As I stuff my card back into my coat pocket, I get a glimpse of myself in the long mirror behind Clay’s door, and I’m hit by how gross I look: my hair’s frizzy and my skin’s flushed and my eyes are still bloodshot from chopping the onions. And my cheeks are smeared with mascara.
Why did I ever think he might fancy me?
I’m about to go when I notice something on Clay’s desk. My heart thumps even more than when I saw the Valentine’s card.
I walk over and pick up the first book in the series of Max’s Marvellous Adventures.
My hands are shaking as I flip open the cover and read the inscription:
For my little adventurer. Mum x.
It’s Mum’s handwriting.
And she must have written the inscription for me. It’s what she calls me sometimes, her brave little adventurer.
I flip through the pages of the book. It’s all about Max’s adventures at sea.
I don’t believe in stupid books about boys going out and saving the world while girls stay home plaiting their hair and playing with dolls. That’s what I’d told her when, a couple of years ago, she asked me whether I’d like to read them with her.
I’d rejected them. And she’d never told me that they were meant for me.
‘Feather?’
I spin round. Rev Cootes stands in the doorway.
I put the book back down on Clay’s desk and grab my duffle coat from his bed.
‘I was just getting this,’ I say.
He looks over at the book for a second and blinks and looks back to me.
‘It was nice of your mother to call.’
She called? Mum’s got the same crap phone as I do and only has two numbers stored in her contacts: mine and Dad’s.
‘When did she call?’
‘Yesterday.’ He looks across the road at Mum’s window. ‘It was nice of her to think of Clay.’
I used to know everything about Mum’s day: when she got up and when she sat in her chair and what programmes she watched and what she ate and when she went to bed. And now she’s doing all this stuff without telling me.
‘He loved those books when he was small.’ He looks at the cover. A little boy with curly blond hair, sitting in a sailing boat on an open sea with big waves crashing all around him. ‘His mother read them to him every night.’
His eyes go sad. Then he picks up the jute bag and gives me a smile, which makes his face go all soft and kind.
‘Why did Clay’s mum go to New York?’ I ask.
I think back to what Clay said back at the Lido the night when it was just the two of us. That there has to be a trigger. That people don’t just flip their whole lives upside down for no reason.
Rev Cootes looks out of Clay’s window and I know he’s staring at Mum’s window.
‘Willingdon was too small for her.’
‘I know how she feels,’ I say.
I’d always thought Willingdon would be enough. That once I’d taken over Dad’s business, I’d meet someone and that we’d have a family and live close enough for me to see Mum every day. I thought that would be enough. But I’m not so sure any more.
‘It must have been hard for her to move country when Clay was so small. To do it on her own.’
‘Rosemary has family in New York. She’s American. So Eleanor had some help finding her feet.’
‘How did you meet Rosemary?’ I ask.
‘At vicar college. She was one of those Americans who fell in love with England. She dreamt of having a small parish like Willingdon.’
‘So you were both vicars?’
With parents like that, no wonder Clay’s mum went so religious.
‘Rosemary never finished her training. Dancing turned out to be her true calling.’ He gives me a crooked smile just the same as Jake’s. ‘She always had a bigger following than I did.’
It’s at times like this that I wonder how I could ever have thought that Rev Cootes was a child murderer. He’s just about the sweetest old man in the world.
Rev Cootes picks up the jute bag and looks inside.
‘You’re a kind girl, Feather Tucker,’ he says.
And then it hits me that it’s not just Rosemary: he’s lost his daughter too. At least he’s got Clay.
‘Your parents are lucky to have you,’ he goes on. ‘I’ll carry this to the gate for you. Rosemary likes me to be helpful.’
I’ve got so used to Rev Cootes talking about Rosemary that it’s like I know her. It makes me feel sad that he doesn’t go to see her.
I follow Rev Cootes out of the house. As I look at the back of him, I realise how old he is, old and stooped and frail. As frail as one of those birds he’s forever feeding.
When we get to the gate, I take the bag off him.
‘Thank you for the help,’ I say.
He nods and I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk across The Green. A hollow feeling settles in my chest. It’s not right that Rev Cootes shouldn’t see his wife any more, or his daughter. And it’s not right that the first guy I’ve ever fancied should have got a Valentine’s card from someone other than me. And that he should be with my best friend and some random girl I don’t even like, having fun without me. And it’s not fair that he should have talked to Mum behind my back.
As I stand at the bottom of the ramp that leads to our front door, I think about doing what Clay’s mum did – escaping my crappy old world and going far, far away, somewhere no one knows me, somewhere I can be a whole new person.
Houdini’s bleats break up my thoughts.
He walks over to me and nudges me with his horns. I squat down and give him a cuddle.
I know, I know, I whisper into his ears. I’ve got a job to do.
20
After I’ve set everything up in the kitchen, I tie a red bow to Houdini’s bell and scatter silky red rose petals on the gravel (Mrs Zas let me have some from her Valentine’s window display). And then I sit on the ramp, waiting for Dad to come home. It’s freezing out here but there’s a bit of sun left and I need some air after all that cooking and rushing around decorating the kitchen.
