Clementine and Rudy

by Siobhan Curham

  “Yeah. She was trying to get hold of you all yesterday.”

  “My mum and stepdad confiscated my phone.”

  Tyler squirms. “Ow!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Hot chocolate?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t stay. I’ve been grounded as well. I just wanted to let Rudy know that I’m not ignoring her.”

  “Well, I guess you can tell her yourself.” Tyler grins over my shoulder and I turn and see Rudy.

  “Clementine!” she calls, running over. She stops for a second before grabbing me in a hug. Her thin arms are surprisingly strong.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” I say. “I can’t stay. I’ve been grounded. And my mum’s confiscated my phone.”

  “I was wondering why you didn’t reply to my messages.” Rudy looks so relieved I have to fight the urge to cry with gratitude.

  “Yes. I’m so sorry. Do you have an email address? At least then I’ll be able to contact you.”

  “Sure. Can I have a piece of paper, Ty?”

  Tyler tears a couple of pages from his orders pad and Rudy and I exchange email addresses.

  “Aha, it’s the dynamic duo!” Sid exclaims, coming out from the kitchen. “Here you go, I got some prints for you too,” he says to Rudy, handing her a brown paper bag.

  Rudy takes out some A4 sheets. They’re prints of our mermaid picture.

  “Wow, they look awesome!” says Tyler.

  “I know, right,” Sid agrees. “I seriously think you girls could sell these.”

  “Really?” Rudy looks at him and then at me.

  “Sure. If I saw them in a shop I’d buy one.”

  “Me too,” Tyler agrees.

  “Might be a safer option too,” Sid chuckles. “Not quite so illegal.”

  We all laugh and the tension from the past couple of days drains from me. If only I could stay here, surrounded by people I care about, people I can be myself with.

  RUDY

  After Clementine goes I get Tyler to make me a mocha – I’m in need of some comfort sugar and froth – and I sit at a table in the window. It was so nice to see Clementine, and so cool to think that she would run all this way just to see me. I can’t believe her stepdad took her phone, though. That’s got to fall under the trade description for child abuse. I think of Dave and how he stood up to Vincent outside the police station, and how cool he’s been ever since, not breathing a word of what happened to Mum. For the first time since he came into our lives I actually feel something close to lucky. I’m trying really hard not to get freaked out at this development.

  I take out the book Ms O’Toole gave me and read the blurb on the back. The words send a shiver up my spine.

  “When Basquiat was sixteen, he and his friend Al Diaz formed the infamous graffiti duo SAMO. They displayed their work in New York’s Lower East Side in the late 1970s, when it was a melting pot of hip-hop, punk and street art. Their artwork was known for its enigmatic messages.”

  Like a reflex reaction, I fish my phone from my bag to message Clementine.

  Google Jean-Michel Basquiat, I type, before remembering that she doesn’t have her phone so I send her a quick email instead, then I continue reading. “Basquiat went from being homeless to earning tens of thousands of dollars from his paintings in just a few years. By the 1980s his artwork was being displayed in galleries and museums around the world.” I open the book and dive in. By the time Tyler comes over to collect my empty cup I know two things. One: I am not going to give up on my street art. Two: I wish I’d been living in New York in the 1970s. Oh, and two point five: I wish I could have known Jean-Michel Basquiat.

  “You OK?” Tyler asks.

  “Yeah.” I look at him and smile and it’s only partially a lie. Things might not be OK right at this moment. But, thanks to Team Fierce Ink and Ms O’Toole and Jean-Michel Basquiat, I know that one day they will be.

  CLEMENTINE

  Thankfully, when I get home everyone’s out. Vincent’s at work and Mum has left a note for me on the kitchen table. “Gone food shopping.” I have a thought that instantly makes my pulse race. I could look for my phone. The most obvious place it would be is Mum and Vincent’s bedroom. Even though no one’s home I can’t help creeping across the landing like a cartoon character in a haunted house. The bedroom smells of a stuffy mix of Vincent’s aftershave and Mum’s perfume. Mum’s side of the room is immaculate, the rose-gold alarm clock, white china angel and box of tissues on her bedside table arranged with the symmetry of an art exhibit. In contrast, Vincent’s bedside table is a mess of coins and a phone charger and a folder of documents.

