Kenny saw him, too, and just for a moment he looked scared. Verity saw the look on Kenny’s face, and she went over to him and put her arm round his shoulders.
‘Kenny’s been great,’ she said. ‘He’s been working all day, slashing down the weeds, mowing the grass. He’s been brilliant.’
‘Thanks, Kenny,’ mumbled Jake and as he spoke, Kenny’s face broke into a big, wide smile.
It doesn’t take much to please him. I shouldn’t have said that to Irene. He can’t help being the way he is. Why can’t I be nice to him?
‘Make us a drink, love,’ called Gran. She looked younger somehow, more energetic. The hunched, vague old woman of last night had gone.
Jake frowned. What was happening here? How could she look so different?
As he turned to go back into the kitchen, he saw Verity move towards her and watched as Gran put out a hand to stroke her hair.
A stab of jealousy went through him.
Chapter Seven
A little later, the gardening party broke up. Gran and Verity came into the kitchen and Kenny shambled off home.
‘Where’s Verity sleeping?’ said Gran suddenly.
‘I have to go back to my house,’ said Verity, taking Gran’s hand and squeezing it.
Jake scowled.
‘Why? Why can’t you stay with me?’ said Gran petulantly.
‘I have to see to the animals,’ said Verity. Then she added softly, ‘You know that, dear. You know I have to look after the animals.’
Dear!? What is this girl doing, calling Gran ‘dear’?
But Gran seemed to accept it. She nodded, and her face cleared. ‘Yes,’ she repeated. ‘See to the animals.’ Then, ‘What animals?’
Verity smiled. ‘Well, there’s the pony and a badger and a one-eyed crow. And there’s the young fox, too.’
Jake looked up sharply. A fox? He hadn’t seen a fox.
Verity caught his eye, and he blushed and looked away.
How does she always know?
Later that evening, when Gran was glued to something on the TV, Jake slipped out with the empty casserole dish and then, before he lost his nerve, he knocked on Irene’s door.
She was surprised to see him. ‘Oh, hello, Jake,’ she said awkwardly.
Jake held out the empty dish. ‘Thanks for this,’ he mumbled. ‘It was great.’
Irene took it from him. She didn’t say anything. Then she cleared her throat. ‘Kenny enjoyed himself round at yours today,’ she said quietly. ‘Thanks for letting him come.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Jake began. But he found he couldn’t continue. Why couldn’t he say anything about Verity? Why did her name stick in his throat? Why couldn’t he mention her – to Mum or to Dad, to Tom and now to Irene?
Irene went on. ‘I know, dear. I know it was your gran who asked him in.’ She stopped, and looked down at the dish in her hands. ‘I don’t know what came over him,’ she muttered. ‘He’s never gone anywhere on his own before, but he suddenly marched over to yours and banged on the door.’
Jake scratched his ear.
‘He worked really hard in the garden,’ he said at last.
Irene smiled – a smile that lit up her normally sour face.
‘I peeped over the fence,’ she said. ‘Just to make sure he wasn’t being a nuisance – and there he was, working away with your gran. They were having a high old time.’
‘He’s welcome to come any time,’ said Jake.
What am I saying? I must be mad! I don’t want him over with us all the time.
Irene put her hand out and briefly touched Jake’s arm.
‘Do you mean that?’
Of course I don’t mean it. Why did I say it?
He nodded, then turned on his heel. ‘Thanks again for the food.’
She smiled at his back. ‘I’ll make you something else soon.’
***
It was getting late. Jake had been sitting beside Gran, half watching some wildlife documentary while she was nodding off to sleep. Just as he was wondering how to persuade her to go to bed, Verity came back.
He didn’t hear her come in. One moment he was alone with Gran, the next, Verity was standing there in front of them both. How had she got in? Had she taken the spare set of keys?
He jumped up. Half of him was irritated by this casual invasion of their home, half was relieved that he didn’t have to get Gran off to bed.
Verity smiled at him, and he frowned. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to put your gran to bed,’ she replied smoothly.
What is this? I just have to think something and she’s here!
He shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said sulkily.
Verity put out a hand to Gran. Gran took it and allowed herself to be heaved up from the sofa. She teetered unsteadily for a moment and leaned against Verity for support, before straightening up and shuffling out of the room.
‘Night, love,’ she called over her shoulder as she and Verity set off up the stairs.
Jake sighed, turned off the TV and checked his phone.
Two new messages. One from Tom and one from Dad. Dad! What does he want? Jake frowned as he opened the message: ‘Have fixed everything this end. Back home in ten days. How’s Gran? Dad.’
Ten days. Well that was OK. He could cope until then. But what about Verity? How was he going to explain her to Dad? ‘Dad, this is Verity. She comes and stays with Gran when I’m out. I haven’t a clue who she is or where she comes from, but I know she keeps wild animals in her front room.’
Dad would go ballistic!
Only a few more days until the end of term. Then he’d be at home and he’d be able to cope with Gran on his own; he’d have to stop Verity coming before Dad arrived.
He replied to Dad, ‘Gran’s fine. Irene’s helping out.’ He paused, then added, ‘Great that you’re coming home.’
