Gemma's Journey

by Beryl Kingston

  When Helen told him, reading the address from her book, he said ‘Right!’ and drove them out into the main road.

  Now that they were away from that awful station, Naomi could relax again. It was quite fun being in a taxi, bowling along between so many cars with rows and rows of red lights ahead of them and all the buildings bright with lights. ‘Is this all London?’ she asked her sister.

  ‘It’s all London,’ Helen said. She hadn’t been at all sure that a taxi would accept two children as a fare so she was bold with relief. ‘It goes on for miles and miles. Daddy told me.’

  It certainly went on for a very long time and the red figures on the driver’s little oblong clock were ticking up alarmingly. £4.80 – £6.20 – £7.60. It’s an awful lot of money, Helen thought, wincing at it. I hope Grandpa won’t mind.

  ‘Amersham Road,’ the driver said, speaking over his shoulder. ‘Which one is it, darlin’?’

  ‘That one!’ Naomi said happily. ‘The white one.’ It was such a relief to have arrived that she didn’t notice how dark the house was.

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute,’ Helen said, rather grandly. ‘We’ll go and get our grandfather. He’ll pay you.’

  So he waited while they picked up their shopping bag, scrambled out of the cab and ran to the front door. But although they rang and rang nobody came, and after the third ring Helen was chilled by a fearful thought. She peered in through the stained glass hoping for reassurance. There was no movement in the hall and it all looked horribly neat and empty. ‘They’re out,’ she said. ‘Oh Nao, they’re not here.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘We’ll have to tell him.’ Even though the mere thought of the bill they’d run up was freezing her blood, there was nothing else they could do. She knew that. Daddy said you have to face up to your mistakes no matter what. She left Naomi cowering in the porch and walked back to the cab, biting her lip in agitation.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ she said, ‘but they’re out.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to pay, won’t you darlin.’ That’s £8.80 you owe me.’

  Helen put the bag down on the pavement and searched through it for her purse. ‘I’ve got £4,’ she said, offering him the coins, adding, ‘and 54p.’

  ‘That’s not much good,’ he said and his voice was suddenly growly. ‘You owe me twice that.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said miserably. ‘But I haven’t got it.’

  He leant towards her and took the four coins into his huge hand, his nice wide face creased into a new shape by fury. ‘Oh that’s lovely!’ he said. ‘That’s just dandy! And how am I supposed to make a living, eh? Ripped off by a pair a bleedin’ kids. Tell me that.’

  She hung her head and mumbled that she didn’t know. She was so frightened she felt numb.

  ‘I shoulda known this was a scam,’ he said. ‘You’re a wicked little monster. That’s what you are. Dragging me out all this way for nothing. A downright wicked little monster. I’ve a bloody good mind to call the bloody police to you. It’s against the law what you’re doing. You know? Against the bloody law. Fat lot you care. It’ud serve you bloody well right if I put you back in the cab and took you straight back to where you’ve bloody come from. How’d you like that, eh?’

  Helen stood her ground. ‘We didn’t mean it,’ she said. ‘We thought Grandpa would be here. Please don’t take us back. You can have my silver bracelet if you like.’ She took it out of the bag and held it out to him.

  He took the bracelet and was mollified but only partly. ‘You’ve no business hiring a cab when you can’t pay for it,’ he grumbled on. ‘I’ll let you off this time but woe betide you if you ever do it again, that’s all. I’ll have the police down on you so fast your feet won’t touch the ground.’

  ‘Oh we won’t,’ Helen promised earnestly. But he’d put the cab into gear, turned it and was gone, leaving a snort of grey smoke and the heat of his temper behind him.

  Naomi was crying out loud and this time Helen didn’t scold her. They’d come so far and been so frightened and it was all for nothing. They’d been shouted at and humiliated and called names and there was no one there to help them. They stood huddled together in the porch and put their arms round one another and cried until there were no more tears to cry. But the house was still dark and there was no sign of their grandparents.

  ‘What if they’ve gone out for the night?’ Naomi said. ‘We can’t get in, can we? Not without a key.’

  They searched all round the house to see if there was a window open anywhere but there wasn’t.

