“What did you tell them?”
“That we’re going birdwatching in Worthing.”
“Birdwatching!” I practically shriek. “Dude!”
“What? I had to think of something on the spot. Anyway, I’ve always thought birdwatching would be kind of cool. Here, can you take this?” He hands me a carrier bag and starts to pull out of the car park.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Binoculars, the birdwatching tool that can also come in very handy on a stake-out … if Clementine lives in a long street.”
“Genius!” I exclaim.
“Yeah, well, you don’t get to be a hardened maverick cop like me without a touch of genius.” He grins. “My mum also made us a load of sandwiches, which I’m aware is not the kind of thing a hardened maverick cop would ever say on a stake-out, so can we just pretend that they’re not there … until we get hungry?”
Albion Avenue is one of the roads off the high street in Hove that cuts down to the sea. When we get there the overcast sky is lightening from gun-metal to ash-grey. Tyler pulls into a space at the top of the street, giving us a view all the way to the sea. But today I’m too nervous to pay any real attention to the sea. Like most cunning plans, this one was great when it was in my head but now we’re actually here all I can think about is what might go wrong. Mainly, Clementine’s idiot stepdad seeing us out here and calling the police. I pull up my hood and sink down in my seat.
CLEMENTINE
I’ll never forget the day I found out that there was no Father Christmas. This really annoying kid in my class called Daniella Boardman announced the terrible news one lunch break when we were in Year 2. At six years old, I was nowhere near ready to deal with a spoiler of this magnitude. I’ve been feeling a similar sense of devastation all week, only this time it’s like I’ve lost my belief in everything. It hasn’t helped that I’m having the worst period ever. Sometimes I think my cycle does this deliberately – as if my period waits for the worst possible moment to strike, like the day of an audition or PE, or this week.
I lie on my bed and gaze up at the ceiling. It’s only just gone seven on Sunday morning. I’d been hoping that if I stayed up late binge-watching a Netflix series I’d sleep in late this morning and lose half the day. But my stupid period cramps woke me and now they won’t go away. I briefly consider writing a poem about periods, titled something like, “Why Does My Womb Hate Me?” but I push the words from my mind. What’s the point in writing poems if I’m not able to post them? If I’m not able to see the one person who believes in them, who believes in me? When I think of Rudy the pain in my lower stomach radiates through my body. I close my eyes to stop the tears that are threatening. I feel terrible for not contacting her but I can’t risk getting her into more trouble. After re-confiscating my phone Vincent reminded me that I was banned from having anything to do with her. He told me he had friends in high places in the police and that if he caught me making contact with her, he’d get her charged with vandalism and defacing private property. I’m not entirely sure how true that is, but I can’t risk finding out. Anyway, Rudy’s probably already forgetting about me. It’s not as if we’d known each other ages, and she has Tyler. She never really needed me, not the way I needed her. Tears slide down my face. I’ve cried so much this week I’m amazed I’ve got any tears left. How are tears made? Why does sadness make us cry? I start going down a rabbit hole of thoughts, then stop myself abruptly. Who even cares?
From the landing I hear Mum waking Damon up. Vincent is taking him into London for the day, to see the football. That’s something at least.
“Dad! Dad! Are you awake?” I hear Damon cry excitedly.
I feel a bolt of hate go through me. It’s so unfair that Vincent can play the doting dad to Damon when it suits him, while taking away that option from my own dad and me.
RUDY
“Are you thirsty?” Tyler says, stretching out in his seat. “I could murder a can of Coke.”
“Me too.” I sigh.
We’ve been on our stake-out for over two hours now and there’s been no sign of Clementine. There’s been no sign of anyone. I’m starting to regret coming here so early. I mean, who in their right mind gets up before nine on a Sunday anyway? I yawn.
“Shall I nip down to the high street?” he asks. “See if there’s a café open?”
We’ve already eaten the sandwiches his mum made us. We ate them in the first half-hour.
“OK. Thanks, Ty.”
Tyler gets out of the car and I watch in the wing mirror as he trudges up the road. As his reflection disappears from view I feel a wave of gratitude. He’s probably really regretting giving up his one lie-in of the week to come on this wild goose chase with me but he’d never say it. I’m so lucky to have him as a friend. I see a sudden movement on the other side of the street and my heart skips a beat. But it’s a false alarm; it’s just a paperboy. I watch as he goes up the steps to a house and pushes a rolled-up paper through the ornate letterbox. The houses in Albion Avenue are four storeys high and painted white. A general rule of thumb in Hove is that you can tell how rich the street is by how white the houses are. In Albion Avenue the houses are as white as freshly fallen snow. The only splashes of colour are from the front doors, all regal shades, like burgundy and navy blue. I wasn’t far off when I imagined Clementine living in a castle. What I didn’t realize was that she was being kept there against her will. There’s another sign of movement and I sit up straight in my seat. A few houses down on the left a door opens and a boy comes out. He looks about nine. I watch as he leaps down the steps onto the pavement, then goes up and does it again.
“Hurry up, Dad, we’ll miss the train,” he calls.
