The Runaway

by Linda Huber

  Chapter Five

  Thursday, 30th April

  Nicola listened. The alarm had blared out five minutes ago, but no answering thumps came to indicate Kelly was out of bed, and Nicola sighed. Removal day, and please, please let it all go smoothly. She took a mug of tea to Kelly, who was determinedly still under the duvet and in the biggest strop on the planet. Her tantrums, tears and rejection had filled the flat for weeks, but Nicola held fast to the plan. They all needed a fresh start, and this was it. She’d been lucky her replacement at work could start straightaway, and hopefully she’d have the same luck looking for a new job in Cornwall. Ed had been dubious at first too, but they’d talked through some ideas for the house. With a bit of work, it could be a beautiful family home, way better than the rented terrace flat where they lived now.

  Nicola put Kelly’s tea on the bedside table and patted a shoulder that jerked away as soon as she touched it. Poor baby. There was no time to attempt a heart-to-heart now, though, with the removal vans coming in less than an hour. Ed was already on the way to St Ives in a hired car and would be there for the vans’ arrival, leaving Nicola and Kelly to close the flat when it was empty, and follow on in the car.

  As soon as the vans arrived, Kelly fled the house to sit in their Polo, ignoring the men walking past with all their worldly goods and ignoring Nicola, too, when she took out the last-minute breakables and belted them into the back seat. How hard this was, and oh – the vans were ready to go. Nicola stood still, watching as her possessions drove off down the road. What an empty feeling... But this was the best way. Surely Kelly would come round soon.

  Four hours down the road, the only thing Nicola was sure of was that this was way too long a time to spend in a small car with a teenager who was loathing every second of the journey. Kelly was hunched in the passenger seat, her face sullen as she jabbed her phone with swift thumbs, and pity mingled with love and frustration in Nicola’s soul.

  ‘Here’s Bodmin,’ she said, the bright tone coming out all wrong. How to sound desperate in one easy lesson… She cleared her throat. ‘We’ll be in St Ives in no time.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  The sarcasm in her daughter’s voice was crushing, and Nicola swallowed a sharp retort. ‘I know you didn’t want to leave London, Kel – but we’ll be back for a visit before long, I’m sure.’

  Kelly glared, then retreated behind a curtain of hair. ‘I don’t want to go for a visit. I want to live there. End of. The minute I’m sixteen I’m going back, and you can’t stop me then.’ She jammed her ear buds in and jerked round to stare out of the side window.

  Nicola’s middle cramped. This was so not the conversation she wanted to be having while they were tanking down the A30 in the rain. She drove on, trying to ignore the waves of angry resentment emanating from the passenger seat. A lorry swished past and Nicola inhaled sharply as it swerved in front of them, forcing her to brake.

  And whisper it – moving might be best for them as a family, but given the choice, she’d live in London too, wouldn’t she? But there was no choice. Life would be tough for a few weeks, but at least she and Ed were pulling together.

  The memory of her husband’s face as he drove off that morning flashed before Nicola’s eyes, and she shivered.

  Ed pulled up in front of his mother’s house – his house. No, their house. His and Nicola’s. And whatever else he did here, he had to make sure the past stayed right where it was. Forgotten, and unknown. He rested his head on the steering wheel. Unknown was right. If Nicola knew what had happened in this house she’d never have contemplated coming here. Forgotten… never.

  He forced his legs from the car and stretched, inhaling damp sea air. There was time to kill before the removal vans arrived. Time to get in the role, start playing happy families. And to take stock of the house he’d inherited. Man up, Ed. Nic was right – this was best for all of them. They had the works, here. Two storeys, plus attic and cellar. Dread heaving inside him, Ed fumbled the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Okay, ground floor – hallway stretching to the back door, stairs on the right, to the left a smallish living room and then a separate kitchen. Nic wanted these knocked together, which was a great idea. Obliterating the old rooms might obliterate the memories. Opposite the kitchen was a slip of a scullery, soon to be utility room. More obliterating.

