I look back at my pad and start sketching. I draw a rough outline of my mermaid rising up from the ocean, her braids streaming out behind her. Then I draw the outline of a staff in her hand, to give her even more of a warrior feel. I try to imagine the ocean as a person and how it would feel about all of the damage being done to it. I start adding detail to the mermaid’s face: sorrow in her eyes, a frown line on her forehead.
“Wow.” Clementine’s voice breaks my concentration. I look up to see her staring across the table at my drawing.
“It’s just a rough outline,” I say, feeling suddenly self-conscious.
“It’s brilliant.” She looks back at her notepad and continues writing and I go back to my sketching.
When Tyler brings our drinks over he doesn’t say anything; he knows better than to interrupt me when I’m in the flow.
I’m not sure how long we sit like this, me drawing and Clementine writing, but the next time I look up practically all the other customers have gone and Tyler’s cleaning the tables.
Clementine glances up and smiles.
“How did you get on?” I ask.
“OK … I think.” She flicks through the pages of her pad. “At first I just did one of my rants, like a stream of consciousness thing, but then I condensed it down into a poem.” She turns a page and passes the pad to me.
I wonder if the moon cries
When she looks down at the ocean to pull in the tides
And sees all the carnage that humans deny…
“I love it,” I exclaim, mentally adding a crying moon shining silver in the sky above my mermaid.
“She looks incredible,” Clementine says, pointing to my sketch.
“Thanks. When I do the real picture I’ll add a crying moon in the sky above her, to go with the words in your poem.”
“That’s a brilliant idea.” Clementine grins at me, her eyes bright.
“For real?”
“Absolutely.”
And in that moment, I’m so truly happy that nothing else matters. It’s crazy to think that this morning I felt so down. Now, thanks to Ms O’Toole, Tyler and Clementine, I’m back to feeling like anything’s possible.
“I’m so glad I met you,” Clementine says softly.
“Yeah, well…” I clear my throat. “I’m so glad I met you too.”
CLEMENTINE
I get home feeling full to the brim with excitement about our new piece of street art. A feeling which lasts precisely two seconds, the time it takes for Mum to yell my name from the kitchen when she hears me come in the front door.
“Yes?” I call back. I don’t care what boring chore she wants me to do, nothing is going to get me down now after my meeting with Rudy.
When I reach the kitchen I find Mum peeling potatoes at the sink and Vincent sitting at the table scrolling on his phone.
“Where have you been?” Mum asks, putting down the peeler and rinsing her hands.
“Dance class.”
Vincent clears his throat but doesn’t lift his gaze from the phone.
“Oh, really?” Mum folds her arms. “So why did Bailey call to say you hadn’t turned up?”
“What?” My mouth goes dry. Why would Bailey do that?
“She called me just now to tell me. She was worried about you. She said you walked out of class early last week.”
I try and wrack my brain for some kind of excuse but my brain seems to have stalled.
“Did you?” Mum asks.
I nod. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“You didn’t say anything when you got home.”
“I felt better by then.”
Vincent clears his throat again. Why does he have to be here? I bet he’s really enjoying this.
“So, where have you been this evening?”
“In a café.” My brain slowly whirs back into life. It’s not a lie. I just won’t tell her about Rudy. “I was doing my homework.”
Mum frowns like she just can’t understand me. “Why didn’t you go dancing?”
“I don’t want to go any more.”
“But you love dancing.”
“Yeah, but I don’t love dance school.”
Mum sighs. “Is this all because you didn’t get the role in the show?”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Vincent puts his phone down on the table.
“What?” I stare at him.
“You didn’t get the part so now you’re throwing your toys out of the pram. You need to grow up, Clementine.”
“I need to grow up?”
“Clementine,” Mum says warningly.
“Yes, you do,” Vincent says. “You can’t just quit something the minute you don’t get your own way. Especially not something that’s costing me so much money.”
