Tramp Life

by Tony Telford

  3

  It was the pictures that finally made me go.

  I’ll never forget that night. Early November, freezing fog, pitch-black by five o’clock. It had been another horrible day at school. After dinner, as usual, Aunt Lucy crept off to watch her telly. I did the dishes before retreating to my own room. I had absolutely tons of homework but I was too tired to think, so I lay on my bed with Boo and listened to the radio. It was fun switching stations as the mood took me: a bit of dark, creepy techno, then a wild rock song, then something melancholy by Brahms, then some angry rap. On the ten o’clock news they were talking about another war in the Middle East, but I kept nodding off, so I took Boo downstairs, let her out to do her business, settled her in her basket in the laundry and plodded back upstairs to bed.

  I must have drifted off in seconds. But then, suddenly, I was awake again, wide awake. Something had disturbed me, but I didn’t know what. Then I became aware of a bright, flickering light at the side of the bed. At first I thought it might be the lights of a car shining through a gap in the curtains. But then I saw. On the wall at the side of my bed there was a small, shining patch of coloured shapes, like a little movie screen, but round, about the size of a saucer. I screamed and sprang out of bed and stood like a frightened rabbit staring at the little shining circle. I was trembling all over, but I couldn’t take my eyes off that circle of light. It was crowded with shapes—stars, blobs, diamonds, oblongs, squiggles, circles, spirals—in every colour you could imagine. Some of the shapes were flat and transparent, like pieces of cellophane. Others looked three-dimensional. A few were like sea-creatures: eels, stingrays, rainbow-coloured jellyfish. And all of these shapes were moving—floating, spinning, darting, weaving, shrinking, swelling.

  As I stared, half-hypnotised, the shapes faded away and something else began to appear in the circle: a blue sky, grass, flowers, a gravel path. Someone was walking along the path with a dog. It was me and Boo. We were in Seymour Park. I often took her there for walks. But now something was going wrong with the colours. The grass turned yellow, then brown, then blood-red, the sky looked like it was on fire, and Boo and I had become glowing, purple creatures with blank white eyes. It was like a scene from hell.

  Someone let out a long, mournful wail. It was me. I was stumbling round the room, crying and moaning like a baby. My hands found the door handle and I rushed out onto the landing, down the stairs, along the hallway. I only stopped when I reached the door of Aunt Lucinda’s sitting room. Her TV was blaring as usual. Gun shots, a deep male voice, movie music. Then the clink of a bottle and Lucinda herself, burbling like a mad woman, arguing with some imaginary person. She was sloshed. Completely blotto. Last time I saw her like that, she didn’t even know who I was.

  For a while I stood staring at the white wooden door. It was no use. I was on my own. No one else was going to help me. I turned round and slowly went back up the stairs. My bedroom door was still wide open. Keeping close to the wall, I edged forward and peeped inside. It was completely dark in there. The pictures were gone. I reached in and flicked on the light, and there was my room, the same as it always was. Nothing suspicious under the bed, that was certain, and nothing—I squinted through the gap at the door’s hinge—nothing behind the door.

  I stepped into the room. The curtains were tightly shut. There was no way anyone could have shone a light through them. Where did those pictures come from then? Where, where? My eyes skimmed over the familiar objects in my room: the bedside table with my book, watch and radio, desk scattered with stationery, clothes thrown over the back of the chair, rucksack and satchel on the floor, bare bookshelves, wardrobe… My God, the wardrobe. Before I had time to think about it, I tore open the wardrobe doors. It was almost empty. Just my few remaining clothes on hangers and my boots at the bottom.

  I pulled a jumper over my pyjamas and sat down for a moment on the edge of the bed, trying to pull myself together. That’s when I saw it. A small shiny object on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

  I went to the bookcase and got down on my knees to look more closely. It was a marble, a glass marble, twinkling blue and yellow and purple in the light. My hand was trembling as I reached to pick it up. It was so smooth and cold. Without a thought I put it to my eye, and found myself looking into a universe of blue shadows. Clusters of silver lights glowed here and there like distant galaxies. I turned the marble between my thumb and finger and felt like a child again as I watched schools of tiny gold discs swim through the darkness.

