Loose Connections

by Rosemary Hayes

  Most of the time Gran let herself be manhandled, but every now and again there was a flash of fury in her eyes.

  Poor Gran. She hasn’t got the words now. She can’t tell them to piss off. Bet she wants to, though.

  Dad, Irene and Jake looked after Gran during the day. Irene took the day off work and Kenny went to his day centre. And that night, a nurse came in to be with Gran.

  For the first time in weeks, Jake slept properly.

  The next morning, Dad looked less grey when he came into Jake’s room with a cup of tea for him. Jake smiled weakly. He felt as though he was about six years old; but it was good to be looked after again.

  Dad sat down on the edge of his bed.

  ‘You’ve been skipping school, haven’t you.’

  Jake nodded. ‘I had to,’ he said shortly.

  Dad ruffled his hair. ‘Do you want to go in today? It’s the last day of term, isn’t it?’

  Jake stretched. ‘Not much point, really.’

  ‘OK. I’ll phone them.’

  He rang the school, then he rang Tom’s mum. He came off the phone smiling.

  ‘Right, Jake. Tom’s mum will be round tomorrow to take you both to the footie course.’

  The footie course! Jake had forgotten all about it.

  ‘But. . .’

  ‘Don’t even think about missing it,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve been looking forward to it all year.’

  ‘Yeah, but now . . . with Gran, and the baby. . .’

  ‘You’ve been amazing.’ Dad turned away so that Jake couldn’t see his face. ‘I’m so proud of you. I would have been home a lot earlier if I’d realised how bad Gran was. But I’m here now. Time for you to have some fun. Go on the course; it’ll take your mind off things here.’

  ‘OK.’

  ***

  It was the last day of the footie course. Tom and Jake were sitting on the grass with all the others, waiting for the final talk.

  ‘Bet you’ll be trialled for the Juniors,’ whispered Tom. ‘You’ve been awesome. There’s no one here to touch you.’

  Jake grinned and punched him on the arm. ‘You’re no slouch yourself.’

  It had been brilliant, playing with all these other guys from different schools, being properly coached, as if they were Premier League players. It had been tough, tougher than anything Jake had done at school, with the warming up routines, the passing exercises, the eye-foot co-ordination training, non-stop every day. One or two of the lads had dropped out, unable to take it, but Jake had loved it, loved everything about it.

  And it had cleared his head. He’d had no time to think of anything except football. He’d only started to think about Gran and the baby in the evenings, once Tom’s mum dropped him off at his house. And often that was pretty late because he’d been back to Tom’s for tea.

  Now it was crunch time. All the coaches were there today and several members of the local football club. Jake had hero-worshipped them from a distance and now here they were, in amongst them, chatting to all the lads, laughing and joking.

  The head coach cleared his throat. He began by saying how great everyone had been, how dedicated, what a bunch of talented lads, etc etc. Jake couldn’t concentrate, he was so desperate to be chosen. He chewed his lip and frowned, feeling his stomach clench with tension.

  Please. Please choose me. Choose US!

  The head coach consulted the list in front of him.

  ‘I wish we could choose all of you,’ he began.

  Get ON with it!

  ‘But, as you know, we can only take six.’ He hesitated, looking out at all the eager faces in front of him. For once, there was complete silence.

  ‘So, these are the boys we’ve selected.’

  Five names were read out. Not Jake’s, not Tom’s.

  Disappointment sat like a stone in Jake’s stomach as each name was announced and the boy chosen punched the air with delight. He looked across at Tom.

  Then the coach continued, his normally solemn face suddenly breaking into a smile. ‘However, this year,’ he said, ‘we’ve made an exception.’

  He went on. ‘This year, we’ve decided to take on seven boys.’ He smiled. ‘The last two are . . . Tom . . .’

  Tom’s freckled face was suddenly pink with delight.

  You deserve it, mate.

  ‘And Jake.’

  Jake couldn’t control a great shriek of delight, and Tom thumped him on the back and high-fived him.