  I look in Mum’s chest of drawers. The good thing about her being such a neat freak is that I can tell immediately that my phone isn’t among the rows of tightly folded tops and underwear. I go over to Vincent’s drawers and open the top one, my heart pounding. And there it is, on top of his colour-coordinated T-shirts. I turn it on and notifications start flashing up on the screen. There are loads of messages from Rudy and loads from Dad too. It turns out Dad had been trying to ring me. Is everything OK? his last message reads. Can’t get hold of you and your mum’s not answering her phone or returning my messages. xxx

  Reading this makes me so angry. It’s one thing to stop me talking to my friends but Mum and Vincent can’t stop me from talking to my dad. I call his number, willing him to be available. He answers almost immediately.

  “Clem! Are you OK?”

  “Yes, I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you… Vincent confiscated my phone.”

  “He did what? Why?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Go on, tell me.”

  It’s so nice to hear the concern in his voice. I sit down on the edge of the bed. “I’ve made friends with this girl called Rudy. She’s an artist – a street artist.” I tell him all about our collaborations and the night the police picked us up.

  There’s a silence, which fills me with dread. What if Dad reacts the same way as Mum and Vincent? What if he’s angry with me? I hear Ada’s voice in the background and Dad starts saying something to her in German. Then they both laugh. My dread turns to anger. Are they having some kind of private joke? “Dad?”

  “Sorry, love. I was just telling Ada what happened.”

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or confused that they seem to have found it funny.

  “Were you charged by the police?”

  “No, they let us off with a warning.”

  “OK, well, that’s good.” I love the way Dad’s always so calm about everything but it only makes me miss him more. Annoyingly, I start to cry.

  “Clem, are you OK?” Now he sounds really worried, which only makes me cry harder.

  “No, not really,” I splutter. “I’m so sick of living with Vincent, Dad. He’s such a bully.”

  Dad starts to say something but I can’t hear properly and his words ring around my ears like feedback. I can barely breathe. Vincent is standing in the bedroom doorway, his face creased with fury.

  RUDY

  I get home hyped on inspiration. Losing myself in the colourful world of Basquiat has got my fingers itching and twitching to paint. I go straight to the kitchen and look at the outline of my mural on the wall. Mum is at work and there’s no sign of Dave. There’s no sign of Dave. An old fear sparks like a match inside me. What if he’s gone? Then I see a note on top of the pile of his records on the table: Rudy, I had to go and fix my mate’s carburettor. Veggie spag bol in pot on stove. See you later, Dave. The fear flickers out. I look at the pot on the stove but I’m too hyped up to eat, plus I need to take advantage of having the flat to myself for a bit. I go to my bedroom, get changed and fetch my paints.

  I’m so lost in my painting I don’t hear Dave come back till he’s standing in the kitchen.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaims, looking at my picture.

  “What?” My hackles rise. Looking at Basquiat’s work inspired me to get more adventurous and so I’ve made
Mum and me into a patchwork of colour. Does Dave think it looks stupid?

  “This is brilliant,” he says.

  “Really?” I scour his face for any sign that he might be faking.

  But he nods, deadly serious. “It’s so bold. It’s got a really abstract feel to it. I love it.”

  I bite my lip but I can’t stop myself from grinning.

  “I reckon you might have just added a few grand to the value of this property.” Dave laughs. “Just as long as you remember me when you’re rich and famous. Speaking of which…” – he fishes a flyer from his jeans pocket – “I picked this up in town today, thought you and your mate might be interested.”

  I take the flyer. It’s from the cosmetics company Bare-Faced Chic and designed like an old-style WANTED poster. My eyes skim the text…

  The blurb on the back explains how to enter the competition.

  “So? What do you reckon?” Dave looks at me questioningly.