“Yeah, well, if I quit think how much money you’ll save,” I mutter.
“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” Vincent glares at Mum.
“Clementine, Vinnie spends a lot of money on your dancing.”
“And her school fees,” he adds.
I look at Mum, waiting for her to stand up for me. But she remains silent.
“I just don’t understand why you don’t want to dance any more,” Mum says.
“Because I don’t like the way it makes me feel,” I say. “It used to be fun but now it’s all about looking perfect and competing against each other in auditions.”
“Oh, boo hoo,” Vincent sneers. “See this is what’s wrong with this generation. First sign of pressure and they want to give up. They’re a bunch of snowflakes, the lot of them.”
“Oh and you’re so tough.”
“Clementine,” Mum warns.
“What?” I turn on her. “It’s true. He’s just a bully.”
“That’s charming that is!” Vincent exclaims.
“OK, Clementine, go to your room,” Mum says.
“Gladly,” I snap back. But as I turn and march from the room my eyes fill with tears. I should have known it was too good to be true the other day, when Mum talked about how unhappy she was with Vincent. I should have known that she’d let me down yet again.
RUDY
By the time I get back from Kale and Hearty Mum has gone to work but Dave is in the kitchen, making what smells like a curry.
“Hello, love,” he says as I come in the door. “You hungry?”
Firstly, I’m not your love, I want to say. And secondly, I’m not hungry. But the truth is, I’m starving. I got so lost in drawing at the café I didn’t think about having anything to eat and now my belly feels as hollow as a drum. It doesn’t help that the curry smells delicious; the aromas of tomato, coriander and cumin are making me drool.
“A bit,” I say, standing in the doorway, unsure what to do. The old soul tune playing on the radio wails to a crescendo.
Dave flips a tea towel over his shoulder and takes a pan from the stove. “Take a seat then. Dinner’s almost ready.” He obviously started cooking as soon as he came in from work, as he’s still wearing his oil-splattered jeans and a sweatshirt advertising his car mechanic service.
I sit down at the table and take off my coat.
“How was school?” Dave asks as he spoons steaming heaps of rice onto a couple of plates.
“Crap, as usual.”
“Did you have art?”
“Yep.” For a horrible minute I think he’s going to replay the whole school conversation from the other day.
“So, have you had any ideas for the mural?” Dave nods towards the kitchen wall.
“Yeah, I have actually.” I spent my lunch break working on ideas for the mural and my next piece with Clementine.
“That’s great!” Dave now ladles huge portions of curry over the rice. The sauce is the colour of sunsets, dotted with red and green peppers, baby sweetcorn and onions. Much as I hate to admit it, it looks and smells so good. “So, what are you thinking of doing?”
“I can show you if you like.” I take my pad from my bag and open it to a sketched outline of M
um and me. We’re standing on top of the silhouette of the Old Pier in Brighton holding hands. A murmuration of starlings swirls in the sky above us, spelling out the word “QUEENS”.
“Wow,” Dave says. “That’s great.” If he gets the subliminal message of the picture – that me and Mum don’t need him; we don’t need anyone – he doesn’t show it. “You’re very talented.”
I want to kick myself for smiling. I wish he’d stop being so nice; it makes it really hard to keep my guard up. But I must, I remind myself. For me and for Mum.
Despite the soundtrack of sappy old soul and despite Dave continuing his campaign of niceness, dinner is surprisingly OK. And it’s really cool not to have to make it myself for once, or rescue one of Mum’s burned attempts at a meal. After doing the washing-up, I go to my room to work some more on my picture of the mermaid. After I’ve done a proper sketch, complete with a crying moon shining down on her, I take a photo of it and send it to Clementine.
Great, she texts back. I frown at the message. It’s unlike Clementine to send a one-word message.
You OK? I reply. It takes a couple of minutes before her response comes through.
Not really. Few issues at home. I love your picture, though.
Stepdad issues?
Yes.