Clementine hasn’t mentioned having a brother and I’m about to mentally cross the house off our list of possibles when Vincent appears at the top of the steps. I recognize him instantly from the unnatural brown of his dyed hair. He and the boy are wearing matching football scarves. As they start heading up the street my heart pounds. We’re parked on the same side as them; they’re going to walk right past me. I slide off my seat and into the space beneath the dashboard. As the voices get louder I hear the door on the driver’s side open. “What are you doing?” Tyler says, staring at me.
“Shh!” I put my finger to my lips.
Tyler gets into the car and places the drinks on the dashboard.
Vincent’s voice is now level with us. He’s saying something about free kicks.
“Was that him?” Tyler asks as the voices fade off up the street.
“Yes. Have they gone?”
Tyler checks the rear-view mirror. “Yep.”
I wriggle back up into my seat. “That was close!”
“I can’t believe I missed it.” Tyler shakes his head. “Did you see which house they came out of?”
“Of course I did.” I look at him and grin. “It’s a perk of being the sensible, family-loving cop – I never leave the scene of a stake-out, not even for a can of Coke.”
CLEMENTINE
About a minute after I hear Vincent and Damon go off to the football Mum comes to my room, clad from head to toe in Lycra, ready for her Pilates class. I assume she’s going to ask me if I’d like any breakfast, as per the usual routine, but instead she sits on the end of my bed.
“Clementine, can I ask you something?”
“OK.”
“The artwork your friend did, the one the police caught you doing…”
“Yes…”
“Was it by the station in Brighton?”
“Yes.”
“Down the side street by the bridge? The picture of the mermaid in the ocean?”
I nod cautiously, trying to work out where this might be leading.
“And you wrote the poem that went with it?”
“Yes.” I prepare myself for yet another telling-off.
“Do you write a lot of poetry?”
“Yes. And when I had my phone I used to post them to Instagram too.” As soon
as I say it I regret it. I don’t want her knowing about my Instagram page. She’s bound to tell Vincent.
“Really?” She looks genuinely surprised. “I’d like to see them.”
OK, this has got to be a trick. If I show her the page she’ll make me take it down, or Vincent will, at least. “Why? So you can make me take them down? Don’t bother. I’ve stopped writing. You’ve won, OK?”
Mum recoils when I say this. “It’s not a case of winning.”
I sit up and glare at her. “Of course it is! It’s all about him winning.”
“Him?”
“Vincent. He’s not happy until everyone’s doing exactly what he wants them to. Can you really not see it?”
Mum’s about to say something when the doorbell rings. “Wait there,” she says, like I’m going anywhere.
I lie back down and listen to the soft tread of her steps down the stairs and into the hallway.
“Clementine,” Mum calls up the stairs a few seconds later.
I frown. There’s no way it can be for me. Can it? I get out of bed. “Yes?”
“There’s someone from your dance school at the door. They want to speak to you.”
I go out onto the landing feeling completely confused. Why would someone from my dance school come here? How would they even know where I live? I’ve never brought anyone from the Academy back here.
“It’ll only take a minute,” a young guy’s voice calls out from the door. I gasp in shock. It sounds like Tyler.
I race into my room and pull a hoodie on over my pyjamas.
“Come inside for a minute, keep the heat in,” I hear Mum say.
I hurry downstairs and see Tyler standing in the hallway. His hair is down, tumbling in brown waves around his jawline, annoyingly making him look even more like Luc from my dreams.
“I’ve got to get ready for Pilates,” Mum says, hurrying past me. “We’ll finish our chat when I get back, OK?”
“OK,” I murmur but all I can think is: what is Tyler doing here? And how did he find me? And why did he tell Mum he was from the Academy?!
“Hello, Clementine,” Tyler says with a massive grin. “I hope you don’t mind me calling round like this but I just had a couple of questions about the – uh – ballet routine.”
The thought of Tyler doing any kind of ballet routine makes me bite my bottom lip to stop myself laughing. “Yes, of course.”
“Hello,” he whispers.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper back.
“Rudy sent me.” He coughs and takes a phone from his pocket. “OK,” he says loudly. “How many – uh – pirouettes do we have to do before I lift you in the pax de deux?”
“Do you mean pas de deux?” I say, now fighting the urge to scream with laughter.
“Yep, that’s the one.”
“Erm, four.”
“Four? That’s great.” He moves closer. “Rudy’s outside.”
“Really?” I blurt out, way too loud.
Tyler frowns. “Yes, it’s great that it’s four because – uh – four is my favourite number.”
Now it’s impossible to stop grinning. Rudy is outside. Somehow they managed to find me. They cared enough to find me.
“Are you going to be home alone any time soon?” Tyler whispers.
“Yes,” I whisper back. “Mum’s about to go to Pilates.”
“Great.” Tyler hands me the phone. “Put this in your pocket.”
I look at him blankly.
“So we can contact you,” he explains.
“Ah, right.” I shove the phone in my pocket as I hear Mum’s footsteps on the stairs.
“Thanks so much, really looking forward to dancing with you,” Tyler says loudly.
“Yes, me too.” I open the door to let him out and quickly scan the street for any sign of Rudy, but the pavement is empty.
