Angels Next Door

by Karen McCombie

  ‘I’m just not sure how your dad will feel ab–’

  TAP! Scrabble, scrabble, SCREECH!

  I hate being rude and I really don’t want to discuss this with Hazel so I’m relieved to hear the strange sort of clattering, scratching noise at the door.

  ‘Probably Dot,’ I say, hurrying into the hall.

  I’m expecting to see my sort-of-stepsister or her little friend Coco trying to do something random, like post snails or possibly Alastair through the letterbox.

  What I don’t expect when I open the door is a smiling dog.

  ‘Bee?’ I say in surprise.

  ‘Woof!’

  The snow-white fluffball turns round and heads down the path – then, realizing I’m not following, he looks over his doggy shoulder, fixes his ice eyes on me and woofs again.

  ‘Um, I’m just … just going out for a minute …’ I call back to Hazel, leaving the frame on the floor propped against the wall and pulling the door closed behind me.

  Feeling slightly mad, I follow the padding Bee down our path, on to the pavement and round into the garden at number thirty-three.

  ‘RILEEYYYYYY!’ Dot’s voice yelps at me. ‘WE’RE HERE!!’

  My first instinct is to look up at Tia’s old bedroom window in the loft, where we’d sit and daydream and chat for hours upon lazy, happy hours. But there’s no one at the open window, just a waft of a white muslin curtain flapping gently in the breeze.

  ‘OVER HERE!!’ Dot yelps again.

  Tilting my head to the right, I see that Dot, Coco, Sunshine and Pearl are in the amazing treehouse built by Mr Angelo, which is nestled in the sprawling branches of the giant chestnut.

  There’s no sign of Kitt. Phew.

  ‘We sent Bee for you,’ Sunshine says, her chin resting in her hands, her gold-red hair tumbling over the wooden rail. ‘Fancy coming up?’

  After what happened in the library this morning my first instinct is to say no thanks, same as Kitt said to me.

  But, with no stern-faced Kitt in sight, I realize I do want to climb up there.

  Still, what I’d love even more than that right now is to go up to the loft – my spiritual home.

  ‘Or we could show you our room, if you want?’ Pearl giggles down at me.

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I mumble, reeling from the coincidence. But then coincidences happen all the time. Especially round here …

  With a step, step and jump, Sunshine and Pearl have padded down the ladder – one pair of undone lace-up boots, one pair of sparkly baseball boots – and landed silently on the grass beside me.

  Scuttling in their wake are Dot and Coco.

  ‘Are you two coming?’ I ask, pointing to Tia’s house.

  ‘They can stay; Bee will look after them,’ says Sunshine.

  ‘He won’t let anything happen to them,’ Pearl chips in. ‘He’s a guardian dog.’

  ‘Guard dog,’ Sunshine quickly corrects her sister. ‘Coming, Riley?’

  ‘Don’t worry; we’re FINE, Riley!’ Dot assures me as I hesitantly begin to follow Sunshine towards the house. ‘I’m the mummy, Coco’s the daddy and Bee’s going to be our baby!’

  With a gentle hand on my back from Sunshine, I find myself stepping through the cheery cherry-red doorway into a house I barely recognize. The sienna walls of the hall are now white. The African art Tia’s parents had plastered all the way up the stairs is replaced with, well, nothing. The red stair carpet has been torn up and the steps are now sanded and varnished pale wood.

  As we turn on the first landing and take those last twenty steps up to the loft, my heart is pounding. Judging by what I’ve already glimpsed, it’s going to look very different. It’s bound to seem smaller too, with three beds packed in instead of one.

  ‘Ready?’ asks Sunshine, outside the oh-so-familiar door.

  ‘Ready,’ I reply, taking a deep breath and preparing to be saddened.

  I don’t quite see Sunshine’s hand push the door open and yet it’s swinging wide and revealing … a wonderland of white and dreamy blue.

  ‘The walls!’ I say, marvelling at how they’re the exact shade of the sky outside the window. And there’s something about that colour that makes the room feel enormous, much bigger than when Tia was here – about three times as big – even with the extra beds fitted in.

  The floor has been sanded and bleached the colour of driftwood. The white metal bedsteads are covered in duvets and pillows as puffy and enticing as clouds.

  All this, and the flapping muslin curtains I already spotted from the garden … it makes me feel almost dizzy, as though I’m flying, floating, free.