I think of how nice it was working with Clementine earlier, both of us lost in our own worlds of creativity and I have an idea.
I don’t suppose you fancy coming over to mine one night this week, to help me with the picture?
As I wait for her reply my mind begins buzzing with reasons why I shouldn’t have done this. She probably isn’t allowed out of her castle or wherever she lives in Hove. She probably wouldn’t want to come here anyway. She probably— My phone beeps.
I would LOVE that! Thank you. I’ve been grounded for the rest of the week but should be free again at the weekend. #stepdadhell
I instantly flinch at the thought of her stepdad putting her through hell. I quickly type a reply.
This weekend would be cool. Sat evening best for me after I finish work. You can stay over if you like…
That would be brilliant. Thank you! X
No problem.
I go over to my school bag and take out the folder Sid gave me. He ended up printing a few copies of the “RISING” artwork and poem. He and Jenna wanted to frame one for their flat and he gave the rest to me. I’m not sure if they were just saying they wanted one to try and make me feel better but it was cool of them to do that. And it’s great that I’ve got a copy of the unspoiled artwork to keep. I stick one of the prints on my wardrobe door. Today has been such a weird day. A proper roller coaster. It started so badly, but it’s ended OK. I look at the picture, preserved forever as it was supposed to be and I reread Clementine’s poem.
It’s not about the falling,
the hurting,
the crying…
It’s about the rising,
Turn your lessons into ladders
and start climbing.
Once again, her words reach deep inside me. LADZ wrecking my picture might have knocked me down but he’ll never stop me from rising back up again.
CLEMENTINE
All week I live my life as if it’s a carefully choreographed routine, playing the obedient, remorseful daughter as if my life depended on it … or my Saturday night at least. I was so desperate to be allowed to stay at Rudy’s at the weekend I decided it was worth the torture of sucking up to Mum and Vincent and doing whatever they told me to. I went back to dance class, apologized to Bailey for running out, numbly followed the routines. I worked hard at school, got all my homework done promptly. To console myself for this life of fakery, I spent hours lying on my bed and gazing out of windows, daydreaming about how my life one day will be. My daydreams are taking on a sharper focus now, as they involve people I actually know. Me and Rudy and Tyler all sharing a flat in Brighton, a buzzing hive of creativity. Every so often a rogue daydream will pop up – of Tyler and me cuddling up together on the sofa, or taking a walk, hand in hand, along the beach. I try hard not to think of what a terrible person I am, dreaming about my new friend’s boyfriend. In the end I decide to see my inappropriate daydreams about Tyler like some kind of annoying medical affliction, something I have no control over.
I put off asking Mum if I can stay at Rudy’s on Saturday night until Saturday morning. Thankfully Vincent has taken Damon to football, so I don’t have to go through the excruciating experience of asking his permission. I find Mum arranging the books in the living room by colour.
I hover in the doorway and clear my throat. “Hey, Mum, would it be OK if I stayed at a friend’s tonight?”
“Which friend?” Mum says as she completes a shelf of orange Penguin classics.
“A friend from dance class.” I hold my breath, hoping that the dance class reference will make her more likely to say yes.
Thankfully, Mum’s face lights up and she nods. “I don’t see why not. Where does this friend live?”
“Kemptown. Her name’s Rudy.” I figure it’s probably best to partially stick to the truth.
“OK.” Mum comes over and gives me a hug. “I’m so glad you dropped that silly idea of quitting dancing.” I stand there, stiff in her arms. It feels horrible not being able to tell her the whole truth. But then how long has it been since she’s been able to tell her whole truth to me? She steps back and smiles. “Thank you, darling, for making such an effort this week. And I’m sorry about last week, the things I said about Vincent. I’d had too much wine. I was just being stupid.”
I want to shake her, shout, No, you weren’t. You were being sane. But I force myself to smile instead. “No problem,” I say.