“See you soon,” Tyler whispers before bounding down the steps.
I go back in and shut the door behind me, feeling full to the brim with excitement and relief.
RUDY
“Well?” I look at Tyler hopefully as he gets back into the car.
“Well, the ballet dancing cover story worked a charm – until I forgot what that stupid pas thingy was called.”
“Did you see her?” I practically yell.
“Yes, I saw her.”
“Cool!” I exclaim. “And did you give her my phone?”
“Yep.”
The tension that seemed to have turned my entire body to stone eases slightly. The first stage of my cunning plan is complete. “How was she?”
“I didn’t get the chance to ask, her mum was hovering about in the background. Clem looked pretty tired though.”
“Did she seem pleased to see you?” All week I’ve been fighting the nagging doubt that Clementine might have done a disappearing act because she couldn’t be bothered to hang out with me any more.
“Oh, for sure.” Tyler nods enthusiastically. “And she seemed really pleased when I told her you were out here.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. And her mum’s about to go to her Pilates class, so she’ll be on her own soon.”
“Great! Right, time for Stage Two.” I hold out my hand and he passes me his phone. I quickly send a text to my phone. Thankfully, Tyler reminded me to turn off the password setting before giving it to Clementine.
Hey! We’re just outside waiting for your mum to go out. See you VERY soon!
“Come on,” I say, staring at Clementine’s front door, willing it to open. Tyler’s phone vibrates with a message.
OH MY GOD! THANK YOU!!! XXX
The words send a jolt straight to my heart, like the time Clementine linked pinkies with me in the police car. She is happy to hear from me.
“Here we go,” Tyler says, nodding towards the house.
I watch as Clementine’s mum comes down the steps and gets into a bright red sports car. Like everything else in this street it’s polished to perfection. Tyler puts on his cap and pulls it down over his face before Clementine’s mum drives by. “Now I feel like I’m on a proper stake-out,” he says with a grin.
“Right, let’s do it!” I say.
“Don’t you want to wait a few minutes?” he asks. “Check the mum isn’t going to come back for something?”
“No, I do not.” I hand him his phone. “Call me if any of them come back.”
“Will do.”
I get out of the car and start running towards Clementine’s house. The door swings open the second I knock on it.
“Oh, Rudy!” Clementine exclaims. “It’s so good to see you!”
“You too,” I reply. “Oh wow, you look terrible!”
“Thanks!” she says, pulling me into the hall.
“Sorry – I didn’t mean…” She really does look terrible, though. The whites of her eyes are streaked with pink and the roots of her hair are greasy.
Thankfully she starts laughing … or is she crying? Her eyes are suddenly shiny.
“What the hell’s been happening?” I ask as Clementine closes the door behind me.
“I went through Vincent’s things to find my phone and he caught me.”
“No way!”
“Yep. But that’s not the worst of it. I was on the phone with my dad and Vincent told him what happened with the police. He tried to make out that he was just being a good stepdad confiscating my phone; that he was trying to save me from a life of crime.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. And now I can’t even speak to my dad.” Clementine looks at the front door nervously, like someone might come through it at any minute. “Shall we go into the kitchen, so we’re by the back door, just in case…”
“Sure. But don’t worry, Tyler’s keeping watch outside. He’s going to call straight away if anyone comes back.”
“Cool.”
I follow her along a grand hallway. The floor is tiled in black and white squares like a giant chessboard and a huge chandelier hangs above us, spar
kling silver. The kitchen runs the entire width of the back of the house. It’s practically the size of my whole flat. As I look around at the huge cooker, the island-style counter in the middle of the room and the industrial-sized fridge-freezer, all beautifully illuminated by golden spotlights in the ceiling, anger prickles at me. It’s the feeling I get when I’m reminded of how unfair life can be. But Clementine isn’t a part of this privilege, I remind myself. She’s a prisoner of it.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Clementine asks.
“Nah, I’m good,” I reply. “So, what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“About him?” I glare at a huge framed black and white photo of Vincent staring down at us from the far wall. “You can’t let him get away with this. You can’t let him stop you from speaking to your dad. It’s bad enough that he’s made you stop speaking to me.”
Clementine gives me a weak smile. “I hate that he’s made me stop speaking to you.”
Hearing this makes my heart sing with relief.
“I wanted to message you but Vincent – he told me that if he caught me having anything to do with you he’d go to the police.”
“What the Jeff?”
“What the Jeff?” Clementine grins and my cheeks burn.
“Sorry, it’s one of Tyler’s stupid sayings. I’m clearly spending way too much time with him!”
“Right.” Clementine’s smile fades.
“What did your stepdad mean when he said that he’d go to the police? Does he seriously think it’s illegal to be friends with me?”
“He said he knew people in high places, that he could get them to charge you for defacing private property.”
“Wow.” I look back at the portrait on the wall and fight the overwhelming urge to deface Vincent.
“I didn’t want to get you into trouble.” Clementine leans against the counter in the middle of the kitchen. It’s horrible to see her like this, so pale and drawn. It’s like someone’s taken a giant eraser and rubbed away all of her colour. I need to bring it back.
Clementine and Rudy Page 17