  ‘We’ll have to go somewhere else,’ Helen decided, putting her bag down on the drive.

  But where? Neither of them could think. Uncle Nick was in the hospital and they couldn’t go there. Uncle Chris was in Canada which was even worse. There was Grandma Pengilly but she was in York and they were in London now so it had to be someone here. Who else was there? They stood forlornly on the asphalt and looked down at their untidy belongings. And Helen suddenly had a brilliant idea.

  ‘We’ll go and find a phone box,’ she said, ‘and we’ll ring Gemma. I’ve got her, phone number in my book. She’ll know what to do.’

  Chapter 32

  The playground of Fairmead School was swirling with kids. They jumped and yelled and screamed and fought, plump in their padded jackets and shrill as a flock of starlings. Even after a second night torn by bad dreams, Gemma was cheered by the sound of them. She got out of her car and walked through the happy racket to the school entrance. And there was Francine, sitting up perkily in her wheelchair, waiting for her and beaming with good news.

  She’d spent the previous afternoon in hospital. ‘And guess what, Miss. I walked six steps. All on my own.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ Gemma approved as she pushed her excited pupil to the classroom. ‘I’ll bet they were pleased with you.’

  ‘An’ guess what,’ Francine went on. ‘I done all my homework too, all on my own.’ Her independence was the best thing that had happened to her since she’d been taken ill.

  ‘You’re a good girl,’ Gemma told her.

  It was a pleasure to them both to be able to start their school day with praise. And the first half of the morning was equally rewarding. They tackled a difficult assignment together, with Gemma doing the fetching and carrying and Francine working happily with her group, thinking everything out for herself and writing up her conclusions in more detail than she’d attempted for a very long time.

  ‘It just shows what a bit of confidence can do,’ the teacher said as Gemma drank a well-earned cup of coffee in the staffroom at playtime.

  ‘I wish I could bottle a bit of it and take it through to Matt,’ Gemma said. ‘We could uncork it and sprinkle it all over him before he could stop us. Can’t you see it.’ She mimed the action, uncorking an imaginary bottle and sprinkling the contents over an imaginary boy. ‘He might even smile.’

  The real boy was sitting in his usual place beside the window, gazing out at the playground with a withdrawn expression dull on his face. The hyacinths were in sculptured bloom in their neat pots on the windowsill, their summer blue bright among the dull buffs and browns of chairs and tables, but he didn’t seem to be aware of them.

  ‘It’s a lovely day, Matt,’ Gemma told him. ‘Look at the hyacinths. It’s nearly spring.’

  He didn’t look at the hyacinths or her, ‘So?’

  ‘So it won’t be long before you can get out.’

  ‘What for?’ he asked, his face sullen. ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘It’s nice out of doors.’

  ‘When you can run,’ he scowled.

  She decided to talk tough. ‘It’s nice whether you can run or not,’ she told him. ‘It’s nice no matter what you’re doing. Even sitting in a chair it’s nice.’

  ‘You don’t know anything about it,’ he said. His face was dark with distress.

  ‘Yes, I do. You’d be surprised.’

  ‘You d
on’t,’ he said. And suddenly he wasn’t sulky and monosyllabic but had found a furious tongue. ‘You don’t know anything about it. It’s all very well for you. You can walk about. You’ve got legs. I haven’t. I shall never walk again. Never do anything – run, kick a ball, play cricket. Don’t you understand? I’m stuck here in this chair for the rest of my life. I don’t care if it’s spring. It can stay winter for ever as far as I’m concerned. I might as well be dead.’

  His onslaught was so unexpected and so passionate that for a second she didn’t know what to say. Then she decided that having started tough, she would have to continue, even if it made him worse. ‘That’s a stupid thing to say,’ she told him briskly. ‘You’re not dead. You’ve got a lot of life ahead of you. It’s about time you started to enjoy it.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he repeated, ‘so you can just shut up.’ And when she opened her mouth to rebuke him for rudeness – for distressed or not he couldn’t be allowed to get away with that – he suddenly started to yell and twist about in his chair, both fists clenched and very near to violence. ‘I hate you! I hate everybody! I hate this fucking chair! I can’t fucking stand it! Go away! Go on, go away, or I’ll punch you.’