  He glanced at the wooden staircase. The rooms upstairs were the usual small, medium and large, not a lot to be done about that. The attic had a floor, but that was all. And the cellar…

  He opened the cellar door, managing one step down into dimness before panic surged. No, no-no, he would leave that for another time. There was a lot of obliterating to be done in the cellar, and the stairs didn’t even feel safe. He bounced on the second top step. Woodworm? Dry rot? A job for later, anyway. He locked the cellar door, and went on to the kitchen with the box of tea-making essentials Nicola had packed for him.

  Mug in hand, he was determinedly planning how best to arrange the two ground floor rooms when the removal vans pulled up outside, and all hell broke loose. The arrival of Nicola and Kelly an hour later perfected the chaos. Kelly stamped through the front door and disappeared up to her room. Nothing new there, then.

  ‘She’ll settle.’

  Nic didn’t sound hopeful and Ed nodded glumly. He was hoping the same for himself. It was just a house. It couldn’t hurt him now – could it?

  An hour later the vans were gone and the removal boxes were all in the right rooms, waiting to be unpacked.

  Ed looked round for the car keys. ‘We should take the hired car into St Ives. We don’t want to have to pay for two days.’

  ‘Let’s check exactly where the place is first.’ Nicola headed for the kitchen, where their phones were charging.

  Kelly’s feet clattered down the stairs while they were poring over Ed’s phone at the table. The sound of the key in the cellar door had him leaping to his feet so suddenly his chair crashed to the floor behind him.

  ‘Kelly! Don’t go down there! It isn’t safe!’

  ‘Ed, for heaven’s sake…’

  Kelly appeared in the kitchen doorway, her face aggrieved. ‘What’s not safe about it? I only wanted to look.’

  Ed set his chair upright and sank onto it, his heart racing. That had been a gut reaction; he should be careful. ‘The stairs are rickety. The joists might be rotten, so the cellar’s off-limits until I get it fixed. Come on, let’s go.’

  Kelly shrugged, and Ed’s heart rate returned to normal. At some point, he had to work out what to do about the cellar. He could not let the past he’d escaped from catch up with him; he wasn’t the same person now. Alone in the hired Volvo, he executed a three-point turn, then followed Nic and Kelly in their car out of the driveway.

  This house was going to haunt him for the rest of his days. It was all going to happen again.

  Chapter Six

  The Boy, aged ten

  Slamming his arithmetic book shut, Eddie heaved a sigh of relief. One down, two to go; he should never have gone to the beach after school. But the tide was just right for the rock pools, and he hadn’t been able to resist. It had been worth it, too, because as well as adding to his shell collection he’d found an almost-new rucksack washed up below the cliff. But now he was behind with his homework and it was almost six; Dad would be on his way home.

  He grabbed his nature book and labelled the diagram of the bug on page forty-three. That was quickly done, and at least bugs were interesting. He tossed the book on top of the arithmetic homework and lifted his English jotter. Today’s task was to write a story in a hundred words, about something that meant a lot to him. He wouldn’t be able to gallop through that as fast.

  His pen scrawled over the page, describing his shell collection. It was the best thing he owned – seven hundred and forty-six shells, counting today’s additions, from tiny little ones to a couple that were almost as big as his hand. He’d found those in Scotland, on holiday with his grandparents last summer.
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  A crash and a shriek from his sister downstairs interrupted him.

  ‘Help! Come quick!’

  Eddie jumped to his feet and ran down the stairs two at a time. Melanie was in the kitchen, standing in the middle of a mess of pasta and a broken casserole dish.

  ‘It slipped out my hands – what shall we do?’

  Her face was aghast, and Eddie knew why. Dad liked to have his meal on the table two minutes after he returned home from work in the pub – and today he had a split shift, good in one way because it meant he’d be going back at seven, but it also meant dinner served promptly was a must.

  Melanie was spooning the mess into a plastic bowl.

  Eddie crouched down and took the spoon. ‘I’ll get that. You make more.’

  ‘There’s no time to make cheese sauce. I’ll do Spag Bol.’ She stepped across him and clattered around in the cupboard for a jar of sauce. ‘I wish Mum would come home.’

