by Cath Howe
To all the children who have
ever felt ‘on the outside’
Chapter 1
New Girl
Dear Dad,
When I look up into the sky some days, I feel better because I know it must be the same view for you when you look up. If you saw a bird, maybe it would be flying over my house a bit later on.
But then, other days, it’s worse. The sky seems so big it makes me feel as if you are a very, very long way away.
Do you think we could both always look out at the sky at the same time each day, like, maybe, seven o’clock in the morning? I think that might help. Shall we choose a time? Shall we do that, Dad?
Love, Ella
“Hellooo, puss.”
I stepped across the grass towards the grey cat under the tree and held out my phone to get a picture. I clicked my tongue.
She turned her head. Perfect! The sunlight was falling on her back just right, lighting her stripes gold.
“Ella!”
Suddenly Mum was in the garden beside me, all smart in her suit. “I need you inside now, Ella!”
“But I have to take more photos,” I said.
“You’ll have to do them later.”
“But they’re for Dad!”
Mum’s jaw locked. “Look, love, I’ve got to get to work after I drop you at school. I said I’d be in by nine o’clock. If we’re not in the car in five minutes, we’ll all be late.”
I trailed after her, back into the kitchen. “Put this on.” She held out a blue cardigan. Its little gold buttons glinted.
“That’s blue. The uniform’s green.”
“I’ve ordered your uniform. It’s not my fault if it hasn’t come yet. Look, love, this is quite … greenish.” Mum locked the back door and shut the dishwasher.
“It’s not green!” I said. “And it’s for an old woman! I can’t wear it.”
Mum slammed down our new lunchboxes, glaring now. “Ella! Jack’s in his home clothes too.”
I looked over at Jack at the breakfast table, cereal spilling out of his grinning mouth.
“So what? Jack doesn’t care what he wears,” I said. “He gets filthy and covered in paint anyway.”
“For your information, that old woman’s cardigan’s mine,” Mum snapped. “And it’s all we’ve got. You’ve got to wear something.”
“Or be a nudie,” Jack suggested.
I lunged at him, but Mum stepped in front of me. “In the car, both of you, this minute.”
Her voice had a sob in it. “I’m tired of this rudeness, Ella. It’s time you helped. It’s hard enough…”
I pulled on her ugly cardigan. Hot little pinpricks started nipping me.
I rubbed my wrist backwards and forwards along the top of the kitchen chair. Stupid first day. Stupid clothes. We should never have come here.
I followed the office lady down the wide echoey corridors into Willow class and stood while my new teacher, Mr Hales, introduced me. “This is Ella, everyone. Let’s all try to make her feel really welcome.”
Willow class. Green and grey. Heads and faces. Eyes studying me.
I pulled my cuffs down over my red, itchy hands.
My mouth wouldn’t smile at all, like a person in an old photo.
Mr Hales seemed the friendliest person here. He had spiky blond hair and a pierced eyebrow. I peeped at the place where the ring went in. “Now let’s see where there’s a space.” He pointed to an empty seat at the front. “Why don’t you sit next to Stiggy.”
I sat.
The boy beside me made an evil grin. “Your jumper’s the wrong colour!”
Playtime. The playground was massive. I hung upside down on the monkey bars in case Moor Lane School looked better the other way up, but it didn’t. It was safer round the edge. Some people are edge people in playgrounds. Popular people go where they want and they are often in the middle, like colourful fish swimming in the sea. I was a grey fish. An edge fish.
I watched one girl called Lydia who was surrounded by girls the whole time, linking arms with each other and whispering. She was all glossy brown hair, clips and clasps. Polished. Her laugh sounded like a song, little notes up and up. When she laughed, one of her friends would do the laugh too, as if they were saying, “Wow, Lydia, you are the best entertainment on the planet.” That’s how it felt. I tried joining in the laughing when they were standing near but those girls just turned and stared, goofy-eyed. “What’s so funny?” said the faces. “You don’t fit.”
They were right. “I’m sorry,” I said, and moved away.
I had always had Grace. We met when we started at Nursery. Albatrosses find their friend for life and if their friend dies, they stay on their own. Albatrosses don’t have to go to school. Grace had an older sister and a cat. Her mum was at home a lot because she taught piano and looked after Grace’s grandma. They had a big garden and we used to play out there all the time, because she and her sister had a summerhouse-shed thing with actual rugs and cushions and her mum let them do anything they wanted. I couldn’t have a summerhouse like Grace because Jack would have wrecked it and Mum would have made us tidy it up.
Me being on my own without Grace today hurt like bare feet outside in winter. I was in another country, where no one spoke the same language, even though they seemed to.
If a person could make a relative with a wish, maybe press a button or something like that, I would have chosen Grace as my sister. Even if I had to keep Jack, at least I’d have her as well.
I looked around the faces in Willow class, wishing Grace’s face was among them – like suddenly she would be there. “I decided to come and live here. I’m actually your long-lost sister – no one told us.”
Mum’s awful cardigan made everything worse. It was not a bit green. Mum needed her eyes testing. Over here, look, new girl, in the stupid cardigan!