  Suddenly a picture came into my head of O’Hare that day in Mr Fairfax’s room. It took me a moment to realize why I’d thought of it. Of course, he was looking at a marble, wasn’t he. Rolling it between his thumb and finger, just like I was doing.

  The memory broke over me like cold, dead water, and I knew. I knew that he’d been here in my room. All in an instant I felt like I was drowning. A pulse started beating in my temple and my eyes went blurred and there was a rushing sound in my ears, and then, maybe for a minute, maybe only for a few seconds, I was in some hot, blind, roaring place where all my thoughts had turned into a mad, surging river. Then it was all over and I found myself slumped against the bookcase, my ears singing and my head throbbing from where I’d bumped it on the corner of the bookcase. For the first time in my life I’d fainted.

  Cold. I was so cold. Shivering from head to foot. And for a while I thought I was going to be sick. But it passed, and when I finally felt strong enough to sit up, my head was clear—clearer than it had been for ages. It was as if a storm had come through and blown away all the fog. Now, sitting there in the quiet and still, I knew exactly what I had to do.

  I got up and put on my thermals, my old grey jeans, my favourite floppy purple jumper and some thick hiking socks. I brushed my hair in ten seconds flat and tied it in a ponytail. Then I packed the rucksack. Clothes, socks, books, photos, song book, diary, first aid kit, and nail clippers in the main section. Torch, umbrella, linen shopping bag, ball of string, sticky tape, hairbrush, harmonica and other bits and pieces in the side pockets. I fetched soap, makeup and toiletries from the bathroom and put them in the pocket at the front.

  Next, I unpacked the satchel, laying out the contents on the bed: purse, policeman’s notebook, fountain pen, camera, pencil case, magnifying glass, pocket radio with earphones, electronic dictionary, compass, two chocolate bars, chewing gum. All there. I put everything back in its proper place, zipped up the pockets and fastened down the flap.

  I sat on the bed and took one last look at the familiar old room: the green velvet curtains, the wallpaper with the swirly pattern that you could see faces in, the orange 1970s lightshade, the desk and chair that were too small for me now. I’d slept here since I was a toddler. I’d lain in this bed with the mumps and chickenpox. I’d sat at that desk writing songs and poems, ploughing through endless homework, doodling, looking out at the rain. It all seemed so strange and sad.

  I noticed that I’d folded my pyjamas and put them under my pillow, just like I always did. Old habits. I thought: I could just put them on again now and get into my warm bed and go to sleep, and in the morning everything would be the same as ever. But if I go through with this… Not for the first time recently, I wondered if I’d gone a bit mad. Maybe this O’Hare thing had turned my mind. I mean, how was I going to manage, a girl on her own?

  I looked at my watch. Three minutes to one. ‘All right then,’ I thought. ‘Leave at one or forget about it.’ I closed my eyes and tried to calm my breathing. The wind was rustling at the window, and further off I could hear the sound of traffic on the ring road. Beyond, the whole world was waiting… I opened my eyes and looked around the room again. What would I really miss here? And who would miss me? I checked my watch. One o’clock exactly.

  I stood up and scribbled a short note, leaning over the desk.

  Dear Aunt Lucinda,

  I’m sorry, it’s time for me to go. Thank you so much for looking after me. I’ll keep in touch, I promise.


  Pearly

  PS. I’m taking Boo. Please don’t worry about us.

  I read it over. Terrible, terrible—after all she’d done! I sat down at the desk and started again on a new piece of paper:

  Dear Aunt Lucy,

  I’m so sorry, but I had to leave. I really had no choice. I’m taking Boo with me, and I’ve got plenty of warm clothing and everything else I’ll need. I’ve been preparing for this for quite a while.

  Please don’t think I’m ungrateful, Auntie Luce. Things have been quite difficult between us at times, but I know you’ve always done your best for me. This isn’t your fault, it really isn’t. Something has been going on at school that I’ve never told you about. It’s making my life a misery and I just can’t seem to sort it out. I know in my heart that I’m doing the right thing. Please believe me, and please try to understand.