  Eddie wished she would too, but their mother was in far-off Portpatrick, helping Granny and Grandpa move into a sheltered house. Dad was always snarkier when she was gone – Eddie was afraid of his father’s tongue and Melanie was too, though she was better at not showing it. And now dinner was going to be late and his homework wasn’t finished; all he could hope was that Dad wouldn’t ask about it.

  But of course, he did. ‘Not finished – what a lazy bugger you are, and here’s me working all hours while your mother’s away. You can forget pocket money this week, boy – and what did I not hear?’

  The eyes glaring at Eddie were bright, icy blue.

  ‘Sorry.’ He ducked his head.

  ‘I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad.’

  Melanie lifted the empty plates. ‘He was helping me.’

  Eddie stole a glance at their father. Scorn and amusement were flickering in the depths of those eyes, and Eddie ducked his head again.

  ‘So a supposedly clever girl can get into university but she can’t produce a plate of pasta without help. You’re as hopeless as he is.’

  ‘Yeah, well – I have to prioritise, don’t I?’

  Melanie fired the retort back, hands on hips, and their father made a sound in his throat before rising from the table and sticking his face right in front of Eddie’s. ‘We’ll need to think about making you a man, boy. I don’t want wimps at my table.’ He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and stamped out.

  ‘You should stand up to him,’ said Melanie, running water into the bolognese pot. ‘He’d respect you more if you did. “I’m sorry, Daddy” helps no one, least of all you. God, I’ll be glad to go to uni and get out of here. Eight weeks to go.’

  Eddie was silent. Why couldn’t he be like Melanie, and talk back to Dad? She was better at everything. It wasn’t fair, and things would only be worse here when she’d gone to uni. He was dreading it; St Andrew’s was a long, long way away, even further than Granny’s in Portpatrick. But Mum would be back before Mel left; every time she phoned, she said, ‘soon’. Eddie rubbed his arms, squeezing the warm softness of his muscles. Flab, Dad called it. Thank goodness tomorrow was Friday and he was spending the weekend at Colin’s. He’d be okay there, and maybe Mum would be back next week.

  She was. On Monday afternoon Eddie arrived home from school and oh, thank you, thank you, Mum’s car was parked in its usual place. He ran inside, happiness breaking over him like a wave on the beach.

  ‘Hello, stranger, have you been good? Granny and Grandpa send their love. I’ve got some photos of their new flat to show you – it’s lovely. So much better for them.’

  She hugged him, and the warm scent of her perfume filled Eddie’s nose. He held on tight, but pretty soon his sister appeared and he was set to the side while Mum fussed over Melanie. The conversation switched to clothes and Melanie’s preparations for university, and Eddie went to rummage in the biscuit barrel. It was the last week of school before the long summer holidays, so he had no homework. He stared out of the window, where sunshine was glinting on the ocean as the tide surged in. Home wasn’t home when Mum wasn’t here.

  ‘Just you and me, then, boy.’

  Eddie licked his lips, nodding. They’d only had a few weeks of Mum being there. Now she’d gone to St Andrews to help Melanie settle into her student flat before term started. He’d asked if he could go too, but she wouldn’t take him. This was the first time he’d spent a day or two alone with his father and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Dad’s tongue would slice off your finger, and the sound of that deep, scratchy voice made Eddie’s stomach cramp.

  His father flopped down on the sofa, plucking the TV remote from Eddie’s hand. The sports channel replaced Eddie’s cartoon, and he bent his head, wriggling on the sofa. But if he left now Dad would call him a wimp again. Real boys liked football.

  ‘Homework done?’

  ‘Yes. It was English.’

  His father snorted. ‘English is for girls. It won’t help you find a man’s job, will it? What will you do when you leave school? Nothing with English, I’ll bet.’

  ‘I want to work with animals.’

  His father snorted again. ‘Namby pamby. You want to learn about car engines, or building stuff. Fetch me a beer and I’ll show you the inside of a car. Best get you started early.’

