Clementine and Rudy

by Siobhan Curham

  “It’s going to be OK,” I say as soon as Bad Cop has left the room.

  “They’re going to ground me forever,” Clementine says glumly. “And Vincent…” she tails off.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble.

  “What for?”

  “For getting you into this. Don’t worry. I’ll let them know it was me who did the picture. You’ll definitely get let off. I’m the one who committed the crime.”

  “We both did it,” she says firmly. “Team Fierce Ink, remember.”

  I feel a lump building at the back of my throat. “Team Fierce Ink,” I whisper.

  Surprisingly, Dave is the first of the parentals to arrive. He comes into the room with Bad Cop, his shirt crumpled and half untucked in his jeans, looking like someone who just woke up from a really disturbing dream.

  “Rudy, what the hell happened?” he says as soon as he sees me.

  “As I said on the phone, they were caught defacing public property just off Trafalgar Street,” Bad Cop says.

  “We weren’t defacing it,” I mutter.

  Dave looks at me and shakes his head almost imperceptibly, like he’s trying to give me some kind of coded message. To shut up, I’m guessing. He looks back at Bad Cop. “I’m really sorry about this, officer. Would it be possible for me to have a word with you, in private?”

  Bad Cop sighs but she leads him back outside.

  “What do you think he’s going to say to her?” Clementine whispers.

  “I have no idea.” I feel sick with dread. After the way I’ve treated Dave he has absolutely no reason to do me any favours and I very much doubt that his campaign of butt-kissing includes bailing out his girlfriend’s criminal daughter.

  The door opens again and this time Good Cop comes in with a man and a woman. The woman looks as if she’s just stepped from the page of a magazine, airbrushed to perfection in her fake-fur jacket, heeled suede boots and skinny jeans. The man’s one of those cringey old people who still thinks he’s one of the kids, dressed in a designer tracksuit top and way-too-tight jeans.

  “What the hell, Clementine?” he spits.

  Clementine’s mum puts a hand on his arm. “Clementine, what have you done?” she cries. Then they both look at me. My skin prickles from the obvious disdain in their gaze.

  “She didn’t do anything,” I say. “I did it.”

  “There, did you hear that?” Clementine’s mum says to the police officer. “I knew it had to be a misunderstanding. I knew Clementine wouldn’t be involved in anything like this.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Clementine snaps, causing us all to look at her in surprise.

  “Oh, I think we’re getting a pretty good picture,” her stepdad sneers. Wow, Clementine really wasn’t exaggerating when she said he was a creep. My blood starts boiling and I glare at him.

  “I don’t understand,” Clementine’s mum says. Her whiny voice sets my teeth on edge.

  “No, you really don’t,” Clementine mutters.

  I want to high-five and hug her all at the same time. Instead, I sit on my hands. The warmth I’m feeling towards Clementine rapidly fades as I realize that, after tonight, she’ll probably never be allowed to see me again.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Clementine’s mum says.

  “She’s being a spoiled brat again, that’s what it means,” Vincent says, making me want to punch him straight in his stupid veneered teeth.

  Just at that moment Dave and Bad Cop come back into the room.

  “OK, given the girls’ age and the fact that it’s their first offence, we’re willing to let them off with a caution,” Bad Cop says, sitting down opposite us. “But I can’t stress enough that what you did tonight was a criminal act. You’re going to have to find legal ways of expressing your art.”

  “Expressing their art!” Vincent snorts.

  Dave looks at Vincent likes he’s something gross he just scraped off his shoe.

  “Thank you very much,” Clementine’s mum says to the policewoman.

  “Yes, thank you,” Dave echoes.

  “Right, let’s get out of here. I would like to get some sleep tonight,” Vincent says.

  Dave and Clementine’s mum sign some paperwork and then we all trudge back out into the car park.

  Vincent presses his key fob and the lights on a gleaming four-by-four flash on and off. “Say goodbye to your friend,” he says to Clementine, spitting out the word “friend” like it’s a maggot. Then he turns to me. “You stay away from her from now on, do you hear me?”