  Now she knew instinctively what had to be done. She raised her false leg until the foot was on the nearest chair and the shin within striking distance of his angry fist. ‘Go on then!’ she said, ‘Punch me! Punch my leg. I dare you. I don’t care either.’

  ‘I will,’ he warned, his face wild.

  She looked at him steadily, accepting his rage, daring him. ‘Go on, then.’

  She felt the punch in her stump and straight up her thigh, but the pain of it was nothing compared to the look of shock on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered him, ‘I’ve got a false leg too. I know exactly where you are, and exactly how you feel. You’re not the only one. Nothing is ever quite what it seems. Right?’ And as he seemed to be calming, ‘I’ll show you if you like.’ She realised that she would probably have to reveal her prosthesis to the entire class, but it could be the making of him, and she had no qualms about it. She looked at Colin Rainer for permission, which was given with a rapid smile. Then she rolled up the leg of her jeans until he could see the socket.

  Children gathered round them at once, full of the dispassionate interest of the young. ‘What’s it made of, Miss!’ ‘Does it hurt yer?’ ‘Have you got a knee or does it go right up?’ It was an inspired lesson and surprisingly painless.

  ‘There you are,’ she said to Matt when all the questions had been answered. ‘I lost my leg but it hasn’t stopped me. I can walk about and drive a car and do everything I want. You could too. And don’t tell me they haven’t fitted your prosthesis yet because I know they have. I’ve read your notes.’

  ‘Yes. Well,’ he said. ‘I suppose …’

  ‘Never mind suppose. You could.’

  He was looking at her leg, thinking hard. ‘Did you fall over a lot?’ he asked.

  They were on the same level, two amputees comparing experiences, friends. Now she thought, I can really help him. ‘We all fall over a lot,’ she told him. ‘That’s how you learn not to. Have you fallen in the shower yet? I’ve had some awesome bruises falling in the shower.’

  ‘I slid out the seat the first time,’ he confessed. ‘Right on the floor. That was awesome.’

  ‘I’ll bet!’ she said. ‘Now what about this work we’re supposed to be doing? Can we make a start on it, do you think?’

  ‘Probably,’ he said and gave her a smile of such ineffable sweetness she could have picked him up and hugged him.

  By the end of the morning they were both exhausted but they’d made so much progress she could hardly believe it.

  ‘You look all in,’ Colin sympathised, as they walked back to the staffroom.

  ‘Very gallant of you to say so, sir,’ she teased him. ‘I expect I do though. I’ve been up since dawn two days running.’

  ‘Then you’d better stay and have lunch with us.’

  Until then, she’d always rushed home when her stint was over. But why not stay? There was nothing to go home for, not now she and Nick had decided to finish with one another. But she wouldn’t think about that, not yet anyway, not when she was on a high. So she joined them at their crowded dinner table and had a school dinner which was more appetising than she’d expected. And afterwards she stayed on in the staffroom and talked to Mrs Muldoony about her two pupils.

  ‘You must be feeling very pleased with yourself,’ the head-mistress said, when she’d skimmed through the lesson reports. ‘You’ve done a good morning’s work.’

  To be praised so fulsomely was very pleasant and Gemma could have taken any amount of it. But the bell was sounding to start the afternoon session and Mrs Muldoony had a parent to see.

  The afternoon had a springtime balm about it. Much too nice to spend cooped up in a flat that still reverberated with that awful row. I shall go shopping, she decided as she walked along the corridor to the entrance. I shall treat myself to something luxurious. I’ve earned it.

  She was so cheerfully engrossed in her plans that she didn’t see the reporters until she’d turned the corner and almost reached her car. Suddenly they were round her, a great pack of them, eager-faced with microphones or squinting behind the huge owl-eyes of their cameras.

  ‘Gemma!’ they called. ‘This way, Gemma!’ Cameras flashed in her eyes and for a second she felt so buffeted by the pressure of their bodies that she was afraid she was going to lose her balance. ‘Gemma! One more! This way!’

  A young man thrust his microphone under her nose. ‘Were you enticed away from your family?’