  Jake was still on a high when Tom’s mum dropped him off at home. He’d already phoned home with the good news and Dad was there to greet him.

  ‘Brilliant! Well done, boys.’

  Dad’s face was so full of happiness that you’d have thought it was him who’d been chosen for the trials. And it was a long time after Tom had left that Jake came down, gradually, to Planet Earth, and remembered to ask about Gran and the baby.

  Dad smiled. ‘Really good news about the baby, Jake. The hospital say she’s turned the corner now. So, fingers crossed, she and Mum will be able to come home soon.’

  ‘And Gran?’

  ‘Not so good today. . .’ Dad hesitated. ‘But she’s comfortable.’

  ‘Can I go and see her?’

  Dad nodded. ‘Tell her about the footie. You never know, she might hear you.’

  He’s only saying that. Both of us know she’s completely out of it now.

  Jake peeped round Gran’s bedroom door. Gran was asleep and there was someone sitting by her bed, leaning over her, holding her hand. He presumed it was the nurse. He was about to go out again when the figure by the bed straightened up.

  ‘Verity!’

  She smiled at him.

  He felt awkward – confused. For some reason he wasn’t surprised she was with Gran.

  I think I’m beginning to get it.

  ‘I . . . I wanted to tell her I’ve been chosen for the footie trials,’ he blurted out, blushing.

  Verity smoothed back her hair. ‘I’ll tell her,’ she said.

  ‘Will she understand?’

  She nodded. ‘Oh yes. She’ll understand.’

  Jake tiptoed up to the bed and looked at Gran. She was peaceful, but her breathing was noisy and there was no sign, now, of the gran who had run up and down the pitch, cheering him on until her voice was hoarse.

  ‘Is she going to. . . ’ He couldn’t say it.

  Verity looked up at him and nodded.

  ‘But she’s waiting, isn’t she?’

  Verity nodded again.

  I know what she’s waiting for. I understand now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After all the excitement of the footie course, the holidays settled into a more or less normal pattern – normal, except that Dad was trying to juggle his new job with caring for Gran, and Irene was in and out a lot of the time. Mum was home sometimes, too, but she spent most of her time at the hospital with the baby. Gran was completely out of it. Jake played footie with his mates, went swimming, chilled out.

  One day he was walking to the park. Usually when he passed the old house, he deliberately quickened his pace and glanced away, but this time, for some reason, he looked up. And there, newly plastered over the sign, was the word ‘SOLD’.

  He stopped in his tracks. It all came flooding back. Everything he’d felt about the place, the experiences he’d had, the atmosphere there that had so affected him. Since Dad had come back, he’d tried to forget all about it, but now. . .

  So, Verity wasn’t there any more. She’d gone, really gone. But had she ever been there?

  I don’t know. I’ll never know.

  ‘The animals,’ he muttered out loud. ‘Surely the animals were real?’

  There was a flap of wings above him and he watched a crow as it flew from a tree in the garden up onto the roof of the house. Was that the crow? The one-eyed crow that Verity had released that day when he saw her from the bus, the one that had stared at him from the other side of the window? He shaded his eyes and stared up at it. There was no way
of telling from this distance, but he wanted to believe it was the same one. He smiled and stood for a few moments, watching as it preened its feathers.

  He looked at the sign again. Who had bought the house? Would they sense its special atmosphere? Would they make it a happy place?

  Then he shrugged his shoulders and walked on towards the park, throwing his football up in the air and catching it as he went.

  ***

  They’d called the baby Lucinda – it was Gran’s name and it seemed right for her.

  ‘She looks a bit like Gran,’ said Mum. ‘And I think she’s going to be a feisty little thing.’

  ‘Just like Gran, then,’ said Jake, laughing.

  At last Lucinda was allowed home.

  Irene was in her front garden when the car drove up the street. Jake had been listening out for it and he ran to the gate.