Well, Irene is helping out, isn’t she? And Kenny.
Next he read Tom’s text. ‘Please, please, please come on the footie course. It’ll be no fun without you.’
Jake slumped back onto the sofa and put his head in his hands. Could he go on the footie course after all? It began right after the end of term. Could he leave Verity in charge here and then tell her to go away again as soon as Dad came home?
He didn’t text Tom back. He needed time to think.
Gran and Verity were still moving about upstairs. Suddenly Jake felt stifled indoors; he needed air. He needed to clear his head. He walked to the front door and let himself out.
It was almost dark now, with just a glimmer of light touching the clouds as the sun sank beneath the horizon, but he could still make out the shapes of the houses and trees that lined the street.
He put his hands in his pockets and strode ahead, unaware of where he was going, pleased to be alone and able to breathe freely. A pop song came into his head and he started to hum it while his legs took him onwards, fast and confidently . . . until he reached the old house. He hadn’t planned to come here again – not consciously. It was as if his legs had acted independently from his brain, as if they knew that the house had unfinished business to share with him, something more to tell him. What was it about this place that wouldn’t leave him alone? Ever since he’d been there this afternoon it had been somewhere in his thoughts, lurking at the back of his mind all the time, jumbled up with all the other stuff in his head.
I need to come here again.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He walked in, through the gate and up the overgrown path, even though he could hardly see where he was going. The weeds wrapped themselves round his legs and the brambles scratched him as he moved on by instinct, feeling his way in the gathering darkness round to the back of the house.
What am I doing here? It’s spooky in the dark.
He stood still for a while, listening, wondering. He wasn’t scared; the atmosphere was peaceful and friendly. Nothing would harm him here. He started to feel drowsy, his limbs felt more and more heavy. Slowly his worries
began to drain away – worries about school work, Gran, Dad and the footie course. And a deeper, more frightening worry:
Will Mum be OK? Will the baby be OK? She’s gone so long this time, what will it do to her if the baby doesn’t make it?
And then, as the atmosphere surrounding the house worked its spell on him, he could hear a calm voice in his head that kept repeating: ‘She’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. Relax. It will be all right.’
Where did that come from? Whose voice is that?
But it didn’t scare him.
There was no movement anywhere, no breeze in the trees and no lights in the windows. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see a glow in the distance. It was coming from the direction of the orchard.
Jake stumbled towards it, puzzled. What was it? Verity wasn’t here, she was at his house. Was there someone else living here, someone out in the orchard with a torch? If there were other people living here, they might not be too thrilled to meet him prowling about in their garden.
Perhaps Verity’s parents have arrived. Surely not. Not with badgers and foxes and crows in the front room! Unless they are as nutty as her.
I shouldn’t be here.
But he wasn’t scared. And he knew he had to go on; he couldn’t help himself. There was something this place was trying to tell him; he could sense it. He crept forward, feeling his way, sometimes tripping on the uneven ground, sometimes bumping into things. At last he reached the fence round the orchard and he stopped. The light was coming from beyond the trees, throwing their tangled branches into focus and making ghostly shapes of their bare branches.
BARE branches!
Suddenly Jake’s brain snapped back into action. How could they be bare? This afternoon the trees had been full of blossom! He’d been lying beneath them, watching the petals floating down.
He looked again, frowning. There was no trace of blossom now, nor of leaves. The trees were wintry. And it was cold! How had it suddenly become cold? It was midsummer, for goodness’ sake, yet he was beginning to shiver. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and the cold was going right through him.
What was happening? Why was it winter here in this garden, and what was that light?
He wanted to leave; he was desperate to get out, but the light ahead was forcing him forward like a moth to an electric bulb. He staggered on – he couldn’t stop himself – and when he reached the gate, he opened it and walked into the orchard, his eyes fixed on the light beyond the trees.
He soon realised that it couldn’t be someone holding a torch; it was steady – and it was growing! The glow in front of him was getting bigger, slowly growing larger and brighter so that more and more of the orchard was lit up, until he could clearly see everything around him.
On he walked, past the pony’s shelter and through the trees towards the park.
I must be nearly there.
But he went on walking – on and on – and still there was no park!
Jake stopped, and scratched his head. It must be here! He’d been walking through the orchard for ages. The orchard wasn’t that big. Why hadn’t he reached the far fence yet?
Am I going mad?
The fruit trees had thinned out now. Just a few straggled in a line, then they petered out and Jake was standing alone in the middle of the light. Ahead of him stretched a huge paddock. It hadn’t been here before – he knew it hadn’t. Where was he? This place wasn’t in his street. This was somewhere completely different, unfamiliar.
The little dark pony he’d patted this afternoon was still there – but it had changed. Now its coat had grown thick and woolly against the winter cold. And it was saddled up. A girl was riding it round the paddock and another girl was standing some distance away watching them, her fingers to her mouth, blowing on them to warm them up, frowning with concentration.
Who are you? What am I doing here?
‘Go on!’ she was shouting. ‘You can do it!’
The girl on the pony urged it into a trot, then a canter, round and round in circles, her hair streaming out behind her, her breath a cloud in the frosty air.