  I’m going to withdraw the money from my account and then as soon as I can, I’ll get a job. So don’t worry. I’ll call you in a day or two, and I promise I’ll always keep in touch. I can look after myself now. Trust me. And please forgive me.

  Pearly x

  I read it over. Still pretty awful, but it would have to do. No words could change the fact that I was leaving, anyway. I left the note on the desk, pulled on my thick woollen coat and carried the rucksack and satchel out onto the landing. As I was about to switch off the light in my room, I noticed the marble lying on the carpet. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. Then I turned off the light, closed the door and crept downstairs.

  Houses are so different in the middle of the night. In the hallway, dim orange streetlight seeped in through the window above the front door, making everything look fuzzy and unreal. The grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs almost seemed alive, like a sentry who’d been standing there for years without me ever noticing him. The ticks sounded like someone tapping patiently with a small hammer. As I tiptoed past the sitting room door I could hear my aunt’s snores above the sound of the telly. I went through to the kitchen and took out milk, cheese, a cooked chicken, a can of tuna, a few slices of bread, a new box of muesli, a packet of chocolate chip cookies, a big packet of salted peanuts, dog biscuits, four cans of dog food, a few pieces of fruit, a big packet of salt and vinegar crisps and at least twenty chocolate bars. It wouldn’t all fit in the rucksack, so I left the fruit and the can of tuna.

  In the laundry Boo was already wide-awake and sitting up in her basket. As I came in she gave me a look as if to say, ‘Is it time, then?’ I think she’d known for a while that something was up. She waited in her basket as I wriggled my feet into my old hiking boots and hauled on the rucksack and satchel. But the moment I took her collar and lead from the hook, she was out of her basket and standing by the door. I paused with my hand on the doorknob, trying to think if I’d forgotten anything. Of course! Boo’s coat. She stood patiently as I tied it on. Then I eased the latch open and we slipped out into the freezing night. The very second I pulled the door to behind me I realized that I’d left my house key on top of the fridge. No way back in tonight, then, not unless I woke Aunt Lucy.

  We went round to the front of the house. It was much colder than I’d realized. My breath made clouds in the orange streetlight. I lifted the gate as I opened it, so it wouldn’t squeak. Then I turned and looked back at the house, with its small square lawn and the border of half-dead shrubs and the lonely little cherry tree leaning over the driveway. I could see the light of the TV through the sitting room curtains. And there was my room, with the faded globe on the window sill. For a moment I really thought I was going to change my mind. But then I looked round for Boo and realized she’d run off down the street by herself, the silly girl, so I started after her and didn’t look back again.

  4

  After leaving Fieldtown, we cut back through another part of the forest to a beautiful little town called Shaybury, where I sat on the green, surrounded by honey-coloured cottages, and wrote a postcard to Aunt Lucy. I’d sent three or four to her since I left home, and I always said the same thing: ‘Everything’s okay, I’m safe and happy, please don’t worry.’ After posting it I went to the supermarket and bought some food—milk, bread, oranges, salted peanuts, a cooked chicken and chocolate bars. I only had enough money for essentials now. Walking up the high street, I passed the library and noticed a sign saying it was closing down. There was a table outside with piles of ex-library books and an honesty box. Hardbacks 50p, paperbacks 20p. I bought a paperback copy of Far From the Madding Crowd that looked like it had never been read.

  After Shaybury, my plan was to go east for a couple of days and then turn south towards the City. I’d worked out that if I did ten or twelve miles a day I could probably get there in about a week. I had a big map of the whole country, which I used all the time, and sometimes in the charity shops I’d been able to find more detailed maps of the areas I was passing through, but I didn’t have one for this area, so I was relying on signposts and my trusty old compass. On the east side of Shaybury I found a gate leading to a public bridleway. The sign didn’t say where it went, but it seemed to be going exactly south-east, so I didn’t think I could go too wrong.