  “Do you really think we’d be in with a chance?”

  “Of course. And you know what? Even if you didn’t win, it’s something to aim for and at least you’d never be left wondering, what if?”

  There’s something about the way he says this that makes me think he’s speaking from personal experience. I’m guessing he sometimes wonders what might have happened if he’d carried on writing.

  “True.” I nod in agreement. “Thank you. I’ll ask Clementine when I see her.”

  “Great.” Dave goes over to the stove and lifts the lid on the pot of bolognese. “Did you have any dinner?”

  “Nah, I forgot all about eating once I started painting.”

  Dave laughs. “I used to get like that when I was writing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’d lose myself for hours. You want me to heat you some of this?”

  “Please.” My stomach growls on cue, as if it just remembered it was hungry.

  Dave lights the hob and brings a couple of bowls over to the table. He looks shy suddenly. “I just want to say thank you.”

  “What for?”

  “I know it can’t be easy, having me move in when it’s been you and your mum for so long.” He glances at the mural and I realize that he did get the underlying message. But rather than this making me feel triumphant it makes me feel shoddy and mean.

  “It’s not that bad,” I say. “You’re kind of growing on me.”

  “What, like a fungus?” Dave grins.

  “Exactly,” I say, and we both start proper laughing.

  CLEMENTINE

  Every time I think it’s impossible for me to hate Vincent more, he stretches my hatred to new limits. When I first saw him standing in the doorway I assumed he was going to go crazy. But of course, he’s too clever for that. No, clever’s the wrong word. Clever’s too positive. Vincent is far too sly to let Dad see his true colours. So instead of yelling, he asked me very calmly if he could speak to Dad. I handed over the phone and sat there on the bed feeling every possible kind of awkward as Vincent explained, oh so calmly, that he’d had no option other than to confiscate my phone, because I’d fallen in with the “wrong crowd” and it was “in my best interests” that I wasn’t able to contact them. “As her stepdad you must appreciate that there will be times when I need to discipline her,” he said. “But I really don’t like her going through my private possessions to find her phone… yes, ’fraid so.” At that point he actually looked at me and grinned. I wanted to yell at Dad, “don’t fall for his lies, he twists everything.” But before I knew it, Vincent was ending the call. “Cheers, mate. I really appreciate your understanding.”

  When he said that, I felt like a prisoner who’d just been handed a death sentence. Vincent had cut me off from the one person who might have been able to save me. After he ended the call he put my phone in his pocket.

  “I don’t know why you bothered calling him,” he sneered. “He couldn’t give a shit about you. He didn’t even stay in the same country as you, that’s how little he cares.”

  “He moved to Germany because he married Ada,” I said.

  “Exactly. He put some bird before his own child. There’s no way I’d ever do that to Damon. Like I told your mum, there’s no way she’d ever take that boy away from me.”

  I wonder why Vincent would have had a reason to say this to Mum. Did Mum threaten to leave? And is this another reason why she keeps staying? Because she’s scared Vincent would try and take Damon from her?

  Then doubt about Dad started sneaking into my mind. Why had he moved to another country if it meant he couldn’t see me regularly? Why hadn’t he persuaded Ada to move to the UK? As if sensing my defeat, Vincent went in for the kill. “So, if I were you I’d stop pushing your luck, OK?”

  I nodded, too numb to say anything, and went straight to my room, where I’ve been ever since.

  Mum was notified of my latest misdemeanour as soon as she and Damon got home from shopping.

  “I’m so disappointed in you,” she said, from my bedroom doorway.

  Not nearly as disappointed as I am in you, I thought, but defeat had got my tongue.

  It’s still got it. I can’t even bring myself to read some of my beloved Emily Dickinson’s poetry. What’s the point? The hope perching inside my soul has keeled over and died.

  RUDY

  “I’ve come up with a cunning plan,” I tell Tyler at work on Saturday.

  “Uh-oh. Is this cunning plan likely to get you arrested again?” Tyler starts slicing a loaf of sourdough.