There was a line of jumps set up in the middle of the paddock and Jake watched as the girl rode the pony at them. They sailed over every one, the pony never breaking stride. When they were over the final jump, the young rider leant forward, her face split by a triumphant grin, and patted the pony’s neck.
‘Good boy!’
The other girl clapped her hands together and ran over.
‘See. I told you you could do it!’
Jake stared at her. There was something familiar about her – about the way she moved and the way her long hair fell forward over her face.
Suddenly he was full of anger. He wanted to shout at them both, whoever they were, to shout away this whole weird experience; force it back to normal, to the here and now.
He moved closer, but the girls didn’t notice him. He started to run towards them. They must be able to see him now. He was only a few steps away from them. But still, neither of the girls turned round to look at him. They went on chatting and laughing together.
Jake peered at the girl standing on the ground. Then she turned from the pony and looked towards him and, as she did so, she smoothed her hair back, away from her face. He could see her clearly now.
He stared in disbelief.
It can’t be! It can’t be Verity. She’s not here. She’s at my house. What the hell is happening?
‘Verity!’ he shouted. At least, he thought he was shouting – he was sure he was shouting – but he couldn’t hear his voice and still the girls took no notice.
What is this? Even if they can’t hear me, they must be able to see me! He stretched out his hand to grab Verity’s arm, but there was nothing there.
‘Verity,’ he yelled again. ‘What are you doing? Why are you here? What’s going on?’
And this time he heard his own voice, but as he spoke the light vanished – instantly, as if it had been switched off by some unseen hand. The scene in front of him disappeared.
Jake spun round. It was so dark that he couldn’t see anything. He didn’t know where he was. He shouted again, and this time he could hear the panic in his scared, high-pitched ‘Help! Help me!’ He stumbled about, trying to find his bearings. Stupid idiot. Why hadn’t he brought a torch with him?
But he could feel something near him, something warm and alive very close beside him. He gasped again, and jumped back, his heart racing. There was a snort and a startled squeal.
Slowly, his heart rate slowed down. He put out a tentative hand. The pony stayed still and let him stroke it. Its neck was smooth and there was no trace of the thick winter coat that, only moments ago, Jake had seen as it cleared the line of jumps in the cold, frosty air. Now, the pony’s coat was smooth and glossy just as it had been earlier in the day.
Jake put both arms round the animal’s neck and buried his head in its mane.
‘Am I going mad?’ he whispered. ‘What’s happening to me? What’s wrong with me?’
It’s Verity. She’s doing my head in! How can she be here? How can it be winter in the summer, and how can this place change so much in one day?
He stood there, clinging to the pony, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had stopped shivering, but his nerves were raw and he was anxious to get back to his house and familiar surroundings.
And Verity.
No, not Verity. I’ve had enough of all this. I just want things to be back to normal. I don’t care if Gran’s losing it. I’ll cope with her myself. She’s my gran, for God’s sake. She’s got nothing to do with Verity. I’m sick of Verity taking over. Who the hell does she think she is?
To his horror, Jake realised that he was crying and that his tears were making the pony’s neck damp. He wiped the back of his hand over his eyes.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s not your fault. Nothing’s your fault.’
Still sniffing, he felt his way back to the orchard gate and fum
bled for the catch. He opened the gate and went through, closing it carefully behind him. The pony followed him to the fence and now it pushed its nose into his back.
Jake smiled. He felt that the pony sensed his fear and confusion. ‘I’ll bring you an apple or something next time,’ he whispered, giving it a final pat.
Next time! What am I thinking? There isn’t going to be a next time. I am never coming back to this damn place! Never! Verity and her animals and her spooky friends can stay here – and stay well away from me and Gran.
Angry now, Jake crept round to the front of the house. It was dark and silent. An owl hooted nearby and he jumped and stumbled, putting out his hand to save himself. It connected with some brambles and he pulled it away, swearing. At last he found the path and hurried towards the front gate, crushing the weeds beneath his feet, desperate to get out.
He pushed the dilapidated front gate out of his way with such force that the final hinge gave way and the gate crashed onto the ground. But he didn’t even pause. Once he was out on the pavement he started to run, faster and faster.
If Verity can play tricks like that, what might she do to Gran?
And then, again, that voice in his head breaking through his confusion of thoughts.
‘Don’t you understand?’
But he thrust it out of his mind.
‘I’m an idiot!’ he panted. Who had he been kidding? He’d entrusted Gran to some weird girl. Angrily, he thrust aside the picture of Gran chatting happily to Verity, of Gran, Verity and Kenny in the garden laughing together.
I wanted help. That’s why I did it. I didn’t think. Mum or Dad would never have done it.
All he wanted now was to get home and make sure Gran was OK.
When he reached his front door, he dropped his keys on the ground and had to scramble around looking for them.
Bloody keys! Where are they! Damn Verity! Damn her!
He found the keys at last and fumbled, missing the lock. At last he opened the door, burst into the house and ran into the lounge.
No one there.
He pounded up the stairs. If Verity was still there, he’d have it out with her. Tell her he never wanted to see her again.
Loose Connections Page 7