  “What did you say?” Dave says, stepping in between us.

  “I said, I don’t want your troublemaker kid anywhere near her.”

  “Rudy’s no troublemaker.”

  Vincent gives a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, really? So how come the first time Clementine spends the night with her she ends up getting arrested?”

  “They didn’t get arrested,” Dave replies. “They were let off with a caution.”

  “Oh yeah, and you’d know all about police procedures, wouldn’t you?”

  It’s all too obvious what he means by this and there’s a terrible silence, like the moment after a bolt of lightning when you’re waiting for the crash of thunder.

  Dave takes a step closer to Vincent. For a moment I think he might actually deck him. Then he smiles and shakes his head. “I just figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?” Vincent asks, taking a step back.

  “Who you are.”

  Vincent gives an arrogant smirk.

  “Well, who you used to be,” Dave continues with a laugh. “How the mighty have fallen, eh?” As I watch Vincent splutter and squirm I find myself in the bizarre position of actually wanting to hug Dave, or high-five him at least. He turns to Clementine. “You’re welcome to hang out with Rudy any time.”

  “Thank you,” she replies, with a weak smile.

  Dave takes hold of my elbow. “Come on, Rudy, let’s get out of here.”

  I don’t say a word to Dave on the drive home. I’m too full of sadness and anger and guilt. It’s only when he passes the turning for home and heads into the heart of Brighton that I look at him.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to see what all the fuss was about,” Dave replies. “Off Trafalgar Street, was it?”

  I nod numbly.

  As we retrace the route Clementine and I took earlier my eyes burn with tears. I was so excited when we walked here before, so fired up at the thought of creating some more street art, but now that’s all over.

  “It’s up there on the right, just before the bridge,” I mutter.

  Dave pulls over by the picture but I can’t even bring myself to look at it. I hear him whistle through his teeth. “The one with the mermaid?”

  “Yeah, she’s meant to represent the ocean.”

  He winds down his window to take a closer look and I can’t help looking too. As I do, I feel the slightest shiver of excitement. There’s no denying it’s really powerful.

  “You did that?” Dave says.

  “Yeah. And Clementine wrote the poem. We wanted to make something that would stop people dumping their crap in the sea.”

  Dave laughs but it’s not mocking like when he laughed at Vincent; it’s more a laugh of surprise. He turns the engine off and shifts in his seat to look at me. “OK, here’s the deal,” he says. “We won’t mention this to your mum…”

  “We won’t?”

  He shakes his head. “As long as you promise you won’t do this again.”

  My heart sinks but I force myself to nod.

  “At least not anywhere it’s illegal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are places in Brighton where street art’s allowed, you know.”

  “Yeah, but you have to be really good to be allowed to paint there.”

  “You are really good. Better than really good.”

  “Seriously?”

  Dave nods. “Seriously. But you have to be sm
art too, smarter and better than the rest of them, know what I’m saying?”

  I think of what happened in the car park; the way Vincent talked to Dave and the way Dave kept his cool and laughed in his face. Vincent probably wanted Dave to punch him so he’d end up getting arrested. But Dave outsmarted him. He didn’t get triggered by his racism; he rose above it and laughed in his face.

  “I know what you’re saying.” Then I remember Dave asking the policewoman if he could have a chat with her. “What did you say to the policewoman – when you went out of the room?”

  His face clouds over. “I recognized her. She was a sister of a friend of my wife. Let’s just say I called in a favour for old times’ sake.”

  At the mention of Dave’s ex-wife I can’t help flinching. I wonder if he left her the way my dad left Mum and me. “Where’s your ex-wife now then?”

  “She’s dead. Died of breast cancer, four years ago. Put up a hell of a fight, though.”

  “Oh no. I’m really sorry.” I’m so shocked I have no idea what to say.