  ‘It’s the baby!’ he said to Irene. ‘There’s Dad’s car!’

  Irene smiled. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said.

  ‘Come and see her,’ said Jake.

  Irene hesitated. ‘Come on,’ said Jake. ‘And fetch Kenny.’

  The three of them stood there on the pavement, waving as the car approached. Kenny was rocking to and fro, grunting with excitement.

  The car drew up beside them and Dad jumped out of the driver’s side and opened the door for Mum. Then he reached into the back, unstrapped the baby and lifted her out.

  Jake, Irene and Kenny all crowded forward.

  She opened her eyes and yawned.

  Kenny’s big round face lit up with pleasure and he leant right over her.

  ‘Careful, Kenny,’ said Irene.

  Mum smiled at her. ‘He’s all right, Irene. Let him have a good look.’

  ‘Thanks,’ mouthed Irene, and the baby blinked as Kenny’s face came closer.

  Then Mum took the baby from Dad. ‘I think it’s time we introduced her to her gran,’ she said.

  Mum and the baby went into Gran’s room first. Mum knelt by the bed and put the baby on Gran’s chest and then she gently stroked Gran’s arm. Slowly, Gran opened her eyes and, for the first time in ages, she seemed to focus. She smiled.

  There was someone else in the room. Sitting on the other side of the bed.

  Verity.

  Jake wasn’t surprised.

  It’s right she should be here. She belongs with her.

  ‘Gran was waiting for this, wasn’t she?’ Jake spoke to Verity, but no words came out of his mouth.

  Verity nodded. ‘She can go now. Your gran can let go.’

  Jake felt a sob rising in his throat.

  ‘They can’t see you, can they? Mum and Dad can’t see you.’ Again, there were no words, just thoughts.

  Verity shook her head.

  ‘But Kenny can see you.’

  ‘Kenny’s special.’

  ‘And me? Am I special?’

  Verity looked at him. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that,’ she said.

  No, he didn’t. For as long as he could remember, he’d had these moments, these glimpses, but they’d been hazy, out of reach – nothing like the vivid scenes at the old house and the reality of Verity herself, nothing like the time when he’d felt his baby sister’s pain as his own.

  He nodded slowly, and smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Thanks for everything.’

  She didn’t answer. He glanced at the baby again, and when he looked back at the other side of the bed he couldn’t see Verity any more.

  As they were going downstairs, Dad suddenly said. ‘Did we tell you her other name?’

  ‘The baby? She’s got another name?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum. ‘She’s called Lucinda Verity.’

  Jake missed his footing on the step. ‘Verity. . .?’ he spluttered, as he grabbed for the bannister.

  Dad laughed. ‘Yes, I know, it’s a weird name, isn’t it? But Mum wanted it.’

  Jake turned to Mum. His eyes were wide. ‘Verity,’ he repeated. ‘Why. . .?’

  ‘Don’t look so horrified,’ she said. ‘It’s an old-fashioned name. It means “truth”.’

  Jake followed Mum, Dad and baby Lucinda into the kitchen.

  What is this? I don’t understand.

  Mum put the baby in the pram and then sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘Well, at least Gran will be pleased,’ she said, stretching back into the chair and lacing her hands behind her head.

  ‘Gran?’ said Jake, stupidly.

  I can’t get my head round this.

  Lucinda was making mewing noises. Mum sighed and reached towards the pram. Absently, she jiggled the handle and the baby was quiet. ‘Yes. Gran’s twin sister was called Verity,’ she said.

  ‘Her twin sister?’ Jake’s head jerked up, but Mum didn’t seem to notice. She went on, ‘Yes, she had a twin sister who died really young; it was tragic. Gran never got over it. She always said that Verity was the bold one, the stronger character, the leader, and for years she felt lost without her.’

  Why aren’t I surprised?

  Dad laughed. ‘Verity was the stronger character, eh? She must have been some girl, to be stronger than Gran.’

  Jake didn’t smile. ‘Go on, Mum. What happened to her? What happened to Verity?’