  Soon I was walking through round-topped hills with gurgling little streams and black-faced sheep who all stared at me with the same stern expression. It had been so cold that morning, but now the sun was shining and the last of the autumn leaves glowed like lamps in the trees. Suddenly feeling hungry, I plonked myself down on a mound of tussocky grass and, with Boo’s help, demolished half the chicken while reading the first few pages of Far From the Madding Crowd.

  As we continued on our way, I took out my old harmonica and tried a few blues licks. I was in such a good mood, strolling along in the sunshine, that it didn’t occur to me to check my directions—at least not until we came to a kissing-gate with an old wooden sign saying ‘Public Footpath to Gt. Thorn 1m.’ Great Thorn? I checked the map. That was ridiculous. Somehow we’d turned north again and were miles out of our way. But I wasn’t going back now, it was too late in the day. Great Thorn would have to do us for tonight.

  We went through the kissing-gate and followed the path across a muddy field. On the other side of the field the path was overgrown with blackberry bushes. I stepped round them and continued straight up a steep bank dotted with little trees. That was probably where I went wrong, but I couldn’t see any other route.

  As I was picking my way up the bank it got darker all of a sudden, just as if someone had turned off a light. The sun, already low in the sky, had been swallowed by a big heap of swollen black clouds. ‘Hurry up, Boo,’ I said, ‘or we’re going to get wet.’ She gave me such a doleful look that I could have sworn she understood.

  At the top of the bank we came to a barbed-wire fence. Now I knew I’d lost the path. I picked up Boo and climbed over a part of the fence where the wire was slack. Then we followed the slope down into a dark valley. I heard the wind moving through the woods, as if it was searching for us. Then came the rain, big heavy drops rapping on the dry leaves. In half an hour it’d be completely dark, and we’d be stuck out here all night, freezing cold and wet. I hurried on, stumbled through a patch of waist-high ferns, and found myself standing on asphalt. A lane, and half a mile along it, the lights of a town or village.

  That half-mile felt more like five miles. By the time we got there it was pitch black and I was drenched to the skin, even with my ‘waterproof’ poncho on. And the village wasn’t even Great Thorn. It was some place called Swafford. But I didn’t care anymore. All I wanted to do was find somewhere warm and dry. As we trudged up the main street the wind was throwing bucketfuls of icy water into our faces. It was a nice place, though, this Swafford. Sometimes I could see in through the windows of the old stone cottages. They all seemed to have cosy living rooms with armchairs and blazing wood fires, like scenes from an old children’s book. But there was one difference—there weren’t any people in these rooms. Not a soul. It was as if some disaster had wiped out all the human bei
ngs without touching their gorgeous homes.

  Then I saw the church, a big dark shape sitting back from the road. We went through the gate and cut across the graveyard. The tall headstones were leaning all over the place like drunken guests at a gloomy cocktail party. I knew from experience that the front door of the church would be locked by this time of day, and there was no porch, so I made for the back of the building, hoping there’d be a tool shed or somewhere for us to shelter. The rain was getting heavier all the time, and the wind was so cold it burned like a flame. I spotted the window right away, a small white square high up on the back wall of the church. It was slightly open. And just a few feet away from it was one of those big wheelie bins like they have at the back of supermarkets. I looked around. It seemed pretty safe. No one could see me here in the dark. I took the torch from my rucksack, put it in my coat pocket and left the rucksack and satchel in a corner of the church wall. Then I dragged the bin under the window and climbed up onto the lid, wriggling up on my stomach before getting to my knees. The lid of the bin was really slippery in the rain, but luckily I didn’t have to stand up to reach the window. The hinge was at the top, and I couldn’t believe it when it swung open so easily. I ducked my head inside and turned on the torch. A little office with a desk and filing cabinet. That would do me for the night.

  There was a little whine from below. Boo was standing by the bin, looking up at me through the pelting rain. I slid down from the bin and crouched over her, cradling her wet, bony head in my frozen hands. ‘Did you think I’d leave you out here? Would I ever do that?’ She shivered, and gave my hand a tiny lick.