  ‘Is it strange to see it so different?’ Sunshine asks gently.

  I can’t help but laugh at that.

  ‘No, I – I love it!’

  Sunshine and Pearl exchange pleased smiles as I glance around at the blank but calming walls. Except they’re not completely blank.

  There’s something pinned up, just by the door.

  I move closer to it, and see it’s very like a reward chart – the sort Dot has. (I MUST NOT HIDE HAM UNDER MY PILLOW FOR ALASTAIR; I MUST BRUSH ALL MY TEETH; and, of course, I MUST NOT PUT GLITTER IN THE SHAMPOO BOTTLE.)

  On this chart, though, Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl’s names are in the down column, with a bunch of unconnected words and letters along the top. At a quick glance I make out stuff like SPRING, V.S., M.R. and CATCH. What’s that all about? In the grid underneath are a series of ticks and crosses. Most of the crosses are under Pearl’s name, I can’t help but notice, and a few are under Sunshine’s. Kitt’s boxes seem cross-free …

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask, without thinking that it might be a nosy question.

  ‘It’s just our training – oh!’

  Pearl slaps her hand over her mouth as Kitt appears in the bedroom doorway.

  ‘Your sister is shouting for you, Riley,’ says Kitt, her lips tight and her eyes the dark brooding grey of stormclouds.

  I don’t need telling twice; I’m out of there quicker than Kitt’s eyes can change colour. ‘Bye,’ I mumble to Sunshine and Pearl.

  ‘Oh, and happy birthday for tomorrow, Riley!’ Sunshine calls after me.

  It would be a nice thing to say, if it didn’t remind me of the stupid school trip to Wildwoods Theme Park, and if it didn’t give me the shivers, since I can’t remember telling her about my birthday.

  And then I feel another shiver as I hear a snatch of conversation drift down behind me.

  ‘Please, Kitt, not another black cross for me and Sunshine?’ I hear Pearl groan as I pitter-patter down the stairs.

  It’s my third day of knowing Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl, and I think I understand them less than the moment we first met, if that’s possible.

  Get me out of here, now …

  I’m in shock.

  Something unexpected has happened.

  I woke up a minute ago and realized I felt funny.

  I felt … happy.

  Happy birthday to me!

  And here’s what’s making me unusually, deliciously happy this particular morning: I’m lying stretched out in my bed, with the sun glowing through the curtains as if it’s mid-summer and not mid-autumn. And, ridiculously, my head feels floaty-light, like it’s – like it’s stuffed full of birthday balloons.

  Ha!

  Riley Roberts, for your twelfth birthday, you have gone slightly insane, but in a good way, so who cares? I laugh to myself.

  And since my birthday is a day that links us more than any other, I have a sudden urge to see Mum’s smiling face. I didn’t get round to framing her photo last night, because I spotted a scratch on the glass as well as the dent to the tatty white frame and thought she deserved better than that.

  But, just as I push myself up on to my elbow and lean over to open the knicker drawer, my door is slammed open by a large rabbit.

  ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!’ shrieks Dot. ‘SQUASHED TOMATOES AND STEW!!’

  She bounces herself on to the bed with such force that th
e floppy-eared hood of her onesie flies off.

  ‘OK! Thanks!’ I say, trying to stop myself being smothered with love and fleecy material.

  ‘You have to come downstairs NOW!’ she demands, hopping off me and grabbing my hand in her paw.

  ‘Can’t I just wake up first?’ I ask, but rabbits don’t seem to take no for an answer, and I let myself be dragged downstairs, half-awake and yawning.

  ‘Happy birthday!’ three voices sing out as I’m shoved into the living room.

  No – there’s something wrong here.

  The bunny didn’t join in.

  And there’s only Dad and Hazel standing here in the room.

  Yet I’m sure I heard a third voice.

  ‘Riley! Oi!’

  My heart skips a beat as I recognize that third voice and hear it clearly again, from the computer on the desk in the alcove.

  The desk looks like a shrine: all birthday cake and candles and presents … and a smiling face beaming at me on the screen.

  Behind her is the glow of a pinky-orange evening sky and lazily drooping palm fronds. They’re twelve or so hours ahead of us, so it’s been my birthday in New Zealand for practically a whole day already.