  Dave smiles at me but his smile is tinged with sorrow and, instead of seeing a butt-kissing, wannabe stepdad, all I see is someone who really gets my pain. Finally, the tears that have been threatening since the police showed up start spilling down my face.

  CLEMENTINE

  Vincent speeds along the roads back home as if he’s tearing around a racetrack. At one point he almost goes straight through a red light.

  Mum places her hand on his leg. “Take it easy, darling.”

  “Take it easy?” he snaps. “Take it easy? After the night I’ve had, easy is the last thing I’ll be taking.”

  That doesn’t even make any sense, you imbecile, I think. As per usual what’s happened tonight is going to be all about Vincent.

  “Not only do we have to come out in the middle of the night to bail out your daughter but I then get threatened by her new friend’s reprobate dad.”

  “He didn’t threaten you,” I say indignantly.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Vincent screeches the car to a halt and turns to glare at me. “You don’t say a word, do you hear me?”

  I look at Mum. She stares straight ahead out of the window.

  The one good thing about hitting rock bottom is that you have nothing left to lose. “Or what?” I say to Vincent.

  “Clementine,” Mum warns.

  “You can’t stop me from speaking,” I say. We all sit in silence for a moment, in an awkward stalemate.

  “Give me your phone,” Vincent says, turning right round to face me.

  “What? No.”

  “Give me your phone,” he repeats.

  “Mum.”

  “She needs to be punished.”

  To my horror, Mum nods in agreement. “Give him your phone.”

  “No! I need my phone. I need it to message Dad.”

  “You can borrow my phone if you need to contact Dad. Vincent’s right: you need to face the consequences of your behaviour.”

  Vincent gives me a defiant smirk and holds out his hand. I feel like spitting in it.

  I turn my phone off, thankful that I thought to set a password. I ignore Vincent’s outstretched hand and give the phone to Mum.

  Vincent turns the key in the ignition and we roar off up the street.

  RUDY

  “What the actual Jeff?” Tyler stares at me, his mouth gaping, as I finish the sorry tale of Saturday night.

  “Jeff?” I say, momentarily thrown from my tale of doom.

  “Instead of ‘eff’,” Tyler explains. “According to my parents I swear too much, especially when I’m driving. But they weren’t the ones having to drive in London – only two months after passing my test. But that’s not important. I can’t believe you guys got caught by the po po!”

  “Oh my God, Ty, gangsta so doesn’t suit you!”

  Tyler gives me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Seriously, sis, that’s so crap.”

  I’d texted Tyler yesterday to let him know that something bad had happened but I’d put off telling him the gory details until we were face to face at work this morning.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly the greatest of weekends.” I start slicing a cucumber for the salad.

  “I can’t believe you got arrested,” Tyler says, continuing with his breakfast prep.

  “Who got arrested?” Sid says, coming into the kitchen with a tray of plates.

  I shoot a warning glance at Tyler but he doesn’t see. “Rudy. On Saturday,” he says.

  Great, now my boss is going to think I’ve got a criminal record.

  “I didn’t get arrested. I got let off with a caution,” I say quickly, unsure if this is really any better news for my employer to hear.

  “For doing what?” Sid asks, looking shocked.

  “My street art.”

  “No way!” Sid shakes his head but in a way that would suggest he was more impressed than horrified.

  “It was worth it, though. Look.” Tyler shows him his phone. After I’d texted him yesterday he went to see the picture and sent me some photos. I’d messaged Clementine a couple of times yesterday with the photos but got no reply. I’ve been trying really hard not to think about what this could mean.

  “Wowsers!” Sid exclaims. “Rudy, this is excellent.”

  “Thank you.” But his praise only makes me feel sadder, because it’s a reminder of what could have been, if only Clementine and I hadn’t been caught.

  “Can I print a copy of this one too?” Sid asks. “Jenna and I framed the other one over the weekend and hung it in our hall. This would look great next to it. We’ll have a matching pair.”

  “Sure,” I say numbly. I know I should be flattered but ironically it would be a lot easier if he wasn’t raving about my pictures – a lot easier to give up on my dream.