  She was bewildered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Other voices joined in. ‘When did you last see your parents?’ ‘Your father?’ Is it true …?’ ‘Can you tell us …?’ The babble of their voices was worse then the pressure of their bodies.

  She held up her hand, the way she would have done in the classroom. ‘One at a time, please!’

  But it was a waste of breath. ‘Can you tell us …,?’ ‘… this tug-of-love case …?’ ‘He says you’re going to sue for half a million. Is that true?’ ‘Can you give us a statement?’

  ‘OK, OK,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you a statement.’ She waited until the noise had subsided and they were ready, microphones thrust forward. Then, speaking slowly and clearly, she said. ‘I am not an exhibit. I have a life to lead and I want to be left alone to get on with it. Now will you please go away.’

  They didn’t move. Instead, the uproar began again. ‘Can you tell us …?’ ‘Gemma!’ ‘Gemma!’

  ‘I’ve nothing else to say,’ she shouted into the din. But they weren’t listening because she hadn’t told them what they wanted to hear. There was nothing for it but to fight her way out. She gathered her strength and struggled through the pack, pushing away microphones, cameras and bodies as she went. This, she thought, as she hauled the car door open, must be what it’s like to be attacked by a swarm of locusts.

  They pressed against the windows even as she drove away, cameras clicking and flashing. But at last she was able to inch through the gate and elude them. What was all that about? she thought. Then she remembered the second report. Of course. It’s the crash being back in the news. They’ve dug out my picture and found all that millionaire nonsense again. I might have guessed there’d be trouble. And I stood in the staffroom and said it was all in the past – as if it had happened to someone else. I should have known better.

  She was in the High Street by this time, heading south, and still feeling annoyed. No, she thought, I won’t go shopping here. I’ll go to Croydon, right out of the way, where they can’t find me. I’ll go to Croydon and buy myself a hat with a huge brim and a pair of dark glasses and if they come after me again I shall pretend to be someone else.

  So she spent a happy afternoon in the Whitgift Centre and bought herself a dress from Monsoon, which was long and
straight and beautifully cut and made her feel marvellous because it looked so good on her and because she couldn’t really afford it. Then she treated herself to a cream tea and went to have a look at the furniture in Marks and Spencer’s, as if she were a woman of means.

  It was very late by the time she got home, and there was a chill wind blowing. As she walked across the compound towards her flat, she noticed that the kitchen window was still wide open. The sight of it gave her a shock because she was sure she’d closed it yesterday as soon as she got in. Obviously she hadn’t. How careless! The central heating would have come on at one o’clock so she’d been heating the compound for five and a half hours. The thought of all the money she’d wasted made her feel really cross with herself. But as she approached the porch, a new and rather more alarming suspicion entered her mind, for now she could see that the window was open to its widest extent and she was quite sure she hadn’t left it in that state, especially for two whole days. She would have noticed the draught. As the hair rose on the nape of her neck, she realised that somebody must have broken in.

  She stood in the porch for a second, listening as she drew her keys from her pocket and wondered what she ought to do. It could be her imagination but she was sure there was something different about the flat. She couldn’t identify what it was, but there was something. She put the key into the lock as gently as she could and turned it very nearly silently. The air that wafted towards her as she eased the door ajar smelt of stale sweat, leather and motor oil. Dear God, whoever it was, he was still inside!

  Afterwards it occurred to her that she’d taken a risk just walking into the flat like that. But at the time she didn’t think about it. She was so angry that someone was invading her home that she simply put down her shopping, seized a crutch as a weapon and pounded across the hall and through the bedroom door, switching on lights as she went.

  Her neat square room was strewn with clothes. They had been tossed across the bed and the chair and hurled on to the floor, with empty drawers flung down on top of them. And sure enough, the burglar was still in the room, a thickset bulky man in dark jeans and a leather jacket with a black balaclava covering his face, one foot inside the fitted wardrobe, both white-gloved hands rifling through the pockets of the clothes hanging there, hooded head turned towards her. For a fraught second they stared at one another, then he stepped back from the wardrobe and turned to run. But she was too quick for him.