  “Firstly, I didn’t get arrested and secondly, no. At least, I don’t think so.”

  Tyler laughs and pops a couple of slices of bread in the toaster. “Go on then, what is it?”

  “I’m going to try and find out where Clementine lives. I need to talk to her about the street art competition.” I hang up my coat and put on my apron.

  Tyler frowns. “Can’t you just email her?”

  I shake my head. “Nah, I can’t risk her evil stepdad seeing it. She hasn’t replied to the other emails I’ve sent.”

  “But what if her evil stepdad sees you?”

  “I’m not scared of him.” I put my hands on my hips to emphasize my point. “And I’m really worried about her.”

  It’s been five days since I last saw Clementine at the café. She was so determined to stay in touch with me it’s obvious something bad has happened. Something bad beginning with V.I.N.C.E.N.T.

  Tyler fetches a couple of butter portions from the fridge and puts them on a plate. “Do you know her surname?”

  “No, but I know his. He’s a radio presenter on one of those cheesy stations that plays easy-listening music.” I mime air quotes around the words “easy listening”.

  Tyler grimaces. “Those stations should be banned from the airwaves.”

  “I know, right? So I did a Google search and I found out that he lives in Albion Avenue in Hove.”

  “Great sleuthing, sis. Did you find out the house number?” Tyler checks his order and puts a mini jar of marmalade on the plate beside the butter.

  I shake my head.

  “So, what are you going to do? Call at every house?”

  “I can’t. Stepdad from Hell might answer.”

  Tyler frowns. “What’s your cunning plan, then?”

  “I’m going to stake-out the street.”

  Tyler’s eyes widen. “What, like in a cop movie?”

  “Exactly. And, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, I’d like you to come with me.”

  Tyler laughs. “Do you ever do anything standard? You know, like go for a walk or see a movie?”

  “Why see a movie when you can live your life as if it’s a movie?” As soon as I say this I think of what Clementine said to me about feeling as if she’d been cast as an extra in the wrong film. If my cunning plan works I can hopefully make her feel like she’s the star in the right one.

  “How are we going to stay undercover on this stake-out?” The toast pops up and Tyler puts it on the p
late.

  “I’m not sure. I was thinking we could hang around at the end of the street, or walk up and down it or something?”

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t look suspicious at all.” Tyler raises his eyebrows at me.

  “I’ve got to do something. I’m really worried about her.”

  Tyler scrunches his mouth up, the way he always does when he’s thinking. “All right, leave it to me. I’ve got an idea.”

  “Really?” Relief flows through me.

  “Yep. When were you thinking of going?”

  “First thing in the morning? We need to get there before any of them are likely to go out.”

  “OK.”

  “Seriously?” I’d been kind of dreading asking Tyler, as I wasn’t sure if going on a stake-out might be a test of our friendship too far.

  “Sure. But I’m only going to help you on one condition.”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “I get to be the hard-drinking, wise-cracking, burned-out cop on the stake-out.”

  “Who am I then?”

  “You’re the sensible one, devoted to your family. The one who’s about to retire, until you get paired up with a maverick like me.”

  I start cracking up laughing.

  He grins and hands me the toast. “Now take this to Table Ten.”

  Tyler calls for me at eight-thirty on Sunday morning. I told Mum and Dave that we were going to London for the day to visit some art galleries and we wanted to get an early start to beat the crowds. We head across the car park to Tyler’s parents’ car, which he’s managed to borrow for the day. It’s one of those cars with doors at the back that slide open. Tyler’s mum is in a wheelchair full-time now because of her MS, which was a major factor in Tyler learning to drive as soon as he could. Tyler opens the passenger door for me.

  “It’s so cool your parents have lent you their car for our stake-out,” I say as I get in.

  “Yep. I told them it was only fair, after all the driving I did for them last weekend. Of course, I didn’t tell them I was going on a stake-out.” Tyler turns the key in the ignition and an old-school Oasis track starts playing on the stereo.