  Eddie trailed through to the fridge. Jobs were important to Dad. He had two, the one at the pub and another one where he did bits of business for people, but Eddie didn’t know what that meant. Sometimes men came to the house and Dad would talk to them outside or down in the cellar where no one could hear them. Once, Eddie asked what they were doing and his father whacked him on the head and said it was a bit of business and mind his own. The men who came didn’t look like nice people and Eddie was glad it didn’t happen often. Usually, Dad would say, ‘I’ve got a bit of business to attend to,’ and go off in the car somewhere. Mum never spoke about it.

  The hour spent poking around the engine in his father’s car left Eddie oil-smeared and shaking. Nothing he did was right – he dropped the dip stick into the engine, he forgot what the distributer was for not five minutes after Dad had told him, and he sloshed wiper fluid all over the place when he tried to fill the little bottle. His father’s face grew progressively redder and his tone more cutting.

  ‘What a big girl’s blouse you are. You need to get some bottle, boy; I’d better take you in hand. My father would be ashamed of you. He was real man, went to the war when he was the same age as your sister and fought bravely. He made sure I was a man too – he didn’t deserve what happened to him. Now get inside and clean your hands and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll man up.’

  Hot tears burned in Eddie’s eyes as he scrubbed ineffectively at his oily hands. His father’s parents had both died before he was born. What had happened to Grandfather?

  Chapter Seven

  Friday, 8th May

  Kelly flopped down on her bed and lay back, closing her eyes as Ariana Grande blotted out the moan of the wind under the roof. Living here was every bit as bad as she’d known it would be. There was nothing to do at weekends – or nothing she wanted to do, anyway. The kids at school all hated her and she hated them, too, and the teachers were even worse than they were in London. You only had to be three seconds late for a class and you were on the receiving end. Meh.

  The good thing was that Jess had managed to fix her an invite to London at half term. It was still ages to wait, but it was going to be ace. Their tickets for Ariana Grande were bought, and Jess’s mum was going to drive them to the concert and pick them up again afterwards. Jess had it easy. Mum wasn’t half as sympathetic about stuff like that as Sue was.

  Kelly’s mobile pinged as a message came in. Jess. Rock Home in June – let’s go! Kelly opened the link after the message, then sat up, turning Ariana Grande off as she scrolled up and down the website. She knew about Rock Home, of course – it was a huge concert, more like a festival, really, to make money for homeless people and people who’d lost th
eir businesses. Loads of really ace people and groups were performing – Justin Bieber would be there! And it was the weekend after her birthday, too…

  Kelly tapped her reply. You’re on – think they’ll let us? The response came seconds later. Don’t worry. I have a plan.

  Kelly answered with a kissy face emoticon and lay back again. Jess was good at plans. She was organising them fake IDs so they could prove they were eighteen and get into loads of places at half term, and Sue was a whole lot less strict than Mum about staying up late, though she always insisted on collecting them from wherever. But maybe Jess had a plan for that too.

  The problem was, Rock Home was expensive. Seventy-five pounds. Where would she get that from? Kelly stood up and peered at her face in the mirror. Nice smile now, Kel. It’s a big ask.

  Voices were coming from the kitchen, and Kelly hovered inside the door. Her parents were cosied up at the table, poring over house plans, and Mum waved her over.

  ‘Come and see, Kel. We have a plan.’

  Kelly swallowed a giggle. All those plans… But she wanted them in a good mood, so she sat down and listened.

  Mum turned the house plan round so that Kelly could see it the right way up. ‘While you and I are away at half term–’

  Kelly nearly died of horror. ‘Are you coming to London too?’ That would be the absolute pits. To her annoyance, both her parents laughed.

  ‘Yes, but I’m visiting Mary in Blackheath, don’t worry. While we’re away, your dad’s getting people in to help him knock down the wall there and make a big open plan kitchen-living-dining area. What do you think?’

  She was about to ask for the most expensive birthday present ever. Kelly gazed attentively at the plan, then at the soon-to-be-demolished wall. ‘Sounds great. Are we getting new kitchen units and stuff?’