* * *
I set off for Rudy’s at just gone six. We’ve arranged to meet at Palace Pier and walk up to her estate from there. I’m so curious to see where she lives it’s practically killing me. All week, she’s been sending me texts warning me about her mum’s boyfriend. Although her mum will be at work tonight, Dave is likely to be at home, which is causing Rudy a great deal of frustration. Or, as she put it in one of her texts: Idiot Dave is seriously vexing me!
Rudy is already at the pier when I get there, her hood pulled down over her face, her cat-like eyes just visible, flicking back and forth, like she’s keeping watch for some unseen enemy.
“Hey,” she says when she sees me. Her hands stay stuffed in her pockets. I wonder if we’ll ever get to the hugging stage in our friendship. I hope so.
“Hey,” I reply. We start walking along the front together. “How’s your week been?”
“OK.”
I wait for her to say something else but she remains silent, walking and staring straight ahead. I remind myself that every time I see Rudy it’s like this. It always takes a while for the conversation to stop stalling and start flowing. It’s as if she needs to thaw out before opening up to me.
“I’m really looking forward to tonight.” Don’t sound too intense, try and play it at least slightly cool, I remind myself.
“Yeah, me too.”
I breathe in the fresh sea air and fall into the rhythm of Rudy’s long-legged stride. So what if it’s slightly awkward, I console myself. At least I’ve got a night away from home and Mum and Vincent. And anything’s better than that.
Rudy lives in a block of flats high up on the hill overlooking Kemptown. As we reach the entrance to the estate I turn and look back down. The lights of Brighton glimmer like jewels in the darkness, the pier twinkling like a wand reaching out into the dark of the sea.
“Wouldn’t it be cool if mermaids like the one in your picture really did exist?” I say. “Like, if she was out there somewhere in the ocean.”
Rudy stops and follows my gaze. “It would be amazing.”
“Maybe she can exist, through us,” I say.
“What do you mean?” Rudy turns her intense stare on me and I instantly feel self-conscious for sounding like a crazy person.
“Well, maybe we’re ch
annelling her by making this picture and poem.” I hold my breath, praying Rudy doesn’t burst out laughing.
“I like that idea,” Rudy says thoughtfully. “Come on…”
She leads me across a small car park and into one of the blocks of flats. The entrance smells of cigarettes and bleach.
“We’ll go up the stairs,” she says, pointing to a door in the corner, “’cos the lift always stinks.”
I follow her into the stairwell. This is the first time I’ve ever been on a council estate and it’s different from what I was expecting. Cleaner. From things I’ve seen on the news and in documentaries I was expecting gangs loitering on every corner and graffiti all over the walls. But the walls inside the stairwell are pure white. Apart from… As we reach the fourth floor I spot a tiny figure in the corner.
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to it.
Rudy grins. “It’s one of my So Dark Fairies. I’ve been drawing them since I was a kid, started putting them up around the estate about a year ago. This one’s based on Tyler. He lives upstairs.”
I crouch down and look at the fairy. It’s like looking at Tyler with wings and way cooler than any fairy I’ve ever seen. I feel a wistful pang. It must be so nice to have a boyfriend like Tyler to draw pictures of. And to have a boyfriend who lives just upstairs. Rudy is so lucky.
“I love it,” I say, standing up again. “It looks just like him.”
“He’d been nagging me for ages to make one of him,” Rudy says with a laugh as she leads me out of the stairwell and down a narrow, harshly lit hallway.
A softly lit image of Tyler nagging Rudy to turn him into a fairy flickers into my mind like a scene from a romantic movie. “Oh, please, please, make me a fairy,” he whispers as he showers her with kisses. Oh my God, what is wrong with me?!
“Here we are then,” Rudy says, opening a door at the far end of the corridor.
The first thing I notice about Rudy’s flat is how nice it smells. A warming mixture of fried onions and incense, which is weirdly homely.
Clementine and Rudy Page 13