  Mum sighed. ‘Well, apparently she was killed when she was out riding. The pony bolted and she was thrown off.’

  ‘She was out riding and the pony bolted,’ repeated Jake, softly. And then, more loudly. ‘What was the pony like?’

  ‘What? How do I know what the pony was like, for goodness’ sake?’

  Jake shook his head, trying to free it of the image of the gentle black pony which had nudged at his pocket. What had scared it so much that it had bolted? He came back down to earth and realised that Mum was staring at him.

  He cleared his throat. ‘How old was she when she was killed?’ he asked.

  ‘Fourteen, I think.’

  ‘Gran must have been very sad.’

  Mum nodded. ‘I think it affected her really badly. There’s always such a strong bond between twins.’

  A strong bond? Strong enough to break through barriers of time?

  Mum was still speaking. ‘Gran hardly ever mentioned her, though. I guess they were that close, she couldn’t bear to think about it.’

  Poor Gran. Her other half.

  ‘We’ll be together again soon.’

  There was that voice, the voice in his head. But he knew whose voice it was now.

  Jake looked at the floor. Time was running out for Gran. Verity was right. She and Gran would be together again soon.

  The baby started to cry in earnest and Jake looked up again. Something about the fury of that cry made him laugh. ‘She sounds really cross!’

  Mum smiled, and picked her up. ‘I expect she’s hungry.’

  Jake watched as the baby sucked strongly.

  ‘Lucinda Verity,’ he said, trying out the name.

  Dad went and stood behind Mum. He planted a kiss on the baby’s head as Mum gently unlatched her, held her over one shoulder and stroked her back until she burped.

  ‘Of course, everyone will call her Lucy,’ said Dad.

  ‘I won’t call her Lucy,’ said Jake. She’ll always be Verity to me.

  And then, again, the voice in his head, so quiet he could hardly hear it.

  ‘Remember us, Jake. Remember us both.’

  About the Author

  Rosemary Hayes’ first novel, Race Against Time was runner up for the Kathleen Fidler Award and since then her many books for children have included historical and contemporary fiction and fantasy. Her recent Frances Lincoln novels have all been shortlisted for awards: Mixing It, set against a background of terrorism, is about the relationship between a Muslim girl and a non-Muslim boy, Payback is based on the real-life experiences of a young Muslim woman who rejects the husband chosen for her, and The Blue-Eyed Aborigine tells the astounding story of a 17th-century shipwreck through the eyes of a cabin boy. Rosemary lives and works in Cambridgeshire.
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  Halima has her whole life to look forward to. Brought up in a Pakistan village and now settled in London with her family, her horizons are widening all the time. She is starting university in London and has met a Muslim boy she really likes.

  And then she discovers her father’s plan – to marry her to the son of a distant relation in Pakistan who once did him a favour. Halima is to be the repayment of a debt, and it’s payback time.

  “A powerful, moving read.”

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  It is 1629, and there is mutiny in the air aboard the Dutch ship Batavia as she plies her way towards Java with her precious cargo. Jan, a cabin boy, and Wouter, a young soldier, find themselves caught up in the tragic wrecking and bloody revolt that follow. But worse is to come…

  Based on real events, Rosemary Hayes’s gripping story recaptures some of sea history’s most dramatic moments, linking the fates of Jan and Wouter with discoveries that intrigue Australians to this day.

  “A definite must-read.” Young Writers

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  Dedication and Copyright

  In loving memory of Lucie Bates and Rosalind Hayes

  Loose Connections copyright © Rosemary Hayes 2012

  The right of Rosemary Hayes to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (United Kingdom).

  First published in Great Britain and in the USA in 2012 by Frances Lincoln Children’s Books, 4 Torriano Mews, Torriano Avenue, London NW5 2RZ

  www.franceslincoln.com

  This eBook edition first published in 2012

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the United Kingdom such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirkby Street, London EC1N 8TS.