‘Smells good in there,’ Nurse Heidi says as she comes out through the front door.
She came by to check on Mum before heading home. I’m sure she comes round more often than she’s paid to.
‘Dad proposed on Valentine’s,’ I say.
Nurse Heidi smiles. ‘What a romantic.’
‘He was. I’m trying to get it back – the romance.’
‘That’s wonderful, Feather.’
‘Mum’s doing okay, isn’t she?’
Nurse Heidi shifts her nurse’s bag on her shoulder.
‘She told me that she’s lost weight.’
Nurse Heidi smiles at me and says, ‘It’s getting late, I’d better get home.’
‘Aren’t you happy with her progress?’ I ask.
‘She still has a way to go, Feather. I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
Which isn’t an answer.
I notice that Mum’s notes are tucked under her arm.
‘She hasn’t lost weight, has she?’
Nurse Heidi gets her car keys out of her bag to avoid looking at me.
‘Has she?’ I say again.
‘It’s a long process… And it’s not all about losing weight.’
Which basically means no.
‘I’d better go.’ She walks down the ramp. ‘I hope it all goes really well tonight,’ she says. And then she gets into her car and drives away.
I go inside and put on Dad’s Lionel Richie CD. Mum and Dad had ‘Endless Love’ as the first dance song at their wedding. I haven’t heard Dad play it in years. I thought it would be nice for them to have it tonight. That it might remind them of how much they love each other and how life used to be.
Then I go and untie Houdini from his post and walk him over to the ramp. I sit down and he flops down across my lap.
‘Mum and Dad are going to like it, aren’t they, Houdini?’
He nudges
his head against my leg and I lean over to kiss the top of his head.
Houdini’s been around longer than I have; I wish he could tell me more about what Mum was like back then. And what happened when Clay came over to talk to her yesterday.
Then I look over to Rev Cootes’s house and think of Jake and Amy and Clay having fun in there without me.
By 10pm, my lips are blue, it’s gone dark and Dad still hasn’t shown up. And I still haven’t seen Jake and Amy come out of Clay’s house.
I wait for Houdini to nestle into his kennel for the night and then I go back inside.
After switching off the CD player that’s been playing ‘Endless Love’ on a loop, I scrape the risotto into the bin – it’s got this gunky crust over it, and it’s gone cold. I throw the strawberry tarts into the bin too, squishing them down with a wad of kitchen roll until they’re a gloopy, sticky mess. I tip the wine down the sink and gather up the cutlery and the crockery and the glasses and stuff them back into the cupboard any old how.
And for a second, it feels good. But only for a second. After that, I just feel empty.
As I close the cupboard door, I glance at the calendar, where I’d scrawled 28 days to break a habit! under the February heading. Right now it feels like nothing’s changed at all. In fact, everything’s worse.
I haven’t eaten anything since lunchtime but I don’t feel hungry so I climb straight up the stairs to my bedroom.
When I’m halfway up, I worry that I haven’t tied Houdini up again. The last thing I need is for him to go missing.
I was right, I had forgotten to tie him up. Except he hasn’t made a run for it, he’s just standing at the bottom of the drive, looking up the road, and I can tell that, like me, he’s waiting for Dad.
‘Come on, Houdini, time for bed.’
He won’t budge.
I yank at his lead. ‘I’m tired, come on.’
As I grip his collar and pull him back towards the house, he pulls in the opposite direction and he’s so strong that I end up stumbling behind him until we’re both standing in the middle of the road.
I shake out my hand, which is aching from where his collar dug into my palm.
Houdini head-butts my shin.
‘Houdini, what is it?’
He looks at me for a second and then runs across The Green.
‘Dad will come home!’ I yell out. ‘He’s just on a late call-out.’
If it’s my job to look out for Mum, I reckon Houdini sees it as his job to make sure Dad’s okay.
As I run past the Lucky Lantern van, Mr Ding pokes his head out.
‘Everything okay, Feather?’
‘It’s fine!’ I yell over my shoulder and keep running.
But it’s not even a bit fine.
For a moment, I consider letting Houdini go. It’s only a matter of time before he runs away and breaks his neck by tumbling into the Lido or gets squashed on the M77, and there’s nothing any of us will have been able to do about it.
But then I think about Dad and how much he loves Houdini and about how I love Houdini, too.
So I keep running.
Past St Mary’s with Jake’s bike still tied up against the cemetery railing.
Past Mrs Zas’s fancy-dress shop with its inflatable hearts glowing in the window.
Past the mobile library.
Down Twirl Street and past Jake’s house, where there’s only one light left on, shining out from Steph’s bedroom.
And bang into Allen, the reporter from the Newton News. He’s standing outside one of the houses on Twirl Street, writing something in his notebook. I try to walk past him without him seeing, just like I try to avoid him when I go to Slim Skills meetings – I don’t trust him since the photo he printed of Mum at New Year’s.
But he looks up at just the wrong time.
‘Feather – just the person I wanted to see.’
‘I’m in a hurry.’ Houdini’s just turned the corner at the end of the street.
‘I’ve been canvassing local opinion about the opening of the Lido – finding you is just perfect,’ says Allen. ‘You’ll have an insight from the eye of the storm.’
I haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about. I know that people in the village are getting really het up about the Lido debate but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. And if I don’t move now I’m going to lose Houdini.
‘I really have to go,’ I say and run off down the road before he has the chance to say anything.
I run all the way to the motorway, barely keeping up with Houdini. And then he stops dead.
I nearly crash into him… and then I see it, parked in the lay-by: GEORGE AND JO’S EMERGENCY PLUMBING VAN.
‘Dad?’ I knock on the window. ‘Dad?’
Houdini lifts his body up and places his hooves on the door handle.
I knock again. ‘Dad, it’s me!’
Cupping my hands, I press my face to the window and look in.
Dad’s sitting there with a blanket pulled up to his chin, his head bowed, and his eyes shut. He’s sleeping.
‘Get down,’ I say to Houdini and push his hooves off the door. Then I try the handle. It’s creaky and rusty and I need to give it a good yank but it’s unlocked.
Dad’s eyes fly open.
‘Feather?’
He sits up. The blanket drops down. Houdini jumps in ahead of me and sits on the passenger seat.
Under the orange light that shines in from the street lamp, Dad looks as grey as a ghost.
‘Hey, little guy,’ Dad says, then gives Houdini a stroke under his chin. It’s not the first time I feel like Dad’s happier to see Houdini than he is to see me. ‘Gone for a wander again, mischief?’
Houdini bleats.
I push him into the back of the van and sit down next to Dad.
‘What are you doing here, Dad?’
Dad rubs his eyes. ‘Just having a rest.’
I take a breath to keep my voice steady.
‘Why don’t you have a rest at home?’
‘Oh, just waiting to be called out for another job. I didn’t want to disturb your mum.’
I clench my jaw. ‘You didn’t want to disturb her?’
‘You know Mum doesn’t sleep well.’
A lorry drives towards us, a soft toy in the shape of a red heart pinned to its fender. Dad’s van shakes as it whooshes past.
‘You know what day it is, Dad?’
In the grainy darkness of the van, I see his shoulders drop.
‘Dad?’
He looks at his watch. ‘I guess I’ll risk going home,’ he says. ‘If someone calls, I’ll head out again.’ He turns the key in the ignition.
I pull his fingers away from the key.
‘I asked you a question, Dad.’
He sighs. ‘What’s wrong, love?’
‘It’s Valentine’s Day, Dad. That’s what’s wrong. The day you and Mum got engaged. The story you told me over and over when I was growing up – how you loved Mum so much that you wanted Valentine’s Day to be more your day than anyone else’s – remember?’ I gulp. ‘And now you’re sleeping in your van…?’
‘We can talk about this later, Feather.’
‘How about a bunch of flowers? Or a box of chocolates? That would be in line with the crap you feed her. Or maybe you could have just stayed in and given her a hug. Done just one thing to show her you love her.’
Dad stares out at the motorway.
‘Mum doesn’t like a fuss, you know that, Feather.’
‘Well maybe if you tried a bit harder – if you made it special, if you showed her how much you cared about her.’ Words are flying out of my mouth so fast, I hardly know where they’re coming from.
Houdini bleats and shifts on the seat. I look back and notice what a mess everything’s in. Tools jumbled in a heap on the floor. Ripped cardboard. Sawn-off bits of tubing. Screwdrivers. Scrunched-up kitchen towel. When Mum helped Dad with the business, she would never have let it get into such a state. He does
n’t deserve to have her name on the front.
‘Just forget it,’ I say.
And that’s when I notice the jobs book poking out of the glove compartment. I yank it out and flip through the pages, scanning Mum’s neat handwriting, columns and columns of clients and dates and job details and payment references.
The last entry was made almost six months ago, in Dad’s scrawly writing.
‘You haven’t been making a note of jobs.’
He rips the book out of my hands and dumps it on the floor beside him.
‘Leave it, Feather.’
Dad’s been tearing around on so many call-outs that maybe he hasn’t had time. And paperwork hasn’t ever been his strong point, that’s why Mum did it all for him.
‘I could help you,’ I say. ‘I could do what Mum did.’
Dad turns away and stares out of his side window.
We sit in silence, listening to the night traffic rushing past.
‘Dad?’
He sniffs and turns round to face me, his eyes shining. Then he rubs the sleeve of his overalls over his eyes and nose.
I’ve never seen Dad cry before.
I put my hand on his arm.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have said those things.’
He starts properly crying now, big heaves and gulps.
And then it falls into place. The fact that no one in Willingdon has been mentioning Dad doing jobs for them. The fact that we don’t have money to fix anything in the house. The ‘Private & Confidential’ letters from the bank. Dad not letting me come to help him like he used to.
Dad hasn’t been forgetting to make a note of the call-outs. And he hasn’t been rushed off his feet working day and night. He hasn’t had a job since September.
I lean forward and put my arms around him and hold him tight.
‘It’s okay, Dad. It’s all going to be okay.’
March
21
‘Will you walk in a straight line?’ Jake nudges me to the side of the pavement.
‘Hey, I’m practising!’
Wishbones Page 15