If only they’d let me keep my lovely new phone. I’d hardly stopped playing with the brilliant camera. I had put Grace’s number in and texted her.
Hi Grace. There’s no one here like you. Miss you lots. Ella
But the lady in the office told me I had to hand in my phone to her every day and collect it at the end of school.
When we had reading, everyone got moved around and I was put next to Bryony. She was weird. She kept frantically waving, but she hardly ever stayed in her seat until a grown-up helper came to sit next to her and tried to persuade her to work. She sat so close to me, nudging up nearer and nearer as if she hadn’t got her own seat. And she talked all the time. I could hardly hear the teacher. Then she started stroking my pencil case. “It’s furry!” she shrilled. “It could be alive…”
I ended up shoving it back in my bag.
Wasn’t there anyone else on their own? Another pair person, like me? I checked the room secretly. Everyone had their special friend, that person to laugh with. Nobody smiled over at me. No one needed a new friend; I was an extra; a boring new person. They would look at me if they wanted me … and none of them were looking at me.
And then, at the back, hunched over a table, I noticed a dark-haired girl on her own. I sneaked looks at her. She looked back at me with tired eyes. Maybe she was watching me too. When we were doing art, making our own Van Gogh portraits, Mr Hales said we could sit where we liked. I clutched my bag to my chest, stood up and walked over so the girl would see me. I smiled. She stared up at me, gloomy-eyed. Then she bent, collected her bag and spread her things right across the desk as if she was saving that space for someone else.
I’d been wrong. She didn’t want to know me. I stood there like a lemon until Mr Hales told me to sit next to that irritating Stiggy boy again. “Van Gogh cut off his ear,” he whispered. “I’m going to draw me with only one ear.” He grinned. “Y
ou could draw you with no nose.”
He was just like my brother!
“Go away and fall off a cliff,” I said, rubbing my wrist against the edge of the desk.
But at least that boy had talked to me.
I was rubbish at being new.
On a scrap of paper, at home time, I tried making myself a ‘to-do’ list the way Mum always did, just to look busy.
Get a green jumper NOW.
Get a plain black school bag.
Find a pencil case with NO KITTENS.
Shoes – brown lace-ups are a DISASTER. Maybe if some paint fell on them. All these girls have nice shoes – shiny or with flaps or studs or buckles.
Find a real friend who doesn’t make out my pencil case is alive or suggest I cut off my nose!
Mum collected me. She was picking up Jack anyway.
I exploded the minute the car door swung shut. “I have to get the right uniform. I CAN’T GO BACK IN THERE IN THIS CARDIGAN!”
Mum stopped at the traffic lights. “Well, actually, I did notice…”
But Jack interrupted, yelling out, as usual. “There’s a boy in my class who’s got a pencil case with engines.”
Mum smiled. “Has he, Jack?”
“And the pens inside have faces.”
Jack was munching crisps. Why did he get crisps?
I snatched the packet. “I am trying to talk about my uniform!” I shouted.
“Ella, that was unkind. Jack’s allowed to tell me about his day too!” snapped Mum. “What’s got into you? You promised you’d try harder when I let you have the phone.” She sighed. “Look, love, I’ve seen an advert for a second-hand school uniform in the shop window of the supermarket.”
“Can we go there now?”
“Not this minute. We’ll have tea and drop Jack at his new football training.”
“But we will go today? I don’t care what it’s like; we have to buy it!”
Chapter 2
Number 13
Dear Dad,
I hope you are not sad.
I’m going to tell you about our new house. It’s number 74 Ash Grove. Everything is tidy and all the boxes are empty now, even though we only got here last week. There’s a bedroom each. Mine is yellow. Mum let me choose the paint. There’s a fluffy grey cat who comes to visit us. I can see her in the garden. What can you see out of your window?
Jack and me are at Moor Lane School.
Grandma sent me an iPhone and the camera is so fun.
Mum says her new job makes her very tired. Have you got lots to do?
I’m sending one photo of the cat and one of the new house. Jack wants you to have the picture he drew as well – he says it’s a tiger.
I have to print photos with proper photo paper and it takes ages!!!
Love, Ella
Mum and I stood outside number 13. The house was the corner one at the end of our road. “We do not buy at the door” and “no callers” said all the stickers on the front door. It opened about three centimetres when Mum pressed the bell.
When I first saw a girl on the step, I thought she must be much older than me because she looked about ten feet tall – dark hair, grey tracksuit, bare feet. But then I recognised her from my class. It was the girl who sat on her own at the back, the gloomy-eyed one who had put her bag up on the desk. Mr Hales had called her Molly.
Just my luck: the unfriendliest person.
Molly must have recognised me too, but she just looked down at the steps. “What is it?” she mumbled.
“We came about the jumper,” said Mum, adding, “Is it you that’s selling it?”
Molly scowled. “Just one moment.” She disappeared back inside.
“Well, she’s obviously not going to ask us in,” whispered Mum.
A wave of sadness hit me. I remembered Grace. When Dad was gone, I sat all day in her summerhouse hugging her furry ladybird cushion and she brought biscuits and squash and she made me a card that said “O Ella, I’m rely sorry”.