  * * *

  When I get into school the feeling of sorrow grows. Much as I hate to admit it, Dave was right: I can’t afford to get caught by the police again. Next time there won’t be a warning. I’ll have to wait until I’m older to do more street art. But what will I do until then? For the first time in my life I feel as if the fight’s gone out of me. Art class is all about Van Gogh. I try to look interested but inside my head sadness and confusion build. It doesn’t help that Van Gogh’s first name was Vincent. Every time Ms O’Toole says his name it makes me think of Clementine’s evil stepdad and my stomach clenches. I’m hoping to slip out at the end of class but Ms O’Toole comes over to me.

  “Did you remember to make me a print of your picture?” she asks.

  I nod and take it from my folder.

  Ms O’Toole smiles and I have to look away. The last thing I need is for her to start raving about it like Sid. “Thank you. It looks great. And I have something for you too.” She goes over to her desk and comes back with a book. There’s a photo of a young guy on the cover wearing a jacket that’s a patchwork of colour. He’s staring so intently into the camera it’s like he’s looking right out of the book at me.

  “Have you heard of Jean-Michel Basquiat?” Ms O’Toole asks.

  I shake my head.

  Her face lights up as if she’s about to share the world’s greatest secret with me. “He was an artist in New York in the seventies and eighties. He started as a graffiti artist and then he went on to work in mixed media. As soon as I saw your piece last week I thought of him. I think you’re going to love him. He was one of my main inspirations when I first began making art.”

  I look at the book, at the spine that’s fraying and the well-thumbed pages. It seems really dumb to say this but I’ve never thought of Ms O’Toole before she became a teacher; Ms O’Toole as an artist. It would never have occurred to me that she’d be a fan of an artist like the guy on the cover. I had her down as liking artists like Constable and Vincent Van Gogh. “Would it be OK to borrow the book?”

  “You can have it,” Ms O’Toole says.

  “What – but, don’t you want it?”

  “I’ve read it to death and, be
sides, I think Basquiat would have wanted you to have it.”

  “Would have? Is he dead?”

  Ms O’Toole nods and she looks so sad for a moment it’s like she’d lost a close friend.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome! I hope he inspires you the way he inspired me.”

  I look back at the young guy on the cover of the book, the cigarette burning between his fingers, the cluster of dreads erupting from the crown of his head, and I feel a weird spark of recognition ignite deep inside me.

  CLEMENTINE

  Much as I was relieved to leave the house this morning, by the time the school day’s over I’m practically itching with frustration. Losing my phone is like losing a limb. No exaggeration. Not only because I haven’t been able to message Rudy but I’m now without my lifeline of Instagram. Mum told me that “if my behaviour improves” she’ll return my phone at the end of the week. I feel as if I’m living in some weird alternative reality, where standing up to bullies is deemed bad and being an arrogant creep is rewarded. I’m not going to let them beat me, though. I can’t.

  So, as soon as the school bell rings, I hurry into Brighton. As I race past the station my heart rate quickens. Please, please, please … yes! Our picture is still there and untouched. After what happened to the one by the beach I’ve been terrified that LADZ might have found this one and trashed it too. I don’t think I’d have been able to take the disappointment. I jog down the hill to Sydney Street. I know that Rudy works at the café on Monday mornings, but I’m hoping she’ll have called in on her way home from school too. I burst through the door into the steamy heat.

  Tyler’s behind the counter, playing imaginary drums with a pair of straws. He looks seriously cute. No, he doesn’t! I reprimand myself. Rudy’s the only one who should have thoughts like these about Tyler.

  “Clementine!” he exclaims when he sees me. “How are you doing?”

  “OK, I guess.” I go over to the counter. “Is Rudy here?”

  He shakes his head. “Not yet, but she should be any minute. She’s been really worried about you.”

  “She has?” Relief floods through me. I’d been so worried that Vincent and the way he behaved at the police station might have put her off.