’t be too careful.’
A hand with long red fingernails appeared through the letter box. ‘When are you going to get this bell fixed?’
I only knew one person with nails like that. I undid the latch on the door and opened it. ‘Mum’s upstairs on the phone,’ I said, staring at Marla’s hat. Marla always wears hats. This one was black and squashed-looking with a brooch pinned at the front.
‘A-ha! To this man of hers, I hope?’
‘Hamish,’ I replied flatly.
She followed me into the living room, dumping her coat on the settee and removing her hat. ‘Don’t you like him?’
I shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ I picked up the hat and tried it on. I like hats. They hide your hair.
‘You suppose you like him or you suppose you don’t?’ She led the way through to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. ‘I thought I’d pop in on my way home from work to see how things were. I hardly ever seem to see your mother these days.’
‘That’s Hamish’s fault,’ I said, watching her fill the kettle.
‘Well, that’s what I was hoping. She seems very happy with him. I haven’t met him yet. What’s he like?’
It’s odd when somebody asks you what somebody is like and you realize you don’t really know, even though you’ve spent weeks with them constantly in and out of your house. I thought Marla would think I was being difficult if I said that, so I made a huge effort to describe Hamish. ‘He’s tall with brown eyes and brown hair and he’s Scottish. When he was a wee boy he won his local Highland Dancing championships six years in a row, but I think he might be making that up. And he’s younger than Mum. He’s only thirty-two.’
Marla was reaching inside the fridge for the milk, so I couldn’t see her face. ‘And is he nice to you?’
I thought about it. ‘I suppose so.’
‘But you don’t like him?’
I blushed. ‘I didn’t say I didn’t like him exactly . . .’
‘I see.’ She tossed a teabag into a mug and smiled at me. ‘So what have you been up to lately? Any new boyfriends?’
‘There aren’t even any old boyfriends,’ I protested indignantly. Marla always teases me about boys.
She laughed. ‘How about showing me where you’ve hidden the chocolate biscuits?’
We went through to sit down in the living room. ‘Is she likely to spend all night on the phone to him, do you think?’
‘She can’t, because we’ve got to go out tonight.’ I pulled a face. ‘It’s a concert at the Symphony Hall.’
‘Really? That’s very good. Oliver would never have gone to anything like that at your age. If it wasn’t in the charts then he didn’t want to know.’
I was about to reply that I didn’t really want to know either when I had the brainwave (my second one). Getting Dad on my side hadn’t worked. Getting Hamish on my side hadn’t worked. But Mum always listened to Marla, didn’t she?
‘Marla, did Oliver go to Scouts when he was my age?’
She blew on her tea. ‘I don’t think so. Oh yes, I remember now. He went along because a friend of his was going, and then decided he didn’t like it. Why?’
‘I want to join the Guides but Mum won’t let me.’
Her expression instantly changed. She eyed me warily. ‘Oh yes?’ She took a large gulp of tea, wincing as it burned her mouth.
‘Do you think that’s fair?’
‘Well . . .’ Marla, who has got to be the most unsquirmable person in the world, was visibly squirming.
‘You let Oliver go to Scouts, didn’t you? So if I was your daughter, would you let me go to Guides?’
‘Laura, where is your mother?’
‘I told you! Upstairs on the—’
‘Marla!’ Mum burst into the room in her dressing gown, her old blue towelling one, the one she only wears when Hamish isn’t around. ‘I thought I heard voices down here. Listen, I’m really sorry I haven’t phoned you. How are you? How’s Oliver? I was just about to jump in the shower. Hamish is taking us to the Symphony Hall tonight. Did Laura tell you?’ She paused as she glanced from Marla’s face to mine. ‘What is it?’
Marla started to speak but I interrupted. ‘Oliver was allowed to go to Scouts, so why won’t you let me go to Guides? It’s not fair!’ I stood up. ‘Mrs Bishop says people should be allowed to try things out for themselves!’
Mum gritted her teeth. ‘Laura, I’ve told you my reasons.’ She sounded like she was fighting to stay calm, but I didn’t care whether she stayed calm or not any more. I just wanted the truth.
‘No you haven’t! Not the real reason!’
Her voice was low and unsteady as she demanded, ‘What do you mean?’
I couldn’t stand all the pretending any longer. ‘I know the real reason you won’t let me go!’ I shouted. ‘It’s because of Kathleen!’
Chapter Nine
‘Sylvie, calm down. Laura, go upstairs. Go on.’
Marla sounded just like one of my teachers breaking up a fight in the school playground.
I slunk out from behind Marla’s back, giving Mum a wide berth as I fled the room. I didn’t even let myself think what might have happened if Marla hadn’t been there to jump in between us. This story would have ended right here, probably, with me being carted off in a coffin, and you never getting to hear what had happened to Kathleen.
I shut the door behind me and waited outside to listen. I got ready to run if one of them came out to check. I pretty much expected Mum to check, since she knows what I’m like for listening behind doors.
‘How can she know? How can she know? It’s Jack! I bet it’s Jack, the . . . !’ (Jack is my dad. I won’t actually write down the string of words Mum used at this point to describe him, because I want you to be allowed to read this book and I know Mum wouldn’t let ME read a book that had words like that in it.)
‘But why would Jack tell her?’
‘Because he’s a—!’
‘True, but he’s still hardly likely to tell her something like that, is he? What could he possibly have to gain?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was a slight pause, then Mum burst out, ‘Oh my God, you don’t think he wants custody of her, do you? You don’t think he’s trying to turn her against me? What if he took me to court? What if they brought up all that stuff about Kathleen in court?’
‘Sylvie, stop it. Why should Jack want custody of her? He hardly ever phones her. He even forgot her birthday this year and you had to go and buy that magnifying glass and p
retend it was from him. Sylvie, he’s just not interested enough in her to—’
I burst into the room. I was shaking with rage. I glared at Marla, hating her, hating her more than I’d ever hated anyone, screaming, ‘I hate you! I hate you!’ until my voice gave up and all I could hear was myself sobbing.
‘Laura!’ Mum came rushing over, making to grab me into her arms but I shook her off savagely.
‘I hate that magnifying glass! I should’ve known you’d bought it! It was a stupid present! Dad would never buy me anything that stupid!’ I kicked out at her.
‘Laura—’
I turned and ran upstairs to the bathroom which is the only room in our house with a door you can lock.
I sat on the floor, leaning against the bath, crying. So what if Dad hadn’t bought me the magnifying glass? That didn’t mean anything. Anyone could forget a birthday. It didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in me. The only reason he didn’t phone me very much was because I could never wait as long as him so I nearly always ended up phoning him first. It was true that he hardly ever answered any of the emails I sent him but that was because he was really bad at checking his emails – Mum had told me that herself, hadn’t she? – and besides, he was always really busy. Mum won’t let me go to Australia on my own yet. And the only reason Dad hadn’t wanted to come and visit me this summer was because he couldn’t leave his wife on her own with their new baby. It’s a very exhausting business looking after a baby. Everyone knows that.
‘Laura, baby, please open this door.’
I grabbed a towel off the rack and buried my face in it.
‘Laura, let me in.’ She rattled the door handle.
‘I want to be on my own,’ I sniffed. Sometimes that works with Mum, sometimes it doesn’t.
‘Laura, if you don’t open this door immediately I’m going to force it open and you can pay for anything that breaks in the process.’
I slowly stood up. She sounded quite calm, though whether that meant it was safe to come out or not I just didn’t know any more. What I did know was that Mum rarely makes threats that she doesn’t intend to keep. She was quite capable of breaking down the door with a sledgehammer just to stop me getting the better of her.