Molly’s house was smaller than ours. The curtains were drawn upstairs, even though it wasn’t dark outside. The front room looked gloomy too, with what looked like boxes piled up against the window.
Molly slid out through the front door and thrust a carrier bag into my arms. “That’s all of it,” she said flatly. “There are shirts I grew out of too. No point keeping things when you don’t need them.”
When I took it out, her jumper looked very old. It smelled old too, dank and musty.
But it was the right green.
“You’ll need to try it on, Ella,” Mum said brightly.
“What, here?” You want me to try on clothes outside someone’s house?
“Don’t start,” muttered Mum, holding my gaze. I knew what that meant – Don’t you dare argue … otherwise no jumper.
“They’ll fit; I grew out of them,” Molly said. “You’re small.”
How rude! “Well, you’re massive,” I nearly said. And it was true; Molly’s arms looked so lanky and giraffe-like – they stuck right out of the sleeves of the grey tracksuit top she had on – she might as well have sold that to us too.
I pulled off my hoody and pulled on the manky jumper.
“It’s only for a while.” Mum ran her hand over a place where the sleeve had been mended in a brownish kind of colour, “until the office gets your new ones.” Mum sighed. “Is your mum in?”
Molly flinched, shook her head. “No!”
“Mol!” A faint woman’s voice called from inside the house. Molly froze.
“Molly!” Louder.
“I have to… go in,” she said and she disappeared back inside.
“How strange,” Mum said.
Mum’s phone went. “It’s my office. I won’t be a sec, love.” She walked back down to the gate.
“But, Mum…”
“Ask how much?” Mum called, before talking animatedly into her phone.
Why did Mum always dash off?
I felt something tickling my ankle. I looked down and jumped back. A rabbit had come out of the house. A really big one was snuffling around my shoes. Like in Alice in Wonderland.
My first thought was to grab my phone. Take a picture. But he could get run over out here. Silly thing.
I gently nudged him with my foot. “In you go, come on.” I pushed the front door, whooshing him back in.
Shadows seemed to close around me.
I looked slowly up.
Molly’s hall was a mountain.
Chapter 3
Rabbits and Mountains
Hi Dad,
Here’s a photo of my new bedroom for you. Mum says it’s very yellow – a bit of a shock – but I like it.
It will be like good weather all year.
Love, Ella
You know when you have a doll’s house and some mean brother tips it on its side and all the little things tumble and fall? Well, that was Molly’s house. Someone seemed to have shaken it so hard that some of the furniture had fallen over. But there was far more furniture than normal houses too – enough for ten houses. I could see wardrobes, chairs, sculptures, an actual sink in the middle of the hall. And machinery and packages and jugs and blankets and… well, just everything. The smell was bad. Cabbage-y.
Rabbits and cabbages. Weird!
I shouldn’t be in here.
But I still wanted to get a photo of that rabbit. Where was he? I pulled out my phone, opened the camera, set off. Past the sink, a chest of drawers, basket of clothes, a table on its side, through into the darkened front room.
More odd stuff! A rocking horse, a pottery pot… There it was: the whisk of white. Strong back legs leaping. The white rabbit. Click… click.
No wonder the room looked so dark from outside.
A white bobtail disappeared into a tunnel of wooden furniture legs… click. A rolled-up carpet. A piano and, yes, a rocking horse on top. A picture on top of a suitcase on top of an armchair on top of…
Rustle…
Something stirred
. “Molly?” A little breathy voice. A head turning.
I looked down. The side of a pale face with a dark cloak wrapped round. White fingers stretching out to me. A person!
I was back in the hallway in a flash and out the door, panting, shoving the phone in my pocket.
Feet came down the stairs. I stood on the front doorstep, swung round and felt eyes on me – Molly, only just behind. “Where’s your mum. Has she gone?” she asked.
It was like a challenge, like, have you lost her?
“I… um… I mean, Mum got a phone call.”
Molly’s stern eyes rested on me.
I made my face blank. My eyes slid down to a pair of mud-crusted green PE socks, dangling from her hand. “I grew out of these too,” she said in her flat dead voice. “Ten pounds for all of it.”
I nodded frantically. “Thank you… I mean, OK. I’ll get the money off Mum.” Thank goodness, just then Mum appeared at the garden gate.
Ten pounds was handed over. Molly retreated back inside.
“Nice to meet you!” called Mum as the front door slammed shut.
I shook my head at Mum. “Why did you leave me?”
I took off, running up the road. It felt so good to be away from there.
Mum caught up. “Ella! Slow down. I want to talk to you. Did you know that girl from school?”
“I think she’s in my class. She’s called Molly. She’s weird.”
“Maybe she’s shy.”
“She’s rude.”
“Well, at least we got your jumper. Let’s give it a wash. It is second-hand.”
“No, Mum. I need it for tomorrow.”
Mum frowned. “All right. Well, that’s another thing ticked off.”
She let us in. She had put up a little cupboard in the hall with hooks for all the keys and she handed me hers to hang up.
“I want to cycle to school. Can I?” I asked.