  ‘Tia!’ I gasp, perching myself on the chair in front of the screen. With her golden-brown skin and acid-lime vest top, she looks bright-eyed and beautiful – and there I am in the corner of the screen, all sleepy morning face and my crummy old spotty PJs.

  But for once I don’t care how scuzzy I look; those imaginary birthday balloons in my head are making me feel deliciously giddy and giggly.

  The last few weeks I’ve expected my birthday to be the pits, but it might turn out to be a little bit wonderful after all …

  Who was I kidding?

  After the thrill of seeing Tia, of buzzing at the idea that she’d planned my birthday Skype surprise with Dad before she left, of opening my presents (a proper grown-up compact camera from Dad and Hazel, a locket with our photos in from Tia), everything went the opposite of wonderful.

  POP! went the first of my imaginary balloons when I realized how late Tia’s call had made me, and I got a telling off from Mrs Mahoney for being last on the waiting coach outside the school gates.

  POP! Another balloon burst when I found the only free seat left on the coach was next to Mr Thomlinson. I mean, what do you talk to a deputy head about? With my tummy tied in nervous knots, I spotted my get-out a couple of minutes into our journey: as Mr Thomlinson leaned across the aisle to chat with Mrs Mahoney, I pretended to fall asleep – for the whole of the two-hour trip to Wildwoods Theme Park.

  Once we’d arrived and got the lecture from Mr Thomlinson about appropriate behaviour, and threats of certain death (sort of) if we weren’t back at the coach by three o’clock, I slunk off alone into the teeming crowds, staring after the gangs of boisterous boys and the arm-linking groups of girls, all laughing and hurrying towards the rides. Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl … I hadn’t a clue where they’d got to. But, hey, I didn’t have a clue about them a lot of the time …

  ‘You look deep in thought, Riley!’ a familiar voice says now.

  I turn and smile at Mrs Mahoney, hoping she doesn’t ask what exactly I’ve been thinking. Cos for the last few hours, as I’ve wandered around unseen and unnoticed by all the other Hillcrest Year 7s, I’ve been thinking that today – actually this whole week – has been like a ride on one of these roller-coasters.

  Up, down, back and forth.

  Up, up, up I’ve gone, loving seeing Tia’s old room, like it’s hovering in the sky; loving hearing my photos being praised at school; loving my birthday message from my distant but still best friend.

  Down, down, down I’ve plunged, missing Tia; being made a fool of by Lauren; spending my birthday with no one.

  Back and forth I’ve lurched, meeting my new neighbours; trying to decide whether they like me or not; trying to figure out if the jumble and tumble of assorted weirdnesses that’ve been happening means there’s something really, really strange going on in my world or if I’m just so frazzled with loneliness that my over-active imagination is frying my brain …

  ‘So which rides have you been on so far?’ asks Mrs Mahoney, realizing I’m not going to answer her first question.

  ‘Um, none,’ I admit, then when I see her stunned expression I quickly show her the viewer on my camera. ‘But see – I’ve been wandering around taking pictures of everyone having fun!’

  It’s lame, I know, but I don’t want Mrs Mahoney guessing that I’m a pathetic friend-free zone, or she might do that primary-school trick of taking the little kid’s hand and asking a bunch of reluctant schoolmates if they’ll play nicely with you.

  And, anyway, it’s been kind of interesting taking those photos. I noticed a couple of the girls had ditched their regulation ironed long-haired look and were wearing cute plaits. Ellie Stevens from Woody’s class had crimped her hair, and the crinkly waves really suit her. A girl whose name I don’t know from Y7E had even tied her hair into two tight little top-knots. And out of school uniform there seemed to be so many different colours of hoodies and skinny jeans; there was hardly any grey or black to be seen.

  ‘Ooh, these look super!’ says Mrs Mahoney, flipping through snap after snap of Hillcrest students queuing, laughing, shrieking and screaming.

  There’s one of Woody and his mates on the Red River Canyon ride (they’ll be soggy on the way home) and a bunch of girls in my class whirling above my head – arms and legs dangling like ragdolls – on the bat-tastic hanging roller-coaster.

  I’ve spotted Lauren and her mates from time to time, but haven’t wasted a shot on them.

  I haven’t seen Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl at all. Maybe they’re staying out of my way, taking offence at being told by Hazel this morning to make their own way to school, since I was busy opening my presents.

  ‘But, wait, did I hear right? You haven’t been on any rides at all?’ Mrs Mahoney repeats incredulously. ‘Riley, it’s nearly time to get the coach back! Come on … let’s quickly find you something to go on.’

  No! It’s my worst little-kid nightmare: Mrs Mahoney has taken me by the hand, and seems to be dragging me over towards the Haunted House.

  ‘Ah – now there are some of your classmates, right near the front of the queue! ’Scuse me! Thank you! Sorry, but can this girl squeeze by and join her friends? They’re keeping her place for her!’ Mrs Mahoney white-lies to the shuffling strangers in the queue as we duck and dive under the barriers.

  Finally, she passes me over to the ‘care’ of three girls I would never in a million years describe as my friends.

  ‘Lauren!’ Mrs Mahoney says with a big, beaming, clueless smile. ‘Can you girls do me a favour and take Riley on this ride with you? She hasn’t been on a single one all day, can you believe tha– Uh-oh, what are those silly boys up to …?’

  As Mrs Mahoney bobs her way back under barriers to split up a spat between some Hillcrest boys, I find myself being stared at and smirked at, and I don’t know which feels worse.

  POP! goes another of my imaginary balloons.

  ‘Did I just hear that? You haven’t been on anything?’ Lauren spits out, as if she’s been told I like to wash my hair in camel wee or something equally gross.

  ‘Hey,’ mutters Joelle, holding her hand up to her mouth as if that would stop me from hearing whatever poisonous whisperings she’s going to come out with. ‘Check out the badge!’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ giggles Nancy from behind her chipped black fingernails.

  ‘What is it?’ says Lauren, frowning and unceremoniously flicking the badge I forgot that I’m wearing. The badge that came with Dad and Hazel’s card. ‘“KEEP CALM IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY!”? OMG, that is so tragic!!’

  POP!

  Lauren’s acid words burn straight through the rubber of that imaginary balloon.

  Her fingers fly away from my badge as if it’s toxic, as if I’m toxic. And with that one casually cruel small gesture, before I know it, this wh
ole rotten roller-coaster of a day catches up with me.

  ‘Hey, look – now she’s crying!’ I hear Joelle titter.

  ‘What’s up, Riley?’ Lauren calls out. ‘Is you a ickle bit scared of the nasty Haunted House?’

  Joelle and Nancy double up, cackling at the cartoon kiddie voice she’s just put on.

  POP! POP! Two more of my birthday balloons of happiness vanish.

  ‘Do it again!’ giggles Joelle, egging her friend on.

  Lauren seems happy to oblige. ‘Is ickle Riley a bit fwightened of the scary ride?’ she mocks me. ‘Not got Tia to hold your hand any more?’

  POP! POP! POP!

  Lauren tosses back her hair, enjoying herself immensely. ‘Or does Riley need a cuddle from her mumsy-wumsy maybe?’ she adds, unaware that her throwaway remark is like a punch to my chest.

  POP! POP! POP! POP! go my final happiness balloons.

  An overwhelming sense of panic rushes through me and I feel utterly naked without Tia. Lauren wouldn’t have talked to me like this with her by my side. Cool, confident Tia was a don’t-mess forcefield, and suddenly I’m just this vulnerable, pathetic recipe for Awkward Shy Jelly, which Lauren is more than happy to squish.

  I’m so alone, I realize with a crush of my heart, and a thud of a stray elbow as a couple of boys who were standing directly behind us jostle me aside, now that one of the Haunted House attendants has called for two people to come forward to fill a car.

  ‘Can I ask you a question, Lauren?’ a brusque voice suddenly asks.

  Who said that? Was it Kitt?

  Through my blur of tears I turn and see a cute pair of dark ‘ears’, a waterfall of gold-red hair, the bright white of stubby plaits.

  Sunshine, Kitt and Pearl; I hadn’t spotted them before – those boys and my panic had blinded me to their presence.

  ‘What sort of question?’ Lauren snips, squaring up to Kitt.

  Blinking my tears away, I focus on my next-door neighbours. Kitt is the sternest I’ve ever seen her, though luckily it’s not me she’s glowering at through her intense black glasses.

  But Sunshine and Pearl – they look worried. In fact, Sunshine is saying something, talking in words no one can hear. But I think – I think I just lip-read what they were … ‘Kitt – don’t! Remember the rules!’